It was not hard for Ginny to let herself slip into the easy, pleasantly luxurious way of life she had been offered.
All she had to do was to let herself float through the days, being gently guided in this direction or that by people who had only her best interests at heart, and desired nothing more than to please her. And she would try, for her own peace of mind, not to think where all this was taking her—to the day when Steve Morgan would return, no doubt expecting her to be waiting in the little house he had brought her to, only to find that preparations were being made for a wedding.
Don Francisco’s assurance that his grandson would do as he was told did not seem strange to her at all by the time she had lived in his house for a week. She had learned already that he wielded literally the power of life or death over the people who worked for him. Things Steve had told her about the great haciendas and the hacendados who owned them came back to her—long conversations with Renaldo and with Don Francisco himself helped complete the picture of a still-feudal society. But with this background, how had Steve broken away? And why had he wanted to do so? She felt that she despised him even more for what he had become. He was an outlaw and an adventurer not because he’d had to fight for survival, but because he was reckless enough and wicked enough to desire the type of life he lived. To make matters worse, he was a hypocrite—how dared he criticize the landowners, and the French who were there on invitation, when he himself was one of them? He’d talked as if he were a peasant himself—he supported, stole and killed for the cause of Juarez, who would take all he could from these same landowners and divide it among the peasants; the peons and bandits who were his supporters. She could never understand it!
Ginny did not want to think about Steve, but she could not help herself. Every now and then one of the women who now surrounded her would make some laughing comment, their sidelong gazes watching for her reaction.
“Oh, Dona Genia—these silk and ribbon nightshifts are enough to drive any husband out of his senses,” one of the seamstresses cried, holding up a flimsy garment which had been made from a bolt of thin, pure silk brought all the way from China.
The maids, chattering to each other as they made up the bed every morning would make sly, bold comments about the day when Señora Armijo would no longer share the apartments with Dona Genia.
Carmencita, who was the more forward of the two, would roll her eyes.
“That Don Esteban—muy macho hombre! We always said that when he marries it will be to an American—Dona Ana, now, she’s not as beautiful as you are, Dona Genia, and she has a sharp tongue.”
Privately, although they would not have dared talk about it aloud, the young women of the household thought it all very romantic, like something out of a novel, that their Don Esteban had run off with the young lady he’d chosen to be his wife. From under the nose of her tyrannical father too!
Even Renaldo, normally so tactful, made occasional references to her wedding. Invitations had started to go out already—he was helping Don Francisco send them out. Did she have any friends she wanted to invite? Against her will, Ginny found herself blushing; stammering like a schoolgirl over her words. No, she told him. No, there would be no time. She had already confided privately to Don Francisco that she would not write to her father until afterwards—he did not have to know when she had been married, just the fact that a marriage had taken place would no doubt help matters. Later, when she saw her father and Sonya again, she could explain.
There were times, however, when no matter how hard she tried, Ginny could not push the unwelcome thoughts from her mind. When he came back, when he found out, how would he react? Remembering how brutal he could be when he got into a rage, she could not help shivering. She was under Don Francisco’s protection now, but what would happen later? The marriage settlement he had promised her would make her free to travel, to come and go as she wished, but what if Steve wished differently. She could not forget that marriage made a woman a slave to her own husband, if he chose to exercise all his rights over her. And what had he said to her once, soon after she’d plunged a knife into him:
“Let’s not underestimate each other any more.” She didn’t dare underestimate Steve—she didn’t really know him!
I’m afraid of him, Ginny thought, lying awake one extra hot night. He’s completely unpredictable, and capable of anything. I’m afraid of what revenge he might try to take. And yet, she reminded herself angrily, none of this was her fault at all. Her being here, the impossible position he’d left her in, all of it was his doing. Let him take the consequences, find out what it was like to lose the precious freedom he talked so much about. I hate him she thought again, fiercely. He’ll find out just how much—I’ll never give in to him again, never let myself be intimidated by him.
And yet there were nights when the heavy perfume of jasmine and gardenias drifted through her open window, and she’d tear the covers off her body, feeling herself on fire, unable to sleep. Over and over she’d tell herself that it was only the heat—the slumbering, languorous sensuality of a climate she was unused to. It was her body that was the traitor to her mind; aching for the caresses he’d forced on her, waking her from virginity to the knowledge of her own passion—the realization of desire and its fulfillment. No matter how much she hated him with her mind and shuddered at the memory of her forced subjugation to his demands, there were still nights when she was tortured by the need of her flesh for his—for the feel of his hands on her body, his lips crushing her half-hearted protests into silence, and the now-familiar weight of his body over hers that could make her forget everything else but the need for fulfillment.
Sometimes, on such nights Ginny would spring up, unable to stand the direction her own thoughts were taking. She’d fill the bath herself, with cold water, and lie in it until her teeth chattered. What is wrong with me? she’d question herself afterwards, am I a creature as contemptible as he is, ruled by passion—by my body, instead of my will? She would berate herself for her own weakness, for, she thought, I really do hate him, there’s no doubt about it, and yet when he kisses me or touches me in a certain way I react like an animal—my senses rule me then, and he knows it—he knows he can do what he wishes with me! It’s so unfair, being a woman!
There was no one she could talk to about these secret feelings—certainly not the old priest who now heard her dutiful confessions—not even Renaldo, as dear and understanding a friend as he was. She read books on philosophy and the science of reason until even Don Francisco teased her about spending most of her day in the cool gloom of his library. No, ironically, the only person in the world who might understand her dilemma was Steve himself—she gritted her teeth when she imagined the cynical smile he sometimes wore when he made some scathing comment about the female sex, or about herself in particular. The last words he had said to her before he left for Mexico City had been that he’d be glad to be rid of her. What would he think when he came back? The one thought that nagged at her ceaselessly during the long days and longer nights was that of all the men she had known only he, the man she hated and yet was to marry, had in a way really understood her. He had seen her as a woman, not a paragon of virtue or another pretty face, and he had used her as such.
Ten days had passed since Don Francisco had brought her so unexpectedly to his house, and in spite of the lazy, lethargic routine she had succumbed to, Ginny would, at times, feel her nerves stretched like bowstrings when she thought about the future.
She was reading in Don Francisco’s library when she heard a great commotion outside and for a moment she felt herself freeze with fearful anticipation. He had arrived! He had finally decided to come back! She continued to hide herself in the library, pretending she had heard nothing, the letters in the book she was holding dancing before her eyes. She could hear Don Francisco’s footsteps now, he was leading someone with him. His voice, as dry as usual, was saying, “She’s in here, I’m sure. She spends all her time reading.” But when the door opened and she was
forced to look up it was not Steve who came into the room ahead of the old man but a woman instead—a plump, richly dressed woman who wore too much jewelry.
Don Francisco introduced the woman as Señora Maria Ortega; Renaldo’s mother and the don’s only surviving sister.
“My sister lives in Mexico City, with her oldest son and his family—she’s here to attend your wedding, Genia,” Don Francisco said with his old-world courtesy. He added, somewhat wryly, “She’s anxious to make your acquaintance—I’ll leave you together for a while.”
“Yes, yes—we were all so curious about the woman who managed to capture that elusive grandnephew of mine!” Ginny found herself drawn into a moist, perfumed embrace, while the woman’s small dark eyes travelled swiftly over her, taking in every detail. Before Ginny could utter a word she found her hands seized, and she was being dragged out of the room by Dona Maria, who did not stop chattering for a moment.
“Francisco—we’ll sit in the patio, I’m sure it’s cooler out there. And don’t forget my orange juice, will you? I’m sure dear Genia will join me. Goodness child,” she went on, with a quick smile, “don’t look so afraid of me! I won’t bite—you’ll soon find out that I’m just an old woman who loves to talk—bear with me, there are so many questions I must ask!”
Soon they were comfortably seated in the patio, the don’s soft-footed servants hurrying outside with a tall, frosty pitcher of fresh orange juice for the Dona Maria. Her endless stream of talk never stopped, except when she paused to draw breath or take a sip of juice, and Ginny, feeling half-dazed, was relieved to find she did not have to contribute very much to the conversation, except for an occasional “yes” or “no.”
The Señora Ortega, while being the most unlikely person Ginny would have imagined as Renaldo’s mother, was also outspoken. She was quite frank regarding her opinion of most Norte Americano’s—they were all uncivilized, she stated complacently, except for a very few of them she had met who were exiles from the South. But she forgave Ginny for being a gringa, because her mother had been French.
“And they’re close enough to Spain to be tolerable,” Dona Maria said kindly. She patted Ginny’s hand. “You really are a pretty little thing, I must admit I’m pleasantly surprised. That wild devil Esteban has always shown a propensity for the wrong kind of woman, you know, it’s worried us all tremendously! But when Renaldo wrote us to say that you were the daughter of a Senator, and such a quiet, well educated young lady, I felt quite relieved! That’s what I told my dear Sarita, my daughter-in-law. I said, ‘My dear, Francisco would never have countenanced a woman he did not approve of,’ and you know, my dear, my brother, for all that he seems to have turned hermit of late, is a man of refined taste and very decided opinions. And he is fond of you—I could tell that right away. So is my youngest son, for that matter—I’m really amazed, Renaldo always seemed so wary of females before, but he thinks the world of you!”
Her companion’s sudden switch in subjects made Ginny’s head reel; she could only murmur feebly, “Renaldo? Fond of me?”
“Well of course, girl, who else would I mean? It’s a shame he didn’t meet you before that rascal Esteban did—you can’t know what a disappointment Renaldo has been to me. He, the quietest of my sons, the one I did not expect to have any trouble with! First it was the priesthood—two years in a seminary and suddenly he changes his mind! It’s all this reading he does, giving him radical ideas. I was in tears when he told me, I said, ‘But son, you always said it was your ambition to help people, especially the poor peasants!’ But no—he told me he could help much more by being a schoolteacher, can you imagine my son a schoolteacher? And then, of course, I tried to get him married—you can’t imagine how many eligible young ladies I introduced him to, but no, he’d have none of them! And now—it’s too bad!”
“But—but, madame, I don’t think I understand,” Ginny stammered. “What is so bad about Renaldo’s wanting to be a…”
“Pah, child! Of course you understand! Renaldo’s as easy to read as one of his books. He’s in love with you, of course—I could tell with half an eye, and even before I’d met you. Not that I blame you for preferring Esteban—he’s quite dashing, I suppose—those good looks of his, and that insolent swagger—I suppose that it’s not really surprising he turns the heads of so many females. And of course he’s rich, or will be some day, when he’s ready to settle down.”
Ginny, her face reddening, found herself protesting vigorously.
“Really, madame, you embarrass me! I’m sure I…”
Señora Ortega merely waved her hand airily, her rings flashing in the sunlight.
“No need for that, dear child! I know you’re not an adventuress after my brother’s fortune—in fact, I’m sure you have quite a little fortune of your own, eh? And besides, Esteban aways did have a way with women—such a worry he has been to my poor brother, and to my dearest Luisa too, before she passed away. I’m just glad he’s finally ready to settle down, and with such a sweet, pretty girl too—but there’s one thing I’ll have to speak to him sternly about, if my brother doesn’t do so first—why isn’t he here? Surely with the banns already being read for his own marriage that young scamp should have the good manners to stay in one place for a while? He’s always off jaunting around somewhere—you’ll have to put a stop to that, my dear, take a word of warning from an old woman—men will try to get away with anything if you’ll let them! When do you expect your novio back?”
Ginny could easily have ground her teeth together with exasperation but she forced a smile instead and answered quickly that Steve had told her he’d be back within two weeks.
“He had some urgent business to take care of, but I’m sure he’ll return in time for the Sandoval’s fiesta,” she said lightly, inwardly despising herself for making excuses for Steve’s unpredictable behavior. Then, to forestall any further questions on the part of Dona Maria she added hastily, “You’ll be going with us too, will you not, madame?”
“Please, my dear, call me Tia Maria, you mustn’t stand on ceremony now you’re to be one of our family! Of course I’m going—dear Don José, he’s a very old friend, and the parties he gives are always exceptional—much more style and elegance, my child, than any I’ve attended in Mexico City, or even at the palace at Chapultepec.” Dona Maria had produced an ivory fan, and was using it vigorously as she spoke. “Now there is a place you must visit sometime. You must be presented to the emperor and empress—their palace is quite a gay place—the empress likes to be surrounded by young people, you know, and it is always crowded—handsome young officers from all over the old world, the prettiest of our young ladies, like butterflies—I went with my son and his wife to quite a grand ball at the palace the night before I started out here, and you should have seen the crowds! In fact it was then I could have sworn I saw Esteban, of all people, with that bold, pretty French countess they are all talking about—I remember it gave me quite a start for a moment and then when I looked for them again they’d disappeared into the gardens! It was only because of the wedding invitation, of course—my son Alberto explained it all to me, and he has such a rational mind—I knew, of course that it would not possibly be Esteban, it was some Norteamericano adventurer, the court is full of them, and they say the Countess Danielle, when her husband is off fighting the Juaristas, prefers Americans as her lovers. Dear me—” Dona Maria broke off to stare at Ginny “—I surely haven’t upset you with my silly garrulousness, have I? Of course it wasn’t Esteban, it couldn’t possibly have been! You do look strange, Genia, is the sun too hot for you?”
“Oh—oh, yes, I’m not quite used to it yet, you see! But I’m not worried, not in the least—why should I be?”
“Of course you shouldn’t be! You’re going to be married soon, it’s something every woman looks forward to, is it not? But perhaps you’re suffering from nerves—it’s normal, my dear, we all have qualms, just before! Why, I remember…”
Dona Maria’s voice droned on and on whil
e Ginny sat upright beside her with her features carefully composed into an attentive, smiling mask. Hidden by the folds of her gown, her fingers clasped and unclasped in her lap; inwardly she seethed with an anger she could hardly manage to hide.
It had been he, of course! It could have been no other. The Countess Danielle, the bold, pretty French countess they are all talking about…He’d had an assignation with the woman—that was why he was in such a hurry to go to Mexico City, and why he’d insisted she could not accompany him!
He’s nothing but a Juarista spy—if only they knew! He’s a vile traitor—how could he have the gall to attend a ball at the emperor’s palace when all the time he’s working against the poor man? Oh, but I should denounce him—I must be mad to think of marrying him, to think of tying myself to a man like that!
Ginny’s thoughts scurried this way and that, and by dinnertime she had developed a really splitting nervous headache that provided her with an excuse to stay in her rooms.
She closed her eyes, while Dona Alfonsa bent over her worriedly, applying wet cloths to her forehead. Teasingly, annoyingly, she kept seeing Steve’s face against the curtain of her closed lids, his mouth curved in the all-too-familiar smile that was both mocking and hateful.
She no longer feared his anger now—she almost looked forward with a vicious kind of pleasure to his return.
Just you wait, Steve Morgan, she cried silently to her mind’s image of him, I’ll make you sorry you ever met me—I’ll repay you for everything, everything!
She finally fell asleep with that satisfying thought to console her.
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