“Nothing would make me happier, Jessie, but Sister Josepha needs me and I can’t abandon her now. Please understand,” I said, looking up at all of them. “I have to go.”
Twenty-one
SISTER JOSEPHA WAS WAITING for me in the hospitality room, where visitors are greeted and potential novices are interviewed before entering the convent. She was seated in a chair by the window, and the light falling across her face accentuated the crisscrossing lines around her eyes and cheeks. When she saw me, they fanned out into a happy smile.
“My dear,” she said as she reached for her cane, “I’m so glad to see you.”
“I’m sorry if I made you worry,” I replied, taking the seat next to her. “It took longer than I expected.”
She shifted in her chair to face me. “There’s very little that worries me these days. Now tell me, is Benson okay? Did you get a chance to speak with the family?”
“Yes, we spoke,” I said, looking away. “The situation with the family is…well, it’s complicated…especially now.”
Sister Josepha took firm hold of the handle of her cane and leaned forward so she could keep an eye out for the car. Then she sat back again and sighed. “This may sound odd, but whenever life gets complicated for me, I recall our escape through the jungle and I’m reminded that with God’s intercession, tragedies can lead us to unexpected triumph.” Sister Josepha’s beautiful round face appeared almost as it did on that day. “I was certain that we would perish in the jungle, but God gave me you to look after and I realized that I had to be as strong for you as you were for me. Every day I thank him for bringing you into my life, which is why this is so difficult for me to say.” She turned to me, her chin set firm. “My dearest Ana, forgive me, but I’ve decided that it’s best I go on to New Mexico without you.”
Her words hit me like a blow to my chest, and she continued. “I know that we’ve been dreaming of working together for many years, but I can’t ignore God’s voice in my heart any more than I can this pain in my knees,” she said, chuckling and trying to make light of it.
“But why? Why don’t you want me to go with you anymore?”
Gazing at me tenderly, she said, “Ana, you’re going to have a baby in a few months. How do I explain your situation to the boys and girls at the school and to their parents? It isn’t proper that we have an unmarried mother as one of our teachers.”
“But we already agreed to tell everyone I’m a widow. That should take care of any impropriety.”
“And is this how you want to start the next phase of your life? Predicated on a lie?” She gave my arm a friendly pat and looked beyond me out the window. “Oh, look, the car just arrived—and right on time too.” She stood up and made her way to the door to separate her luggage from mine, all the while humming a merry little tune. She struggled a bit with the heavier cases, but I made no move to help her.
“You’re not being honest with me, Sister. I’m disappointed in you and deeply hurt. Lillian called you, didn’t she? Or maybe it was one of the children.”
She didn’t answer me and remained silent as the driver put her bags in the trunk. When he was finished, I walked outside with her and stood nearby as she slowly lowered herself into the backseat while leaning on her cane. She motioned for me to come closer, and I crouched down before her. She took her time arranging her skirt and the black veil over her shoulders and when she spoke, her voice was grave and her expression severe. “The day before Adam died, you asked for my advice about something, do you remember?”
I lowered my head and said nothing.
“You asked what I would advise someone who had to choose between love and honesty. I didn’t answer you then because I didn’t really understand the question, but now I do. Now I understand very well, and we both know the answer, don’t we?”
I raised my eyes and looked up into her beautiful face that was shining like the moon. Then she placed her hand gently on the crown of my head. “You belong with your family, mija,” she said. “And I know that you will be a wonderful mother.”
Twenty-two
THAT EVENING THE TRELLIS house glowed with a warm and welcoming light that spilled out through the windows and across the surrounding gardens like a fountain overflowing. Millie had prepared her pot roast for dinner and Benson stayed as well, although he made certain to sit near me and as far away from Lillian as possible. Peter Farrell stopped by to see if Teddy had come out of his room and was delighted to find him sitting at the table with the rest of us and looking like himself again. He was also pleased to see that I was back at home and that color was returning to my cheeks.
After the dishes had been washed and put away, Benson and Millie went home with promises to return the next day. Lillian announced that she’d had one glass of wine too many and would sleep at the house that night rather than drive back to her loft in town. After some consideration, she chose to sleep in the guest room, and eventually Teddy and Jessie drifted off to their rooms as well.
I was the last one up and as usual I took it upon myself to turn out the lights throughout the house one by one. I started in the kitchen and then proceeded to the sunroom just beyond. Through the window I gazed at the blue-green lights of the peacock pool that shimmered against the portico, and although I couldn’t see them from where I stood, I imagined their glorious feathers waving up at me from the bottom as though to let me know that all was well. I gently pressed my hands to my abdomen and whispered, “This is the place where in your father’s arms I was born a second time.” I turned out the pool lights and proceeded to do the same in dining room and foyer.
I was preparing to go upstairs, but stopped and walked down the darkened corridor leading to the study. I hesitated outside the door for a moment and when I opened it, I was surprised to see that the lamp was lit, illuminating the empty desk and the entire room with a soft amber glow. I stood in the center of the room and looked around at the bookshelves and the anatomical reproductions scattered about, remembering how it was on the first day I arrived. I walked toward the desk and turned off the light. Standing in the darkness, I felt a chill and then a stirring in my abdomen. “This was your father’s study,” I whispered. “When I first met him, I thought he was so cold and frightening I couldn’t look him in the eye without trembling, but I was wrong about him, so very wrong.”
Next, I went to the music room. It was dark so I flicked on the light and stood in the doorway, admiring the majestic instrument that gleamed in the corner. But my eyes lingered on the bench, and I remembered how my beloved and I had sat upon it not so long ago. “Your father was a gifted pianist,” I whispered. “The first time I heard him play, I thought I was dreaming. Perhaps you’d like to learn how to play someday.” I then turned off the light and left the room, closing the door behind me.
The house was completely dark as I ascended the staircase to the second floor. I walked down the length of the corridor toward the service stairs and proceeded up to the third floor. And as I did, I realized that for the first time I wasn’t afraid, quite the contrary. A courageous, loving force was lifting me up, holding my hands and guiding my feet as I steadily climbed. Once there, I made my way toward the storage room, and as I put my hand on the doorknob I felt a light pressure on my shoulder and a warm breath on the back of my neck. I opened the door to find the room glowing with a soft, silvery light. It swirled in brilliant beams all around me. “Adam,” I whispered. “My love, are you here?”
I waited for an answer and when none came, I went directly to the stack of books and papers in the corner and immediately found what I’d come for—Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. With the score tucked safely under my arm, I returned to the second floor and went directly to my bedroom. The children had insisted that I sleep in my old room because it was closer to their rooms and they’d be able to hear me if I needed them in the night.
Touched and amused by this reversal of roles, I began to turn down my bed, but then realized that I’d forgotten something. I dropped my b
lankets and immediately went to my window to open it as wide as I could. Finally, I crawled into bed, certain that I’d never felt more deliciously exhausted in all my life. And when I closed my eyes, I was swinging to and fro and the breeze that drifted in from the garden carried with it the scent of wet earth and gardenias. On the verge of sleep, I heard my beloved’s music wander in from the courtyard through my open window. Sweet melodious fog swept into my room, filling my heart and even the spaces of my dreams, taking me to that place in the soul where time stands still and life and love are eternal.
And I was running for my life through the jungle alone. It was dark, but I could still make out the gray silhouette of trees that rose up against the mist from the jungle floor, and I could feel the branches and the twisting vines reaching out and brushing my face and shoulders, sometimes snagging my clothes in an effort to hold me back. But I was determined to survive, and as I scrambled and leapt over every obstacle before me, my feet barely touched the ground. I could run forever if I had to.
But this time I wasn’t running from harm. Something was pulling me forward, something that existed beyond my fears and all the years of yearning and waiting. And so I kept running until I could no longer see even shadows, until the air became thick and difficult to breathe. In such stifling blackness, I had no choice but to slow down, and when I did, the jungle closed in and grappled with me from all sides. Soon my face was covered in stringy moss and spiderwebs, and my skin was crawling with insects as snakes twisted around my ankles. Just when I was certain that the jungle would devour me, I saw the faint glimmer of light in the distance, which I thought to be the rising sun, and this gave me the strength to free myself from my entanglements, and I was running even faster than before, almost flying above the ground, and I ran until light filled the jungle with warmth and color and my path was clearly visible.
I slowed to a walk and remained on the path until I arrived at a small bright clearing in the deepest heart of the jungle. And in the very center of this, to my great surprise, I saw my mother’s sewing cabinet. The shiny black enamel of the machine gleamed in the sunlight, and as I stepped toward it I realized that I yearned to run my fingers along the pretty floral carvings on the door and to look upon the magnificent priestly robes that I knew would be carefully folded inside. How wonderful to see them again, to feel the silken wonder of God’s magnificence between my fingers. I knew this would heal me as nothing else could.
I reached eagerly for the door handle, but when I opened it only partway a powerful shock of blue light burst forth, flinging open the doors and knocking me off my feet to the ground. When the light had subsided and all was still and quiet again, I peeked inside the open cabinet but the beautiful priestly robes were nowhere to be found. Instead, I saw a small girl curled up inside with her knees pressed up to her chest and her head bent over the whole of her body. The poor child had obviously been in that agonizing position for quite some time. Nevertheless, when she looked at me, her eyes were filled with unspeakable love. And then, with great effort, she wrenched her hand free from underneath her legs and reached out beyond the cabinet toward me.
I took her hand and ever so carefully pulled her out of her confinement one limb at a time. Once she was free, I wiped away her tears, held her tiny broken body close to my breast, and murmured, “I’m sorry to have left you alone for so long, mija, but I promise that I’ll never leave you again.”
“I always knew you’d come back for me,” she replied, and we walked out of the jungle together, hand in hand.
Acknowledgments
ONE THING I’VE LEARNED since I started writing is that when crafting a novel, effective collaboration during all phases of the editing process is essential. It’s about getting the words right, keeping the plot tight, making sure that the characters are well drawn and that the prose flows smoothly. The guidance I have received from my editors, Amy Tannenbaum and Johanna Castillo, reaches far beyond the usual definition of collaboration. They have given me the kind of insightful and inspiring feedback that makes not only for better novels, but for better writers as well. I am extremely grateful for the partnership and understanding that has evolved between us, and for Judith Curr’s confident and discerning leadership. If ever there was a dream team, this is it, and I’m delighted to be a part of it.
Without the support and encouragement of my husband, Steve, my parents, my sisters, and my entire family, it would be very difficult for me to continue on this somewhat introverted adventure. The wonderful people who live with me day to day accept that at times I need to go into “my cave” to be productive, yet when I come out of it, sometimes as grumpy as a sleepy old bear, this too they understand as part of the process. Their unconditional love, patience, and good humor are the greatest blessings in my life.
Finally, I must express my heartfelt gratitude for my friend, agent, first reader, and advocate, Moses Cardona. He’s had the vision and confidence to take me by the hand and lead me across the threshold to that place where dreams become reality. I am extremely fortunate to have found him.
Vigil
CECILIA SAMARTIN
Reading Group Discussion Guide
INTRODUCTION
As Ana sits at her husband’s deathbed, she thinks back on the incredible journey of her life. Ana’s story takes her from war-torn El Salvador to a convent in the United States and finally to a California estate where she is employed as the nanny for the wealthy Trellises, a dysfunctional family caught up in the throes of a decadent life. Despite her own emotional wounds, she is able to bring love and healing to her affluent yet spiritually bereft employers—gifts that no money could ever buy.
Ana’s emotional attachment to her young charges leads to her staying on at the Trellis home for longer than she ever could have imagined. As she grows to love Teddy and Jessie as if they were her own flesh and blood, they grow up and move out of the house, and her abiding affection for their father is transformed into something deeper and more powerful. Faced with many challenges to her own sense of morality, Ana must confront her own spiritual longings and reconcile them with her understanding that love may have found her in the very place she least expected.
QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION
“My father’s only saving grace was that before he disappeared he’d given my mother a magnificent sewing machine complete with a foot pedal and a carved wooden cabinet beneath.” (13) What important roles does this sewing machine play in Ana’s and her mother’s lives? How does its presence in their simple hut elevate Ana’s awareness of the presence of God? How does the absence of her father impact Ana’s physical safety, and what role does it play in her connection with her mother?
How do the memories that Ana revisits during the course of Vigil give you a better sense of her character, and what has shaped her emotional development as a person? To what extent does the appearance of these memories throughout the novel distract you from the illness of Adam Trellis and its inevitable progress? Why do you think the author chose to fuse past and present in this manner, and how does her decision to do so complicate and enrich the narrative?
“Why? Why were my mother and all my family dead? Why had every man, woman, and child in my village been brutally murdered?” (31) How would you describe Ana’s experience of survivor’s guilt, and how does the mass murder that she alone survives imprint itself on her consciousness? What does her ability to adapt to life in a convent, and then in California in the Trellis home, suggest about her resilience?
What role does Sister Josepha play in Ana’s early life? What accounts for the kinship that develops between them? To what extent is Sister Josepha’s friendship with Ana her link to her original desire to become a nun? What does Sister Josepha’s patient willingness to wait for Ana to join her in New Mexico reveal about her character and her feelings for Ana?
“It’s much easier to ponder the mysteries of life and death, to meditate in prayer while kneeling in your pristine sanctuary…[T]his is the antiseptic God t
hat you worship, isn’t it, Ana?” (92–93). Why does Adam Trellis challenge Ana’s faith in their first encounter? To what extent is this initial exchange revealing of the nature of their future relationship? What accounts for Adam’s dismissive attitude toward God? Why would the prospect of an employee who aims to become a nun unsettle someone who is a committed atheist?
How does Ana succeed in taming Teddy Trellis? What role does Teddy’s mother, Lillian, play in this transformation? How does the near-drowning accident in the pool change the dynamic of Ana’s employment at the Trellis home? Of the two women, who exerts more of an influence on Teddy’s social and emotional development—first as a young boy, and much later as a young man—and why?
“When I didn’t answer him, he slipped his hands under me and carried me to the sofa. His nearness made me feel warm and alive as if a river had suddenly forged itself through my soul.” (175) Why is Ana willing to deceive Adam? To what extent is Ana’s effort to stall Adam motivated by an innocent desire to obey Lillian and protect her infidelity with Jerome from discovery? How does Ana conceal her attraction to her employer, even from herself?
Why does Cecilia Samartin leave the explanation for Teddy’s absence from his father’s deathbed until the end of the book? To what extent should Teddy feel justified in his reaction to his father’s relationship with Ana? What do Ana’s efforts to repair the relationship between Adam and Teddy reveal about the true nature of her character? Do you think she should she feel conflicted about these machinations?
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