Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [82]
When Ana received a letter from her mother, she begrudged Jesusa’s effusive love now that she was across the ocean. But she grieved when news arrived of her grandfather’s death at ninety-three. He was found sitting in his chair, his legs on his footstool, his blanket on his lap. Unlike her parents, Abuelo Cubillas had encouraged her curiosity and valued her intelligence, and after his death, he continued to have an impact on her life. Three weeks after the news that he’d passed away, Severo returned from Guares with formal and impressive documents for Ana. Her grandfather had left her fifteen thousand pesos.
She said nothing to Ramón about her inheritance, worried that if she told him about the money he’d spend it. She wrote to her father and asked him to arrange that most of the funds be kept in an account in Sevilla that she could draw upon when necessary. She didn’t care that don Gustavo would know by this request that something was amiss in her marriage. When he confirmed her instructions, she knew he wouldn’t interfere. He deducted the precise amount owed to Luis Morales Font—a total of 3,167 pesos, including interest—to settle the notes he held against Hacienda los Gemelos. She gave the bill of exchange to Ramón so that he’d pay don Luis.
“Where did the money come from?”
“A loan from my father,” she lied.
“You’d go behind my back to ask don Gustavo for a loan? He’ll think that I’m unable to take care of you and my son.”
“That’s precisely what he’s worried about. You seem more concerned about his good opinion than mine.”
“I do care more about his good opinion,” he said and, narrowing his eyes as if to erase her from his sight, added, “you, I despise.”
A cry escaped her lips, surprising her as much as it did Ramón. No one had ever said anything so mean-spirited to her face. She was thousands of miles from the only homes she’d ever known, where there was no love but never hatred, not hatred. She felt utterly alone in the world.
Ramón’s face changed from loathing to regret to pity. “Ana, I’m sorry.”
She stopped him with her hands, unable to speak because her throat was as closed as if he’d pressed his fingers around her neck and squeezed. All the angry words we’ve hurled at each other before this, she thought, had led here.
“Say something.” Ramón stepped closer, to touch her, but she hardened her face and backed away.
“There’s nothing that can ever expunge those words from my heart,” she said. “You despise me.”
“I didn’t mean it—”
“You did, Ramón. We have nothing left to say to each other.”
“What more do you want from me?”
“I want nothing from you,” she said. “Nada. You can abandon me here, if you like. You already have, with your putas—”
“They mean nothing to me.”
“Please don’t insult me, or your women, for that matter.”
“I won’t abandon you, Ana, or my son,” he said. “Yes, I’ve been unfaithful, but the pressures we’ve faced … this was supposed to be an adventure, but it’s a nightmare. No, don’t remind me we knew it would be challenging, but … I’m not made for this. I’m only still here because of you and Miguel. I promised to try it for five years. I’m an honorable man, Ana, but I’m counting the days until January 10, 1850—nineteen months. No, I will not desert you. You see, I mean to keep my promise to you and to my father. But when the five years are up, we will go. If I have to drag you by force, Ana, we’ll go home. Whatever happens after that is up to God.”
“In twenty-four year work for doña Benigna and don Felipe,” Flora said to Inés and José, “I never hear yell so much like doña Ana and don Ramón.”
“My other patrona would die,” Inés said, “before arguing with her husband where other people could hear.”
“We’re not ‘other people’ to them,” José said. “We’re not people at all. If there was other blancos around, they’d be smiling and pretending they like each other.”
“That’s true. Allá ellos que son blancos y se entienden. Look at them now.” Inés gestured