The Woodcarver's Secret (Samantha Sweet Mysteries) (23 page)

“I think I had better lie down for a moment.”

When she awoke, dinner was on the table and her first conscious thought
was another memory: a man with a loving look on his face, a man who called her
Elizabeth. Two little girls. Their sweet faces broke her heart. She wiped at
the tears that streamed down her face, rose and offered to help Mamá Avila
serve the tortillas. Before they had finished their meal, a knock came at the
door. The American doctor was back.

“I have some good news for you, my dear. Our next shipment of bananas
leaves day after tomorrow and the destination is the port of Galveston. I have
secured you a cabin.”

She stared at him.

“You’re going home.”

* * *

Mary Conway stared into the mirror, past her own shoulder. Her mother
was moving fussily about the room, holding one glove and apparently looking for
its mate.

“Your glove is probably right there with mine,” she said, “beside my
bouquet. Now stop worrying and let’s get into that sanctuary. James is
waiting.”

Wasn’t the bride supposed to be the nervous one, the mother offering
reassurance? She imagined it had to do with the unconventionally quick
marriage, barely six months after James’s being widowed. Or the fact that he
was older and Mary was becoming the mother of two? She handed her mother the
second glove and took her by the elbow.

“Go on now, take your seat. Daddy and I will be right along.”

Mary watched her mother bustle through the church’s small vestibule,
say something to Dad, then go inside. She took a final glance in the mirror,
tucked in a stray wisp of hair, and went to join her father. She had dreamed of
this day, as she supposed most girls did, all her life. Had dreamed of being
with James since those first tentative days of courtship with the Sunday
picnics under the big elm tree.

Her father smiled as she approached. “You look radiant, my dear.”

She took his elbow and faced the double doors leading to the sanctuary.
Behind them, the outer door opened, casting a shaft of light into the dim
space. They paused. A last-minute guest. Mary turned and saw the silhouette of
a lone woman against the sunlit doorway. Then the door closed and the woman
spoke.

“I … Sorry to interrupt. No one was home and I saw all the carriages
here …”

Elizabeth Cox.

Mary felt her face go pale. Her dream shattered into a million tiny
bits.

* * *

Sammy Avila whacked with his machete at the tall grass beside one of the
plantation houses. Robert Smith always wanted the grass trimmed short, a silly
custom he thought. It always grew back. The grass had grown back every few
weeks for the ten years he had held this job. Sammy’s wife worked
inside—cooking, cleaning, washing the clothes of the Americano family. Each
week they accepted their pay and laughed together at these people and their
funny habits.

This week Sammy made sure the boss did not catch them laughing. He
needed a favor, an advance on his salary. He had fallen into the habit of
playing cards with some of the younger
jardineros
and last week he’d
gone beyond his usual limit. He’d lost the money they needed for his little
granddaughter’s surgery. He spotted Robert Smith, who was walking toward his
office in the main building. Sammy dropped the machete and caught up with him.

“Sammy, you asked me the same
thing two months ago. What are you doing with all this money?”

Sammy looked down and kicked at
the ground. “Okay, Mister Robert, how about it’s not a loan, instead I sell you
something?”

Smith looked at him skeptically.
“What would you sell?”

“Avocados.”

“Which you picked from my trees.”

“A dinner
especial
prepare by Dora and me, you invite all you guests.”

“Dora does that anyway. It’s part
of her job. Look, I’m late for a meeting with my boss. Let me think about
this.”

Robert Smith walked away and
Sammy went back to the grass, thinking of another way to solve his problem.
Leaving his machete behind, he walked to the tiny casita where he and Dora
lived behind the Smith’s house. One thing came to mind.

He went to a cabinet and pulled
out the wooden box that the strange lady they had called Sirena had left
behind. Sammy hardly remembered her after all these years but had always found
a certain fascination with the odd artifact. And what use did he have for it,
really? He remembered showing it once to Robert Smith’s young son and the boy’s
eyes lit up when he saw the dark wood and the little colored stones. Perhaps
this could be his bargaining chip. He carried the box outside, set it near the
base of a palm tree and resumed cutting the grass.

When Robert Smith emerged from
the supervisor’s office near lunch time, he seemed in a good mood. Sammy seized
the opportunity.

“Señor Robert! I have something,”
he said, a little breathless from dashing across the yard. “This box—very old,
very special. It has been in my family a long time. Your little boy would like
it very much.”

“But your family—”

Sammy made a serious face. “My grandbaby’s operation is more important.
We want to part with the box.”

Smith reached into the pocket of his trousers and drew out some paper
money. “You are sure? You want to sell the box, not simply have a loan?”

Sammy nodded vigorously. His eyes were on the cash as he handed the box
over without a second glance.

“Thank you, señor.
Muchas
gracias,
muchas
gracias
.”

Smith smiled and tucked the box under his arm before walking the rest
of the way to his house. Sammy thought of the next card game. Tonight he could
probably double this money.

* * *

Robert Smith walked into the kitchen where the maid, Dora, was
preparing lunch. Some kind of fish with chopped hot peppers and tomatoes, her
homemade tortillas, and plantains for dessert. Always some form of banana in
the meals here.

“Smells good,” he said, setting the wooden box on the table.

He noticed her eyeing the box.

“Sammy sold it to me,” he said. “I felt badly taking it, being a family
heirloom and all.” He realized she probably understood half of what he’d said.
He slowed down. “If you want it back …?”

She got that. She shook her head. “I do not want.”

“The money for your granddaughter, for her operation … You may keep it
anyway, even if you want the box.”

Dora looked out the window to where Sammy was again cutting the grass. A
knowing look came over her face. She shook her head and went back to the melon
she was cutting.

“Darling, I’m so glad you are home for lunch!” Susan Smith came into
the kitchen and gave her husband a kiss on the cheek. “What a busy morning I’ve
had. The wives club—”

Robert was bursting with news and Susan saw it on his face.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you over lunch. Warren too.” He called out to the boy who
came running at the sound of his father’s voice.

Little Warren lurched to a stop when he spied the wooden box on the
table.

“Later,” Robert said, setting the box aside. “I’ve got big news. Take
your seats.”

“So, what is it?” Susan placed a small serving of the fish on Warren’s
plate and passed the platter to her husband. “A new banana variety got the
office in a twitter?”

“Panama.” He said simply. “They’re going to build a canal through the
isthmus, a great feat that will allow ships to pass between the oceans. It’s
the biggest thing to happen for world trade, ever! Shipping companies will save
months of time and thousands of dollars. Initial surveys have been done and
I’ve been offered an engineering position, in consultation with the French.”

Susan blinked a few times, processing the information. When Robert had
accepted the position with The Caribbean Fruit Company he’d promised they would
move back to America after his five-year contract was finished. She’d imagined
going back to life in Chicago, richer for the experience of living abroad, her
children able to obtain a first-rate education. After Warren’s unplanned birth
she’d taken precautions against having more babies until she could have them at
home.

“The pay is fantastic, dearest, and the engineering work should be
completed in a year, two at the most.” His eyes glowed with the prospect of the
enticing job, the boost to his résumé.

What were her choices? An unthinkable divorce and a return to living
under her father’s roof? She swallowed hard and would not meet his eyes.

“That sounds like a wonderful opportunity for you, dear.” Her next bite
of food stuck in her throat and she excused herself from the table, clutching
her skirts and coughing as she ran to the bedroom.

Robert turned to Dora. “Don’t worry. The company will bring in another
man for my position. You and Sammy will always have work here.”

Dora merely gave her usual enigmatic smile.

* * *

The Smiths arrived at the port of Colón in December, with rain pounding
at the deck of their ship and runoff water from the inland mountains forcing
the vessel to anchor offshore for three days until the rush of mud subsided.
Susan’s stomach revolted and she found herself bent over a bucket, losing her
breakfast, four mornings in a row. An awful suspicion began to nag at her.

Robert left his wife and son in the cabin and ran up to the bridge to
consult with the captain, pleading for a quick landing as he was already late
to report for his duties.

“That canal job, she ain’t going nowhere,” the captain replied.

Truer words were never spoken. When they docked a week later, Robert
became caught up in the task of engineering a cut through the mountains. After
his first horseback ride over the forty-eight mile distance and back, he had a
sinking feeling the French plan to cut straight through would never work.

“De Lesseps built the Suez Canal,” Robert’s boss repeated. “The man
knows what he’s doing.”

“But—” He stopped. Months had passed and all arguments had failed
already. The financiers still stood behind the original plan.

For the next three years, during the day he revised plans according to the
hierarchy of
La
Société
internationale
du Canal
interocéanique
,
his employer. By night
he worked at home, secretly working out the equations and measurements for a
different system, one with locks, which he felt would be necessary to raise
ships to the elevation needed to cross the spiny mountainous interior of the
country. When the French plan failed, as it inevitably would, perhaps his
drawings would be useful. He stared at the drafting paper in front of him.
There were still so many details to work out.

Susan approached his desk. “I’m going to bed. The children are already
asleep. I think Simone’s fever is better.”

“That’s good, darling.” Robert gave her a quick glance.

“Do you even hear me these days?” Her voice sounded weary. “We lost one
child to malaria already. I’m afraid that’s what the baby has now.”

He looked up finally. His wife had dark circles under her eyes. “Has
the doctor seen her?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t know what to do other than give quinine and cool
baths to keep the fever down. What if Warren should become ill as well?”

“He’s a sturdy boy. He will—”

“There is no guarantee for any of us, Robert! Strong, grown men are
succumbing to this disease every day. This horrid tropical climate is killing
us and I want to go home.”

“My work here is important—”

“And your family is not? Your own safety is not? May I remind you of
your original promise—this job was to last a year or two. That time is over and
I am at the end of my wits.” Her skirt swiped at the edge of his desk,
scattering his pages as she fled the room.

Their bedroom door slammed. Robert planted his elbows on the desk and
held his head with both hands. Susan had barely accommodated his wish to come
to Panama in the first place. And she was correct; he’d already kept them here
a year beyond the agreed-upon deadline. His eyes fell to the papers that lay
scattered on the floor.

Completion of the canal was vitally important. Anyone with a wider
world vision could see that. But there were rumors of financial problems within
the company. The project was millions over budget and the vast excavations
already made were only a fraction of what was needed. The workers knew nothing
of this, of course, nor did the families but among the engineers there was talk
of a possible bankruptcy and the ousting of de Lesseps. No one knew what might
happen after that. Perhaps they would all be sent home. Maybe Susan was right;
he should pack up his family and get out now.

He gathered the spilled sheets of paper and tamped them into a neat
pile on the desk. In the bedroom his wife lay on top of the bed in the muggy
heat, wearing her chemise but eschewing a sheet as cover. On the bedside table
sat a brown bottle with the cork beside it. Laudanum. He sighed. So this was
the reason for the dark circles under her eyes and the gaunt look on her face.