The Lady in Blue

She woke up, letting out shaky breaths and clutching the sheets. As she wiped off the sweat from her forehead, she felt her legs bare and stared at the linen sheets splattered across the wooden floor. Her left arm reached for the empty side of the bed. “Andres must have left the house earlier to head to the capital for those signatures,” she thought. Catalina looked down at her belly and traced her fingers along its spherical shape. “Just a dream,” she muttered to herself, and she stood up to walk toward the dresser., the faint memory of the dream followed her footsteps. Catalina couldn’t trace what had made her so afraid of this dream. All of it felt right, the solace and the freedom intertwining to create something salient.

After she rummaged through her dresser and found the right blouse and long skirt for the spring weather, she decided she would go for a walk and take some air after she got dressed.

Catalina was still getting used to the faster pace of life in the capital. It had only been three months since her husband, Andres, got an offer to work for the viceroy’s administration. He had happily accepted the job, elevating his family’s social position and wealth. For most of his life, Andres had felt like a leech, sucking the blood out of his family’s wealth from the moment Andres had chosen to leave Spain for the colonies. Still, he had always been ambitious, and this new promotion was the first step towards a life of greatness. It was his time to shine, and he was sure of it, even if Catalina hadn’t seemed convinced.

Catalina’s life path unfolded without her directing its course. And yet, she knew she couldn’t complain. Her family settled in the colonies hundreds of years ago. Catalina’s father, Pascual Santos Mendoza de la Fuente, was a prosperous merchant who loved his three daughters fiercely. Close friends and business partners always praised her wit, beauty, and good manners. Everyone adored her. The season Catalina was introduced to society, she had many suitors asking for her hand. Before he passed away from heart failure, Pascual had arranged for Andres to wed his youngest daughter and provide for her with the same love and care she had grown up with. Andres took his wife away from the capital and brought her to the estate he owned in the countryside. She savored the silence at her new home, free from constant chatter and nosy stares. Catalina thought they could enjoy a couple more years of silence before returning to society.

Catalina pulled the fabric from the top drawer. She held the navy blue mantle and caressed her fingers along the silver embroidery in one of its corners, close to the seam. It read “AR,” short for Amelia Rodriguez, her mother’s maiden name.

Amelia had embroidered her initials on her mantles; it was all the rage that season (and would continue to be for many decades). Even though she had initially intended to wear them herself, a tantrum from her second daughter, the reckless Claudia, forced her to part with her creations. Each of the daughters, Concepcion, Claudia, and Catalina, inherited their mother’s mantles.

It was a time when women would wander the streets freely. But freedom was made, not given. A kind of freedom that emerged from the anonymity of wearing the cotton mantle over their heads. The mantle only allowed a single eye to peak through the fabric, with two fingers pinching the seams of the mantle just below the right eye. Amelia’s generation was one of the first upper-class women of the capital to wear the mantle. No one knows how it became a fashion statement of wealth and class. Some say it came from Arab influence in the homeland, which later made its way to the colonies. Others said the French must have been behind it, always the French setting up the fashion standards of promising young women around the globe.

Amelia did not survive after giving birth to Catalina. Concepcion, Claudia, and Catalina carried their mother’s spirit with them everywhere they went while wearing her mantle. It was a remarkable navy blue, a shade of blue fabric that Amelia’s friends believed could have only been shipped from the Indies.

The Catholic Church (and some insecure husbands here and there) condemned the “mantle phenomenon” as a fashion statement that could only lead to sin and deception, an act of the devil. This growing sentiment echoed through the streets and marketplaces, with people whispering about the implications of such attire. The talk of the town fueled the rage of these men, as reputable business owners could not help but wonder if their wives were the subject of the rumors going around.

The whispers grew louder with time, spreading like wildfire through the capital. The once desolate churches would fill with men every Sunday morning. Desperate husbands and fathers would ask the priest to pray for the damned souls of their wives and daughters, who were leading a godless existence. Lord have mercy for all their vices and secrets concealed by silks and garments!

“Next thing you know the lady who flashed her right leg to the potato farmer was actually your aunt Petunia, or your wife Camila.”

“A woman with free range is a dangerous one, I’d rather let my horse roam free around my estate. Guess who would come back before sundown.”

Shortly after word got around that Lady Paulina may (or may not) have been seen wandering around Friar Virgilio’s residence late at night, the Catholic Church decided to take action. Wearing mantles that covered women’s faces would be punishable with a prison sentence of up to three months. Little did they know the socialite women’s indifference would overpower the church’s ruling as they continued to wear the mantles as they pleased. The same men who blamed the mantles for the chaos in their homes came rushing to the local penitentiary, hoping a good bribe would give them back their women. Perhaps they realized they would rather live with an alleged cheater over a convict for a wife. Over time, men learned to protect their reputations by not letting their women walk around town unchaperoned and by locking their residences late at night.

Catalina made sure not to alert the footmen before leaving her home that morning. Andres had already warned her not to roam around the streets too much on her own unless strictly necessary. The capital had slowly succumbed to chaos as word got around that ladies would walk around town delivering revolutionist propaganda everywhere they went. One respectable lady would not like to be mistaken by conspirators against the Spanish crown.

“Julián must have lost his mind,” Catalina thought as she passed by the baker down the street on her way to the plaza. She stopped by for a pastry, as she has the habit of doing every other day she sneaks out of her house. Julián usually recognizes her by her distinctive navy blue mantle, except this time was different. He shot a perplexed look at her and scratched his bald head.

“Good morning, Julián. Have I found you in low spirits today?”

“Certainly not, Mrs. Mendoza. Though I am baffled by your sudden indifference this morning.” Catalina believed it was a strange remark to make, considering she hadn’t left home earlier that morning.

“I beg your pardon, Julian? You know I always stop by your business first thing in the morning after I leave home. Surely you must be mistaken.”

“By no means ma’am. I may be getting old, but my sanity is yet to escape me! Once I saw that silk… yes!, the same one you are wearing now, once I saw it, I knew it was you who refused my friendly salute.”

Catalina was certainly bewildered by Julian’s words. She realized there was no use convincing an old and stubborn man of her character, so she apologized on behalf of her sister Claudia, who came to visit and was not acquainted with the bakery. The truth was Claudia had not come to visit for months. She lived on her own in their family’s estate. Concepcion had long been outside the continent since she married and moved to the homeland with her husband, so she was out of the question as well. Catalina paid for the pastry and laughed off the incident, wondering why her sister Claudia had decided to pay a visit without stopping by her place first.

Catalina continued her walk with the memory of Julian’s bewilderment tugging at her curiosity. Her thoughts meandered through the possibilities as she strolled down the capital’s bustling streets, the navy blue mantle concealing her identity. As Catalina approached the plaza, she noticed a woman standing near the fountain, wearing a familiar navy blue mantle. Catalina’s heart skipped a beat. “Claudia,” she thought. She quickened her pace, weaving through the crowd until she stood close enough to see the woman’s back facing her.

“Claudia, what are you doing here? I was so worried…” Catalina pleaded and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. The mysterious woman turned, and in the swiftness of that motion, the wind rustled her mantle, letting it slip away from her head and fall on her shoulders. Catalina let out a surprised gasp. The woman’s dark, almond-shaped eyes and tanned skin were strikingly different from Catalina and Claudia’s fair complexion.

“Inés?” Catalina whispered, her voice a mixture of shock and recognition. Inés turned, her eyes widening as she met Catalina’s gaze. In that instant, Catalina remembered how Inés had been Claudia’s childhood bestfriend. Inés’s father, Don Alberto, was the head farmer who tended to the Mendoza’s lands. Despite their father’s initial disapproval of their friendship, Claudia never cared for Inés’s social standing, seeing her as an equal and confidante. They had grown up side by side, sharing secrets and dreams, forming a bond that had only deepened over the years. Once Claudia became the owner of the family’s estate, she hired Inés as a housekeeper so they could remain close to each other.

“Catalina, I… I can explain,” Inés stammered, pulling Catalina aside to a quieter corner of the plaza. She put her mantle back on, and led Catalina into the shadows of a street corner.

Catalina’s mind raced. Inés, her childhood friend, was wearing her mother’s robe. “Why are you wearing my mother’s mantle?” she demanded, glancing upon her mother’s initials embroidered on the mantle, a thousand possibilities rushing through her mind, “Is Claudia alright?”

Inés took a deep breath, her eyes pleading for understanding. “Claudia is safe, she gave this to me… there’s something you need to know.”

Inés glanced around, ensuring no one was listening. “Claudia and I are… we have been preparing for something big this past year… We’ve been working with the liberators, hoping to free our country from Spanish rule once and… ”

“Shh…” Catalina implored while covering Inés’s mouth for her to stop talking at once. Her world seemed to tilt on its axis. Her sister, Claudia, secretly involved in the liberation movement? It was almost too much to process.

“We shall not speak of this in public,” Catalina whispered, her voice a mixture of awe and fear. “You’re both risking your lives… and perhaps you the most.”

Inés nodded, her expression determined. “We believe in the cause, Catalina. We want a future where we’re free from colonial rule, where people like me aren’t treated as second-class citizens.”

Before Catalina could respond, a commotion erupted near the plaza’s entrance. A group of the viceroy’s soldiers marched in, their presence casting a palpable tension over the crowd. Catalina’s heart pounded as she realized the danger they all faced.

“We need to leave, now,” Inés urged, grabbing Catalina’s hand. “There’s a safe house nearby. Claudia will be there.”

Catalina hesitated, but the determination in Inés’s eyes and the urgency of the situation spurred her into action. She followed Inés through the winding streets, her mind racing with the implications of what she had just learned.

As they hurried through the narrow alleys, Catalina saw Inés slip pamphlets into the hands of passersby. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight. “Inés, what are you doing?!” she whispered harshly.

“Spreading the word, Catalina. It’s what we have to do,” Inés replied, not missing a step. Catalina managed to catch a glimpse of the pamphlet as it caught between a passerby’s fingertips: “Independence is upon us!”

Catalina’s mind raced. The sight of Inés in her mother’s mantle, distributing revolutionary pamphlets, was sure to cause confusion and speculation. She could already imagine the whispers that would follow.

When they arrived at the safe house, Claudia was waiting, her face lighting up with relief when she saw Catalina. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” Claudia said, embracing her sister.

Catalina clung to her sister, a thousand questions bubbling up inside her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her voice breaking.

Claudia pulled back, her expression earnest. “I wanted to, Catalina. But I needed to protect you. Andres… he’s been keeping a close eye on you.”

Catalina’s blood ran cold at the mention of her husband. “What do you mean?”

Claudia exchanged a glance with Inés. “Andres is involved in some shady dealings. We have an insider working on his team. Your husband’s business with the viceroy is going sour, and he’s planning to flee back to Spain. We think he’s planning to flee with you and the baby as soon as possible.”

Catalina’s mind reeled. Andres had always been ambitious, but this? “No… I can’t go back to Spain,” She said firmly. “This is our home, and you are my sister… oh god.” Catalina broke down in tears, suddenly unable to keep her legs steady. Claudia helped her to the sofa behind her. As her sister caressed her hair to calm her down, Catalina soon fell fast asleep. When she woke up a couple of hours later, she felt a surge of determination running through her body. Catalina had known for a long time that there would be many things in her life she would not have control over. This time was different, she felt she owed this ounce of bravery to her unborn child. When she sat up to face her sister, her choice had been made. She couldn’t leave them to fight alone.

…

Over the next few days, the rumors began to spread. People whispered about Andres’s respectable wife being involved with the revolutionists. Some claimed they had seen her distributing pamphlets, her face partially concealed by a navy blue mantle. Catalina knew it was a matter of time before the rumors got to her husband’s ears. She would continue sneaking out of her house, and wait for Andres to come clean about his plans to leave the colonies before moving to Claudia’s home indefinitely.

One evening, as Catalina returned home, she found Andres waiting for her in the parlor. His face was pale and strained, and his eyes flashed with anger.

“I’ve been hearing disturbing rumors. People are saying that you’ve been seen handing out revolutionary pamphlets, hiding behind that blue mantle… please tell me this is not true.”

Catalina met his gaze, her heart pounding. “Andres, I—”

“Don’t lie to me, Catalina!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “Do you have any idea what you are doing? Our reputation is at stake! My position with the viceroy’s administration is already tenuous, and now this?”

Catalina’s resolve hardened, she needed to buy more time. “Andres, I don’t know what you are referring to. I haven’t been distributing pamphlets. Those rumors are false.”

“False?” Andres scoffed. “The baker, my coworkers, they all claim to have seen you… or someone who looked very much like you. And now, everyone in the capital is talking about it. Do you know what this means for us? For our child?”

Catalina took a step forward, her voice calm but firm. “Andres, I am not involved with the revolutionaries. But even if I were, wouldn’t you want our child to grow up in a free country?”

Andres stared at her, his face contorted with rage and fear. “You don’t understand the danger you’re putting us in. The viceroy’s spies are everywhere. If they even suspect you’re involved with the libertarians, they’ll come for you. For us.” Andres turned away, running a hand through his hair. He sighed and his enraged expression turned into fear.

“We need to leave, Catalina. It’s not safe here anymore. We can go back to Spain, start fresh… I already booked us a first-class ticket for the next ship tomorrow.”

Catalina realized her sister’s warning was true. She could not believe her husband had overstepped her wishes. Greed felt heavy in the air around them. She struggled to breath, but she fought.

“I’m not going back to Spain, Andres. My place is here, with our people. If you want to go, then go. But I won’t abandon our home.”

Andres spun around, his face a mask of desperation. “Catalina, are you in your right mind? You are my wife and you are carrying my child.”

Catalina stayed silent, but Andres could still read her mind. For the first time, Andres could see that an inner ambition also ran through Catalina’s veins. He stared at her for a long moment, his face pale and drawn. “Perhaps some time apart will do us good, then I shall go alone. Stay at your sister’s home, but don’t expect me to come back for you.”

Catalina watched as he turned and walked out of the room, her heart heavy with the weight of her decision. She knew the path ahead would be difficult and dangerous, but she also knew it was the right one.

The capital buzzed with the whispers of revolution, and Catalina found herself at the heart of it all, determined to create a new life for her family.