Conquistadora (31 page)

“You forget who you’re speaking to.” Leonor puffed her chest indignantly. “I lost a son!”

“Yes. Yes, I know. And I didn’t want to add to your sorrow, or to worry you needlessly.”

“Needlessly? Have you seen him, Ana? Ramón is bone thin. He hasn’t shaved in weeks. And he smells. Have you noticed the bags under his eyes, his yellow skin? I hardly recognized my own son when I first saw him.…” Leonor tried to control the tears that pushed against her lids, the rage at Ana’s nonchalance that made her hands shake and her voice brittle. “It seems to me that anyone with an ounce of concern would notice that Ramón is not just in mourning, he’s sick and needs a doctor, a doctor, Ana, not the slaves’
curandera
.”

“Siña Damita is very capable.”

“You selfish girl! Why must you always have your way when others are clearly suffering?”

Ana sought and held Leonor’s eyes, as if she could climb through them into the older woman’s soul.

“You’ve never liked me, doña Leonor. But it was I who gave your sons ambition. They were floundering when we met, aimless. More than living up to a reputation as dandies, gamblers, and womanizers. I gave their lives a purpose, doña Leonor; I, not you, who pampered and indulged them. I gave them something to work toward. I gave them meaning, and more besides. My hard work and my fortune have gone into this plantation. Hacienda los Gemelos is our plantation, not just mine, ours.”

“How dare you speak to me like this!”

Leonor realized she’d raised her voice when Inés and Elena stopped swinging Miguel and watched Ana and Leonor as if they were spectators at a performance.

“You feel perfectly free to criticize me, to call me selfish and who
knows what else behind my back,” Ana continued, oblivious to the stares of the others. “But you don’t like it as much when I tell you the truth to your face.”

Leonor stood and placed herself between the seated Ana and the rope swing. “You’re an insolent little bitch,” she said, loud enough for Ana, but not the others, to hear. “You take credit for my sons’ industry, for their ambition. But are you also willing to take the blame for Inocente’s murder?” Ana winced, and Leonor continued. “You drove him from here, why and how I don’t know. But in his last letter to me, that he composed, by the way, in his own hand, he said that he couldn’t bear to be here any longer. He couldn’t bear it.”

Ana closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering strength, then again focused on Leonor, but this time the older woman, standing over her, didn’t flinch.

“He was jealous of Ramón. He envied our lives as husband and wife, as parents. You taught them to share everything, but some things shouldn’t be shared.”

“What do you mean by—”

“Inocente couldn’t stand it if Ramón had something he didn’t.” Ana took a deep breath and studied Leonor, assessing how much to say. She saw Miguel on the swing, his head turned toward her with a worried expression. Ana shook her head as if driving a thought from it and sighed. “We were fine until Miguel was born.”

Leonor sat again, choked with rage and tears, but unwilling to cry in front of her daughter-in-law. Under the avocado tree, Inés resumed swinging Miguel back and forth. Elena watched Leonor and Ana, ready to intervene if necessary but unwilling to interfere.

“How can you blame a child for coming between two brothers? Inocente loved Miguel as if he were his own,” Leonor insisted. “You’re to blame, Ana. It wasn’t enough for you to snare one son; you captured both and then drove a wedge between them. In the name of all that’s holy, take some responsibility for your actions.”

Ana’s hands trembled. She again captured Leonor’s gaze and trapped her inside it. “It wasn’t me who drove Inocente away, it was your incessant questions about when we’d leave this place,” she spit out. “You refused to accept that they could be happy here. You wrote them constantly to warn them what a terrible mistake they’d made. Your letters were about what could go wrong, not about what they
were doing right. Your letters were about how miserable you were because they lived so far away, as if the only thing that mattered was their nearness to you, not the life they chose as grown men. And you dare call me selfish.”

Hooves pounded toward them. Severo galloped into the yard and in one motion dismounted and began shouting orders at workers who dropped whatever they were doing and raced to follow his instructions. He strode to Leonor and Ana, removed his hat, and bowed, breathing hard.

“
Señoras
, I’m sorry to bring you bad news, but don Ramón has fallen from his horse and is injured.”

“Oh, dear God!” Leonor ran in the direction that four men took into the woods, carrying a hammock and long poles, but as soon as the path narrowed she ran back. “Where is he? Is he badly hurt?” Elena chased after her, trying to calm her down.

“He’ll be brought here,” Severo said. “We need bandages. I’ve sent for Siña Damita,” he told Ana, who stood under the breadfruit tree as Leonor and Elena ran back and forth. Severo spoke in a low voice, forcing Elena and Leonor to be still and stop crying so they could hear. “I’m afraid it was a bad fall. I’ve sent riders to fetch Dr. Vieira, but even if they can find him right away, it’ll be hours before he gets here.”

“Would it make more sense to bring Ramón to the doctor? Is he too injured to travel?” Leonor asked.

Severo turned to her. “He fell down an embankment. His leg is broken and he’s badly bruised. He must have hit his head because he lost consciousness for a few minutes. Moving him further might be worse than trying to treat him here.”

“But it might be better to go toward where the doctor is,” Leonor said, near hysterical.

Severo looked from Leonor to Ana. “San Bernabé is halfway to town. We can stop there if the doctor is already headed this way.”

“Do whatever is necessary,” Ana said, her voice brittle.

“
Sí, señora
, I’ve ordered a cart. We can decide once you and Siña Damita evaluate the wounds.…”

“If it’s as bad as you say, doña Leonor is right. We should get him to town as soon as possible,” Ana said. Severo tipped his hat and was off again.

Within moments the raised dust from comings and goings by people and animals clouded the
batey
. Ana fetched a stack of linens for Leonor and Elena to tear into bandages. She told Paula to boil water in the kitchen as Teo readied basins. Benicio and Juancho hitched the cart to two mules while Ana, Flora, and Damita smoothed and flattened straw on its surface, and covered it with a sheet to make a bed as José rigged an awning over it. Miguel clung to Inés’s skirts, frightened by the sudden rushed activity.

“Indio! Efraín! Take him to play somewhere.”

With much cajoling, Indio and Efraín lured Miguel away so that the adults could continue their preparations.

An hour later, Eugenio and Severo galloped in, followed by the men running into the yard carrying the hammock, its right side bloody. Leonor threw herself in its direction as her grim-faced husband tried to keep her away so that the men could load Ramón onto the cart.

“Let me see him, let me hold him, please!” she cried, and Eugenio loosened his grip.

The men stood so that Leonor could peel back the hammock folds and look inside. She recoiled. Eugenio grabbed her before she collapsed, and half carried her to the chair under the breadfruit tree, where Elena and Flora tended to her. Once Ramón was transferred to the cart bed, Damita and Ana assessed and bandaged the wounds. Ramón moaned pitifully, and his voice brought Miguel from where his playmates had taken him.

“Papá! Papá, why do you cry?” He tried to scrabble up to his father, but Indio and Efraín dragged him to Inés, who carried him off, all of them crying uncontrollably.

More composed now, Leonor climbed onto the cart. Through her tears, she wiped blood and grime from Ramón’s face as Damita and Ana took care of his right leg. The splintered bone poked through the skin below the knee, and his ankle was turned at an unnatural angle. A belt tourniquet had been applied, but there was much blood. Ramón’s face was scraped, his nose raw. Tiny pebbles and gravel pocked the skin on his hands and arms. Damita gave her a clean rag to cool his forehead. Ana was stabilizing the leg between two boards secured with strips of cloth. She looked angry, but Leonor had seen that expression on field doctors and nurses working
on difficult breaks. Her quick, efficient movements were devoid of emotion.

“Be gentle, please,” Leonor said.

Ana looked up quickly, then returned to her work. “I’m doing the best I can.”

Leonor pressed the cool cloth on Ramón’s forehead, and in that moment, he screamed and fainted. Damita seemed startled and looked from Ana to the leg, which was now straighter than before, fastening it to the board. Damita retrieved a vial from her apron and passed its contents under Ramón’s nose until he revived.

“We should go,” Severo said. “It’s a long way to town.” Ana squinted in the direction of the path away from the
batey
and her hands trembled. “It’s better if you stay,
señora
,” Severo suggested. “Siña Damita can tend to him.”

“I’m going,” Leonor said. No one dared contradict her. She looked defiantly at Ana, who shrank under her gaze as Severo helped her down from the cart.

“Someone … must … stay here.” Elena put her arms around Ana’s shoulders and held on to her as the cart rolled away.

Severo rode ahead, but Eugenio followed alongside, keeping an eye on his son and another on his wife, who held on to Ramón’s hand with the ferocity of someone extending a short rope to a drowning man.

Ramón’s breath was labored, and several times Leonor thought that life had left his body as his hand went limp and his eyes fluttered uncontrollably. But just as she thought he was dying, he shuddered and moaned and resumed his shallow breathing. Once, he opened his eyes fully and looked into hers. His face softened into the trusting expression of the helpless infant she had nursed at her breast.

“Aquí estoy, hijo.”
He smiled and she summoned all her strength to remain calm. She held his hand and prayed. Every once in a while Damita handed Leonor a wet cloth to put to Ramón’s lips, and he sucked at it thirstily. Damita applied compresses to his forehead, and with impressive dexterity, given the pitching and bouncing of the cart in the uneven terrain, she used her fingernails to pick out every tiny stone and shard from the broken skin on Ramón’s face, arms,
and hands, and cleaned around them with a rag moistened with a fragrant liquid.

The doctor and his assistant met them less than one hundred meters from the turnoff to San Bernabé. Eugenio, Leonor, and Siña Damita sat under a tree while Dr. Vieira examined Ramón. The doctor clicked his tongue and slumped his shoulders in apparent defeat as he examined the improvised splint. With every poke and prod Ramón screamed, and Leonor assumed the pain as if it were being inflicted on her own body. Eugenio helped her stand when the doctor approached.

“I’m sorry, Colonel.” Dr. Vieira spoke with a Portuguese accent whose hard consonants added extra syllables to his Spanish. It annoyed Leonor that he addressed Eugenio while completely ignoring her. “I’ve done what I can to make him comfortable, but please understand that these are not optimal conditions.” He waved his left hand toward the cart, and she noticed that he was missing the pinky and ring fingers.

“Fuentes went to ask don Luis if we can bring him there for treatment.”

Dr. Vieira spun around and looked skeptically at the steep terrain leading to San Bernabé, then turned to the rocky dirt road curving and disappearing into the green.

“We thought it would save time to bring him toward you,” Leonor said.

“Moving him was probably not the best decision,” Dr. Vieira answered, speaking to Eugenio. “He’s lost much blood. His breathing is shallow from broken ribs. He also has serious fractures made worse by the jostling in the cart. I can stabilize the leg, but there’s always the danger of infection.”

Leonor collapsed and Siña Damita drew her away. Once she was out of hearing, Eugenio took the doctor’s elbow and walked a few paces.

“I’ve been a soldier all my life and have seen men with worse injuries who recovered. You make sure that my son comes out of this alive.”

“But, Colonel, I can’t guarantee—”

“Do you see my wife? That woman has more backbone than most men, but she has already lost one son. If she loses Ramón because of
her own poor judgment—” Eugenio’s voice broke, and he pulled himself up straighter, wiped his hand from his forehead to the tip of his beard, and took a deep breath. “Whatever it takes, Dr. Vieira, to save him.”

Luis and Faustina received them in their
batey
, their normal cheer suppressed.

“Our boys are visiting relatives in Mayagüez,” Faustina explained. “We’ve put Ramón in Luisito’s room, where he’ll be most comfortable. Ciriaca and Bombón can nurse him once the doctor and his assistant fix the leg.”

Leonor felt comfort in Faustina’s gentility and in her confidence in Dr. Vieira and in Ramón’s recovery.

“The doctor has earned the esteem of everyone around here,” Faustina assured her. “I’ve ordered that dinner be served under the trees by the pond,” she said as she left Leonor. “As soon as you’ve freshened up, Ciriaca will bring you there.”

An open tent was raised near a stream far enough from the house that as Dr. Vieira worked on Ramón, his screams were masked, if not entirely silenced, by a gurgling cascade.

Luis, Eugenio, Faustina, and Leonor sat uneasily at the linen-draped table, unable to eat but trying to be polite for one another’s sake. How could she possibly eat, Leonor thought, while her son’s broken leg was being painfully manipulated in a bedroom decorated with the toys, books, and drawings of a schoolboy? Did the doctor have the right equipment? How could he operate with two fingers missing? Was Luis’s homemade rum strong enough to dull Ramón’s pain? The Moraleses tried their best to make conversation, but none of them could take their eyes off the path to the house and the comings and goings of the servants, who looked at Leonor pityingly, the only ones, it seemed, who didn’t pretend they couldn’t hear the screams coming from Luisito’s room.