From far away, women heard about the vigil and they came to the cathedral and left photos of their loved ones who had been disappeared. Women came to them and left written messages and prayers. Rosaries tangled in a pile upon their tapete. Vidalúz’s cheeks took on the glow of hunger. She lost weight. Reporters from the Economist and the Miami Herald would visit them and take their pictures and go their way. A drummer monotonously banged a drum near the cathedral door behind them, nearly every day for hours on end. No message ever arrived from the president. Vidalúz waited for a message from the president. Dixie came down to the cathedral early every morning. He passed notes to Kate and she hungrily read the notes. He wrote that Sunny had received a phone call warning her that she had gone too far. She was thinking of quitting her teaching job and going to Ben in Michigan for a while. They would sell the house. He wrote that Jude too was going home for six months. He wanted Kate to think of leaving. He wrote that the deal had gone through on the farm. He had the deed in his possession. He loved her dearly. At night he remembered holding her. He wrote that she was brave. He never signed his name. Kate would read the notes, once, twice, three times, and then she would crumple the paper and burn them on the cathedral steps. Dixie prayed with them. He was one of many who came to say a prayer, to lean their heads together, to kneel, to hold hands. Such strength in holding hands.

The voices would mingle—Our Father, Padre nuestro, who art in heaven, qué estás en el cielo, sanctificado sea tu nombre …

One day someone unfurled a home-painted banner above them: Y libranos del mal. And deliver us from evil. The women cried sometimes, swaying above the flickering candles. They wailed, When will God deliver us from evil?