Cuba -- History -- Revolution, 1895-1898 -- Fiction
"Never!" she interrupted, with a tone of finality. "I can't accept your
sacrifice. I am not worthy. Kindly arrange to turn over your books of
account at once. I shall make you as handsome a present as my
circumstances will permit in recognition of your long and faithful
service."
Then Pancho Cueto did an unexpected thing: he laughed shortly and shook
his head.
Dona Isabel was ready to faint and her voice quavered as she went on:
"Understand me, we part the best of friends despite all I have heard
against you. I do not believe these stories people tell, for you
probably have enemies. Even if all they say were true I should force
myself to be lenient because of your affection for my husband."
The man rose, still smiling. "It is I who have been lenient," said he.
"Eh? Speak plainly."
"Gladly. I have long suspected that Don Esteban hid the deeds of his
property with the rest of his valuables, and now that you admit--"
Dona Isabel recoiled sharply. "Admit! Are you mad? Deeds! What are you
talking about?" Her eyes met his bravely enough, but she could feel her
lips trembling loosely.
Casting aside all pretense, the overseer exclaimed: "Por el amor de
Dios! An end to this! I know why you sent for me. You think I have been
robbing you. Well, to be honest, so I have. Why should I toil as I do
while you and those twins live here in luxury and idleness, squandering
money to which you have no right?"
"Have I lost my reason?" gasped the widow. "No right?"
"At least no better right than I. Don't you understand? You have no
title to those plantations! They are mine, for I have paid the taxes
out of my own pockets now these many years."
"Taxes! What do you mean?"
"I paid them. The receipts are in my name."
"God! Such perfidy! And you who knew him!"
"The deeds have been lost for so long that the property would have
reverted to the crown had it not been for me. You doubt that, eh? Well,
appeal to the court and you will find that it is true. For that matter,
the officials make new laws to fit each case, and should they learn
that Esteban Varona died intestate they would arrange somehow to seize
all his property and leave you without a roof over your head.
Fortunately I can prevent that, for I have a title that will stand, in
want of a better one."
There was a momentary silence while the unhappy woman struggled with
herself. Then:
"You took advantage of my ignorance of business to rob me," she
declared. "Well, I know something about the Government officials: if
they would make a law to fit my case they will make one to fit yours.
When I tell them what you have done perhaps you will not fare so well
with them as you expect." She was fighting now with the desperation of
one cornered.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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