Conquistadora (41 page)

“Please, Siña Damita, please don’t haunt me,” he said aloud once he was less queasy. He was glad that it was daylight, because El Caminante walked the roads and byways of the hacienda, and he might be nearby with Siña Damita’s spirit. Efraín crossed himself several times the way doña Ana taught, then said what he remembered of the Lord’s prayer and the Hail Mary. He crossed himself again, then ran as fast as his legs could pump, as if Siña Damita’s and El Caminante’s spirits were chasing him. He found doña Ana in the
infirmary and, between gasps and wheezes he told
la patrona
that Siña Damita would never return to Hacienda los Gemelos.

Siña Damita’s death left Los Gemelos without a midwife and
curandera
. Dr. Vieira came from Guares to the hacienda only when there was a serious injury or illness. With help from the elders, Ana and Flora tried to take over Damita’s duties. Severo delivered books and pamphlets that added to Ana’s knowledge.

As news of the devastation in nearby plantations reached them, Ana realized that they were comparatively lucky. Luis reported to Severo that Faustina and their boys were visiting relatives when the hurricane hit, so they were spared the sight of their new home collapsed. Most of their belongings were crushed, while the older wooden structure used for storage was left intact. Other neighbors lost relatives and workers either during the hurricane or in its aftermath of disease, unstable structures, and the heartbreak of having to start over.

“I hoped to have the
casa grande
finished by now,” Severo told Ana one night, after a long, arduous day.

“It can’t be helped. In any case, I like living in the center of things.”

“It’s not appropriate. You’re a lady.”

“I’ve lived here for almost seven years. Why is it suddenly inappropriate?”

“This was not intended to be your permanent home. You need an elegant house and servants to look after you. You’re a lady, and you should live like one.”

“Now you sound like doña Leonor,” she retorted. They both fell silent, and the space between them widened. After a few seconds, she turned to him.
“Lo siento, mi amor.”
She stroked his chest. “What I mean is I don’t assume I must behave a certain way because I was born in this family as opposed to that one. You should know that by now.”

“There’s a difference between flouting convention and deliberately lowering yourself below your station.”

“Severo, you surprise me with this talk.”

“We’re not
campesinos
. We’re
hacendados
.”

So that’s it, she thought. Now that he’s rich, he has to prove he’s no longer a peasant.

“I thought you’d like the new house,” he said after a while. “I’m building it the way you designed it, on the most beautiful spot.”

“I know.”

“You haven’t asked to go there, don’t ask how the work is going or when the house will be ready. You take no interest.”

“Am I supposed to ride down the hill every time I want to snip a few herbs or flowers? I’m rebuilding my gardens in the wake of this disaster. The orchards I’ve worked so hard to establish, the animals we grow for food. The workers who help me are all down here.”

“You don’t need to do any of that. That’s why we have them.”

“I like working in the gardens.”

“All of that can happen up there.” He relented after a few moments, his voice growing tighter with each word.

“You’re being unrealistic,” Ana said, measuring her words. “That would be like setting up another plantation. The workers won’t be able to go from one job to the other easily, like they do now. It takes too long to get up there.”

“Remember, Ana, think back: the first thing you did when you came here was to design a proper house.”

Ana felt as if she were pushing a mountain. “I was a girl then, missing home. It was a fantasy, Severo, not an order.”

They fell silent again, but she could practically hear him thinking, could feel his muscles jerking, as if he were controlling the urge to move. He’d been in love with her for seven years, and over that time, she’d shed a part of herself that he valued—
the señora de buena familia
who could elevate his status. She’d forgotten who she was, but he hadn’t.

She tried to rouse him again, her fingers playing with the coarse hair on his belly. “Right now, it’s more important to put our resources into Los Gemelos,
mi amor
. A new
casona
is a distraction when we have so much to do. You have made me so happy in every way possible. You anticipate my every need. And the house is beautiful. But really, it’s not as important to me as—”

He took her without words, forcefully, and for the first time in the year they’d been married, he climaxed inside her.

The next morning, a Sunday, Severo awoke earlier than usual. The boards creaked with every step and made him feel heavy, ungainly.

He took pride in being the first person awake at Los Gemelos. He was usually on horseback before dawn, regardless of weather.
By the time the foremen led the workers to their stations, he would have done a circuit of the fields so that at the end of the day he could gauge how much was accomplished.

On Sundays, however, Severo let himself be seen by his tenants. He allowed
campesinos
to build
bohíos
on the boundaries of his lands. It was an inducement for
jornaleros
, and he expected them to work for him during the
zafra
. He garnered their wages to make sure they paid their rent. During
el tiempo muerto
, it was important to visit them lest they forget whose land they occupied, and that they must make it yield enough to pay their rent in the form of labor, produce, or cash, or find another place to live, another plot to farm.

He had no patience with lazy
campesinos
, the ones who spent more time on fighting cocks and cards than on agriculture. He was sorry for their women, whose only relief from hard work and worry was an untimely death, frequently as they sent forth yet another offspring destined for hopelessness and misery. If they were widowed and showed some grit, Severo sometimes forgave a portion of their dead husband’s debts so long as the widows didn’t neglect their duty to the land. That was why many of his tenants were women with children, some of them his. He kept a record of his unions and his bastards, but didn’t otherwise single them out in any way lest they get it into their heads that they were entitled to anything they didn’t earn.

There was one exception, however. Consuelo Soldevida was not technically a tenant. She lived on his land beyond Ana’s circuit. He provided for her as well as he provided for Ana, except that Consuelo’s needs were simpler, her expectations lower.

Before marrying Ana, he’d lived with Consuelo, but when Ana accepted his proposal, he moved to his house by the river. During the three months of their engagement, he appeared at Consuelo’s gate on Sunday afternoons after his rounds, but he hadn’t been to see her since his marriage.

Over the eight years they’d known each other, Consuelo’s body had changed, its contours a frequent delight. Some days she was soft and round, other days her arms and legs felt muscular, her buttocks and belly hard. She’d been pregnant several times but hadn’t presented him a child, claiming miscarriages and stillbirths. Before he married Ana, he would’ve legitimized a daughter or son from
Consuelo, he told her, but she’d been unable to deliver a healthy infant.

Much of his wealth went to Spain, where he enriched the lives of his mother and father, his six sisters and brothers, and their families. His father and brothers no longer toiled over a cobbling bench. His mother wore custom-made frocks with plenty of lace and had a maid to clean her house and a cook to prepare meals. His brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews ate well every day, thanks to his industry. Even Padre Antonio, who taught him to read and write and drilled Latin into him, benefited from Severo’s good fortune in the New World. A niche in the church was now the Fuentes Arosemeno chapel, its Jesus on the cross surrounded by the three Marías was paid for with the sweat from Severo’s brow.

He often thought that he was a man whose every dream had come true. He’d dared to strive and rise above his class, to marry a lady, to make a fortune. He now rode a fine gray Andalusian horse named Penumbra and dressed like the well-established country gentleman he was. He also knew the price he’d paid for his dreams. His neighbors considered themselves his betters because one or two generations separated them from the manual labor that his parents endured. They resented his acumen in business. Many faltered and came to him for loans that they failed to pay for the same reasons they needed them in the first place. He’d expanded his holdings from their insolvency. Arrogance, purity of blood, and noble descent didn’t guarantee an ability to manage men and a business.

He was thirty-two years old and had fulfilled his responsibilities as a son, and a year after his marriage, he was ready for the next phase in his life. He was a good husband and friend to Ana, he’d settle her in the luxury she deserved, and he expected that she’d deliver sons to carry their names. His internal voice had told him there would be a son, so he’d given her a year to get to know him, and to learn to love him, although he was sure she didn’t know it—yet. Severo Fuentes was a patient man.

This Sunday morning he decided to take a look at the new house, neglected since the hurricane. As he expected, the path was overgrown, trees toppled across it, so he dismounted several times to move trunks, chop branches with his machete, and lead Penumbra up the muddy slope. When he finally reached the top, he was pleased
that, while there was much debris over the grounds, the sturdy walls of the house held.

A flock of dead birds lay on their side on the porch, their bodies decomposing. As he walked around the unfinished rooms, he found more birds smashed against walls, three snakes, centipedes, and a mongoose. He fashioned a stiff broom from branches tied with
bejuco
and swept the dead creatures, the leaves and twigs that the wind blew into the corners, and the piles of rubble over the side of the hill.

Since Ana had last seen the house, the walls were within a row of where they’d eventually stop. The crossbeams were stacked behind the property. The
tejas
for the roof couldn’t be made on-site, but he’d ordered them from Sevilla, and expected to receive word any day that the ship carrying them as ballast was docked in Guares. The walls were formed from Puerto Rican clay; the
azulejo
floor and the roof tiles were being fired in the city where Ana was born. It was the kind of detail he hoped she’d appreciate. She was an educated woman; she would understand the poetry of his choices.

Sweeping, cleaning, Severo thought about the conversation of the previous night, but no matter how many times he went over her words, he always reached the same conclusion. It pained him that Ana, even as she reached for him in their bed, would refuse a gift he’d been working seven years to give her.

The house was cleared now, and Severo began the journey to the valley. Instead of heading for the
batey
, however, he led Penumbra toward the familiar path leading to the line of palms along the sea. Consuelo’s cottage still stood near the beach, the hammock still tied to the porch rafters. Parts of her garden were damaged, but the rest was intact. He brought Penumbra around the back, tied him up, and entered the gate.

“Consuelo,
mi consuelo
,” he called, and she emerged from the cottage, as unsurprised as if she were expecting him, even though it was over a year since he’d last visited.

“Adelante, mi amor.”
Her throaty voice was honey, and as soon as he climbed the porch steps he felt at home.

After Severo left, Consuelo rolled up the hammock and picked up around the cottage. She knew that Severo would come back to her,
just as the pirate Cofresí always returned to her mother. Severo married
la gran dama de España
, as the
jíbaras
called her, but men were men. No matter how grand their ladies, they always sought
consuelo
.

Over the months since he’d last come to see her, Severo had sent Efraín to deliver tins of sardines, a hoe, two lengths of rope, six yards of white cotton, three spools of thread, a ladle, and an enameled tin coffeepot. The boy also brought fruits in season, yams, sacks of rice,
canecas
of rum, tobacco, and, of course, sugar. These gifts were Severo’s love letters, because she couldn’t read. His message was “Wait for me.”

Consuelo waited, but she wasn’t idle. She grew vegetables and flowers, she fished, she improved her cottage. Nearby
campesinas
came to visit because even though Consuelo had been a
puta
, she was the mistress of the man who owned the land they lived on. Consuelo was also generous. Any
campesina
could come to her for a handful of rice, for a sweet papaya or a bunch of
quenepas
. Their sons caught turtles or fished for octopus and always brought her some of their catch. She sent them home with a
penca
of salted codfish or a bunch of dried
manzanilla
. Sometimes the
campesinas
brought their children to bathe at her beach.

Over the first three years Consuelo was Severo’s woman, she delivered three convulsing infants gasping for breath who died within hours. Siña Damita had told her that a powerful curse had been placed on her womb.

“A jealous woman, the worst kind.” Damita suggested baths and invocations to the full moon, and gave her cuttings of
vara prieta, tártago
, and
cariaquillo
to grow along her fence near the gate. “They protect from bad spirits. You mash leaves, boil in much water, mix with cool water, and pour over you every day for one week. The curse will be washed away.”

Six years ago, Severo came one night,
desesperado
, smelling of blood and death, and Consuelo was sure she’d conceived again. Nine months later she delivered a baby girl the color of amber. She was tiny, and like the others, thrashing and jerking, unable to take in air.