CHAPTER 1
Maria winced when she heard the loud sound of a wooden crate box being slammed on the kitchen floor. She turned from the plates she was washing in the sink and looked at her father.
"Are you alright Papa?" she asked, drying her hands and helping him drag the heavy crate to the center of the kitchen.
He nodded and wiped the sweat of his brow with the dirty handkerchief he had possessed for so many years. She gathered an armful of the contents in the box, tomatoes, and tossed them in a washing basin to cleanse them.
"I hate what they do to you Papa." She said quietly, staring at the rippling water in the basin.
"I don't like it either, but what're you going to do with all this muscle?" he said, gesturing to himself and chuckling a bit.
She smiled softly; her father was no longer what he used to be, well-built and sturdy. He was now old and limp, the hairs on his head and mustache no longer the dark chocolate brown they used to be, they were now a mousy gray. His middle gave away, giving him a protruding belly and his eyes showed creases around them even when he wasn't smiling. He was still quite the hardworking man though, doing what his old age would allow him to do.
"Papa… has Don Carriedo said anything about our house yet?" she asked hesitantly.
She looked over her shoulder from the basin and gave him an apprehensive look. Don Carriedo was the 'landlord' of their pueblo. He majored in agriculture, mainly tomatoes though. Because of his wealthy and powerful status, he was able to persuade the habitants to work for him, promising them good pay and a plenty of food on the table every day. The latter of the two was already there, because the people of the pueblo were so good at farming. It was no wonder Don Carriedo targeted them as his lackeys.
"I don't know mija, it's still under his possession. He hasn't said anything about it."
She exhaled a shaky, frustrated breath. She turned back to the tomatoes and smacked the still water. She cursed inaudibly and ran a hand through her hair.
"Why does he keep what isn't his?"
"You know, it's been thirty years since he took possession of the house. Maybe it's time I ask him about it."
He stroked his grey chin stubble and smacked his lips. He always did that when he concentrated, making him look even older than he already was.
"I think you should. Otherwise, I will." Maria scolded gently, breaking him out of his trance.
"That wouldn't surprise me. You do take after your Mama after all."
Maria seemed to glow with a bit of self-satisfaction when he made his remark. She always did adore her mother. Her mother, Silvia, was younger than her husband by about a decade. But, that was common, and they were in love. She was a plump, curvy woman who could compete with any of the male farmers in the pueblo. Whereas Maria's father allowed leeway and seldom scolded her, her mother was fiery and firm. If Maria ate pan dulce before dinner, Silvia would be there with a wooden spoon, chasing after her and shouting mild profanities. Maria knew she loved her though and she wanted to live up to her mother's legacy. Maria was about to say something back, but she then heard the familiar accented voice of old Don Carriedo.
"ROGELIO!"
Her father smiled ever so softly and excused himself from his daughter's presence. Maria blew a stray hair out of her face and pivoted back to her tomatoes. She scrubbed vigorously, cursing her father's boss. Hours passed and her father came back into the kitchen, only to find her sitting on a crate, her soft hands raw from the non-ceasing scrubbing.
"Mija… he said he'd give us the house back."
She looked up at him in disbelief before turning away with a cold look on her face.
"Don Carriedo's always been one to play cruel jokes."
He nodded, but he took out a rolled up sheet of paper from his pant pocket.
"I have the deed right here! He said he'd let me keep it to me on one condition."
She looked up at her father suspiciously.
"And what might that be?"
"You have to marry his son."