The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba(20)

“Our mother was born in Cuba. She came here in 1868 during the start of the first war for independence with the intent to return when her country was free. She met my father, and they married. Our mother never returned home. There are quite a few Cubans living in the United States, particularly on the East Coast and in New York. It’s as good a place as any to settle. My sister Elena has taken an interest in the island and kept abreast of the situation there. We still have family in Cuba. Elena has been an active member of the club since the fighting broke out again.”

“Was your father born in Cuba as well?”

“No, he was from New York.”

I note the past tense. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It was a long time ago. I was just a boy.”

“I was twelve when my father passed. It’s a difficult thing to lose a parent.”

He turns away from me and glances out the carriage window.

“Are you involved with the revolutionaries as well?” I ask.

“I’m not. My sister has enough enthusiasm for the both of us.”

“And what do you do?”

He laughs, the sound surprisingly full and rich. “I am not the story, Miss Harrington. I am merely doing a favor for Will. And my sister.”

“I realize you’re not the story. I’m only trying to get some background. I confess I don’t know much about these groups. This is the first time I’ve been assigned a story on Cuba.”

He turns his attention back to me. “They’re probably not that different from the reformer meetings you likely attend. My sister believes she can improve the situation in Cuba. She and her friends meet and discuss how they can do so. They raise money for the cause and send it back to the revolutionaries for supplies and equipment. There are similar groups all over the country. Las Dos Banderas is arguably the most well-known in New York.”

“And do you believe in the revolutionaries’ cause?”

“Do you, Miss Harrington?”

“I don’t know much about it beyond what I’ve read in the papers, certainly not as much as you do, but I’d like to learn. Hearst has taken a great interest in Cuba. He believes it is our duty as journalists to inform readers about the horrific living conditions under Spanish rule.”

“Yes, Will’s interest is the primary reason you’re invited to this gathering. Newspapers could play an important role in drawing the United States into war with Spain, or at least garner support for the revolutionaries. Everyone wants to win public opinion.”

“It is our job to keep the public apprised of the news,” I counter, not entirely comfortable with the picture he paints of our role in the conflict. As much as Hearst aims for us to shape the news, I haven’t quite acclimated to my publisher’s manner of doing things.

“Is that what you call it, ‘keeping the public apprised’? I thought your job was making a spectacle of the news.”

I have to remind myself that I am supposed to be a disciple of Hearst’s and keep from making my true feelings known; in my personal time, I still read the World to stay informed.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘making a spectacle,’ merely bringing important causes to the public’s attention in whatever manner is most likely to draw their notice. People are busy. You have to get to the heart of the matter and entertain them,” I say, parroting Hearst.

“How nicely put,” Rafael drawls.

How much does his opinion on the role of the newspaper differ from that of his friend Hearst?

“And what is it you do, Mr. Harden?” I ask again. If he believes I’ll be so easily fobbed off, he’s sorely mistaken. “Since you’ve so clearly expressed your disdain for the newspaper business, I assume you’re not a newspaperman like Mr. Hearst.”

“I’m not. I’m a businessman.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, I try again.

“What sort of business?”

“Stocks, railroads, buildings.”

So he’s one of the new-money industrialists buying up and building the city.

“And how did you get into such a line of work?”

“I am not the subject of your article, Miss Harrington. I assure you, very little of my life would be fit to print.”

“Too scandalous?”

“I suppose it depends on a matter of perspective.” He grins, his expression softening as he leans into me, as though we’re sharing a secret, his change in manner catching me completely off guard. “But in a word—yes.”



* * *



—

We arrive at a fashionable building several minutes later, and I follow Rafael up to his sister’s apartment. He enters without knocking and leads me into a formal sitting room where well-dressed women speak animatedly in Spanish. When Rafael and I walk in, all conversation ceases, and a tall brunette rises from an elegantly appointed silk settee to greet us.

Rafael takes her outstretched hands in his, leaning forward and pressing kisses to each cheek before stepping back and presenting her to me.

“Miss Harrington, this is my sister Elena Santiago.”

Standing next to each other, the similarities between the siblings are clear. They’re both tall, dark haired, and striking.

“Thank you for including me in your meeting today,” I reply. “You have a lovely home.”