Señora Rubio nodded. “Sí, I was hoping that she could do that.”
“Do you expect her to use her meager dowry to help pay for the wedding?”
“How much did she get for the house?” Señora Rubio asked, eyeing me.
“What she got is not important. Where and how it will be used is what’s important,” Señora Paz said, holding her ground. Traditionally, all wedding arrangements and who would sponsor what were worked out like this.
I had always dreamed of having a beautiful wedding in the church with a good-size group of madrinas and padrinos attending. The madrina de arras would hold the thirteen gold coins my future husband was to present to me as a pledge of marriage. The thirteen coins would symbolize my husband’s unquestionable trust and confidence, placing all of his goods into my hands for my care and safekeeping. I had seen it done many times.
Father Martinez would bless the coins and place them in the bride’s hands. She would put them in the groom’s cupped hands at the start of the beautiful wedding ceremony. He would place them on a silver tray, and near the end of the ceremony, they would be given to Father Martinez to hand to the groom. When he placed it in his bride’s hands, it would symbolize his giving her control as mistress of his worldly goods.
“We won’t be extravagant on a wedding. The money she has should be kept for other needs,” Señora Rubio conceded. “We’ll have the reception in our yard. We will provide a simple but traditional menu of spicy rice, beans, chicken and beef tortillas, and sangria.”
“And the mariachis?” Margarita asked. It was her favorite thing at a wedding.
“Señor Gonzales owes me. He will provide his sons.”
Margarita made a face. She was obviously hoping for more.
“That’s good. That’s sensible,” Señora Paz said, however.
“I have always been a sensible woman,” Señora Rubio snapped at her.
“She should have a fine dress for the wedding,” Señora Paz said. “It would make no sense to use money from her dowry for this. She isn’t going to be married every week.”
“And new shoes,” Margarita added.
“She doesn’t have to use her house money for that. She can have my wedding dress. It can be altered easily. We’ll find her new shoes,” Señora Rubio said.
I thought Señora Paz was keeping her on the defensive in this negotiation well, until Señora Rubio looked at me hard and asked in a low whisper, “Of course, she’s a virgin?”
I felt the heat come to my face.
“How could you even ask such a question about Anabela Yebarra’s granddaughter?” Señora Paz retorted. “Is your son a virgin?”
Señora Rubio surprised us by nodding and saying, “Unfortunately, yes.”
Even though he easily overheard the conversation, Pascual pretended to be occupied behind the counter.
“Your son surely won’t fit into your departed husband’s guayabera,” Margarita muttered.
“I think he can afford a new guayabera,” Señora Rubio said. The traditional Mexican wedding shirt was what a tuxedo was to Americans.
“We have yet to hear that Pascual wants Delia for his wife,” Señora Paz said.
Señora Rubio looked back at Pascual, who blushed.
“Pascual,” she said. “Have you something to ask Señorita Delia today?”
He came forward to recite the lines he had obviously practiced with his mother.
“Señorita Delia, I would be very happy to have you become my wife. I will make you a good husband, and we will have many children. I will keep you from being hungry, and I will always keep a good roof over our heads. I will be faithful and always consider your feelings. Would you be my wife?”
I stared at him. Now that I was really there listening to him and realizing what it meant, I knew that I had lost complete control of my destiny. It dulled my brain and made me numb, but like someone truly trapped, I did not even consider a refusal.
“Sí,” I said.
“When?” Señora Paz instantly demanded.