Las Dos Marias

Chapter 17: Singled Out

Father Enrique sat at the center of the sturdy picnic table, beaming with his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes flickered with anticipation and curiosity. "Ah, such a sumptuous meal!" he exclaimed. "I am most fortunate to be in such generous company."

Doña Ynez hovered nearby, ready to cater to the priest's every whim. "Padre, please, you must try the lechon. It's cooked to perfection just for you."

On his other side, Doña Esperanza stood with a pitcher of lemonade in hand. "And refresh yourself with this lemonade, Padre," she urged.

Isabela, silently observing the scene from where she was painting, shook her head in amusement. It was like watching a puppet show as the two Doñas eagerly served the man. She wondered how they could so easily set aside their self-importance just to please the friar.

As Father Enrique savored each bite, Isabela's attention shifted. Her gaze fell on a young lad standing a few feet behind the friar. From his clothes and stance, she guessed he was one of the priest's sacristan boys.

He couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen—certainly younger than she was. His brown Filipino skin glistened in the afternoon light, but dark circles under his eyes hinted at a lack of sleep. And while they lavished the friar with food, the boy seemed forgotten. Isabela wanted to say something but decided against it. After all, what did she know about the boy?

As she resumed her work, she noticed that someone had sent the sacristan on a small errand. He slowly approached the corner of the picnic where Isabela sat, carrying a small basket of fruit for the Doñas. And as she continued to observe him, something about him tugged at Isabela's interest.

He seemed lonely.

When he finally reached her, his eyes darted toward the canvas, then quickly away, as though afraid to linger too long. Isabela offered him a gentle smile. "Would you like to see them? It's nothing fancy, just the gathering," she said.

The boy froze for a moment, clearly startled that she spoke to him.

"Come on," she encouraged.

His face betrayed hesitation, but slowly, he moved closer, eyes widening as he took in the colors on the canvas.

"It's beautiful," he murmured.

"Thank you," Isabela replied with a grin. But as he shifted closer, her eyes caught something unsettling.

Underneath his loose sleeve, the faint outline of dark bruises marred the boy's skin. Isabela's breath hitched, then gently grabbed the boy's wrist and examined the bruises. "What happened?"

The boy yanked his arm away, panic flashing in his eyes. "I—I'm fine, Señorita. Just an accident," he mumbled, but his voice was shaky, his words unconvincing.

Isabela's heart clenched. She knew this was no accident. But sensing his fear, she didn't press him. Instead, she offered a reassuring smile. "I'm a healer," she said. "My home's on the hill. If you ever need help—"

Before she could finish, the boy already whisked away with a faint "Gracias, señorita" following behind him.

As he walked away, Isabela's eyes lingered on his small, retreating figure. The laughter of the Doñas and Father Enrique's booming voice filled the air once again, but all she could think about was the young sacristan and the bruises he tried so hard to hide.

Returning to her painting, Isabela found her focus wandering again. She spotted Trinidad among the guests, her brush still in hand, though her strokes had long since ceased.