Conquistadora (20 page)

Ana counted mentally. Six months. Across the pond, Ramón rode into the yard. He saw them, waved, and disappeared inside.

“When will you sail for San Juan, then?”

“I’m planning to ride. We didn’t see much of Puerto Rico by sailing around the island.”

“I thought that the roads aren’t good.”

“I’m a cavalry officer’s son, and a veteran,” he said with a rueful smile. “I grew up on bad roads.”

“That’s true. But you’re not traveling alone?”

“Of course not. I’ll take one of our men, Pepe, the foreman. He has family in a town near the capital. We’ll leave in a week.”

“So soon?”

“Yes. Elena and I will spend a few weeks in Caguas. Papá seems to be enjoying his retirement and pays little attention to the farm. I’ve learned a great deal about what it takes to run a plantation,” he
continued, as if delivering a speech to an association of bankers, “and I can help him. I also know that Elena will be as excellent a partner as you are to Ramón.” He was as distant as if already many leagues away.

She didn’t trust him—or Ramón. They were too secretive and were deliberately isolating her from their financial dealings. In the past few weeks, she’d noticed that there was greater tension between the brothers. If Severo was with them, they seemed to be more relaxed, and Ana soon understood that it was she who made the twins nervous. They became testy if she asked questions about the hacienda, considering them as challenges. Their testiness offended her. How dare they forget that, from the beginning, she was to be a partner? That it was her idea to come to Puerto Rico, to create a place they could own and be proud of?

Now Inocente’s plan to visit the farm in Caguas sounded like a ruse. Ramón and Inocente might be tired of the unending work at Los Gemelos and miss the amusements they enjoyed in Spain and San Juan. Her mind raced through scenarios and settled on the most likely. Once in San Juan, doña Leonor would press Inocente and Elena to live closer, perhaps on the farm in Caguas, about thirty kilometers from the capital. Soon Ramón would want to do the same because the brothers didn’t want to live apart.

Before they left Spain, they’d all agreed that at least five harvests were necessary to determine whether or not they could succeed as
hacendados
. Were they, after less than two years, ready to give up? Ramón would probably tell Ana that Severo could manage Los Gemelos. Had Severo encouraged their plans? She immediately dismissed the thought. It dawned on her that she trusted Severo Fuentes more than either Ramón or Inocente. He, of the three, had not yet disappointed her.

Severo arranged for Pepe to guide Inocente, accompanied by Alejo and Curro, the two men who’d pulled their dinghy to the beach the first day they arrived almost eighteen months earlier. Inocente was borrowing them to help on the farm in Caguas. As the date for his departure neared, Inocente spent more time with Miguel, studying his features with such intensity that Ana was sure he was looking
for signs that Miguel was more like him than Ramón. As with their decision to share her, the twins didn’t consult her and hadn’t asked whether Ramón or Inocente was Miguel’s father. She couldn’t tell with any certainty, but she would assure them that it was Ramón. Even if she knew that it was Inocente, she’d never admit that her child was a bastard, and the product of adultery.

An early morning mist was suspended over the trees and canebrakes on the last day of June 1846. The usual birdsong was muted by the activity in the
batey
. The tamped red earth was etched by hooves, paws, the delicate markings of hen’s claws, the curves of bare feet, the square heels of boots.

Inocente held Miguel, pressed his lips to his forehead, said something into his ear, then handed him to Ana. He didn’t look at her directly but kissed her lightly on both cheeks with the child between them.

“We’ll celebrate his baptism when I return with Elena. We’ll be devoted godparents,” he said. “And someday you’ll do us the honor of being godparents to our children.” His cheeks were flushed, as if he was embarrassed.

“Of course we will,” Ana said.

Inocente rubbed Miguel’s head, and this time she was able to get him to look into her eyes. She startled at the hard expression there. Contempt? How was it possible? What had she done?

“Bring Mamá and Papá when you return,” Ramón said. “They can stay in one of the cottages. They should meet their grandchild. They’ll be proud of him.”

“They’ll be proud of what we’ve built here in such a short time.”

Inocente and Ramón stared at each other, communicating silently, saying something, she knew, about her. But what? The tension that had flickered since Miguel’s birth dissolved in one gaze, and both right hands reached for the other’s simultaneously, and left hands pressed the other’s shoulder into an embrace. They separated and kissed both cheeks, then hugged again. They hugged and kissed a third time, each unwilling to be the first to let the other go. Ana saw then what she’d imagined since the baby was born: that they blamed her for the rift between them. It wasn’t me, she wanted to scream. It was the child. You should have known this would happen.

The sun had burned through the mist, creating long, thin shadows. Inocente took a few steps toward his horse, his eyes still on his brother’s. Ana moved toward him, expecting a gesture to erase the thoughts swirling around her, but he mounted without a glance at her.

“Write as soon as you reach San Juan,” Ramón said.

Before his horse disappeared, Inocente turned around, removed his hat, and waved.

“Vayan con Dios,”
Ana called and waved back, but he didn’t acknowledge her.

Ramón was having difficulty controlling his feelings. He took Miguel from Ana and held him as Inocente and his party vanished down the trail into the cane.

In the days after Inocente left, Ramón wouldn’t let go of nine-month-old Miguel, who was beginning to stand on his own. He talked to the boy in a high, unnatural voice, played with him, sang him
coplas
, made faces—all the things Ana didn’t do. He called him
“mi hijo,”
not Miguel, as if to make sure that everyone knew he was the father. The more affectionate he was with the child, the harder the looks he directed at Ana, but he didn’t criticize or reproach her out loud. She’d once thought of Ramón as the “talking twin,” but since Miguel’s birth, he’d been more guarded, as if it were an effort to avoid telling her things she shouldn’t know. What would his brother’s absence mean for him, for her, for them?

Another change in Ramón was that he’d lost interest in sex. She was bathed, Flora let him know that she was ready, but Ramón didn’t come. After a while, sleep overcame her. Sometimes she heard him leave the house, and later awoke to the groan of the
hamaca
ropes in the next room. If she called to him, Ramón didn’t answer.

One night she heard him scream and ran next door.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“¡Déjame!”
he said, turning away and hiding his face within the hammock’s folds. The single word ordering her to leave him was like a stab into her heart. She left. The next morning he rode out at dawn.

Ramón didn’t return until hours after the last bell. Ana heard him
undress on the other side of the wall. A few minutes later he tiptoed into her room, a lit candle aloft.

“Are you awake?”

She lifted the mosquito netting for him to crawl inside. He pinched the flame off and, with the chirp of tree frogs singing in the dark, told her the truth.

“Inocente might not be back. He plans to settle on the farm near Caguas.”

“That’s not what he told me.”

He put his arm under her head and pulled her close. “He didn’t want to upset you.”

She resisted his embrace. “It’s worse to say he’ll return and then not do it.”

“Ana, you know that things can’t continue … the same way.”

He couldn’t say it. For a moment she considered asking what he was talking about. She said nothing.

He, too, was silent but agitated.

“Ramón, please talk to me.”

He turned to her again. “Inocente said that the day Miguel was born, when Damita called me in, he was jealous of me for the first time in his life. And he felt hatred.” His voice quavered. “When he heard me say
‘mi hijo,’
he realized that Miguel could just as easily be his son as mine.”

Beneath his emotion she heard the question he didn’t dare ask. Whose son is Miguel? It occurred to her that every child belongs only to the mother, even if she was sure of the father.

“We should have never done … what we did.” He couldn’t even say it. Ramón wept openly now. “Inocente said that he had to leave because he didn’t trust himself, what he might do with his jealousy. He’s never spoken to me like that, Ana, with such resentment. Dear God, what have we done? Why didn’t you stop us?”

“Me?” She lifted her head and tried to find his eyes, but all they could see of each other were dense silhouettes. “It was up to me?”

“We thought you wanted it that way.”

“You never asked, Ramón. You and Inocente took advantage of my … of my innocence.”

“You could always tell us apart.”

“You tricked me, Ramón, cruelly and deliberately. By the time I figured it out, it was too late.”

“But you never—”

“I thought that was the only way for us, for you and me and Inocente. You were grown men; I was just a girl. It never occurred to me that there would be this—this complication.”

“I’m sorry,
mi amor
,” he said, and reached for her, tried to kiss her.

She moved away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

“I said we’re sorry.”

“Don’t touch me,” she repeated.

The room was so dark that she couldn’t see him, but she felt him struggle with what to say, what to do. She wanted to hurt him, to humiliate him, to see him suffer, but she didn’t know how. For a moment, she considered lying, telling him that Miguel was Inocente’s son. The rest of his life he’d believe that the boy was his brother’s son, and wouldn’t ever forget what he and Inocente had done to her.

Before she spoke, Ramón sat up and lifted the mosquito netting. “You’re too upset now,” he said, and crept from the bed. “Please know that both Inocente and I are truly sorry—”

She wrapped her pillow around her head. “I can’t bear your apologies.”

“But, Ana—”

She squeezed her eyes shut to push back the tears forming in the corners of her lids. “Go away.”

She was alone with her rage at Ramón and Inocente for using her, rage at herself for letting them do it. She needed air. “I’ve been a fool,” she said as she unlatched the shutters to the night. “I was so grateful for the opportunity Ramón and Inocente provided that I’ve let them do as they pleased while I worked and worried in the background.” Above, clouds had swallowed the moon.
“Basta,”
she whispered to the rustle of cane beyond her window. Enough.

August was oppressively hot and humid. Ana woke up almost every night to thunder and lightning flashes, the trees whistling, the canebrakes alive, like a thousand hands clapping at once. The next morning the air was still and heavy. As the sun climbed, shimmering rivulets rose from the sodden ground, as if the earth were boiling underfoot. The constant activity to, from, and through the
batey
took on a dreamy quality, and moisture clung to every living and nonliving thing.

One overcast morning, the hounds announced visitors long before three soldiers rode into the
batey
. Other than new slaves, Luis, Faustina, and occasional visits by Padre Xavier, no outsider had entered the plantation in nineteen months. From the porch of the
casona
, Ana saw Ramón and Severo riding in from opposite ends of the fields. They talked with the soldiers under the shade of the breadfruit tree. She couldn’t distinguish rank, but one of the soldiers with more insignias than the others seemed to be the leader. He removed his plumed hat and spoke to Ramón. Ramón covered his face, and groaned.

From the living room threshold, Ana crossed herself, pressed a hand to her chest, and prayed silently.
Dame fuerza, Señor
. The soldiers looked everywhere but at Ramón, who would have collapsed had Severo not put Ramón’s arm around his shoulders to keep him upright. Severo looked up at Ana and led Ramón across the
batey
and up the stairs.

Ana helped guide Ramón to a bench inside. She questioned Severo with a look, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. She touched Ramón’s cheek, tried to turn his face toward her, but he resisted.

“¿Qué pasó? ¿Qué ha pasado?”

Ramón couldn’t speak. He was like a sleepwalker, his eyes open but unfocused, as if whatever he was seeing was within.

Teo and Flora were against the wall, waiting for instructions. In the back room, Miguel cried, and Inés shushed him, murmuring sweet words. At a nod from Severo, Teo and Flora approached, helped Ramón up, and walked him to the bedroom. He allowed them to lead him, one unsteady step at a time, like a child just learning to walk.

Ana’s heart was racing, anticipating the name, dreading the moment she’d hear it. Nothing but a death in his family would leave Ramón speechless with grief. Please, Lord, let it not be Inocente, Ana prayed as she followed Severo out to the gallery. Please, Lord. Severo’s face was hard, fixed into a frown, his eyes slits beneath his brows.

“I beg your pardon,
señora
,” he started, “and sorry to be the one to deliver this news.”

“Tell me.”

“Don Inocente and Pepe were ambushed.
Lo siento, señora
.”

“Is he dead, Severo?”

He nodded. “Both are dead.”

The heavy air couldn’t, somehow, fill her lungs.
“No puede ser,”
she said, dropping onto the bench. “It can’t be true,” she repeated fiercely, challenging Severo, as if he could, he must, change the outcome. Severo’s face remained impassive as he knelt in front of her, like a lover about to declare his intentions. “Inocente is in San Juan,” she said. “Getting married. There’s some mistake.”

“There is no mistake,
señora
,” Severo said so quietly that it sent a chill to her scalp.