Milagros
By Marti Booker
Rumor held that the Virgin wept at midwinter, icy bitter tears that formed a puddle at her feet. Only the duennas and the grandmothers would gossip of the miracles, but even the children knew that the Lady wept at Christmas. A girl had died, it was whispered, died upon the Lady's feet during the year of the floods. Poison, Grandma Estella would say in hushed tones, and then say no more.
The eldest grandmothers spoke of spirits and miracles, quietly so the priest would not hear. Father Domingo's pride would not let him entertain thoughts of the inexplicable. Each Christmas Eve, he ordered the nuns from the nearby convent to cover the floor of the nave in a foot-deep layer of straw.
"Hail Mary, mother of God," Rodrigo began. The words slipped over his tongue with the force of old habit, but they felt inappropriate to this shrine, to this hour. He crossed himself against the feeling of sacrilege and slipped out of the formal words. It could not hurt to address her in the words of a son.
"Help me, Holy Queen," Rodrigo prayed softly. He eased himself to his knees and felt the chill of the tiles seep through his thick wool breeches. "I love Antoinetta, I did not mean for her to become enceinte. My father will kill me, my uncle the Barón will kill me, I did not mean for this to happen, truly I did not. I know she is my cousin, but pray for me, Blessed Virgin. Help me to know what to do."
Pale midwinter light shone directly upon the statue through the tiny roseate window, but the shadows around the Madonna's face were deep. Rodrigo looked up, hoping to find mercy in the statue's expression. For an instant, a blue light flickered in the shadows of the Lady's face. The expression on the statue did not change, but a cold wind gusted from the Lady's veil. In disbelief, Rodrigo watched as a single tear ran down the statue's face and dropped silently to the tiled floor.
His gloves felt damp. He pulled off his right glove and watched as a smear of blood spread across his fingers. Blood welled from his hands and dripped onto the floor, mingling with the statue's tear. Stumbling, Rodrigo crossed himself again and ran from the nook. A moment later, another tear dripped down her immobile face. If he had looked at Her then, he would have seen the odd light beneath the veil coalesce into the shape of a girl's face.
She was weeping.
Antoinetta, like her sisters and cousins, was at work on her trousseau. The duennas were sitting in the corner, glaring at any signs of misbehavior as they gossiped and told stories amongst themselves. Antoinetta had been feeling so ill that she was hard- pressed to keep her duenna from noticing. She was growing more nauseated by the moment and she shook her head to try to clear her vision from the sting of unshed tears. The tiny stitches were so difficult, the white on white embroidery so hard. The bower was uncomfortably warm--in her mittens and many layers of clothing, Antoinetta was sweating. She wiped her fingers on her skirt surreptitiously and put another delicate stitch in the linen tablecloth.
"You're bleeding!" her youngest cousin, Aletea, whispered it loudly enough for the duennas to hear.
Antoinetta watched, sickened, as blood welled out of her lace mittens and dripped on the fine linen. The stains spread in a rose shape, covering up the embroidery. Oh, if it were only the right blood flowing, Antoinetta thought. It was the last thought she had before she fainted.
Barón Javier struck Rodrigo across the face with his riding crop.
"What kind of nonsense is this?" the Barón raged. "The priest tells me you are dripping blood from your hands all over the courtyard and my daughter, saints preserve us, is fainting and has holes in her hands. What in God's name have you done?"
The riding crop had left a raw welt across Rodrigo's cheek. He wiped away the blood carefully with the back of one bandaged hand and did not reply. Really, there was nothing he could say.
The Barón shoved him toward the door and into the waiting arms of the priest. "Go and confess your sins. I don't want to see you again until you have stopped all this nonsense."
Father Domingo led Rodrigo to the chapel and forced him to kneel in front of the altar. The the priest prayed long and hard over him and made Rodrigo confess in front of the crucifix. Rodrigo stumbled back to his cell in the monastary, clad in sackcloth, and bound so he could not possibly create any more stigmata. The bitter cold stiffened his limbs and chilled the cut on his face. Outside, the sky was as bleak as his heart.
The nuns stripped Antoinetta of all her clothes to search for pins or needles. Not even the most pure novitiate could have failed to notice the swelling mound of her belly when freed from her stays. The Mother Superior's lips were white as she examined her. They allowed her to dress alone, goose pimples forming on her white skin and tears flowing down her cheeks. An odd blue light stole into the room and lit the edges of the window.
"I want to die," Antoinetta whispered. She fell to her knees and clenched her blood stained hands until the pain became unbearable. "Oh sweet Jesus, let me die so I don't have to live like this."
The blue light pulsed and then disappeared. Antoinetta did not notice. The tears in her eyes blurred everything, and her bitterness was deep. "Oh God, if only I did not love him so..."
Barón Javier's face darkened to a deep red when the Mother Superior informed him of his daughter's pregnancy. Antoinetta stood before him, staring at the thick wool carpet and wishing she could die. When Rodrigo was brought into the room, she felt her heart clench like it was gripped in someone's hands. Her father had lifted his hand to strike Rodrigo again when the church bells rang out in a wedding peal. Everyone stood still. The only sound on the estate was the littlest children playing in the chilly courtyard.
They all rushed to the courtyard while the priest ran up the staircase to the bell tower. The bells were ringing a full peal of joyful noise, but even from the ground they could see that the ropes swung without assistance. There was no one in the bell tower save for a few doves and a score of mice. A cold blast of air gusted down tfrom the sky and the clouds were heavy and dark. Antoinetta shivered.
The Barón's flushed face had not cooled despite the frigid air. He turned to Rodrigo with the light of fury in his eyes. "I do not know what mischief you are doing with the stigmata and the church bells, but it will end right now. You are a whelp not fit to carry my family name. As soon as your father returns from Galencia, I will have him deal with you."
"And you, you will join a convent," he said to Antoinetta, but he was stopped by a frigid blast of wind. It slammed open the shutters on all the buildings and rattled the bare branches of the olive trees. From the church tower, the blue light shone through the grey afternoon. A ray of light detached itself from the belltower and floated toward them.
A glowing nimbus of light settled around Antoinetta's shoulders and transformed itself into a shining lace mantilla. The light flowed over her and changed her drab dress to a wedding gown. It settled over her belly and pulsed with a joyful hum, then it suddenly swooped towards Rodrigo and bathed him in a golden glow. In moments, his sackcloth had been changed to fine suit of silk. The light hovered over their heads in an halo of gold, and suddenly, the church bells rang out in another wedding peal. An unearthly music blew through the trees and echoed in their ears.
"It's a miracle," the priest said. He fell to his knees and began to pray, loudly and joyously. After a moment's pause, Barón Javier knelt reluctantly and joined him. His flushed face had grown pale when the heavenly music had begun to play. The monks let go of Rodrigo's arms and prostrated themselves. The Mother Superior wept loudly and cried on Antoinetta's golden mantilla.
Rodrigo held out his hand and Antoinetta gently grabbed his in return. Together, they knelt in the cold dust before the priest. There, in the wind-scoured courtyard, under the confused gaze of Barón Javier and the fervent prayers of the monks and the nun, Rodrigo and Antoinetta were wed--somewhat hastily to be sure. The wedding bells rang out triumphantly. In the nave of the Virgin, the statue's cheeks were dry.
Rodrigo's father and his entourage claimed to have seen the Archangel Gabriel that day, along the road leading to Galencia. She was dressed in a cloak of light and a blue nimbus shadowed her steps. In the village, they remember it as the winter of miracles: the year that Rodrigo and Antoinetta were married, miracles were plentiful on the ground. The people claimed that Gabriel was alone, but who is to say that she did not escort another soul to heaven on that chilly morning. The only thing anyone can say for certain is that the Madonna has never wept again. And the nave, once so cold, is warm in the glow of the many candles.
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