Ana Martin

by J. L. Jarvis

  Chapter 4

  Ana closed the large oak door behind her and paused as though catching her breath. Thoughts crossed through her mind in a series of disjointed images that would not be quelled. He stirred her heart then rejected her, and she did not understand it. His eyes were too hooded and distant to discern his thoughts. And yet his grip on her shoulders remained, an imprint too fervent to misread. Afterward the gentle pressure with which he pushed her away felt almost like love and yet left her empty.

  They rode home in silence. Ana followed, afraid to go near him for fear her heart would break free from her pride, which was all she had left for protection.

  He turned from time to time, to toss mere sideways glances, fulfilling his duty to ensure her safety. What good was safety, Ana wondered, when inside she was in pieces?

  They arrived at the stable. Others busied themselves at one task or another. It mattered little to Ana. Carlos dismounted and hastily sent a stable boy to assist her. “Her horse needs to cool down,” he said. “So do I,” he added under his breath. Without a glance, he led his horse down a path that took him out of Ana’s sight.

  Voices from the library drew Ana back from her thoughts. Suppressed argument came from behind the closed door in biting whispers and short sibilant rasps, which gave way to urgent coos. It was Aunt Graciela, but the man’s voice escaped Ana. Her own problems outweighed her curiosity. Softly she trod toward the stairs, and her aunt’s muted pleading soon faded to silence. She was nearly at the landing when the door opened and heavy boot steps on marble floor sounded below. She looked down to see Jesús, the hacienda administrator, walk out the front door. Before he closed it he glanced back. His eyes darted up to meet Ana’s. He looked startled as she. Don Jesús lowered his head, suggesting a bow, and then pulled the door firmly closed.

  Ana went on upstairs. She passed by Eduardo’s room. The door was ajar. He was at his desk, so absorbed in his writing he did not look up to see her pass by.

  Once inside her room, tears came freely. She leaned on the wall by her window and looked out. Don Jesús walked alongside the wall of the garden. But the corral and the stable were on the other side of the house. She would not see Carlos from here. Still, she searched the grounds hoping she might. Below a gardener worked in the lush garden. Beyond that were more buildings and land flat and prickled with brush. In its midst she envisioned that morning, when Carlos rode up beside her.

  His gaze fell on her like still sky before morning, and filled her with wonder as he stepped around behind her. His fingers let loose her hair, and it fell to her shoulders in strands of wild silk. He combed through her hair with coarse fingers that brushed her neck and her shoulders. She shivered. His lips touched her neck. That a mouth could so thrill her! But words came from it later that stung. “I thought I could love you.”

  “A kiss,” she whispered, standing there by the window. His kiss brought her tears.

  Ana lay on her bed and wept until sleep soothed her. The shutters were closed to the afternoon sun, but it found its way in here and there, casting gray shadows in odd shapes behind chairs and tables and the objects upon them.

  A quiet knock on the door awoke her. Her eyes felt dry and swollen. A few splashes of water from the washbowl cooled her face, which she blotted with a towel.

  Eduardo saw her and instantly changed his expression. “I’ve disturbed you.” Of course he could see she had been crying. “Forgive me.”

  How sympathetic he looked, yet he did not inquire. He would assume that she cried for her father, and perhaps those tears had found their way in with the others. He turned to leave.

  “No. I was just resting.” She walked to the basin and draped her towel near it.

  “I thought you might like some tea.”

  “That sounds very nice, but I think I’ll just stay here and rest.”

  He did not voice his concern, but it showed on his face.

  She said, “It’s the trip. I’m worn out.”

  “Of course.” Eduardo saw through the excuse, but nodded and added with tact, “We can talk later.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Ana, “Was there something—”

  “No. Please rest, and forgive the intrusion.”

  He walked away, down the hall toward his room.

  The sweltering heat was beginning to lift in the late afternoon. Ana tried to escape to her dreams, but sleep would not rescue her. She tried reading, but could not keep her thoughts on the page. At last, with a sigh, she prepared for a stroll, hoping a walk would clear away all the thoughts that were haunting her here.

  The sound of young children gently lifted her spirits. She followed the voices to a clump of a dozen or so children who were too young to be working in the fields with their older siblings. In the center of the tight little circle was a boy about seven years old. With eyes burning with anger, he looked from one to the next, ready to lash out at the first one who dared to step closer. That first one was Ana. The children stopped taunting as they caught sight of Ana. They parted, making a path to the child.

  They all looked toward the ground, except for one small girl who stroked the silk of Ana’s skirt, entranced by its softness. Ana barely noticed. Her attention was fixed on the young boy in the center who stole glances at her with eyes still lit with seething anger.

  “Now what’s all this noise?” Ana said to the children.

  They would not meet her eyes, but a few dared to answer, “Nothing, Miss.”

  Ana looked questioningly to the boy in the center, who was clearly the brunt of the teasing. “Nothing?”

  He looked down at the ground. “Yes. Nothing, Miss.”

  Ana waited a moment, and then looked at the others. “Why don’t you all go play now, and be nice to each other.”

  While the others ran off, Ana bent down eye-to-eye with the young boy in the center. His shirt was torn at the shoulder seam. His face was dusty and streaked with what must have been tears wiped away. “Let’s take you home to your mother. She’ll want to mend this shirt before it unravels.” She put her hand on the tear, smoothed it flat, and took hold of his hand.

  He led her to his home. It was a part of the hacienda she had not seen up close. A long row of adobe living quarters stretched out before her. They walked past door after door, all the same, beneath a flat roof from which jutted out large wooden beams. Thin clouds of smoke rose from small rounded ovens in front of each home.

  The boy picked up a stick and tapped each oven, counting. He stopped at fourteen and walked through the door. Ana waited outside. Her eyes wandered about. She felt awkward. A woman walked by, carrying water in a jug on her head. She glanced at Ana. Ana smiled, but the woman looked down. Footsteps brushed the floor. Ana turned around. In the doorway stood Carlos.

  Neither moved. A woman’s voice from inside broke the silence. “Jaimito, go talk to your father!”

  Ana stepped aside to make room for the boy, who hurried past to stand facing his father.

  With a stern look, Carlos said, “Jaime?”

  “Yes?” The boy’s eyes remained lowered.

  Carlos took in the torn shirt, dirt scuffed clothes, and bruised face. “What is this?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Were you not sent to fetch water?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where is the water?”

  Jaime looked down in shame. “I lost it. Popi, I’m sorry.”

  “Lost it?”

  “Yes, Popi.”

  “It’s not his fault,” Ana interjected.

  “My son can speak for himself.” His eyes never left the boy.

  His harsh words offended. “I’m sorry. I only wanted to help. I found him—the children were teasing him.”

  Carlos ignored Ana and looked at the boy. “Jaime? What did they say?”

  “Nothing.”

  He lifted the child’s chin in his hand. Jaime looked up with watery eyes.

  The father’s brow tightened as he touched his son’s shoulder. With a tilt of
his head, he said, “Go inside.”

  Jaime’s eyes softened with relief. “Yes, Popi.”

  The boy disappeared behind the door.

  Ana took a step back. She felt she should leave.

  “Señorita Martin.”

  It came out as a command, and she stopped.

  “I will escort you.”

  “No. I can’t let you—”

  “I will escort you.”

  Ana would have protested, but the look on his face forbade it. She hesitated, but he touched her elbow long enough to guide her as they both began walking. He let go. His touch lingered.

  Ana could not bring herself to say what was on her heart, so she spoke to fill silence. “The boy favors you.”

  Carlos glanced toward her sharply, but said nothing.

  She struggled to sort through her feelings. Her face burned and her throat tightened. “You are married.”

  “I am not.”

  Ana suddenly felt so naïve. “Oh. I see.”

  Carlos stopped. “You see what?” A harsh light caught his eyes.

  “The children—their teasing. They can be very cruel.”

  “Yes, they can.” He glanced toward the grand house.

  Ana wanted to ask how he could willingly subject a child to that. Would it not have been better for the child to be married? But her silent accusation dissolved as she looked at his face. It confused her to see such pain in his eyes.

  “Sometimes people are cruel without meaning to be.”

  Ana’s eyes shone with tears. It was hot, the air too thick to breathe. “Why?”

  He looked bitter and cold, and she wanted to hate him. He had given life to feelings she wished would now die. All the while he was—no, not married—but he had a woman and a son. What was Ana to him? What could she ever have been? And now she knew there was nothing to say. There was nothing left to do. “I must go.”

  He took a step to follow, but she stopped and pressed her hand out to stop him. He breathed in, and she pulled her hand from his chest, from the beat of his heart on her palm.

  Carlos watched Ana turn and walk briskly away. He should never have let this get started. He was burning with anger. It was easier, quicker this way. Let her hate him. He trusted her hatred to keep them apart, for his will was no match for the force of his feelings. If she hadn’t looked back—but she had. Their eyes had met. Even now in her eyes, full of loathing, he saw something gentle and good that dissolved his defenses.

  “Why did I look?” Ana chided herself. Tears were falling. She wiped them away, but more came. She was losing control. She could not break down and cry here, in the open where everyone could see her. But the house was too far. She turned and ran into the stable. Two boys had just finished their work and were on their way out.

  “Señorita?” One started to offer assistance.

  “No,” she said, waving him off. She ran to the last stall, threw herself against it and buried her face and her tears in her hands. She heard footsteps and hastened to wipe her tear-streaked face. “I don’t need any help, thank you. But please, just leave me.”

  “Ana.” She flinched to hear Carlos’s voice.

  “I really—I’m not in a mood to talk now. I’m not feeling well.” She tried to walk past, but he gripped her arm.

  “I owe you the truth.”

  She lifted her head. She had run out of tears. “Please don’t say anymore.”

  Carlos told her, “I sent the boys on an errand, but we have only moments.”

  “Go away. Go back to your woman—and your son.”

  “My woman—”

  “Yes.”

  “That woman you heard was my son’s abuelita, Jaime’s grandmother.”

  “And his mother? Where is she while you’re out kissing any woman in reach?”

  “I kissed you.”

  “It was selfish.”

  “Yes.”

  “And unfeeling.”

  “No. I have feelings.”

  “And I know right where they are. Oh, you’re handsome and charming. But I deserve better.”

  “Yes, you do,” he said quietly.

  Ana nodded and released a deep breath. She had vented her feelings in tears and in words. There was nothing to do now but hurt.

  “Jaime’s mother is dead.”

  Moments passed before she could say she was sorry—for his loss, for jumping to conclusions. And yet had he tried to explain?

  Carlos lifted her chin. She looked into his eyes. They were gentle, but aged with old sorrow. “I’m sorry,” she said in a whisper, until his fingers touched her lips and then brushed her hair from her brow.

  “Ana,” he said in low, rasping sigh. He cupped his hand about her head and gently held her. “Listen. There’s something I must tell you.”

  She waited and buried her face in his neck, and she breathed in his scent, melting into his warmth, never seeing his face, dark and troubled. He tightened his arms about her as he pressed his mouth to her hair. And in that moment, he changed. His hard embrace became tender. His hand stroked her hair.

  “When Jaime was born, I held his mother in my arms and I kissed her and felt the life sift from her body.”

  In the silence that followed, she pressed close, nearly losing herself.

  Carlos said, “I have not kissed another—until you.”

  Chapter 5

  Ana knew that hearts broke when love ended. Now she knew hearts could break when love started.

  Carlos took Ana’s face in his hands and let his gaze fall, unguarded, upon her. He lowered his mouth to meet hers.

  When they heard horses approaching, they parted. With a last longing look, they walked out of the stable as the riders arrived.

  They were close to the house when they stopped under a shade tree, being careful to keep an appropriate distance. Carlos pulled some leaves from the tree and presented them to Ana as though they were a bouquet of flowers. Ana laughed.

  Graciela called out from the gate to the garden. It was Carlos she wanted. He answered, stole one last glance at Ana, and left.

  Graciela watched his every move, as did Ana. His strong back and proud carriage were elegant. Graciela shot a biting glare toward Ana, and then turned her attention to Carlos. They talked beside a stone archway not far away, but too far for Ana to hear. Ana approached, but Graciela’s harsh look made her stop. Carlos listened to the doña. It was hard to discern his reaction, for his face was like stone. Graciela, however, was far more transparent. Marked effort to keep her voice low was failing. The harsh sounds that escaped unmistakably spoke her displeasure.

  Her business concluded, Graciela raised her voice so that Ana could hear, and said, “Look. The workers are back from their midday meal. Now run along, Carlos, and join the other peons.” She eyed him with the haughty bearing she believed her position afforded.

  With deliberate deference, Carlos lowered his eyes to the ground. “Yes, doña.” He turned and walked back toward the stable, his brown coal eyes fixed on Ana as he passed.

  After he passed, Ana stared at the ground until her breathing was steady. Quiet footsteps on the dusty, packed dirt sounded closer. Ana braced herself.

  Graciela stopped close beside her. Ana turned to follow her gaze. Graciela watched Carlos. “He is handsome.”

  The cold stare chilled Ana through the stifling air. The peons had returned to their routine tasks.

  “Stay away.”

  Ana took a deep, silent breath, and said lightly, “How can I? They work all around us.”

  “You know very well what I mean. Carlos Barragan. You are not to see him,” said her aunt as she watched him walk away.

  Ana said, “How can I not see what is clearly before me?”

  “Don’t be clever.”

  “I’ll try not to be.”

  “He is one of them,” said her aunt with a nod toward the vast fields of cotton. “An Indio.”

  Ana said nothing.

  Graciela crumpled her face in disdain. “You’ve b
een gone a long time. You’ve forgotten our ways.”

  “Thank you for the reminder.” Ana turned to leave, but her aunt interrupted.

  She gripped Ana’s arm. “That man is not for you.”

  “That man saved my life.”

  “Good for him. He was doing his job.”

  “Then you can have no complaints.”

  Graciela scrutinized Ana’s face as though she would speak but thought better of it.

  “Please excuse me,” said Ana as she started down the stone walk.

  “Ana, dear,” Graciela called after her.

  Ana stopped, but did not turn around. This was not so much due to defiance as from fear that her face advertised her emotions.

  Graciela was not deterred. “We took you in after your dear father’s tragic death. I shudder to think what might have become of you otherwise.”

  Ana turned around to face her. “Tío Felipe would not have abandoned his own flesh and blood.”

  “No, but I would,” whispered Graciela through her clenched teeth. She drew closer until she could not be overheard. “You will find that your uncle spends most of his time at the house in Gómez Palacio. Work keeps him so occupied there he has little time to worry about what goes on here in his absence. His administrator does such a good job here that you uncle gives him full rein. But I am the doña. Don Jesús will still do as I say.”

  The threat came as a shock. Ana had suspected that Graciela was shrewd. Now she knew she was ruthless. Ana studied the face, thin and hard, of the woman her uncle had married. Although the features for beauty were there, her large eyes and broad cheekbones bones now looked angled and brittle. Yet she more than made up for lost suppleness with a sharp mind and artful manner. Her black hair was not pulled back so taut as to smooth out the out the fine lines her callous expressions had creased in her face. She was not one to speak with idle intent. A new understanding passed between them in silence.

  From Graciela’s face bloomed a smile that would have appeared gracious, absent her words. With that smile, Graciela left.

  Ana spent the afternoon in her room. The occasional knock on her door went, for the most part, unanswered. She sent a message with her maid that she would not be down for dinner. A tray was sent up. It lay on the table, untouched. Nearby, Ana curled up in a chair by the window and watched the peons working outside. The land here was hard and the landowners harder. It could not be easy to suffer the life of a peon in this country. Pride came with ease when one lived in comfort and wealth. But to be proud and noble in the face of a life that was unjust at the outset must take a good measure of character of a sort that did not depend upon the things of the world, but dwelled inside the soul.