“Claire, over here,” calls Madam Beatrice.

I bow my head slightly, biting my tongue, angry that she still cannot remember my name despite correcting her for weeks. “Sí, Señora.”

Her nostrils flare when I purposely do not use her name, and purposely say ‘Señora’ instead of ‘Madam’. I’m perfectly capable of playing along with this game, and I will not give up as easily as she will. I can already see her calculating all the ways she can get me into trouble with Master William, but I’ve been cautious with her demands of late, making sure to do everything perfectly.

“Remove these from the table.” She gestures towards the dishes.

“Señorito Miguel, are you done with your breakfast?”

Miguel looks up at me with a forlorn expression, and nods. He hasn’t been eating much since his grandmother has arrived, and I wonder what she’s told him to make him lose his usual appetite.

“Are you sure?” I ask, my hand on the rim of his plate.

“Take it away!” shouts Madam Beatrice. “Stop pestering him.”

I nod, taking up his plate. He watches me with sad eyes, almost begging me to take him along, but I pretend not to notice. I cannot. It will get me in trouble. She will get me in trouble.

“When will papí come home?” Miguel asks Madam Beatrice.

“Your father will be home around noon. We should begin your lessons if you’re to spend any time with him.”

Madam Beatrice has taken it upon herself to teach Miguel the manners and customs of Castin, along with the rituals and ceremonies practice by the Adams’ Mystical side of the family; things like the proper summons to perform during coronations when invited to formal events, or the foods that are eaten when guests have arrived on certain sacred holidays. I cannot help being fascinated by it all despite how much my family discouraged participating in such silly things. We have the Mystic ceremonies for all the women in the family at age fifteen. The men in the family just get a bunch of money, or lavish vacations taken outside the town where I grew up, unless they specifically asked for the ceremony. Those were the only ones in which we strictly followed tradition. It is less work than all of these choreographed formalities Miguel was learning.

“I don’t want to do any more lessons,” Miguel whines. “Couldn’t I just go into town and play with my friends just this once?”

“You can play with your friends when you’re done with all your lessons. You still can’t even recite the family creed, or the prayers to Gaia.”

Miguel sighs exaggeratedly, knocking his head on the table, making the remaining dishes in front of him clink.

“Don’t be a child,” grumbles Madam Beatrice. “You’re to take over our household, and you must be better trained. It seems your parents did nothing to help you.”

“I wish I had an older brother.”

I stifle a laugh as I clear more of the dishes from the table, placing them into a deep metal basin on a rolling cart.

“You should be happy! This is your heritage; everything for the past hundreds of years has been passed down to you.”

“Is that how old you are?”

Madam Beatrice clutches her chest. “No!”

“Then how old are you? A thousand?”

“You should never ask a woman her age. It’s improper.”

“Clara, how old are you?”

I look over at him, and grin. “Your grandmother said it was improper to ask, Little Master.”

“I bet you’re at least one hundred.”

“You’re close,” I laugh.

Madam Beatrice mutters beneath her breath, reminding me of a disappointed shih tzu when she scoffs several times, unable to find her words. “Let’s go, and leave Clarice to her work.”

“It’s Clara,” Miguel corrects. “She already told you that a million times.”

“Claire, Clarice, Clarinet. I don’t care. Let’s go.”

Miguel looks back at me as he follows his grandmother to her study, giving me a pleading look. I give him a pitying smile, then make a flapping motion with my hands, promising he’ll be able to see Sebastian later this evening. His eyes grow wide with excitement. I mouth out the word ‘Behave’ to him. He nods, then scampers off, nearly tripping over the hall rug in his rush.

“That woman!” shouts Maria, dumping all the emptied bowls and plates into a wooden basin filled to the brim with hot soapy water. “She wastes so much food! She wants all of these fancy things from fancy places, and barely touches her plate. Miguel is no better!”

“Miguel doesn’t like eating it because he doesn’t recognize it,” I say, coming to his defense.

“He should know better.”

“You try eating that bland food, then,” I mutter, rolling up my sleeves. “It tastes terrible. There’s no spices, no flavor, no soul. Is she even giving you good recipes?”

“Apparently, it’s what they eat on the mainland.”

“Hopefully not all of the mainland. Maybe it’s just Castín. Maybe it’s just the familia Adams. One of my tías used to eat the most bland food, and thought it was Gaia’s gift to earth. She said it was limpio y puro. The rest of us used to just swallow it without chewing if we could help it.”

“Hopefully it’s not that bad on the mainland. In any case, I’ll get started on lunch. I’m headed out to the market, do you need anything?”

“If there are any herbs that are selling for cheap, get extra for me. You know I like to experiment.”

“Otra vez con la magia. You’re going to get yourself in trouble.”

“Bah, maybe Señora Beatrice would finally show me some respect. ‘Clarice!’ ‘Claire!’ She purposely gets my name wrong every time.”

“Clara, hold your tongue. Imagine if Madam Beatrice heard you. Her head would fall right off, and roll away back to Castin.” She chuckles. “I just want you to be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Ha!” She scoffs. “Anyway, if you don’t need anything, I’ll see you later. Good luck with la bruja de Castín!”

“I don’t need as much luck as Miguelito.”

When Maria returns with the groceries, I help her unload the cart, sorting the fruits and vegetables, and storing them in the pantry in their own designated baskets. Maria begins the cooking, instructing me what to do; chop the vegetables, fetch the proper plates, fold the napkins. All of it is done in a frenzy, and the only moment I have to pause and think is when Lucas’ voice comes from down the hall announcing Master William’s return home. Miguel’s voice can be heard happily greeting his father while Madam Beatrice scolds him for leaving without being properly dismissed.

“There was a man at the market today,” says Maria quietly, scrubbing a pot clean.

“Was he handsome?” I ask her, putting the covers over the serving trays to keep the food warm.

“He was looking for his daughter. Said her name was ‘Clara.’”

“You didn’t-” My mind races, my heart pounds, and I pause to take a deep breath, staring at her with what I’m sure is a wild expression. “I-...”

“Relax.” She shakes her head, her hands moving effortlessly to the next pot. “I didn’t tell him about you, though I do wonder why a girl like you would run away from home.”

“I- I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.”

She sighs, then waves her hand dismissively. “That’s right, that’s what all the young ladies say. Anyway, I don’t need an explanation. I just hope Señor William knows that you don’t want to be found. He frequents that part of town often.”

I sigh heavily, then wipe up the edges of the plate with a damp rag. Madam Beatrice thinks we serve our food too messily, even though Master William has never once complained about it.

“Sometimes,” I murmur. “We have to make our own paths in life.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Is that so? This is the one you chose? The life of a maid in some rich person’s house, living in a small attic room with your pet owl?”

‘He’s not a pet!’ I want to say, but instead, I take another breath, sprinkling some garnish over the food, like Madam Beatrice likes. It’s green, and inedible.

“I don’t understand why she insists on putting something over the food just so it looks nice,” I say, changing the subject. “Even Master William does not eat it.”

“Or why she insists on eating the same thing every week. Doesn’t she get bored with such a limited selection?”

“At least the grocery shopping is simple.”

“Until something is out of season! I hope she’s not here for much longer. We’re going to run out of those yams soon, then what will she do for her Solembra holy luncheons?”

I shudder, remembering the mashed yams Madam Beatrice had Maria make with no seasoning because of her delicate constitution. “She could have at least let you fry them. Blegh.”

“She has to watch her figure.” Maria scoffs, shrugging her shoulders. “Sometimes I miss Mistress Micaela. She’d leave it up to the chef to choose the recipes!”

“And you never disappointed her. Do you think they’re at the table yet?”

Maria stares at the clock hanging over the door, then nods. “Put on your bonnet.”

“I hate that bonnet.”

“Put it on anyway,” she says, wiping her hands on her apron. “I don’t want to hear her complain later. She always calls a… ‘meeting’ when I’m busy. She uses so many words just to express her disappointment in the ‘lack of organization in this household’.”

I huff out a laugh, having never seen Maria use so many air quotes. I remove the small bonnet from my pocket, and tie it up into my hair. Maria straightens it out, giving me a pitying look.

“Belleza!”

I frown, and she pinches my cheeks roughly, then pats them lightly.

“Go, go!” she says, placing a tray in my hands, and pushing me out the door.

One at a time I place the trays in front of the family, being sure to uncover it with dramatic flourish (as Madam Beatrice demanded, of course). Master William watches on with confusion, then turns to his mother as she grins from ear to ear. It dawns on him that these theatrics are her doing.

“Mother,” he says flatly.

He blinks rapidly several times, his mouth twitching as he struggles to find the right words, opening it several times, then clamping it shut.

“You’re not a fish now, are you, William? Don’t just hang your mouth open if you have nothing to say.”

“Mother, what is all this? I’m gone for a few days, and suddenly we’re having… yams, and… whatever this is?”

“Your cook’s tastes were a bit too eccentric for my liking. I thought she could handle making something more suited for my delicate and sophisticated palate.”

Miguel picks up an overcooked yam with his fork, then watches it as it slides down his fork, breaks to pieces, and lands on his plate with a splat. His lip curls, and he grimaces.

“I miss real food,” Miguel groans. “When can we have normal food again?”

“This is normal food,” says Madam Beatrice curtly. “This is what you’ll be eating when you and your father return to Castin.”

Miguel looks up at his father, his expression that of pure annoyance. “I thought you said we didn’t have to go to Castin.”

Master William shakes his head, holding up a hand towards Miguel. “We don’t. I’ve already told your grandmother several times that we’re not leaving.” He turns to Madam Beatrice, furrowing his brows. “We’re not leaving, but you’re welcome to come visit any time you wish, and enjoy what we’ve grown to appreciate here.”

“You cannot leave me without an heir.”

“Clara, leave,” commands Master William.

I scurry out as quickly as I can, my feet not moving fast enough. I cover my smile with a hand when I rejoin Maria in the kitchen.

“What?” asks Maria. “Did they hate the food as much as I hated making it?”

I shake my head, stifling a laugh. “I think he’s arguing with her.”

“How disrespectful! He shouldn’t argue with her, no matter how annoying she is. That’s his mother!”

“She wants to force them to go back to Castin.”

“He should be around to care for her. She’s not young anymore. It’s only fair. That’s what children should do for their parents.”

I roll my eyes, and begin plating the dessert, a delicious looking pastry dusted in powdered sugar that I’m beyond certain Miguel will enjoy. Maria hums as she washes the dishes, then sweeps the floors, swaying back and forth as she dances with the broom to the rhythm of her own music. I top the pastry off with some type of red fruit syrup, trying my best to make it look aesthetically pleasing, then cover each of the plates.

“Is that what happened?” Maria asks quietly. “Was your father sick?”

I scoff. “No. Fue más complicado. My father did not like the life I wanted to live, and disowned me.”

“Disowned you?” She laughs. “I’m sure it was much less dramatic than that. You have a knack for theatrics. Sometimes I think you should join a traveling show.”

“He called a family meeting. All of my tías, tíos, primos, primas, second cousins, y todo el pueblo were there to witness it; ‘I, Cirilo, disown my daughter! She has brought shame to this family!’ He announced it with so much hatred in his eyes, I thought my skin would burn when he looked at me. Even my own mother was afraid of him. Then, he locked me out of the house. He wouldn’t even let me grab a pair of shoes before forcing me out. I walked for days with bandages around my feet.”

Maria covers her mouth, staring at me wide-eyed, struggling to speak. “No, that can’t be true.”

“That is why I wish not to be found.”

“What did you do?”

“You assume I did something?” I gasp. My cheeks burn, and I look away, waving a hand at her dismissively. “I was in love with a man he didn’t approve of.”

She blinks several times in disbelief. “That’s it?”

I sigh. “That was it.”

“Who was this-”

“Clarice!” shouts Madam Beatrice. “Where are you, girl?”

I groan, then put on my best smile before exiting the kitchen with the tray of desserts, muttering curses beneath my breath, hoping one will stick.

Miguel grins wide, with syrup on the corners of his mouth, and his nose covered in powdered sugar. He licks his fingers obnoxiously loudly. Madam Beatrice wrinkles her nose, then pushes her untouched dessert away, as if I’ve presented her with a dead rat. Master William smiles as he eats his pastry. I’d forgotten how handsome he looked when he did so. He could make a whole room of women swoon with that smile.

“Not going to eat any, mother? You asked the cook to make it.”

“It’s not quite right, and it looks much too sweet.” Madam Beatrice pouts. “There’s too much sugar on the top.”

“I’ll take it!” shouts Miguel, reaching for her plate.

Master Williams stops him, then grins. “We’ll split it.”

Miguel smiles, his eyes lighting up at the thought, and he nods. “Okay, papí!”

Madam Beatrice rolls her eyes, and groans loudly. “No wonder he’s ill-mannered.”

“You’re the one that’s always telling me that we should never let food go to waste,” says Miguel, taking half the pastry off her plate, and eating it in a single bite. “And that’s what we’re doing.”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full.”

“He’s right,” says Master William, speaking with his own mouth full. “You do say that.”

“I’m going to take a nap. Wake me an hour, Clarice.”

“It’s Clara!” shouts Miguel. “She’s told you every single time. Why are you purposely saying it wrong?”

Madam Beatrice frowns, staring daggers at Miguel, then turns her nose up, walking towards the exit.

I smile politely, and nod my head. “Sí, Señora.”

Her brief pause is delightful.

I wipe up the table, after setting all the plates on the cart, waiting patiently as Miguel licks off all the jam from his plate. Master William watches on in amusement, as he feigns embarrassment. Maybe this new cooking was good for something, seeing as this was twice now that I’ve seen him smile.

“That’s enough, Miguel. Let Clara take your plate.”

Miguel gives it one final wipe with his index finger, then hands the plate back to me, licking his finger clean. I take a damp rag, and wipe his face and hands with it, then fold it in half and wipe up the table. Miguel smiles, as he watches me, sighing contentedly as he slides down his seat into a slouching position.

“When is Abuela Beatrice leaving?”

“Soon,” says Master William with a nod, trying to convince Miguel of this very obvious lie.

“I don’t think she likes me,” he says, quietly.

Master William immediately sits up straighter in his seat, then leans forward to take Miguel’s hand. “Miguel, no. Your grandmother loves you, she’s just not very good at showing it.”

“She says I’m too different, and she has ‘far too much work’ to do on me to fix me.”

Master William looks up at me with pleading eyes, and I quickly wipe up the table and make my way back to the kitchens for them to speak privately. I toss the dishes into the washbasin, not worrying about the clattering, fuming with a sudden rush of anger. Maria places her hands on my shoulder, pulling me away, and grabbing the scrubbing brush out of my hand to protect her precious dishes.

“What’s gotten into you?” She huffs. “Those plates cost more than you make in a year. Have you gone mad?”

“Maria, I want to kick that woman!” I whisper, harshly.

“That doesn’t mean you have to take it out on the dinnerware.”

“Maria! She said she has to fix Miguel! Our Miguel! Our sweet Miguel!”

“She said that about Miguel?”

I nod. “Miguel was just telling Señor William.”

Maria is quiet, and I can sense her mind racing at lightning speeds, her face slowly becoming more and more angry the longer she stands there just thinking.

“She needs to go,” she says at last, then turns to the sink to finish the dishes.

“What should I do?”

“Make sure he gets a warm glass of milk with honey before bed.”

“We don’t-”

“I’ll take care of it. Go draw him a warm bath, and make sure he has his favorite toy waiting for him in bed.”

“Okay.”

“No one says that about our boy! That woman has mucked about with the wrong household!”

I stifle a laugh. “That’s right!”

I tiptoe out of Miguel’s room, and quietly close the door so as to not wake him. Master William’s face appears from the dark, nearly causing me to scream, but he covers my mouth, and shushes me. He guides me further down the hallway away from Miguel’s door, then lights another candle.

“What are you doing up so late, Miss Clara?” he whispers.

“Uh- Well- Miguel, he-” I stammer.

“It’s because of what his grandmother said, isn’t it?”

I nod, hiding my face from his gaze. At least I wasn’t caught eavesdropping. He knew I heard part of the conversation.

“You and Maria are…” He steps close to me, his gaze on my mouth as it falls open, and he pushes the hair off my face to plant a kiss on my forehead. “You’re all the family Miguel needs. How is Sebastian?”

‘It’s mating season, and he’s wearing me out.’ I want to tell him. ‘He hasn’t been the same since Micaela passed. None of us are.’ I want to cry out. “You know how Baz is,” I sigh. “He likes to keep to himself. I wish there was something more he could do, but he’s just… you know how he is.”

“I do,” he says, tugging absently at the string of my apron. “I don’t know what to do, Clara. I want Miguel to grow up here, but I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing keeping him away from our family in Castin.”

“Miguelito is happy here.” I pout.

“He is, but… when I was with Micaela, I didn’t need anyone else. We didn’t need anyone else. Now, the house feels too big, and I feel…” He buries his head into my shoulder, and inhales deeply. “I feel lonely. I sometimes wonder if he’s feeling the same.”

“You should stop working so much, and stop leaving him with your mother. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s an evil woman.”

“She means well, she’s just… been hardened by life.”

“That does not mean she needs to pass that on to Miguel. Miguel is a good boy, and happy as long as you come home early, read him a bedtime story, and let him be a child, not torture him with these boring family ceremonies, y lo que seas. I hate to see him so unhappy.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

“My father is searching for me,” I mention as casually as I can, keeping busy fussing with the empty glass in my hands. “I do not wish to be found, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention that I was here.”

He stiffens.

“Do you think something happened to your family?” he asks, taking my face between his hands, to examine it carefully.

I shake my head, forcing him to let go. “They are not my family anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I-... didn’t mean it that way. Do you think anything serious happened… to… them?”

“I don’t care if anything happened. I just don’t want to be found.”

He sighs heavily. “Well, alright. I should get to bed. Goodnight, Clara. Thank you for taking care of Miguel. Thank Maria for me”

“Of course. Goodnight, Master William.”