Jacaranda Read Online Free PDF

grandfather, as much as they were wondering about the contents of his will. Emily Nowell was a woman of better means than she presented herself, but an education had given her ideas about securing the vote for women, and other dangerous thoughts that made her suspect to the men in the group—and to Constance Fields, too.
    (Though in fairness, Rios would’ve admitted that the older woman viewed everyone through such an unfavorable lens…not merely young women with unladylike aspirations.)
    In addition to the hotel guests, there were three servicewomen—a mother and two of her daughters—who cooked, managed the meals, and cleaned the rooms. When the desk worker Sarah stopped by to collect a cup of coffee, she referred to the mother as “Mrs. Alvarez,” and sent the girls on separate errands: one to tend the furnace, one to address the laundry. The oldest daughter, Violetta, was willowy and plain; the younger, Valeria, was shorter and plumper, and prettier as well. The Alvarez women spoke Spanish amongst themselves, but understood plenty of English.
    Through the largest window, the padre spied an enormous straw-haired man with a wheel barrow, toting bricks from one place to another in the late-afternoon gloom. “And who is that?” he asked the nun.
    “Ah. That is Tim,” she said softly. “He keeps the grounds, and performs assorted tasks indoors when needed. He is pleasant and quiet, though feeble-minded, as they say. Sarah has not told me as much, but I believe he’s some relation to her—a cousin, or half-brother. She keeps a kindly eye on him, making sure he’s housed and fed.”
    He murmured, “That is good of her,” and he looked, listened, and didn’t really need to ask—but asked anyway: “And that’s everyone, isn’t it? There’s no one else staying here, or working here?”
    “Not directly, no. Others come and go, but mostly stay away as they’re able. The postman and other couriers, deliverymen, farmers with produce from the mainland, and a dry-goods clerk who drops off supplies twice per week. Washing powders, flour and sugar, oats, and that sort of thing.”
    “Where do Sarah and Tim live?”
    “Sarah has a room here, or a suite, I should say. As for Tim, I’m not certain…but he doesn’t live here. There is a groundskeeper’s quarter around back, but Tim doesn’t sleep there, either. The Alvarez family likewise has a home elsewhere, despite Sarah’s repeated offers to give them a set of dedicated rooms. She’s on the verge of offering the space for free, I think.”
    “How would the owners feel about it, if she were to offer room and board to the staff?”
    Sister Eileen cocked her head in a little shrug. “I haven’t the faintest. The hotel is owned by an investment group. I’m not sure you could point to a single person, and call him the man in charge.”
    “How strange,” the padre mused.
    “Maybe, or maybe not. I don’t pretend to understand the inner workings of Texas financiers; but most of the Texans I’ve known are less afraid of ghosts, and more afraid of being penniless,” she said with a faint smile. “Therefore someone, somewhere, believes the hotel is profitable—or that it can be. The Jacaranda Hotel will stay open until the investors are convinced otherwise.”
    The padre finished his supper, and lifted his napkin off his lap. He set it beside his plate. “We’ll see.”



By the time the meal had finished, and the last of the plates and cutlery collected, the sky had gone a very dark, ashy purple. It’d be black within another quarter hour, the padre thought as he stared past the curtains—and then stepped out of the way, when Mrs. Alvarez came to close them.
    He begged her pardon in Spanish; she gave him a nod that said she didn’t really care.
    One by one, she drew the long white panels across the tall panes of leaded glass. One by one, the gaslights were illuminated, and they filled the large meeting space with a warm, bright glow accompanied by