The mood in the crowd alone was enough to stop her breathing. Eva could imagine them turning their hateful eyes and fingers, pointing directly at her. She needed to get out.
That was when she noticed Néstor’s absence. She couldn’t spot Don Jerónimo’s tall head sticking out of the crowd either. She dove back into the house, pushing herself through a tight crowd, and headed to Don Jerónimo’s bedroom on the second floor.
A large trunk was strewn across his bed when Eva burst in. Néstor turned to the doorway like a startled chigüire, then relaxed after seeing her.
“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.
Néstor shut the door behind her.
“Ever since my grandfather died, the people in this house have lost their minds,” Don Jerónimo said as he tossed clothes into the trunk.
Eva turned to Néstor, her eyes wide and betrayed. “What are you doing?” she repeated.
“You saw how they’re acting.” Néstor gently grasped her hand. His touch was as icy as hers.
The way he looked at Eva only multiplied the panic brewing inside her. She remembered that conversation they’d had ages ago, in the carriage. Of his dreams with Don Jerónimo.
“My uncles have turned against my father,” Don Jerónimo explained. “My mom can’t decide if she wants to mourn my grandfather or throw Tía Rosa onto the pyre. I’m going to lose my mind if I stay here a moment longer. I think Tía Rosa cursed this house, in case we ever turned against her.”
Néstor squeezed Eva’s hand. “We’re leaving Galeno.”
“What?” Eva practically shrieked. She flared her nostrils and shook her head. “No. You can’t leave me.”
Néstor nodded in an opposite motion to Eva. “I’m sick of that archbishop, Eva, and we’ve bided our time for long enough.” He glanced at his lover, fishing for a glance of reassurance. “I think now’s the time to leave forever.”
Eva wanted to tug Néstor into her embrace—to cling to him so he had no option but to never let go. “Take me with you, then.”
Don Jerónimo coughed like he choked on his spit.
“Eva, we can’t,” Néstor said with an anguished face.
“Yes, you can—”
“You’re going to marry Don Alberto and have a wonderful happily ever after. You just think you won’t, but—”
Eva let go of his hands and instead shoved him, petulantly. “If you leave me, they’re going to come after me. It’s going to be me next.”
Néstor’s cheeks were flushed, but he didn’t react to Eva’s tantrum. His love for her was the true love of an uncle, patient and unconditional, despite their closeness in age.
“Be courageous, Eva Kesaré.”
“No.”
“I’m being courageous, too, and I’m pursuing what my heart wants. I can’t stay here.” He said it with a finality that betrayed his age. Eva angrily swallowed back the tears beginning to form in her eyes. He wrestled her into a hug.
When she finally peeled herself from him, he said, “You should be happy for me. Just like I’m going to be happy for you when you find the thing you really want.”
Eva watched him with a stunned, faraway look. What did she want? She wanted to go back to those days when she could visit Do?a Rosa while Néstor snuck away with Don Jerónimo. When coming to the Contador house had meant a day full of possibility, of enjoying the idea that she wasn’t odd or broken. She wanted to grasp the way it felt to embrace geomancia, obliviously, without the threat of the Virgin’s punishment for straying from the scripture. She wanted a family that accepted her for who she was, valco or not. She could not continue feeling like she didn’t belong.
The people of Galeno would certainly turn against her the moment they grew tired of abusing Do?a Rosa. Eva would be the next easy target for the archbishop’s inquisition. All they had to do was ransack her bedroom, like they had done to Do?a Rosa, and discover her books on geomancia, her litio powder, and even the paper butterflies Eva hadn’t had the heart to discard.
Her chest ached. “Please take me home, Néstor.”
He denied her. “We need the carriage to take us to the river harbor.”
Eva’s face flushed. Her tears inundated the corners of her eyes, ready and available to punish her with their torrent.
“Wait—you’re leaving now,” she murmured, more to let the words sink in.
He nodded slowly, sorrowfully.
Eva threw her arms around him and hugged him again. The previous embrace had been for him. This one was for her. She squeezed him with all her strength, took a big whiff of the musk of his hair, wiggled when he tickled her sides.
“I can’t change your mind?”
In her embrace, he shook his head.
“I’m going to miss you,” she whispered. He was her best friend.
“Be courageous,” he repeated.
“I hope you write,” she said as she pulled away. She waved at Don Jerónimo with a fond smile of goodbye. He was Néstor’s special one, and for that, Eva loved him dearly, too.
A somber silence embraced her as she left the room and closed the door behind her. This would be their last goodbye. As much as she wanted to stay with Néstor until the last moment, she needed to head home and rid herself of the incriminating remnants of her studies on geomancia.
Downstairs, Don Jerónimo’s mom was gathered in the parlor with other women, praying loudly to the rosary. They were surrounded by flickering candles and the wilting carnations brought in for their deceased patriarch. Their chants pursued Eva until she fled the house. The afternoon rain swallowed her as she stepped out, her espadrilles dunking into muddy puddles and her dress growing heavy and saturated. She ran through the cobbled streets and out to the gravel road toward the Serrano hacienda. In the rain, Eva felt no shame in unleashing the might of her sobs.
13
When the Demon Is You
Eva hated herself for never once standing up for Do?a Rosa. She replayed the archbishop’s outrage in her mind while the rain slapped her across the face, wishing she’d had the courage to demand mercy from the mob. But she was no different from the Contadors, using Do?a Rosa in self-interest and discarding her at the first chance. She wanted to hate Néstor for leaving, too, but all she could find within herself was a deep chasm as she imagined life without him. Dread clawed up her throat, latching there as the images of her future rushed through her mind: when the archbishop accused her of communing with Rahmagut and her grandmother saw her fears materialize before her eyes.
Eva reached the Serrano lands as the rain clouds cleared, leaving in their wake the deep blue of settling dusk. The golden cassia trees welcomed her like sentinels when she crossed the gates to the driveway. She wrung her hair and clothes under the weeping bougainvilleas. Through the windows she spied Pura and Décima sitting in the parlor. Pura had her babe on her lap. Décima caught Eva peeping and got up.
“I’m not in the mood for your harassment,” Eva said the moment the double doors opened to allow Décima out.
Décima grimaced at her as if she stank. “When will you stop being such an animal? Did you walk from town?”