Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [67]
As if she’d heard her calling, Flora appeared.
“Don Ramón is calling for you, señora.”
Ana ran to him, away from her own questions.
He was hunched on the edge of the bed, his fists against his eyes as if to press back images he didn’t want to see. “I shouldn’t have let him go by land. Severo arranged for a ship, but he wanted to ride.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t blame yourself—”
“I told him to go to San Juan and marry Elena. If he had a wife, a son, we’d both have the same.”
“You couldn’t have imagined what happened. No one could have.”
She wouldn’t speak it but couldn’t silence her own thoughts, what every owner knew: that slaves challenged their masters, that they killed them, that they set fire to their homes, their land, that they escaped into the woods or to sea. Severo said that young men were the most likely to run away, and those who didn’t try to escape by water hid in the dense forests of the island’s central mountain range. In order to reduce the possibility of conspiracies, they were forbidden to congregate in groups larger than three. Their tools were kept under lock when not being used, and they weren’t allowed to carry any implements or weapons, like knives or machetes, unrelated to the work they were doing at the time.
“If they could kill Inocente, they could come after us, too,” Ramón said. “And why shouldn’t they?”
“Don’t say that,” she said, even though he spoke aloud what she was thinking. “We can’t let them frighten us,” she said, more to ward off her own dread than to console her husband.
“¡Qué horror!” Faustina climbed the steps that afternoon, breathless, to the casona.
“The lieutenant stopped to let us know what happened.” Luis came up behind her.
“Do accept our deepest condolences,” Faustina said. “Our sweet Inocente, what a tragedy, my dears, what a terrible loss.”
“We’re here to help,” Luis said. “You shouldn’t be here alone in your sorrow. Do you own firearms?”
“We have a rifle. You don’t think—”
“Just a precaution,” Luis said.
Having them around relieved some of Ana’s anxiety, and don Luis seemed to be a comfort to Ramón. But Faustina’s chatter overwhelmed her. She pressed Ana for details about Inocente’s trip. Why had Severo left them alone? When would he be back? The more she wanted to know, the less Ana wanted to tell her.
“You poor child,” Faustina finally said, dissimulating her frustration at Ana’s vague answers. “Clearly, you’re overcome with grief and here I am, asking impertinent questions. Please forgive me.”
Ana said nothing.
Faustina pulled her rosary from a pocket. “Our faith is a solace at times like these. We can pray.”
They spent most of the night in prayer. Ana was sure that neither she nor Ramón would’ve been able to sleep in any case. The clicking beads and the rhythmic waves of the invocations soothed Ana’s nerves, and allowed her to be silent with her grief but not alone in her fear. The next morning Luis talked to the foremen as they led the slaves to their chores to make sure that nothing unusual had happened overnight. He reported that Severo had left strict orders for keeping the slaves under close watch while he was away. Only Teo, Marta, Flora, and Inés were allowed to come near the casona.
Visitors appeared over the next three days, until the hounds went hoarse from barking at strangers. Marta, Teo, and Flora managed the waves of food and drink that had to be prepared and served. The guests were new to Ana—local farmers and nearby hacendados or their mayordomos. Padre Xavier said Mass, and some of the campesinos joined the hacendados and mayordomos. The blancos and libertos heard Mass under the roofed rancho, while the slaves were grouped in the full sun of the yard. Soldiers came and went; a few merchants from town brought their wives. Ramón knew them all, and they were warm, generous people, concerned about him and Ana.
“You’re so young!” an hacendada exclaimed when she met Ana. “You must be so lonely out here on your own.