Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [90]
There was a constant flux in the population. Entire regiments came from Spain, and so did desterrados—political exiles serving their sentences. Refugees from civil unrest in South America and the nearby islands stayed long enough to terrify the locals with their stories. Sailors made mischief along the waterfront. Gamblers, quacks, and charlatans sought their marks, found them, swindled them, and disappeared, their exploits adding drama and color to conversations.
San Juan was a lively, gay city if Leonor didn’t look too closely at the dismal infrastructure, the frequent droughts, and the nonexistent sewerage. She learned that almost everything she needed to keep a comfortable household had to be imported, including essentials like olive oil. The locals used lard or coconut oil for cooking, which weighed heavily on her palate.
Her mornings were spent at her desk, composing letters. The very morning that Ramón and Inocente left, Leonor dispatched a barrage of warnings and instructions for surviving the rigors of their endeavor based on her extensive experience as a military wife. Their responses, weeks later, were chatty and impersonal and didn’t address her main concerns. Leonor knew that Ana wrote them, even if they were in Ramón’s and Inocente’s hand. After all, she’d composed Eugenio’s letters to his family after she married him; this was a wife’s chore. She resented it, however.
She was sure that her sons’ lives were harsher than Ana’s letters allowed. She knew that if her sons visited San Juan after living in the campo, they wouldn’t return. She’d introduce them to the friends she’d made in the capital. They’d persuade her sons to do what they did: live in the city and visit the hacienda once or twice a year for a few weeks of riding and leisure.
Leonor’s friends in San Juan were the husbands and sons of planters, some of whom had heard of Hacienda los Gemelos. When she mentioned it, however, the men’s faces hardened, and their women lowered their eyes and suddenly found need of the breeze provided by their fans. They knew something she didn’t know, but they wouldn’t talk about it. When she mentioned it to Eugenio, he claimed not to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. Elena looked at her pityingly but would not explain.
The day Elena received a letter in Inocente’s formal style, not in Ana’s cheery voice, and with trembling fingers handed it to her, Leonor cried with happiness when she read of his intention to return to San Juan, marry Elena, and help his father with the farm in Caguas. If Inocente lived near San Juan, Ramón would soon follow, no matter what Ana said or did. Her two boys, Leonor knew, couldn’t live without each other.
After Inocente’s murder Eugenio and Elena tiptoed around her as if she’d explode into curses and recriminations every time Los Gemelos was mentioned. But Leonor mourned her son with quiet dignity, arranging novenas, attending Mass, spending hours in prayer with Padre Juan or with the nuns at the Convento de las Carmelitas, and donating to religious charities in Inocente’s name. She no longer reminded Eugenio and Elena about her premonitions. Inocente’s death had vindicated her. She didn’t cry if he was mentioned, nor did she tell them that she blamed Ana for Inocente’s death. Now that her worst fears had come true, Leonor didn’t wish to jinx her remaining son’s life by constantly talking about the unease she still felt, fears that she tried to banish with prayer and with the sweet sherry she sipped to calm her nerves and help her sleep. She was glad that after Inocente’s death Ana was no longer writing Ramón’s letters. Each page was full of sorrow, and he answered her questions thoughtfully, although he was still unspecific about when he, Ana, and Miguel would