contained my very best dress, the dress that my rich
cousin who lived in Paris had given to me.
“It looks just dreadful on me, but I’m sure it’ll fit
your figure just lovely,
cherie
,” she had written in the
letter included in the parcel containing the frock.
Thankfully, it did fit me “just lovely,” and it was
the dress I wore only on special occasions, such as
Christmas and Easter.
Madre
had insisted I bring it
to wear on October 13, the day the young shepherds
of Fatima declared that Our Lady would prove that
she was indeed appearing to them. But now, I had
nothing to wear on that day except my second-best
dress. Madre and I decided that I should keep it in
the carpetbag she kept with her in the stagecoach, so
nothing would happen to that one as well.
We had probably traveled about a week before we
reached Lisbon, the capital of Portugal. Madre had
wanted to stay in Lisbon for a few nights before
continuing on our journey so we could pay a visit
to the brother of my late
Padre
,
Tío
Juan. While we
were staying there,
Tío
Juan,
Madre
, and I studied
maps of Portugal to determine how much longer we
had to travel before arriving in Fatima.
When
Tío
Juan heard about the luggage mishap, he
insisted on having his servants make me a new one.
The new dress was not quite as fashion forward as
the one from my cousin, but I was just thankful to
have a new good dress. Not that I thought anything
would really happen; I just wanted to be well-
dressed, just in case.
As we were departing from
Tío
Juan’s
casa
, or house,
he gave Madre and me each a long hug.
“I would go if I could, Maria,” he told me. I could
tell he meant it, too, by the longing in his eyes. Why
were people so intent on going to Fatima to see this
thing? “I’d love to see such a miracle.” He shrugs.
“What am I saying? I’ll be there in my heart, through
prayer. Take care of yourselves now.”
The journey from Lisbon to Fatima was a sight better
than that from Madrid to Lisbon. It was definitely
much less dusty. This time we rode a much larger
stagecoach that held quite a few more people than
the other stagecoach. We fell to talking, and soon
learned that all of the other passengers were going
to Fatima, too, to witness the miracle, if there
even was going to be one. Since there is safety in
numbers, we decided to stick together for the rest of
the trip to Fatima.
“At what hotel shall you be lodging, señora?” one
lady asked
Madre
.
I looked at Madre in a panic. As far as I knew, we
were going to sleep outside on the ground in the
field where the apparition was supposed to take
place; there was no way we could afford to lodge at
a hotel!
“We shan’t be staying at a hotel; we want to get
close-up views, so we’ve decided to sleep out in
the field where the Holy Virgin shall appear. If she
thinks that field suitable enough for her to visit,
we think it suitable enough for our lodging,”
Madre
answered smoothly. Ah, to have the faith of my
Madre
!
“Veo. I see,” the lady answered slowly, then dropped
the subject.
Her husband, however, pursued it. “But it will be
just you and your pretty hija. You cannot possibly be
thinking of sleeping out in the field alone?”
“
Sí
, yes, I am,” answered
Madre
.
“But what if there’s a riot?” persisted the kindly
gentleman. “You two could be killed! Is there
a señor with you, someone to protect you? A
husband, perhaps?”
Madre
stared at her lap. “No,” she replied quietly. “It
is just us and the Virgin.
El Señor proveerá
. The Lord
will provide.”
The Lord will provide. How many times did I repeat
that sentence during the remainder of our grueling
23
BAYLEY BULLETIN, MAR-MAY 2016
