It's Just Lola

Preface

In the darkest hours of the night, a woman barely into her thirties lies on her bed, racked with chills and fever. Her young daughter wipes her brow and holds a glass to her parched lips. Lola is frightened; she believes death may be hours away. Whether it is her attempt to keep the girl from falling asleep, leaving her to die alone, or a devout though estranged Catholic’s urge to confess, Lola begins to tell the story of her youth—a story full of secrets carefully guarded for many years.

Lola survived that illness, and swore the young girl, my mother, to silence. More than eight decades later, the story was passed to me under similar circumstances as I sat by my 95-year-old mother’s hospital bed. Nothing in this account contradicts the story as it was told to me, although I added details and filled in the gaps with fiction.

This is the story of what could have happened...

I. January 1905: Lola age 10

El Patrón sat on his horse atop the small hill, his back ramrod straight as he looked out over the vastness of the land—his land. The face beneath the finely woven straw hat was deeply bronzed by the Peruvian sun. His green eyes were almost startling in contrast, but few people had the temerity to look closely into them. On his left, the fields of crops in varying shades of green reached nearly to the horizon. Past them, barely visible in the distance, stood the shade trees surrounding the house of his eldest daughter, Victoria. Victoria’s husband was doing well with the hectares he had deeded them as a wedding gift. Beyond Victoria’s land lay the plantations of Amelia and Ernestina—also wedding gifts. He scanned the sky, looking for the clouds moving in from the sea to dump their water on his lush valley, giving up the last of their moisture on the side of his mountain. There was a thin line of clouds to the west—at last the rain was coming.

Enrique nudged his horse and let it pick its own route toward the distillery. If the aguadiente was ready, he would share a bottle with Jacoba tonight. A smile played around his lips. Jacoba’s dark beauty had never compared with the porcelain perfection of his wife, but the wild passion in her young body had satisfied his appetites in ways that would have shocked his loving, devout wife—even before the illness began to eat away at her. During his wife’s lifetime he’d been discreet, but he felt no guilt. Men had needs that women couldn’t comprehend. That was how God made them, and who was he to question it?

Virginia had given him twelve lovely daughters—seven of whom survived the periodic bouts of malaria, yellow fever, and dysentery that plagued the rich and the poor alike. At first he’d been resentful of the seemingly endless stream of girls his wife’s womb had produced, but as they grew into adulthood their jealousies had made him realize that sons might become rivals but sons-in-law became vassals—especially since the question of the greater inheritance remained unanswered. Enrique Herrera was El Patrón and he would remain so as long as it suited him.

He laughed softly and kicked his horse into a trot, raising a cloud of dust as he went. When he reached the distillery he dismounted and walked toward the door, confident that one of his men would grab the reins and care for the animal.

"Buenos días, Patrón," said a voice behind him. He spat out dust and acknowledged the greeting with a small motion of his hand.

Enrique walked into the office of the distillery.

The manager rose to his feet. "Buenos días, Patrón."

"Buenos días. Is the new batch of aguadiente ready?"

"Sí, Patrón, I’ll get you a bottle. It’s excellent." The manager scurried away.

Enrique sat in the manager’s chair and pulled ledger books out of the drawers. Two hours later, satisfied that everything was as it should be, he noticed the bottle of aguadiente and a clean glass on the corner of the desk. He filled the glass and admired the clarity of the contents. He inhaled the sharp vapors and took a small mouthful, searching for any hint of imperfection. Satisfied, he let the fiery liquid slide down his throat. It was good. He took the bottle with him as he left.

He thought briefly of stopping for lunch as he caught sight of the tidy vegetable plots near the house, but the sun told him it was still early. He’d let the herders share their rough fare with him today, even if it meant coming home reeking of raw onions. The sun was low in the sky when he returned. Throwing his reins to a boy who came running at his approach, he strode onto the verandah that nearly surrounded the house.

Rosa, he called as he entered. I need to talk to Juan, then I shall want my bath ready, and tell the girls they’ll dine with me tonight. He walked into the library, knowing that Juan would arrive shortly.

Juan entered and gave Enrique an envelope with cash and a document listing the produce he had taken to town that day, initialed by the farm manager. Next to each item Juan had carefully added the price he had received, and the total was written at the bottom. Enrique read quickly through the list and nodded his satisfaction at the prices. He set aside both the list and the money. He’d check the arithmetic and count the money later. Juan had never made a mistake, but Enrique always checked. He smiled up at Juan.

Did you take potatoes today?

"Sí, Patrón. Good money today." The potatoes were grown in ragtag patches on the mountain where it was cool and wherever there was enough top soil. The Cholos grew them when and where they could and the money was shared among them. All Enrique asked in return for their use of his land was enough of the crop for his own household use.

Anything else?

Only this. Juan placed a small package on the desk.

Thank you, Juan. That will be all.

When Juan left, Enrique sat staring at the package for several minutes. The spidery handwriting was his mother’s. Although he had no idea what was in the package, he knew that his father was dead. Receiving anything from his mother could only mean that she was no longer subject to his father’s will. He picked up the package and slowly removed the layers of wrapping. He had no quarrel with his mother; she was a dutiful wife and had obeyed the wishes of her husband.

He remembered his mother arriving at the dock in a curtained coach as he and Virginia were embarking for Peru. She’d lifted her veil and kissed him on the cheek, wishing him a happier life. When the coach moved away, Virginia was holding his mother’s pearl rosary—the same rosary he recently buried with her, the gold cross worn smooth with use. Victoria, as eldest, had claimed the rosary to remember their mother, but he had refused. Maria, who looked so much like her mother it made his heart ache to look at her, had also asked.

No, that rosary was your mother’s most prized possession, he had said. I’ll not take it from her now.

Beneath the last layer of wrapping, he found a letter and a small silk pillow embroidered with tiny perfect flowers.

My dearest son, Enrique,

I am sorry to have to tell you of the death of your father. He died of apoplexy and did not suffer long, may God rest his soul. I pray that he finds more peace in the next world than he found in this one.

Many years ago we tasted a wonderful guava liqueur at one of those tedious social gatherings where your father went to see and be seen. My heart fluttered and I had to be given smelling salts when I recognized the silhouette on the label as that of your lovely bride. I passed off my spell as fatigue and later made discreet inquiries about the liqueur. I located the importer and made his life more comfortable. In return he has kept me supplied with imported guava liqueur and news of your well-being. It gladdened me to hear your news and it kept a mother’s heart beating in her breast.

A woman in this world has few things that are hers alone to dispose of as she wishes. I am entrusting this package to the importer, who became a friend many years ago. It contains a small pillow embroidered by your great-grandmother, Victoria. I would like your lovely wife to have it. She can kneel on it to pray, as I have done for years. It has great sentimental value.

It was God’s will that we walk our life paths so far from each other. Please know that not a day has passed that I have not wished you well.

Your loving Mother

Enrique felt no sorrow at the death of his father. He read the letter again and smiled at the thought of his guava liqueur being served in the noble houses of Spain. He searched his memory for the mention of a small pillow with great sentimental value. It seemed odd that his mother would send a pillow. The more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed. His mother’s name was Victoria. He had named his first girl after his mother.

He reached into the box and removed the pillow. It was firm and quite heavy. He turned it over and over looking at it. The silk looked very clean for something his mother had knelt on for years, and the stitching was perfect—too perfect. No threads had frayed over time. A smile spread slowly across his face. He picked up his letter opener, tugged carefully at the stitches on one side of the pillow, and plucked them loose one by one until he could pull the stuffing out onto the desk. It took seconds to tease apart the cotton—he gasped at the sight of the jewels. He lifted one emerald necklace that sparkled with an inner fire, and his eyes clouded with tears as he imagined the jewels around the lovely neck of his beautiful Virginia. How much joy the gift would have brought to her. Anger boiled up within him as he cursed his father for not dying sooner and letting her have that joy—or maybe it was anger at God Himself for taking his beloved wife from him so early.

He rewrapped the jewels in the cotton, stuffed them back into the pillow, and locked the entire package in his desk drawer. Rubbing his hand across his face reminded him he still had the grit of a long day on his face, and he’d promised the girls to dine with them.

As he readied himself for the evening meal, he thought about the letter. Where would a woman get jewels that were hers alone? Jewels in the family would pass to his younger brother now, along with the title. He was sure he’d never seen that necklace before. The other pieces were less memorable but were definitely worth a small fortune.

He laughed aloud at the thought of his great-grandmother having a gentleman admirer. The laughter died as he remembered that he’d decided the stitchery was the work of his mother.

Good evening, Papa, said Maria as she entered the dining room.

Good evening, Papa. Enriqueta and Lola spoke almost in unison.

Good evening, ladies. He’d started using the greeting years ago when Victoria was a toddler. It was amusing to see the girls simper and act as they thought ladies should act. Maria smiled comfortably, knowing that she actually was a lady now, and Lola kept her eyes on the table in front of her.

He watched them as Rosa served the food. Only Enriqueta was simpering, or maybe she was just squirming in a too tight dress. He was mildly surprised to see bosoms straining at the bodice of her dress. Even little Lola was showing signs of budding maturity. But Lola was still so small; she couldn’t be old enough for bosoms, could she? He thought of his own mother’s exquisitely petite frame as he tried to count years. He frowned as he saw Lola’s red-rimmed eyes. Was she still crying for her mother?

Papa, said Maria, would it be all right if I took the young ones to the river to swim tomorrow?

Oh, yes, please, said Enriqueta, bouncing in her seat, It’s so hot in the afternoons.

Her father smiled at her sudden return to being a little girl. I’ll ask Jacoba to accompany you.

I’m sure Jacoba would prefer the comforts of the house, said Maria. May I ask Pilar if Dolores can be spared for the day, Papa?

Enrique looked at Maria for a moment before turning to his youngest child. And what about you, Lola? Would you like to go swimming tomorrow?

Lola nodded with her head down, still staring at the plate in front of her.

Lola, I asked you a question, and I expect you to look at me and answer.

Yes, Papa. Reluctantly she raised her head and looked at her father. It would be nice to swim.

Enrique was shocked to see the faint mark of a hand on his youngest daughter’s face. Maria, did you strike your sister?

Oh, no, Papa.

Lola, what happened?

Nothing. The mark faded into Lola’s blush, and Enrique wondered if perhaps he’d imagined it. No one on the plantation would dare touch one of his daughters.

Papa, said Maria, I’d prefer Dolores come to the river with us. She can help us carry food for a picnic. Lola turned back to her plate.

The smile Maria turned on her father made his breath catch in his throat. Suddenly he pictured the emerald necklace around her neck. It was his wife’s image as she’d looked when he fell in love with her. He felt a stirring in his loins as he saw her lips move and watched the rise and fall of her breasts as she spoke. Enrique took a large swallow of wine. His eyes moved back to Maria, but he saw the bride he’d brought to Peru so many years ago, wearing her favorite necklace—the large ruby in the gold setting that looked like lace. Incredibly, the heat rose in his body.

I’ve been thinking. Maria’s words began to penetrate his thoughts, You know I’m quite a good seamstress now. I could manage the dressmaking quite well, so we really don’t need a seamstress anymore. Enrique still saw his wife and heard her voice. Desire flamed within him. Maybe you could send Jacoba to Victoria or Amelia. They have growing families and have more need.

Maria’s voice faltered. Papa, did I say something to anger you?

Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he muttered, and the passion drained from his body. What kind of a monster am I? This is my own child. She looks so much like her mother…I, I got confused. This must never happen again. I’ll talk to Victoria tomorrow. She’ll spread the word that Maria is ready to receive suitors.

Why had Maria’s words triggered this vision? Had Virginia also asked that he get Jacoba out of the house? Had she suspected his relationship with Jacoba? Surely not. He looked up at the portrait of his wife mounted behind Lola’s chair. Virginia was lovely in the portrait, wearing the dress she’d worn at their wedding and the ruby necklace he’d just pictured on Maria. His anger flared at Maria for calling forth such vivid memories.

You presume to tell me how to run my household?

Oh, Papa, please, said Lola, showing spirit for the first time since her mother died. Please send Jacoba to Victoria. She did hit me today, and she said she’d hit me again if I told you. The girl burst into tears. She said I was lazy and I didn’t deserve to have any supper.

And are you lazy? Enrique’s anger rose another notch.

No, Papa, she isn’t lazy, said Maria. Jacoba ripped out all her stitches saying they weren’t small enough or straight enough, and then said Lola hadn’t done anything all day. She said we were spoiled.

And because Jacoba’s trying to teach you some skills, you want her sent away? Maybe she’s right. Enrique threw his napkin on the table and went to the library, slamming the door behind him.

II. March 1905: Lola age 11

Papa had promised they could go swimming, and then all of a sudden they didn’t have time for picnics. Papa said Maria needed new gowns because she would be having gentlemen callers. Then life had turned topsy-turvy. They spent every minute sewing new gowns, and even brought girls from the village to help hemming new table linen for her. Dolores spent hours bent over the flatiron. The only good part was that Jacoba was too busy with the new girls to criticize Lola’s stitches.

The family was still in mourning, so a small wedding would take place at the home of the groom. Enrique would go, of course, to give the bride away, but the rest of the family would remain at home. Lola wished they could all go, but Maria said it would be disrespectful to Mama.

The trousseau was ready with two days to spare and Maria wanted to spend one last day with her two younger sisters. When she suggested the long-delayed swimming outing, Lola had been delighted. Now she worried about Maria. Lola thought she had heard Maria sobbing last night, but when she asked her about it, Maria said it was just a bad dream. Lola didn’t believe her.

Lola, please bring the towels, and hurry or we won’t have any time to enjoy the water.

Yes, Maria. Lola winced as pain lanced through her tummy, the strongest one yet. She was sure to feel better soon. She picked up the towels and followed her sisters.

By the time they reached the secluded spot where they were allowed to go into the water, Enriqueta was so excited she could barely stand still enough for Dolores to unbutton all the little buttons down the back of her dress. She plopped down to take off her shoes and peel off her stockings. I don’t know why we have to wear these hot old stockings anyway.

Because you’re not a Chola, said Maria.

Can I swim in my chemise? Bloomers take forever to dry.

Maria laughed. Enriqueta, you are totally shameless. Do whatever you like.

Lola spread out a towel and sat down, hugging her knees. Her stomach was not getting better, and she was trying hard not to cry.

Lola, said Maria, don’t mope and spoil the day. Dutifully Lola stood and let Maria help her out of her dress. Enriqueta had a good idea about not getting her bloomers wet. Lola hiked up her chemise and pulled her bloomers down.

Oh, my God! Lola exclaimed as she saw the blood. She knew it—this wasn’t just an ordinary stomachache. She was bleeding inside and she was going to die. She yanked her bloomers back up and her knees felt weak.

What? Maria turned to look at her.

Nothing. Lola couldn’t tell Maria that she was bleeding down there. What if she wanted to see? Even a sister shouldn’t look there.

It must be something. You look pale.

No. It’s nothing. I…I…I stepped on something sharp.

Come on, said Maria. I’ll hold your hand until you’re out on the sand bar.

Lola had never known an afternoon to last so long. She tried to play and splash with Enriqueta, but she was afraid to stand in the shallower places because the blood might show. When Dolores called them for lunch, Lola said she wasn’t hungry and didn’t get out of the water. As the afternoon dragged on, the pain got worse and worse. Maybe she injured herself when she rode bareback to see Victoria, or maybe it was climbing that big tree by the back door.

The next wave of pain made her think of her own death. Lola pictured all of her sisters gathered around her bed asking to be forgiven for teasing her so much. She would forgive them all and give them her blessings, saying she would be waiting with Mama when their own time came. She felt quite sorry for herself, but was comforted by the thought that she would be so noble in the end.

Enriqueta, Lola, it’s time to go now.

Suddenly Lola felt cold and frightened again. She had imagined the end of her story but not how she was going to get from the river to the house. She couldn’t bear having anyone know where she was bleeding. It was better just to die quietly. You go ahead and I’ll catch up.

Stop being silly and get out of the water. If we’re not back soon, Papa will send Jacoba to look for us!

Lola started through the water as fast as she could. She tried to wriggle her dress over her dripping chemise, struggling and twisting to force the heavy cotton cloth over the wet undergarment. She bent this way and that, getting more and more frustrated.

Maria, look—Lola has the curse. Enriqueta giggled.

Maybe on her deathbed she’d forgive everyone except Enriqueta. Then the words registered. A curse? Lola gave one final yank, and her head came through into the waning sunlight. Curses are just superstition, and it’s a sin to believe in them. I’m not cursed. The tears she had been stifling all day burst out in uncontrollable sobs. I’m dying. I‘m dying an agonizing death, and you taunt me with sinful superstitious words.

Dying? Enriqueta’s mirth distorted her words.

Enriqueta. Maria’s stern voice stopped the laughter abruptly. Look at your sister. Her lips are blue from cold. She can get seriously ill from this. Maria called the girl who had spent the day making sure no one came near the bathing area. Dolores, take Enriqueta and run to the house. Tell Pilar that Lola needs to have hot cocoa when she arrives and to please put some hot coals in the bed warmer for her. Also, tell Rosa that Lola is indisposed and won’t be dining with us. She’ll need a tray taken to her room. Maria pointed toward the house. Now run! We must get Lola warm as soon as we can. The urgency in Maria’s voice gave wings to Enriqueta’s heels as she tugged on Dolores’ hand to make her run faster.

Maria wrapped Lola in the driest towels and held her close for a few minutes, murmuring comforting words and apologies. Poor little Lola. She gently told Lola she had just become a woman. It’s a curse God put on all women to punish us for Eve’s sin. She explained how Lola had just done the worst possible thing. She should guard against any chill, and should never bathe when bleeding. She explained what foods Lola should avoid, and how to take care of herself. Relieved that she was not dying, Lola promised to do everything Maria told her.

Two days later Lola and Enriqueta bid a tearful goodbye to Maria. They sat on the upstairs verandah exchanging dire prophesies of what life would be like without Maria in the house, expecting Jacoba to come in any moment to start haranguing them about idle hands.

I don’t think she’s coming, said Enriqueta after the doleful conversation ran its course.

Lola grinned at her sister. "With Papa away Pilar might not need Dolores. If we can talk her into it, Dolores can be our dueña and chaperone us as we have some fun. We could have a picnic under the guava trees or maybe ride out and visit Ernestina." The two rushed off to talk to Pilar. To their delight, they didn’t see Jacoba at all while their father was away. There were no lessons in sewing, embroidery, crocheting, or knitting and no scolding for imperfect work or idle hands.

The day Enrique returned he asked the girls to dine with him. They were both so excited to hear the details of the wedding that it was difficult for them to act with the expected decorum until their father began the conversation.

I was pleased not to receive any complaints of your behavior in my absence.

Lola saw Enriqueta lean forward and begin to speak. She tried to kick her under the table, but her legs weren’t long enough so she coughed and shot her sister a warning look. Lola was certain it would not be a good idea to let their father know that Jacoba had left them alone the entire time. Thank you, Papa. We were allowed to visit Ernestina while you were gone. She’s doing well and sends her love.

We tried to make you proud of us, said Enriqueta, quickly catching the tone of Lola’s response.

Enrique smiled. You did well. It seems that you’re too old to be treated like children. I’d like you to continue dining with me, starting tonight. Lola smiled happily and watched Enriqueta’s face color with pleasure. This was a definite step toward adulthood.

As with most things in life, the change was a mixed blessing. Conversation at the dinner table was a little strained with only the three of them. There was only so much to say about the weather, and the litany of the day’s events soon paled with repetition. One evening after another uncomfortable silence, Lola asked how much of their sugar cane they used for the aguadiente, how much was used to make sugar, and did they sell any in the market. Enrique looked surprised, but he answered. As they learned more and more about the workings of the plantation, dining with El Patrón became the high point of the day for Lola and Enriqueta.

The priest celebrated solemn high mass to mark the anniversary of Virginia’s death, ending the official mourning period. Lola tried to remember the wonderful person the priest spoke of in his sermon, but her only clear memory was that of a beautiful woman in a big white bed. When she thought of her mother, it was the image of the portrait in the dining room that came to her mind.

I’ll beat you to the table. Enriqueta raced for the dining room. She stopped short at the foot of the stairs and nearly toppled as Lola ran into her from behind.

That’s not—

Shhh. Enriqueta stepped back and Lola saw what had stopped her—Jacoba was sitting at the foot of the table, with her back to the door. Lola saw the billowing skirt of Jacoba’s gown shimmer in the light of the candles. The rich burgundy exactly matched the color of the wine in the glasses, and set off her deep ivory shoulders, which had never been displayed before.

Come in, ladies, said Enrique.

Good evening, Papa. The girls took their seats. Enrique frowned and made an almost imperceptible motion of his head.

Good evening, Jacoba, said Lola softly. Her eyes went immediately to the necklace—her mother’s ruby necklace. The fire of the large stone filled her sight, and she felt unable to move.

Good evening, Jacoba. Enriqueta’s voice sounded very far away. After a pause during which it seemed to Lola that even time itself stopped, Enriqueta continued. It’s a pleasure to have you join us this evening. Enriqueta was so brave; Lola could not have spoken a word if her life depended on it.

Enrique nodded and Rosa began to serve, breaking the spell of the necklace.

Ladies, we have good news for you, said Enrique when Rosa had withdrawn. The lovely Señorita Jacoba has consented to be my wife. Lola’s mouth went dry; she couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t move.

Enrique raised his glass for a toast. Only then did Lola notice the wine glass at her place with its mouthful of wine. She watched her hand move toward the glass as though it belonged to someone else. This couldn’t be happening. Her hand shook as she raised the glass.

To the beautiful Jacoba, may she grace my life forever. Lola tipped her glass up and touched the wine to her lips. Drinking was out of the question.

I wish you happiness, said Enriqueta, after a significant pause.

Lola could feel her father’s eyes on her. She forced air into her lungs. M...May you enj...joy h...ha...happiness. Her lips had turned to wood.

Thank you, ladies. Enrique picked up his fork, and Lola could turn her face to her plate. She felt a tear escape and watched it land in her food.

Lola was stiff and uncomfortable. What was she doing in Enriqueta’s bed?

Enriqueta, wake up. Lola shook her sister. Did I come to sleep with you after a bad dream?

Wha...what?

Tell me I had a bad dream last night. Enriqueta’s face confirmed Lola’s fears.

Did you see that dress?

"Of course, that’s what she was doing all those days she left us alone."

How could Papa do this to us? How could he do it to Mama? The two girls clung together, weeping. Oh, Enriqueta, do you think Mama looked down from her picture and saw her ruby necklace?

Don’t be silly. Mama’s in heaven, not in the picture.

I don’t know, said Lola. Sometimes I talk to her in the picture, and she smiles a little—or frowns a little, depending on what I say. Maybe we could just check and see how she looks this morning.

All right, but you’ll see. The picture always looks the same. Enriqueta bounced off the bed. I’m starving and I’ll bet you are, too. Let’s get something to eat and then we’ll look at the painting.

Lola realized that her stomach was rumbling. Enriqueta was right; they hadn’t eaten much dinner. The two girls crept down the stairs, the floors cool on their bare feet. As they approached the kitchen, the yeasty odor of rising bread dough mixed with the strong aroma of fresh ground coffee welcomed them.

And why are my downy chicks walking around the house in their nightdresses? asked Pilar, still turning the handle of the coffee grinder.

We aren’t downy chicks anymore, said Enriqueta, we’re young ladies.

That’s too bad because only downy chicks eat before breakfast. Everyone else has to wait.

Then we’re downy chicks, said Lola. The two sat on one of the plank benches that flanked the table in the large kitchen where the house servants ate. Pilar gave a throaty chuckle as she put away the coffee grinder. She lifted the cloth that covered the mound of rising dough and pinched off a generous amount, flattening it between her hands. She grabbed a fistful of brown sugar from the bowl on the table and spread it over the dough. Then she rolled the dough into a neat roll and tucked it into the oven of the wood-burning stove where the water for coffee was heating.

Do you want to tell Pilar why there are tear tracks down the cheeks of my downy chicks? Pilar continued to bustle about the kitchen. The two girls looked at each other. They weren’t supposed to talk about family matters with the servants, but this could hardly be a secret.

Papa’s going to marry Jacoba, said Lola, unable to keep her tears from flowing again.

Poor Lola got so pale when Papa told us that I thought she was going to be sick, said Enriqueta.

Lola jumped up and started following Pilar around the kitchen, with Enriqueta close on her heels. They began telling Pilar all of their fears and all of Jacoba’s past transgressions against them, both real and imagined.

Pilar turned and gathered the two girls to her, almost smothering them in her ample bosom. My poor little lambs, my poor little lambs. Then, as rapidly as she had embraced them, she released them. Ay! The bread! She hurried to the oven and removed the treat. After pouring them each a mug of frothy milk, fresh from the morning milking, Pilar went back to her work, muttering under her breath.

What’re you whispering? asked Lola.

I’m praying that God and the Virgin Mary will deliver us from the evil in our house. You poor little lambs, even your sainted mother wasn’t able to cast out the evil from our midst.

Was Mama really a saint? A thrill ran up Lola’s spine at the thought.

Oh, yes. We all loved your mother and would have defended her with our lives, but we were helpless against the curse of the pit viper.

Enriqueta drew in her breath sharply. "I knew it—there are real curses. See, Lola? It’s not a superstition. Enriqueta looked earnestly at the cook. Pilar, tell Lola that spells and curses are real. If you tell her, she’ll know it’s true because you never lie to us."

Oh, my little ones, it’s a sin to lie. God sees the truth always.

But even if curses exist, they’re still sinful. Lola’s conviction wavered in the face of Pilar’s words.

Yes, it’s very sinful to make spells and curses, said Pilar. Now go get dressed. Your father’ll be angry if he sees you walking about in your nightdresses.

All right, after we look at Mama’s picture. Lola took Enriqueta’s hand and they walked through the door to the dining room. She let out a small scream as they stared at the blank wall where the picture had hung for longer than any of the girls could remember.

Pilar put her flour-covered hands on their shoulders and drew them back into the safe haven of the kitchen.

III. August 1905: Lola age 11

The wedding was held within the month in the family chapel. Victoria and Amelia, along with their families, arrived first, followed by Ernestina and her husband. Ernestina looked pale and tired, as usual. Juana had sent word from Ecuador that she was under a doctor’s care and unable to travel. Lola overheard Amelia whisper that Juana had just lost another baby. Victoria said it must be hard for her.

I don’t know, whispered Amelia, I think I’d rather be in bed bleeding to death than trying to choke out congratulations at this travesty of a wedding.

You know you don’t mean that, said Ernestina softly. Be careful what you say or God will punish you and make it happen.

No, of course I don’t mean it, said Amelia. She gently kissed her sister on the cheek. Ernestina was always reminding everyone of God’s presence. Maybe her poor health made her feel closer to God.

I wouldn’t be surprised if lightning strikes the chapel during the ceremony, said Victoria. There weren’t this many flowers at Mama’s burial. Lola edged closer to hear the lowered voices of her sisters.

Pssst. Enriqueta was gesturing wildly for her to come. Lola slipped away from the little knot of sisters and went to the door of the chapel. Enriqueta grabbed her skirt and pulled her outside. You’re not supposed to be in the chapel yet. She handed Lola a basket of rapidly wilting flowers. Lola picked one up and giggled as it drooped limply on the short stem.

Enriqueta sniffed. You wait and see what happens to them after Devil Spawn Pit Viper walks over them. They’ll curl into brown death. Lola’s eyes widened.

The bride stepped out of the carriage, her ivory gown setting off her slightly darker skin. Lola’s jaw dropped as she saw Jacoba’s long black hair falling in shining waves to below her waist. Her smile showed perfect gleaming white teeth and even her eyes sparkled. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who stormed around the house with a perpetual frown and a big ugly chignon at the base of her neck. Something in Lola began to recognize the spell Jacoba had used on her father. Before she could quite get it straight