Saving the World by Julia Álvarez

And when will they be sent back? What if they catch some other horrid disease?
La gaceta
reports that the Americans are full of illness.” All the questions and qualms I had swept aside in my excitement swarmed round me. I had scooped out honey from the hive, tasted its sweetness, but now the worrisome bees were after me. My mind was full of unease.
    Perhaps my face was as easy to read as hers, for Doña Teresa stopped abruptly. “Oh dear, Isabel, now I’ve got you doubting. Always, the Evil One tries to tarnish a noble deed with ignoble quandaries. I have known you these dozen years, and I know you would not endanger the welfare of boys you love so well.”
    My face burned with shame at her undeserved trust. “I myself will accompany them,” I said, knowing my self-interest would be mistaken as self-sacrifice. “Don Francisco requested it,” I added, not daring to look up for fear Doña Teresa would see the lie in my eyes. “Natividad can take over until my return,” I proposed, anticipating a possible objection.
    â€œBrave Isabel!” Doña Teresa was now smiling fondly at me.
    I could not bear her praise. Any moment now, I would blurt out the truth. “Boys.” I turned my attention to them. “Go tell Nati Doña Teresa is here, to put on the kettle. Go on now! A warm tea, Doña Teresa?” I offered. “You have gotten wet in this rain. You must not catch cold.”
    â€œIn a bit, in a bit.” She waved my offer away. She was still in the thrall of all she had heard, just as I had been. “To think, Isabel, that there might be a cure for the smallpox.” Her pale eyes grew watery. “If only that discovery had come sooner! Consider how our own lives would have been so different.”
    I thought of my parents, my dear sister, and I felt that heaviness in myheart again. Perhaps, no matter how far I wandered, there would be no escaping it.
    â€œNow, I’m making you sad, poor Isabel.” Doña Teresa blew her nose into the kerchief she had removed from the pocket of her dress, a trumpet sound that made the boys at the door giggle, disclosing their misbehavior.
    â€œBoys!” I chided. “What did I say? Go wash your hands for merienda!” Off they went, anticipating the snack of grapes that Doña Teresa’s coachman had carried into the kitchen earlier. “You, too, Francisco.” Reluctantly, the boy peeled himself away. But before disappearing down the corridor, he sounded his little trumpet one more time. “He came from the king—”
    â€œFrancisco!” I cut him off, but Doña Teresa had caught the one spark that could kindle her temper.
    â€œWhat does that ridiculous cuckold have to do with this noble mission?” She was addressing not just me but the room itself, which had witnessed the interview with our visitor. She went on to provide the answer, sparing me another lie. “Let him try to take over this mission. Just let him! These are my boys, and I myself will help with the cost of their expenses.”
    I was torn between guilt at my means and delight with the results. Although Don Francisco had not asked, no doubt he would welcome additional monies for his expedition.
Excellent!
he would say.
You are a wonder, Doña Isabel. Provision as well as permission!
    Doña Teresa stood up slowly, a pained expression on her face, which turned to fond chuckles when she noticed the seat she had chosen. “That Don Manuel,” she said, shaking her head. “We really should gift those chairs to the Royal Council!” (The council had recently voted to levy additional taxes on all church properties.) Then, gathering herself up, she hooked her arm in mine. “Let us go see to our boys’ grapes.” Doña Teresa enjoyed delivering her treats in person.
    â€œBy the way, Isabel,” she said as we came apart at the narrow corridor that did not allow someone of her wide