My mother stopped begging because she got a job as part of the servants of the Derderián mansion, one of the most influential noble families in the South. Thanks to the money she earned, we were able to buy cows, pigs, and chickens so that my stepfather could raise them for the sale of meat and milk.
I remember the first time she had to help my mother with her work. I was barely ten years old when I appeared before Lady Derderían, in the middle of a room with tulips on the walls, with large windows that allowed the sunlight to bathe the whole place, with a fountain in the center through which it did not stop running water.
I was fascinated by her perfectly neat hairstyle and her sky blue dress so long that it dragged as she walked. I wanted one like that for myself.
"Her eyes are red, isn't that supposed to be bad luck?" Lady Derderián asked my mother after scrutinizing me with her gaze.
"Those are just superstitions, My Lady. You will never meet a healthier and more obedient girl, Your Grace," my mother replied.
Lady Derderián raised her eyebrows and gave me a disdainful look.
"So does your daughter know how to sew?"
"Yes of course. She knows how to do it better than I do," my mother lied.
I didn't say anything, but inside me, I screamed. What was my mom playing at? I didn't know how to sew!
That night my mother was trying to teach me to use the needle and thread. I did it after many punctures and hours without sleep.
The next day I did a decent job as a seamstress and was able to stay to work in the mansion, together with my mother. I remember that she was very happy because we would have more income for the family.
One day when I went to the courtyard of the mansion, to see the huge garden full of flowers, that's when I met him.
Marco Derderían, the first-born of the family, was in one of his fencing classes. I must admit that I found him handsome that day. He wasn't much older than me, but he had that superb look that made him look so much more mature.
I watched as his silver hair danced with his precise movements with the wooden sword. His teacher, a gentleman from the Al-Thule house, was watching him closely as if he expected him to make the slightest mistake.
When Marco finished his class he finally realized that I was watching him the whole time.
"And who are you?" He asked me.
"Bachué, Your Grace," I replied lowering my head.
"What is a girl doing in my house?" His question was not malicious; he was not complaining. He seemed honestly confused by my presence there.
"It's just ... my mother works here and I'm helping her as a seamstress, Your Grace."
"Splendid. My name is Marco Derderián. I am the eldest son of the Count Derderián. " It seemed that he had rehearsed that presentation many times and was waiting for the moment to finally say it out loud.
"I know, Your Grace."
And then, he kindly lifted my face, looked directly into my eyes, and there, he noticed.
"Your eyes ... are ... red ..."
I nodded. My heart was beating very hard and I felt my legs were shaking.
"Wonderful!" He exclaimed with a surprise that did not fade from his face.
And that was all he said before he left.
The years passed and I continued helping my mother. Sometimes as a seamstress, sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes in the garden. Whatever I had to do, I did it without protest. She cut my hands, dirty my nails, scraped my ankles, my hands were full of calluses and I hardly rested, but it was all because my family did not go through difficulties.
My mother wanted to put my little sister to work too, but I convinced her that I was more than enough with me. I think that is why the poor have children, to put them to work. The more children, the more income. They are your hope to get out of poverty.
Marco wasn't paying much attention to me during that time. He would sometimes say a few words to me, and sometimes not. Until I was fifteen. My body had changed. My legs grew fat, my breasts grew, my hips flared, and now the firstborn of the Derderians was giving me lots of glances.
He was always very handsome. So he was never short of women. I witnessed how countless young women entered his room.
He tried to lock himself in with them when he knew that his parents would not be in the mansion and when only I saw him.
"Don't tell anyone what you saw," Marco would ask me.
And I did so. No one ever found out from my mouth.
But one day, Marco Derderián lusted after me. He began to chase me through the corridors, to try to caress my hands, to whisper to my hatred how beautiful I seemed to him. He asked that I exclusively go to bring him breakfast in bed.
Every time he did those things, I thought about Delilah. Marco was handsome, yes. A lot of. But I didn't feel able to reciprocate his insinuations.
He got tired of being "subtle" and one day when I went to bring him breakfast, he grabbed my left arm tightly and pulled me onto his bed.
"I want you, Bachué," he confessed to me bluntly, "I want to make love to you. What do you say?"
"Your Grace, you are hurting me ..."
"Have you never been with a noble fair skin? I bet you would love it. "
"Your Grace, please ... someone can come ..."
"No one is coming."
I was afraid. Like I had never felt. If I rejected him and hurt his ego, surely he would take it out on my mother. I couldn't afford that. But I didn't want to give him my virtue either. I was seventeen, too young, and… I didn't love him…
Without realizing it, tears ran down my face.
"Please, Your Grace ...," I begged.
"Why are you crying?" He asked her with obvious confusion in his eyes.
I think he had never seen that. That a woman was crying in front of him.
He released me.
And I ran out of the room. When I made sure no one was watching, I cried, I cried a lot. Well, I knew what was going to happen next. And that's exactly what happened… My mother was fired later.
Back at home, I told my mother and Torum, my stepfather, what had happened, that the firstborn of the Derderians had forced me to be in his bed and I had refused.
My stepfather took a leather whip and beat me. I begged him not to hit me, but the more I cried, the harder he hit me.
"How can you refuse!" Fush! The whip cut through the air before hitting my skin. "If the Lord wants to ride you, then you allow it!"
FUSH.
"You think your virtue is worth something!"
FUSH.
My mother was crying too, because of losing her job and because Torum was beating me until I drew blood without she being able to do anything.
"Your virtue is worth nothing! It is only for them to take!" My stepfather yelled at me.
FUSH.
"Who are you saving yourself for!" Veins stood out on his dark-skinned neck.
FUSH.
"For some wretch like us!"
FUSH.
"YOUR MOTHER LOST HER JOB BECAUSE OF YOU!"
FUSH.
"YOUR FAULT!"
FUSH.
"YOUR FAULT!"
That night I could not sleep well because my wounds still burned from the whipping that I received without mercy.
However, the next morning we received a surprise: Marco Derderián asked my mother to return to work at the Derderián mansion. On one condition: that I go back with her.
Before going back to the mansion, as I was preparing my things to return, my mother entered our hut, grabbed my arm tightly and I felt a stab of pain from my wounds.
"Bachué, please, if he asks you to do something ... you do it," her tone was not that of an order, it was that of a plea, "please, Bachué. Please."
I nodded.
Powerful men deciding on me…
That was the kind of thing a poor, dark-skinned woman like me had to put up with.
Surprisingly, Marco didn't force me again. And his innuendo changed. He wasn't so… aggressive anymore.
He started to give me flowers. He would write me poems and ask me to walk through the gardens with him and talk about whatever. It was as if he was sorry and now he wanted to do things 'right'.
"You look so beautiful today, Bachué," he would say after giving me a rose.
Don't get me wrong, Marco's change in attitude didn't excuse him for treating me like his property. But at least it was a start to put the bad memories behind and focus on helping my mother in the Derderián house.
There was a time when he invited me to ride a horse. I warned him that I didn't know how and that I could hurt myself. He insisted so much for days that I agreed, promising that I would only do it once and no more.
When I got on the horse, I was very nervous. I thought the horse was going to shoot out and that I was going to fall.
"Don't worry, this horse is ratter calm," Marco assured me.
To be honest, the young master was quite pleasant. He was very kind and patient in teaching me how to ride.
"Try to keep your balance," Marco would point. "Try not to rush, you can scare the horse."
And against all odds, I didn't fall. I liked the experience so much that I wanted to repeat it, but I didn't express such wishes out loud. It was Marco himself who invited me a second time, and a third, and a fourth, and I said yes to all of them.
"Let's do a race," he proposed.
I was hesitant at first, but I ended up agreeing. After all, it was my first time on a horse, was I really ready for a race?
We had a race and I won.
Marco threw a tantrum and asked to change horses. He took mine and I took his. He lost again. I can't describe to you how embarrassed I was about the tantrum he threw next.
"I have to win! I refuse to lose! " He was screaming.
I had to propose one last race. The definitive. Whoever won that one would be the true 'Lord of The Horses', or something like that I said. He accepted and I purposely lost. And as a result, he was in a good mood the rest of the day, but we never rode together again.
I believed that Marco would soon get bored of begging me for a love that I didn't correspond, but he never gave up. He continued to court me.
I lived in constant anguish. How long was it going to be until he got fed up and fired my mother again? I felt that our economic stability was a time bomb, at the mercy of Marco Derderián's impulse.
One morning, when we went to the mansion like any other workday, I received the most unexpected news.
Marco had asked my mother for my hand in marriage.
A noble light-skin asking to marry him?
And then he sent me a letter confessing his intentions to marry me.