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“She has no milk.”
“What do you mean, no milk?”
The black cloud over Pepa's head thundered, “What you hear. She has no milk, she's dry. She can't nurse the baby.”
Alma's frown seemed to sink into her features, giving her a more tired look than usual. “Maybe one of Julieta's meals–”
“We've tried that,” her eldest daughter interjected. “But it doesn't work. Catalina can't breastfeed.”
A tense silence surrounded those gathered in the matriarch's room. They had been summoned to an emergency meeting to determine what to do with the mother and child. It had been three days since Catalina, Camilo's wife, had given birth to a healthy and adorable baby girl. Although the event had filled them with happiness, that joy was soon clouded by a disconcerting discovery: Catalina was not producing milk.
At first Alma didn't pay much attention to the news. Give it a couple of hours, she said when she found out. I'll give her a few massages later, she'll have milk.
But hours passed and that did not happen, then two days went by, and Catalina still could not breastfeed Clara, and despair grew in the family, especially in the first-time father. Camilo spent hours and hours looking insistently at his wife's arid breasts, as if he hoped that his gaze could make the food for his little girl sprout from them.
“It's been three days. Clarita needs milk,” Pepa insisted, with hysteria in her voice.
“What about the wet nurse we sent for?”
Pepa shook her head, “She won't come.”
Alma had resisted calling a wet nurse, as she considered it scandalous for a baby to feed from the breast of a woman who was not its mother, but Pepa had threatened to blow the whole house down with a hurricane if they did not look for someone, so she had been forced to give in for once. That was how Doña Carmen took care of the baby for a day and a half, giving the family some peace of mind while they looked for a solution, but Clarita turned out to be as gluttonous as her father, and in a short time she left without milk the lady who still had to breastfeed her own children. Doña Carmen let them know that day that she could no longer provide her services.
They desperately needed to find another wet nurse, but so far no one else had applied, and none of the women in the family could help; Isabela and Mariano's children were grown and weaned, Dolores had just formalized her engagement, and Julieta's younger daughters were far from even thinking about getting married.
They were running out of options.
“Julieta,” Alma turned to her eldest daughter, “Can we continue to offer the girl cow's milk?”
“Maybe for a while. But she still needs breast milk to keep her well nourished.”
“And how is she?”
As if feeling alluded to, Clara began to cry again. The poor creature had spent the whole day crying, disconsolate because of the lack of food, which had everyone's nerves on edge. She had given them a truce when she fell asleep, but now that she had woken up, she began to demand her food vehemently.
Mirabel, who was holding her, rocked her gently, “I think she's hungry again.”
Pepa's cloud rumbled, threatening to release lightning bolts all over the place.
“Great,” she growled, “My granddaughter will starve to death.”
“Nobody's going to starve!” Alma snapped at her. “Mirabel, take care of the child. We won't be able to think with her crying.”
Mirabel withdrew quietly, happy to have a reason to get away from the arguments of the elders and devote herself to her new favorite pastime, tending to her niece.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Camilo's hands massaged his wife's cramped feet in an attempt to calm her nerves. His father had told him it was a very good way to sweeten the temper of a person in a state of anxiety. But the sour expression on Catalina's face remained intact.
“You're doing it too hard.”
Camilo let out a sigh, but didn't complain. Not many people gave him credit for his patience, but he had inherited it from his papá, and just as for years he had calmed his mother's moods, so now he was doing it for Catalina, though without much success.
The woman stirred impatiently.
“Stop that, it doesn't help me at all,” Catalina sank onto the bed. “This is horrible.”
“Soon it will get better, you'll see.”
“Your family hates me.”
“No one hates you, Catalina. They're just worried, that's all.”
The woman gave him a look full of venom.
“We should never have married.”
A sad smile appeared on the man's lips, “Now we agree on that.”
Camilo couldn't blame her for taking it out on him, the last few days had been terribly stressful, especially for her, but, in his defense, he had warned her.
When Alma orchestrated his engagement, he was completely direct and transparent with Catalina; if they were to marry, theirs would be a loveless marriage, in which Catalina would be under the expectations and pressure of none other than the matriarch of the town and the rest of the community; he would support her in everything and be her partner, but she could not expect any love from him, for his heart belonged to another who was forbidden.
Catalina, blinded by the idea of bearing the Madrigal name and being the owner of the most coveted bachelor, turned a deaf ear to the warnings and accepted the engagement without thinking, certain that her charms would be enough to seduce Camilo and that everything would be worth it to be part of the head family.
Reality soon shattered her fantasies; the colorful and perfect family was a façade, what she hoped would be a life of luxury and comfort turned out to be just an illusion. The Madrigals worked hard, twice and even three times as hard as the rest of the neighbors, and not having a gift, she was relegated to the sidelines. Camilo was kind and attentive to her, but as he had said, he did not love her. He didn't even want her. It was a hard blow for Catalina to discover who was the true owner of her husband's heart.
As if all that wasn't enough, the pregnancy was a real nightmare, and now this. She was sure everyone judged her for not being able to breastfeed. It reminded her of her daughter.
“Where is that little demon?”
“Don't call her that,” Camilo reproached her.
Catalina rolled her eyes, “Well, where's my adorable little angel?”
“Sarcasm doesn't make it any better.”
Camilo stood up to pour an infusion for his wife, and also for himself. He urgently needed to calm his nerves. If he could, he would go to Casita's roof to breathe fresh air and count the stars, seek comfort from his mamá, or at least try to make Mirabel laugh. Mirabel . Her smile always managed to calm him down, but right now was not the time to be selfish. He couldn't leave Catalina alone in her condition.
“Well?” Said Catalina, after drinking from the cup, “Where is Clara?”
“I left her with Mirabel.”
Camilo regretted saying those words the moment they left his lips. Catalina's bad mood increased, for it was no secret to anyone that she despised Mirabel. No one in the family could explain that animosity; only Camilo knew the reason, and he could not reproach her either. After all, it was he who had let his cousin's name slip when he consummated his marriage to Catalina. Their wedding night was the first and last time they shared a bed, and although Catalina put an end to the honeymoon and forbade him to touch her again, the capricious destiny wanted that single encounter to be enough to conceive Clarita, his beloved daughter.
Camilo loved her madly, he would crawl over burning coals for her. For months he had hoped that the baby would cheer up his wife and reconcile them, but Catalina resented the baby too, and had refused to hold her. There was a rumor in the house that this was the reason why the mother did not have any milk to offer. Never before had Camilo wanted so badly to sew his sister's mouth shut. God knew it was only a matter of time before that rumor would leave the walls of Casita and spread through the town. Catalina would go crazy.
That Clarita was left under Mirabel's care did not help at all.
“If I hadn't had her,” Catalina mumbled, “I could have put an end to us and left.”
“Maybe,” answered Camilo, “but it's too late for that.”
“Yes, too late.”
Camilo got up to leave. He knew very well when his presence was unwanted.
“Do you need anything else–?”
He dodged the cup before it hit him in the head. Catalina had good aim, but Camilo was quick, for he had plenty of practice having spent his childhood dodging his mother's lightning bolts and Isabela's flowers. That her husband avoided the attack only infuriated Catalina more.
“I want you to leave! Get out!”
Camilo decided not to test his wife's already thin patience. He closed the door behind him, knowing full well that Dolores would tell everyone about the new quarrel. There was nothing he could do to stop his sister's gossip, nor to calm Catalina down, so he chose to do something for himself and climbed onto the roof.
It was already getting dark, the sky still had orange and fuchsia tints on the horizon. The cold breeze ruffled his skin, but he didn't want to be anywhere else. He looked up and counted the stars: only four. He had read in some book that the people of the past looked for their future in the stars. Camilo imagined himself as one of them. Mirabel, Catalina and Clara, the four of us there . Would it mean something or was it just a coincidence? He suddenly wished he could have a prophecy from his banished Tío Bruno, whom no one mentioned anymore.
Camilo didn't need to know where he had done wrong, that much was clear to him, he just wanted to know what the future held for him and his broken family. A family that he had broken before starting it. Despite the complaints, the looks full of disdain, the whole weeks of cold shoulder and the sudden outbursts of violence, he did not hold a grudge against Catalina, because he knew that she was bound to him for his fault.
He retraced his steps every day, over and over again, remembering the moment when his life ceased to belong to him completely. It was the day he gathered enough courage to ask his abuela's permission to court Mirabel, with whom he had fallen hopelessly in love. Camilo never understood how or why, but that was not necessary, it was enough for him to know that he loved her and that he wanted to live with her, to make her happy and give her all the affection she had been denied.
The answer was a flat refusal, and not only that, Alma forbade him to even tell Mirabel about his feelings, and to make sure that Camilo would not disobey her, she quickly found him a more suitable betrothed. Catalina Méndez was chosen because of her beauty, her good education and her illustrious family name, and Camilo... resigned himself. And how could he not? No one ever objected to abuela. They owed everything to her, the roof over their heads and their gifts. Everyone's hands were tied.
Sometimes Camilo imagined doing things differently. Perhaps confessing to Mirabel against his grandmother's wishes, or maybe refusing to marry anyone and choosing a life of solitude. He now realized that either option would have been more tempting, but it was too late for that. At least he had his daughter.
If she survives , he thought bitterly. Camilo knew very well that they had to find a way to feed Clarita before it was too late.
Those black thoughts were suddenly interrupted.
Something caught his attention. In the corner of his eye. Camilo followed with his gaze that which had dazzled him. In the midst of the growing darkness, something glowed on his abuela's windowsill. The candle.
Its light shone with unusual strength, pushing away the shadows around it. Camilo had only seen it glow like this on two occasions; on his fifth birthday, and on his brother's. But right now there was no reason for the candle to glow like that. Unless...
Camilo looked into the kitchen, whose light was spilling onto the tiles. Mirabel was there with his daughter, and all his instincts told him that something miraculous was happening.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The faint warmth of the fire flooded the kitchen, and the sound of the bubbling milk mingled with Mirabel's cooing.
In one hand she held the ladle with which she stirred the contents of the pot, and in the other she carried her little niece. Mirabel's feet swayed back and forth, following the rhythm of the lullaby. She wasn't singing anything in particular, just letting her voice flow absentmindedly.
It was a habit of hers to sing and dance carefree, which she did especially when she was happy, and right now nothing made her happier than being in the company of her precious Clarita.
To Mirabel's surprise, the birth of her niece (was that what a cousin's child was called? Mirabel was not sure, but it sounded good) had been a source of infinite joy. And it was a surprise because Clara was the result of the marriage of the man she loved to someone other than herself.
Mirabel knew very well at what moment she had fallen in love with Camilo. Or rather, she knew at what moment she realized she was in love; it was during a Christmas party where, after sitting for two hours without anyone asking her to dance, Camilo arrived, took her hand, dragged her to the dance floor and didn't let her go all night, even though it was disrespectful to the other girls waiting their turn.
Mirabel went to sleep that night with her senses on edge and her heart pounding in her chest, but knowing that it could not change anything.
She and Camilo had very different status in the family. Great things were expected of him, and she was expected to stay out of the way. Mirabel knew her place; it was a lesson she had learned a couple of years ago, at Antonio's ceremony, and she had also learned that there were things that were better to ignore and pretend they didn't exist.
Just as Mirabel ignored the cracks, she also ignored her feelings for Camilo.
For the first few years she did well, she simply had to fix her attention on something else and keep busy. The cracks were easy to ignore, to the point of never seeing them again and wondering if they had existed in the first place. Ignoring the love she felt for her primo was a bit more difficult, especially when one night, without anyone being able to foresee it, abuela announced that Camilo was engaged to Catalina.
This had no precedent; Camilo had just turned twenty and had never before exchanged more than two words with the young Méndez, but Alma managed to accelerate the courtship, and in less than a year and a half she succeeded in marrying them. Mirabel suspected that she would have done it sooner had a marriage without previous courtship not been considered imprudent, and she also suspected that her own feelings had something to do with such a hasty union, for Alma had become even colder and more distant with her, and did everything to keep her away from Camilo.
Was it a punishment? It was not clear to Mirabel, but if her grandmother's intentions were to hurt her, boy, had she succeeded.
The dreadful marriage plunged Mirabel into a paralyzing depression, for not only did she have to give up any hope of being loved by Camilo, but also her role in the house had been downgraded even further, reduced almost to an imperceptible shadow. Her sadness went from bad to worse when the pregnancy was announced. For nine months Mirabel spent entire nights awake, unable to sleep. Her only company at that time was Casita, a lamp and some embroidery project to keep her mind and body busy.
Her days passed from sadness to sadness, from sigh to sigh. At least that is how it was until Clarita was born. Mirabel helped in the delivery, in fact, she was the one who received the baby, and Mirabel loved her from the first moment she saw her. She loved her whole, from the sparse fuzz on her little head, to her pink little feet. She loved her because she was Camilo's, and it didn't matter if she was Catalina's too, for Mirabel it was enough to know that Camilo was her father.
Another reason for joy was that, since Catalina was in bed, Mirabel had been assigned to take care of Clara. She had a new task, a new role in the family. The child had given her a new reason to be happy. Mirabel spent hours caring for her, bathing her, changing her. And feeding her.
When the milk was boiled, Mirabel turned off the fire and sat down in the chair. Clarita sniffed the air, and when she smelled the aroma of milk, she began to whimper.
“I know, I know,” whispered Mirabel. “You're hungry, but we have to wait for it to cool down, okay?”
Of course, the little girl did not understand, nor did she tolerate that her mealtime was delayed for so long. Mirabel suffered when she saw Clarita crying from hunger. Of all the members of the family, she was the most determined to feed the child, no matter what. Clarita was her light and her reason for being, and she was not going to lose her.
Mirabel rocked Clara in her arms, trying to distract her while her milk cooled, but to no avail. Impatiently, Clarita looked for Mirabel's breast.
“Oh, my child, you won't find milk there.”
But the girl insisted. Mirabel's heart shrank. She looked toward the doorway, and as no one was coming, she began to undo the buttons of her blouse. She might not be able to feed Clara, but at least she could distract her until her meal was ready.
Wasting no time, Clarita latched onto Mirabel's nipple and began sucking. Tears welled up in Mirabel's eyes. She could almost imagine that she was Clarita's real mother, that the little girl would grow up to look like her, that she would have her brown eyes and Camilo's mischievous smile.
Suddenly something caught her attention. She heard the baby swallow, and on her face there was an expression of calm and satisfaction, as if her hunger was being satiated. It was as if...
Mirabel briefly pulled Clara away from her breast, only to find that drops of milk were gushing from her nipple. When Clara began to cry, upset at having her food interrupted, Mirabel returned her to her breast, with new tears running down her cheeks.
Her heart was filled with an immeasurable love for her niece. How it was possible, even she could not explain, but it did not matter to her in the least. The only thing that occupied her mind was the certainty that, in another life, she was destined to be Clara's mother.
“In my perfect little world,” she cooed so that only Clarita could hear her, “you would be mine.”
Mirabel wished she could stay with her like that for hours, just the two of them, immersed in that serene trance, but she felt watched. When she looked up, she found Camilo himself, dumbfounded and stunned.
Mirabel wanted to say something, make up some excuse or give him an explanation as to how it was possible that she, being a virgin, was breastfeeding. But she didn't need to. It was enough for her to see the smile on Camilo's face and his gaze full of love. A love that went beyond mere familial affection.
There were no words, just an exchange of glances that said it all. Wiping the tears from his face, Camilo took a chair and sat down in front of Mirabel, and watched her in rapt contemplation as she nursed his daughter.
When Clarita was satisfied, she let out a long yawn before falling asleep.
Mirabel giggled, “She’s just like you.”
In response, Camilo approached Mirabel and placed a tender kiss on her forehead, and then helped her button her blouse. Mirabel felt no shame at being watched by her cousin, on the contrary, it seemed the most natural thing in the world, just like nursing Clara.
The sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen alerted Mirabel and Camilo, who instinctively moved away from each other.
Alma entered with a quick step, closely followed by Pepa, “Mirabel, has the child eaten yet? I don't hear her crying.”
“Yes, abuela,” Mirabel was careful to hide the untouched pot behind her. “She drank her milk and fell asleep.”
“Oh, bendita sea, bring her over here,” exclaimed Pepa, taking Clara in her arms.
“Careful, mami, don't wake her up.”
Noticing Camilo's presence, Alma looked at them both with suspicion, “Why aren't you with Catalina?”
“I came to look for Clarita, her mother wants to see her.”
“Then let's take her now that she's asleep.”
Pepa left the kitchen towards Camilo's room. Alma, on the other hand, continued to study her grandchildren, looking for some clue, something that would give away a fault. Finding nothing to reprimand, she left as well, but not before giving them both a stern warning look.
When they were alone, Mirabel felt she could breathe again. She hated being examined that way by her abuela. Sometimes she felt she could look through her and discover all her secrets. For some time now, Mirabel preferred Alma's indifference.
Camilo did not seem bothered, instead, he only had eyes for Mirabel.
“Mira,” said Camilo, “I want you to be in charge of feeding Clarita from now on.”
“Really?”
“Of course! This is a miracle. The candle chose you to take care of Clara. No one else but you could do it.”
“They're going to find us out. How are we going to explain to them?”
Camilo's look was full of determination, “We'll find a way to do it behind everyone's back. I'll take Clara to your room every day, you'll feed her while I keep an eye... What do you say?”
Mirabel couldn't imagine anything more wonderful: to be Clarita's wet nurse, to spend more time with Camilo! It was a dream.
Without realizing it, tears bathed her cheeks. Camilo kissed them gently, “In my perfect little world, I made the right decision.”
She didn't need to ask, she understood everything. That night, Mirabel and Camilo cried silently until they fell asleep.