33. The Narvaez Family
THE NARVAEZ FAMILY
Dahlia
April
Caldas, Antiqouia, Colombia
The land on which the Narvaez family compound sits has been in the family for five generations.
Settled within the majesty of the Andes Mountains, the estate was once owned by Spanish hacendados who made their fortune producing the finest coffee beans in the region.
Don Salazar’s great-grandfather Rovi was the estate’s third capataz and righthand man, a position that went to his son after his retirement, and then eldest grandson after that.
Being the middle child and fifth born son, no one ever thought Salazar Narvaez would one day reign over the estate as patrón.
A feud between the Delgados, the original owners of the hacienda, and their neighbors the Huelvas went on for nearly twenty years and ended after many deaths and a devastating fire.
Don Salazar’s elder brothers and parents were collateral damage during this feud and when they were murdered, he took what was left of his shattered family and fled to Spain.
He made a promise to himself that one day he’d return and reclaim the land on which his family was buried.
The first time I ever laid eyes on the compound, I wept.
I had never been overwhelmed by natural beauty before.
Right now, we’re in the middle of the rainy season and fog looms over the treetops, conforming to the shape of the mountain range in the distance like a blanket draped over a sleeping giant.
The vegetation is a deep, vibrant green and the air smells crisp and clean with an underlying floral sweetness.
Wisps of orange and red kiss the edges of the sapphire blue dawn and within the hour, daylight will christen the entirety of the estate.
When I left for my walk, I should’ve slipped into a sturdier pair of shoes but I didn’t want to risk waking Alejandro making noise shuffling around the closet.
Last night, he had one too many glasses of rum and went to bed so dizzyingly drunk he was singing.
Instead, I grabbed my slippers and tiptoed out of the room but now tiny pebbles are getting inside the soles.
One in particular digs into my heel at an uncomfortable angle and even the baby jolts inside of me.
“See, if you’d let me sleep, we wouldn’t be out here.” I say. “Walking on the hard gravel in house slippers.”
It’s mostly true but I also think I’d be out here anyway. I love watching the sunrise over the hacienda.
A unique shade of russet and claret red, the tall outer walls are topped with sun-kissed clay tiles, laid in neat rows across a slightly hipped roof.
The hacienda stretches in all directions, the different wings of the house defined by arched stone walkways.
Vines abundant with vibrant green leaves and pink flowers nearly conceal the entire front facade of the house, save the center wall where dark gray stonework on the second-floor balcony above the double doors remain, unobstructed.
The windows are tall, some arched, others rectangular, and the ones that don’t have iron balconies have wooden shudders.
From the front courtyard, the hacienda is deceptively simple. Beautiful, historic, but only three stories high and all clean, square lines. It isn’t until stepping inside does it reveal it’s true splendor.
Warmth radiates from every corner. A massive foyer gives way to a large living space and beyond that, an entire wall of glass that opens into one of the estate’s many enclosed courtyards.
A stone water fountain sits in the center surrounded by more plants, flowers, and trees than I know the names of.
A large chandelier hangs over head and the upstairs hallway looks directly into the different pathways leading to the other wings of the house.
The floors are tile, two hundred years old, and the stairs have them too.
Hundreds of them and in all colors. Hand-painted geometric shapes on white ceramic rimmed in yellow, gold, and blue.
The vaulted ceiling boasts a mural image of a bursting son surrounded by wisps of pink, pale blue, and light green.
There’s so much color, so much life. Alejandro’s uncle Horacio never leaves the estate and I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to either.
Thump, thump, thump.
Thump. Thump.
Thump.
“You have to fall asleep eventually,” I whisper. “What is it that you’re getting up to in there?”
I grab hold of the railing and take the steps one at a time. Alejandro hates when I go on these walks alone but who else can I go with before dawn? Besides, I like my quiet time. Who knows how much more of it I’m going to have once the baby is here?
I can’t wait. The nursery is ready, the drawers are filled with onesies, and Dona Ana knitted a yellow and white blanket.
Lettie is sewing a gown for the baptism.
We don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl yet because we wanted it to be a surprise but Alejandro isn’t changing my mind.
I think it’s a boy although I know he wants a girl so bad he can practically taste it.
My due date isn’t for another few weeks and while Alejandro would’ve preferred we stay in Barcelona until after the baby was born, I was too excited at the prospect of spending Easter with the rest of the family.
I’ve always liked the Narvaezes and they’ve always liked me.
Alejandro has so many cousins it’s impossible to not find a single compatible friend among them.
Karina and I have been so isolated from our family as of late that it’s a comfort to know our children still have access to a large family unit.
One with plenty of aunts, uncles, and cousins to choose from.
“All right, we did Abba, The Beatles, Fleetwood Mac. What more do you want from me, baby? Mozart?”
Thump. Thump.
“Well, I can’t sing Mozart. How about the Jonas Brothers? They were very big in Mommy’s time. In about twenty years you’ll be calling it old people music.”
No response which means they’ve either gotten tired of digging their tiny heel into my spine or they’ve fallen asleep. I send a prayer up to heaven asking for the latter.
Other than the ceaseless kicking, I’ve had few complaints during my pregnancy.
A bit of morning sickness in the first trimester made the days difficult but those months passed easily and without strain.
Now nearing my due date, the only thing that causes me the most trouble these days is finding a comfortable sleeping position.
Karina says I must’ve done some kind of brujeria because I’ve had the easiest pregnancy she’s ever seen.
Dona Ana eyes me with a hint of suspicion every once in a while too but I don’t know what to say to them.
I get swollen feet, backaches, and fatigue like everyone else but I really have had such a pleasant experience.
Could I have gotten lucky? Or is the baby letting me off easy during the pregnancy because they know they’re going to wreak havoc during the birth?
“Up, up, up,” I take each step at a time. “All the way home.”
I finally reach the landing and head down the hall toward our room. We’re all staying in the same part of the house—Lettie, Diego, Karina—and Alejandro and me. Our rooms are all tucked into the same corner with Lettie having the largest one. Why, no one knows. Apparently it has the biggest closet.
I have the doorknob in my grip when I hear a creaking down the hall. I look over and one of the door swiftly opens and closes. A small figure in a white bedsheet tiptoes their way from one end of the hall to the other.
“This is what we call a ‘walk of shame’.” I pass a soothing hand over my bump when I feel the baby move. “She does this often.”
Karina startles and spins around. “Fuck.”
“I think you’ve done enough of that already.”
Even in the semi-darkness I can see Karina burning fifty shades of crimson.
“I—” she stumbles over her words. “Forgot something.”
“Hm,” I give her a once over. “Your clothes? In Diego’s room?”
If a person could die of humiliation, Karina would be dead and buried where she stands.
It gets even better when Diego bursts from his room like a bat out of Hell, mostly naked save a pair of underwear barely pulled over his hips as if dressing in haste.
Very little modesty and more of my brother-in-law than I’d ever like to see but entertaining nonetheless.
“Kay—”
He stops short when he sees me.
“Titi and Tio are up to no good,” I sing-song as I open my door. “Let’s hope they don’t make Easter awkward.”
Karina huffs and disappears into her bedroom. There’s no mistaking the click as her lock falls into place.
Our bedroom is quiet and dimly lit. I slip into bed as quietly as I can but my husband stirs beside me.
“On one of your walks again?” His voice is rough with sleep.
“I’m surprised you’re awake.” I smile teasingly. “After all you had to drink last night.”
His eyes are closed but I can feel the glare in his voice. “I am perfectly sober.”
“Mhm,” I lean over and kiss his head. “You were singing.”
One eye pops open. “Singing what?”
“Boleros. Your rendition of Dos Almas was very romantic.”
He sighs and sinks deeper into the pillows. “Could’ve been worse.”
He snakes an arm around me, pulling me closer. When the baby kicks, I adjust his hand so he can feel the movement.
“Deja que tu mami duerma, ya.” The baby shifts against the palm of his hand. “Por favor, mi vida.”
“I don’t think they like taking orders. Wonder who they get that from.”
He chuckles softly, eyes still closed. “Probably the mother who threw a chair through her bedroom window.”
“That was one time!”
Alejandro laughs and I pick up a pillow to throw in his direction when a tightness seizes me. The pain is mild but quick and catches me off guard. A gasp leaves my lips when it happens again.
All humor gone from his face he springs up in bed, suddenly alert, and turns on the lamp. “?Estás bien?”
“Yes, yes, I’m okay! It’s all right.” I promise. “The doctor said this would happen the closer we get to the due date.”