Chapter II
Alright
Jump out of bed and out the window, get away from this place, run through the woods, find an abandoned cabin, even a cave, lay low for a while, live out of wild oranges, berries and river water, wait for the right time. Just wait and hang on a little longer.
Why out the window if there is a door right next to it?
Nonsense, just like her delusion of a plan.
It was already bright and clear outside when she got up. A wooden clock on the wall announced it was well past ten in the morning. In the morning! She had really stayed overnight. She had really trusted them. Him.
Diego de la Vega.
Was that him, in the painting, as a baby in his mother's arms? She approached, in order to have a better look: it was so sweet, that image. And there were the candelabra and a small table, the vase and the statuette on the chimney's shelf, the lamps and more books on the desk. He had most definitely let her borrow his room. Had he kept his promise, too? If he hadn't, it wouldn't take long for them to find her. The thought of it made the batty scheme she had woken up with seem quite reasonable.
She was about to look out the window when four knocks on the door made her freeze.
Was it time, already, to come clean? And would she, anyway?
"..."
"Good morning, hello."
"..."
"Sí, gracias, thank you so much."
Bernardo placed the tray on the table, then left on the bed a bundle he'd been carrying over his arm. After a bow and a smile, he was gone.
The remnants of the previous day hunger resurfaced strong at the smell of scrambled eggs with potatoes, ham, bread and... was that fig cake? It was, and its tender flavor brought back memories she'd forgotten she still had.
No one does a thing for free, one of her friends used to say, from experience. The phrase resounded in her mind as she tried the orange juice. Maybe Carmen was wrong; maybe some people are… better than that.
Or they're good at pretending, she could almost hear the voice again.
This time, the knocks were three.
"Come in?"
To your own room. Jesus.
"Buenos días."
"Buenos días."
"I didn't know if you liked coffee, but if you do, we can have some later on."
"I do like it, gracias."
"Did you sleep well?"
"Sí..." She was suddenly aware of her lack of footwear, the state of her clothes and messy hair. What a contrast, with Diego's on point appearance. "I feel much better today, thank you. And I mean thank you for everything."
"My pleasure."
He didn't say anything else. He had made a promise and so had she, in a way.
There's still time to run.
It wasn't because of the food or the shelter he had given her; it was something else, an invisible thing that she would have summed up in just two words:
It's alright.
"My name is Josefina."
"Well, that's a start. Pleased to meet you, Josefina."
"Likewise." There was a single potato piece left on the dish. And a leaf of coriander. "I don't know where to begin."
"Wherever it feels alright to."
Alright…
"I… I ran away from the orphanage where I lived." He didn't seem shocked. Attentive, instead; focused, like he was truly interested: "It's not a good place. And now they're after me because they have my legal custody because I'm still 17 years old."
"Why is it not a good place?"
"It's supposed to be a school, we're supposed to have classes and study but we only work all the time, we sew, cook and make things to sell and they punish us if we don't do what's expected."
"Punish you how?"
"I'm not lying, I swear."
"I'm not saying you are."
"It's… I know how all of this sounds like a lie."
Put into words like that, yes, it sounded implausible. Another entire thing was to live it.
"Do you have any relatives? Anyone at all?"
She shook her head: "I can't go back there. I won't."
"What was the plan?"
"What do you mean?"
"I figure you had a plan when you escaped. What was it?"
"I thought I could find a job. But I need to be 18 first and there's still 34... no, 33 days until then. And while I'm still 17 they can take me away."
"I see." Diego laid back on his chair. He seemed to be weighing options in, shuffling possible solutions: "Do you have your papers on you? Birth certificate?"
"That's another thing… I don't have them, they do, and they keep people there past their twenties, just to have workers. And I thought, I was born here, in Los Angeles, so my papers must be at the registry, don't you think?"
"If they are, I will find them."
Josefina suddenly felt the impulse to cry. She held it in, though, and it strangely transformed into something else, something that pushed her to act without thinking and who cared very little about the consequences:
"Could I stay here in the meantime? I'm sorry, I know this is abrupt and meddling and outlandish and weird."
She felt she had to continue talking and giving reasons, however, she had run out of them. Did she even have any valid ones?
"This is a complex situation-" he said at last.
"I know, I'm sorry."
"-and an unfair one. No one should have to go through what you have just told me. And if you think, Josefina, that I would send you out of this house and leave you at those people's mercy, you're wrong."
"So I can stay?"
"Of course."
"Ah... gracias! It'll only be a month, I promise, I'll sleep… do you have a barn?"
"We do have a barn but I think you'll be more comfortable in here."
"But isn't this your room?"
"Not a problem, this house is big enough. Besides, it will be easier to hide you in here than anywhere else."
She wanted to cry again; and again, didn't do it. She had learnt to hold back her tears pretty well.
"Listen" he continued: "Bernardo brought some clothes for you. I have to leave now, so you just lock the door and stay here, and don't plan any escapade this time, is that alright?"
"Alright."
After he left and the door was locked, she came to sit back on the chair and stayed there for a while, still considering every object around, staring at the paintings and the arabesques on the rug.
(...)
Note: why, at the end of each chapter, do I feel the need to write/say something like "wooooooo!" Sorry :-( Guess it's kind of because I've had this scene or situations inside of my head and I was able to turn them into words, and that makes me excited. Anywayz! I wanted to mention that in my stories, Josefina is usually 21 to 22 years old, and Diego about 27-28 (it's so hard for me to imagine him any younger). But here, because of reasons, she's 17, so he should be about 25; I can't go any lower than that, ha! I'm not sure if this orphanage stuff is too weird, were there even orphanages in Spanish California in 1820ish? Not something that worries me; this is fanfiction!
Thanks for reading!
