Chapter 22: Descubrimientos

The dawn sun caused her to blink uncertainty, startled to find herself in such a huge room alone. Memory returned when Catalina reached for the lamp. Carefully, she stepped down off the bed, nervous about glass. Fortunately it appeared nothing had broken last night.

After righting the lamp, and finding her slippers, she turned back to the lopsided drawing clearly visible in the morning light. She approached with foreboding, then before her courage could fail took the piece off the wall and turned it over. There was an envelope attached to the back of the frame! She carefully set the front down on the bed and slid her fingernails underneath the tape to ease it off.

Her fingers shook as she pulled up the flap and withdrew a faded handwritten paper, perhaps an old letter left by a distant ancestor or maybe even a will, as well as a round object she was certain must be a rare coin. But closer examination revealed it was actually a smooth paperweight fashioned to look like a doubloon. Just as disappointing was last year's date on the page instead of one from a hundred years ago, and the other words were similarly humdrum: a listing of various items with prices such as pencils, papers, and frames.

It was a receipt, from an art dealer! The personal note above the signature was merely an explanation about the complimentary token provided as part of the sale. Nothing mysterious or exciting to discover, simply the carelessness of whoever had framed the picture and never removed the note. It was all so very ordinary, so ridiculous, she blushed even though all alone. What if she had spoken of the frame to Elena, or heaven forbid, Enrique? How embarrassed she would be to admit her imagination ran wild over something so stupid.

After carefully putting everything back exactly as she found it, Catalina went into the bathroom to get ready for the day, putting the whole thing behind her.

She dressed comfortably, hopeful that no one would expect formality over breakfast, and peeked out of her room after waiting a few minutes. No one was about; maybe Elena was still asleep. She almost knocked on her door, but no, that would be rude. Besides, it would be best to learn how to get around the house on her own. It wasn't too hard to find her way into the living room again: the ranch was built in a large square, so following the long hallways meant she'd get there eventually. The smell of fresh café led her to a cozy breakfast nook off from the main dining room. Enrique was seated on a bar stool around the center island with a bowl of oatmeal, his laptop and some papers spread around.

"Sorry, let me move this stuff, I didn't know anyone else was up," he said, pushing his things to the side as she approached. "The café is still hot, and there's plenty of cereal if you like that." He stood and reached into a cabinet, pulling out a bowl and mug for her.

"Gracias," she said, looking over the many clear containers with a variety of flakes and nuts, all neatly labeled with scoops inside. By the time she'd made her selection and loaded up her bowl, he had filled her mug, and pushed the milk and sugar her way.

"Papá doesn't go in for large breakfasts, usually; in fact, he's already out for his morning jog." Enrique returned to typing on his laptop, glancing back at his papers every now and then. "So help yourself, and don't worry: you won't need to force anything else down until lunch."

That was a relief, and Catalina happily spooned a small helping of sugar in her café, then sipped the rich brew with delight. "What are you working on?"

"Oh, no, Elena will be annoyed enough I'm working this early, she'll be livid if she thinks I've forced you to start before Monday." Enrique made a pretense of moving his things even farther down the counter, angling the screen away from her view. "In fact, what are you doing up? Didn't that crazy storm keep you awake?"

"It was very loud," she admitted, trying hard not to think of her foolish misadventure, using the excuse of stirring her cereal to avoid his eye. "It didn't bother me really, I slept very well. And I'm used to getting up early."

He nodded, eyes still trained on his screen. "That's all good for when you actually have to, but I know those tall windows can let in far too much sun way early. You should draw the curtains if that bothers you. Otherwise you'll never get to sleep past six thirty."

"I don't mind though. Anyway, shouldn’t I stay in the habit, for working I mean?" she asked, crunching on her cereal.

He quirked a smile. "It doesn't take so long to get into town from here, and no one expects that clinic to be open before eight. No need to wake up at the crack of dawn if you don't want to. I'm not going to be so harsh a supervisor as all that."

She smiled back, and drank another long sip of her café. It was very good, tangy and flavorful, but not too spicy. "Is it very wet out, do you know?"

"The front ditch is full, but it'll dry out soon enough, once the sun is out in earnest. It never stays damp too long out here," he said, and then picked up the pages of his report, ordering and tapping them lightly on the table before resetting them in a folder. "We actually have to run irrigation lines out to the fields sometimes, if it gets too dry. It should be fine for exploring later on."

"That's good." She noticed he'd picked up another folder, leafing through it, and remembered all Elena's dark mutterings about his job's obligations. "Do you have a lot to do today?"

"Not so very much, but I promised I'd help get some of these charts updated while out here, and since I did very little yesterday I need to get a jump on it. Just because Papá and Doctor Figueroa suddenly decided I'm not needed in Mar del Plata doesn't mean all my other work disappeared overnight." He looked up from the folder suddenly, smile freezing as he glanced at her. "Sorry, I promised not to talk about the clinic and here I am babbling away. Tell you what, I'm going to shut my laptop, and pretend it doesn't exist until we finish eating. But in exchange, you have to tell Elena I've been very good when she asks, and did not drag you into work too early. Deal?"

"Deal," she agreed, and glanced around at the comfortable room. It was far more inviting and pleasant than the big formal dining hall, even if it felt far less like a ranch with its white paint and plain paneling. A thin, skinny frame stood on the wall between the two windows, and when Catalina stared harder she realized there were thousands of little flower buds, dried and pinned to a board, in the form of a flower just blooming. "Oh, how beautiful," she gasped, picking up her mug and moving to get a better look. "What kind of flowers are they?"

"Orchids, mostly, and some cockspur. Elena picked them on the grounds and arranged them, I think last summer."

"Wow," Catalina marveled, seeing up close how each petal was pinned to the board, elegantly arranged, a mosaic of color that formed even more pictures as she stared: both the blooming flower, but also a person with a crown, or even a bird, depending on how she looked at it. "She is so talented!" was her amazed comment while taking a seat, still looking back at the artwork. "And all those pictures in her room. They should be in a museum or something."

"I agree." Enrique sipped his café, then set the mug down quietly, shrugging. "At least we get to admire them here, without having to push all those noisy tourists out of the way. Has she shown you her studios?"

"We only peeked at them yesterday, but I saw plenty of stuff even with just a quick look. It's funny, I never bothered much about art at home, even when Tía Lola sometimes tried to show me examples. Now, though, it's all I can think about! Elena said she would let me use some of her paints, and teach me how to make something for my sister Raquel's birthday coming up."

"Now that will make her very happy." Enrique's smile deepened. "She's an excellent teacher, so you're in for a treat. Do you know what you want to paint?"

"Oh, anything, I hadn't really thought it through too much. I just hope it doesn’t look too bad, I've never tried anything like that before."

"Come on, aren't there any crayon masterpieces lurking around the Moreno fridge?" Enrique asked as he polished off his oatmeal, tapping his spoon gently against the bowl.

"Not from me. Mamá said I was always outside too often to mess around with anything that required me to sit still. Jorge, though, still loves to color, even though sometimes the other boys tease him. He's always making something."

"What a shame. A little boy should not be ashamed of art, any more than little girls should be cooped up inside playing dolls if they don't want to. To each their own."

Catalina would have agreed, but just then Señor Tilve came in, a towel over his shoulders, sweaty clothes clinging to his body, so unlike the ways she'd always seen him before. "Sorry for my appearance, but I heard voices and wanted to make sure you had everything you needed. I hope Enrique gave you his full attention." His voice grew sharp as Señor Tilve pointedly stared at the closed laptop.

"Yes, sir, I'm just finishing up," she said quickly, not wanting to hear any more lectures or veiled warnings. "We were admiring Elena's picture, it's so beautiful."

"Yes, Elena is a very good artist. I'm glad you've been taken care of. Ah, it is so cozy in here with just the two of you, almost domestic, eh Enrique?"

Catalina was not sure what to make of this question, although it seemed to bother Enrique enough that he got up and went to refill his mug. "Did you have a good run?" he asked, not looking up from the pot, his voice oddly flat.

"Yes, yes, very good, it's going to be a gorgeous day. But back to our guest: what do you think of this room? I know it's small, but for breakfast I'm of the mind it can't be too bad, though it wouldn't do for any other time of day. I suppose Señor Aguirre has something similar at home?"

"No, not a room just for breakfast, there's just the one dining room, besides the kitchen," Catalina spoke immediately, and also explained that even if relatively smaller, the space was still larger than what she was used to at home. Why that should please Señor Tilve, who usually sounded so solicitous of the Aguirres’ good opinion, Catalina could not say. She wanted to ask Enrique, but he was still stirring a spoon in his café and staring out the window, no longer engaged in the conversation. When Elena wheeled herself in, Catalina hoped it would break up the strange oppression that had fallen over the room.

Señor Tilve followed his daughter all the way in the room and grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl. Elena served herself, quietly scooping heaps of nuts and berries out, when her father asked Catalina what she had eaten. "You must try some of the cinnamon, and the granola," he encouraged her, pointing out several options she had not even noticed. "We buy only what’s grown around here, top quality, very good. I think it's important to support the local economy. I'm sure Señor Aguirre would agree."

"Oh yes, Tío Ruy usually gets his things right from the grocer," Catalina agreed, though it seemed an odd thing to talk about over breakfast. She was just finishing her own flakes, sipping on the leftover milk, and hoped Señor Tilve wouldn't insist she try anything else immediately.

"Good, good, I thought he and I saw alike on most things. Investment, that's what Argentina needs more of, local investment, starting at home. This whole counter, not just the fabrication but the materials too, all created and sourced by people I know. Top quality, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes sir." Catalina glanced down, not sure what else might be complimentary, and finally settled on, "The colors are very pretty."

"Aren't they? Elena picked them out, you've noticed her artist eye, I let her choose almost everything in the house. Women are best for that sort of thing." He chuckled, and tossed his peel away in the trash. "Maybe before long we can convince Enrique to upgrade his own accommodations; I wager you may have some advice he'd be willing to take."

His son had unbent enough to wish Elena a good morning, but reacted to this last statement by grabbing his leftover bowl and tossing it and his mug in the sink. "I need to finish some things, and check on how the clinic looks ahead of Monday," he announced while packing up his laptop and papers. "Have a good day, Elena." He kissed his sister's cheek hurriedly, then retreated through the archway to the kitchen, avoiding his father standing in the main door without another word.

"I apologize for how rudely he left, I'm afraid he sometimes keeps his city ways when first returning home." Señor Tilve shook his head. "And I'm afraid I must leave also, to get ready for your grand tour of the grounds. Be prompt, Elena," he said, and though he kissed his daughter with far greater attention and care, it somehow looked less loving than Enrique's quick peck. For her part, Elena remained hunched over her cereal, not speaking a word.

It was odd that both Tilve children were so cold around their father and yet warm and friendly with her. Especially considering how Señor Tilve always tried to make her comfortable, beyond anything Catalina would expect necessary. It was as if they were two different people.

"Sorry about Papá," Elena said once the man was gone. "He's very ... perky in the morning. Just ignore him."

Catalina nodded, though she continued to ponder the situation while strapping her boots on and retrieving her sunhat. Perhaps it was not the Tilve children who held two different natures but the patriarch himself. Could it be that this man, who seemed so affectionate and concerned, actually hid a darker side, one she had not seen yet? And if so, what of his relationship with his wife? Had they been happy? Or had Señora Tilve, like her children, been silent in his presence, only letting out her feelings through her art?

It was a very heavy thing to ponder, and she tucked it away in the back of her mind once outside with Elena. Señor Tilve led them to a specially designed, battery operated jeep for them to ride in. Elena was in a different wheelchair than she normally used, with larger wheels which locked easily to the jeep floorboard. Catalina sat next to Señor Tilve, who drove them himself, heading out onto a path that he explained circled the entire property. They rode past lots of grassland with cattle roaming around in herds. Then there were fenced off fields: peas and corn, squash and melons, even an entire section devoted to sunflowers all raised toward the sky. A flower garden contained so many different colors and types, Catalina realized it was no wonder Elena had been able to make a mural of them. Everywhere there was abundance, plenty, and splendor.

"Papá, can we go inside?" Elena asked, pointing to an outbuilding near where they were parked, Señor Tilve having stopped to point out some of his timber preserves.

"It's too damp still for you to get out," Señor Tilve said immediately, even though to Catalina's eyes it looked remarkably dry for grounds that had so recently been flush with stormwater. "Besides, there's nothing for our friend to see there. Let's keep going, we should look at the horse stables next. Tell me, Catalina, does Señor Aguirre ever ride?"

The stables were large and luxurious, with a large paddock nearby where a groom exercised one of the mares, a young colt trailing behind eagerly. "Oh, how cute! Is it very old?" Catalina asked, leaning out the side to see better.

"Just a few months," Señor Tilve announced proudly. "His sire has given out three medal winners, and we've high hopes young Cyrus will do well on the track himself one day."

This information was not as impressive to Catalina as the picture the baby made, his little spindly legs prancing around. Elena promised she would bring her camera next time so that Catalina could take some pictures.

Sr. Tilve decided to speak to the groom a moment, promising the girls they would return to the tour soon. "How much more can there be?" Catalina asked in awe.

"It's just more of the same," Elena explained with impressive nonchalance. "There are more cows past that corral and a pond for fishing. Plus the granaries, and the water tower, and some warehouses for the crops. Oh, and the other garage for all the cars. Papá and Fernando like to race, so there's a track for that."

It was a dizzying array of riches and Catalina felt all her own lack of importance at the sight of it. Why in the world was Sr. Tilve so solicitous toward her, of all people, when he had even more than Sr. Aguirre, more than anyone she had ever heard of? To grow up like this, and still prove so kind, was amazing.

"What was in the shed you wanted to visit?" she asked to take her mind off these unsettling thoughts, still watching the horses.

Elena hesitated, then lowered her voice, despite her father having walked away. "It was my mother's studio. I wanted to show you some more of her things, the ones we don't keep in the house. But Papá doesn't like going anywhere near it. I wish he'd come with me more often; it's so peaceful, I feel like I'm with her just by seeing where she worked."

That sounded very normal, and also very sad. Catalina was struck more by how Señor Tilve refused to go anywhere near something that served as a reminder of his wife. Her earlier suspicions returned with a vengeance, and she struggled to keep from pelting Elena with questions. The rest of the tour flew by her, all her thoughts centered back on that mysterious studio. What secrets did it hold?

She waited until they were safely back at the ranch, and then back in Elena's room, before she dared ask about Sra. Tilve.

"It's fine, I don't mind talking about her," Elena said, taking a piece of paper out of a drawer and fitting it on her easel. "Do you care if I draw? I like to sketch whenever I get an idea, just to keep it from flitting away."

"Sure, I'd love to watch," Catalina said, but soon was back on the subject. "What was she like?"

"Honestly, it's hard for me to say, since I was thirteen when she died. I remember her, of course, but as a girl. We used to fight a lot then, you know, stupid teenager stuff. And then after all the surgery and physical therapy, and relearning how to do everything in my chair, it all blurred away. She was very pretty; I have a whole album of pictures Enrique put together for me, there on the shelf. He salvaged them when Papá was going through things. We barely have any pictures of our family on the walls; most of them were put away when she died."

All of this information sounded terrible to Catalina, and she just kept herself from saying so. "What about all her art?"

"It's mostly in the studio I told you about, except for the pieces I've gradually brought back to the house. Sometimes I don't even tell Papá they're her's, just let him think I've made something new. We buy new frames and put them in it. I wish I could use her pottery wheel, she has some lovely vases out there. They make a hand crank but it's so hard to turn one-handed, and I don't have anyone to teach me. Plus I know Papá wouldn't go for it, so what's the point? At least I can paint and draw, and I have as many cameras as I want. And I get to admire her pictures. Sometimes I like to pretend she made them just for me, and put messages in them."

It was all so sad, so awfully sad, and Catalina could not understand why Sr. Tilve was so cruel as to deny his daughter the chance to enjoy whatever of her mother's memories existed. "Do you have any letters from her, old videos, or anything like that?"

Elena shook her head. "No; I'm sure that's all gone. Papá is very sensitive about all this, you understand, even now. It's fine to talk about here, but please don't bring it up when he's around."

"I won't," Catalina promised, almost shuddering at this further proof of the man's evil. What monster would keep his children from even discussing their mother at all?

Elena brushed her pencil lightly across the page, easily sketching out the rough outline of a horse. "I really miss her," she said softly, eyes trained on her work. "I didn't at first, which sounds stupid, but I was so selfish, just wrapped up in my own problems. It took me a while to appreciate she was gone. And by then, I'd largely forgotten a lot of stuff. But I remember all our art lessons. It helps me stay close to her: drawing, or painting. I don't have all those cousins you do, and even though Enrique ... both my brothers visit, it's not the same. I wish I had a sister, sometimes, even though that might be hard to accept one day."

Catalina barely noticed this last sentence, she was so caught up in the horrible idea that now occurred to her. It was outlandish, crazy even, the type of thing Tío Ruy had dismissed as overactive imaginations from television writers. But here was the living proof before her, plain as could be. Elena herself admitted she remembered little of the accident that had paralyzed her, which only made sense given what had happened. All the evidence from that time had been destroyed or locked up, all their relatives kept far away.

Sr. Tilve must be ashamed of his wife's death. But why would he be, if it were truly an accident? Might, instead, he be guilty of a far worse crime than negligence or disrespect?

Could Sra. Tilve have been murdered?