The Witches of El Paso

Chapter 6

6

The memory of the coyote’s tooth still rested on Nena’s tongue as she followed Sister Benedicta through the convent, struggling to pay attention to what the nun was telling her—instructions of some sort, rules, a schedule.

“You’ll spend most of your day in chapel, prayers, or in silent meditation. During the hours reserved for work, you’ll embroider for an hour, and then you’ll help in the kitchen.” Sister Benedicta opened a door that led into a small chapel.

A mass was already underway. Behind the altar, streaks of soot ran down the face of the statue of the Virgin. The walls may have once been whitewashed, but they were now dark from the smoke of countless candles. Nena shivered from the cold, even in her wool habit. She wished she’d brought Sister Benedicta’s rebozo with her.

Nena ached with exhaustion after her meeting with the aquelarre, suffering from the dull pain behind her eyes that followed a vision, hoping she could go back to the cell to lie down on the narrow bed, if only for a few minutes. She eased herself onto a bench, grateful to sit.

The priest had a Spanish lisp, and his voice traveled up and down the scale as he said Holy Ghost in Latin, “spiritus,” very high, and “sanctus,” very low. If Nena had been with Luna, they would have erupted into giggles at this. Nena could imagine Olga sending them disappointed looks out of the sides of her eyes, but Nena wasn’t about to laugh now. She was too scared and alone and worn out to be silly. If time was progressing as usual, then Olga had already left home for work, and Luna would be dealing with the two babies, furious, wondering where Nena was. But what could Nena do?

She’d come here using her own mysterious magic, making Madre Inocenta curious and Sister Benedicta mad. The tooth had scared the other nuns, even Carmela. Nena had only been here for a few hours, and she was already afraid about how she would be treated from now on.

The way the priest prayed the mass was almost exactly the same as the priests at home. Nena kneeled, stood, crossed herself, sat back down, and this familiar ritual made her feel a bit more like herself. She inspected the other women in the chapel, noticing that there were three types: nuns in black veils, nuns in white veils, and girls in the same gray uniform that Nena wore. The women all wore crosses, some of wood, some of gold, and one girl, a gray-clad ni?a of all people, wore a gold cross with big jewels stuck in it. A few nuns wore habits made of material as rich as that of Sister Benedicta’s.

Nena thought about the circumstances of these women, where they’d come from, if they’d grown up in El Paso del Norte, or if they’d been sent from elsewhere. Nena couldn’t imagine desiring the life of a nun. That was the exact opposite of being a soldier. Even in normal life, mass was an obligation and a bore, and having to go to multiple services during the day, sitting and kneeling endlessly, seemed like a cruel punishment. Nena’s favorite thing in life was to walk, strolling around the neighborhood, talking to the shopkeepers, visiting Se?ora Guilez and her parrot, and chatting with the ladies of the Mansion, who came out late in the afternoon, walking in pairs, pretty, their lips red.

Growing up across the street from the Mansion, Nena was made aware that there were two kinds of houses, two kinds of women. To be respectable, you either had to get married, or you had to be a nun. That was one reason Nena had loved For Whom the Bell Tolls . In that world, women could be soldiers. Nena imagined that in this time, this El Paso del Norte, it had to be even worse, with even fewer options for women. From what she had seen so far, the whole town was poor, and far away from the center of things, a provincial outpost in the far reaches of the Spanish Empire, not like the bustling, important city that she lived in.

Nena felt a ladybug crawling on her finger. She looked at it closely. This particular ladybug was a very deep shade of red. Nena studied its spots, its little black face, watched as its translucent wings folded down over its body, disappearing. The insect moved around on her finger, doing a little dance. And then it blinked out. It hadn’t flown away, it had simply disappeared.

The ladybug blinked in again, this time landing on Carmela’s hand. Carmela let out a strangled cough, like she was trying to keep from laughing. Nena was intrigued.

Once the service was over, Nena followed the other women out of the chapel and down the hall to a big room with a low ceiling and rows of long tables and benches. Big pewter jugs of water stood on the tables, along with baskets of rolls. Servants moved around the room, handing out bowls of a soup made with chicken and vegetables. Nena hardly ever had meat at home, even before the war, the family joke being that they had two meals, rice and beans or beans and rice. Nena was hungry, hardly able to wait until after the prayer to dip her spoon into her bowl.

During the meal, the nuns were silent, or nearly so, barely saying anything more than “Pass the water, sister.” All through the meal, Sister Benedicta moved around the room, her hands folded in front of her. When she paused at Nena’s table, Nena continued eating under Sister Benedicta’s narrowed eyes. The nun sitting across from her rolled her bread into pills that she popped into her mouth, one after another, her lip quivering, nervous like a rabbit. Sister Benedicta leaned over Nena. Nena felt everyone turn to look at her with curiosity, and maybe with fear. Had she already done something wrong?

“When we’re done with the meal, you’ll go next door to work on needlepoint,” Sister Benedicta whispered, as though this were top-secret information. Nena nodded, not sure if she was allowed to respond. Sister Benedicta straightened up, and everyone else in the room seemed to relax. What was it that they thought they were going to see?

After the meal, Nena and the other ni?as moved into a room with small windows and hard wooden chairs, but here, at last, the women appeared to be allowed to talk.

“Sister Benedicta said that you didn’t bring a work basket to the convent with you,” Carmela said, waving her over, and Nena was relieved to see that Carmela wasn’t afraid of her, even though she’d coughed up a tooth.

“No, I don’t have any sewing things,” Nena said. “And I don’t know how to embroider.”

“I have an extra hoop,” Carmela said, handing Nena fabric and thread, along with the hoop, which Nena had no idea what to do with.

“Will you show me how to do it?” Nena asked.

Carmela took the hoop from Nena’s hands, then expertly fit the fabric in the ring and handed it back to Nena. “I’m in charge of the kitchen, so during your work shift, you’re going to be with me.”

Nena was glad for this. She needed to be able to ask someone questions. Madre Inocenta might be the person ultimately in charge, but Nena didn’t think she could wander into her office whenever she wanted, and she certainly wasn’t a friend. From the little she’d seen of the convent, divisions were strictly upheld. The nuns in the black veils were more senior to the nuns in the white, and the ni?as were students, below the nuns in terms of rank, but higher than the servants.

“The ladybug that was on me jumped to you, didn’t it?” Nena asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it didn’t fly, it disappeared, and then somehow it appeared on you, right?”

Sister Carmela shifted so that only Nena could see her face. “The message you sent me about Father Iturbe’s lisp made me laugh,” she whispered.

“I sent a message?”

“You certainly did,” Carmela said.

“I didn’t mean to. How?”

“The ladybugs travel on the golden thread that connects everything.”

“Could you show me how to send a message on purpose?”

“Yes, but don’t let Sister Benedicta catch you. Magic is only allowed during the aquelarre.”

“What would she do if she caught me?”

“One time she made a nun—an elderly lady at that—eat her supper off a plate on the floor, like she was a dog. But who knows. That punishment was for someone who wasn’t one of us. And besides, she seems afraid of you, of what you can do.”

“Really?”

“You didn’t see how she looked at you? And that trick with the tooth was new. What you can do is more than any of us, even Madre Inocenta.” Nena was surprised, thinking back to how Madre Inocenta’s eyes had glittered during the aquelarre.

“But I don’t want to do more than anyone. I want to go home.”

“I pray you can. Maybe you could take me with you.”

“You don’t like it here?”

Carmela lowered her embroidery hoop. “I’ve never known anything else. When I was young, La Vista visited me too much, bringing great trouble, but here I’ve been safe. What happens to girls like us where you’re from?” Carmela asked.

How to answer the question? Nena gripped the embroidery hoop, her limbs frozen. What happened at home was that girls like Nena were alternately feared and loved, asked for help on the sly, and then talked about in whispers.

Nena heard a loud scraping noise. She glanced up to see one of the ni?as dragging a stool across the tiles and setting it down next to Nena. This was the girl whom Nena had noticed earlier, the one wearing the jeweled cross. Nena would have rather asked Carmela more questions, but she was going to have to wait.

“I’m Eugenia,” the girl said, sitting down on the stool. “You’re not from El Paso del Norte, are you?”

“No,” Nena said, telling both a lie and the truth.

“What’s your family name?”

“Montoya.”

The girl wrinkled her nose. “Which branch of the Montoyas?”

Nena understood that this girl believed there were better and worse Montoyas, and that she would judge Nena on her answer, so Nena decided to answer a question that hadn’t been asked. “My parents died, and my uncle wanted me to be educated, so he sent me here.”

“Do you want to be a nun?”

“If I’m called to God, then yes,” Nena said, not thinking for one moment that this would happen.

“I wouldn’t be a nun for anything. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“You’re allowed to leave the convent?”

“Yes, of course I can.”

“You mean we ni?as can go out into the town when we want to?” Nena asked.

“Well, no, not exactly. What I mean is that I’m not sequestered here for the rest of my life. Unlike Sister Carmela,” Eugenia said loudly, but Carmela appeared not to have heard. “My time here will be over soon. I’ll leave when I marry Emiliano de Galvez next year.”

“Who’s that?”

“Sister Benedicta’s brother. Half brother,” she clarified.

“Hmm,” Nena said, thinking back to the man on the big horse.

“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. He’s not old or ugly, like her. Our marriage will bring together the most important families of El Paso. Emiliano’s father is giving us a third of his vineyards.”

Nena supposed Eugenia was pretty in a way, with even features and a small nose. But her eyes sat too close together, and her nails had been bitten down to nothing, her fingertips raw. Her bragging meant nothing to Nena, and it was absurd to harbor any sort of jealousy over Emiliano, so Nena pledged to try to be friends with this not very nice girl.

“You make such neat stitches,” Nena said, which was true. Eugenia had embroidered a spray of red roses on a black background, using different colors to make the blossoms and leaves look almost alive.

“Any real lady knows how to do it,” Eugenia said, looking down at Nena’s blank hoop.

“Oh, Elena knows all about roses,” Carmela said, laughing. “Come with me, Elena, and I’ll show you how you’ll help in the kitchen. Eugenia, it’s time for you to start your shift, too.”