Dolores takes her rosary outside to pray underneath the honey mesquite tree in the yard. It is her favorite place to pray. The sunlight shines through the thin branches and she can almost feel like she is being touched by the hand of God Himself. She bends her head and begins to pray, saying the Our Fathers first, since she had the least of them. She worries the stones of her rosary between her fingers and fears that they may begin to disappear from overuse.
She ignores the bustling from her home and the scent of lunch as she says her Hail Marys. Her stomach growls and she gives it an absent tap. Her mouth becomes dry and her throat sore from her prayers but she pays it no mind. She will suffer as Jesus suffered in the desert.
She will be redeemed and stop making Madre sad.
“Hail Mary, full of grace,” she says, stopping to cough. She eyes the new comer, Zorro Pequeno, standing by the door. He watches her with that same unnerving gaze made even more unnerving by those blue eyes. “Full of grace, our Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jes-what are you looking at?”
“You,” he answers. The word is slurred past his swollen lip. She huffs and turns her body toward the honey mesquite tree.
“Come to make fun of me for my faith again?” she says harshly, and then winces. We are not crusaders.
“No,” he says. “I came to watch. I’ve never seen anyone pray quite like this.” She huffs and goes back to her prayers. She glares at him.
“You made me lose my spot,” she snarls. She turns back to the tree and looks down at her rosary. Would it be a sin to count that interrupted prayer as one? She sighs, thinking of Madre’s sad voice.
Better not risk it.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women,” she begins again. Zorro Pequeno moves closer to her and she tries to pay him no attention. “And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God-“ she stops as a sweet roll is thrust in her face. Her stomach rumbles and her mouth waters from the smell. She turns her face away.
“You must be hungry,” he says. She shakes her head.
“I have to say my prayers.”
“Were you ordered to go without food until you finished?” he asks.
“Well, no.”
“Then why wait? I’m sure God won’t mind if you eat a little lunch.” She looks at him, then at her rosary and then at the roll of bread he offers.
“You think so?” He nods, those strange eyes gleaming.
“He’d be a very sorry God if he didn’t allow girls to eat when they were hungry, regardless of their sins.” She thinks about his words for a moment before grabbing the roll and taking a vicious bite of it. She sighs in contentment after the first swallow. Dolores sees him watching her again and she clears her throat. He offers her water and she takes a tentative sip.
“I’m sorry for hitting you,” she says. “Do you forgive me?”
“Now why should I?” he says, wiping bread crumbs from her chin. She flinches as though he hit her.
Aches and Sorrows 4/?
Dolores takes her rosary outside to pray underneath the honey mesquite tree in the yard. It is her favorite place to pray. The sunlight shines through the thin branches and she can almost feel like she is being touched by the hand of God Himself. She bends her head and begins to pray, saying the Our Fathers first, since she had the least of them. She worries the stones of her rosary between her fingers and fears that they may begin to disappear from overuse.
She ignores the bustling from her home and the scent of lunch as she says her Hail Marys. Her stomach growls and she gives it an absent tap. Her mouth becomes dry and her throat sore from her prayers but she pays it no mind. She will suffer as Jesus suffered in the desert.
She will be redeemed and stop making Madre sad.
“Hail Mary, full of grace,” she says, stopping to cough. She eyes the new comer, Zorro Pequeno, standing by the door. He watches her with that same unnerving gaze made even more unnerving by those blue eyes. “Full of grace, our Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jes-what are you looking at?”
“You,” he answers. The word is slurred past his swollen lip. She huffs and turns her body toward the honey mesquite tree.
“Come to make fun of me for my faith again?” she says harshly, and then winces. We are not crusaders.
“No,” he says. “I came to watch. I’ve never seen anyone pray quite like this.” She huffs and goes back to her prayers. She glares at him.
“You made me lose my spot,” she snarls. She turns back to the tree and looks down at her rosary. Would it be a sin to count that interrupted prayer as one? She sighs, thinking of Madre’s sad voice.
Better not risk it.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women,” she begins again. Zorro Pequeno moves closer to her and she tries to pay him no attention. “And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God-“ she stops as a sweet roll is thrust in her face. Her stomach rumbles and her mouth waters from the smell. She turns her face away.
“You must be hungry,” he says. She shakes her head.
“I have to say my prayers.”
“Were you ordered to go without food until you finished?” he asks.
“Well, no.”
“Then why wait? I’m sure God won’t mind if you eat a little lunch.” She looks at him, then at her rosary and then at the roll of bread he offers.
“You think so?” He nods, those strange eyes gleaming.
“He’d be a very sorry God if he didn’t allow girls to eat when they were hungry, regardless of their sins.” She thinks about his words for a moment before grabbing the roll and taking a vicious bite of it. She sighs in contentment after the first swallow. Dolores sees him watching her again and she clears her throat. He offers her water and she takes a tentative sip.
“I’m sorry for hitting you,” she says. “Do you forgive me?”
“Now why should I?” he says, wiping bread crumbs from her chin. She flinches as though he hit her.
“Because you’re supposed to,” she says.
“Oh? Who says?”
“God says.”