“What should I call you?” Susanna asked as she stepped back from the hug.
“Call me Anna,” the woman said, smiling. Lia’s father had already instructed Susanna to call him Emilio, so it only seemed right that she would call Lia’s mother by her first name as well.
They moved inside the house, with everyone talking at once. Susanna heard a mix of English and Spanish and had to laugh to herself. If she were to remain in San Marcial, it would serve her well to increase her Spanish lessons with Lia.
That evening, Owen and LeRoy walked to the company housing area. One of the small employee houses had been readied for them, and they were both ready to drop. Lucky for them, the house had an outbuilding with indoor plumbing as well as showers. They both took advantage of the facilities, then fell into their beds without even the slightest interest in doing anything else.
“I’m glad Susanna went with Lia. I couldn’t any more walk around town with her right now than run a race. I’m so tired.”
“Well, we worked ten hours straight. We didn’t even stop for lunch—wouldn’t even have had lunch if the boss hadn’t taken pity on us and brought us those tamales.”
“True.” Owen yawned and rolled over. “Did you set the alarm?”
“Yeah,” LeRoy murmured.
“What time are we getting up?”
“Too early. That’s what time.”
Owen smiled and let his mind drift. He imagined himself with Susanna at the Mendoza ranch. Maybe he’d propose to her there. He waited for that thought to shock him, but when it didn’t, he smiled. He was in love with Widow Jenkins. Who would have thought? He’d known her only a few months, yet he was ready to spend the rest of his life with her.
I love her, he mused. I really and truly love her.
“Did you say something?” LeRoy murmured.
Owen grinned. “Nothing. I was just thinking.”
“Well, don’t think so loud. I was nearly asleep.”
Owen smiled all the more. Just wait until he told LeRoy what was really on his mind.
17
Susanna didn’t know when she’d enjoyed life more. Even her days with Mark, although a blessing of love, were never as full of life and festivity. Lia’s family seemed to make every day a day of celebration. If ever a family loved one another, it was this collection of people, and Susanna found herself wishing she were a real part of it.
Sitting in the shade of the courtyard, Susanna marveled at the variety of potted plants and enjoyed the coolness of the morning. The house spilled out into this oasis from every angle through large doors that folded back. It was an amazing way to bring the outside in or take their indoor areas out. Upstairs, her bedroom had beautiful double doors that opened onto a large porch that wrapped all the way around the second floor and looked down on the beautiful courtyard. It was an incredible place, and Susanna couldn’t help falling in love with it and the family who lived there.
Lia appeared to disrupt her reflection. “Susanna, come now. Abuelita is going to teach you to make tortillas. She is the best of all of us. Of course, she’s been making them for eighty years.”
There was an outdoor kitchen area set up with tables and a long cast-iron griddle. It was clearly a homemade grill where the women could do a lot of cooking at one time. They brought their tins of lard and bags of flour and masa, as well as salt and baking powder. Susanna watched as the group fell into an easy rhythm of mixing dough and separating out little balls to use in the press. Abuelita liked to roll her tortillas with her hands and took the little balls of dough and very quickly rolled them into a thin circle. Susanna had only ever made a pie crust on two different occasions and was certain she’d be no good at this. Still, no one seemed to mind her mistakes.
As they worked, they laughed and told stories from their childhoods and lives on the hacienda. Lia’s cousins told tales about how they would sneak off with Lia and swim in the river. Once they encountered a snake that they were certain was going to bite Lia, but her papa showed up out of nowhere and shot the beast. That was when they learned that even though they thought they were sneaking away, the adults knew what they were doing and took turns standing guard over them in case something happened.
To Susanna, it was wonderful to imagine that someone might care enough to watch over her that way. Then she had to smile. That was what God was doing. Pastor Lewis said God was always watching over them—taking care of each need for safety and protection.
Susanna preferred the press for making tortillas, but the ladies kept insisting she practice rolling the tortillas by hand. She wasn’t very good at it, and Lia’s mother teased her that if she couldn’t roll a tortilla, she would never catch a husband. For some reason, that made Susanna try all the harder until she had a nice thin circle to put on the griddle.
They spent hours making stacks and stacks of corn and flour tortillas. Lia said they did this every few days because, with all the people who lived there, the tortillas never lasted long.
“It’s no different than the mother who has to bake bread every week,” Lia said as they sampled some of their efforts. The flavor was wonderful.
Next the ladies showed Susanna how to work with the chiles. There were many different kinds, and Susanna wasn’t sure she would ever get them all straight. She paid special attention when Lia’s mother showed her the long, skinny red chiles and told her these were some of the hottest.
“You will find we use a lot of these three,” Lia said, pointing to a funny-looking collection of dried pieces. “These are ancho chiles. They are a little fruity and not very hot.”
“They look like a dried prune.”
The next ones Lia pointed out looked much the same, with their dark appearance. “These are mulato chiles. They are hotter and have a sort of smoky taste. And last, these are pasilla or chile negro. They are very much like the ancho chiles and not as hot as the mulato.”
Susanna studied them. These were longer and skinnier. “I don’t know how I’ll ever learn to tell them apart. Are they always black?”
Lia laughed. “No. If you look closer, you’ll see the ancho were red. They start out green and turn red. We grow them here in the courtyard.”
“What about the others?”
“The mulatos are black—sometimes more of a dark brown—and the pasilla are black as well. That’s why they call them chile negro—black chiles. We will soak them and steam them to make them soft again in order to cook with them. These three chiles are very popular. So much so that Abuelita had Uncle Enrico make many trips to Mexico to bring them here. Finally, Papa said we should just grow our own, and so we do. Come, I want to show you something.”
Susanna followed Lia to a part of the house she’d not yet been to. Lia opened large double doors and ushered Susanna inside. Overhead were lattices from which hundreds of bundles of chile peppers hung to dry. The room smelled glorious. Susanna looked around the large pantry. Shelves lined the walls and were filled with homemade canned goods, rows of dried herbs, and chiles that had been ground into powder form.
“This is amazing. How wonderful to have your own store.”
“Papa even sells some of the dried and ground peppers. Not everyone has time to grow their own.” Lia smiled. “Now you know why my food is always so good. We have done it this way for generations. Even before my great-grandparents came to America.”