Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 101254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
The smoky and perfumy smell is from the incense she burns.
Mommy and Da don’t do things like that.
I stand at her door and wait until she opens her eyes and puts down her rosary.
“Come in, little one,” she says without turning toward me.
I rush in and scramble into her lap.
She kisses my forehead. “I always know when you’re there,” she says. “You and I have a special bond because you’re named after me.”
“I am? But your name is Nana.”
Nana smiles and strokes my hair. “But my given name is Teresa Maria, just like yours.”
A warm feeling, kind of like a hug, spreads over me. I love sitting with her at her little altar.
So many candles and incense. It smells kind of like cinnamon but also like something else. “It’s called frankincense,” she once told me when I asked about the woodsy aroma.
“Like what the wise men gave to baby Jesus?” I asked.
“Yes. The smoke helps carry my prayers up to Mary in Heaven.”
I love hearing Nana tell me about Mary and the other saints she prays to.
“Tell me about one of the saints, Nana,” I say to her now.
“All right.” She smiles. “I’ll tell you about one of my favorite saints.”
“Santa Maria?” I ask. “The Blessed Virgin? Our Lady of Guadaloop?”
“It’s Guadalupay,” she corrects me, “and you know all about her, little one.”
“Saint Michael, then. The Archangel.”
“You know all about him as well.”
I squint as I try to remember some of the other saints. “Saint Peter, Saint Paul.”
“No, little one. I want to tell you about Saint Rita.”
My eyes pop into circles. “I didn’t know there was a Saint Rita.”
“Oh, yes.” Nana stares at her altar. “Saint Rita holds a special place in my heart. She is the saint of impossible or desperate causes.”
“What does that mean, Nana?”
“It’s when people lose all hope.”
“Why would people lose all hope?”
Nana sighs and smooths out my dark hair. “Sometimes, little one, life takes a turn. A bad turn. But that’s not going to happen to you. Not while I’m alive.”
I snuggle into her, inhale her scent that’s like roses and oranges put together.
She kisses the top of my head. “Saint Rita was born in 1381 in a small town in Italy. She wanted to become a nun when she was little, but her parents didn’t like that idea, so they arranged for her to be married to a man named Paolo. They had two sons together, but the marriage was not a happy one, not like your mommy and da.”
“Mommy and Da sometimes fight.”
Nana smiles. “All married couples fight. Your papa and I used to fight before he died, but we were always happy, and we loved each other very much.”
“That’s good. I don’t want to think that my mommy and da are unhappy.”
“Your mommy and da are very happy. I’m blessed that they let me live here with them. I love being here with you and your sister, little one.”
I smile, looking up into Nana’s dark brown eyes. Her skin is darker than mine. “Are you from Italy, Nana, like Saint Rita?”
“No. I’m from Mexico. But I came here when I was just a little girl.”
“But Saint Rita was from a place called Italy.”
“Yes, and her marriage was unhappy. Her husband was not a nice man.”
“Did he hurt her?”
Nana frowns and doesn’t say anything for a minute. “No one really knows, little one. But what we do know is that Rita prayed for her husband, and eventually he repented, and she forgave him.”
“So then they were happy?”
“For a little while, but eventually Paolo died.”
I drop my mouth open. “How did he die?”
“He was killed, but Rita was a very religious woman. She was able to forgive his killers.”
Sometimes Nana says things that I don’t understand. “What’s forgive?”
“It means she wasn’t angry with his killers anymore.”
“What did she do then?”
“She decided to do what her parents had forbidden her to do. She became a nun. She was very devoted to Jesus and often prayed about his suffering. Her greatest wish was to offer her own physical and spiritual pain for the salvation of souls.”
“I don’t know what that means, Nana.”
“It means she was willing to go through pain so that others would be saved. That’s why she’s known as the saint of impossible or desperate causes.” Nana touches her forehead, her chest, and then each of her shoulders before touching her chest again. She calls it “making the sign of the cross.”
“What’s an impossible cause?” I ask.
“It’s when things are hard, little one. Or when someone hurts you.”
“Why would anyone hurt me?”
She squeezes me in a hug. “No one will hurt you as long as your nana is alive. And even the day that I’m no longer with you, your mommy and da will protect you.”
“But why would someone hurt someone else?”
Nana sighs. “Oh, my innocent little one, I don’t know. But some people do. Some people hurt others.”