The prayer became a loud rumble, like a machine that had been turned on. People recited the Hail Mary with a devotion that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. They screamed it.
It was hard to explain what came over me. I didn’t know if it was my posture, still leaning back over my mother’s hand with my legs folded and my knees on the ground, or that I’d entered some sort of ecstasy like my mother called it later. But the truth was that my legs had turned numb and I was so lightheaded that everything started to move in rapid circles around me: Papá’s concerned face, Mamita’s teary eyes, the clouds above my head. Everything was spinning faster and faster and the voices—the prayers—became distant and muffled, as though I heard them through a tunnel. And then, everything turned black.
When I woke up, lying down on the grass, surrounded by my parents and the priest, something had changed. People looked at me with what I could only define as reverence. My mother was pressing a handkerchief with smelling salts against my nose.
“Out of the way,” my father was saying. “She needs to breathe.”
My brother helped me up and as soon as I stood, people made room for me to go through, as though I were some sort of queen. My father helped me down the trail and as I walked by, people touched my arms and shoulders. A woman even cut a piece of my hair.
“She smells like flowers,” someone said.
I searched for Elisa among the crowd, but I couldn’t find her. People crossed themselves as I walked past them, as though I’d turned into some kind of deity. I felt exhausted, physically and emotionally, and it was a relief to arrive back at the plantation. My father had to threaten those who attempted to enter his property. He’d already foreseen a scenario like this one and so his men stood in front of the gates by the dozens, some holding their machetes, others looking majestic on top of their horses.
My mother, with trembling hands, asked me if I wanted dinner. I declined; all I wanted was to lock myself in my room and sleep for hours.
In my room, I experience a deep sense of relief. I locked my door and headed for the bed.
“Hello, Catalina.
I screeched.
“Shhh, it’s me, Elisa.”
She emerged from behind the curtains, still wearing the blue cloak.
“What are you doing here?” I said, petrified. “My mom can’t see you here!”
“I know, I know, I just came to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye?”
“Yes, we’re leaving. For good.”
I wasn’t sure who “we” were. I knew so little about her.
“Did you show your dad the doll?”
With all the excitement of the Apparition and the Virgin, I’d completely forgotten about the doll request. I could’ve lied, but lying was exhausting. I shook my head.
“Then I’m going to have to take it back.”
“No, please. I promise I’ll show him. Tomorrow. First thing in the morning.”
She sighed. “It will be too late then.”
Too late? What was she talking about?
“One day you’ll understand,” she said. “I have to go now.”
She turned to the window and disappeared into the night. That was the last time I ever saw her.
*
I kept my promise. I showed my father the doll the next day. His reaction was not what I expected.
“Who gave you this?”
“A girl.”
“Where is she?”
He seemed desperate, his eyes wide, his fingers pressing on my shoulders as he squeezed me to get an answer. Normally, he didn’t care about anything other than his precious Pepa de Oro, which was why his reaction surprised me so much.
“I don’t know, Papá, you’re hurting me.”
He let go.
“She said she was leaving forever.”
“Do you know where she was staying?”
“No.” I collected the doll before he would take it. “Who is she? Why did she want me to show you the doll?”
“Because I gave it to her. When she was small.”
“Why?”
He was about to say something but seemed to change his mind.
“Tell me!”
“I will, but only if you tell me the truth. Is it true that the Virgin came to your room?”
I squeezed the doll’s cushioned skirt. We were in his study, where I rarely came—we kids were not allowed in here. My father was sitting behind his desk where he’d been writing in a leather-bound notebook.
He rubbed my arm. “Come on, ma petite poupée, it will be our secret.”
“If I tell you, will you make it stop?”
“Make what stop?”
“The pilgrimages, the praying.”
“I promise. Now tell me. Did you see her?”
I bit my lower lip, then shook my head. There was a strange flicker in my father’s eyes. For a moment, I thought he was going to strike me, but instead, he started laughing. It was a hoarse laugh; one I hadn’t heard in years.
“But why would you make up such a thing?” he said, tears in the corner of his eyes from laughing so hard.
“It wasn’t intentional, Papá, I never wanted this to happen. Elisa came to my room once and Mamita heard us. It was the only thing I could think of so she wouldn’t find her there. She doesn’t like her.”
My father leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“Yes, I know.”
“Now it’s your turn.”
“My turn?”
“To tell me why you gave that doll to Elisa.”
He cleared his throat. “Not a word to your brother or your sister. Understood?”
I nodded.
“Elisa is your sister.”
“What? Why doesn’t she live with us? Why does Mamita hate her?”
“Because she has a different mother than you. She lives with her.”
“Like Purificación, your daughter in Spain?”
“Something like that.” He lowered his voice. “When she was little, she lived here on the plantation, but when your mom found out who she really was, she sent her and her mother away. I don’t know why they returned and didn’t come to see me.”
I remembered something Elisa had once said, weeks ago.
“Elisa said her grandmother was sick. Maybe that’s why they came.”
“Yes. Maybe.” He patted my back. “Now go play, will you? I need to get some work done.”
“But Papá, you’re going to help me with Mamita, to make all of this stop?”