Blemish

Chapter One

Manila, Philippines, February 1909

A flock of swallows scattered as the bells of the old San Agustin church pealed on a Saturday morning. The plaza came alive: ladies in their pretty ternos, their coiffed hair covered by lace mantillas, squired by men in their lightweight jusi suits as they streamed out of the church and mingled, the nine o'clock mass having just concluded. Vendors offered scapulars, rosaries, and medals, while the aroma of skewered pork over hot coals filled the air.

The previous night's rain made for cooler temperatures. Spry little horses splashed through street puddles, pulling colorful kalesas and carrying passengers to the fish market.

The swallows flew back into the eaves of the near-empty chapel, renewing their chorus. A young woman sitting in a back pew with an elderly lady glanced up at them and smiled.

For several minutes, seventeen year old Maristella Garcia enjoyed the birds' music, then turned to her companion. Aling Floring's head drooped and her spectacles had slipped low on her nose bridge.

Maristella spoke softly. "Aling Floring," she told the old servant, "I'm going to light a candle for Mama now."

Aling Floring nodded, her eyes opening, then drifting shut. "Yes, you do that."

Maristella walked down the aisle, catching the heavy scent of white sampaguita garlands the devout had hung around the necks of saints' statues. Genuflecting in front of the altar, she proceeded to a small alcove where candles blazed in row upon row of black iron shelves.

She put more than the required centavos in the offering jar and picked out a candle with a long white wick. The wick caught fire as she lit it with an already burning candle, then she put the candle in a holder. Afterwards, she made the sign of the cross.

Watching the pretty flame dance, she caught the comforting whiff of melting wax. She whispered, "The house is almost ready for my birthday ball, Mama. The flowers arrived as I left for church. So beautiful! There are magnolias you'd have liked......"

Her voice broke. She leaned forward, her shoulder curving in pain. "Yes, you'd have liked them," she said. "I wish...you could be there tonight."

She raised her eyes to the ceiling fresco, where the Virgin Mary cradled the Infant Jesus, the image blurring in her tears. She sought some sort of a sign, but she only heard birds chirping, candle flames sputtering, and a woman clearing her throat as she recited the rosary at a nearby station of the cross.

A door opened to her right. The young new priest, Father Pineda, came out. "Good morning, Miss Garcia," he said. He paused, then looked at her more intently. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you, Father." She smiled and pretended to adjust the veil over her head while discreetly brushing away her tears. Then, she returned to Aling Floring.

"I'm ready," Maristella said, touching the old woman's shoulder.

Aling Floring's eyes fluttered open. She pushed her spectacles, stood up, then shuffled after her charge.

While the driver brought the carriage around, Maristella waited with Aling Floring in the shade of the church facade. In the fountain, a little girl played, her clothes in tatters. Maristella winced inwardly. The money used to buy the Belgian lace the modista added to Maristella's dress for tonight could clothe the girl for a year.

She thought of the flowers crowding the entryway of the Garcia mansion. Each bouquet could easily feed a family for several meals.

A row of beggars lined both sides of the entryway. There were fewer of them than usual, but no less pitiful. Maristella glanced at the nearest one in rags. His filthy hand curled like a crow foot around a rusty metal pan.