Forever Hearts

by Mia Rodriguez

“Of course there are repercussions,” stated Constance.

  “You are totally confusing me.”

  “There are repercussions because you unbalanced yourself and not because anyone is trying to get you.”

  “What?”

  “Take that cup in your hand. If you tip it over, what will happen?”

  “I’ll spill tea all over me.”

  “Yes, you would’ve unbalanced the cup and because of it, got wet. The air wouldn’t have done it to you. The cup wouldn’t have done it to you. You would’ve done it to yourself.”

  Kate was still puzzled. “Karma is interesting.”

  “We try to balance ourselves through various lives.”

  “We do?”

  “Yes, that’s how we learn. In fact, we reincarnate with most of the same people, so we can work out problems and balance each other.”

  This piece of information fascinated Kate. Had Valeria reincarnated with the same people so they could work out their past? Was Leonel in her previous life?

  How very interesting.

  Chapter 10: Valentina

  Fortunately, my evil eyes had scared the Sevilla daughters so much that after the apple incident, they rarely addressed me. Still, I had to swallow bucketfuls of bitterness at the Sevilla Hacienda. And I couldn’t do anything about it.

  Nothing

  Even at the tender age of ten, I knew what life was about—moving from one day to the next as best as you could, not dwelling on the unfairness of everything. Occasionally, you’d find a most treasured object and would forget, even for a very short time, how harsh life could be. On the day I found the flower, it was one of those rare and special moments.

  I stepped out of the Big House on a sunny afternoon, to the back where Leonor and Josefina Sevilla played with their porcelain dolls next to Doña Clotilde’s flower garden. Lucio, the owner’s only son, was deeply involved in some kind of a game with Leonardo, the nephew of the hacienda foreman. After I walked past them to the chicken coups, I scattered the grain I carried in a small bucket to the waiting chickens. They greedily gobbled it up as soon as it touched the ground. I liked feeding these interesting creatures with their crazy movement and clucking noises.

  After throwing the last handful of food, I started making it back to the house. I could hear the playful noises of the children I wasn’t allowed to play with and ignored them. Then I noticed the bright-yellow sunflower lying on the ground, in the middle of the yard, with its stem broken. It had grown there by itself, without help from anybody, and it had obviously been trampled. As I gently picked it up, I glided my fingers over its pretty face. Even at that age, I knew mankind couldn’t create anything as radiant as this luminescent flower. All human beings can do in their colossal arrogance is to fake beauty while destroying the real kind so that their version of it won’t compete with God’s easy gifts.

  I carried the disregarded flower with me throughout the day. No one except my mother asked me about it.

  “Why are you carrying that sunflower?” she asked, perplexed.

  “It’s like sunshine in this big, ugly house.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to set it aside instead of giving it a ride all over like a tic on a dog?”

  “I like it with me,” I answered stubbornly. “Someone has to care for it.”

  She sighed heavily. “You know how Doña Clotilde is. That woman would sooner kiss a pig than see a servant act unservant-like,” she grumbled.

  “Why would she care about my flower?” I asked innocently, my ten-year-old mind not yet being able to understand certain things about human beings and their veracious need for power.

  “To her, flowers are only for them and not us.”

  “But they really don’t care about flowers! They step on them with their big, stinky feet,” I guffawed. I was sure whoever had crushed it had been a Sevilla. Hardly anyone was allowed in the back yard of the house.

  “What?”

  “Someone trampled the sunflower.”

  She shook her head. “How clumsy to step on something so pretty—like a hog in a garden.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe it wasn’t very pretty to that person. Ugly people see ugly things even when they're beautiful,” I assured in my little girl’s voice.

  My mother nodded with disgust. “What some people consider valuable, others throw away as if they and only they know the difference between what's good and what's trash.”

  Chapter 11: Valentina

  The first time I saw them strewn carelessly on the dirt I thought what a tragedy for someone to have dropped their flowers. I left them where they were, certain that someone would be back for these precious treasures. But lilacs, sunflowers, gardenias and many other flowers kept appearing in my pathways. Beautiful pinks, purples, blues, and reds painted the ground.

  Who’s doing this? I wondered. Who’s leaving them?

  It was impossible to tell exactly where the flowers came from since all kinds, wild ones and other types, grew throughout the hacienda. I was sure, though, that the one place they didn’t come from was Doña Clotilde’s garden where only the most particular of flowers were grown. I didn’t care much for those prissy things but loved all other plants and couldn’t stop questions from turning over and over in my head. Who was leaving them for me? Was it someone who had seen me pick up the sunflower that sunny afternoon with so much care? Was it someone who had seen me carry it throughout the day? Why would anyone leave flowers for me?

  I impatiently waited for someone to come forward as whole weeks went by or for me to catch the mischievous person in the act but nothing happened. I kept receiving the flowers without even a tiny hint of who was leaving them for me. My frustration became worse until I decided to enjoy them instead of going crazy with their mystery.

  I was taking a huge whiff of their powerful fragrance at the refreshing river where I often went because of the lush trees lining the area and the calm sound of flowing water. It was my eleventh birthday, and I was at my favorite place in the whole world. A sudden rain shower had hit earlier in the day making the ground slushy with mud, but I wasn’t paying attention because in knowing the place so well, I felt I didn’t need to be conscious of where I was stepping. When my feet abruptly slid forward, I quickly pushed aside the surprise and tried to grab at anything for balance. The tree branch I managed to desperately grasp broke, sending me straight into a raging river. It had rained more than in other years so the harsh water turned violent while trying to overflow out of its home.

  Everything happened so fast that it all became a confusing blur with so many things happening at the same time . . . The rushing water swept me up—its icy coldness sharply needling my skin. . . I bounced all over, not able to grab onto anything to steady me . . . I kept trying to breathe as my head bopped in and out of the dangerous water . . . I screamed for help while telling myself that I refused to drown.

  I refuse to die.

  It seemed like forever when it was probably seconds, but suddenly I don’t know how I managed to get to the river’s edge where a figure appeared—Lucio was ready to pull me out! I can still see his outstretched hands reaching for me, and I grabbed them with every thread of strength I had. His twelve-year-old arms enveloped my trembling body as soon as I was out of the treacherous water.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, concern on his face.

  “I’m fine,” I declared, pushing the shakiness in my voice down to as low as it would go.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  He walked with me all the way home. My mother’s face grew wet with trailing tears when I told her the story. She wrapped me with one of the few threadbare towels we owned. Her own body gave me more warmth than the ragged cloth as she held me tightly.

  “I’m fine,” I insisted.

  She kept thanking Lucio who asserted that he had done what anyone else would’ve done. He was just glad to have been at the right
place and at the right time.

  “God forbid that she would’ve drowned,” he stated.

  “Yes, God forbid,” my mama agreed, her voice cracking.

  “But I didn’t drown,” I affirmed. “I’m still here.”

  Chapter 12: Valentina

  Even though he had saved my life, Lucio and I didn’t talk very much during the next few years. His parents didn’t like to see their kids conversing with servants. The only person below his class he was allowed with was Leonardo, and it was only because Lucio was the Sevillas' only male child and permitted a playmate. Leonardo, though, was never allowed to take meals with Lucio or share very much with him.

  It was at his fifteenth birthday that Lucio threw such a fit over the inequality of him and his friend that even those of us a few rooms away were able to hear him clearly. Normally, he was very respectful of those around him and the apple of his parents’ eyes but that day he seemed to have lost his easy nature.

  “Isn’t the party my birthday party?!” Lucio asked angrily.

  “Yes, of course,” Doña Clotilde answered.

  “I don’t see why Leonardo can’t come!”

  “My son, don’t get so upset,” Doña Clotilde tried to soothe him. “It wouldn’t be right to invite the capataz’s nephew. It’s just not done.”

  “But he’s my friend.”

  “He’s not your friend,” snapped Don Clemencio. “He keeps you company and that’s it. Your friends should be of your own class.”

  “But—“

  “Lucio, you’re trying my patience,” growled Don Clemencio.

  “My son, what will people say if we have someone like him at the party? Besides, I doubt if he’d enjoy himself. He wouldn’t know how to act.”

  “Mama, he’s not an animal,” Lucio declared, frowning deeply.

  “He’s better off with his own kind,” Doña Clotilde asserted.

  “But—“

  “Lucio, that boy isn’t coming to your party and that’s that,” snarled Don Clemencio. “I don’t want to hear anything more about it.”

  The fiesta was attended by the most prestigious families of Cevallos, including the mayor himself. Despising these ostentatious gatherings where we were treated as if less than nothing, I was relieved when I finished the extra work we weren’t paid for, and I stepped out of the back door of the Big House to head for home. Promptly colliding with someone sitting on the ground, I stumbled up angrily.

  “Sorry,” rushed the male voice of the person I had almost fallen on.

  “What’s wrong with you?!—sitting in the dark where someone can break their neck tripping over you!”

  “I—“

  “Lucio!” I exclaimed with surprise as I realized who he was when I shone my petroleum lamp on him.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you or break your neck,” he stated. His handsome young face formed into a playful imp and his dark eyes sparkled with their very own glint.

  More than one girl had a crush on this effervescent boy. Of the three Sevilla children, he was every servant’s favorite. He always greeted instead of just growling orders, and he used his good manners even with the most downtrodden of workers.

  “I’m so sorry,” he expressed.

  I, however, wasn’t done with scolding him. “This is no place for you. Shouldn’t you be at your party?”

  “I got bored,” he stated, his dark brown eyes and hair glistening in the moonlight.

  “You got bored with your own party?”

  He nodded solemnly.

  “But you love parties,” I asserted. Since he was a small child, he had always loved being around people and hated being by himself.

  Lucio shrugged his shoulders. “The moon is beautiful tonight. I thought I’d enjoy it.”

  "Oh," I shrugged, exhaustion overwhelming me. Sevilla parties always fatigued the servants so much that it often took days to recover. “Well, have a great time gazing at the moon and good night,” I threw out as I started moving away, carrying the petroleum lamp for light. The gentle wicker through the glass didn’t give an enormous amount of light with the darkness covering the hacienda, but it helped.

  “Can I walk with you?” Lucio asked, catching up to me, his lips stretching in that quick smile he had.

  “You want to walk with me?” I questioned, so surprised that I abruptly stopped moving forward.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  “Why?” I blurted.

  “I just want to walk with you.”

  “Don’t you want to do some more moon gazing?”

  “I’d rather talk to you.”

  “But we’ll get in trouble,” I declared. I was still grateful that he had saved my life at the river, but I had to protect my parents.

  “No one will know.”

  “But someone will notice that you’re not at your party.”

  “They haven’t noticed so far . . . C’mon, you scared of me?” he teased, his playful personality coming back.

  “Of course I’m not scared of you.”

  “Let’s go then,” he said as he started walking.

  “You’d better not get me in trouble,” I grumbled, following his lead. “I get myself in trouble fine by myself.”

  “I won’t get you in trouble.”

  We walked on the dirt trail leading to the workers' shacks, past a few of the many trees on the hacienda. They cast dark shadows in the darkness of the night but were still placid and beautiful rather than twisted and haunting. The sounds of animals—farm ones and other kinds filled the emptiness of the air and even though I felt comfort in the stillness, Lucio couldn’t stand the quiet and started chattering.

  “You’ll see, I’m not such bad company,” he asserted. “Besides, it’s too dark for you to go home by yourself. You could trip over something.”

  “I already tripped today,” I reminded him wryly.

  “I didn’t mean me.”

  “What do you mean then?”

  “Your house is far.”

  “I know the road very well. What would I trip over?”

  “Maybe an animal or even a flower,” he chuckled.

  “A flower?”

  “My mother tripped over a big sunflower once and angrily stamped on it. You picked it up, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember,” I stated.

  “I wouldn’t want you to fall over anything and hurt yourself.”

  “I’m not going to trip,” I asserted.

  “Didn’t you trip over something that time you almost drowned in the river?”

  I shook my head. “I slipped on mud,” I informed.

  “That’s almost like tripping,” he assured, grinning. “Tripping on mud.”

  “It’s nothing like tripping,” I disagreed.

  “Then what is it like?”

  I laughed lightly. “What do you think the difference is between stepping on a banana peel and bumping into a sack of beans?”

  He chuckled loudly. “Okay, okay, Violeta. You win.”

  “My name isn’t Violeta,” I corrected. “It’s Valentina.”

  “Sorry, Valentina but you’re more of a Violeta than a Valentina.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You should be named after a flower.”

  “A flower?” I asked in a pensive tone.

  “You’re as pretty as one.”

  It was good that the darkness covered the red flush that had spread over my face. It wasn’t often I blushed, but his words had embarrassed me.

  “Thank you,” I uttered, not sure whether to believe that someone like him, trained to see European as superior, could consider me pretty. With sienna skin, black eyes, and wild raven hair, I was opposite from what the upper classes considered beautiful. He was probably just being kind.

  We were quiet for a few steps. I could tell that he was in deep thought, or he would’ve continued to chatter.


  “Valentina,” he finally said, taking care to enunciate every syllable, “I like that you can keep secrets. That’s why I can talk to you.”

  “How do you know I can keep secrets?”

  “I just do.”

  “Are you going to tell me a secret?” I asked, wondering with gnawing curiosity if the mystery behind my flowers would finally be solved.

  He smiled. “Sometimes it’s best to keep things to yourself, don’t you think?”

  “It depends on what it is.”

  “Sometimes what’s in the heart can’t be explained with words.”

  “In the heart?”

  “Valentina, do you ever hate the life you were given?” he blurted.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if you had so much and others had so little?”

  “You think about that?”

  “I think about a lot of things . . . What if you weren’t allowed to be friends with who you wanted? What if you couldn’t be with the people you liked? What if everything was about money and prestige?”

  “You hate being rich?”

  “There’s a lot I hate about it,” he mumbled as I stopped in front of my house—one of the old, adobe, decrepit houses Don Clemencio had on his hacienda for his peones. It kept us always at his disposal, so he had employees twenty-four hours a day at his beck and call. Of course, these houses were at a great distance from his own grandiose home. Lucio eyed the crumbling shack with a deep sadness in his stare. “A lot.”

  “Are you sure you’re just not feeling sentimental on your birthday?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I don’t know of a lot of rich people who feel bad about the poor,” I blurted.

  “I’m different,” he assured, his eyes serious.

  “A rooster and a hen are different, but they’re still chickens.”

  “I’m not a chicken,” he stated.

  “All right.”

  His eyes swept over me. “I’m not like my parents.”

  “All right.”

  “Valentina, please believe me. Please.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’d better get back to my party.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “Goodnight,” he said, starting to step away from me.

  I put a hand on the door to push it open. “Good night.”

  “Maybe we can talk again soon.”

  “Maybe.”

  He looked at me very intently. “I hope so.”