He let out a puff of air. “The culture here is different. We need to tread lightly. Let the people get to know you. I am sure they will fall in love with you just like I have.”

“I still don’t like this.” I was uneasy about being left alone, about not being useful.

“Think of the children,” José said, trying to console me. “They need their mother.”

“I am thinking of the children,” I responded through gritted teeth. “It’s not just our children’s lives at stake, it’s all the children of this country.”

“You will have a role to play in this conflict. I promise.”

José grabbed his things and left me with a kiss on the forehead. I pulled aside the blue curtains and stood by the expansive window that stretched from the ceiling to the floor. Watching the people move between the sprawling tangle of ruins and majestic steeples, I wondered if I was foolish to think that this place was just like South America. Instead of a land that resisted taming, I had found a place that had long since shed the wildness of its youth. I couldn’t help but wonder if I would fit in.

I left the window and curled up in the large bed. Would I never see South America again? Staring up at the light blue canopy, I felt a momentary burst of nostalgia for the rolling hills that reached to the heavens. For hues of green that you could smell. For the community in Montevideo. But this was my home now. It had to be. I determined that I would love this place and make its people love me in return.

Forty-Four

I awoke to polite knocks that steadily grew louder. “Come in,” I groaned. Three maids entered the room, one tall, matronly looking woman leading two younger ones in matching uniforms. The young maids struggled slightly as they dragged my trunk. The older woman wore a simple black dress adorned with a gold pocket watch. Her black hair was pinned back in a neat knot. “Buon pomeriggio,” she said with her hands firmly clasped behind her back. “I am Mrs. Mancini, the housekeeper.” She consulted the watch in her right breast pocket, then pinched it shut. “Madam, it’s nearly time for dinner. I thought we could help get you ready.” She snapped her fingers. The two younger maids opened my trunk and began pulling out my clothes.

“I don’t need assistance,” I protested, getting out of bed.

“Nonsense. We are here to help,” Mrs. Mancini said, overseeing her charges. Holding my clothing up to inspect, they divided it into two piles. I bristled at the sight of my things being pawed at by strange women.

Mrs. Mancini picked up one of my skirts between her index finger and her thumb. She crinkled her nose before handing it to one of her underlings, who took the skirt and put it in a separate pile of its own. I was about to protest but she held up a dress. “I think this should work for tonight. We will finish unpacking and laundering your clothing while you wash for supper. Cook gets irritable when people are late.”