Lord of California Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by Andrew Valencia

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher. Please direct inquires to:

  Ig Publishing

  Box 2547

  New York, NY 10163

  www.igpub.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-63246-060-8 (ebook)

  CONTENTS

  Ellie

  Elliot

  Anthony

  I will listen

  as though you spoke and told

  me all you never knew

  of why the earth takes

  back all she gives and

  even that comes to be enough.

  —Philip Levine

  There is blood, there, he says

  Blood here too, down here, she says

  Only blood, the Blood Mother sings

  —Juan Felipe Herrera

  ELLIE

  Daddy was a fancy man. He used to come around twice a year to see us kids. Each time he’d walk through the door hauling a stack of presents so high you couldn’t see but the point of his head over the gold and silver-wrapped packages. Jessie would work herself into a stink all year waiting for him to show up, and then once he appeared she’d get so excited about the doll or dress he brought her that she’d forget she was ever mad at him to begin with. The last time Daddy came home, Mama whispered to me that a woman ought not to be as forgiving as Jessie, or else she’ll be setting herself up to always be wronged. I’d just turned thirteen and the way Mama talked to me had changed. Time before that she’d scolded me for saying I was too big for the doll Daddy had bought me and that I’d never liked playing with dolls to begin with. Should’ve seen the look on her face then, after she’d shushed me and dragged me squirming into the kitchen. Nowadays most girls get stuck playing with knock-off Barbies from the supermarket, she’d said, and so I should be grateful to have a daddy who could afford to buy me real porcelain beauties from a specialty store on the coast. Six months without seeing him, two months without a word, and that was the lesson she decided to take from the situation. That was Mama. There was always a war waging inside her, with fear on one side of the battlefield, and self-respect on the other.

  I say Daddy was fancy on account of no other man I ever knew dressed as well as him or smelled so clean all the time. As seldom as we saw him—as seldom as we had new clothes—we got to notice how different he was from us and Mama and everyone else we knew in the valley. Even though, according to Mama, not all of our neighbors were as well-off as us, or as dignified. Back when we were farming down in Hanford, there was a family that settled one winter on the parcel next to ours, the Mendeses—mother, father, and kids all working together in the orchard alongside their aunts, uncles, and cousins. No hired laborers, no foremen. Me and Jessie used to play sometimes with the Mendes kids, Javier and Ruby, but Mama didn’t like us to. She never tried to keep us from seeing them, but we were forbidden from running around the orchards barefoot like they did. Way she put it, any girl who goes barefoot outside is bound to have elephant soles and bunions by the time she’s thirty. Try getting your man to rub your feet then, she’d say, even though we’d never seen Daddy do anything of the sort for her. I tried telling her that the Mendeses let Ruby go barefoot whenever she wanted, but that only proved her case as far as she was concerned. With her dark arm hair and graceless paunch, Ruby Mendes was everything Mama feared we’d become if we had to grow up poor. And even after we left the farm and moved on to other things, the memory of that homely, ham-fisted little girl seemed to vindicate for her all the choices she’d made up to the moment Daddy died, as if her prudent thinking was made evident in the softness of our hands and disinclination toward lesbianism.

  Little while after Daddy had gone, one of his other wives invited us up to Reedley for the most awkward family reunion imaginable, a chance for the Temple kids to get to know all the half-brothers and half-sisters we’d only just found out about. Without saying a whole lot, Mama ironed our best clothes and piled us into the van for the short trip north to Fresno County. Between Daddy’s passing and the discovery of the other wives, these past months had hit Mama hard, launching her into one of her sad stretches so that she kept to the bed most hours of the day while I cooked the meals, managed the foremen, and looked after Jessie and little Gracie. There was no consoling Mama when she got like that. But once the other Mrs. Temple called and the obligation to be civil was on her again, she roused herself out from under the covers and took the reins of the family back up like nothing had ever happened. She was even chatty on the drive up, pointing out certain spots along the roadside and remarking on how much the land had changed since disbandment and the founding of the Republic. I peered out the window and tried to imagine the old interstate highways and national retailers the way she described them, but there was nothing in that boundless dry country to inspire dreams of former glory, nothing to suggest a bond of greatness so strong its likeness could remain visible so long after its breaking. All we saw were a hundred other little farms just like ours, a hundred other families struggling to get by on whatever they could reap from year to year.

  Such was the farm where we realized for the first time the full scope of Daddy’s legacy—four wives and nine kids, not counting us, all congregated on the gravel yard of a country ranch house, under the shadow of a paper banner with WELCOME TEMPLES scrawled across it in craft paint. Katie was a real personable old girl, more lively and energetic than Mama even though she was at least ten years older. She spent the first part of the afternoon tending to the chicken on the charcoal grill and knocking back bottles of homebrewed porter with Dawn, the youngest of Daddy’s brides. No sooner had Mama added her macaroni salad to the table than Katie swooped in for a hug. She was full-bodied and strong enough to knock the wind from her system, so it was a relief to see Mama feigning cheer to get through this first encounter. I knew it couldn’t have been easy. Even on good days, it was sometimes hard for her to let me and my sisters get close like that.

  Hello there, Katie said, squatting down to the same level as Gracie. What’s your name?

  Gracie grabbed Mama’s leg and hid behind the skirt of her sundress.

  She’s being shy, Mama said.

  Katie stood up straight. I understand, honey, she said. And this must be Ellie the genius. Your mom said you were as smart as they come, girl, but I wasn’t expecting to find you looking like a magazine fashion model as well.

  I was never one to blush, especially at the flattery of strangers, but the idea that Mama was bragging about me to one of Daddy’s other wives had me feeling as shy as Gracie all of a sudden. Thank you, Mrs. Temple.

  Katie, she said. Aunt Katie, if you want.

  Thank you. Katie.

  We so appreciate you having us over, Mama said. I know it couldn’t have been easy to organize something like this, what with everything that’s happened.

  It’s no trouble, honey, Katie said. Can’t tell you how happy I am to have us all together in one place. Almost makes me wish it had happened a lot sooner.

  She winked at Mama, who laughed falsely and excused herself to go freshen up.

  We ate dinner around a long picnic table, the whole Temple clan packed together yet still separated according to which mother we had come with. The one I felt worst for was Dawn, who had no children of her own and sat drinking beer and nibbling fruit ambrosia at the far corner of the table while the other wives made chitchat about TV se
ries and summer vacation schedules. Claudia, Daddy’s wife from Dinuba, sat across from us with her brood of three lanky boys and one slobbering two-year-old girl. Her oldest boy, Anthony, kept giving me the stink eye throughout the entire meal. Finally I dropped my plastic fork and leaned over to him.

  You got something you want to say?

  Anthony looked up from his plate and glared at me. It was weird seeing Daddy’s eyes in someone else’s head. You Catholic?

  No. Why?

  Your mother. Was she married to our father by a priest?

  Not that I know of.

  That’s what I thought. My mother was married to him by a priest in a Catholic church. That means she’s his real wife before the eyes of God.

  What’re you talking about? Daddy wasn’t Catholic.

  Doesn’t matter. He still got married in a church.

  I looked to see if Mama had heard us. Fortunately, she was preoccupied watching Anthony’s mother fuss over the toddler Karina. I set my chin on her shoulder to catch her attention. Can I go look around, please?

  You’ve barely eaten anything, she said.

  Please? I’m tired of sitting still so long.

  Well. All right. But don’t wander too far.

  After putting the full space of the yard between Mama and me, I kicked off my fancy dress flats and let my bare toes luxuriate in the loose soil by the edge of the orchard. Up close as I was, I came to notice that the trees on Katie’s property were plums instead of nectarines, and it got me thinking about all the ways Daddy had diversified his investments over the years—different crops for different families, different wives for different children. In my solitude I felt the pang of real sadness come over me for the first time since Mama opened up about his lies. All those months I had held on to the hope that eventually someone, whether Mama or one of the other wives, would explain everything to me in a way that made sense, and then I would finally understand how he could do that to us for so long, and how he could leave us with such a mess on our hands. I’d been waiting for one of them to set me straight, but now I was starting to get it. They could smile and talk over a plate of barbecue, but they were every bit as lost as me.

  The sun set slow over the valley, with a few dry clouds hanging in the sky, and the day’s heat stinging our skins. The mothers herded the little ones into the backyard with the older kids assigned to watch them. I kept waiting for Mama to send me out to keep an eye on Jessie and Gracie, but instead she had me stay close by as she and the other wives settled onto cushioned chairs and sofas in the living room. Katie’s boys, Logan and Will, also stayed behind, as did her daughter Beth, who was only a year ahead of me but already so filled-out that she could’ve passed for a sixth wife if no one knew better. Anthony had refused to hang around inside with the women, mumbling something on his way out the door about wishing he’d stayed home. I was glad for his absence, frankly. I’d spent enough time looking after Gracie to know when somebody’s on the verge of a tantrum, and the way that boy was going, it wouldn’t have taken much to set him off.

  I suppose it’s time we got down to business, Jennifer said. She opened her leather satchel and took out a manila folder stuffed with papers. We only had four channels on the TV at home, but Jennifer reminded me of every lady lawyer on every crime show I’d ever seen.

  Hope business wasn’t hanging over your head all through dinner, Katie said. I thought it’d be nice to hold off on the serious talk until evening. Sorry if it made you antsy.

  Oh no, Jennifer said. I’m fine. It was a lovely meal. I just assumed we were all eager to get the nitty gritty details out of the way. That is why you asked us to bring copies of our parcel allotment forms, right?

  I was wondering about that too, Dawn said. Her back grew stiff as all eyes converged on her. I was hoping somebody could explain how all of this works. Elliot and I never discussed the property papers. We’d only had the farm a year or so before he went away and got sick.

  All afternoon, none of the other wives had spoken Daddy’s name. Now the whole room became charged with a fearful energy, as if Dawn had unknowingly let in some venomous insect that we were all trying to veer away from. She gripped the allotment forms tight between her fingers.

  We’ll be getting to that in a minute, honey, Katie said. First off, I think we should take a second to clear the air. Get out anything we’re holding back that might keep us from reaching an understanding.

  I’m not sure what you mean, Jennifer said. We’ve only just met one another.

  True. But I doubt there’s a woman alive who could find out her husband was keeping four women behind her back and not come away with some pretty nasty preconceived notions about the other gals.

  Again the energy of the room seemed to dip toward nervousness. I could already tell I liked Katie a lot, but she was maybe too direct for the rest of the wives. Mama especially was more likely to let her feelings fester than to open up a wound. I listened close for changes in her breathing, for signs that she was gearing up for another episode.

  I’m not saying we need to quit being angry, Katie continued. To the contrary. Far as I’m concerned, that man deserves to have his name cursed for as long as it’s remembered, deceased or not. What I’m saying is, we don’t have the time or luxury to sit around acting catty and pretending like everyone else involved is a lying slut. That’s not going to help us, and it’s not going to help our children. Fact is, we’ve all been hurt by this man. Hurt about as bad as a wife can be by her husband. And the way I see it, we have a choice about how we can face it. We can either go ahead on our own, spend nights crying over our wine bottles, and call each other bitches behind our backs. Or, we can accept that we’ve all been hurt, that all of our pain is equal, and that together our pain makes us sisters in a way. And then we can move on together. What do you say?

  It felt oddly satisfying to hear Katie talk about Daddy like that, if only because no one else had even dared to admit they were upset. I wanted to clap my hands and cry out in agreement, but it was awkward when I was child to the man along with three others in the room. Mama had let me stay because she thought I was grown-up enough to handle their talk, but I didn’t know where my place was at when it came to speaking up. Daughter, sister, half-sister, and victim. Each new title seemed to eat away at my freedom to decide for myself. I don’t know how the wives and mothers stood it.

  I’m sorry, Jennifer said. I know you mean well, and I agree that none of us are at fault. But as for the sisterhood, you’ll have to count me and my children out. I agreed to come here today because I thought they had the right to meet their siblings, and I knew eventually we’d have to iron out the details concerning Elliot’s estate. But as for working together from now on, I don’t see how it could help any of us in the long run. Take away the common thread and we’re all very different women with farms in different parts of the state. We can get together now and then for the children’s sake, but beyond that I don’t see any point in pretending we share anything more than a dead husband and the same last name.

  I don’t see the point either, Claudia said. She had been sitting as peaceably as a portrait angel up till then. Now she uncrossed her legs and scooted to the edge of the seat cushion, looking out at the other wives until all their attention was hers. The man we called husband committed a terrible sin, she said, and now he’s receiving judgment for it in the afterlife. It falls on us to raise our sons and daughters according to how we see fit, and for me that means raising them in a Catholic household. I know the rest of you don’t share my beliefs, and that’s your right the same as mine. We should hold parties once in a while like we did today, and when the children are older they can decide for themselves if they want to have relationships with their half-brothers and sisters. But five different women, working together, and raising their children in common? Sorry, no. That’s Mormon talk.

  Even Katie laughed at the joke. I wasn’t suggesting we all pile in under one roof like hippies on a commune, she said.

&nbs
p; I’m sorry, but what exactly are you suggesting? Mama had jumped into the conversation so suddenly it startled me. I’m afraid I don’t understand, she said. Now that Elliot’s gone, why wouldn’t we just continue managing our farms like we’ve been doing? Let’s be honest. As often as he was away, his death doesn’t really change anything.

  Exactly, Jennifer said. Not to give Elliot any credit, but he arranged his little operation so that each family would be self-sufficient. Different parcels, different bank accounts, different expenses. The new arrangement pretty much writes itself. What we need to decide is whether there are any assets that can be rightfully claimed among the five of us, and then figure out how we want to divide them.

  Quit stalling, Mom, Beth said. She had a strong, carrying voice like her mother’s that made me feel even more childish by comparison. Tell them what you told us a month ago. Logan and Will nodded their approval, arms crossed over their flannel shirts like a pair of old-timey bartenders from TV.

  You ladies make some good points, Katie said. But what you’re taking for granted is that you each have a farm to call home and nothing can change that. And that’s where you’re wrong. What we really need to decide is whether we can stand the chance of losing everything now that the son of a bitch is gone.

  Chance, Mama said. What chance?

  I see that look on your face, Sandra. You’re scared. You know exactly what it’ll mean for your children if you can’t find a way to hold on to your land. Problem is, the Republic of California isn’t as concerned about your children as you are. Way they see it, farming is the only thing this valley is good for, and they mean to see each parcel turning out as many crops as possible. Now, the Congress up in Sacramento is liberal, but parcel allotment is handled through the state and county ag bureaus. And as far as the State of San Joaquin is concerned, an unmarried woman has no business running a farm on her own. Especially if she has kids.

  She’s right, Dawn said. Neighbor friend of mine had her husband run out on her last year. When she went to file her taxes, the county cut her land parcel in half, set her back to ten acres. Said twenty was too much for her to handle.