In a perfect day, she would run across a field that never ends. Her feet will not know fatigue and when she stops, she would call to her beloved and he’d catch her in his arms.

Three knocks

He’d laugh when she does for they need no words. He’d carry her in his arms and her brother would be nearby, always beside them. The sun will turn to the moon and they will dance and play all through the night.

“Signorina!”

The moon would not cover them in shades of loneliness, for it shone only for her. And in its silver light, everything else would disappear. Nothing remains, but her, her beloved, and her brother.

“ That insolent fool!”

Sal’s eyes shot open. It was the same dull ceiling above her. Her small arms wandered around her side. The floor is still cold. There on her hand was a small notebook. She flipped across it. All letters in Caligarian. They’re here again. Did they see her? Hope not. She didn’t like all those old men who all liked to speak in Caligarian with a bold tongue and pomp like that of kings in the stories. They talked of grand ideals, but they all sounded the same. Potbellied old men in stories dressed in luxury but had no value.

“Signorina! You’ll get yourself sick. What did I tell you about lying on floors.” The lady came inside. She was dressed in the same drab clothing and years have added lines to her face.

“ It’s nice.”

“ You’re not a rug, Signorina.”

“ Is that a good job?”

Sal pulled herself onto a chair as the lady huffed and fixed the veil on Sal’s head. The lady was not bringing food, so she must be here to remind her on her lessons perhaps. As expected, she brought out a small panuelito with a rose embroidered on the end. Sal brought the notebook on the table instead. She could read and write. What else do they need her to learn?

“ I’m quite surprised, to be honest.” The lady quipped. “ I would wish to see what kind of wife you’ll be.”

Sal tilted her head and rested her chin on her hands. “ A wife. A princess from a tale. They don’t sew. They sing and birds come to them. Would it please him perhaps if I sing in three languages?”

The lady shook her head, “Knowing languages are needed for people who trade. It is not a useful skill for people who need nothing but manage a household.”

Sal hung her head a little. Through the cloth, she could see dim light filtered through the closed capiz windows. Bright. Imagine how brighter the light is and how green the grass is outside. Sal stared through wooden slats and pale white under yellowing lace. Only people who trade needed what she has and by this thing called marriage, a girl will be cooped up in someone else’s house.

“Why are those Mercantile here? “ Sal asked. It’s the second time in the week that they came. They did nothing but talk, of course. But their conversations weren’t as hushed.

“ Only the Signor knows,” she answered.