Thirty-Seven

I woke gasping for air, as if I had just emerged from being trapped underwater, the blankets pulling me back down into the abyss. Frantically, I took in my surroundings: a large open ward filled with rickety metal beds. The sound of coughs peppered the air. Finally, my eyes settled on Feliciana, who sat at the foot of my bed, watching over me. A frown, so unusual for her, accentuated the wrinkles around her mouth, making her look older.

“Where’s Rosita?” Startled by my own raspy voice, I swallowed and tried again. “Where are my children?”

Feliciana took my hands in hers. “Menotti and Teresita are in the children’s ward. Marco is with them.”

“Where is Rosita?”

Feliciana looked down, focusing on a spot on the blanket. “She is at the church with Father Lorenzo. You’ve been unconscious for two days.”

I pulled my hands from her grasp as she continued, “He has already performed the last rites, but we wanted to wait for you before she was buried. I am so sorry, Anita, sometimes God has a plan for these things.”

I turned my head away from her. My veins turned icy with anger. Rosita was the sweetest, most honest soul on the planet, and she was taken from me. Our beautiful little flower. I turned back to Feliciana. “Tell me what happened.”

Feliciana smoothed out her skirt as she searched for the right words. “I could hear Teresita’s wails from outside. When you didn’t answer your door, I knew…I knew.” Her voice caught. She swallowed hard as she composed herself. “You would never let her carry on crying like that unless there was something wrong. I made Marco break into your house.” Feliciana looked up at me with tears in her eyes. “You were just a heap on the floor. I thought you were dead.” She shook her head. “Menotti still breathed, but Rosita…Rosita, the poor little lamb, she struggled. There was nothing the doctors could do.”

I closed my eyes, failing to fight back the tears. If it hadn’t been for Teresita, we all would have been dead. But my Rosita, my beautiful little girl, was gone. I looked around the ward as the nurses hurried past to tend to the groaning patients. I wanted so desperately for it all to be a horrible dream. I wanted to close my eyes and wake up in my bed with José. He would laugh as he petted my hair, whispering words as sweet as caramels into my ears. We would never be the same again. My Rosita, my bubbly, happy daughter, was gone, and no amount of wishing or dreaming was going to change that.

According to Feliciana, Luisa had made multiple trips to the central military offices to beg them to send word about his family to José. Each time she requested a messenger be sent to him she was informed that either it was too dangerous to send any or she had just missed their riders.