In the Time of Peacocks

By Lynne Handy

It is 1949 in a seaside town in Mexico, and Caterina lives happily as a cherished daughter of a wealthy family. She has only one worry: she has no early memories of her childhood. Increasingly, strange images drift into her minda gazebo, a farm, a blonde woman. She has no idea that she is really someone named Cate Miller, who was kidnapped from her Indiana farm family ten years earlier. In her fifteenth year, her life changes again. This time she will remember the past.

Cate survives an automobile accident in California that kills her Mexican parents. The police uncover her true identity and return her to her biological family, who gave her up for dead years ago. Against a backdrop of social change, Cate, who is tied to both the past and the present, struggles to achieve her dreams. A Catholic, she believes in the tenets of her faith with childlike obediencebut as she learns more of life, she finds a less orthodox route to the divine through the poems of Federico Garca Lorca.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491704806

Lynne Handy

Lynne Handy is a freelance writer and poet. She holds an undergraduate degree in history from the University of Texas at Dallas and a graduate degree from the University of Illinois School of Library and Information Science. She is a member of the OLLI Writers Café, Kentucky State Poetry Society, and the Association of Writers and Writing Programs. Now retired, she lives in Champaign, Illinois, where she is writing her next novel, a mystery about murder and mayhem in the north woods.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Gaviotas de Plata, Mexico

1949

The bees were back. As the priest raised the host, the buzzing started inside Caterina’s head. She pulled her eyes away from the stained-glass window where a slash of red had detained her—the burning bush through which God informed Moses that He was the great I AM. Fifteen-year-old Caterina Teresa Montserrat y Vega knew the Moses story well—the river weeds, the exodus from Egypt, the Ten Commandments. Mami hadn’t told her, nor had Papi, Nana Alicia, Antonio, or any of her spiritual mentors. Had she lived before as an Israelite?

Such speculations were disturbing because reincarnation was anathema to Church doctrine, and she tried hard to be an obedient Catholic. Once, she had asked her brother Antonio if he believed in reincarnation, and he had said to do so was heresy. She didn’t want to be a heretic; when she died, she wanted to be with Jesus in heaven. Pressing her fingers against her temples, she appealed to her patron saint, Catherine of Siena, begging release from dangerous thoughts.

Antonio whispered in her ear, Do you have a headache, Little Sister?

She shook her head, and he patted her shoulder.

Caterina’s home was in an earthly paradise, Gaviotas de Plata, a seaside town in Mexico named for the silver gulls that swept dust from the sky. Her parents’ ocean-view villa sat atop a hill amid swaying palms, fragrant oleander, and flirting peacocks, and she attended a convent school with brilliant teachers, among them Sister Ana Josefina, who had introduced her to the remarkable poems of the late Federico García Lorca.

Caterina called him by his Christian name, Federico. They were kindred spirits, he and she, even sharing a June 5 birthday. His work wasn’t included in the school curriculum because of the erotic and political natures of some of the verses, but Caterina loved his lyrical metaphors, as did Sister Ana Josefina. The nun had loaned her a volume of his palimpsests—sealing the more controversial works under green tape. As soon as she could, Caterina had carefully peeled back the tape and discovered poems that drove arrows deep into her heart, especially Song of the Seven-Hearted Boy, which told of secrets.

A rustling of robes. The cross was passing. Caterina bowed her head, crossed herself, and slipped out of the pew, nearly forgetting to genuflect. Someone opened the door, and a shaft of sunshine burst inside, gilding the white stucco walls. Esteve Montserrat, Caterina’s father, guided tiny, birdlike Nana Alicia, pausing to say a few words to the mayor. Lupe, her mother, chic in a white suit, embraced the mayor’s wife and continued toward the door. Caterina and Antonio followed like obedient ducklings.

In the front of the cathedral, Caterina’s parents bade farewell to their friends. Dramatically, Mami removed her mantilla and fluffed her long blonde hair. Then Nana complained that her ankles had swollen, and as Papi and Mami half-carried her to the Mercedes, Antonio tucked Caterina’s arm inside his own as if they were a courting couple. Giggling, she tried to pull away, but he tugged, forcing her to teeter on her new stacked heels. He laughed, telling her that she should still be wearing little-girl shoes.

Caterina pouted. Mami, she said, Antonio is teasing me.

Conduct yourself like a gentleman! railed Nana. Never forget that you are Catalonian!

Hiding a smile, Antonio begged his grandmother’s pardon and leaned over to kiss Caterina’s cheek. Although he was a tease, Caterina thought he was a wonderful brother. At twenty-two, he lived at home and was studying to be a lawyer. He helped her with geometry when she was distracted by the peacocks’ cries and could make no sense of pi, escorted her to soccer games and to the beach, and played board games with her in the solarium. It was he who told the family stories—how proud Montserrats emigrated from Spain to Mexico in service of Napoleon, increased their fortunes in the copper mines, and became powerful judges. He had little to say about their mother’s family, the Vegas, who had relocated to Laredo, Texas. Mami never visited her family. When Caterina inquired if there had been a rupture, Antonio said no—the Vegas had become Americanized, and Mami had lost touch with them.

The Mercedes waited at the curb. Standing by the car was Cisco, the chauffeur, wearing tan trousers and a shirt patterned with orange flamingoes. He threw open the doors with a great flourish. Nana climbed in the front seat and moved over to make room for Papi, while Mami, Caterina, and Antonio got in the back. The leather seats were warm from the sun, and the trapped air smelled of garlic, telling tales on Cisco, who had eaten a tortilla as he waited.

Nana glared at him. Cisco, next Sunday, you shall wear a suit and attend Mass. Esteve, how does it look to my neighbors that your chauffeur does not go to church?

Papi nodded gravely. You are right, Madre.

Next Sunday, said Cisco, I promise I will go.

Lest Nana complain, he drove at a snail’s pace, circling the plaza so she could identify farms that were setting up produce stalls for Monday’s market. She commented on the pyramid of red, green, and yellow bell peppers on one of the tables and then said she had seen enough.

Cisco, she said, take me to the hacienda of my daughter, Celia. I suppose my son and his wife have plans.

We’re expected at the Krugers’ for brunch, said Mami.

Industrialist Gerhardt Kruger was married to Esperanza Mendez, a famous film star, who went by her given name. She had two children from a previous marriage—a son, Marco, and a daughter, Pilar, who was Caterina’s dearest friend. Six months earlier, Esperanza had given birth to baby Elisabetta, of whom Pilar was desperately jealous.

Someday, said Nana, using an offended tone, you must save an entire Sunday to spend with your family.

Next Sunday, we’ll gather at the villa, Papi assured her. Lupe will make her delicious enchiladas.

Cisco drove to Celia Rodriguez’s house where everyone got out of the Mercedes to say hello. Tia Celia, a younger version of Nana with bright eyes that missed nothing, had glasses of papaya juice waiting on the verandah. Nana sat down in a soft chair, propped her feet on a footstool, and fell asleep.

So you are going to Señor Kruger’s, said Tia Celia, lighting a cigarette. I’ve seen his castle from outside. What is the interior like?

Moorish, answered Papi. Decorated tiles, arced windows, carpets—

Jars, offered Antonio. One expects a genie to pop out.

Tia Celia slid her eyes at Mami. How fortunate you are to know the great Esperanza, Lupe, she said, a taunting edge to her tone.

As you know, Mami replied evenly, our girls are school friends. Our paths may not have crossed if it were not for that.

Of course not, said Tia Celia, smirking. Esperanza, who comes from a respectable family near Mexico City, would have not traveled in your social circle—at least, not before you met Esteve.

Papi narrowed his eyes at Celia. How many times have I told you not to insult Lupe? We are leaving now. Had you been kinder to Lupe, we would have stayed longer.

Nana woke up. Leave? Why are you leaving, Esteve?

Celia has spoken with a barbed tongue, he said.

You quarrel just as you did when you were children! Nana said in disgust. Celia, apologize to your brother.

She must apologize to Lupe, said Papi.

Grudgingly, Celia said she was sorry. Mami forgave her, and Nana settled back into her nap. A few minutes later, Caterina, her brother, and their parents said their good-byes, climbed into the car, and continued on to the Kruger castle.

Your sister is such a witch, Mami said.

Papi kissed her hand. You are an angel, Lupe, to put up with her.

I do it only for your sake, she said.

Mami asked Cisco to turn on the radio and find music to help pass the time. Cisco twirled the dial. A familiar tenor voice was singing the opening notes of Yo Soy Mexicano.

Ah, said Papi, Negrete, the Singing Cowboy.

I adore him, said Mami. Every sound he makes comes from heaven.

Caterina smiled, knowing that singer-actor Jorge Negrete, a popular ranchero tenor, had operatic training. With his great voice, he could not help but make the simplest songs soar. Señor Negrete finished his song, and then came a drum roll—Xavier Cugat’s band began playing a rumba. Caterina listened with half an ear, casting her eyes toward the Pacific as they drove along the coastal road; the ocean was calm, but she recalled other days when waves crashed against the rocks, heaving up great geysers of foam.

When I was small, she mused aloud, I thought the geysers were monsters.

Papi loosened his tie and chuckled. What an imagination. I tell you, Lupe, the child will grow up to be a writer.

When you were three or four, Antonio said to his sister, you ran to my room, crying ‘Tonio, there is a monster in my closet! He is green with long, curved teeth!’

Caterina frowned. I don’t remember that at all.

Mami embellished the story, saying that Caterina’s terror was a contagion that had spread to Antonio, causing him to howl. The bee drone sounded in Caterina’s ears and a thousand whispers made her shiver. Something was out of whack. The story about her fear of a long-ago monster didn’t ring true.

It troubled her that she had no memories before she started school at the age of six. Her friend Pilar could remember nothing before the age of eight; her father had died then, and the loss triggered a kind of amnesia. Caterina, however, had suffered no tragedy. That was the rub—she simply could not remember her early years. Sometimes, images unconnected to her present life flew into her mind like darting swallows—a farm with white buildings, a sturdy little woman who tucked her in at night, and a dog called Parker. When she had mentioned the farm, woman, and dog to Antonio, he had said she was inventing.

Inventing? she asked.

Inventing an alternative world, he replied knowledgeably. It happens when there’s an age gap between siblings. It signals a kind of loneliness.

Caterina wasn’t lonely, but sometimes, she felt like a leaf blown from a tree. Although she’d seen photographs of herself as a newborn infant, there were none between infancy and first grade. Family albums were filled with pictures of Antonio, continuous from birth through his present age. Mami had told her the album containing her early photographs had burned in a fire when a maid was careless with a cigarette.

English words flicked into Caterina’s head—words like linoleum and tractor. At school, she was enrolled in a beginning English class, and the language came to her easily as if it were her native tongue. Two days earlier, she thought of the word, Falkirk, looked it up in the encyclopedia, and found it was the site of a thirteenth-century battle in which the English defeated the Scots. Why did she know that word? She’d never studied wars between England and Scotland. When she asked her brother, who spoke fluent English, why she knew so many English words, he said he’d taught them to her.

"Did you teach me Falkirk?" she had asked.

"Falkirk?"

"Yes, Falkirk."

He smiled indulgently. You made up the word, Little Sister. You have too much imagination.

Missing photos, English words creeping into her vocabulary, strange images—all these things bewildered Caterina. She was also baffled by her appearance, so different from that of her people. Blonde and fair-skinned, she was six inches taller than the women in her family. Mami had blonde hair, but she bleached it—she was really a brunette, as were all the Montserrats and probably the Vegas too.

Caterina glanced at her brother. Like Papi, he was handsome; he wore his thick black hair combed back from his forehead, a style that emphasized his strong chin and patrician nose. Her heart melted with love for him. The buzzing sound always went away when she thought of love.

CHAPTER 2

Gravel crunched. Cisco had turned onto the narrow road that descended to the headland on which Señor Kruger had built his palace. Soon, the tiled roof came into view, a red circle, anomalous in the wedge of green earth projecting into the sea. Passing an olive orchard, they flushed a flock of gulls that flew off screeching into the sky. A quarter of a mile more and they drove through Señor Kruger’s iron gate. A watchman waved Cisco in, keeping his machine gun hidden, but Caterina knew he had one. Pilar had told her. They motored up a tree-lined lane to the palace, a three-story limestone edifice with corner towers gleaming white in the late-morning sun.

In the side yard, Pilar’s brother, Marco, was practicing his golf swing. Señor Kruger, standing beside him, turned at the sound of the car and smiled. Two men, one of whom Caterina recognized as the film star, Benito Vargas, lounged near the stone wall.

I’m surprised Esperanza would invite Vargas to her house, said Mami, lifting her chin. I suppose the other man is his lover.

Papi shushed her.

Homosexuality, said Mami, lowering her voice, is a mortal sin.

Pardon me, Mami, said Antonio, but it is not. The Church condemns only the act, not the feeling.

It is all the same, retorted Mami.

Caterina looked with interest at Señor Vargas and his friend. Federico, the poet of her heart, had also loved men and was persecuted—maybe even killed—because of it. Loneliness and a different view of the world forced him inward to create poignant metaphors. She reflected that it wasn’t so long ago that he died—only thirteen years. He’d been thirty-eight years old. If it had not been for the Spanish Civil War, he might still be alive. Their paths might have crossed.

Cisco stopped the car, and the Montserrats got out. Señor Kruger and Marco led them through a thick oaken door with a center panel devoted to a Hand of Fatima, whose inset eye was supposed to frighten away evil spirits. The entrada, or entranceway, was immense with an ogee arch pointing to a ceiling covered with bright-blue tiles inlaid with silver stars, and the plaster walls, painted pale green, were set with small cornices, sometimes holding vases. The ceiling motif was repeated on the floor, giving Caterina a sense of standing between two heavens. Passing under the arch, they entered the salon where Esperanza reclined on a green-and-silver-striped divan. Music played softly—Caterina thought it was from La Bohème.

Near the window, a middle-aged nanny with an unexpressive face burped infant Elisabetta. Señor Kruger kissed his wife’s forehead, and she beamed the famed crimson-lipped, white-toothed smile that had captured the hearts of millions of cinema fans. She rose to greet her guests with the grace of a queen. Caterina knew there was more to Esperanza than beauty, for she cared deeply about children: in Mexico City, she had built two orphanages with sunlit rooms and playgrounds and had staffed them with kind and capable nursemaids; and she had also added a children’s wing to Our Lady of Guadalupe Hospital.

Mami sat down on a tangerine sofa next to a Moroccan chest inlaid with bone and brass and patted the cushion for Caterina to sit beside her. Marco led Antonio away to see a new specimen of native ore he had found on a mountain climb, and Papi and Señor Kruger began a discussion on the price of shipping produce to Argentina. A servant came with a tray of drinks for the adults, and another followed with glasses of lemonade for the children.

Turning to the nanny, Esperanza asked, Where is Pilar?

In her room, replied the nanny.

Esperanza reached for a little bell and jingled it, and when another servant appeared, she sent her to fetch her missing daughter.

Pilar must have forgotten the time, said Esperanza, smiling apologetically at Caterina.

Benito Vargas entered the room and introduced his friend, Hugo, who had curly blond hair like Caterina’s. The maid returned, saying Pilar wanted Caterina to come up to her room.

Is she unwell? asked Esperanza, knitting her well-plucked brows.

She did not say, replied the maid.

Hurrying upstairs, Caterina knocked on her friend’s door, heard a snuffled voice bid her come in, and upon opening the door, found Pilar lying on the bed, her long black hair sprawled like a wilted vine over peach-toned pillows. Her face was wet with tears, and two handkerchiefs lay crumpled like broken doves within reach of her right hand.

What is wrong? asked Caterina, much alarmed.

Rolling over on her stomach, Pilar pounded her pillows. Elisabetta this, and Elisabetta that! No one is important except Elisabetta! My mother doesn’t love me anymore.

She sobbed hysterically for a few seconds, was overcome with hiccups, and then reached for a handkerchief and blew her nose. I feel better now, she said, gazing at Caterina with dark-chocolate eyes. My monthly visitor arrived yesterday. It makes me say terrible things.

Bleeding was a woman’s thing, something that Caterina talked about only with Mami. When her cramping was severe, Mami crawled under the covers to hold her tight. It went through Caterina’s mind that Esperanza might be so focused on the needs of the downtrodden that she was overlooking those of her elder daughter.

A few minutes later, the maid knocked on the door and called them to brunch. When the girls went down to the salon, Elisabetta was nowhere to be seen, and the Krugers and their guests were preparing to go onto the patio. Esperanza sang out, Pilar! and opened her arms wide. Locking her arms at her sides like wooden sticks, Pilar moved into her mother’s embrace. The actress kissed her on both cheeks, tousled her hair, and tickled her. Señor Kruger, usually reserved, told a funny story about a troll living under a bridge. Hugo performed a magic trick with a bandana. Pilar rolled her eyes at their efforts and stuck out her lower lip.

Smile, Pilar, said Marco, or I will send a little bird to poop on your lip.

Caterina held her breath, expecting her friend to fly into a rage but—miracle of miracles—she smiled! Everyone, including Pilar, roared with laughter.

Brothers, observed Caterina, could get away with things that others could not.

They dined outside on the patio, from which the Pacific could be seen between lancet arches. A long table laid with a sparkling white cloth was set with cobalt-blue tableware. Graceful urns, some five feet high, held blooming dahlias, poppies, and orchids. Brunch was elaborate: lobster chowder, sliced ham and beef, fruit and vegetable salads, and for dessert, pineapple tortes and tiny chocolate cakes frosted with whipped cream and topped with raspberries. Afterward, Esperanza summoned the chef to express her thanks. Then a ranchero singer came with his guitar and sang longingly of green hills and winding rivers. Señor Vargas performed a solitary flamenco. Later, the adults gossiped on the patio, Antonio and Marco played chess, and the girls went for a stroll on the beach.

Pilar held a conch shell to Caterina’s ear and kissed her cheek. Listen, she said. It is saying ‘Pilar loves Caterina.’

Caterina hugged Pilar so hard that her arms ached.

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Late that afternoon, the Montserrats parted from their friends and headed home. Upon reaching the villa, Mami and Papi retired to their bedroom for siestas and Antonio sat down with his law books in a corner of the salon. Caterina watched the peacocks from her balcony, but since they were disinclined to fan their tails, she grew bored and went inside. Above her bed hung a portrait of St. Catherine, and for several minutes, her eyes bored into those of the saint, seeking to understand the motivations of a fourteenth-century female, the twenty-third of her mother’s twenty-five children, who chose to dedicate her life to Jesus.

Then buzz, buzz. Something was working its way through her memory, and she was expectant, even breathless, as images folded into each other like colored glass in a kaleidoscope: green cornstalks, green meadows dotted with yellow dandelions, two little girls—one fair and one dark—a white-painted gazebo with lacy trim.

Save me, St. Catherine! she cried. Where do these thoughts come from?

In despair, she flung herself on the floor, landing on a thick carpet. Antonio chose that moment to knock lightly on the door, and when she told him to enter, he opened the door and smiled at the sight of her on the floor.

Silly girl, he said. Do you think you’re a water bug? I could step on you and squash you.

She stuck out her tongue.

Come outside, he said. Let’s play croquet.

She jumped to her feet and followed him down the stairs. Do you think I’m sane? she asked.

He laughed. Of course, you’re sane. You’re spoiled but sane enough.

The croquet game ended predictably. Antonio won. A maid came from the kitchen, bringing glasses of lemonade.

Antonio, Caterina said, sipping her drink, how did you feel when I was born?

That’s a question of such import that we need to sit down, he said, motioning her to the cluster of deck chairs near the fountain. Are you inquiring because Pilar is jealous of little Elisabetta?

Partly. But also because I want to know.

A solemn expression crossed his face. I felt that my heart would break from loving you so much.

Caterina’s eyes searched his face. You thought that the first time you set eyes on me?

I did, he said. I knew that my life was irrevocably changed in a wonderful way.

Caterina frowned. You were a little boy, Antonio, only seven years old.

I had prayed for a sister for a long time.

Most little boys want a brother.

I was different.

Did you come to the hospital to see me? she asked.

I was too young. When Papi brought you and Mami home, I was waiting in the drive.

Afterward, when I took all of Mami’s time, did you love me then?

I did, he said, turning away to look at the sea. Perhaps Pilar’s problem is that she’s a girl and needs her mother. I was a boy and wanted more of Papi’s time than Mami’s.

I wish I could remember, she said.

Let me paint it for you, he said agreeably. It was a sunny June day. One of the maids was in the car, and she got out, carrying a bag. Papi stood beside Mami, beaming proudly. Mami had wrapped you in a blanket—

Which maid? asked Caterina.

Antonio stared at her. What?

Which maid was in the car?

He frowned. How do you expect me to remember that?

Caterina persisted. What did she look like?

Antonio rolled his eyes. She had red hair.

None of the maids whom Caterina knew had red hair. What became of her? she asked.

I think she left to get married, he said impatiently. Really, Caterina, you ask too many questions.

Why are there no photographs of me when I was little?

"You are crazy, after all, he said in exasperation. Of course, there are photographs of you. Look in the album on the salon table. There are hundreds of pictures of you."

Those are pictures of a baby, all wrinkled and squint-eyed. After that, there’s nothing until I was five or six.

I’m sure you’re mistaken, Caterina, he said, rising from his chair. If they’re not there, then they’re somewhere, and Mami forgot to put them in the album. He stared at her. Do you think Mami doesn’t love you?

I know she loves me.

There you are. You worry over things that make no sense.

Do you remember a fire? she asked. A fire started by a maid who was careless with a cigarette?

Good grief, no! he said, raising his voice.

Caterina felt a chill. Had Mami lied?

Caterina. Antonio.

Mami’s voice. They looked up to see their mother standing on the balcony in a white dressing gown, her hair shimmering gold, her lips smiling sweetly. When she raised her tiny hand, Caterina felt as if she were receiving a benediction. How could she have ever thought her mother guilty of lying?

CHAPTER 3

Soon after, Caterina had a troubling dream: the salon was aflame, and a beautiful white horse, tethered to a column, was slamming its hooves against the wall. Ignoring the horse, a small girl with golden curls took photographs, one by one, from a red-leather album and fed them to the fire, which licked them with a fierce red tongue. From another room, she heard someone call her name and turned her face toward the door.

Then Caterina awakened. The room was pitch-black. Terrified, she threw back the covers, intending to run to her parents’ bed but then reminded herself that she was fifteen—too old to run crying to Mami and Papi. It was only a dream, only a dream. She calmed herself and fell asleep again.

But upon rising the next morning, Caterina remembered the photographs and was determined to find them. Throughout the following week, whenever her mother left the villa to call on friends, Caterina methodically searched the rooms.

In Papi’s desk, she found her birth certificate: Caterina Teresa Montserrat y Vega, born June 5, 1934, to Esteve Montserrat and Guadalupe Vega in Bogota, Colombia. Antonio’s birth certificate lay under hers. He was born in Gaviotas de Plata. She’d been told that her parents moved to Colombia after Antonio’s birth so Papi could handle a prolonged lawsuit brought by a compatriot against a Colombian banker. She was studying her birth certificate when she heard her mother’s voice.

Caterina! Where are you, my darling?

Caterina shoved the document into the drawer and raced out to the hallway.

There you are! cried Mami. I found a lovely dress for you at Chez Rita’s. Come and see.

She headed to the salon. Caterina followed, knowing that Antonio had tattled about her concern for the missing photos and Mami was trying to distract her with a new dress. Caterina watched as her mother lifted a white organza dress from a box decorated with pink rosebuds.

It’s from Paris, said Mami, her dark eyes watchful. You will make it beautiful.

Caterina took the dress, thanked her mother, and said she would wear it to Mass on Sunday. Mami opened her mouth to say more, but Papi burst through the door, his tie tails flying like regatta streamers.

Lupe, you’re not dressed? he cried. Cocktails at six! We can’t keep the mayor and his wife waiting. I must speak to him about the government workers at the docks. Hurry, my love!

Papi wanted to ensure sure that the produce from Nana Alicia’s farms was not held up by tardy inspectors.

I am coming, Esteve, said Mami.

She gave Caterina a long look, hugged her fiercely, and rushed upstairs.

Caterina sat on the sofa to think. Perhaps I am adopted. If Mami and Papi adopted me when I was little, there would be no early photos—

A small devil of doubt edged into her mind. But what about that birth certificate in Papi’s drawer and what about the pictures of the prune-faced infant with Caterina written on them in Mami’s handwriting? Papi is a lawyer. He could have forged the birth certificate and that black-haired baby could belong to a servant, a neighbor, or even a stranger. Oh! If I am adopted, Antonio knows—

The door flew open again. Antonio strode in carrying a stack of books held in place by his noble chin and dumped them on the table. Plopping down on an overstuffed chair, he asked how her day was going.

Quite well, she lied.

You have a new dress, he said. Very pretty.

Yes, she said, rising to place the dress in its box.

I can tell something’s wrong, said her brother, scooting back in the chair and stretching his long, thin legs as he peered at the toes of his boots.

You’re mistaken, she said, turning her face away.

You’re lying. I hear it in your voice. Are you worried because Mami and Papi are going to France next week? Are you worried about staying at Nana’s? If it weren’t for my exams, you could stay here with me, but I’ll be preoccupied, Caterina, and not good company.

She stared at him. She had forgotten about their parents’ trip. Papi was part owner of a French company that manufactured women’s scarves, and he flew to Paris each summer to approve designs for the next spring season. Mami always accompanied him because she had a sharp eye for fashion. Caterina glanced at her brother. He reached over, grabbed a book, opened it, and scowled at some detail of law that was probably knotting its way into his brain.

What will he do if I ask if I am adopted?

She was afraid to ask. She would rather hang in limbo than know she wasn’t her mother’s child.

Antonio refocused on her. I can tell you’re still worrying about those photographs, he said. "I spoke to Mami. There was a fire. I’d forgotten. It happened while I was visiting Tio Paulo in the valley. One of the maids put down a lighted cigarette while dusting, and everything on the table burned. The album containing some of your pictures was destroyed."

He was lying. She heard it in his voice, saw it in the way he looked past her eyes. Shooting him a scornful look, she went to her room and locked the door. Lies were shattering the foundation of her sweet, safe life.

Staring out the window at the stately Mexican palmettos that ringed her father’s property, Caterina was overcome with uncertainty—perhaps Mami and Antonio were telling the truth and it was she who was wrong. Did the absence of photographs recording the first part of her life mean that she wasn’t who she thought she was? A line from Federico’s poem, Confusion, flashed into her mind.

… Brother, are you you or am I I …?

CHAPTER 4

Mami and Papi left for Paris the following week. Caterina packed her suitcase and went to stay with her grandmother. Nana always put her in the room next to the patio whose windows looked down into the lush, green valley. A maid unpacked Caterina’s suitcase while the girl dressed for dinner and then joined her grandmother in the dining room. After the meal, they retired to the salon with its dark paneled walls and ceiling of cream and blue ceramic tiles.

How is your schoolwork? asked Nana, lowering herself carefully into a padded rocking chair. Is it challenging?

Very much so, replied Caterina, sitting on the sofa. I am learning English, which comes easily to me.

You already know French. That will give you three languages, said Nana. You should learn German. Perhaps you should also learn an oriental language.

Who would teach me? asked Caterina.

A good question, replied Nana. Perhaps Father Baez can ask for a teaching sister from Asia.

A little before ten o’clock, Caterina went to her bedroom. She knelt, said a prayer to St. Catherine, climbed into the four-poster bed, and went to sleep.

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It was Nana’s habit each month to open her doors to the religiosos of Gaviotas de Plata. On the second evening of Caterina’s visit, members of the clergy gathered to discuss the plight of Cardinal Mindszenty, who had been imprisoned by the Hungarian Communist regime. One priest, recently returned from Rome, gave a heart-wrenching account of the prelate’s physical deterioration. He reminded everyone that Pope Pius XIII had conferred the red hat on Mindszenty with a prediction of martyrdom. Nana wept, as did the priests. Feeling wretched, Caterina went to her room and asked St. Catherine to ease the cardinal’s suffering.

Then she bent to her homework. No more thoughts about martyred cardinals. No more thoughts about missing photographs. She had an essay about Montezuma, the Aztec king, which was due in three days. Her textbook provided illustrations of Aztec hieroglyphs, depicting a people whose lives were filled with industry, working the land and mining the gold that would lead to their doom.

Sister Ana Josefina believed that God had sent the Spaniards to Christianize the Aztecs, but Caterina, who had begun to take notice of men’s motives, believed the king was in search of gold. New World expeditions were expensive. She made a note to include that observation in her introductory paragraph.

When her outline was complete, she reflected that through Mami she and Antonio were descended from the Aztecs. Except for occasionally harping on the purity of Papi’s bloodline, Nana appeared to accept a mixed-race daughter-in-law. Once, Caterina heard Tia Celia refer to Mami as a weed, so she knew there was some resentment in the family. Mami knew it too and occasionally retaliated, directing her children’s attention to their cousins’ lazy eyes—the result of inbreeding, she claimed. Caterina smiled softly. It was in Mami’s nature to exaggerate. The cousins did not really have lazy eyes.

Then she had a terrifying thought: If I am adopted, I may have no blood tie to the Aztecs—worse yet, I may have no discernible bloodline at all. Who might I be then? Who gives away their children? I could be the child of anyone. My father may have been a crime lord or a bandit—

Her imaginings made her stomach hurt, and she called on St. Catherine to restore her formerly happy state. At midnight, she turned off the light and prepared for bed. She looked out the window and saw that the moon was full. The past week had been filled with tensions—was it all due to the phases of the moon? That thought comforted her as she turned back her duvet and slipped into bed.

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The next day was a school holiday. Amid the jacarandas at the patio’s edge stood Nana’s private chapel, a narrow structure whose dark walls were hung with framed pictures of Christ’s holy mother and smelled of Himalayan sandalwood. Midmorning, Caterina joined her grandmother for a private Mass. A priest came from the cathedral to serve Communion. Nana solemnly lowered herself into a specially constructed chair that spared her old knees but permitted her to lean forward in a position of supplication. Caterina sat next to her in one of the two short pews and attempted to emulate her grandmother’s piety. When the service was over, the priest helped Nana from the chair and escorted her back to the house. The noonday meal was ready to be served, but he could not stay and set off on foot for town. Nana and Caterina lunched on shrimp salad, avocados, and blackberries from the market.

How fast you’re growing, observed Nana. In a year or two, you’ll be ready for university. What will you study?

Literature, Caterina replied quickly. I want to understand the words of great writers.

A worthy aspiration, replied Nana. You can teach. If, God forbid, something happens to your husband, you can carry on with dignity.

The telephone rang. A servant carried it to the table so Nana could speak to the caller. It was Esperanza, asking if Caterina could join Pilar for ice cream after school on the following day. Nana granted permission, and Caterina looked forward to the outing.

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The next day, promptly at two, Esperanza pulled up in front of the school in a battered maroon car. She had hidden her lustrous hair under a head scarf and her flashing eyes behind dark glasses.

We are on a secret mission, said Esperanza. Get in the car.

The girls climbed in, and the film star pulled away from the curb.

I’m conducting research for my next film, said the actress, thrusting her arm from the side window

Reviews for In the Time of Peacocks

[katherineboyer · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Lynne Handy has written an attention-grabbing book entitled In the Time of Peacocks. The story spans two countries, Mexico and the United States, and several generations. We follow Catarina Montserrat y Vega as she survives a devastating automobile accident that kills her parents. Her recovery unravels an old mystery and an even larger life-changing event for her. She yearns for her pleasant life in Gaviotas de Plata, Mexico, as she strives to accept her new life and family in the United States. We meet her mother, father and 2 sisters, who are the antithesis of her personal beliefs. Later, we meet her future husband, Joel, and her new friends, as well as several ancillary characters. Catarina finds it difficult to accept her new life, but eventually settles on her new name, Cate Miller and her new identity in the Miller household. “It was settled! She would be Cate Miller, probably make up with Joel, and when the time came, marry him.”Ms. Handy weaves several social and religious issues into the lives of the characters in a way that helps the reader understand the different points of references in the story. Ms. Handy’s main characters are well defined in the narrative as well as in their dialogue. Ms. Handy’s storytelling style is straightforward and easily read. I had to force myself to put the book down so that I could deal with other things demanding my time. Her descriptions are colorful in the Mexican scenes and very meaningful in the United States outlook. Lynne Handy is a freelance writer and poet. She holds an undergraduate degree in history and a graduate degree in Library and Information Science. She is a member of the OLLI Writers Café, Kentucky State Poetry Society and the Association of Writers and Writing Programs. Now retired, she lives in Illinois, where she is working on her next book.