Chapter 6: Revised

Another glimpse of Olvida before we head away from the manor. I intend to have a scene between Olvida and Alejandro before this breakfast scene. Where this chapter starts to take a further look at Olvida, the idea of the Alejandro vs. Olvida chapter would take a closer look at Alejandro and his intentions.

Writing a woman who is at once resentful and at peace with her decision is a challenge. I did not want Olvida to come across as completely petulant, but I also did not want her to be a martyr, or some pure, thumbs up image relevant to a martyr. In the middle there was an emo, middle aged woman that I did not want to flourish either. Tricky, but fun, hope you enjoy this new chapter that didn't make it into the first draft!


6

Oh, Adan.

What a nightmare. I cannot remember the last time I walked in my sleep. Can you? Your memory was always so sharp, I would not be surprised if you could! I am sure you could recall the exact night, on the exact month, of the exact year. What I said, what I did, everything. I do not think I was afraid of my night terror… so much as I was afraid of facing my host, my traveling companion, and the kind Padre that had been escorting us thus far. What a fool I am, and what madness they must think me possessed with. So, there, on the bed, I sat. My habit was heavy across my shoulders. Even inside, away from the heat, every fiber of it felt so stifling. Perhaps that was my own anxiousness.

“You are worrying too much about this,” Carmen said as she settled next to me on the edge of my bed. I did not want to look her in the eye, I only wanted to look at the jungle beyond my sun painted window. I was far too embarrassed. “Come, come now. You do not think you are the only one who has walked in their sleep before have you?”

“Oh, Carmen,” I finally gave in, and fastened a pitiful gaze on her. “I made such a raucous though. I even had our hostess taken from her sleep. What dreams I must have disturbed!”

“My lovely, little hermana,” Carmen chuckled, I had thrown myself back on the bed. My legs were dangling just above the rug my feet had been shuffling over. “Were you not such a wonderful daughter of god, I would encourage you to take to the stage. I think you would make a fine actress!” She imitated me, and threw herself on the bed, her hand across her brow as she heaved a histrionic sigh.

I frowned, a noticeable, agitated exhale huffed through my nostrils. Still, I looked at her. She was such a pretty girl, Adan. Her red hair came from an English merchant that had settled in Spain, but those dark eyes and skin could only have belonged to a mother that once lived by the sea. Her smile was wide and pleasing, the lips not parted, so no teeth revealed, just that gentle expression. I found myself calming, especially as she said: “You need not worry.”

“It just felt so real,” I sat up again, and held my hands in front of me. The baby, even now, was there; a screaming apparition of my memory. “The baby, I mean. He felt so real.”

“Your imagination is as powerful as your faith. I do not doubt for a second that your dreams could have played such a cunning trick on you.”

I bit my lip, but I was beginning to come around. I would have preferred a morsel of breakfast to nibble on, rather than the lower portion of my mouth. My focus on my midnight disturbance was beginning to lose priority. Now, it was my stomach that had stepped forward to accept my attention. I unconsciously rubbed my belly as it grumbled. “You really think our hosts will be… not too upset?”

“I know it, Nieve,” she took my hand from my belly, and drew me off of the bed. “We may abscond to Spain should they slight you even slightly,” she giggled. “How is that?”

“I am impractical to you,” I admitted to both of us with a resigned smile.

“Yes,” she replied smoothly, with a hint of playfulness. Her thumb rubbed my hand encouragingly, despite her teasing. “Are you all right now?”

I nodded instantly. “Yes, yes, I am fine. Thank you, Carmen. You are so kind to me.”

She smiled broadly, perhaps the largest smile I had seen her boast on our whole trip. Carmen secured her coif, and the black veil was drawn down over her neck and shoulders. A final curl of red hair was tucked away behind the red and black. We linked arms, and made our way through the house until we were outside on the porch, facing the tropical property. A table was there, decorated with fruits, juices, a sweating jug of water, steaming coffee (I was so anxious to try my first cup!), and some smoked fish. Sitting around this masterpiece was our host, his wife, and our caretaker, Padre Alvarelo. They were all so fresh looking, ready for the day that was already far too warm for my liking.

“Ah!” The captain was to his feet, his arms open to myself and Carmen. “Our guests have arrived.”

“We are here!” Carmen chimed, and nodded graciously as Captain Alejandro had a Tairona servant pull our chairs out for us. I recognized the older Tairona woman from last night. She had just appeared from another doorway with a large loaf of crusty bread. Her eyes locked with mine, but I found an escape. I averted my gaze, and instead concentrated on getting situated at the table. My relief returned when, once settled, I noticed the servant had left us.

“You slept well, yes?” The Captain inquired. I could not help but remark this. Surely when his wife had risen, so had he. How could he have missed such an urgent racket as the one I was making last night? Odd as it was, I could not help but to further nurture my respite. This meant less attention to my behavior.

“Indeed,” Carmen replied, as I had taken perhaps a moment too long to answer him.

“Yes,” I murmured, and accepted a cup of coffee from Padre Alvarelo. He was smiling at me, and for the moment, I had completely forgotten the conversation around us. I had my first sip. As I lifted the cup to my lips, I found the smell pleasantly rich and woody. The taste, however, made my face contort without my express control.

Padre Alvarelo had scooted closer. “A bit bitter?” He asked quietly so as not to disturb the chatter around us.

I nodded, and flashed a humiliated grin. “Yes, quite,” I washed the strong taste down with a draw on a glass of cool water.

“Here,” he retrieved a clay bowl of sugar and a little bottle of milk. The liquid lapped up the translucent walls, and draped down thin white curtains before settling again. “Try these. The milk will make it smooth, and the sugar cuts the bitterness nicely.” I was a hesitant coffee alchemist, but in no time at all, I had my coffee at a desired taste. I would not say this to the padre, but sweet and creamy as it was, I would probably remain faithful to a simple cup of tea. “How is it now?”

“Very good,” I answered, and Olvida spoke up.

“Nieve.” My eyes were instantly upon her, “I had an idea.”

My heart was thundering. Perhaps I would not escape breakfast without some discussion of the previous night after all. Still, I painted my current behavior in hues of good humor and politeness. I was a guest in her home, after all. “Yes, signora, what idea is that?”

“Padre Alvarelo says you are quite the horsewoman.”

I tittered modestly. “Oh, signora, I would not say I am so professional, but I am learning!”

“My mother always believed that practice bred perfection. How about we ride together after breakfast? I have some riding clothes you could sport. It will spare you from this wretched heat.”

The table was alight with laughter, and I blushed hotly enough to rival the sun rising ever so steadily into the pale sapphire sky. “Signora,” I could not refuse her, “I would be delighted.”

“Splendid,” Captain Alejandro, in one action, finished his coffee as he stood, and wiped his mouth properly. “Now, I do hate to cut this breakfast short, but I am needed up at the mission. Hermanas,” he bowed to us, “it was a pleasure to meet you.” But he did not bid a farewell to Padre Alvarelo. “I will most likely see you two again,” he gave us a curt nod, and left the table. My eyes drifted back to Olvida, who also was dabbing her lips with a napkin.

“Nieve. Shall we?”

Our horses crested the hill at a rapid pace. We had followed a thin path, and I had to quickly learn how to canter. Olvida kicked her horse onward, and I could only let loose a prayer from my heart that God would keep me safe as I hunkered into my saddle, and fastened my hands around those reins. After a blur of fragmented light and swirling shadows, we burst out of the jungle and into a clearing swollen with verdant hills. The leafy roof of the forest removed, I saw the trees lap like an emerald ocean at the feet of a large grey-blue mountain, the same I had seen from the shore. It stretched for the cloud dressed sky like a large stone wave that would always be cresting, but never break. Even a giant would feel small in its shadow, so imagine, Adan, how I must have felt!

Olvida drew on the reins, and her horse slowed, stopped, and snorted as its race across the soil, through the trees, and up the hill had finally ended. I gripped into the leather straps, and leaned back. My horse trotted to an eventual stand still, though instead of surveying the area like its stable neighbor had, my mount began munching on the grass as it shifted its feet. Olvida pulled a flask off her saddle, and drew from it. I saw drops of crystal spit from the mouth of the object, and as the sun played with rainbows in those droplets, I realized just how thirsty I was.

“Water?” I hazarded.

“Yes,” she smiled knowingly, her thirst must have matched my own. She held the flask to me, and I gratefully took it from her. Even though I was in lighter clothes, and such linens did leave me less constricted, there was no escaping this heat. The water would have been a gift from God, were it not such a well-timed courtesy of my hostess’s foresight.

I pulled the flask away, and brushed the back of my hand across my mouth. “Much better, thank you.”

“We will take a slower pace from here.”

“Oh, can we?” We shared a laugh, there was no denying - on either of our parts, Adan - that I was not as experienced a rider as Olvida. A more languid gait suited me well, and gave me time to recover. “I will be fine soon, I think.” I handed her the flask, and she took it, corked it, and replaced it on her saddle.

“How are you feeling?”

“My legs hurt a little,” I slapped the top of my thigh indicatively, and chuckled heartily, but Olvida’s privy smile suggested I had answered her question unsatisfactorily.

“I mean from last night,” she nudged her horse’s belly with her heels, and the creature loped forward.

“Oh,” I straightened in my saddle, and with a soft strike of my heels, my ride followed hers, though it was irked to have been interrupted from its snack. “A little shaken. I cannot remember the last time I dreamed in such a manner. I am sorry if I woke you and your husband.”

“You would have needed to have your crisis in the western wing of our manor for that to have occurred. I would not worry about the gentleman. He was undisturbed.”

From my position I had the advantage of being able to watch my hostess a little closer than she would have liked. She was tense, her arms pinched close to her side, and in a matter of moments, she had readjusted this position to take on her usually statuesque appearance.

“Still, I did not want to disturb anyone, really. I was just so frightened and -”

“Nieve, how much has the padre told you about us?” She was inquisitive, bordering on suspicious. I must admit, I was uncomfortable, and still I smiled. My eyes spoke a different language, though. They were tense, I must have been narrowing them with equal curiosity as to what could be on my hostess’s mind.

“Signora?”

“On your way to our home. Did he speak at length of us, or merely introduce the notion of lodging with us?” There was a tetchy lining to her interrogation, though I could tell she was doing her best to remain calm.

“Not at length, signora, no.” I had to choose my words carefully here. Now that I could see Olvida’s face, I could see just how tense she was. Her mouth, usually so malleable to appropriately suit any polite situation, was now a small, thin thing. “The padre was very considerate of our hosts.”

“He is a considerate man,” her features appeared to soften, though I was not ready to drop my cautionary dialogue just yet. We had soon left the clearing behind us, and entered the forest once more. The shade was welcomed, and the occasional spots of light slipped along the figure and mien of my hostess. She was a beautiful, troubled woman, and it was odd to see the light and dark move so indecisively across her. I wondered if she could see such similar effect on me?

“Signora, if there has been any breach of your privacy, and if it were my fault, I do sincerely apologize for any harassment you might have felt.”

“So,” Olvida stopped her horse, “you did not know…” Was she relieved? I could not tell, even as the light flickered across her suddenly pale face.

I drew on my reins, my horse stopped a few paces ahead, so I turned to better face my hostess. “Know? Know what?” I asked softly.

“Alejandro and I have tried for years to conceive a child. It was only a year or so ago that I gave in. It was a miscarriage, you see. I was half through my term, and suddenly, one morning, I was bleeding.”

I was struck by this, my heart broke for her. Remember when mother thought she was going to give us a little sister, Adan? I thought I could cry, my understanding of this pain was so deep. Still, no matter how much I felt for mother, I knew there was no way I could truly grasp the agony she endured, and here my hostess was, with this same affliction. I felt as helpless now as I did then. “Signora, you do not need to continue, such a travesty cannot be endured to be remembered.” I thought I was saying this for her sake, I think I was saying it for mine.

“It was not my first, you know. I had had other attacks before this one. Those,” she lowered her dark eyes, “were so early. This term was so different. We had a room prepared, we had a name. I imagined him a son.”

My spirits sank. I remembered the weight of the screaming baby boy from the other night.

“I imagined his hair dark like his father’s, his eyes big like his mother’s.”

And then I thought I had frozen all over. In this heat, my heart had fashioned itself into a block of ice, and dropped into the pit of my stomach. The baby she was describing really was much like the boy wriggling and shrilling in my arms.

“I lost my son that morning, Nieve. By all accounts I should have been taken as well, but here I am… I do not understand why God has spared me, and claimed my children to his care.”

“Oh, signora,” I drew my horse closer to hers, and reached out to touch the hand now clasped tightly around her saddle‘s horn. “I do not know what to say.”

“My husband says I have given up, and perhaps he is right. He says I confuse this for mourning. Some nights he calls me selfish, other nights he calls me nothing at all. Says nothing at all… He either stays at the mission or he stews in his half of the manor. Perhaps I am cruel,” Olvida shivered, “but I will know when I am ready again. Until then, I cannot bear to send another child to Heaven. Not even after I came so close to a cherub of my own.”

“Signora. I mean no offense. Why tell me all of this? I am only a little over the title of stranger in your house…”

Olvida sighed, and she finally looked at me. Her eyes were infinite, her smile bitter as my first taste of coffee.

“Because in a way, Nieve, so am I.”