Las Dos Marias

Chapter 1: The Convent

The familiar aroma of arroz caldo drifted through the quiet halls of the convent, wrapping around Maria Trinidad Buenavista like a memory. Her bakya—a traditional wooden clog, typically made from wood and features a simple design with a wooden sole and a strap that goes over the foot—echoed with each step, the rhythmic click-clack only adding to her unease.

It was past three. Rosa would be upset.

She had promised to meet her at two o'clock in the kitchen, but the head madre, Hermana Florencia, had insisted she stay for one last novena. Now she hurried, knowing Rosa wouldn't be happy. She wasn't happy either, especially since this might be the last time she'd see the naïve yet captivating kitchen girl of the convent.

Making sure no one was around, Trinidad pushed open the heavy mahogany door.

Rosa was there, apron tied neatly around her waist, hair in a lazy bun that framed her Filipina beauty. The kitchen, usually a place Trinidad avoided because of its clutter of vegetables and spices, felt different with the lady there.

Without hesitation, she slipped behind her, arms circling Rosa's waist. Her heart pounding on her chest. "Forgive me, mi amor," she whispered, kissing the back of her neck. "Hermana Florencia wouldn't let me go. She made me do the novena twice. Please, don't be mad."

Rosa didn't respond right away.

"I've heard Mang Carlito has the calesa ready for you... It won't be long now," she said bitterly, stirring the pot of arroz caldo a little harder than necessary. "That carriage will take you away from me."

The silence that followed felt heavy, broken only by the quiet stirring of the pot. The uneasiness she felt only intensified as she sensed Rosa's distant demeanor.

"I'm going to miss you," Trinidad said, her throat tight. But Rosa pulled away, gathering utensils with stiff movements, avoiding her gaze. "The children will finish their classes soon," Rosa said, her voice sharper than usual.

"Rosa, I just—"

"You should go," Rosa cut in, turning her back.

Trinidad stood there, at a loss. Rosa, the girl who had shown her the secret spots where fireflies danced at night, who had made her early years at the convent bearable, was now slipping away. They had both known this was inevitable, from the very start. Trinidad had come to the convent to study Spanish, Latin, and Catholic doctrine. Rosa was the daughter of a servant. One day, she would leave the convent, and Rosa would still be a kitchen girl.

Apologies sat on Trinidad's tongue, but the words wouldn't come. "Will I see you again?" Trinidad asked softly, reaching for Rosa's hand.

For the first time, Rosa looked at her, tears brimming in her eyes. "You know you won't be able to do that."

Trinidad opened her mouth to speak, but Rosa had already turned away, signaling the conversation was over.

Later that day, Trinidad sat in the calesa, listening to the rhythmic clatter of the horse's hooves as they echoed through the streets of Ciudad Margarita. The warm afternoon air of 1895 pressed against her skin, offering little comfort.

While Mang Carlito loaded her belongings, she gazed out at the narrow streets lined with brick houses and the busy women in their baro't saya, tending to their daily chores. Her own traje de mestiza felt too formal, too stifling.

"Don't forget to say your prayers, Trinidad," Hermana Florencia's stern voice snapped her back to reality. Trinidad forced a polite smile, though tears threatened to fall. As she looked up, she caught sight of Rosa's tear-streaked face in a distant window. Her heart clenched. If only she could run back to her...

"And when you marry," the other madres chimed in, oblivious to her turmoil, "don't forget to visit us."

Marriage. The thought of it made her stomach turn. She was reminded of Marianismo, the strict code every Catholic woman was expected to live by—modesty, chastity, devotion to family. Her mother, Doña Esperanza, had drilled it into her since she was young. She knew her parents were probably already planning her marriage to some respectable young man. The thought filled her with dread.

Her eyes searched for Rosa one last time, but she was already gone.

"Goodbye, Hermana Lucia, Hermana Luisita, Hermana Florencia."

"Que Dios te bendiga, hija. We will miss you around here," the madres replied in unison.

The journey from Ciudad Margarita to her hometown of San Felipe would be long, and Trinidad felt a mix of emotions she couldn't untangle. She would miss the convent—the quiet prayers, the familiar bustle of the city. But most of all, she would miss Rosa. She would remember their stolen moments, their whispered secrets, and the warmth they had shared.

But today, she was going home. She would have to leave her feelings behind, along with a part of herself she could never fully regain.