In a perfect day, she would run across a field that never ends. Her feet will not know fatigue and when she stops, she would call to her beloved and he’d catch her in his arms.
Three knocks
He’d laugh when she does for they need no words. He’d carry her in his arms and her brother would be nearby, always beside them. The sun will turn to the moon and they will dance and play all through the night.
“Signorina!”
The moon would not cover them in shades of loneliness, for it shone only for her. And in its silver light, everything else would disappear. Nothing remains, but her, her beloved, and her brother.
“ That insolent fool!”
Sal’s eyes shot open. It was the same dull ceiling above her. Her small arms wandered around her side. The floor is still cold. There on her hand was a small notebook. She flipped across it. All letters in Caligarian. They’re here again. Did they see her? Hope not. She didn’t like all those old men who all liked to speak in Caligarian with a bold tongue and pomp like that of kings in the stories. They talked of grand ideals, but they all sounded the same. Potbellied old men in stories dressed in luxury but had no value.
“Signorina! You’ll get yourself sick. What did I tell you about lying on floors.” The lady came inside. She was dressed in the same drab clothing and years have added lines to her face.
“ It’s nice.”
“ You’re not a rug, Signorina.”
“ Is that a good job?”
Sal pulled herself onto a chair as the lady huffed and fixed the veil on Sal’s head. The lady was not bringing food, so she must be here to remind her on her lessons perhaps. As expected, she brought out a small panuelito with a rose embroidered on the end. Sal brought the notebook on the table instead. She could read and write. What else do they need her to learn?
“ I’m quite surprised, to be honest.” The lady quipped. “ I would wish to see what kind of wife you’ll be.”
Sal tilted her head and rested her chin on her hands. “ A wife. A princess from a tale. They don’t sew. They sing and birds come to them. Would it please him perhaps if I sing in three languages?”
The lady shook her head, “Knowing languages are needed for people who trade. It is not a useful skill for people who need nothing but manage a household.”
Sal hung her head a little. Through the cloth, she could see dim light filtered through the closed capiz windows. Bright. Imagine how brighter the light is and how green the grass is outside. Sal stared through wooden slats and pale white under yellowing lace. Only people who trade needed what she has and by this thing called marriage, a girl will be cooped up in someone else’s house.
“Why are those Mercantile here? “ Sal asked. It’s the second time in the week that they came. They did nothing but talk, of course. But their conversations weren’t as hushed.
“ Only the Signor knows,” she answered. That is expected. The lady never gave her answers especially with regards to the Signor. Sal puffed her cheeks and sighed. The lady would keep quiet again then. No questions answered for the next few minutes. With questions, it seems that they’re always numbered and she must have used all chances on that one.
Minutes passed by quietly as the lady set her to task on improving her embroidery, pointing all her small mistakes and missteps with the piece. Sal listened as the lady rambled in whispers on how to position the fingers to avoid the threads getting jumbled. Sal set to work, but her attention was not on her panuelito. The men outside must have come in the house. There was no talking. It was high noon, and no birds chirped outside at this hour. Maybe, the men’s presence was enough to disturb them. More than half an hour later, conversation filled the air outside.
“Signorina?” the lady looked up from her work.
She must have seen her looking outside through the closed windows. Nothing escapes past her eye then for this lady never got tired of telling her off. It is not like she planned to open the windows in her presence to see off the Mercantile.
“ I’m sorry.”
“ Men have important matters to talk about. It would be disrespectful to pry, especially to the affairs of the elders,” The lady continued.
“I’m not interested,” Sal muttered to herself as she assured herself that she is doing what the lady says. She sat back but one can’t help as her ears picked up on the conversation outside.
“ Ini beni fortina, yo restere.”
“Do not fret. Always remember. Lo Sequi venddimia es piu mas abbondare.”
They talked in Caligarian. What connection is there between harvests and fortune? She glanced at the lady as she continued sewing.
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“Stay here. I will go outside to see the Signor off.” The lady said. “ You know what not to do.”
Sal nodded. And as soon as she was quite a number of steps away from her room, there was a gentle voice heard among the rough, and polite Mercantile. It was him. Sal snuck her hand between the windows to make an inch’s worth of space and peek. The high metal gate was opened and two or three of the Mercantile outside. A few servants outside lined up by the gate. Was she mistaken, perhaps?
Footsteps echoed across the hallway leading to the room. Sal shut the window. Almost pinching herself in the process. Back on her seat, she was. The lady came back. Sal propped her hands across the table and pulled the veil over her head.
“ I’ll be fetching everything you need for you.” The lady didn’t even look at her. Guessing by the number of servants on the gate, the Signor must have left. There was no other person in the house besides her and the servants and yet, the lady’s tone conveyed some sort of authority, a dire command when her words before would tell her that she’s only the middleman of the orders.
“ Why?”
“ I’ll get everything you need. I’ll be checking in on you every hour if you need more. “
“ Understood,”
It became quiet again as the lady left. Sal stashed the panuelito on the floor and kicked it away for good measure, after removing the needle, of course. Her legs were plopped onto the chair and the panuelito on her shoulders flung across the room. She took a small stash of notes hidden underneath the clothes shelf and proceeded to draw.
There was nothing remarkable about her sketch. It was only the room that she was in for years. A bed, a table, and a shelf sat at each side. If the wedding takes place in a few weeks. She sketched a man, tall and lanky, like a prince, in the middle of the room. He would be in the center.Ren. Then, a young boy would be seated on the floor. It would be her brother, Oleon. She edged to sketch herself. A panuelito would not be necessary for dancing so it has to go. They all had smiling faces, except hers.
A few minutes have passed, the lady might’ve taken her time away but she could not be sure. No people outside? On the hallway? Clear. Sal snuck her locket out of her dress. Inside was a small mirror. She breathed in. Opened it. And there on the mirror, was half her face obscured by patterned lace and cotton cloth. It felt strange everytime. But then she thinks of him.
On a day that is her own, she could dance to her heart's content. Her voice would swell up from her chest and she would speak. She would speak with her own voice and her face will be made known to her world.
She used to think that it was for certain that it would not come. The lady would be instructed to watch over her so as not to reveal her presence to others.
Sal lay on her bed and held ten fingers in the air. Palms positioned opposite of each other that her fingers were a clock. She counted one finger for each minute that passes. Every second would get shorter and shorter until she would be startled of the lady's knock. It would not hurt if she anticipates.
Seconds pass. Her clock counts ten and twenty, then forty. It did not pass. It was strange. The longest time the lady went out to fetch something was half an hour. Silence of this kind is a signal that everyone has left. The lady must have took her time, maybe she is even outside. How about the other servants? Gone? An hour passed and Sal remained alone. Minutes of silence flew by punctuated by a few spurts of clanging of silverware and the voices of the maids. Are they all in the kitchen? They never were this careless even at the Signor's absence.
Sal clutched her veil and knocked on her own door. No one answered. She opened it. Still, no one.
" Buon die ?". She greeted to no one in Caligarian.
" Une, die, tre ". She whispered, counted, at every step she took.The hallway leading outside is so narrow yet so big.
" Diez "
Ten.
Despite the veil covering her eyes, the halls of the Casa stretched wide. Windows stood at each side. Sunlight escaped at every corner. Walls did not close in at all sides. It was too much. Sal touched a finger on her own face to trace what should be a scar. Instead, there was only skin, nose, lips, eyes.
She yanked the veil off her head. Little by little, the cloth fell into her hands like a snake writhing and coiling. There in her hands, it seemed small, smaller than it seemed nine years ago. Sal lifted her head to look around.
The loss of the constraint of the veil must have been giving her a newfound insolence. As long as there was chatter outside, as long as it remained outside, she is alone. The only person in the house at this minute was her. She took off her shoes to feel the wooden flood on her feet then her fingers, and eventually laid on it on her back.
Lithe footsteps on the floor.
Sal darted up. On her front is another room. Left is the stairs. Right is the grand entrance stairs. If any visitor would dare come, it would be from the grand entrance. Left stairs will be her maids. She bolted to the hallway to her room. Holding her breath. The footsteps stopped. She closed her eyes, the footsteps will reappear.
" Hush, it is only me."
It was a gentle voice of a man that spoke to her as his hand must have touched her shoulder. In front of her was his figure crouched down at her level.
His smile was warm, welcoming. It was Duren of the Lidelses. No, he was Ren, her Ren that she is supposed to marry. He was the only man whose gaze she would be willing to meet. His face was the authority of a father and the gentleness of a mother.
" Are we alone?" Sal was flustered.
Ren tucked a stray hair. Sal covered her face again and he leaned close, looking at her with such intensity that she could melt. Sal did as what he wanted, exposing her face for him to see.
"Not quite," he replied.
Sal thought of the uncharacteristic chatter in the house.
" Oleon just came. He's on the left wing of the Casa with some of the maids"
Her sight fell downward. It must be an irony. Such a shame for her. To not even see her brother's face when all the world must have paid him their good regards?
" Are you not mad at me?" she wrung her fingers. Not a second from now, the people outside would come in and they will witness the cursed lady of the Cuore. They will fling insults. Her brother would be disgusted and the Signor, the Signor would have her thrown to that storeroom. Again.
" Stop." Ren's expression was hard, firm.
" What you did here was a task of courage. " He glanced at the veil still in her hands. "That in itself deserves an applause." He took the yellowing cloth away from her. " They only know the cursed lady of the Cuorre, but not Sal." He said.
Sal remembered her locket. Inside it was a mirror. At times like this, she would look at the mirror inside.
" I will see my little brother today." It was a commanding tone, a reassuring declaration. She looked at Ren and he nodded in affirmation.
He extended an arm to lead the way and Sal curtsied with an imaginary fan as what she's seen on books. The people started pouring into the house but she could only see Ren.