Page 38 of The Hacienda
The candles were extinguished. A single copal censer remained lit; its smoke toyed with the morning light, drawing my eye to Andrés as he sat back on his heels and brushed charcoal off the palms of his hands. He had been scrubbing the witch’s circle from the floor. All that was left was a faint shadow and a smear of blood, oxidized and dark on the gray stone.
“I must go to the capilla,” Andrés said. “I said Mass would be at six.”
Succumbing to sleep in the faint hours of the morning meant that my head had lolled onto his shoulder. I had a memory, murky enough that I was uncertain if it was a dream or not, of being lowered to the floor, of a blanket being tucked around me. I slept deeper than I had in over a week;knowing that Andrés had watched over me opened a startling warmth in my chest, something akin to affection.
I shifted and pulled the wool blanket around my shoulders self-consciously. I was a married woman. Feeling a budding tenderness like this for someone who was not my husband—who was apriest—could spin perilously close to sin.
“I will spend the morning in the village.” The color had sapped away from Andrés’s face; his eyes were shaded with the haunted, sleepless wariness I knew well from my own mirror. “After that, I am afraid I must leave.”
Leave.
The word struck like a pailful of cold water. My fingers tightened on the blanket. “Why?”
“I have received word that I am needed by the villagers of Hacienda Ometusco,” he said. “They’re suffering an outbreak of measles.”
I frowned. “How do you know that?”
“Prayers travel,” he said.
“Peopleprayto you?”
“Cielo santo,no.” He brushed his palms against each other again in a vain attempt to clean them. “I hear... I am alerted to people’s prayers.” A window shutter had cracked open in the night; a breeze slipped through it now, teasing a groan out of its aging hinges. Andrés paused, considering the draft, still as a cat attentive to the far-off call of a bird.Listening, perhaps. Then he shifted his weight and, with a long exhale, rose. “I should leave this afternoon, not long past noon. I will return in two days. Three at the most.”
He extended a hand to help me to my feet. His palm was broad, calloused. Smudged with charcoal.
“But what if you fall ill?” I had heard many stories from Papá of medics falling ill with the same diseases they tried to cure in his soldiers.
“I never do.” He shrugged with the careless certainty of a young manwho knew he was invincible. “In my absence, I will protect certain rooms of the house for you. But first we must also discuss... possible solutions.”
I took his hand. Let him guide me to my feet. Stars sparked my vision from rising so quickly; I tightened my hand on his as I steadied myself.
Then I dropped it. Cleared my throat. “We can eat the midday meal together, if that suits.”
He nodded solemnly. “Until then.”
***
A BATH THEN Awalk in the sunshine softened the stiffness of my limbs and flushed away any tangled feelings I had about Andrés leaving. I spent the morning dozing on the back terrace of the house, weaving in and out of the misty realm of dreams. Once, a flash of red eyes pierced the gloom, but a low male voice rose and fell, reciting prayers, soothing me into slumber.
When I woke, the house behind me was still. The garden was still. Even the grasses had ceased their whispering.
It was as if the house sensed Andrés’s presence. It was weighing it, tasting it. Deciding what to make of the echo of magic that bloomed from the green parlor into its clammy corridors, slipping through the house’s many cracks like smoke.
I left the house for the communal kitchen in the village, where I knew Ana Luisa was preparing lunch for the tlachiqueros and other servants.
Voices caught my attention; a group of villagers was gathered near the capilla, dressed in blindingly starched whites and brightly colored skirts. At the group’s center was Padre Andrés; at his side, a young woman with festive ribbons in her plaits bounced a small child on her hip. The child looked less than impressed with the spirited atmosphere; her hair was slick with water and shone like a newborn colt in the sunlight as she cast a suspicious look up at Andrés.
A baptism.
Despite the harrowing night, despite how my back still ached from sleeping on flagstones, the young mother’s joy was infectious, even from a distance. A smile tugged at my lips as I made my way to the kitchens.
I greeted Ana Luisa brightly, earning myself a suspicious sideways glance. A sudden distrust slicked down the nape of my neck.
“I will be dining outside the capilla,” I announced. “With Padre Andrés. If you have something to serve as a tray, I will carry our food there and bring the dishes back so as not to inconvenience you.”
I tried to make it sound like I didn’t want to disrupt her pattern of work. In truth, I didn’t want her near when I was discussing what to do about the house with Andrés.
Ana Luisa said nothing for a long time. I helped her stack a tray with two covered bowls of pozole, spoons, and a cloth laden with warm tortillas. A gentle slick of pork fat rippled across the surface of the rich broth; whole cloves of garlic and thick white pieces of corn spun, following the stirring of Ana Luisa’s wooden spoon.
