José stared at the table for a long time. “We’ll get married. In the church.” He pointed a finger at me. “But it will not be a huge affair. I take it you’ve already figured out how to get this done.”

I smiled. “I have.”

“Of course you have.” He grumbled as he ate. He grabbed a chunk of bread, tearing it off like it was the head of one of his enemies.

The next morning, I made my way to the church to see Father Lorenzo. It was the first time I’d been inside a church since I left Laguna. The sanctuary felt foreign to me with its orange and brown stained-glass windows casting odd shadows over the empty, aging pews. A bald man in black priest’s robes stepped out to greet me with a smile that rose up to the rims of the large spectacles making his kind green eyes look like small moons.

“You must be Anita,” he said in greeting. “Please follow me, I’ll be hearing your confession in my study. Since I already know who you are, there is no need for the formal veil.”

His study was stuffed with books. There were multiple rows on the shelves, some slipped in on their sides. Several piles dotted the floor and climbed up the walls, forcing me to navigate around them to get to a chair. He sat down in a weathered brown wingback chair and moved a pile of books from the center of his desk so that he could better see me. “Dona Feliciana told me of your predicament. Can you tell me, have you heard anything at all from your husband?”

“José? I saw him this morning before he left for work.”

“No, I mean your first husband, what was his name?” He shuffled through some notes on his desk.

“Manoel. Manoel Duarte, and no, I have not heard from him since he left.”

“He left you?”

“He joined the Imperial Brazilian Army. I stayed behind in Laguna.”

“You received no letters, no documents from him indicating that he might still be alive?”

I sighed, trying not to grow frustrated. “Manoel didn’t know how to read. He could understand his numbers because he was a cobbler, but that was it. There was no need for common people to read where I am from. He was probably happy to get rid of me. I was a terrible wife.”

“But you aren’t now?”

“I would like to think not.”

“During your marriage to Manoel, did you have any children?”

“No, thank God.”

Father Lorenzo turned his head to the side. “Was it consummated?”

“Conso-what?”

“Consummated—did you have relations…er…um, sex.”

I squirmed. “Yes, we were married and lived as man and wife for three years.”