“You heard that. Your father needs me.” Mercedes started walking back to the arch.
“He is not my father!” Ofelia called after her. “He is not!”
Mercedes slowed.
Ofelia ran to her side and they walked through the arch, leaving the cold stones and the horned face with the empty eyes behind.
“My father was a tailor,” Ofelia said. “He was killed in the war.”
There were the tears again. They always came when Ofelia talked about him. She couldn’t help it.
“He made my dress and the blouse my mother wears. He made the most beautiful clothes. More beautiful than the princesses wear in my books! Capitán Vidal is not my father.”
“You’ve made that very clear,” Mercedes said gently, putting her arm around Ofelia’s shoulders. “But come now. I’ll take you to your mother. I’m sure she’s already looking for you.”
Her arm felt warm. And strong.
“Isn’t my mother beautiful?” Ofelia asked. “It is the baby who makes her sick. Do you have a brother?”
“I do,” Mercedes replied. “You’ll see, you will love your little brother. Very much. You won’t be able to help it.”
She smiled once again. There was sadness in her eyes. Ofelia saw it. Mercedes seemed to know about losing things too.
Sitting atop the stone arch, the Fairy watched them walk back to the mill: the woman and the girl, spring and summer, side by side.
The girl would come back.
The Fairy would make sure of that.
Very soon.
As soon as her master wished.
3
Just a Mouse
Yes, Mercedes had a brother. Pedro was one of the men hiding in the forest, a Maqui, as they called themselves, a resistance fighter, hiding from the very soldiers Mercedes cooked and cleaned for.
Capitán Vidal and his officers were planning the hunt for those men when Mercedes walked in with the bread, cheese, and wine he had ordered. At one time the table on which they’d spread their map used to serve meals to the miller and his family. Now all it served was death. Death and fear.
The flames dancing in the fireplace painted shadows of knifes and rifles onto the whitewashed walls and the faces bending over the map. Mercedes put her tray down and cast an unsuspicious glance at the marked army positions.
“The guerrillas stick to the forest because it’s hard to track them there.” Vidal’s voice was as expressionless as his face. “The scum knows the terrain much better than we do. We’ll therefore block all access to the woods. Here. And here.” He brought his black-gloved finger down on the map like a missile.
Pay attention, Mercedes. And tell your brother what they are planning, or he’ll be dead in a week.
“Food, medicine, we’ll store it all. Right here.” Vidal pointed at the spot that marked the mill. “We need to force them down from the hills. That way they’ll come to us.”
Here, Mercedes. They’ll store it all here!
She took her time laying the food out on the table, glad that she was completely invisible to them, just a maid, just part of the room like the chairs and the firewood.
“We’ll set up three new command posts. Here, here, and here.”
Vidal placed bronze markers on the map. Mercedes didn’t take her eyes off his gloved fingers. That’s what she was: the eyes and ears of the rabbits they hunted, as silent and invisible as a mouse.
“Mercedes!”
She forgot to breathe when the black glove grabbed her shoulder.
Vidal’s eyes were narrow with suspicion. He is always suspicious, Mercedes, she thought, calming her racing heart. He liked to watch his gaze spread fear on a face, but she’d played this game often enough to not give herself away. Just a mouse. Invisible. She’d be done for if he ever came to believe that she was a cat or a vixen.
“Ask Dr. Ferreira to come down.”
“Yes, señor.”
She bent her head to make herself small. Most men didn’t want a woman to be tall. Vidal was no exception.
Three command posts. And food and medicine stored at the mill.
Now that would come in handy.
4
A Rose on a Dark Mountain
Dr. Ferreira was a good man, a gentle soul. That much was apparent to Ofelia the moment he walked into her mother’s room. One can spot kindness as clearly as cruelty. It spreads light and warmth and the doctor seemed filled with both.
“This will help you sleep,” he told her mother as he added a few drops of amber liquid to a glass of water.
Her mother hadn’t argued with him when he advised her to stay in bed for a few days. It was a huge wooden bed, with plenty of room for her and Ofelia to share. Her mother hadn’t been well at all since they’d come to this miserable place. Her forehead was wet with sweat, and pain etched fine lines into her beautiful face. Ofelia was worried, but it comforted her to watch the doctor’s calm hands prepare the draught.
“Just two drops,” he said, handing Ofelia the small brown bottle so she could close it. “You’ll see it will help her.”
Her mother could barely swallow the water without gagging.
“You need to drink all of it,” Dr. Ferreira softly urged. “Very good.”
His voice was as warm as the blankets on the bed and Ofelia wondered why her mother hadn’t fallen in love with a man like the doctor. He reminded her of her late father. Just a little bit.
Ofelia had just sat down on the side of the bed, when Mercedes came into the room.
“He wants you downstairs,” she said to Dr. Ferreira.
He. Nobody spoke his name. Vidal. It sounded like a stone thrown through a window, each letter a piece of broken glass. Capitán. That’s what most of them called him. But Ofelia still thought Wolf fit him much better.
“Don’t hesitate to call me,” the doctor said to her mother as he closed his bag. “Day or night. You or your young nurse,” he added, smiling at Ofelia.
Then he left with Mercedes, and Ofelia was alone for the first time with her mother in this old house smelling of cold winters and the sadness of people from ages past. She liked to be alone with her mother. She always had, but then the Wolf had come.
Her mother drew her closer.
“My young nurse.” She pushed her hand under Ofelia’s arm with a tired but happy smile. “Close the doors and turn off the light, cariño.”
Even though she’d be at her mother’s side, Ofelia dreaded the prospect of sleeping in this strange room, but she did as she was told. She was reaching for the door latch, when she saw the doctor standing on the landing with Mercedes. They didn’t notice her and Ofelia didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help listening. To listen . . . after all, that’s what being a child is about. Learning about adults’ secrets means learning to understand their world—and how to survive it.
“You have to help us, Doctor!” Mercedes was whispering. “Come with me and see him. The wound’s not healing. His leg is getting worse.”
“This is all I could get,” the doctor said quietly, handing Mercedes a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. “I am sorry.”
Mercedes took the parcel, but the despair on her face frightened Ofelia. Mercedes seemed so strong, like someone who would protect her in this house filled with loneliness and the ghosts of the past.