Las Dos Marias

Chapter 3: The Healers

As Maria Isabela Ramos stood at the entrance of their humble bamboo house, she noticed the yard filled with people from neighboring villages. Their murmurs and whispered prayers contrasted with the stillness of the 5 AM hills.

The sun hadn't fully risen, but the desperate and the sick were already waiting for her mother, Constancia Ramos. The scent of herbs lingered in the cool morning air—a fragrance Isabela had grown to love, along with the deep empathy that came from watching her mother heal.

Though her mother refused payment for her services, people still arrived with offerings—chickens, eggs, fresh produce. Now sixteen, Isabela was eager to follow in her mother's footsteps. As her apprentice, she was learning the healing traditions passed down through generations. Today, an old woman lay on a wooden sickbed, a basin beside her holding the remnants of her illness.

"What happened to her?" Isabela asked.

"Witchcraft," her mother replied. "A relative angry about land inheritance likely cursed her."

She'd heard stories of locals losing their land to wealthy mestizos and Spanish colonizers. The lack of formal land titles made them easy targets—a harsh reminder of a conversation she'd once had with her father about exploitation happening in this country. Isabela's heart pounded with anger and sadness upon remembering that about her father...

Just then, Constancia's voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Isabela, I need you to go to town today and deliver the herbal medicines I promised Doña Alma Buenavista. Her granddaughter is coming home, and she doesn't want to burden the family with her recurring stomach pains, especially with a piging being planned. But remember, be discreet. The other Doña disapproves of our practice."

"But what about you, Mother?" Isabela asked, glancing at the line of people outside. "Will you manage without me?"

Constancia smiled, wiping sweat from her brow. "I'll be fine, child. Now, off you go. It's a long trip to San Felipe."

"I'll take Father's horse," Isabela said, eyeing the sick old woman. "I'll be back soon."

Constancia placed a hand back on the woman's shoulder, nodding Isabela away.

Isabela headed to the stables, where her father's horse, Juan Kabayo, awaited her. She checked his saddle and reins, giving him a reassuring pat. "We're off to town, my friend. "We got an important task to do," she whispered. The horse neighed as if in agreement.

***

As she reached the dirt road leading into town, her stomach rumbled, and she thought of Manang Silva's carinderia and its warm, home-cooked Sinigang.

Juan Kabayo trotted proudly, his rider dressed in practical trousers, a loose shirt, and a hat made of nipa that barely held back her unruly hair. Isabela grinned as townspeople stared and whispered, scandalized by her attire. Unlike the women of San Felipe in their baro't saya, Isabela dressed as she pleased. Her mother often remarked that she looked and acted more like her father.

"Isabela!" a familiar voice called. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw her childhood friend, Tomas. She slowed, pulling the reins to a stop beside him.

"Glad you're in town," he said, slightly breathless. "I was hoping to see you before you disappeared into the hills again."

"I'm just here on an errand, Tomas," she replied with a smile. "I won't be staying long."

A flicker of disappointment crossed Tomas's face. "How's your mother?"

Isabela hesitated but softened, knowing he was only concerned. Tomas had always been a good friend, the one who taught her to climb trees and fish with a spear. He was the brother she'd never had—though his feelings had clearly grown beyond friendship. She sighed, masking her irritation about the thought.

"We're fine, Tomas. Thank you for asking."

"I know your father's death has been hard on you. If you need anything, I'm here," he said, reaching for her hand. Isabela deftly pulled it away. "Maybe we could spend some time together today... before you leave?" he added.

She gave him a steady look, one he knew all too well. "We've talked about this, Tomas. Even before my father died, I told you—there's nothing between us. Besides, I can take care of myself and my mother. You don't need to worry about us."

"But people in town talk about you," he whispered, concern in his eyes. "They say—"

"I don't care what they say, Tomas. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an errand to finish," she said, brushing aside her curiosity about the town gossip. She was focused on her task, unwilling to let Tomas' feelings or concerns slow her down.

"Of course," he murmured, though hurt flickered across his face. She reached out, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You're a good friend, Tomas. But I've told you—my heart belongs to the hills and the work waiting for me there."

"I know," he said quietly. "I just—if only things were different..."

"Unfortunately, Tomas, I wouldn't wish for anything different. This is who I am. The sooner you understand that, the better. Anyway, I have to go now. Take care, my friend."

She nudged Juan Kabayo forward, leaving Tomas standing in the dust, his unrequited love lingering in her wake.