I sighed despairingly as I looked out the window. It had, after all, rained that afternoon—a steady shower that lasted until the late hours of the day. When the clouds finally cleared, the sun reappeared, already beginning to set. Its tawny rays pierced through, making the wet leaves of the trees and the blades of grass glisten.
It had only been hours earlier that I had so hopefully told Don delos Santos I would try my luck this week. I wondered if he was growing tired of .
First, he had discouraged from joining the workers in the field earlier, and ignoring him, I had made a fool of myself. It was becoming increasingly likely that there would be a repeat. I’d be waiting in Kasily like a fool, hoping the fields would dry within a day—partly urged by the desire to provide company to a grieving girl.
Maybe my presence did offer so comfort. But was I really that necessary? There was even a chance I was prolonging her grief just by being here.
"Don Suarez’s clothes do fit you, Señor Heneral," the elderly maid comnted from behind . She had been in the front sala for a while, wiping down the mahogany table where we had eaten lunch with the juez.
I leaned away from the window to smile at her, then glanced at the clothes I was wearing. The white casita and trousers were slightly baggy, but those were the very qualities that made house clothes comfortable. Which was odd, since the old man looked a lot smaller than .
"Yes... thank you for this one," I said.
She paused her wiping of the already gleaming tabletop to shake her head. Then she picked up the broom to tackle the dusty floor.
"Do not thank , Señor. It was the señorita who frantically searched the cabinets to find clothes that would suit you. She realized you wouldn’t fit in her father’s clothes, so she had to check the old cabinets for Don Suarez’s," she said with a chuckle.
I raised an eyebrow. I had assud that when she said "Don Suarez," she was referring to the father.
"Don Suarez... her brother? He used to live here as well?" I asked, seeking clarification.
The maid’s eyes widened at my question, and she straightened her back. "Yes, he did live here before. This was the Suarezes’ first house."
"And not brother... half-brother," she added casually.
The conversation was getting interesting. Don Suarez remained largely a mystery to , and I might as well gather more information while I was here. I walked to the couch and took my seat, still watching the maid as she resud sweeping.
"You said half-brother? I didn’t know that."
The maid smiled, excited to share more. "Yes, half-brother. Don Eugenio is the son of Don Joaquin’s first wife, while Señorita Alicia is the only child of his second. It was quite a controversial affair, really. The gobernadorcillo hated his father for remarrying, and they never reconciled."
Joaquin. It was surreal to think that this was the first ti I had learned the old man’s na—and from the maid, of all people.
Things started to fall into place. It explained the awkwardness I’d sensed when I once sat with both of them in the sa sala, after the pirate attack. The gobernadorcillo had expressed gratitude for saving his father and sister, but I didn’t rember him even addressing them.
"And now, with Don Joaquin dead, he only has the señorita left to hate. Just a few days ago, he tried to force her out of the house—removing furniture, even firing the servants," she continued absentmindedly. "But he failed when she ran to her room and locked herself in."
I leaned forward, placing my elbows on my lap and clasping my hands together in front of my face. I hadn’t expected to be bombarded with so much information. She was a blabbermouth—the kind of maid one wouldn’t want around if privacy was a priority. But I wasn’t complaining just then.
She paused her sweeping again to beam at . "I’m very thankful you ca here, Heneral. I thought she’d starve herself in her room. But when I knocked and told her you were coming, she suddenly ca to life. She even managed to dress herself—"
"Cala!" a soft but high-pitched voice interrupted her. I recognized it.
Then ca the sound of soone running away.
The maid stared in horror in the direction of the voice, then looked at . "I ssed up."
I stood up hastily and went after her. The maid told the señorita hadn’t gone upstairs, so I headed toward the kitchen.
It was quiet there. The only sounds were the distant voices of my two escorts. The open back door revealed them plucking the feathers off three slaughtered chickens. They were nearly done, and Alicia must have co to inform the maid—only to overhear that we had been talking about her behind her back.
I shook my head, terribly disappointed with myself. Since when was I a gossip?
A soft sob reached my ears, coming from sowhere I had already passed. I slowly walked backward toward the door leading to the sala, trying to discern shapes in the dimness of the kitchen. Then I saw sothing move—at first, I thought it was a cat.
Under the staircase, between a few empty nipa baskets, Alicia sat hugging her legs, still crying.
I slowly approached, unsure of what to say.
"You don’t need to pity , Heneral," she said, peering out from behind her curled legs. Her wet eyes reflected the dim light of the room. "I can manage. You don’t need to bother yourself. Just leave alone."
I ran a hand through my hair, unsure of what to do next.
Eventually, I squatted down to be at eye level with her. "Hija... just like that day... I won’t—I can’t—leave you alone."
I swallowed before continuing. "You... you can run to ."
She stared at for a while.
Then, slowly, she unfolded herself from the tight curl. Without saying a word, Alicia crawled toward and collapsed into my arms. She began to weep against the casita.
Her voice ca out strangled, barely above a whisper. "The nightmares... they won’t leave alone. The pirates... they keep coming for every night..." A hiccup broke her flow. "My papa... he’s in every thought... and my brother... he hates like I’m vermin."
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