Delia's Crossing (Delia 1)

“You are to be given another chance for that, but in the meantime, you are to bring Señorita Sophia her breakfast every morning.”

“You mean to her room?”

“Of course. Where else do you think you’d bring it? There is much to do, and Señor Baker wants you to meet him in the library at eight-thirty, I am told. You have to clean Señorita Sophia’s room as soon as she leaves, change the sheets and pillow cases. They are changed every day.”

“Every day?”

“Don’t keep questioning what I tell you. Just get yourself up and come to the kitchen,” she snapped. “I’m in charge of the domestic help here, and I get blamed for anything stupid someone working under me does. I don’t intend for that to happen. Get up!” she snapped, and closed the door.

I rose quickly, gathered my clothes, and headed for the bathroom, but when I got there, the door was shut. I knocked. Was Señor Garman in there, or was the door just closed? I started to open the door.

“Espere hasta que me acabo!” I heard Señor Garman shout. He was in there, and he was telling me to wait until he’d finished.

“But I have to get to the kitchen,” I told him in Spanish.

“Get up earlier,” he told me.

Get up earlier? I had no clock to wake me. How was I to know what time to get up?

He didn’t come out. I heard his electric shaver going and decided to dress without washing. I returned to my room, dressed, and ran my brush through my hair. Then I hurried out the door, my heart pounding. I didn’t want to do anything to rile up my aunt today, especially since I was being given a second chance. Perhaps she realized what Sophia had done and how what happened wasn’t really my fault. Perhaps Edward had defended me. Things could now get better, I thought hopefully.

Or perhaps Sophia would be angry that she was blamed and would be only meaner toward me and think of other terrible things to do to me. I could see now why Inez looked as if she were walking on a floor of shattered glass. They must all be paid well to put up with such tension. No one, I gathered from listening to Señor Flores, liked this family or respected it. How different this was from the way Señor Lopez was thought of by my mother and father and his workers.

I was still waiting to see what, besides the wealth, was better in America.

The two Mexican gardeners who had been there yesterday after Sophia had soaked me turned to watch me rushing. They laughed, and one shouted, “What, no falling into the bathtub this morning?”

No, I thought, I’ve fallen into something far worse: my own private hell.

6

English Lesson

Both Señor Herrera and Inez were working frantically in the kitchen when I arrived. They glanced at me, and then Señor Herrera began dictating orders. I was told to make some toast for Señorita Sophia’s tray and warned not to burn it. He was preparing some scrambled eggs and bacon. Inez was working on setting the breakfast table for my aunt, her guest, and my cousin Edward. I was told to pour coffee into a container that would keep it hot, and then Señor Herrera set up the tray for me to bring up to my cousin Sophia. The plate had a silver cover, and the cream, butter, and cheese were all in silver as well. Inez put a fresh rose on the tray before I picked it up.

“If you forget the flower, she’ll send you down for it, even though she just throws it into her garbage can,” Inez told me.

“Careful, don’t spill anything,” Señor Herrera warned me. “She’ll send the tray back if there is even a drop of something out of its container or off its dish.”

“And don’t look like you’re breathing on anything. She hates that,” Inez added.

I waited a moment to see if there were any other warnings.

“Go on, before it gets cold,” Señor Herrera said.

Slowly, I started out and up the stairway. As I ascended, my eyes glued to the tray so I wouldn’t spill anything, Edward came out of his room and paused at the top of the stairway. He was dressed in a jacket and tie and had his hair tied back the same way. He smiled at me.

“Morning,” he said. “Hola.”

“Hola.”

“I’ll see you later,” he said. “We have a lot to talk about.”

I shook my head. I was so involved in carrying the tray carefully that I wasn’t paying attention. He pointed to himself and then to me and said, “Tarde.”

“Oh. Sí, tarde.”

He continued down the stairway, and I went to my cousin’s door. It wasn’t until then that I realized I would have a problem knocking on the door, opening it, and holding on to the tray. I had to put the tray down on the floor and then knock. I heard nothing, so I knocked harder.