The Seamstress: An Award-Winning Novel – Two Sisters, Abduction, and Marriage in Lawless Brazil

The Seamstress: An Award-Winning Novel – Two Sisters, Abduction, and Marriage in Lawless Brazil

Winner of the Friends of American Writers Award for Fiction As seamstresses, the young sisters Emília and Luzia dos Santos know how to cut, mend, and conceal—useful skills in the lawless backcountry of Brazil, where ruthless land barons feud with bands of outlaw cangaceiros , trapping innocent residents in the crossfire. Emília, a naive romantic, dreams of falling in love with a gentleman and escaping to a big city. Quick-tempered Luzia also longs for escape, finding it in her craft and secret prayers to the saints she believes once saved her life. But when Luzia is abducted by cangaceiros led by the infamous Hawk and Emília stumbles into a marriage with the son of a wealthy and politically powerful doctor, the sisters' quiet lives diverge in ways they never would have imagined. "Prepare to be enthralled by the adventures of Emilia and Luzia...The Seamstress is truly original and distinctive." --Book Sense "Over the course of the book, readers are taken on a deeply satisfying journey through Brazil via the mysteries and loyalties of the human heart." --Kirkus Reviews, 2008 First Fiction Special Edition "Rollicking, violent and heartbreaking...a sweeping historical saga." --The Miami Herald Winner of the Friends of American Writers Award for Fiction As seamstresses, the young sisters Emília and Luzia dos Santos know how to cut, mend, and conceal—useful skills in the lawless backcountry of Brazil, where ruthless land barons feud with bands of outlaw cangaceiros , trapping innocent residents in the crossfire. Emília, a naive romantic, dreams of falling in love with a gentleman and escaping to a big city. Quick-tempered Luzia also longs for escape, finding it in her craft and secret prayers to the saints she believes once saved her life. But when Luzia is abducted by cangaceiros led by the infamous Hawk and Emília stumbles into a marriage with the son of a wealthy and politically powerful doctor, the sisters' quiet lives diverge in ways they never would have imagined. Frances de Pontes Peebles's short stories have appeared in Indiana Review , Zoetrope: All-Story , and the collection O . Henry Prize Stories, 2005 . Born in Pernambuco, Brazil, she is a graduate of the University of Texas at Austin and the Iowa Writers' Workshop. She divides her time between Brazil and Miami. The Seamstress A Novel By Frances de Pontes Peebles Perennial Copyright © 2009 Frances de Pontes Peebles All right reserved. ISBN: 978-0-06-073888-4 Chapter One Emlia Taquaritinga do Norte, Pernambuco March 1928 Beneath her bed, Aunt Sofia kept a wooden box that held her husband's bones. Each morning Emlia heard the rustle of starched bedsheets, the pop of Aunt Sofia's knees as she knelt and tugged the box from its resting place. "My falecido," her aunt whispered, because the dead were not allowed names. Aunt Sofia called him this on her better days. If she woke irritated-her arthritis bothering her, or her mind plagued with worries over Emlia and Luzia-she addressed the box sternly as "my husband." If she had stayed up late the night before, rocking in her chair and squinting up at the family portraits, the next day Aunt Sofia addressed the box in a low, sweet whisper as "my departed." And if the drought worsened, or there was too little sewing work, or Emlia had once again disobeyed her, Aunt Sofia sighed and said, "Oh my corpse, my burden." This was how Emlia guessed her aunt's moods. She knew when to ask for new dress fabric and when to stay quiet. She knew when she could get away with wearing a dab of perfume and rouge, and when to keep her face clean. Their rooms were divided by a whitewashed wall that rose three meters from the floor and then stopped, giving way to wooden posts that supported the roof beams and rows of orange tiles. Aunt Sofia's whispered prayers rose over the low bedroom wall. Emlia shared a bed with her sister. A dusty beam of light shone through a crack in the roof tiles. It entered their yellowed mosquito netting. Emlia squinted. She heard the click of rosary beads rubbed between her aunt's palms. There was a grunt, then the hollow rattle of Uncle Tiro's bones as Aunt Sofia pushed him back beneath the bed. The daily dragging of the box had worn away a path in the floor-two indentations lighter than the oiled brick that paved each room of their house except for the kitchen. Their kitchen floor was made of packed earth; it was orange and always damp. Emlia swore its moisture seeped through the soles of her leather sandals. Aunt Sofia and Luzia walked barefoot on that floor, but Emlia insisted on wearing shoes. As a child, she'd roamed the house barefoot and the bottoms of her feet had become orange, like her aunt's and her sister's. Emlia scrubbed her soles with boiled water and a loofah in order to make them white, the way a lady's feet should look. But the stains remained and Emlia blamed the floor. That year, the winter rains had been sparse and the January rains had