by J. L. Jarvis
Ana smiled and then blushed. She leaned close, just to breathe in air-dried cotton and fresh perspiration.
“Carlos!” Two charros had arrived and were coming toward him. He greeted them with an amiable laugh as he said both their names. Ana hurried away, slipping past them.
Ana watched the celebration from her window as she pulled pins from her hair. It fell in sections on her shoulders and back. Mariachis played, and the music came in through the window mixed with laughing and shouting.
The door flew open. Ana turned as Graciela stormed in.
“You little fool! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? I have just spent half the afternoon smoothing over the damage you have caused. How could you? Stupid girl.”
Ana stared through the window in numb silence.
Graciela paced, walked to the window, looked back, and paced some more.
“What is the matter with you?” Ana listened to the mariachis until they nearly drowned out the caustic words.
“I don’t know why, but don Limón still wants you.”
Ana did not move.
“And you will marry him.”
Ana was still.
“Did you hear me?”
Ana spoke softly. “I cannot love him.”
Her aunt scoffed. “Did I ever say that you had to?”
“I will not marry him.”
“Ah, well, you have to do that.”
“Don’t ask this.”
“I am not asking. We will talk more of this later. You have ten minutes to get downstairs. And do something with that hair. It looks awful.”
Ana sank into a chair. She ignored the knocking that followed moments later.
“Ana, it’s tío Felipe.”
Ana opened the door. He looked at her with soft eyes. “Anita.”
Ana flew into his arms. Her tears came in torrents. He held her and comforted her until she stopped crying. He lifted her chin. “I know, I know,” he said, stroking her hair. “You do not want to marry.”
“That’s not true,” Ana said. “But I can’t marry him. Please talk to don Limón. Tell him it was a mistake.”
Don Felipe shifted his position. “I wish life could be simple as that.”
“Please don’t ask this of me.”
Ana did not see his sad smile. “Ana, come here. Look outside this window.”
Ana looked out. Eduardo was gone.
“The truth is, we depend upon don Limón for our water.”
“I know, but—”
“There are debts. We’ve had trouble with shipments. For the past several months, revolutionists have blown up trains and set fire to warehouses. Ana, do you hear me?”
Ana turned to him. “I am sorry for your troubles. But I cannot see how my marrying—”
“This next cotton crop could be our salvation or our ruin. Without don Limón’s water, we have no hope.”
“Can’t you talk to him?”
“He is not an easy man. He’s a shrewd businessman, and he’s taken with you.”
“But surely he would listen to reason.”
Don Felipe stared through the window.
“Uncle?”
“I tried.” He turned to face Ana, his face lined with regret. “But he is a man who gets what he wants.”
“And this is the man you would choose for my husband?”
“I did not make this choice. He chose you.”
“I am not the sort of woman who inspires such behavior.”
Don Felipe looked at her, shaking his head. “The day you arrived, you sang after dinner. Do you remember?”
“It was not my idea. Aunt Graciela—” And then Ana knew. It was not merely chance, or bad luck.
“Don Limón has a soft spot for music. He heard you sing, and he was entranced.”
“By a song? If he knew how I felt, he would not be so moved.”
Don Felipe took Ana’s hands. “But he is, and he wants you for his wife.”
“I cannot accept.”
“I accepted on your behalf. He has my word.”
“How could you?”
“Ana, would you have me lose everything I have worked for? This land is everything. It is our home, our life.”
“And my life?”
“You have to be strong. For our family.”
“There must be a way. If he diverted the water, you could sue him.”
“Such suits take years to litigate—even if I could afford it, which I cannot. I am too far in debt as it is. I’d be ruined long before the case was decided.”
“You ask too much.”
“If you refuse, I am not the only one who’ll be ruined. You will, too. And all the people out there who depend on me for their jobs will be destroyed, too.”
“And Aunt Graciela—what was her part in this?”
“She has a talent for dealing with people.”
Ana’s hope sank, for she knew it was true. The entire plan had been hatched in her aunt’s mind before Ana sang the first note of her song. Ana turned from the window, with its view of the well-watered gardens.
Twilight cast a magical aura on the celebration. People danced and feasted as the band played a corrido. Ana stepped onto the veranda, having just left her uncle and aunt and don Limón in the parlor after dinner. Eduardo was absent with no explanation. How she wished he had been there. Across the lawn, she thought she spotted him with Su Ling, but thickening dusk obscured his features. It could have been anyone.
A man in black walked not far ahead. She hurried toward him, but as she came nearer, she could see it was not Carlos. Workers gathered in the large space outside their living quarters for a baile. They danced and sang with such joy, Ana watched them with envy. She walked closer, to the rim of the crowd. The music gave life to the night. A young man approached her. Without waiting for an answer, he swept her into a whirling dance. He smelled of drink and moved too fast. Lantern light spun by, and Ana felt dizzy.
“Please. I have to stop.”
He did not hear her. He laughed and held her tighter, until she pushed away harshly. He let go and stared at her, confused. Ana walked away to a nearby mesquite tree. She leaned on it and watched.
“You don’t enjoy the dancing?”
“Oh, Padre. Good evening.” She had not heard him draw near, but he now stood beside her. “Tonight I’d rather just watch.”
“Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m well.” She felt his gaze and felt awkward. “Well, I’m not.”
He nodded as if confirming his suspicions.
“Am I so transparent?”
“No, not really.” He studied her, and then looked toward the dancers. “I know about the wedding.”
“But how?” Ana wondered how word could have traveled so fast.
Padre Galvan smiled patiently. “I am a priest. Your aunt and uncle asked me to perform the ceremony.”
Ana tried to hide her distress. “They’re making arrangements already?”
“Most brides would be happy.”
Ana looked at him through pools of tears.
“Oh.” His voice was quiet.
Ana looked away before his sympathy set loose a flood of tears. She thought it over, and decided to ask him. “Padre, may I speak in confidence?”
“Of course, my child.”
“I do not love him.”
He nodded. “Love grows in time.”
“I will not love him—ever.”
“It’s natural to think that now, but time is a healer. Couples grow together.”
The words did not come easily. “I love another.”
Padre Galvan scrutinized her until she glanced at him, and then looked away.
The music from the dance rang out through the evening air. There was dancing and laughing all around them.
Padre gently said, “This marriage means a lot to your uncle, for his plantation. And don Limón is very wealthy. You’ll want for nothing.”
“So I’ve been told. I’ll want for nothing—
but love.” Ana scowled and recited cynically, “If one were to give all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned.”
Padre raised his brow in recognition. “For love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.” He smiled. “I, too, have been known to read the Bible from time to time.”
She nearly smiled. “Love may be strong, but I’m not.”
“You are stronger than you think, señorita Ana Martínez.”
Ana looked into his eyes and wanted to believe him.
He put his hand on her cheek and leaned closer. “You are afraid. Young brides sometimes need counsel to prepare for the wedding. You would not be the first.” His eyes searched hers.
“Padre?” She stepped back, feeling uncomfortable.
“Do not be afraid, Ana. I can help you get through this.” He put a hand on her shoulder. Something caught his eye. With a broad smile he said, “Carlos,” and let his arm fall to his side.
“Good evening, Miguel.”
“Your paso de la muerte!” He shook his head in wonder.
Carlos smiled broadly, but shook his head and glanced at Ana modestly. “The padre flatters me.”
The music changed to a slow, haunting ballad.
“The song moves you?” said the Padre as he watched a tear roll down her cheek.
“It is a sad song.”
Carlos watched Ana.
“Is there anything I can do?” said the Padre to Ana.
“No.” She looked down, and then to the dancing. Moments passed before she dared look at Carlos. Their eyes met.
Padre Galvan looked from one to the other. He knew Carlos too well, and Ana had already told him she was in love. “I see.”
Carlos faced his friend eye-to-eye and looked away in surrender.
“So this is the one?” said the Padre.
“Stay out of it, Miguel,” said Carlos.
“Do you love her?”
Carlos looked annoyed. Miguel need not have asked.
He put his hands on their shoulders. “May God help you both.” He then walked away.
The lovers watched until he was gone in the darkness. Their hands met at their sides and entwined.
“Dance with me, Ana.”
Chapter 9
Ana stepped into Carlos’s arms and they danced with slow steps in the shadows. Their bodies met and leaned gently together. Their faces grazed as though chance brought them there. Palms caressed. Fingers laced between fingers; thick and strong, smooth and tender. He tensed and drew her tighter, against him. They danced beneath darkening trees and pressed close. Their mouths met. A tear rolled from her lid to his cheekbone.
“No tears,” whispered Carlos.
Ana whispered, “I must marry Limón.”
The words passed through him like lightning. He gripped her shoulders. His fingers dug into her skin.
“I am sorry.” Ana trembled.
Carlos looked about, then took hold of her wrist and led her away. They arrived at the small hacienda chapel.
“Someone will see us.”
“Not here. Not tonight.”
He led her inside. It was empty. He dragged her to the altar. He knelt down and pulled her down, weeping, beside him. Distorted strains of mariachi music drifted through the closed windows.
“Do you love him?”
“Carlos, don’t.”
“Tell me here, before God.”
The faint light from outside caught the wet streaks on her face.
“Say you don’t love me.”
His wild eyes scared her. “No.”
“I can’t let this happen again.”
“I’m not Rosa.”
“No, you’re not. It’s not too late for you.”
“It’s been too late for me since my father left me alone. I owe a duty—”
“No.”
“—to my uncle.”
“You said you would marry me.”
“I had no right to say it.”
“Marry me.”
Ana shook her head.
“Now. Say it—I, Ana, take you, Carlos—”
“That won’t make us married.”
“I’ll take you away.”
“I’m promised to someone.”
“You made a promise to me.”
“I didn’t know I was already promised to another.”
“Is it the money? I would rob a thousand trains to keep his hands off you.”
“It’s not money. It’s honor and duty.”
She sank into his arms and he clutched her against him. She wept as he took her face in his hands, and her mouth in a kiss. All his soul was poured out in that kiss. “Let me hold you and know you. Don’t give that to him.”
Ana drowned in that kiss. Every touch brought her closer to him until she nearly was lost.
Ana whispered, “Not here.”
Carlos took her by the shoulders and snarled, “What better place to confess your true heart than here before God?”
Fresh tears streamed down Ana’s face, but Carlos would not stop. “I want you to remember when you stand in this spot to be married to that man. On that day, when you stand here and vow before God to love him, will you feel full of honor and duty? On that night, when he takes you to his bed, and he puts his hands on you, and he puts himself in you, will you feel full of honor and duty?”
Ana pled through her tears, “Let me go. That was cruel.”
Carlos turned from her. “Not as cruel as your love.”
Ana stared at the windows. At night, the colored panes looked nearly black. It would feel just as dark in this room when she married, and after, in her marriage bed.
Carlos loosened his grip. All the anger was spent. His voice was quiet and dark. “How can I let you go?”
Outside, the music was louder and faster. In here it was quiet, apart from the life that waited. Ana whispered, “I want to know how it feels to be loved.”
“You know how it feels.”
Ana looked down and said softly, “I want to give myself to you. So I can remember.”
His touch was so tender it tore at her heart. They clung to one another. Their souls became one. This was love. Visceral and sublime. Heart aching completion.
Limbs tangled, they lay breathing deeply. A tear trailed down her cheek. He touched her cheek with his fingers and sheltered her face under his chin.
“I won’t let him have you.”
“I have a duty—”
“Damn your duty.”
“My duty was damned when my father died and left me with nothing.”
Her words gripped him. He could not respond. Only then did he notice the music had stopped. They heard voices outside passing by. Ana smoothed down her skirts. Carlos pulled up his pants. A few tiny cloth-covered buttons had torn from her dress. They searched and found all but one.
Ana put her hands to her hair and tried to smooth down the wild mess.
Carlos smiled. “Come here—by the window.”
In the faint glow from outside, he combed through her hair with his fingers. Then he stopped. “How can you give yourself to another?”
“I don’t know.”
They held onto each other and sank to their knees as Carlos combed his hands into her hair and gripped her closer to him. The rough grating wood was their only warning. The doors to the chapel swung open. They turned, like clinging spirits in the quivering lantern light.
“For God’s sake!” said Padre Galvan.
Footsteps pounded the floor through the shadows as Carlos helped Ana to her feet. He held his arms about Ana, protecting. Someone grabbed him from behind. He yanked back, but someone grabbed his other arm. With his free arm, he swung. But a third man joined in.
“Ana!” He reached out to her as someone pulled her away.
A fist struck his face, but he fought them, landing a few of his own. With his strength and his swiftness, he kept three men busy until a dull blow sounded. He saw black, then his body gave way underneath him.
He landed with a thud on the floor.
“Carlos!” cried Ana. He did not move as they dragged him away.
“Look at you!” Graciela growled as she threw a shawl over Ana’s disheveled hair and shoulders. “Thank God we found you before don Limón did.”
Don Felipe stood by the door, simply staring. She looked at him, pleading, hoping to see him step forward and right every wrong against her, against Carlos, but he merely stood there, the same dull expression on his face. He looked too much like her father to hurt her like this.
“Take her back to the house,” he said to one of the hacienda guards, then he turned and strode out of the chapel.
Morning sun shone upon her closed lids, hurting her eyes and her head. Ana shut the curtains, but they would not shut out the pain from the evening before. She had spent the night staring blankly out through her window. She knew she would not see him, and yet she looked, hoping. Before dawn, she lost hope and slipped numbly to sleep.
Graciela came into the room without knocking, a maid at her heels with a tray filled with hot chocolate and eggs. She threw open the curtains.
“You still have to eat,” said Graciela.
Ana looked toward the food, looked away. “Where is Carlos?”
Graciela pretended not to hear. She drew up a chair and sat down facing Ana. She sounded surprisingly calm. “Now what am I to tell don Limón?”
“Tell him nothing.”
“Perhaps you are right. I’ll see to it that none of the guards talk. He need never know. Of course, there’s the wedding night. You’ll have to fool him into believing you’re a virgin, but men are fools. Act like it hurts, a bit of chicken blood, and no one’s the wiser.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’m not the one who opened her legs at the altar.”
“Only you can make beauty seem ugly and cheap.”
Graciela leveled a glare. “You screwed the hired help. It’s been done before. But you’re right, your Carlos is a beautiful thing—too beautiful for his own good.” Graciela’s thoughts wandered.
“Where is he?”
“Your fiancé is asleep in his room. Thank God he drank too much aguardiente last night.”
“Where is Carlos?”
“We will move the wedding up, before anything happens,” said her aunt, glancing down at Ana’s abdomen. “Fortunately, don Limón is quite taken with you. In fact, I think he might welcome a quick wedding. Now, I need a pencil and paper.” She rifled through Ana’s desk and began making a list.
