The Girl Who Could Silence the Wind

by Meg Medina

  “Imagine it! The nanny survived twenty-nine of her scheduled thirty-one injections before dying rabid — screaming in terror at the sound of running water.” She lowered her voice. “I’ll bet it took a downpour of money to quiet that girl’s family.”

  Sonia looked around cautiously for the greyhounds, but just then Eva stopped and pointed at a charming house up ahead. It overlooked neatly trimmed grass and benches. Flowers of every kind draped opulently from window boxes on the second floor.

  “There. Your new home, mi amor. We call it La Casita.”

  Sonia stood dumbfounded. “For us? This?” Back home it could have been the mayor’s house.

  “I told you it was marvelous. Come inside.” They ran toward it.

  The doorknob on the carved front door was shiny brass. Eva let Sonia unlock the door and led her inside to the sitting room, where they stood in silence for moment, staring. The space was dark and musty, and the furniture was still covered in sheets.

  “It’s always a bit of a cave at first.” Eva opened the thick drapes and cranked open the front shutters. “It will feel like home soon enough, mi amor. Here.”

  She balled the sheets under her arm and tossed them to Sonia before heading toward the stairs, which she climbed two at a time. Sonia let her fingers trail along the pretty wood of the handrail as she followed in awe. On the landing below, the dogs dashed madly in happy circles, barking and upending a chair with their muscular legs.

  “Here they are!” Eva called from somewhere ahead.

  Sonia followed her friend’s voice down the hall to the last bedroom, where she found her digging inside a claw-footed wardrobe in the corner. In a moment Eva emerged, red-faced and triumphant.

  “This is my favorite part of the capital!” She dragged out a box of old books and reached inside. Spiderwebs clung to the binding of the volume she pulled out.

  “Books?” Sonia didn’t remember Eva ever being studious for Irina Gomez.

  “Not just books! Timeless stories of love!” Eva pressed her lips to the curly gold script on the cover. “Thank God they’re safe.”

  They were old romances. Sonia thought that none of those stories could possibly compare to Pancho’s inventions, but she kept her lips sealed on the matter, remembering the shame of her classmates’ teasing. Instead, she looked around carefully at her new room. The plaster walls of their bedroom were cracked in several places, but otherwise the room was pleasant — clean and simple, with two small beds, a wardrobe, and nightstand. The next room was more or less a duplicate, except for the view. From the arched window between Sonia’s and Eva’s beds, one had a sweeping vista of the grounds.

  She stepped out to the balcony and took in a deep breath of winter jasmine. Sonia felt like the victorious girl in Pancho’s story, the one who had brandished a golden sword, slayed her uncle, and fled from her captors on horseback.

  “Of course, you’ve taken the best room for yourselves.”

  The cold voice made Sonia turn. Dalia was standing at the bedroom door with Sonia’s suitcases.

  “I will have to resign myself to the room right across the hall, I suppose,” she continued.

  Sonia, still bruised from their encounter on the train, did not reply.

  Dalia was not fazed in the least.

  “Here.” She tossed a set of keys roughly at Sonia. “Don’t lose them.”

  Sonia studied the keys curiously. At home no one used more than an eye hook to hold a door shut. Looking now, Sonia noticed dead bolts on each of the bedroom doors.

  “Locks? Even on the inside of the house?” She turned to Eva. “Are there bandits here?”

  But Eva was already languishing in bed, entranced by the first pages of her favorite saga. It was Dalia who replied.

  “Lesson one: There are criminals everywhere, Sonia.” She smiled wryly. “Sometimes we can barely trust our own housemates.”

  SONIA WAS SURE it was Rafael pulling on her braid when she opened her eyes in the darkness. Her whole life she had been awakened by his nonsense, followed by the piercing crows of their neighbor’s rooster and her mother bringing cinnamon milk to her in bed.

  “Stop it or I’ll bite you, I swear it!” she muttered as she dug inside her covers.

  It took a moment to realize it wasn’t her brother at all.

  “Despierta, mi amor. We’ll be late.”

  Eva, her hair set in pin curls, was leaning over her.

  Sonia sat up groggily; the trip had exhausted her more than she’d realized. The first light of dawn was glowing through the slats in the shutters.

  Eva buzzed around the room to get ready. One hand yanked her curls loose as she tried to unfasten the stubborn buttons of her uniform with the other. She slipped the shapeless black sheath over her head, and the curves and slopes of her youth disappeared.

  “Yours is in the wardrobe,” she said, wrinkling her nose as she studied her reflection. “Don’t worry about the size. Nothing helps. You’ll look just as dreadful as the rest of us. Open the shutters, cariño.”

  Outside, the ground staff was already busy. Stable boys carried hay, and the old gardener was watering roses. The milkman was making his delivery at the back gate. Sonia spied Ramona and Dalia crossing the wet grass toward the main house, too. From here, they looked like old crows, identical in their black uniforms, opaque stockings, and square-toed shoes. It was a world away from the lively colors of Tres Montes and the friendly cries from doorways wherever you went. ¡Buenos días! ¿Qué tal? ¿Qué se cuenta?

  “¡Apúrate pues!” urged Eva again. “Hurry! This is no way to make a first impression!”

  Sonia dressed in a flash and giggled with Eva at their dowdy appearance. She paused at the wardrobe before she left, contemplating the satchel of milagros.

  Soon they were hurrying to follow the flock, the jangling of metal trinkets in Sonia’s pocket marking each step.

  Though she would always hate to admit it, Sonia put Rafael and all her other regrets out of her mind for the rest of that day. She did not let herself think about her brother somewhere on his reckless journey. She ignored the memory of her father’s sighs and of the chivalrous look in Pancho’s eyes. Instead, she lost herself in the world of a proper household apprentice.

  She scurried from room to room, pulling up her baggy stockings and trying to memorize Ramona’s endless instructions about how to make a household run with the precision of a navy ship. It took no time to realize that there were domestic arts in existence that no one in Tres Montes would have ever imagined necessary. Here one used an ostrich-plume duster instead of an old shirt to clean the teardrop chandeliers that shone like diamonds. Sugar was served in silver containers, which had to be polished wearing gloves. Her shoulders grew numb from rubbing them clean.

  “When will I know I’m done?” Sonia asked, holding one up to the light.

  Ramona laughed. “When you can count your eyelashes in the reflection, of course.”

  The dining room proved the most confusing in the end. Sonia had never given thought to rules about setting a table. At home, she laid out a plate for each person, fork and knife on either side. But again, the rules here were completely different — and unbendable.

  Eva was her tutor. She gave Sonia a pair of white cotton gloves and clicked open a carved chest. Sonia gasped when Eva revealed the silverware.

  “All this for a single meal?” Sonia asked. “Do they use a different fork for each bite?”

  Eva giggled. “Pay attention, mi vida. There’s a lot to know.”

  Forks on the left, knives and spoons to the right, but with the cutting edge facing in. There were tiny forks for oysters and little knives just for butter. And if dessert was to be served, the forks and spoons were to be placed above the plate or bowl.

  “Not that one,” Eva told her, surveying her first attempt. “The short one is for salad.” She pursed her lips and moved the water glass to its proper place. Sonia had placed it where the wine glass belonged. “Let’s try again.”

>   “How long are you going to be at this?” The girls turned to find Teresa glaring. “Is the girl a dunce?”

  The old woman had materialized from nowhere. She glanced down disapprovingly at Sonia’s droopy stockings.

  “We were just finishing, Teresa,” Eva mumbled. “Sonia is a fast learner.”

  Teresa snorted.

  “We’ll see. What can we expect from mountain girls who eat with their fingers, for God’s sake.”

  Sonia felt herself go tense as Teresa hobbled over to inspect the table setting. She adjusted the silverware closer to the table’s edge with the expression of a woman accustomed to the worst.

  “The parlor is thick with dust,” she said. “Go.”

  Sonia nodded and hurried for the door, only too happy to escape.

  “Where are you going, you silly girl!” Teresa snapped. “It’s that way.”

  “Ignore her,” Eva whispered later as they rinsed out their stockings and got ready for bed. “She’s been stuck here as a domestic since she was a girl. She makes everyone suffer with her.”

  Sonia’s neck and shoulders were aching. Teresa had made her dust the parlor twice. “But it can’t be that sad living in a place like this,” she protested.

  Eva climbed into bed and reached under her pillow with a devilish look. “Let’s forget about Teresa, all right? Close your eyes, mi vida. I’ll treat you to a scandalous bedtime story.”

  Sonia was fast asleep by the third page.

  “SHOW ME YOUR fingernails.”

  Ramona inspected Sonia carefully and nodded her approval. It would be the first day for Sonia to serve Katarina Masón in person, and no detail was to be missed.

  “First impressions are everything,” she said, just the way Tía Neli would have.

  Sonia looked nervously at Dalia, whom Ramona had selected as her mentor for the breakfast service. What could be worse? Dalia had already complained loudly about having to look after Sonia’s work.

  “It’s either serve breakfast or stay here and boil the feathers off those chickens I put in the ice chest for you,” Ramona had said evenly. She was the only one who could stomach the stench of wet carcasses without retching.

  “Fine.” She thrust a silver tray at Sonia. “Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut.”

  Ramona placed a full coffeepot on the tray and took Sonia’s face in her hands. “Don’t be nervous. If you forget what I’ve taught you, watch how Dalia serves; she’s an angry wasp in the kitchen, but she’s excellent at serving, the very best we have.” She paused to think of last-minute warnings. “Remember: speak only when asked a direct question, and reply —”

  “In your softest tone and with the fewest words possible,” Eva added in a startling singsong voice. It was as if the ghost of Irina Gomez had put the words on her lips. She smiled at Sonia mischievously and returned to arranging the pastries. Sonia bit her lip to avoid laughing.

  “If you know so much, Eva, why have you prepared this tray so poorly?” Ramona asked.

  “Poorly? What do you mean?” Eva looked at Sonia’s tray. “Café, tostadas con miel, a poached egg, and two pastries.” She crossed her arms primly. “What have I forgotten?”

  Ramona rolled her eyes to the heavens. “Señora is hosting her nephew this morning. We’ll need another cup and saucer. Show Sonia where to get them.”

  Eva’s face dropped. “Señor Umberto is here?”

  “I hate it when you girls are not observant. He arrived last night. Why else would I have ordered raspberry pasteles? They’re all that young man will eat!” Ramona exclaimed.

  Eva exchanged a careful glance with Dalia as she led Sonia into the dining room, where the French cabinet was filled with breakfast ceramics. She pulled a blue cup from a hook.

  “You’ll have to be extra careful, mi vida,” Eva whispered when they were both hidden behind the large doors.

  “Careful with what?”

  “Shhh! With Señor Umberto, of course! He’s gorgeous, but —”

  Ramona poked her head through the swinging door, and Eva fell silent. The grandfather clock began chiming the hour.

  “Hurry, girls!” Ramona said. “She’s not to be kept waiting.”

  Eva gave Sonia an apologetic look.

  “Come on,” Dalia called over her shoulder as she swept past them toward the stairs. “Or do I have to do this myself?”

  The sound of Sonia’s thick heels clicked in time with Dalia’s as they made their way along the marble hallway to the bedrooms. Sonia grew more frightened with each step. This was her first time in the upstairs chambers — Señora Masón’s most private area of the house. And it was the first time she would lay eyes on her employer. She had seen Señora Masón only from a distance. The many portraits around the house showed a proud silver-haired woman with no smile.

  By the time they reached the door, her hands were shaking so violently that the coffee was in a puddle.

  Dalia looked at the mess in disgust. There was no time to return to the kitchen, so she untied the ends of her apron and mopped the tray. Then she stuffed the dirty apron behind a potted palm. “I won’t help you again, so calm yourself. And while you’re at it, get that look off your face. You’re not going to an execution.”

  With that, she opened the double doors and stepped inside.

  That Katarina Masón was already waiting — impeccably powdered, dressed, and combed — did not surprise Sonia. Eva had already told her that the woman was a well-known insomniac and had been since the night her husband, Don Carlos Masón, died without warning in their bed while eating red grapes and cheese. According to the gossip columns, he’d been a sweet buffoon — but one with blood cold enough for running a business and living with a spoiled woman. From the day he left her a widow, she awoke at four o’clock each morning to read all the society pages in the capital. Then she personally arranged her grueling social calendar, a task she trusted to no secretary. Eva claimed that she spent her time trading stories with the wives of government officials and gambling away her husband’s endless fortune on horse races.

  “Muy buenos días, Señora Masón,” Dalia said.

  Teresa, who handled the most intimate details of Katarina Masón’s elaborate toilette, looked up from folding a silk nightdress. When she saw the two girls, her face soured.

  “You’re late,” she muttered. “We run a disciplined house, oyeron?”

  Sonia crossed the room to set down the tray, in the exact manner as Dalia. She was within inches of Katarina Masón and could smell her perfume. She was a woman in her fifties, but with the unmistakable air of the rich and well cared for, she looked only a few years older than Ramona. Already in pearls, she sat across from a young man who wore a white linen suit and had topaz rings on his fingers. The young man had the same piercing blue eyes as his aunt, the same air of the upper class. He could have been a school chum of Rafael’s if they’d been born in the same circles, Sonia thought, studying him from the corner of her eye. Eva was right. He was handsome. Still, his good looks instantly made her more nervous.

  “Hello,” Umberto said, showing off a bright smile.

  Sonia nodded and looked down at once.

  He smiled pleasantly as he watched Dalia unload the things on her tray. When one of the dogs snapped at the pastries, he reached protectively for her hand.

  “You’d better be careful! These beasts have a mind of their own. They’ll bite your pretty fingers off like tasty sausages.” He lowered his voice and winked. “I can’t say I’d blame them.”

  Dalia took back her hand and set the silverware without hesitation. “I’m not afraid of dogs, señor.”

  Señora Masón opened the morning paper and squinted. “I need light,” she said briskly.

  It took Teresa’s piercing glare for Sonia to realize that Señora Masón was talking to her.

  Sonia pulled back the brocade curtains and cranked open the windows. The morning sunshine streamed in from the balcony and warmed the whole room in a pretty glow that gave Sonia
pause. Finches darted in the potted hibiscus as she tied back the sashes. The sight of them made her remember Pancho, who sometimes clipped blooms and left them anonymously on her chair at school. She was still in her daydream when she turned back to see Umberto smiling wolfishly at her.

  “And who is this little lovely thing, Tía?” he said to his aunt. “You haven’t introduced us.”

  Sonia blushed.

  Teresa turned from the bureau, where she was arranging lace handkerchiefs, and looked from Sonia to Umberto. Then she frowned.

  “Tell Señor Umberto your name,” she ordered. “They do teach manners in the countryside, don’t they?”

  Sonia felt her mouth go dry as everyone waited. “Sonia Ocampo, señor. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he said. “I hope you’re enjoying your work here so far.”

  Katarina Masón put down her paper and regarded Sonia carefully. “How old are you?” she asked.

  “Sixteen, señora.”

  She shook her head and picked up her paper.

  “What is Arenas sending me, Teresa?” she asked. “This one still has her milk teeth! I’ll have to complain. Remind me.”

  Sonia stared at her shoes.

  “Tía,” Umberto exclaimed. “I think that’s too harsh. Sixteen is a perfect age to leave the nest. She’s young and pretty, that’s all.” He smiled at Sonia in a way that made her feel worse. Then he motioned to the selection of pastries on the tray.

  “What do you recommend?”

  Before Sonia could reply, Dalia plucked a raspberry tart from the bunch and dropped it on his plate. If he’d been a boy at home, Sonia was sure Dalia would have plucked his eyes out instead.

  “Fill the cups,” Dalia ordered.

  Umberto leaned back, chomping on the pastel as Sonia poured the coffee. The corners of his mouth were soon stained red with jam. He was looking devilishly from Sonia to Dalia, openly comparing the merits of their waists and hips, when the sunlight from the balcony made Sonia’s necklace glitter like a star.

  “Come here.” He motioned to Sonia.