The House of Impossible Loves Read Online Free PDF Page B

the night outdoors, lying in frost-filmed oak leaves. She returned home in the morning, woke her mother, and begged her to predict whether the Andalusian would keep his promise to return.
    “He won’t ever be back,” the Laguna witch foretold in a voice still heavy with sleep. “I see it clearly in the ribs.”
    “Why do you lie to me, Madre? Why?” Clara pounded her fist on the table. A rib bone and the thread for repairing hymens went flying.
    “What did you expect, Clara, even more from a rich man? You set your sights too high. I guess I didn’t teach you as well as I thought. You are carrying a girl, and your lover has abandoned you. You’re cursed.”
    “I refuse to be cursed! I will not suffer from it! He’ll return. He promised, and he has never broken a promise. But when he does return, he will be the one to suffer.”
    “You can’t refuse the cards you’re dealt, stubborn girl!”
    “Oh, yes, I can. Besides, Madre, you have one blind eye and another almost as bad. I don’t trust what you see in that rotten, fly- infested bag of bones. Just listen to this: he gave me the estate and the manor house, for me alone, and money, too!”
    “Oh! I knew he was a good young man, and handsome, too. You chose well.”
    “But you will not set foot on the property that makes you so happy. And you will never get your hands on my money!”
    “Clara, I know what it is to suffer. When lovesickness bites, it sinks its teeth in deep. The day your father abandoned me, he left nothing but tears, misery, and a yellow-eyed girl in my belly. At least this Andalusian left you a wealthy estate. What more can a poor, cursed girl like you ask? Once your aching heart calms, you’ll understand: if your lover bought you a house, there’s no need for him to return.”
    “You’re wrong! I need him to return.”
    “For what, silly girl? To make you suffer even more?”
    “No, Madre. So I can take my revenge.”

3
    N O ONE EVER KNEW why that spring miracle occurred, but the moment Clara Laguna stepped onto the cobblestone drive that led to the red manor house, daisies like the ones in her dream sprouted in the strips of earth. Unaware, confusing the sound of their birth with the crunch of fallen leaves, Clara walked to the door, obstinate as the foliage smothering the stable, fences, and trough. Seeking refuge from the peasants’ sticks, stray dogs had snuck into the yard through the hole in the stone wall. Their barking shattered the calm in the unkept yard.
    On the main floor was a clay-tiled entryway, a parlor with a large hearth, a kitchen with a back door leading out to rows of wilted tomatoes and squash, a pantry with whitewashed shelves next to a small bedroom smelling of spices and herbs. A staircase corroded by woodworms and draped in cobwebs led from the entryway to the second floor and attic. As Clara climbed the stairs, she noticed moths trapped in the structures of silk, alive and at the mercy of a spider. A bathroom and four bedrooms ran along the second-floor hallway, each with a balcony overlooking the yard. In a corner of the biggest bedroom was a forgotten blue arabesque washbasin on an iron stand. The other rooms were so empty that Clara could hear the echo of her own breath.
    At the end of the hall, the stairway reached farther up into the attic. The stairs were frail and creaked with each of Clara’s steps. At the top, a puff of light came in through a small, moon-shaped window. Several beds were draped in sheets that smelled of rotten lavender. A hunting rifle was propped against a dilapidated French-style chest of drawers. The dust of the forgotten filled Clara’s lungs, and she went back down the stairs. Having decided to move into the biggest room on the second floor, she lay down on the hardwood and rested her head on her bundled belongings. Though it was only midday, she settled into sleep. She would need all her strength to carry out her revenge. The next morning she would wait for a carriage to