Apalachee

CHAPTER ONE

chapter one In the Apalachee mission town of San Lorenzo de Ivitachuco, in a small, round Indian house that stood close beside the convento of the resident Spanish priest, Hinachuba Lucia knelt beside the low-burning fire in the open hearth. Death had now come so near that she could feel the boundaries dissolving between This World and the next. Time had ceased to move. Stirring up the coals, she added more wood against the winter wind. Firelight rose and illuminated her face, its high cheekbones and brown skin framed by a black sweep of hair knotted behind her neck. Her skirt was made of deerskin and her bodice of coarse Spanish cloth. A medicine bag made of the white-feathered skin of an egret was attached to her belt, and from each ear dangled a tear-shaped, blue-green glass pendant—the tears of Mary. Lucia sat back on her heels and watched the flames, numb to the grief that she knew would overtake her after the burial, after the presence of death had receded, when time began to move again. On one of the poleframed beds that stood against the circular wall of the house, her grandmother , Hinachuba Isabel, slept lightly. On another her aunt sat weeping. And on another Lucia’s mother lay dying. Nothing would save her. Lucia’s own medicines had been of no avail, nor had those of her grandmother , nor had the Christian prayers of her aunt. For three days, with little sleep, they had been waiting for death to come. And now, in the night that had just passed, Hinachuba Sun-in-the-Mist had sunk deeply into unconsciousness . The waiting would soon be over. The old grandmother awakened and stirred. ‘‘Lucia,’’ she said softly, sitting up. ‘‘You should sleep.’’ Lucia turned her head and watched as Isabel got up, stiff and arthritic, and came shuffling across the room to the hearth, a worn blanket clutched about her shoulders. Her body was bent and shrunken with age, her hair white and thin. She came up to the fire and stood before it, rubbing a hand slowly across her face, as if gathering her strength. Then she reached out and touched Lucia’s shoulder. ‘‘When did you last sleep?’’ Lucia shook her head without answering. ‘‘There is nothing more we can do,’’ said Isabel. ‘‘She does not even know we are here now. Go ahead and sleep.’’ Lucia heard a muffled sob and looked over at her aunt, Hinachuba Ana, a handsome woman with an intelligent face, whose eyes were now red from crying. Ana’s fingers absently stroked a small silver cross that hung from a string of dark burgundy beads around her neck. ‘‘Ana, you are tired, too,’’ said Isabel. ‘‘Both of you should sleep.’’ Ana made no reply. She took a deep breath, composing herself a little, and got up and walked over to where her sister lay. She stood for a moment with tremulous breath, looking at her. Then she reached down and stroked her hair. ‘‘Why was she so stubborn?’’ she said quietly. ‘‘To die without God.’’ Lucia’s jaw stiffened and she looked away into the dark recesses of the room. Ana never saw the world exactly as it was. She was grieving for her idea of things as much as for the loss of her sister’s life. ‘‘She is not dead yet,’’ the old grandmother said curtly. ‘‘But she is gone from us,’’ said Ana, turning away from the bed with a deep sigh. Then she closed her lips tightly and straightened her shoulders, as if willing herself to be strong. She walked back to her own bed and picked up her worn Spanish cloak. ‘‘I am going to the convento for a little while. Father Juan has been three days without a servant in his house.’’ ‘‘You should rest now,’’ said Isabel. ‘‘I should tend to my work,’’ said Ana, putting the cloak around her shoulders. ‘‘Later I will sleep.’’ She ducked through the door and went out. ‘‘No one listens to me,’’ muttered Isabel. Lucia stood up and put a reassuring hand on Isabel’s shoulder, her own tall height making her grandmother seem even smaller. ‘‘I cannot sleep now,’’ said Lucia. ‘‘When it is over, I will sleep.’’ When Ana returned, the priest was with her, Father Juan de Villalva, a brown-robed friar past the middle of his life, a man of medium height, dark hair going to gray...