Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [51]
“As you can see,” Ana said, “we live humbly.” She was annoyed at herself for apologizing.
“Please, don’t fret,” Faustina said. “We’re all pioneers in this wilderness and must adjust to circumstances.”
“When we first came,” Luis added, “we lived in a palm-frond and dirt-floor bohío, like the cottages of the jíbaros.”
“You’ve been here about ten years, is that so?” Ramón asked.
“Longer,” Faustina said. “Almost thirteen—”
“You’ve accomplished much in that time.” Ramón turned to Ana. “Their farm is a model of efficiency and beauty—”
“You’re kind,” Luis said. “But it’s taken years.”
“Don Luis knew my uncle,” Ramón said, “and told him about this land—”
“I would’ve bought it myself,” Luis said, “but we weren’t in a position—”
Faustina cleared her throat. Just then, Flora brought lemonade, followed by Marta carrying a tray of crackers, cheese, and sliced papaya. Both women had smoothed their aprons and tucked their blouses into their skirts. Flora wore a new, bright yellow head wrap tied into a jaunty bow. Ana was grateful to Flora, who was often one step ahead of her and didn’t require as much direction as the others. She’d even placed a festive bouquet of hibiscus blossoms in the center of the tray.
Faustina looked askance at the polished coconut shell cups for drinking, at the bamboo and woven palm frond trays, at the heavy clay pitcher. Ana’s response was to handle them with the delicacy and grace of fine porcelain and crystal.
They chatted as they sipped their drinks, half of Ana’s mind on her mental list of chores. Did she lock the pantry and liquor closet before she went outside? It was midmorning. That meant that the guests would stay for el almuerzo and a short siesta. They’d have to rest in hammocks in Inocente’s room, then a snack before they rode home. There went her day.
“We’ll leave you ladies to get acquainted,” Ramón broke into her reverie. “I want to show don Luis around the ingenio. We’ll be back for lunch.”
The men left, and Faustina seemed delighted to be alone with Ana.
“We have some interesting families hereabouts,” she said, “but it’s hard to get to know them. The distances aren’t great, but the roads, as you’ve surely noticed, are terrible or nonexistent.”
“I don’t know. I’ve not left the hacienda since we arrived.”
“Yes, the zafra is all-consuming for sugar planters. We farmers are on a more leisurely rhythm. Do you mind, dear, if I work as we chat?” Faustina pulled a bag from a pocket and began working finely chained crochet as she talked.
Ana found her mending basket. “You knew don Rodrigo?”
“A fine man, and we’ll always be grateful to him, may he rest in peace, and be a friend to his family.”
“Thank you.”
“Our parents fled to Puerto Rico from Santo Domingo, nearly destitute, after Haiti invaded our country in 1822.” She looked up to see if Ana had any idea what she was talking about. Ana nodded, but Faustina had to tell her stories in a strict order, regardless of whether her interlocutor knew the details or not.
“When the occupying Haitian government freed our slaves, they also seized our farms and plantations, to nationalize them. Our parents were lucky to escape with enough to start over. Luis and I met in Mayagüez, where most of our family now lives.” She set her work down and looked over the canopy of trees, and farther, to the hills north of Hacienda los Gemelos. “Like you,” she continued, “we came here with a bit of money and much energy. Of course, at the beginning one never has enough.” She sought confirmation from Ana, who was engrossed in her mending. “Don Rodrigo extended credit as we built San Bernabé, and understood when we needed a bit more time,” she continued. “He asked Luis to keep an eye for land around here.” She turned her work without looking at it. “He was fond of his nephews and hoped they’d live here someday.”
“Is that true?”
“Yes, certainly. Luis visited him in that grand new house he built.…” She sighed. “Life is