The Guardian of Secrets: And Her Deathly Pact (41 page)

In his opinion, María was just as pretty as her sister but not as feminine. Her face was permanently caked in red soil, and hair tied in an untidy knot at the top of her head hid that beauty so evident in Marta. Ernesto smiled and shook his head. María often angered her mother by refusing to wear a skirt or dress, preferring jodhpurs, which she wore day in and day out, and he dreaded to think of what would happen if she ever decided to marry. She had a soft lyrical voice, yet she spoke with the forcefulness of a man, with an intellect that made people sit up and take note.

“Well, it’s time,” he said to himself, looking once more at his appearance.

It was time to put on a happy smile, time to forget for the moment that Marta, to all intents and purposes, would leave them for a life sentence in a prison without parole. As for María, she’d turn up eventually. She always did.

María rode with the wind on her face. She screwed up her face, thinking that she was late and would more than likely be punished by all the members of her family in some way or another, and rightly so. But Carlos, her Carlos, had held her in his arms, looked into her eyes, saying what she had wanted to hear for so long now: he loved her! She laughed into the full force of the wind. It had taken him long enough, but he had finally said the words.

She jumped off the horse whilst it was still moving and handed the reins to a stable boy. If she hurried, she’d only be a few minutes late for dinner, which wasn’t so bad, was it?

The long formal dining table was set with the finest dinner service: silver cutlery and crystal glasses only brought out for special occasions. Celia sat at the bottom end of the table, flanked by Aunt Marie and Marta. Next to Marta, Miguel shifted impatiently in his seat, trying to ignore Rosa’s customary prayers before every meal. Pedro sat opposite Miguel, and both men smiled in a conspiracy of cynicism at their Aunt Rosa’s Latin ranting.

“Here you are! We were wondering where you’d got to,” Celia said to Ernesto when he went in to face the rest of the family.

“Sorry, darling. I had a few bits and pieces to finish off,” Ernesto told her.

“We’ll forgive you, then… No sign of María yet?”

“No, but when is she ever on time for anything?”

Pedro shook his father’s hand, kissed his cheek, and then laughed. “Take one guess where she’ll be.”

Aunt Marie said, “She’ll be looking in her wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear. Celia, you did tell her not to come to the table with those silly trousers on, didn’t you?”

Celia laughed and shook her head. “Yes, I did, but I think you’re right. She’s probably pacing up and down her bedroom right now, mumbling away to herself. I told her this morning not to come down unless she was properly dressed, and she’s probably wondering just about now if her trousers are more important than her hunger.”

“Oh, Mother, Aunt Marie, leave her alone,” Marta said with a laugh. “We all know well enough that she would rather sit in her room all night than wear a dress, but she won’t, not tonight. So just be patient. She’ll probably stun you all when she makes her appearance. Anyway, it’s not her clothes she’ll be worried about. It’ll be her hair. It will take hours to get the dirt out of it.”

“Are you talking about me?” María asked Marta, sweeping gracefully into the room.

“Yes. What have you been doing all this time?”

“I’ve been getting ready for the party. What did you think I was doing?”

“Fighting with your hair,” Marta told her truthfully.

María’s dark auburn curls fell softly around her face and down her back. She wore a hint of powder and lipstick on a face filled with stunning features and a mouth framed by full bow lips. She wore her best dress, an emerald green silk which was both feminine and delicate, and it clung to her slim but rounded hips. Her eyes were sparkling with hidden secrets, her lips were full and pouting from Carlos’s kisses, and she was happier than she had ever felt.

“What if I was? It’s the final result that counts.”

Celia looked around the table at the happy smiling faces of her family. In the last twenty years, she had watched her family grow and had felt blessed and happier than she’d ever dreamed possible. Her journals, neatly catalogued and piled in her old packing trunk, told her story. She had now filled twenty-three tightly bound books with chronicled details of her life, and she had left nothing out, not even the most gruesome details about her marriage to Joseph Dobbs, long dead and, for the most part, forgotten.

She read them often, not wanting to forget anything: the day the girls’ first teeth appeared and the day they took their first steps, the day Miguel went off to study in England, and her own trip to Merrill Farm. She had also written about the day she told Pedro all about his real father and how much relief it had brought her. She told the girls about Joseph Dobbs too. That, unfortunately, had been forced upon her after Pedro and Miguel fought about something silly, and she remembered her anger at the time. Pedro had wanted Miguel’s tin soldier. Miguel told Pedro it was his, along with everything else at La Glorieta, because Ernesto was not Pedro’s father. Therefore, he had no right to anything. The girls, curious, had subsequently asked her why Pedro had a different father from them.

She now looked across at Marta and felt the tears well up in her eyes, but she couldn’t stop them. Her little girl was not suited to a life in a convent, nor was she strong enough to endure the hardships of a religious vocation in a closed order. Her heart was breaking, but she could nothing to stop that from happening either.

Celia’s eyes were drawn to Ernesto, and he smiled at her. She was proud of the way he was concealing his anger. He was trying to be strong for the rest of the family, but she knew that he was suffering terribly, and that after tonight, they’d have to be strong for each other.

Ernesto, quiet and thoughtful, studied Miguel’s stony face, which was attempting to hide his displeasure. Miguel didn’t want to be there tonight, he thought, knowing his son well. Miguel hadn’t even greeted him properly, didn’t stand up or shake his hand. He guessed that the only reason he had come at all was because he knew he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t make the effort.

“So, Miguel, how is life in the city?” Ernesto asked him, attempting to make an effort too.

“Oh, you know, lots of talk, lots of rumours as usual. No one knows whom to trust any more. Personally, I think it’s only a matter of time before this whole country blows itself up.”

“Miguel, please! Not at the table,” Celia scolded.

Rosa finally spoke. “Trust in no one but God.”

María giggled. Marta nodded her head in agreement, and he knew that Celia kicked Miguel’s leg under the table.

Ernesto’s frown deepened. Time to change the subject, he decided, before Rosa burst into prayer, or worse, before she forced them all to pray with her!

“Right, now that we’re all here, I think it’s time to make the toast to our darling Marta, who will leave us tomorrow for her chosen life.” He smiled, but he felt himself choking on the words. Celia held his hand. Aunt Marie held María’s, and Pedro and Miguel concentrated on their glasses of wine. Marta beamed with pride, and Rosa’s fingers gripped her rosary beads to her breast.

“Marta,” Ernesto said with a catch in his voice, “find happiness and fulfilment in your chosen life. Walk towards your destiny, finding a path that’s as smooth as glass and as straight as an arrow, and may God and his blessings fulfil you and bring you joy.”

He stopped talking, lifted his glass, cursed God to himself.

“You will always be in our hearts and in our minds, and remember, darling, we’re always here and will always wait with open arms, should you wish to come home to us.”

“Hear, hear!” a chorus of voices echoed.

“Thank you, Papa,” Marta said, kissing Ernesto. “Thank you all for being here tonight. It means so much to me. I really don’t have anything to say except that I want you all to know that I love you. I know this hasn’t been easy for you all to accept, but this is what I want… what I’ve always wanted. So thank you for understanding that.”

A deathly silence followed, each with their own private thoughts. In the end, the silence was broken by Rosa, whose euphoria displaced the increasingly morbid atmosphere.

“You know, everyone,” she said, the perfect picture of contentment, “this is the happiest day of my life too. If I were Marta’s age, I would be sitting on exactly the same exciting brink of heaven as Marta is tonight. God spoke to her, you know. She has been chosen to serve him in the most exalted way, and you should all be very proud that she leaves you all to marry our Lord Jesus. After all, she could have ended up getting married to a man and having children. Just think how unhappy that would have made her. You see, God is perfect, whereas a husband isn’t. God is…”

“God is allowing our dinner to get cold. Shall we eat?” Ernesto said, as he could think of no suitable reply to his sister’s preposterous statement.

Coffee was served, liqueurs were being poured, and Celia decided that the time had come to change Marta’s mind. “Thank God it’s gone off without a hitch, I was terrified that Maria might speak her mind. She was warned not to try to reverse Marta’s decision at the dinner table” Celia whispered in Ernesto’s ear.

“Are you ready?” he whispered back.

She nodded.

Ernesto said, “Everyone, your mother and I would like to speak to Marta alone for a moment, so why don’t you all go into the yellow salon and we’ll meet you there later for a spot of music. María’s offered to sing tonight, and you know what a rare occurrence that is.”

After the rest of the family had left, Marta waited nervously for her parents to give her all their reasons why she shouldn’t become a nun; she had been dreading this moment all evening. Tonight had been a celebration, as far as she was concerned, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew that the rest of the family were in mourning.

She watched her father pour her mother a drink, and for the first time all evening, she felt that she might cry. She loved her parents almost as much as God, but as early as this morning, she had practiced her defence as any good lawyer would before a trial, and she was determined not to allow them to wear her down. She could tell that her father was finding it difficult to begin the conversation. She watched him swirl the brandy around in his glass, staring unseeing at the wall, while her mother wrung her hands together and crossed and then uncrossed her legs again. Marta decided not to prolong the agony. She would do the talking. She would start them all off.

“Father, Mother, I know what you want to talk about. No, listen, please. Please don’t interrupt me,” she said, clearly shocking both her parents when Celia opened her mouth to speak. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve known what I wanted to do and what I wanted to be. When I made up my mind, the world and all the confusion in it fell into place. That’s why I began spending more of my time with Auntie Rosa. We are the same, you see. That’s why you mustn’t be angry with her. This is my decision, not hers.”

“Please, darling, just listen to us,” Ernesto said, cutting her off all the same.

“No, I’m sorry, Father. You must listen to me. I want you to understand, not just say that you do.”

She watched her father take her mother’s hand, and both faces spoke volumes. They were supposed to be the ones trying to change her mind, not the other way around, she thought.

“Father, Mother, I want to be a nun
.
” There, she’d said it, just the way she’d planned, forceful and sure. The words ‘I want to be a nun’ could brook no argument.

“Why?” Ernesto asked her.

“Because I want to know God. I want to know him as only a priest and a nun can.”

“Darling, why can’t you have God here with us?” Celia asked, interrupting her this time.

“It’s not the same. The more I think about God, I only want to give my time to him. I want to give up everything for Jesus, because after all, he gave up everything for us, didn’t he?”

Celia tried again. “But to be shut away forever just isn’t fair. Surely God doesn’t want that?”

“It’s not fair to you, I know. But for me, it’s the dream I’ve had for as long as I can remember. You know, every time I lost sight of that dream, God always came back to me, pushing me towards it again.” Marta calmly said the words because she knew she was winning the argument. “I love God more than anything.”

“Marta, if you love God as much as you say you do, then he will still be there for you in, say, another year or two. Couldn’t you just wait and see, instead of leaving your entire family forever?” Celia said harshly, not even attempting to hide her anger anymore.

“Wait and see what, Mother?” Marta said, equally cross now. “Wait and see if I prefer parties, travel, clothes, and boys? That would be like asking you, Father, to exchange La Glorieta for an office job in Valencia.”

Ernesto said nothing.

“Look, I know it’s not going to be easy where I’m going. It’s not a holiday, I understand that, but I strongly believe that God wants me to do this, and if I don’t go through with it, I’ll be ruining the rest of my life and regretting it forever.”

Marta felt her parents’ painful dilemma as though it were her own, but she knew she had to stay strong and focused, no matter how much she hurt them. She couldn’t allow herself to give them an inch or an excuse to argue.

Celia cried for the first time. Ernesto fought back his own tears and threw his pride aside, pleading with his daughter one last time.

“How can you leave us? We will all miss you too much, and you may destroy your mother! You know how fragile she is.”

“Mother will survive, and I’ll miss you all just as much,” Marta told him dispassionately.

Ernesto asked, “Will you at least promise us that you’ll come home if you don’t like it? Promise us.”

“I promise,” she told them as she stood up.

The discussion had ended.

“We have lost her.” Celia wept in Ernesto’s arms after Marta left the room.

“I know, my darling, I know. But the night’s not over yet, and we must go in there together now and show our support, no matter how much we hate the idea. I, for one, need another drink. Come on, dry your eyes.”