Echar Agua al Mar

Chapter IV

Imelda peered furtively around the corner of the hacienda's back gate, chewing on her lip as she surveyed the garden. The courtyard was abandoned, the only movement a lazy breeze that stirred the thick leaves of the old yellow pine.

"Oscar?" she breathed, her voice never rising above a whisper. "Felipe?" Her younger twin brothers made it their life's mission to torment her like a couple of demons, but they were the only ones she could trust to have her back in the present moment. Her mother would be of no help at all, and her father would not be home from the quarry until mealtime.

There was a rustling movement from the far corner of the main house; Imelda froze, hoping beyond hope that it would be either one of her siblings. She had left the hacienda without permission, or a chaperone. Normally it would have been cause for a light scolding, but she wanted to defer the lecture for as long as possible. Surely her mother would put two and two together....

A man rounded the corner, heading for the back door. He was broad enough to fill any doorway, strong enough to lift a grown man over his head, and tall enough to loom over anyone standing in his general vicinity. His greased hair was streaked with lines of deep gray, the same that dominated his thick beard and mustache. His brown eyes were at once both stern and demanding, a true patriarch over his modest domain.

Imelda's breath caught in her throat. If he was already here, then... just how late was she?

"Papá!" She ran to meet him, stopping short of colliding with his barreled chest. When she was younger, the familiar odor of sweat, animals, and earth had not been enough to stop her from embracing him with fervor. Now that she was a young woman, she reached for his arm instead, holding the least grimy part as she smiled up at him. His eyes softened and he wiped his hand on the last clean bit of cotton shirt before gently pinching her cheek.

"Lindita." She swallowed back a sigh, allowing him to pat her cheek before letting go. Her parents still enjoyed calling her by their little pet names, and while she didn't openly complain about it, it still made her want to roll her eyes. She was almost seventeen, a woman grown!

"Your mamá has been looking for you," he said after a moment's pause, tilting his head just enough for his gaze to become reprimanding. Imelda averted her eyes, cheeks burning with shame. She could take hours of her mother's lectures without batting an eye, but her father only had to look at her once in that kind, disappointed way for her to feel immeasurable guilt.

"I'm sorry." He hummed softly in answer, thumb running beneath her chin as he tilted her head up.

"It's almost suppertime," he said at last. "Go wash up."

"Yes, Papá." She waited until he was out of earshot before letting out the sigh she'd been holding in. She was her father's favorite, his firstborn and only daughter. He loved the boys, too, but everyone in town knew that she was his special girl.

Still... that didn't mean he'd ever side with her over Mamá.

The back of the house was thankfully empty. Imelda sped through the corridors in an effort to remain unnoticed, slowing to a walk only when she neared the kitchen. If she was truly so late in returning, there was no reason to add another strike to her laundry list of sins.

Her mother was already in the kitchen, standing with legs spread before the stove where a stewpot stood bubbling. With her head barely clearing the twins' shoulders, Mamá could hardly be called an imposing figure; still, what she lacked in size she made up for in spirit. She had once been a beautiful woman in her long-ago youth; she had aged happily, if not gracefully, with laugh lines carved into the corners of her lips and creases near her eyes. Silvery strands of hair decorated both temples like Roman laurels. Her eyes twinkled with a merry light that the stresses of motherhood could not diminish, and her plump curves were good for embracing... when she wasn't making a scene.