Chapter 12
Ana stirred her tea and picked distractedly at her slice of bread, trying to think of some way to drive away the loneliness that stabbed through her at realizing she would spend today, Noche Buena, without her family—this Christmas Eve and every one after that.
The pain of Papá’s passing had dulled, but his absence felt as though some part of her soul was missing.
Even in future years, she suspected she would never feel the same again.
And the holidays were particularly hard to experience without one’s family, she had learned.
Even though it had been years since she had spent a holiday with both her parents present, the loneliness still stung.
And Peter, it seemed, had noticed. He had already finished his breakfast, cleared away his dishes, and was now staring intently at her.
“I am glad to spend this day with you, Ana,” he said, leaning in to squeeze Ana’s shoulder. The fact that he did not seem to relish physical closeness in the past made the touch even more tender and sentimental. A rush warmed over Ana’s skin.
“I thought we might go out for an excursion this afternoon,” he continued.
“De verdad?” Ana scooted forward in her seat; her hands pressed against her heart in excitement. “Truly?”
“Yes, truly. Mickleham, a nearby village, has a lovely Christmas festival arranged. I thought we could participate in the festivities in town. Perhaps that will help to make up for my lacking any and all knowledge on how to prepare a house for the Christmas holidays.”
The anticipation that lit his eyes dimmed momentarily, and Ana mirrored him, her heart slowing, her excitement dampening. Something was the matter.
“It sounds so lovely. But did you never celebrate la Navidad with your familia before you joined the armada? Surely you remember some traditions or preparations, no?”
“Society would have you believe that the Christmas season is all about spending time together as a family. But our celebrations were not typical of many other households. My father chose to spend his time outside of the home instead of inside it, where his family was, where he perhaps should have been. Mother did her best to encourage our enthusiasm and anticipation, but I could always sense that something was not quite right.”
Ana had likewise not had an idyllic holiday in many years, at least not in the family-strengthening, traditional sense.
She recognized all too well the long-buried pain that simmered in Peter’s eyes.
That same pain wrenched at her heart each December and January at the absence of Mamá.
And now with Papá having passed on, it was even more acute.
She rubbed a hand on her chest, as if that could diminish the very real ache that dwelled there. “I know how you mean.”
Peter rubbed a hand over his neck as a muscle pulsed in his jaw. It seemed he was truly bothered by this memory. Ana’s heart ached. She wished she could smooth the lines of frustration that creased his forehead. How could she make this better?
“Quizás we can celebrate together. We are a family, tú y yo, and soon to be a bigger family aún.” She rubbed a hand over her middle. “It is important that we make our own traditions, no?” Ana spread her lips in her brightest, most encouraging smile.
The pain in Peter’s eyes and the tension in his face melted away, and he could not seem to avoid the reluctant grin that curved the corner of his smile.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Perhaps this is a great blessing for us both, to start the holiday season and the new year afresh. I would love to make more traditions with you, Ana.”
Butterflies erupted in her belly at the thought of spending this Christmas and all the Christmases after that with Peter. And slowly that longing ache in her chest started to dull. It appeared it would be a much-needed season of healing for them both.
“Ay Pedro, muchísimas gracias!” Ana jumped from her chair and pressed an unrelenting kiss to Peter’s cheek, despite his gentle resistance.
But this was no mere beso of greeting. Her lips had lingered on his cheek.
She had wanted him to feel her closeness, her appreciation.
She had wanted to kiss him. That reality filled her with a shocking excitement just as much as the prospect of a Christmas celebration did.
“It is Christmas Eve, after all—we must celebrate somehow,” he said with a crooked smile.
Ana hurried upstairs to dress for the day, breakfast abandoned and forgotten.
Finally, her sickness was beginning to abate, and she was anxious to get outside of the house.
Even though Surrey Hills likely had drastically different Christmas traditions than Valencia, she would jump at any excuse to be freed of her chamber.
It was still a beautiful, peaceful space, but her enduring nausea had begun to make it feel more confining than comforting.
How freeing it would be to be outside. And she was quite curious about the Christmas traditions the day would bring.
Once they were prepared, Peter helped Ana into the carriage, handing her a basket of food for their midday meal.
“Mrs. Thompson has certainly ensured that we won’t starve, although I assured her we would only be gone a few hours.”
“Perfecto. You know how with the bebé I have so much hunger.”
He chuckled, “Yes, I know. And we shall have to sample some of the traditional foods in town as well. They may not be Spanish, but I can attest they will be delicious.”
Sometime later, the carriage rocked to a stop in front of the charming Mickleham village square, and Ana had to fight back a sigh of brief disappointment.
It was nothing like Spain. Even though she understood quite well that she was in an entirely different country and climate, she had still found herself imagining the cobblestone-lined square in Valencia, doused in golden afternoon sunlight and full of countless booths, each sporting porcelain toys, decorated instruments, delicately constructed cakes, and countless stacks of vibrant fruit.
Ana could smell the sea’s salt in the air, could hear the strumming of strings, like waves of music.
How she longed for the Navidad in Valencia of her childhood.
Instead, the scene in front of her was completely engulfed in evergreen boughs, red winter berries, and spindly candles.
No, it was nothing like Spain. But it still was magical.
The next few hours were full of new and exciting entertainment.
Music trilled through the air, and the freeing country dances were enjoyed by all.
Ana had feasted upon all the roast boar, berries, gingerbread, and bread pudding she could possibly eat.
How blissful it felt to enjoy food without the restraints of a nauseated stomach!
Peter had even joined the men in a feat of strength that consisted of sitting on the ground across from each other, the bottoms of their feet touching as they both grasped the same thick, wooden stick and pulled.
Peter easily pulled over man after man, to the great amusement of the crowd, until they finally allowed him to take a rest. Ana cheered louder than anyone in the crowd, laughing alongside them each time Peter pulled over another man at an increasing rate.
Laughing did seem to help tamp down the growing rush of attraction that made her want to march over to her husband and wrap him in her arms. That is what she told herself, at the very least.
Peter sat heavily on the wooden bench next to Ana and chuckled. “They are quite the rowdy group tonight. I do apologize.”
“It is perfect. I love to see this happiness and celebration.”
“I do as well,” Peter said, his shoulder rubbing against hers, sending delightful tingles running down her arm. “How do you celebrate Navidad in Valencia?”
Again, that familiar pain speared Ana’s heart, but she steered her mind elsewhere. Instead of focusing on the lonely, too-quiet evenings at home or camp with Papá, she recalled the enchanting scene set each December in the town square.
“Oh, it was so especial. Like here, we eat so much delicious food and many sweets as well. In Valencia, we also enjoyed a lot of fish. It was rather warm there during la Navidad. There are always many luces with candles in the windows of the buildings, and it looks like the sparkling stars of the night.”
“I’m sure it is a marvelous sight to behold.”
“Indeed. One of the traditions más favoritas of my Papá was el Día de los Inocentes. On this day, everyone celebrates the baby Jesus and the Mother Mary, how they trick King Herod and escape to Egypt. The people en Espana celebrate this day with play tricks and telling chistes or jokes. Mi Papá wore a funny wig and coat and acted like a policía to scare the children. It was so amusing!”
“Perhaps we should hold our own Día de los Inocentes. It sounds quite hilarious.”
“It is. But I do not think you be prepared for the jokes I play on you!” Ana chuckled and wiggled her eyebrows at Peter, who laughed in return. “But the celebraciones do not end in December. In January, the Reyes come to bring gifts and dulces to the little ones.”
“The Reyes . . . the king of Spain?” Peter’s eyebrows raised into his hairline.
“No,” Ana said with a laugh, placing a hand on the slight roundness of her growing belly. “The three wise kings of the time of Jesús.”
“Ah. That does seem much more likely.” Their laughs mingled. How Ana loved the ease that laughter set loose in his eyes, his face.
“We also have a Roscón de Reyes, a cake for the kings with a tiny bebé Jesus inside. It has sweet cream and dried fruit and is so delicioso. But the most delightful part of all is if you happen to find the bebé Jesús inside your slice of cake, you get to have all the luck for the new coming year. I miss so much these tradiciones.”