From the bow of the ship, Araceli Harbaugh stared through the billowing curtains of fog, slowly parting as the bow of the S.S Columbia carved through the waves. The lights of San Francisco twinkled from beyond the veil, a constellation of the work of countless architects welcoming her wholeheartedly. Never in thirty-three years had she imagined seeing these shores approach as they did.
She squeezed the hand of her husband, Charles Harbaugh, just a little tighter in her grasp, knowing that she would not be able to do so much longer. His work, being one of the countless who had built this city, called him all across the world in order to build its bridges and pave its roads. It gave her the privilege and wealth she had enjoyed for so long, but stole away her husband for months at a time.
She pushed those thoughts away as the ship did waves, though, for a new life unfurled in front of her as the mist parted and the outline of San Francisco slid slowly into view. Her children, blessed be their small hearts, all gathered behind her. Ramona, the eldest, helped young Salvador peer over the railing, picking him up under the arms and lifting him to see the docks and streets unfurl ahead of them. Little Joseph struggled to peer over, standing as high on his toes as he could manage, but Ines, their servant girl, helped him up in much the same manner. From the side, Juanna cradled Charles Junior, the toddler seemingly quieted by the weight and wetness of the fog surrounding them. Araceli’s siblings joined her side, Francisco, Aridad, and Patrita Cantillo, watching the spectacle unfold before them.
Anticipation rang through Araceli’s body as the ship began to bank, making its way towards the port. Though her native Philippines would always hold a special place in her heart, America was far vaster and full of opportunities. She was more than ready to look.
~ * ☆ * ~
The porch sprawled like a beached whale as the behemoth of a house lay before them. Twenty-two rooms- Araceli had counted them all multiple times- promised more than enough space for her and her family to lodge, raise, and grow. The servant’s house in the back was not unimpressive either- five rooms was more than enough for Ines, Juanna, and Massimo to live comfortably, especially since they would be spending a significant amount of time in the main house. Three was still far less than what Araceli was used to, however- in Manila, her mansion always kept a veritable legion of servants ready to tend to any need one might have. For the first time, Araceli would need to pitch in to the many chores which had always been done for her. Fortunately, in the brief lessons they had held before leaving, Massimo and Juanna proved themselves capable teachers in the crafts of the household. From cooking to cleaning, Araceli thought, no housewifely skill would hide itself from her! She was ready.
~ * 1920 * ~
The three Filipino students looked on impatiently as Araceli set down the three bowls of steaming soup on the table. Careful, she warned them, as the bowls were fresh off the stove. Her cries fell on two deaf ears, though, as one of them hungrily pounced on the bowl. Quickly he yelped and fell back as the soup scalded his mouth, narrowly avoiding spilling it on the scattered sheets strewn across the table.
He truly was his mother’s son, Araceli thought- she had known that impulsive woman for quite some time back in Manila- letting out a chuckle as she strode over to and picked up the infant Elisa, new to this world. Clutching the little one tight, she admired the view of the great University of California Berkeley. Many eager young Filipinos in the upper castes would be sent off here to study, and many familiar faces (if not by direct recognition, then by ancestry) peeked out among the crowds. If she were younger, she may have opted to join them- but alas, youth is a slippery snake, and hers had long since disappeared into the grass. Perhaps in a different life, she thought, watching the three students all talking relaxedly and laughing at her kitchen table.
~ * 1937 *~
Once more, Araceli watched the twinkling lights of San Francisco glitter in the distance from a ship’s side- but this time, she watched from the stern and not the bow. Times had been harsh for her and her family- the Depression had stolen away the house and the fortune they once enjoyed, and the smaller house they had adopted never held quite the same homely feel as the rest. Her first home promised affordability and comfort in a place she knew well.
There was more than just that, though- she was done with Elisa sauntering away with that damned ship’s captain. Calvo and the S.S Corregidor could burn in hell for all she cared. All she wanted was to leave that child behind and purge it from memory; the shredded pictures in the wastebasket left back home were a testament to that. She would not have her daughter beguiled by someone nearly twice her age. Just as the fog would drown the city, it would drown these memories.
~*1940*~
Araceli hurried towards the street, three bags of assorted vegetables and grains around her shoulders and in her hands. More importantly, at least to her in the moment, was the newspaper clutched tightly in her grasp. Though she had never been to Europe, the war that had sparked there was deeply concerning to the whole world. And most distressingly, its containment has been breached, for the Japanese had joined forces with the Germans and Italians. She worried for the proximity of the Japanese to Manila, for French Indochina had already been taken under siege by them. It could only be a matter of time before they began knocking at her family’s doorstep, threatening to tear down this new life they had built for themselves.
So embroiled in her worry was she that she failed to notice the frenzied whinnying of horses, the shouts and screams of the cityfolk, and the rapid clattering of unsteady wheels on pavement. Her old bones could not move as fast as she used to, and she could only bring her head up in time to see her wooden end topple towards her.
Perhaps it was a mercy that her life would end here, having lived it long and full. She would never have to face her fears made more real and horrifying than she could ever have imagined. Taken swiftly, suddenly, and painlessly, and to end it unsullied by what her children would have to face. Whatever the case, though in birth in death Filipino, that spark of America would call once more to her children who would find nothing left for them in their mother’s homeland. Though she may end here, her blood and legacy would not.