Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [171]
Ever since the night of his discussion with Andrés about the fate of the slaves at Los Gemelos, Miguel had thought about them but did nothing. Andrés never mentioned it again. His father sold his farm with the workers on it, which wasn’t exactly the same as setting them free, since what he did was to free himself of them. Miguel expected that Eugenio’s testament would manumit the Hacienda los Gemelos workers, a not uncommon last wish from slave owners with guilty consciences, but there was no mention of them in the will.
Miguel spent a sleepless night mentally rehearsing the first real decision he’d ever made, while thunder, lightning, and rain pounded the city. It was painful for him to think of this, but no, his grandfather hadn’t done the right thing, and Miguel intended to right that wrong. He felt noble, principled, and generous. On the blazingly clear morning after, he walked to Mr. Worthy’s offices on the second floor of a new building across the street from the docks and warehouses. Mr. Worthy and his two partners occupied private rooms fronting the harbor, while the clerks and secretaries worked at facing desks along the length of the windowed corridor overlooking a side street.
After the preliminaries, Miguel cleared his throat to deepen his voice. “I’d appreciate it, Mr. Worthy, if you could begin the necessary paperwork to free the slaves at Hacienda los Gemelos.”
Mr. Worthy nodded soberly. “I see,” he said, and whirled in his chair toward the view of the harbor. Miguel followed his gaze. The bay was cluttered with merchant ships, their gold-and-red flags in garish contrast to the cerulean sky. Mr. Worthy returned his eyes to Miguel. “I’m sorry, young man, that your request, while laudable, cannot be fulfilled.”
“Why not?” Miguel said, sounding even to himself like a child denied.
“Because don Eugenio’s will stipulates that major decisions affecting business operations are the purview of the trust established until your twenty-fifth birthday. You do remember my explaining this to you the day we read the will?”
“It was a very confusing time,” Miguel mumbled. “Can you remind me of the terms?”
“Of course.” Mr. Worthy strode to a cabinet by the wall and riffled until he found a thick brown folio tied with red ribbon. “Here it is,” he said, spreading before Miguel parchments with seals and signatures and dangling ribbons that looked ominously official. “My two partners and I administer your trust until you come of age. These are the documents that set forth the terms; you will recognize don Eugenio’s signature here and here, and on these documents, duly witnessed and notarized. These are the certificates of ownership of the businesses we manage on your behalf. These are for the stocks, here are the titles to the wharves and warehouses that you own, these are the leases of your tenants, here the deeds to your house in San Juan and to Hacienda los Gemelos. You can examine these documents whenever you wish so that you can familiarize yourself with your holdings. This is an inventory of the furnishings and jewelry that your grandparents identified as heirlooms that cannot be sold or given away until after you reach majority, should it be necessary. Obviously, your grandparents hoped that you would not do such a thing and wished that those items remain in the family in perpetuity. This is the receipt for the box where your grandmother’s jewelry is stored. The key will be given to you upon your twenty-fifth birthday.”
Miguel was glad when Mr. Worthy finished explaining what all the papers represented. He was certain that it would be some time before he could distinguish one from the other. But the man was not done. He