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Father Ferreira. A shiver runs through me, and I rub my arms to warm myself. “There was a priest who visited once a month or so. I only talked with him once. He might have known something. My father paid someone, and it surely wasn’t the nuns.”
“Do you remember his name?” Cristiano asks gently. His manner is never as brusque as Lucas’s.
“Father Ferreira. He asked a lot of questions. And when Isabel tried to intervene, he sent her out of the room so he could hear my confession. At least that’s what he told her.” I rub my palms over my arms, trying to warm myself. Father Ferreira was a memory that I would have preferred to keep buried.
For several seconds, you could hear a pin drop.
“What kinds of questions did he ask?”
“He wanted to know if I pushed away the man whodid thisto me—or if I invited him to lay on top of me with my silence. He asked if I enjoyed it. ‘It’s not rape unless you fight and say no.’” The vomit tickles my throat.
Antonio’s hands are clasped tightly and pressed to his mouth. His eyes are black as coal.
“What did you tell him?” Lucas asks.
“Bits and pieces. I never gave him my name, and he never asked. I never mentioned who raped me, or that my mother was there too. There was something about him I didn’t trust. I can’t explain it. My mother used to say that priests were just men in robes, with the same failings as other men—they weren’t God. So I lied to him. I remember crossing my fingers and apologizing to God before I told Father Ferreira that I didn’t remember what happened.”
What I should have done was kick him in the balls, but I was twelve and pregnant. I’m proud that I even had the nerve to lie to him.
“He just let it go?”
I nod. “Even if he knew something, he was old. He’s probably dead by now.”
“Father Ferreira is still alive,” Lucas responds dryly.
Pity. “Do you think he would have had anything to do with Isabel’s murder?” That seems far-fetched.
“We need to turn over every stone,” Cristiano explains, his voice tight.
“Did you ever confide in a doctor or therapist?”
I glance at Lucas. “Not until recently. I was a child, and Valentina was born early. She weighed two pounds. I didn’t have the body of a woman when I gave birth. Not really. And as I continued to develop and grow, I healed fully. My doctor in the US is the only person who ever asked if I’d had a baby. She suspected because of the way my cervix looks. I told her the baby was born early and didn’t survive.”God forgive me.
There’s a low rumble to my left, where Antonio is seated, but Lucas isn’t deterred. “What about a therapist?”
A therapist? You’ve got to be kidding.Despite the seriousness of the moment, I snicker. “Girls like me don’t get to talk to therapists. We protect our families by taking our secrets to the grave. Otherwise, how could we ever make a good marriage?” My words are laced with bitterness. But it’s true. Every word. And the men in this room? They know it.
I don’t look at Antonio, who was sold a bag of goods.Not my problem.
11
DANIELA
“If we have any more questions, we’ll pass them through Antonio,” Lucas says, in effect dismissing me.
“You can ask me anything, any of you, at any time. It’s a little late now for secrets or modesty.”
They don’t say a word.
“Have we heard anything more from the school?” I ask, hoping that my honesty has bought me some leverage. I told the principal that Isabel had a heart attack and is unresponsive, and she seemed to believe it, but I don’t know how long the lie will hold up.
There have been so many lies. I can’t even keep track of them all.
Cristiano shakes his head. “It’s a good sign that we haven’t heard back from the principal.”
I stand, and then sit back down, my knees wobbling. “I was going to talk to Antonio about this, but it’s probably a conversation that the four of us should have.” I look each man in the eyes, one at a time. Antonio has been mostly silent, up until now. Although his rage was palpable the entire time Lucas was questioning me. The anger is still there, but now he appears somewhat guarded. He needs to hear this before we get to Valentina. They all do.
“The discussion about whether a twelve-year-old should carry a baby to term and deliver was never had with me,” I admit freely. “Putting the baby up for adoption was something that was never a consideration. Valentina’s bloodline leads to Quinta Rosa do Vale, and that gives her life a certain kind of value, especially to people who don’t care about her. It also puts her at considerable risk. But besides that, my father didn’t want an adoptive parent coming forward to claim ownership of the family vineyards. As it turned out, that rather selfish attitude was a blessing. It meant I could watch my daughter grow up, even if she would never call memamai.”
