The First Lady

By Silvia Ferrante

It is November of 1907 in Araguari, Brazil, a newborn lustily cries in her fathers arms. As Maria, called Mariazinha when she is a child, begins to grow up, she wants nothing more than to disappear from her small town and life of poverty to meet new people and see different things. At the age of twelve, Maria gets her chance at a better life.

She is offered a job as a nanny in Sao Paulo bids her family farewell, boards a train, and leaves Araguari forever. As she arrives in Sao Paulos majestic train station, Maria can hardly believe her eyes. Amazed at the towns big homes with well-tended gardens, Maria meets her boss, Mrs. Aurea, and the children she will care for. As Maria tends to the children and grows more beautiful, she silently vows that one day, she too will have wealth and happiness without any idea that her destiny will come to match her dreamsthat she will become Rosinha, a woman who would fall and rise again many times and who would be both a cabaret dancer suffering innumerable prejudices and an incredible figure still wandering through the memory of the people of Sao Pedro.

The First Lady travels back in time to tell the fascinating life of a woman who must attempt to overcome an impoverished childhood and numerous struggles in order to realize her desires and experience one of the greatest loves ever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Oct 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781480803343

Silvia Ferrante

Silvia Ferrante was born in Sao Joao da Boa Vista, Sao Paulo. She is an award-winning poet who has contributed to her local newspapers and has written more than eight hundred poems, chronicles, and tales. Silvia is also a singer, songwriter, musical producer, and photographer. This is her first book.

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Copyright © 2013 Silvia Ferrante.

Editorial license: (489760)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Silvia Ferrante cover photo

Julio Manoel De Lima

Cover Art Design

Silvia Borges

Revision in Brasil

Rosângela Maria Déborah Cruz Castellari

English Translation and Revision in the United States of America

Rosangela Petinati

Archway Publishing books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-0333-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-0334-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013918128

Archway Publishing rev. date: 10/09/2013

Contents

Foreword

Sao Pedro da Serra Azul

April 6, 1975

I

Sao Pedro da Serra Azul

April 7, 1975

II

III

Sao Pedro da Serra Azul

April 8–9, 1975

IV

Sao Pedro da Serra Azul

April 10, 1975

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

Sao Pedro da Serra Azul

April 11, 1975

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

Epilogue

Psychographed Letters (spiritual

letters received by a médium)

letters received through spiritual transmission.

July 13, 2002

February 15, 2003

April 10, 2004

May 8, 2006

February 20, 2010

I thank everyone who, in one way or another, helped this book to come to light!

S.F.

Foreword

Everything happens for a reason. This story was one of those presents that life put in my way; I just embraced it with love. As I wrote this story, I wanted to answer a few questions: What is the truth? Where does truth come from? What can truth give us, or take from us? The truth belongs to each of us; it is unique and immutable.

We can never know for sure what happened to any certain person, as each of us builds our world in the way we see it. Each of us have our own truth, and the people around us do not see things the same way we do.

This is not a biography. This book is a romance based on real facts. Is the story real? Maybe. It cannot be confirmed, because such stories pass from one generation to another and fantasy gets confused with reality. I believe that the mixture of fantasy and reality is what gives flavor to the romance.

Certainly, if the characters in this story were here to tell their stories, they would tell them in their own way, with their own sense of truth. Because I did not have access to the people involved, I will never be able to say that this is a true story. This is a love story, and that is all.

So read this book and dream a little. Dream of a love that does not exist anymore—for this is a love story that got lost in the waters of a river, on the top of a mountain, in the countryside around a town, in a house inside a town. In writing the story, I am not judging or disrespecting anyone.

I confess that I admire my characters and the love that they lived. She, a hero who suffered discrimination imposed by the times. He, a man who had the courage to confront society in the name of love. I offer this book to my character Nino, with eternal respect and admiration.

Love stories always teach us important lessons, and this love story is no different.

Silvia Ferrante

Wrong

Or

Right:

How to judge the thick love lived?

Orides Fontela

Sao Pedro da Serra Azul

April 6, 1975

P EOPLE CAME AND WENT, BUT I just wanted to be alone with my suffering.

Nobody had to come—they would never understand how I was feeling. But he was well-loved and had very good friends …

It almost never rains in April, but today, as if it were accompanying my tears, the rain came down hard. The day was gray and cloudy. When it rains, a cemetery becomes that much sadder.

There was somebody helping me, but it was not my beloved Nino; he was locked inside a coffin. I would never see him again; his eyes would not open for me anymore; his voice would not speak to me anymore; his affection would not be there for me anymore. God! I could feel the emptiness, and I knew nobody would understand how big it was inside me … For the first time, I felt the heaviness of the years that I had lived. With Nino at my side, my burden had been light, even with all the prejudice I had suffered throughout the years. He was my lover, my protector, loving me as no one else would have.

For me, he confronted the world and its cruel jokes. For me, he created a new world, a world full of love, kind gestures, and roses. Ah, the roses! Even I transformed into a rose for him—or should I say, he transformed me into a rose. Now, for the first time in years, I could not be at his side.

I left the cemetery slowly. My soul felt cold. Half of me, the better part of me, had been left behind.

When I got home, my clothes were soaking wet and I felt afraid and lonely. I was lucky to have Olivia with me, loyal and kind as always. Olivia helped me take off my black clothes. I asked her to burn them. Then she helped me into the shower and turned on the warm water. It is a shame that the water from a shower cannot wash away our pain. I soaped my body slowly, but scrubbing hard, until my white skin turned red and I was about to pass out. I had gone through a lot in life, but nothing compared to the suffering that I was feeling now.

When I left the shower, my nightgown was on my bed. On the nightstand was my medication and a cup of tea. I’ve always liked tea, I think because it’s both chic and comforting.

I had no idea what time it was, as I’d asked the servants to leave all the curtains in the house closed. The house would be in mourning like me, because it had belonged to Nino. Even though he had sworn that he built the house for me, it was his life housed within these walls, and I could still smell him in our bedroom.

The doctor came and prescribed me some medication, which our good friend and farmacist Jose Lupercio supplied, and I fell into a deep sleep. I would like to sleep forever and never wake up.

After Olivia saw that Rosinha was sleeping, she went to the kitchen and gave the wet clothes to the servant, explaining that they must be burned. The servant looked at Olivia in disbelief. Just do what I am asking you to do, Olivia said. It is Mrs. Rosinha’s orders.

Olivia then sat down at the table, grabbed a cup, and poured some tea. She drank slowly, thinking about Rosinha. From this moment on, Rosinha’s life would not be easy. Rosinha and Nino were always together, and it was hard to imagine Rosinha living alone. With Nino gone, the house seemed bigger than it really was. The rain was the only noise breaking the deathly silence there. It was the saddest day Olivia had ever spent with Rosinha.

Olivia went back to Rosinha’s bedroom to make sure that she was sleeping well. The doctor had guaranteed that Rosinha would sleep through the night, but Olivia did not believe him. Her friend never acted the way people expected her to. She would wake up before morning, for sure.

A little after nine o’clock, Olivia asked Maria, one of the servants of the house, to attend to Rosinha briefly. Olivia needed to go to her own home across the street to tell her husband that she was going to spend the night at the mansion with Mrs. Rosinha. Olivia’s children greeted her at the door, and her daughter, Mariana, immediately asked where her godfather was. Olivia kissed her children and explained that he was in heaven. Mariana believed her mother; she knew her mom would never lie to her. After speaking with her husband, Olivia went back to her friend’s house.

Olivia prepared a comfortable armchair with pillows and a blanket and pulled it close to Rosinha’s bed. Her friend would not spend the night alone; Olivia would stay with her as long as necessary. From now on, Olivia would be the only family for this woman, who slept with a sad face. She would do everything she could to be good company for Rosinha so that she would not feel so lonely.

Even though they had been friends for a long time, Olivia could never call her friend by her first name. Rosinha had asked Olivia to stop calling her Mrs., but Olivia could not do it. To her, she would always be Mrs. Rosinha.

Thinking about Rosinha and listening to the rain pouring outside, Olivia fell asleep.

I

A RAGUARI WAS STILL A SMALL town, but it held the promise of a brilliant future. The Mogyana Company railroad had been there since 1896 and was bringing economic prosperity to the town.

Jose Manuel Vicente lived with his family in a modest house near the railroad. His wife, Ines Ferreira Vicente, was about to give birth to another child.

Jose was hoping for a son because he already had three Marias at home: Maria Jose, Maria Teresa, and Maria Antonia. He had no idea why his wife had decided to use the name Maria for all three girls, but he decided she knew best what to name their children; after all, she was the one giving birth.

Jose worked for the railroad company. He was also a repairman, a cleaning man, and general services man. With all those children to feed, he had no option but to accept any kind of job. Still, his salary was meager, and so when Ines had a chance, she would wash people’s clothes to help pay for the girls’ expenses.

Jose was a good man—he was honest and hard-working—but because he had no education, he usually did odd jobs for little pay. The position with Mogyana Company was a blessing; at least he had a regular job. Jose and Ines had hoped for a better life when they got married, but things did not work out as they had planned. Instead, they contented themselves with hard work and a dignified life.

When they moved from the countryside to the house by the railroad, it was falling apart. It belonged to the chief of the railroad, who let them live there out of pity. The exterior walls were made of wood and mud, the floor was bare dirt, and the interior walls were simply old fabric panels. The family used oil lamps—when they had enough money to buy oil. When they didn’t, they would go to bed when the light ran out, even if they were not tired enough to fall sleep.

Jose really wanted a son to help him in the future. It did not help to have girls—especially now, when they were so little and it took so much work to take care of them. Jose did not understand why his wife did not take measures to avoid getting pregnant. He thought it must not be hard to avoid pregnancy, as he knew some couples who managed to control it. But when he said as much to his wife, she looked at him in disbelief. Children are gifts from God, she would say. We have to accept and love them. Ines was resigned to whatever God had planned for her and trusted him before anyone. For her, God came before everything.

Even after three children, Ines was still a beautiful woman, with blue eyes and curly blond hair. Jose never tired of admiring her beauty.

It was the middle of the night when her labor started. Jose did not know what to do, so he put more wood in the stove to heat the water and went to get Mrs. Zefa, the neighbor who would help families as a midwife. She was a good soul, and her halo of white hair gave her the appearance of an angel. The townspeople loved her; even the rich folks asked her to deliver their children. By ministering to the wealthy families, Mrs. Zefa made a modest living, since the poor people could repay her only with their gratitude.

Ines was left whimpering in the bedroom. The pain was strong, different from what she had experienced before. She felt a coldness in her belly, and she was afraid that something was wrong with her baby.

When Mrs. Zefa arrived, she had Jose take the girls to another room. It was almost daylight, but they were still cranky and tired. Jose put them on the floor close to the stove and went to stand by the entrance to the bedroom.

Mrs. Zefa did not seem very happy with the situation. Jose did not want to interfere, but he decided to ask the good lady what was going on. She stepped over to him and in a preoccupied whisper said that things did not appear to be going well. She thought that the baby was not in the correct position for birth, and the situation was dangerous. She asked him to get her some clean cloths and hot water, and then she went back to the bed to see Ines.

By dawn, Ines was in great pain and getting tired. Jose gave the children a little milk—a neighbor sent them some every morning—and put them in the backyard to play. All three girls had light skin, blue eyes, and blond hair, like their mother. They were six, four, and two years old, carbon copies of each other. Maria Jose, the oldest, took care of the little ones. The girls had no toys; they used their imagination, and whatever