Another Kind of Eden (Holland Family Saga 3)

She leaned over and clamped my face in her hands and kissed me on both eyes. She smelled like a garden full of flowers. Then she let go of me with a loud “Umph!”

By that time I had realized that a grunt from Mrs. Lowry could mean almost anything but probably wasn’t good. “Are you all right, ma’am?” I asked.

“I’d love to eat you up,” she said. “You remind me so much of the son we lost at Guadalcanal.”

I hated to think about the implications of that statement. “Mrs. Lowry—”

“Oh, be quiet. I have to speak with you about the unpleasant realities of commerce, so please put up with my little indiscretions. Since my husband is a gentle soul, I’m the one who has to take care of certain things. Our paradise in the Southern Rockies is in jeopardy. The agricultural corporations are taking the meat off our bones.” She picked up a strand of my hair and tugged on it. “Are you listening?”

“Y’all are going under?”

“Not if I can help it. Some call it making a deal with the devil.”

“Ma’am?”

She drummed her fingers on the back of my neck. Her eyes were reddish brown, her smile both maternal and flirtatious, of the nature that can make a young man’s viscera melt.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m a blank.”

“Tempted a little bit?”

“I sure am. I’m not a well person, and I wish you’d stop this, Mrs. Lowry.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you for the world,” she said. “But learn it now, Aaron, if you have money, people will do everything they can to take it from you. The Irish sailed here on the coffin boats and were treated like bilge when they arrived. Then they died in front of Confederate cannons, and not for the slaves, either, but to protect the profits of the textile mills. My husband’s Puritan ancestors got off the Mayflower and set about murdering and spreading disease among the Indians, and when they ran out of Indians, they hanged their neighbors. That’s the bloody truth. Don’t be deceived by the nonsense you were taught in public schools.”

“I can’t keep up with you, Mrs. Lowry.”

“A great change is occurring as we speak. Its origins are the Golden Triangle and Latin American.”

“You’re talking about drugs?”

“Marijuana, heroin, and cocaine. Great amounts.”

“I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

“We own properties in northern Mexico and the Rio Grande Valley. That’s the equivalent of owning a subway between Mexico City and San Antonio. The traffic is mostly marijuana.”

I couldn’t speak. I thought I was having a dream. She ran her nails through the back of my hair. “Look at me,” she said.

“Mrs. Lowry, please—”

“I just need a yes or no. Would you be willing to stay on with us, knowing what I just told you?”

“You’re trafficking in drugs and telling me about it?”

“What’s worse, drugs that do less harm than alcohol or the weapons we export all over the world?”

“I don’t want anything to do with this, Mrs. Lowry.”

She took her hand away. “You’re a lovely boy. If my son had lived, I’d want him to be just like you.”

I was sweating, my head pounding. I got up from the couch. “I wish you had never told me any of this, Mrs. Lowry.”

“I haven’t made a serious mistake, have I?” she said.

“Y’all have always treated me right. I’ll always be in your debt.”