TWELVE DAYS OF LA CLAIRIÈRE by Laura Gaisie

Author:Laura Gaisie [Gaisie, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Purple Pearls Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Habana, Cuba - 1925

THE YEARS FLEW by as Rebecca grew from an adorable bright-eyed toddler into an undeniable presence in the Habana home. In the flourish of eight passing years, Rinaldo and Pilar would come to realize the girl was more like her mother in ways neither cared to admit. The most telling similarity, both were as stubborn as a double-knotted stitch when it came to changing their mind. Zuellie’s focus had always been on matters of spirituality, and Rebecca craved the elite lifestyle of the upper class (which was fulfilled living in Habana). To combat any wistful desires toward the traditional ways of her mother, 11-year-old Rebecca adorned herself in fanciful jewels (which Pilar gladly purchased at her request) and refused trips to the cabin as her creole language lessened.

The one-story home was brightly colored and lively. Music filled the rooms as guests streamed in and out of the dining hall to the back porch and sat around the modest pool on any given evening. Laughter and cigarette smoke filled the air (to Ijemma’s dissatisfaction). It seemed Rinaldo found any excuse to entertain the business and political figures he wished to impress. For Ijemma, Obi, and the three additional servants, their days were long, too full to watch over a meddlesome and inquisitive child (hence the need for Pilar), who being childlike herself, needed something or someone to keep her occupied (insert Rebecca). Between the two girls, they seemed to be everywhere at once, and out of sight when most needed. Rebecca amused Pilar’s juvenile nature, as she imitated the snobbish invitees behind their backs.

The women sat straight, their necks stiff, careful not to topple their elaborate hats. The men spoke loudly, blowing cigar smoke in ringlets, which somehow signified their importance. When allowed, or as needed, Rebecca amazed the industrialist within Rinaldo, sidling up close to him at dinner soirees and remarking on current events. The timing was important. She waited for the pause in their conversation, which always came when Rinaldo called for drinks to be served—that’s when Rebecca would sometimes be allowed to entertain his guests. Her pippy voice laced with the creole accent she wished to conceal, foretold the collapse of the sugarcane industry as the decrease in global demand defied the rising cost of production. The astonished socialites leaned on their elbows to listen, while the hopeful politicians who felt the invitation gave them liberties to express their lopsided views, rolled their eyes, and cursed under their breath.

Everyone looked to Rinaldo, who by now had developed a respect for her attempts to assimilate into their new culture. When he reached for his glass, none of the guests noticed his slight nod in Rebecca’s direction, a gesture for her to continue (to which she happily obliged). However, not before marking Ijemma’s presence, whose back was hunched over as she encircled the room to retrieve their emptied plates. With a raised chin, Rebecca spoke proudly as she recounted facts she’d overheard on Obi’s transistor radio or from Rinaldo earlier that morning at breakfast.

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