Best Kept Secrets

by Rochelle Alers

  Pulling M.J. to his chest, Samuel held her until she fell asleep in his arms. He hadn’t expected to return home to find M.J.’s cousin living with them. He wanted to enjoy his wife and the privacy of his home without having to censor himself. What he hadn’t expected, nor would accept, was M.J. threatening to leave him—leave him and take his unborn child with her.

  Her leaving him was not an option, and if he had to make her his prisoner, he would. He had scheduled one more trip to Costa Rica before the end of the year. Ivonne could stay until his return, and then he wanted her gone.

  Chapter 19

  A woman is born to bear children, and I went through hell to do it.

  —Sophia Loren

  Ivonne boarded a ship to return to Cuba two weeks before Thanksgiving Day, but only after her father issued a mandate that he was going to disown her if she did not come home.

  Samuel slipped into bed next to M.J. and placed a hand over her distended belly. “I can’t believe we have the house all to ourselves.”

  She returned his smile. “You’re a selfish man, Samuel.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Selfish? I can’t walk around my own house ass-naked, and I can’t make love to my wife whenever and wherever I want. And you call me selfish?”

  M.J. covered the hand on her stomach where her baby kicked vigorously. She was in her eighth month of confinement and each day she found it more difficult to do something as simple as bend down to tie up or buckle her shoes.

  “You shouldn’t want to make love to me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I look hideous.”

  Samuel pressed his mouth to her ear. “You look beautiful, baby.”

  M.J. made a moue. “I’m fat, Samuel.”

  “You’re pregnant, M.J.”

  I’m still fat, she mused. She’d gained twenty-two pounds, but it could’ve been twenty-two hundred. Her daily routine had changed when she went for early-morning walks to relieve the cramps in her back and legs. At night she slept with her legs resting on a pile of pillows.

  “I spoke to your mother this morning.”

  Samuel nuzzled her scented neck. “What did she say?”

  “She wanted to know how I was feeling, and I told her that I was getting bigger, the baby moves a lot, and that I couldn’t wait to become a mother. She wanted to know if we were coming to Tallahassee for Christmas.”

  Rising on an elbow, Samuel stared down at his wife staring back at him. “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her I couldn’t ride in the car that long.”

  “Would you like to see her?”

  A hint of a smile softened her mouth. “Of course. I always enjoy spending time with your mother.”

  “What if we invite her to come here for Thanksgiving? We could also invite Mark and Thomas.”

  Pushing into a sitting position, M.J. ran her fingers through the hair on Samuel’s chest. “Didn’t you just say something about having your house to yourself?”

  He nodded. “I did, but because we’re not going to see them for Christmas, I think it would nice to have them here for Thanksgiving.”

  Looping her arms around her husband’s neck, M.J. kissed him tenderly on the mouth. “That is very generous of you.”

  “I’m not really that generous.”

  “Yes, you are,” she whispered softly.

  The last time he’d come back from Costa Rica he’d brought a set of ivory pins and combs for her hair. Easing back, she searched his face, wondering what he was thinking at that moment. They were nearing their first wedding anniversary, and she still did not know any more about her husband than she had before they left Cuba.

  During a moment when they lay in bed together, he’d disclosed the extent of his business holdings in Central America. He’d purchased a coffee plantation, imported his brothers’ soybean crop, a portion of her father’s cigars, and in turn exported bananas to the West Coast region of the United States. He was forthcoming when she asked his net worth, the amount far exceeding her imagination.

  “Where is Everett celebrating the holiday?”

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  His gaze had lowered as did his voice. He and Everett had managed to maintain a strictly business association during their last trip to Limon. He didn’t know whether the accountant saw Paullina, and did not care one way or the other if he did.

  However, Daisy had come to his hotel room asking to see him, but he sent her away without opening the door. Sleeping with her and having her do things to him he wouldn’t permit M.J. to do had lost its appeal.

  “If he’s not going anywhere, then I’d like you to invite him to share the holiday with us.”

  “Why don’t you invite him? It would look better coming from you than me.”

  She broke into a wide, open smile. “I will write a formal invitation tomorrow.” Her smile faded as quickly, lines of consternation wrinkling her brow. “Do you think he will decline?”

  Samuel pressed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, parting her lips. “Don’t worry so much, darling.” He kissed her softly before increasing the pressure. Her tongue darted out to meet his, igniting a passion only she could assuage.

  He entered her slowly, carefully, always mindful of the baby, and made love to her that was so measured and unhurried that when he finally released the desire that had been building for what seemed like months, he felt as if his heart and the top of his head had exploded.

  Lying facedown on the bed, one arm thrown over M.J.’s thighs, Samuel waited for his respiration to return to a normal rate. He’d been a fool to sleep with Daisy. Nothing she could do to and with him would ever come close to what he felt for the woman who carried his name and his child.

  Samuel closed his eyes when he heard the screams. M.J. had been in labor more than sixteen hours and each time she let out a bloodcurdling scream he weakened.

  He was on his feet with the next scream, racing for the bedroom door, only to find Everett blocking his way. “Get out of my way!”

  Everett shook his head. The midwife had told him that under no circumstances was he to let Samuel enter the room. “I’m sorry, Samuel.”

  Samuel swung at him, but Everett was faster and sidestepped him, his hand crashing into the wall. “Shit!” Shaking out his hand, he glared at his accountant, unaware of the tears streaking his face or that he hadn’t slept in hours. “I’ve got to go to her.”

  Curving an arm around his boss’s neck, Everett led him back into the kitchen. “There’s nothing you can do to help her. Women go through this every day.”

  Samuel’s eyes glittered wildly. “This is my woman, Everett. Mine! Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Patting his back, Everett forced a smile. “I understand. Sit down and relax. It will be over soon.”

  Sitting down like an obedient child, Samuel covered his face in his hands, rocking back and forth as if in a stupor.

  When Samuel hadn’t called or come into the office, Everett had become concerned that something had happened to him. He’d called the Cole residence, and when he hadn’t gotten an answer he decided to drive over.

  He found Samuel sitting on the side of the bed holding M.J.’s hand. She was in the early stages of labor, and they had to wait until the pains were closer together before summoning the midwife. He called Mrs. Harris and instructed her to cancel everything on the day’s calendar.

  The night before, he’d completed the year-end balance sheet and profit and loss statements for Cole International, Ltd., and ColeDiz International, Ltd.; the bottom line figures were staggering. He would give Samuel the good news—after the birth of his son or daughter.

  The rosary beads left deep impressions on M.J.’s palm. She gripped them tightly, unable to pray as the pains came so hard and fast that she felt as if someone had stabbed her.

  Her eyelids fluttered wildly. “I need a priest.” She didn’t recognize her own voice. Her throat was raw, her voice hoarse.

  The dark, smiling fac
e of the midwife hovered over her. “Why would you want a priest?”

  M.J. closed her eyes, her head rolling back and forth on the pillow. “I’m dying.”

  Willa Lee placed a hand over her swollen belly, timing the contractions. “You’re just fine, honey. You’re young and in good health, and you’re going to give your husband a lot more babies.”

  “I don’t want another baby!”

  The midwife knew better. Once Samuel Cole’s wife delivered her baby she would forget all she’d gone through to give birth to it. M.J. let out a scream that made Willa’s hair stand up. Moving quickly to the foot of the bed, she smiled. Water washed over the rubber bedsheet. Minutes later she saw a head with lots of black hair. The baby was coming!

  Looping leather straps around her patient’s ankles, she secured them to the bedposts. “When you feel the next contraction I want you to push hard like you’re going to the bathroom.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. I see your baby’s head. Now I’m going to need your help getting it out.”

  A contraction ripped through M.J. and she clenched her teeth and pushed and pushed. It seemed as if she was slipping away into darkness until she heard the faint cry. It was followed by two slaps, and then a full-throated cry filled the room.

  “It’s a boy!”

  Those were the last words she remembered before succumbing to exhaustion.

  Samuel and Everett stared at each other when they heard the baby’s cry. They shared a smile similar to one they exchanged whenever successfully negotiating a new deal.

  Everett reached over and patted Samuel’s shoulder. “Congratulations.”

  Closing his eyes and whispering a silent prayer of gratitude, Samuel nodded. “Thank you.”

  Pushing back his chair, Everett stood up. “I have something hidden under the seat of my car that would do nicely right about now.’

  Samuel opened his eyes, grinning broadly. “Bring it in, Kirkland.” He forced himself not to get up and go to the bedroom. He wanted to make certain his wife was okay, and he also wanted to meet his son or daughter for the first time.

  Everett returned with a bottle of scotch smuggled in from Canada. Both men toasted each other with the illegal spirits, tossing it back in one swallow.

  “Don’t drink too much of that stuff, Mr. Cole. I can’t have you dropping your son.”

  Samuel turned to find the midwife cradling a tiny infant in the crook of her arm. “My son,” he said reverently. “Is he okay?”

  Willa Lee handed him the baby. He stared at the tiny face, his heart softening and turning over when his son’s mouth made sucking sounds, indicating he wanted to be fed.

  “He’s perfect, Mr. Cole. Mrs. Cole is a little tired, but she’s going to be just fine in a couple of days.”

  Samuel peered closer at the red-face baby. “He looks like his mother.”

  Willa nodded. “He’s her spitting image. I’m going to clean up your wife, and then you can see her.” She held out her arms for the baby. “It’s going to be a few days before all of her milk comes in, but she’ll be able to give him enough to keep him from being too hungry.”

  Samuel relinquished his son to the midwife. Shaking his head, he fell back down to the chair he’d vacated. He extended his glass to Everett. “Give me one more.”

  “No, Samuel. You need to be sober when you see your wife.”

  Running a hand over his face, he nodded. “You’re right.”

  “Have you and M.J. come up with a name for your son?”

  “Martin Diaz Cole.”

  “Who selected the name?”

  “M.J. She wanted him named for Martin de Porres, a sixteenth-century Peruvian priest who ministered to the sick and poor. She predicts the Church will canonize him as a saint one of these days.”

  Leaning back on his chair, Everett shook his head. “Wonders never cease. A Southern Negro boy named for a Spanish priest.”

  “It’s not a joke, Everett. When I married M.J. I had to agree to raise our children as Catholics.”

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Not at all. I would’ve agreed to anything to marry her. I love her just that much.”

  Everett straightened, staring at his boss as if he’d never seen him before. Suddenly it hit him. He’d found Samuel Cole’s weakness, his Achilles’ heel. It was his wife—Marguerite-Josefina Diaz Cole.

  He hadn’t known Eladia was his weakness until after she left him. Even after so many years he still missed her. He still loved her.

  The two men sat silently, each lost in his private thoughts, until Willa Lee returned to the kitchen to let Samuel know that he could see his wife.

  Samuel walked into the bedroom. The sight that greeted him would be imprinted on his brain forever.

  M.J. sat up in bed, her hair flowing around her face and shoulders, cradling Martin to her bared breast. Dark smudges under her eyes did not detract from her overall beauty. She was the quintessential Madonna with child.

  “How do you feel?” He didn’t know what else to say.

  “Tired, Sammy. Very, very tired.” M.J. closed her eyes. “Thank you, mi amor.”

  He moved closer to the bed, sat down and combed his fingers through her mussed hair. “What for, darling?”

  She opened her eyes, meeting his dark fathomless gaze. “For making me so very happy.”

  Samuel pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I live to make you happy.”

  “We’re going to have to do this again.”

  His fingers stilled. “You want another baby after what you just went through?”

  A mysterious smile curved her mouth. “Yes. We need a daughter. Who else am I going to give my jewelry to?”

  Samuel laughed under his breath. “You can always give it to your daughter-in-law.”

  Shifting slightly, M.J. rested her head on her husband’s shoulder. “That’s true. But I don’t want Martin to become an only child. Not like me.”

  “And he won’t,” Samuel promised. “We’ll wait two years, then try again.”

  What he didn’t tell M.J. was that he had put together a five-year plan. Within five years he hoped to build a house that would become a West Palm Beach showplace, and in less than five his income would give him millionaire status.

  He lay beside M.J., watching her sleep while their son fed. After a while he, too, fell asleep. Reaching over, Samuel removed the sleeping infant from M.J.’s breast; he held him close to his chest, feeling his warmth and inhaling the smell exclusive to babies.

  He didn’t want to put his son down, yet knew holding the baby would make life difficult for M.J. Walking to a corner of the bedroom, he placed Martin in a cradle. He stood, arms crossed over his chest, losing track of time as he made plans for his firstborn.

  Then he remembered he’d left Everett in the kitchen. Retracing his steps, he found the kitchen empty. His gaze lingered on a wall calendar. Someone had circled the date. It had to be Everett.

  January 31—a day he would never forget, the day he’d become a father. Going down on one knee, he rested his forehead on a chair and prayed. He said a prayer of thanksgiving, and he prayed for strength. He would need the strength to become a better husband and a good father.

  PART 3

  1929

  Teresa Maldonado

  Single women have a dreadful propensity for being poor, which is one very strong argument in favor of matrimony.

  —Jane Austen

  Chapter 20

  It is not by spectacular achievements that man can be transformed, but by will.

  —Henrik Ibsen

  Havana, Cuba—veintiuno de diciembre 1928

  Marguerite-Josefina sat on a cushioned love seat next to Jose Luis, enjoying the smell of blooming flowers in the garden of the mansion in the Vedado neighborhood.

  “Everything is so beautiful, so peaceful here.”

  Jose Luis heard the wistfulness in his daughter’s voice. “Is it not beautiful and peaceful in Florida
, Chica?”

  She let out a soft sigh. “It is, Papa, but it is different.”

  A light breeze off the ocean stirred wisps of hair that had escaped the single braid. There were a few occasions when she talked about cutting her hair like millions of other women worldwide, but Samuel had pleaded with her not to. She’d acquiesced, because there weren’t that many things he asked of or from her.

  “Different how?” Jose Luis asked. “Did you not tell me that the house Samuel built for you is one of the finest houses in all of West Palm Beach?”

  A knowing smile parted her lips. “It is the finest. When we return I plan to host the grandest gathering just to give those putas who hate me so much something to talk about.”

  “Chica!”

  M.J. rolled her eyes while sucking her teeth, a habit she’d picked up from her housekeeper. “They are bitches, Papa. I threatened Samuel that I would divorce him if he told any of their husbands that we were building a house.”

  Jose Luis chuckled. “What did they say when you moved away?”

  “There wasn’t much they could say. While the house was under construction I ordered the furniture I wanted. The pieces were delivered one week, and we moved in the next week. One morning I put Martin and Nancy in the car and drove away. Samuel and Bessie stayed behind to monitor the movers when they loaded everything from our old house onto a truck. Our housekeeper has a cousin who works for one of these vacas and she said they were so upset that some of them took to their beds once they realized Samuel and I owned the property.”

  Jose Luis shook his head as he smothered a laugh. “Which ones are they, Chica? Putas or cows?”

  M.J.’s grin matched her father’s. “Both.” She sobered quickly. “When are you coming to visit with me and your grandchildren?”

  She had written and called her father so often that she’d lost count, inviting him to come and spend time with her son and daughter in the U.S. Three months after Martin’s birth, she and Samuel sailed to Cuba to introduce Jose Luis to his first grandchild. Thereafter she and Samuel visited Cuba every six months.