Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [173]
“They mentioned something like that,” Miguel said, “but after Abuela died, and he—”
“I understand.” Mr. Worthy allowed a silent moment to pass before he continued. “A few days before his untimely death, don Eugenio came to make sure that I’d prepared your paperwork for the trip. By then I’d already arranged for your crossing and lodgings according to his instructions.” He removed an envelope from a drawer on his desk. “Here are all the particulars. You’re leaving in ten days.”
“Mr. Worthy, I—”
“Don Eugenio was most insistent that you go to Spain for an extended period,” Mr. Worthy said, “most insistent.”
“He said that to you?”
Mr. Worthy walked to his door, checked that no one was listening, clicked the door closed again, and returned to the middle of the room. “I believe that if people are given the information they need, they can make the best decisions,” he said. “From our discussions and my own observation, it appears to me that your grandparents, may they rest in peace, might have protected you too much—”
“I’ve had a very happy childhood, but I’ll be the first to admit that much was kept from me.”
“And you have kept secrets from them, haven’t you?”
Miguel startled. “What do you mean?”
“Don Eugenio was worried about your … affinity with certain persons.”
Did Mr. Worthy know about the secret society? Miguel said nothing.
“Your grandfather had it on good authority that it was best for you and Andrés Cardenales to be away from the island for a while. Of course, with your recent bereavement, that was impossible. As your trustee, however, it behooves me now to strongly advise you to do as don Eugenio wished.”
“Am I in danger, sir?” Miguel’s heart pounded so hard against his chest that he was certain Mr. Worthy could see it palpitating even through his shirt, vest, and jacket.
“You’ve committed yourself to activities that could place you in danger. The governor appreciated don Eugenio’s work with the militias and his illustrious service to the nation. When your name was mentioned among others in illegal ventures, your grandfather assured him that if you were involved, it was due to your youth and impressionable nature. He was promised that if you left the island for a while, concerns about your association with men considered dangerous to the authorities would be overlooked.”
“Abuelo never said anything to me,” Miguel said.
“It was a delicate business, young man. I’m sure he didn’t wish to worry you or your grandmother, may she rest in peace.”
Miguel remembered the angry voices from the bedroom the afternoon don Simón brought the news about Maestro de Laura. He was suddenly overwhelmed by guilt.
Mr. Worthy gave him a few moments, then continued. “It appears that Dr. Betances, several of his associates, and others are soon to be exiled again. It would be better for you to leave voluntarily than to be desterrado. Let me be clear: if the authorities act against you, the government can seize your property and assets—all of it—and make it difficult for you to ever live on the island with the same freedom you now enjoy.”
Miguel’s head throbbed with fear, anger, and guilt. “What you’re saying is that either the slaves or I can be free, but not both.”
Mr. Worthy sat in his swiveling chair again, placed his hands on the desk as if in prayer, and looked at Miguel. “My work prevents me from public displays of my private views, but that doesn’t mean I share the prevailing opinion of how this island should be governed.”
Miguel didn’t know what to say. Mr. Worthy was an estadounidense, and criticizing the Spanish government could get him deported. He didn’t understand why Mr. Worthy would expose himself to him. Members of the society were never supposed to either admit their membership or ask anyone else if they were involved, but he now wondered whether Mr. Worthy was one of them.
Miguel again turned to the window with the sense that men discussing important things must allow weighty pauses between them. His eyes were focused on the scene before him, but he was more aware of the clopping hooves