The dawn had barely broken, the rooster was still asleep, and stillness enveloped the sleepy village of Casanayan. There was no moonbeam for now since it was a new moon, so the room, carrying the scent of aged wood and memories, was wrapped in darkness. Rosa, however, was already awake.
“Oh, today is the day,” she told herself. She barely slept, but her mind was already up with the thought that she had one important thing to do today. Thinking about it the entire night kept her awake. Despite saying twenty decades of the rosary, not even the cool October breeze that slipped through the slightly open pios windows did the miracle. Sleep did not visit her last night.
She got up and lit the gasera that sat on her bedside table and it gave her a soft, flickering glow. For a while, she sat down and felt the peace around her, punctuated only by the sound of the cricket. Rosa was careful not to stand right after waking up or else she would endure one of those dizzy spells that frequently attack her. She was no longer her young, robust self. She turned 65 last month and her body began to feel the pang of old age. Her hair had totally grown white, and her hands sometimes trembled as she reached for everyday items. She endured the dull ache of her joints, particularly on chilly mornings like this. Even the simplest task had become a quiet battle against stiffness and spasm. Yet her spirit remainedas feisty as when she was 40. She was in full control of her sugarcane plantation, the muscovado mill, and the adjoining orchard that produced the sweetest mangoes in the whole of Casanayan. Every detail of the household accounts did not skip her sharp eyes and even sharper mind. Rosa, the feisty businesswoman, had a heart that melted for her only grandchild – the only one left in her family.
The aged, wooden four-poster bed creaked ever so slightly as she moved her body a little. After a few moments of sitting, she turned to her granddaughter, who was sleeping next to her. She looked at her, tracing the familiar contours of Lilian’s face with the sentimental gaze of a grandmother. Rosa’s weathered hands gently brushed the strands of hair from her granddaughter’s forehead, remembering how she held her in her hands when she was born and watched her grow into this adorable little girl now. Fate was now spiriting that child away from her.
“Neng, bugtaw na,” she gently tapped Lilian’s shoulder, still hugging her pillow, half awake because of her grandmother’s presence but refused to get up.
“You have a long day today, remember?” she told Lilian in a voice mixed with anticipation and reluctance. The weight of an important decision lingered in the air, casting a shadow on the otherwise serene morning.
“Lola, temprano pa gani. The roosters haven’t crowed yet! Can’t I leave till noon time?” Lilian protested, still holding on to the realm of dreams, hugging her pillow tighter, resisting the pull of wakefulness.
“Oh, no, no. We have already talked about this many times. I told you last night that you had to leave early. Capiz is a long way from Casanayan and I don’t want us on the road at dusk.” But Lilian didn’t bother to move, still cocooned in her cushion. Her reluctance had kept her from rising.
“Come on, dear. You don’t want your Papa to worry, right? You and I agreed that you had to go back to the pueblo before your seventh birthday. And that’s next week!”
Lilian stirred, her eyes gently opening as she started to become aware of the world around her.
“Why do I have to go to Capiz and see Papa? I am perfectly alright here,” Lilian protested. She hated the long hours on the dusty, dirt road from Casanayan to Capiz—the boring journey through the rice fields and sugarcane plantations that seemed like forever.
Rosa also didn’t want her only grandchild to leave her side. Not even a day. But what could she do? When Felimon asked that her daughter stay with him permanently in Capiz, Rosa begged him not to take her away. So they reached an agreement.
“Oh, Lola, I miss Nanay!” Lilian suddenly remembered her mother, who passed away a year ago and the thought of leaving Casanayan already made Lilian sad. Except for her younger sisters, Rosita and Dolores, Lilian knew nobody in Capiz. And she wasn’t even close to Rosita, who would always take away her toys whenever she caught Lilian holding them.
“I’ll miss you, Daging, Popoy, and Editha. I’ll miss the afternoons when we play in the garden. And also climbing the mango trees and visiting the beach! Casanayan is the only home I know, Lola,” Lilian mumbled, her words a soft lament and protest from the need to leave home.
“Don’t worry, your Papa will give you a big, seventh birthday party, and he’ll invite all of his friends’ children so you will have friends in the pueblo!” Rosa reassured her granddaughter. “So, hush now, dear, and get up, or you’ll reach Capiz at dusk! You don’t want the tiktik lurking around, right?” Rosa didn’t want to hear any more of those words from her granddaughter or she’d only feel more wretched.
It would be months before she could see her granddaughter again. It had always been like since Rosa’s only daughter, Patria, died. One day, Lilian would be away forever. Felimon already told her of his plan; she would have to go to school with nuns. Felimon wasn’t sure yet if he would send Lilian to the nuns of Santa Isabel in Intramuros, or he’d settle her daughter as an interna in one of the schools in Iloilo. If this would happen, Rosa knew she would have to toughen up. And she wasn’t growing any younger. One day, the end would come. For now, she would train herself about losing her only granddaughter for months.
“Daging will come with you on this trip, but she’ll have to return the day after tomorrow,” Rosa reminded Lilian, the old lady’s voice carrying a mix of concern and reassurance. Daging is Rosa’s attendant, who also looked after Lilian. The night before, the help spent hours packing her ward’s dresses and every item that she would need in the pueblo. Rosa knew that Felimon would buy her daughter all the latest dresses and shoes sold by the Chinese merchant, but Rosa wanted to be sure her granddaughter had enough to wear.
As dawn finally came, Lilia would take her and Daging to the pueblo in her carriage. Rosa also instructed Daging to bring a big batch of fruits and vegetables from the farm and give them to Felimon.
“We have a full load in our carriage already, Señora,” Daging protested, but the old lady shrugged. “Nonesense, it’s all for Lilian.”
Finally, it was time for Lilian to bid her grandma goodbye.
“Take care, my darling,” Rosa said, her voice a tender melody that carried both love and a grandmother’s wisdom. She reached out and cupped Lilian’s face in her hands, her touch gentle yet firm. “This trip is an adventure, but remember, this casa is always your home.”
Lilian, though never excited about the journey, felt a pang of emotion at the prospect of leaving her grandmother. She nodded, her eyes glistening with tears.
“I’ll miss you, Lola. But I promise to be back soon.”
Rosa smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “And I’ll be here waiting for you, my precious one. Now, go and see your Papa and sisters.”
Lilian stepped into the awaiting carriage. The wheels creaked to life, and the horse, aware of the journey ahead, finally began its steady trot. Rosa stood in the doorway, a silhouette against the morning light. Her heart is secretly miserable over her daughter’s death and her granddaughter’s departure, unsure if she could ever muster the strength to wait for Lilian to come back. While she bid her granddaughter farewell, she would have to hold back her tears and appear happy. Lilian had a long road to ahead, and Rosa didn’t want to dampen the girl’s mood. She could sob later, but not now.
