Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [194]
Suddenly, Ana was afraid to ride into the path. Her mare felt her anxiety and skittered. If she weren’t an expert rider, Marigalante would’ve sent Ana down. She managed to control her and swallowed the lump in her throat.
She’d never been on the paths at night without Severo. She was now being led down the hill by a forlorn procession of the old, the crippled, the maimed. She had a weapon if she needed to defend herself, but couldn’t imagine firing at any of them. She was struck by the familiar dread whenever she remembered that she was the mistress and these were her slaves; their lives were in her hands, but now they held hers. She should have locked herself behind the safety of her door, but she’d gone too far, had been decisive without remembering the dangers that kept her under her roof once the sun dropped into the sea.
The campo that soothed the music of her nights from the balcón now sounded different when she was in the jungled, dark terrain. Her entourage stamped their feet along the rocky path to scare off the slithering creatures of the night. Branches creaked and thwacked against her. Marigalante trod suspiciously, as if she’d not gone up and down this path a thousand times. Ana kept track of the hounds as they ran ahead, returned, barked, and howled. Ana wasn’t as adept as Severo at managing the dogs, but if anyone attempted to hurt her, she knew they’d protect her.
A gust of wind smacked her face, and Ana slapped it back as if she could punish it. She felt like crying but refused to give in to fear and to the rage that accosted her whenever she felt weak or helpless. She tightened her jaw and ordered the procession to move faster, even though her eyes were watering from the smoke now billowing up the hill into the night sky, the air sticky and cloying with burning sugar.
When Ana and the others from El Destino arrived at the infirmary, Zena and Toño had already opened cots and were tying up hammocks. Four workers were recovering from illnesses, so Ana looked in on them. Afterward, she and Conciencia set up their bowls, unguents, and bandages, and with nothing more to do, waited for more patients.
Ana climbed to the casona porch to have a better view of the fields. To her left, the fire over San Bernabé appeared to be smoldering, but along the road to Guares, flames sparked and danced like a target.
Efraín and Indio appeared on the path, and for a moment, the two young men she’d known since they were infants, coming out of nowhere, startled her.
“Why aren’t you at your jobs?”
“El patrón sent us to see after you, señora.”
“We’re all fine here,” Ana said, coming down the stairs. “Bring some hammocks for the injured, and let’s go to Ingenio Diana.”
“No, señora!” Conciencia said.
“Is there any reason to keep me here?”
“No, but, it’s dangerous. We don’t know what—”
“You take care of things here until I come back.”
Efraín and Indio rode mules bareback, no match for Marigalante, but she let them go ahead. The path between the lower batey and Ingenio Diana was a labyrinth defined by the canebrakes on either side, in front, behind her. She could taste fear; every creak and rustle could have been someone waiting to jump in front of her with a machete. No, not someone, a man she knew, Jacobo, whose wounds she’d salved. Wounds inflicted by Severo.
“Ahead to the left,” Efraín called. The night was so dark that they were going in the correct direction from sheer habit.
Of course Jacobo wouldn’t be hiding in the cane to hurt her. He’d be running in the other direction from where she was going, running as far as he could from Hacienda los Gemelos. And why wouldn’t he? What was there for him but toil and suffering? She shook her head, her usual gesture to stop thinking that didn’t lead to answers, only more questions.
“Across the bridge,” Indio called, and in a few moments she saw the irrigation trench to either side and the planks across it from one field to the other. There was light ahead as they neared Ingenio Diana. There was activity, movement,