Chapter 4
I awake with a headache. I’m in a comfortable bed with soft white blankets, a cushy mattress, and fresh-scented pillows under my head. But I don’t recognize this room. It is a simple bedchamber with a window, a small dresser, and a nightstand.
I start to sit up and pain radiates from every part of my body: shoulders, lower back, legs.
I grimace as I remember the accident. The earth-shattering thunder, the heavy rainfall, the horse bolting into the night, trapping me and Leandro in the fast-moving carriage.
The fear that cut deep. The final, icy spin when the horse veered off-road and led us into darkness, which felt like plunging into an abyss. We hit something and toppled over.
I think of Leandro and am gripped by dread. Leandro was exposed. He was trying to climb up to the uncovered driver’s seat to free the rampaging horse. At least I was protected by the carriage, but Leandro…
I look around me. There’s a full glass of water on the nightstand by the bed.
My questions about my predicament become secondary to my intense thirst. Someone’s been thoughtful, anticipated my needs.
I hesitate only a moment—I don’t know where I am, after all—before tipping the glass back and drinking it in full.
Next I ring the bell that was left at the bedside and wait.
I find that if I don’t move, the pain subsides.
The water makes me feel replenished, and soothes the headache somewhat.
But where am I? The room has ornate furnishings, a tall window flanked by floor-length drapes.
Two glass donzelas sit on top of the dresser with unlit candles inside.
A statue of Christ on the cross hangs on the wall.
I note brass and marble wardrobe knobs, floral patterned Aubusson carpets.
Sun-drenched fields peek through the window.
This must be Leandro’s fazenda…Santa Tereza, the old sugar mill.
They must have brought us here for medical treatment.
I lift the bedsheets and examine my body for injuries.
I’m not wearing my dress from last night but a simple cotton dress that I suppose is some kind of medical gown.
There are no visible bruises or injuries, yet my whole body feels sore.
I look around for my dress and shoes from last night—perhaps hanging on the back of the chair or folded neatly on the dresser.
But I don’t see my clothes anywhere. My stomach tightens with anxiety when I think of the baby.
I look under the gown at my thighs, searching for signs of bleeding.
I recall reading a story in a periodical about a woman whose baby died in her belly—the only sign had been bleeding from between her legs.
Santa M?e de Deus…let the baby be well. And Leandro…
The door opens and a physician strides into the room, wearing an unadorned black suit and Balmoral boots.
“Madalena…” He beams. “You’re awake!”
He has such high spirits about him that I immediately feel better. My situation must not be so bad. If Leandro had been seriously injured—or worse—surely this doctor wouldn’t be smiling like that.
This man has sharp, striking features, piercing dark eyes, and a captivating smile.
He is tall, broad shouldered, and has the physique of an athlete.
His booming voice bounces through the walls and makes me feel at ease.
He must be about a decade older than me, in his early to mid-thirties perhaps, with the confidence to match.
If one were truly objective, he might be even more handsome than Leandro.
I run my hands over my hair, suddenly wondering what kind of state I’m in. My hair feels frizzy and wiry. I must be a positive wreck.
“I’m Doctor Lobo,” he says. “Physician and alienist. How do you feel?”
“Everything hurts.”
“Everything hurts?” His tone is one of mock exaggeration, and I smile. “You look good to me.”
Heat climbs up my cheeks and I know even without a mirror that I’m blushing, which is silly because he doesn’t mean it as a compliment on my appearance.
“Tell me, what hurts?”
I start pointing to the areas that feel sore, filling in the details. Doctor Lobo nods while scribbling on his notepad.
“Is this Leandro’s house?” I ask.
He nods again.
“Where is he? How is he?”
“He’s resting in his room,” he says without looking up from his notepad.
A huge weight lifts from my shoulders. So Leandro is alive.
“He’s well, then?”
He looks at me. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“We were on the way back from the Festival of S?o Jo?o,” I say.
“There was a storm.” At the memory, the throbbing in my temples renews, and I feel a pressure pushing against the back of my eyes.
“Thunder spooked the horse, and it bolted. The driver fell off, and we got dragged into the dense woods, where we must have crashed into the trees. I don’t remember the details or anything after that… I’m sorry, I…”
“You are doing perfectly well.”
I don’t know if it’s his gaze or his voice, but those simple words already make me feel better. He sounds like he means it, and I believe him: I am doing well. And he said Leandro is resting in his room, so clearly he is alive. All will be well.
“Did…someone find us?” I rub at the back of my neck anxiously. I hate the thought of us lying there for hours, injured or unconscious. Some passersby finding us, then having to send for help. “And my baby, is my baby okay?”
He looks up at me and goes very still. The way he regards me, surprised and alert…
He doesn’t know.
I hesitate. Not a soul other than me, Mother, and Eloisa knows about the baby. The last thing I want is for word to spread about it. But…
“Madalena,” he says softly, “are you with child?”
“I’m carrying Leandro’s baby. It’s early on, just a month or so into the pregnancy.
I told him last night in the carriage. I suppose he must not have had a chance to tell you yet.
Or…or maybe he doesn’t remember?” My voice trembles as the thought hits me that maybe I’ll have to break the news to him all over again.
“Do you think the baby is well?” I ask. “You’ll examine me to make sure the baby is well, right?”
He steps closer to me. “Do not be concerned. I didn’t detect any signs of internal damage, but I will examine you more thoroughly to be sure.”
I nod. “Are you the Neves family physician?”
He starts taking out medical instruments from his case. “You could say so.”
Apprehension gnaws at my rib cage as I picture Eloisa getting home without me, confessing to Mother that she lost track of us.
Mother scolding Eloisa for hours, getting angrier and angrier as the hours pass and I do not show up, until finally realizing something must have happened. Did someone send a messenger to her?
“Does my family know I’m here?” I ask.
Doctor Lobo appears not to have heard me. He’s staring at the door with a frozen expression. I become aware of footsteps just outside, getting closer. Someone is out there. My heart skips a beat. Could this be Leandro?
Doctor Lobo’s demeanor has shifted. A line forms between his brows and there’s a fright in his eyes that turns my blood to ice.
“Listen, Madalena,” he says, still staring intently at the door. “There’s something I have to tell you. Concerning, uh…Leandro.”
A flood of horrible possibilities rushes into my mind: Leandro has a spinal injury and can no longer walk.
He lost the ability to speak. Or hear. Or both.
A shard of glass got stuck in his brain.
He lost a limb. He’s like the “curiosities” in the circus now.
Maybe he’ll spend the rest of his life working in a circus. Maybe he’s in pieces.
Doctor Lobo’s throat works and he seems to hesitate. He’s become a statue of himself.
The footsteps outside draw nearer. Thump, thump, thump.
“Doctor…?”
He glances at me—eyes wide with alarm. But it’s too late now; a shadow seeps under the door. I see the knob turning.
Then Leandro stands before me.