One Big Mistake

“SO,” Mme. Wimund began, “You are a half-breed.”

Jodi dug her teeth silently against the inside of her lower lip, avoiding the chilling gray eyes that bore before her once more. She supposed she'll have to play the part. Getting all P.C. about it will alienate her even further from the ruse she wanted them all to believe, she realized.

“Well, that certainly makes things more complicated, doesn't it?” Mme. Wimund mused.
“Madame,” Jodi began, jerking her head up, “If I could explain--”
Mme. Wimund stopped, peering at her expectantly. Jodi swallowed and ploughed on.
“I can tell you how this weird—this strange union between my father and mother happened. All that I know is what my father tells me. The Spanish are actively colonising in the south, and I do know from my father that some of your past attempts to expand your frontiers also result with attempts of trading with them.”
Jodi tried to keep the uncertainty out of her voice. She was pulling at whatever she can use from her brain on what she knew of colonisation. She hoped it would work on these people.
“I don't know if they were legal or whatever, but what I do know is that my father and plenty of other men keep check on Spanish activities in their colonies back in Florida...or...or something like that. It's been a while since he's told me. But anyway! He told me that he simply met my mother...she had been a latino slave from the city of Chihuahua.”
The effect on Mme. Wimund was a great relief. The city name worked like a magic word. As Jodi continued on more calmly, Mme. Wimund stared at her with eyes that read to her as wonder.
“...I still have no idea why my father does not treat her as a master to a slave. At least my mother always tells me that she had mas inteligencia que ninguna otra mujer , meaning: more brains than any other woman, those which my father had met before. Of course my father never confirmed or opposed to it so I assume she was right. Parents get like that once they start getting old.”

“I take it he speaks in the Spanish tongue as well.” Mme. Wimund exclaimed.
She nodded, “Yes, she's fortunate for having a husband who's considerate enough not to expect her to throw away her language and customs when she went with him.” She grinned, “I guess he's the kind of guy who's always fancied having an exotic woman around.”

Jodi's head swam with dream-like memories of her parents telling her of their life they had shared together, before she and the boys got in between them. Of course nothing of their meeting was as romantic as the story she was talking about, being much more bizarre and down-to-earth. But remembering them made her smile inside.

“Ms. Johanna, has your father ever told you as to why he left his service?”
“Huh?” Jodi blurted, coming back to reality.
“Your father, why did he leave the service?” Mme. Wimund asked.

“I...I suppose he retired.” Jodi said, “He never liked to talk about being a spy. It has been a long, long time since I even asked him about him and my mother. I'm now past the age of asking repetitive and annoying questions, you know, as children often do.”

“I...see.” It was now Mme. Wimund's turn to look down on her feet, pursing her lips thoughtfully as she digested information. Jodi thought she must've looked aglow. For once she felt confident at what she was saying. Maybe if she talked more in spanish people would finally accept her as who she wanted them to think of her as, and then maybe finally they can get off her back.

“Which side is your father on?” Mme. Wimund blurted, startling Jodi with the suddenness of the question.
“What?” Jodi exclaimed, “Of course the side of the British! He's—he won't turn his back on his heritage, of course! Even if our landlord would even betray his own country, my father would never hold a gun against a redcoat, no sir!That might've been his own cousin for chrissakes!”
She vented her flustered feelings with a hearty laugh, as if it was really a ridiculous question. Mme. Wimund was the one staring at her morosely, her arms crossed behind her straight back.

“Is that why I've never heard of your father?” Mme. Wimund asked.
Jodi quietened, “Huh?” She inquired, furrowing her brows quizzically.

“The lands here are very dangerous.” Mme. Wimund went on, “I've yet to encounter a peasant that has shown any kind feelings towards ourselves, those of us that fight for the crown. The only village anywhere here is a hamlet that lies past the Western Woods. That place must be where your landlord lives.”
Jodi's eyes widened as she listened, whatever that was left of the relief she had felt began to turn cold.

“The poor man, torn between serving the man that gave him everything to feed and shelter his family.” Mme. Wimund described, “And doing what was right for his country. I'd imagine that he was forced to keep his mouth shut of his opinions, and turn towards tending his fields and children to ensure a future for them. How many are there in your family, Johanna?”

“Six.” Jodi said automatically, and then winced, the number is too small for a farmer's family. “Six children, two dogs, and a mule. Plus my parents...would make 11 members.”
The other woman nodded slowly. God, my reaction must be more visible than I thought. Jodi cursed herself silently as the english mistress continued.
“I can see how protective he is, making sure you never enter the Western Woods when there is light. Do the villagers know this? How would they think--”
“No.” Jodi said, “We're outcasts. My parent's weren't local to begin with and my mother wasn't white. Of course they wouldn't even take us in. We're just farmers scraping a living. It's not like they'd be interested to come and talk to us.”

She hoped the bitterness she emphasised with her voice was good enough to make it real. The birds above chirruped animatedly as silence fell before the both of them. She wondered how the soldier was taking all of this. He must be feeling restless, being made to stand and be ignored while she spun fib after fib. As she looked up, Mme. Wimund continued to peruse her, until without a word, she turned away. Jodi watched uncertainly as the woman treaded her way towards the audience, the very image of a strong and wilful woman.
Feeling like she had to, Jodi turned back to the soldier, and saw nothing but the grass and a clutter of trees further behind. There was nothing of him besides the break of disturbed grass when he must have stormed out, no longer needed, or simply, no longer cared. Jodi set her jaw and turned back, focusing herself to the audience as they listened Mme. Wimund's comments. Mme. Wimund is trying to protect her. This she knew now. But for what reason, she had no idea. All she knew was that what she was getting out of this, was still a group of people she should classify as enemies.