Read Blood Secret for Free Online

there.
    She cut off her thoughts and turned away from the mirror. It was almost dinnertime. Just beforeshe walked out of her bedroom, she stole another glance at herself in the mirror. She must hunt around in Constanza’s kitchen for a rubber band to put her hair up.
    She stopped short as she came into the living room. What was that old lady doing now? Constanza’s back was to her and she had changed her dress before dinner. Something she had never done. On her head was a shawl, perhaps silk. It looked old but expensive. Her aunt was standing in front of two candlesticks and she had obviously just lighted the candles.
    Constanza turned around. She seemed surprised to see Jerry there. “Oh! I’m usually alone when I do this.” The old lady’s mouth settled into a grim line. Jerry felt as if she had indeed intruded on some private ceremony. Constanza seemed to read the question in Jerry’s face. “It’s to remember the death of Christ. Especially important to do it during Lent.” Even if Jerry could speak, she felt it was maybe something she shouldn’t ask about. Her aunt was strange. Leave it at that.
    The candles stood on a table in front of a window. In the distance were the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. At this hour, however, they did notshow the blood tinge of their name but were the color of old bruises against the sky. In the last flare of the setting sun, smoldering clouds streaked with lavender gathered above the mountains. What her aunt had just said made no sense to Jerry. She had heard of giving up things for Lent, and she knew that when she was at the Catholic Charities homes the sisters spoke to them about performing an act of penance during Lent, and that on Lenten Fridays no meat was served; but she had never heard of this candle routine. How did abstinence or penitence fit with lighting candles? There were good things cooking, that was for sure. She would have offered to set the table, but it was already set. A fresh cream-colored cloth had replaced the oilcloth. The good pottery that had been displayed on the shelves in the living room was now on the kitchen table, and there were flowers in a ceramic vase. Why all the fuss? she wondered.
    Constanza came into the kitchen. From the oven she took out a pumpkin that had been baking. “Can you put together a salad, Jerry? The lettuce is washed.”
    Jerry moved off toward the refrigerator. The baked pumpkin smelled delicious. Just before theysat down, Constanza said, “If you want milk, you can get it. No meat in this pumpkin dish, you know, because of Lent. Just blue-cornmeal dumplings, peppers, and carrots. I think I’ll have a bit of wine.”
    There was something special about this dinner. Jerry could tell just by the way Constanza ate, handled her fork, and shook out her napkin on her lap. Yes, a cloth napkin. At the other meals they had always had paper ones. But even if Jerry had had a voice, she would not have known the words to use to ask the questions. There seemed to be at the very heart of this dinner something so mysterious, so elusive as to defy words. It was more than a mystery, really. It seemed as if it might be a web of some sort that could ensnare them. There was something almost ritualistic in the way Constanza lifted the wineglass to her mouth. Ritualistic and at the same time mechanical.
    They were wrapped in silence. The shadows began to gather in the corners of the room. There was tranquility, a peacefulness that was deep as the dirt, deep as silence. They watched the color drain from the sky outside. The sun had set perhaps twenty minutes before. The mountains had turned a cold purple, the clouds above a steely gray.
    “The trapdoor spiders come out now,” Constanza said suddenly. “If we go out we might see one. They hunt in the twilight.” Constanza began to get up. Was she going out to see spiders or get dessert? Jerry got up and followed her aunt into the cook yard. As they passed by the hornos, she could still feel their