Someone Left Behind

1

I n the early morning hours on a cold November day, 1956 I opened the front door of the only home I knew and walked out. I carried a small cardboard box, which held; a blue, a red, and two white tops, along with a grey sweater and a pair of jeans. In addition I was able to stuff four pairs of underwear and socks. I was wearing the only bra I owned.

I wore my heavy red jacket that had a hood and a zipper. It was the only jacket I had and it came in handy with the cold weather. I reached for my Concha belt making sure I was wearing it. It was my favorite, although I had one other one. But this one I wore all the time. I also carried a bruise on my left cheek and a grieving that laid heavy in my heart.

I stood for a moment, then walked to the side of the house where Nicky, my nephew had his little red wagon parked.

As quietly as I could I laid the cardboard box inside hoping Nicky wouldn’t hear me.

Slowly I grabbed the handle not realizing frost had formed on it during the night. I prayed for gloves. I also prayed Patricia would run after me and call me back inside.

I could almost hear her say, It’s alright Lily, come inside, its cold. You don’t have to go. You’ll catch a cold. I’m sorry. But those words never reached my ears.

I thought of my warm bed. Nicky will most likely get it. I was glad for that. He hated sharing his bed with his sisters although they loved sleeping with their brother. That was one of the things they liked doing the most.

I pulled as quietly as I could. Not once did I think how I was going to return the wagon. Or how Nicky would feel once he noticed it was missing. He was eight years old, and eight year old boys love their wagons.

I thought of the countless times he lifted his four year old sister, Emily and sat her in the wagon and pulled her around the yard, and Ariana his six year old sister pushing from behind, yelling, I’m next, I’m next! Then the cold weather came to mind, surly it would keep them inside. That thought seemed to have eased the guilt that settled in my mind. I stopped. One last look, I thought as I looked around the back yard. We never planted flowers.

But it was my playground, where I made red chili as a child, scraping two red bricks together to make red dust, then I’d put it in a can and add water to it, stir it up using a twig and it was ready to serve. Five dishes lined my make believe table. They were lids I had gathered from food cans.

When we’d get bored my best friend Clara and I searched for the right rock and used it to crush empty carnation cans in the middle to make Ankos, (walking skates). We measured the indent to our size of our shoe. Then we’d fit them in and walked making a loud clank, clank as we ventured around the yard. Our arms flapping to keep balanced. Where the name came from, I have no idea. It must have generated the same day we discovered how to make them.

Sometimes we just sat around and talked about school.

With much apprehension I continued to pull the wagon behind me. My legs felt like lead. I had no idea where I was going. All I knew is that I had to keep on walking. The cold breeze felt like fire on my face. I gathered the strings of my hood and pulled them together tightly and tied a knot. Tears started to form as episodes of last night surfaced my head. I roughly wiped them off with the back of my hand. But the images were too vivid and I saw my sister Patricia’s fist land on my face. I was too stunned to move. She grabbed my arm and pushed me against the wall. As she continued to swing, she yelled "I am sick and tired of you, Lily, get out! Get out of my house! You are nothing but a burden!! And so I did. I was sixteen years old.

In a quiet village in northern New Mexico, La Senora Victoria Leon Del Sol laid bedridden. She was fatally ill. The year 1942 during world war two. She was forty years old. Her ashen face displayed signs of hard work under a brutal sun. Yet her hair had been spared. It was the color of ebony, long with lustrous strands that fell around her face and shoulders giving her a look of deity. She felt she had done a good job raising her children.

She would leave her husband, a son and four daughters behind. Four of her grown children and beloved husband stood around her bed, except Lily, who sat quietly on the polished wooden floor leaning against Patricia’s legs. She held her rag doll tightly. Her eyes fixed on the doll’s arm that hung from a thread ready to fall out. The bedroom was dark except for a ray of light that invaded its way between two curtains from a small window above Victoria’s bed.

Victoria’s last request was to speak to Patricia, Daughter, I am dying. I want your promise that you will take care of Lily. Patricia was stunned by her request. Finally she said, But mom, why are you asking me? I’m only seventeen. How can I take care of a two year old! Why don’t you ask Julia or Ignes they’re married and already have children? Her mother replied, That is why.

I have no memory of my mother, only the stories my sisters told me much later in life. The only photo I have is a black and white of her and my dad. I wish I had known her.

As I was growing up I’d hear my three sisters talking about her being sick all the time. No one knew what ailed her. She refused to see doctors and after many attempts, my dad finally gave up. They described her as a beautiful, tall, slender woman, complexion fair. With long black hair. The color of night, her husband often said with a grin, describing her hair. I never knew the age of my dad. Perhaps he was a few years older than mom. The one Alexandro Leon Del Sol was a hard working farmer, who with much pride provided for his family. With hazel eyes, dark wavy hair, he was considered most eligible in his days.

My brother Adan was a young at heart fifteen year old, full of life. His favorite time was walking to the creek and fishing all day. He’d take a snack of peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a few sodas and his Avalon cigarettes. He was at an age where he didn’t like to do anything but sit around the creek, chew on a straw, and hoped he’d catch a fish or two. He love the great outdoors. His dark skin was proof enough. During the winter months he went to school. Some of the time. He was a handsome young man. Tall, broad shoulders, wavy black hair, like his dad, beautiful eyes with long curled lashes. I wondered if he was ever teased because of his lashes. He had friends that enjoyed the same sport he did. He enjoyed visiting Julia, who was glad to have him. That way she’d make sure he was taken care of. I don’t think he helped around much. I think dad had done a good job spoiling him.

Julia the oldest had some of my dads’ features. When she smiled her eyes smiled, she kept her hair short. She was smart and very self-assured. The rest of the sisters looked up to her for advice. As I grew older, I did too. Her husband Emilio was a hardworking man. He was easy going. He was admired by friends and neighbors. He was always ready to help anyone who was in need.

My other sister Agnes was quiet and humble. She was petite, kind hearted and had some of mom’s fine features. But she had problems with her husband Ronald, who usually got intoxicated and loud.

In fact there was talk that sometimes he become abusive with her. Of course that was only talk. Some of the neighbors swear hearing her screaming. But there never was proof. One evening while she prepared dinner, he walked in. She smelled liquor. He began yelling, Agnes, what do you do all day? Look at this mess. Looks like pigs live here. Even though that statement was not true. He pulled her around and hit her on the face. The children running to him crying, no dad! That made him stop, but only for a short time. When he was sober he would come up with excuses for his Ill behavior.

At a young age during the harvest season my sisters had to get up before sunrise and work until sunset. Their job was to hoe around the vegetables. Julia and Ignes always had an hour or so on their younger sister Patricia.

When she’d appear she had on a huge hat, long sleeve shirt and gloves. Even on cloudy days she wore the same clothing. I see her standing at the end of the field. I wonder how long it will take her to get to where we’re at? Julia said to Ignes. Let’s tease her when she gets closer. Suggested Julia. As soon as Patricia got close enough to hear, they waved and began to sing in harmony. Here comes the princess, all covered up so she doesn’t get burned by the sun. They teased her endlessly. But at the end of the day, they knew they had done a good job. They’d hold hands and walk back to the house.

Sometime the work took longer to finish, due to rain or high winds. This meant more hours and having to skip school days. It was upsetting to them, they knew by doing so would mean more studying in order not to fail in their grades. But those were dads last orders and foremost.

My dad also had orchards of apples, peaches and apricots. When they were ready to pick, the girls gathered all the fruit and place them in baskets. Then proceeded to wash, peel and core them. After they were done, mom laid paper throughout the bare wooded floor in the attic and laid the fruit out to dry.

Once dried, they filled crates with these delicacies and stored them for the winter. There was always enough fruit for the girls to make jams and jellies. Picking berries that grew wild in the surrounding areas was another task. Some grew in the back yard. Delicious soft syrup or jelly were made with it. Some folks poured it over pancakes. The vegetables were steamed and preserved in jars. Then stored in a cold underground cellar. Green chili peppers was another family favorite. Some folks used it daily as a special delicacy. As soon as it was ready to pick, it was washed and tied by the stem with a long strong string or wire and hung out to dry on a porch or post. Once dried it was grounded to a fine powder and later used to prepare a thick chili sauce with a choice of meat. The family kept busy all summer getting ready for the cold winter ahead. Huge piles of wood logs leaned against the shed, along with an axe ready for the next available hand. Once a week dad went to the village grocery store and bought flour, lard, and other house hold products. Don’t forget the lye, Alexandro, I need to make soap. Mom called out as he was leaving.

The women washed the clothes in the creek that was within walking distances from the house. They spent hours rubbing them against large rocks that laid along the edge of the creek. Hanging them out to dry on a clothes line, was next or laying them on top of bushes. During the evening hours the family spent time doing small tasks around the home. Sometimes they had to work through the night in the field bringing mud and wet grass in the house.

Mom was fifteen years old when she married my dad. He was probably twenty. The day an engagement party was given at home. A family tradition.

An uninvited woman by the name of Paola, who was madly in love with dad knocked on the door. She extended her arm and handed a decorated cake to Rosabelle mom’s sister. My, what a beautiful cake, Gracias. (Thank you). Paola ignoring the appreciation stated, Tell Victoria that she will see herself with much distress the rest of her life if she marries Alexandro.

I will curse her and her newborn. With a harsh look, she turned and walked away. My mom was cursed by the town witch. Rosabelle pleaded endlessly, Victoria please, you can’t marry Alexandro you heard what Paola said to me, she has cursed your life with him and it will be a living hell! I don’t believe in such nonsense. Rosabelle looked a lot like mom. Same slender physique, color of hair, face features. I love him and I won’t turn my back on him. She said, with tears forming in her eyes. When mom happily expressed her pregnancy to the family they were happy for her. However some family members exchanged looks of concern, and whispered about the curse of Paola. The first baby she had was a girl. Amada was a beautiful and healthy baby. She weight eight pounds. Mom bundled Amada and laid her in bed next to her. Amada was breast fed, it was easy for both mom and baby. During mid-morning hours, mom cradled Amada in her arms and sat on her rocking chair and sang to her.

Rosabelle went to visit Amada daily. Since Amada was to be her first god child, she sensed an obligation to make sure she was doing fine. Without fail Amada would wake up at 5:00 A.M. every morning to be fed. Weeks went by and Rosabelle started to feel at ease. It was just a silly hoax she thought. What a horrible thing to say. Isabelle smiled to herself.

One morning mom realized the baby didn’t wake up for her feeding. It was past the hour. Mom sat up on the bed and started to unfold the baby blankets only to find them empty. Amada was gone. Mom yelled for dad. Alexandro the baby’s gone, where is Amada!

Donde esta? They both searched the house frantically until they found their naked baby laying in the middle of the floor, in the front room. Amada’s naked body was blue and cold to the touch. Victoria screamed in horror as she picked up her limp infant. Alexandro fell to his knees and wept. Was an investigation done? No, everyone knew it was the curse from the town witch and feared if a word was uttered. My mom refused to believe it was a curse. She’d say, How is it possible that something so horrid take place in a small town Alexandro? He replied, Someone entered the bedroom and took Amada out of your arms while you slept.

Victoria thought for a minute then stated, That is not possible. You know what a light sleeper I am. Think of the time it took to undress my baby, muffled her so she wouldn’t make a sound and laid her on the hard cold floor. How cruel a heart it takes to do this horrific act? No. Alexandro, it doesn’t make any sense, I just don’t know what to believe. All I know is my baby is gone." She covered her face with her hands and began weeping uncontrollably. Upon hearing the distress news Rosabelle covered her face and ran out of the house. Mom was never the same after that. She kept losing her babies. Babies died at birth, some during their first week of life. Out of the fifteen pregnancies only five of her children survived. Rosabelle stayed close to mom’s side during these merciless misfortunes.

This left mom emotionally and physically ill and tired most of the time. There were times when dad made plans to attend some event in the city. Dad would say, Get ready Victoria, I’m taking my beautiful lady dancing. Victoria, with much excitement responded happily, I’d love that It won’t take me long to get ready! But as always she’d start trembling uncontrollably. Dad had to lay her down. This trembling happened every time plans were made to go out. She never got passed putting her nylons on.

Finally, against her wishes dad took her to see a doctor. All reports and tests were positive. But as time went on mom began getting worse. Now, she was experiencing pains in her abdomen. I don’t know what’s wrong, Alexandro. They’re getting worse by the day. My pain medicine helps, but only for a while. Dad took her to another doctor, but the results read the same, nothing wrong. After that mom refused to see doctors. Victoria, you have to go see another doctor, there are many in the city. Dad pleaded. Surly there is one out there that can help you.

Taking the bony frail hand of her sister, Rosabelle pleaded. Please listen to Alexandro. Mom shook her head no. As time went on, mom got weak and stayed mostly in bed. Patricia took care of her. Rosabelle never left her sisters side. Julia and Ignes came to see mom daily and to help.

They would bring her homemade chicken soup, and mint tea to her bed. Mom liked the mint tea. This mint tea makes me feel good. She’d say while Julia helped her take sips from the cup. Mom tried but her skeletal hands were too weak. She had lost so much weight, her face ashen and her eyes sunken. It was hard to look at her and hope for recovery. I’m sure during those crucial times Patricia was caring for me too. After all, that’s what families do. It must have been an emotional time for my family. They lived in hope praying that mom would recover.

The day mom passed away, everything changed so fast and suddenly. I can only imagine the suffering my dad, sisters and brother went through. The agony of mom not being around anymore. The lonely nights that were enveloped by silence where only the sound of the clock ticking was heard. To lose a loved one is hard. Even if we’re prepared we are never ready to close the casket and say good-bye.

My dad lost interest in the farm. Everything he owned and worked hard for was of no value to him anymore. He lost his beloved wife, and soon lost interest in his children. He left shortly to Wyoming to work as a sheep herder living Lily in the hands of Patricia. She knew he wouldn’t return and he didn’t. Years later he moved to Denver Colorado. Julia and Emilio stayed for a while and soon moved to a small town in Colorado where they bought a home, in a quiet neighborhood, where they raised four boys. During that time Ignes came to visit us and help Patricia with house work. But soon the crops started to wither and die. Patricia couldn’t keep up with all the hard work, it was too much for her. She knew that Ignes had her hands full with her own home and children.

A seventeen year old with a two year old? As time went by, Patricia became quiet and sullen. She did what she could. She had been taught well. She cooked, cleaned house, and kept up with the laundry. She made sure I was clean and fed. Adan stayed with family until he was old enough to join the Army. So it was only the two of us. Some of the women neighbors stopped by bringing us homemade bread, and homemade butter. Things were going well, until one night Patricia ran into the bedroom where I was sleeping.

She jumped on my bed waking me. She was breathing hard. With fear in her voice she whispered in my ear, Lily, I hear noises in the attic, like papers are being crushed and dragged from one end of the attic to the next. As soon as we went to bed, the noises start, she informed me. I listened but I didn’t hear anything. Listen for them, Lily. I’d lay quietly in my bed and listened but I didn’t hear anything. Patricia hardly slept for fear they would stop, then she wouldn’t know what section of the attic they’d appear again. Some nights she’d sit on the bed with her eyes on the ceiling. Waiting. Praying, holding her rosary made of wooden beads.

One night there was a knock at the door. I’ll get the door Lily. Patricia opened the door and there was no one there. She looks around rubbing her arms and mumbles aloud. I felt a chill run through my body. The following morning while picking up a few supplies, at the food market. Patricia ran into Paola. Paola stopped Patricia and gently touched her arm and said in a soft sweet voice, Oh look. Patricia, the daughter of the grand Alexandro Leon Del Sol. Know this, she said with a smirk, it doesn’t end with your mother. She was just the beginning. Patricia felt a tingle rush up her arm that left her speechless with fear. She knew what this woman was capable of. She stood frozen on her feet and watched as Paola slowly turned and walked away.

It didn’t take Patricia long to pack our belongings and move to a town a few miles from home. I was four years old. In this charming town she found a small place for us. It was partially furnished. After much effort she finally found work as a house keeper. She didn’t like her job, but she didn’t know anything else. Besides I could go with her. Don’t touch things, Lily. She’d warn me.

Although her job was within walking distances, I was tired by the time we got there. The adobe built house was very big, with a