Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [17]
“Of course they’re proud of their good names and their ancestors’ achievements.”
“But they’ve done nothing,” Ana said. “They have no achievements of their own. They’ve made nothing, created nothing, worked at nothing. They will leave no trace that they ever existed. They have no legacy except for their names, which they did nothing to earn.”
“That’s so harsh.”
Ana folded and placed an embroidered pillowcase over a stack of napkins. “I don’t want to be like them. I’m more like our Larragoity and Cubillas relatives on the walls, the ones who turned their faces toward the future, not the ones who only look to the past.”
Elena moved the pillowcase to its proper place with the others. “Not everyone is comfortable with the uncertainties of the future, Ana.”
“How can you know what you’re capable of if you don’t embrace the unknown?”
“Some people, like your parents, like me, don’t want to be tested. We’re happy living as quietly and comfortably as possible.”
“Not me.” Ana closed the chest. “I don’t expect comfort, or even happiness when it comes down to it.”
“How can you not want to be happy?”
“I didn’t say I don’t want it. I don’t expect it. That day and night the nuns made me lie facedown on the cold stone floor, I learned that you pay for your happiness. That’s why I don’t expect to be happy all the time. I’d rather be surprised by one moment every so often to remind me that joy is possible, even if I have to pay for it later.”
“You’re more realistic, I suppose, than me.”
Ana leaned over and kissed Elena. “I’m happy when I’m with you.”
“That makes us both happy, then.”
Ana married Ramón on Saturday, August 3, 1844, one week after her eighteenth birthday, in a ceremony attended only by family, with Elena as bridesmaid and Inocente as best man. When she saw her daughter as a wife, Jesusa became the mother she’d never been. She cried through the Mass in the Catedral de Sevilla and at the subsequent reception in their home as Gustavo begged her to restrain herself.
“You’re making us both look ridiculous,” he said.
“Our darling Anita, our sweet, our cherished only child, and she’s leaving us,” Jesusa sobbed.
Ana was jealous of the Anita her mother was now creating as she, the real, living, adult Ana, was about to leave home. She couldn’t wait to escape Jesusa’s emotions. It was too much, too late. Were it possible, she would’ve sailed for San Juan that minute.
As soon as the wedding luncheon was over, Ramón and Ana, Eugenio, Leonor, Elena, and Inocente boarded the ship to Cádiz. The newlyweds would stay in a suite at a seaside inn until they would all sail for San Juan in one of the Marítima Argoso Marín vessels later that week.
Ana and Elena had talked about her wedding night, and had agreed that Ana should play the innocent virgin so that Ramón would believe that she’d had no experience with sexual intimacy. It was, after all, what a man expected.
That night, Ramón came into the bedroom after Ana had climbed into bed.
“You must be tired, querida,” he said, lying next to her but not touching her.
“It was a long day,” she said.
“Our life together has begun, and I plan to be worthy of you.”
“You already are, mi amor,” she said.
“You looked lovely in your wedding gown.”
“Thank you. It was my great-great-grandmother Larragoity’s. It’s now been worn by six generations of brides.”
It puzzled her that he made no move toward her, but for the next half hour at least, Ramón continued to make small talk as Ana responded in as few words as possible. She was sure he was trying to be a gentleman, to get her to relax before the inevitable ravishing, but the longer he talked, the tenser she became, which made him more voluble.
When he’d exhausted every possible theme of conversation, Ramón finally turned to Ana and placed his hand on her belly. “I’m sorry, querida,” he said. “This might be uncomfortable at first, but you will soon get used to it.”
He climbed on top of her, kissed her a few times, told her how much he loved her, fumbled with