Chapter 14
Ana had begun to learn that marriage was a particularly chaotic business when one got emotionally involved, particularly when one’s husband was in the army, was called away during the holidays, and spoke a different language.
There were entirely too many things that were lost in translation in the chaos that ensued from all of that.
Only this morning, they’d been trying to have a conversation about the future, and Ana’s mind had become so worked up that she seemed to forget English entirely.
“What can I do to help you today?” Peter had asked.
In days past, the question had seemed to bring them together, like the binding of a book, helping them to work in better unison.
But today, the question overwhelmed her.
The pages of carefully memorized English words were falling all too quickly out of the book of her mind.
Learning that Peter would leave her soon for a meeting with the army caused her insurmountable worry, even if it was for a mere day.
She knew that it was a routine sort of meeting—at least, that’s what he had implied.
But she could not shake the deep feeling of foreboding that weighed on her incessantly.
This meeting could very well be a great deal more complicated than Peter believed. What if it threatened their future?
Anticipating his absence, and all the unknown that accompanied it, made even the simplest of tasks feel impossible.
“Hay tanto por hacer para preparar la casa para recibir un bebé.” She sat at her desk, scribbling a list of items that she needed to complete for the house to be prepared for the baby, while she rambled off as much in her native tongue.
Beside her, Peter murmured to himself, apparently trying to make sense of her Spanish.
“Preparar . . . prepare. Casa . . . ah, yes, I remember that one. House.”
Ana breathed deeply in an effort to calm herself.
It was humorous, was it not, that he was struggling to translate?
This was her experience during every conversation of every day.
It was high time that he did some of the translating, particularly when she could not organize a coherent thought in his tongue at the moment.
“Bebé . . .” he continued. “Well, that one I will not forget. Baby. You wish to prepare the house for the baby?”
“Claro,” she said with a nod.
“We still have many months to prepare, Ana, I’m not certain that all this is necessary right now . . .”
“Of course it is!”
Did he truly not understand what his leaving meant?
If he left to meet with the army tomorrow, he could very well get called back to Spain or France within the week or the month.
Surely they would not allow him the remaining months until her confinement.
He would get sucked back into that distant, stoic version of Peter, so unlike the warm, attentive, thoughtful Peter she now lived with.
All the progress that they had made together in learning to confide in one another would be lost. Ana knew her affection for him would not diminish, not ever, but she did not know she could say the same about him.
She knew he cared for her. He had to, did he not?
To kiss her and hold her and say and do such lovely things?
But could he truly care for her as deeply as she did for him if he left her now?
Now, when she only had a few more months until her confinement arrived?
How would she do it all alone? Mothers were not meant to be solitary creatures. That sort of living had destroyed her own mother.
And so Ana was clinging to the only thread of hope that she had, wondering that if she could remind Peter of the child she was carrying, who would soon join her in this world, that perhaps he would remember they had an entire life to live together.
Perhaps he would remember that he cared for her more than he cared for his responsibility in the army.
More than he cared about gaining justice for San Sebastián.
And in telling him all that there was to do to prepare for the baby, she sent prayers up to the heavens, begging God to help her husband to come back to her, at the very least for the sake of her baby.
And there was a great deal to prepare for.
They would have to get the nursery together, not to mention find a nurserymaid if such a thing was needed.
But she wasn’t certain what else was necessary.
She had never had a child before. She hadn’t the least idea what to do to prepare for childbirth.
How would she endure such a strenuous and potentially dangerous experience when she could not even communicate with the midwife or physician?
A sudden anxiousness bathed her brow, and her heart quickened. Her hand scribbled even faster now.
“I worry myself that I will not be able to do todo lo necesario para prepararnos,”
“Más lento, por favor?” Peter said, his voice strained and rough.
Ana sighed, shaking her head in frustration. She could try to revert to English, but her mind was already racing. It was so much easier to express herself in her native tongue. After all, Peter had insisted he would learn Spanish. She should be practicing with him more often.
There was much that needed to be done to the house to prepare.
Her bedchamber needed a small bassinet and panales for changing the baby at night.
Not to mention all the preparations that would need to happen when her confinement was close at hand.
And Peter’s impending absence seemed to rip out from under her the feeling of stability she had slowly been building.
She had started to depend on him so much.
And anticipating his absence made her feel all the more insecure about her own abilities.
There was much that needed to be done in her to prepare.
But how could she tell him that she felt entirely inadequate to be a mother?
How could she bring a child into a world that had been so cruel to her and her family?
It was as if she had pushed off to sea all on her own in a tiny fishing boat.
She was trying to row, trying to survive with the life growing inside her, but there were moments, even days, when the waves around her looked terrifying indeed.
Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks as she stood, her chest heaving and her hands cupped over her midsection.
If anything, emotion would always get Peter’s attention. Not that she had contrived her outburst falsely, but sure enough, Peter’s eyes, cloudy with visions of Spanish translations, became clear instantly. He was at her side a moment later, grasping her hand and her waist, helping her to sit.
“Are you ill? Should I call for the physician?”
Ana shook her head. How could she make him understand? This language! This Englishman! It made this all the more frustrating and difficult.
“Then what is wrong? Should I call for the physician?”
“Estoy bien,” she said through her tears, squeezing his hand twice for emphasis.
His fingers released hers to rub at his temples, and she felt the absence of his touch, his warmth, like a stinging wound. “This is a great deal more difficult than I imagined, I must confess. How can I help you if I cannot understand you?”
“No me siento preparada para ser una mamá sin ti.” I don’t feel prepared to be a mother without you. There. She had said it. But had he understood?
“Ana, I promise I will only be gone for a day.”
Ana didn’t believe it.
Peter continued, “David—Sir Huntington—has implied there is some urgency in the meeting, but I do believe it will be taken care of with great efficiency.”
“But what if you are gone longer than that?” What if you are gone a great deal longer? And what happens if you never return? Ana wrapped her arms around herself, as if that could protect her from the sky-high waves that surrounded her.
Peter ran a hand over his forehead, squinting his eyes shut in obvious frustration and confusion. Spanish words spilled haltingly from his lips. “Ana. Estoy embarazado, pero no entiendo.”
I am pregnant, but I don’t understand.
He was pregnant?
“Qué?” Ana María burst into laughter, despite herself. Her tears continued but for much happier reasons this time. “Piensas que estás embarazado?”
“Uh . . . yes? I am embarrassed. And I see you take great pleasure in my embarrassment.”
“Oh!” Ana laughed even harder upon understanding. “Embarrassed?” Ana’s wide vowels and rolling tongue fought against the word. “You said you are expecting a child!”
“I what? Is that what embarazado means?”
“Sí! You mean to say I am embarazado, not you!” Ana María could hardly breathe now for laughing. Her rounded frame bounced. The worry that had been building up in her slowly released as she pictured her husband in such a ridiculous role.
Peter joined her in laughing, tension rolling off him as his shoulders dipped and hands relaxed. He shook his head. “What an absolute mess I am.”
She doubled over until a pang in her midsection reminded her that she had not yet gained full comfort or control over her stomach.
“Ay, Pedro. You are tan chistoso. Most amusing indeed.”
“I am glad that my apparent condition can bring you some amusement,” he said, puffing out his flat, muscular stomach and placing his hands around the shape as if he were an expectant mother. This only caused Ana to further lose control of her laugh.
“I don’t want you to be distressed, querida,” he continued. “What can I do to assist you? Shall we move forward with the preparations for the house?”
She held out the list she had been working on, and as he read through it, she dried the tears that had soaked her cheeks.
“I’ll pass this along to Miss Thompson and Mrs. Smith. I am sure they will have some excellent ideas about the nursery and any other necessary items for the baby’s arrival.”
“Gracias,” Ana managed, tears wetting her cheeks again.
“I thought we had quite our fill of those tears. Qué, querida? What is wrong?”
“No quiero que te vayas,” Ana replied. “Do not leave me, por favor.”
“You know as well as I do that the only place I desire to be is here with you. But I fear that in failing to respond to these summons, I will only put our future at greater risk. I cannot allow them to think I have abandoned my position, particularly when we know the truth of all that occurred at San Sebastián.”
“Lo sé.” I know.
“Then you understand why I have to leave?”
“I suppose so.”
“More importantly, do you understand how desperately I will miss your companionship?”
Ana looked up, expecting to see a teasing, crooked smile on Peter’s lips, but instead his eyes were trained on the floor, his cheeks slightly flushed as he gnawed on his bottom lip.
He seemed somewhat embarrassed at the admission!
She stood and flung herself into his arms, ignoring his sounds of surprise and protestation until at last his arms wrapped firmly around her in return.
She savored his warmth, the feeling of his firm body against hers. He was her safety—her lifeboat.
Ana would be all right without him for a day. She had to be.
“I will miss you too, Pedro.”
“I may not be the perfect husband. I certainly have not done all I could have done to understand you.” His jaw tightened, and his eyes were bright and clear.
“I clearly do not understand what it is to be an expectant mother, and I have never had to experience the many changes you are handling with such grace. This conversation has demonstrated quite remarkably how basic my understanding of Spanish is. And to make it worse, I am a man, and I cannot understand the tender and deep emotions you are gifted with as a woman. But I want to understand you, Ana, in all the ways you need to be understood. And I will strive for that, I promise. Even if it requires that I make many more foolish decisions and Spanish errors. But I do promise I will put forward all my best efforts to be more understanding of you. And I pray God will help me do so.”
Ana choked with emotion at Peter’s open honesty and could hardly hold his gaze for the intense feeling found therein.
Instead, she pressed down that feeling of foreboding that refused to leave her and brushed a lingering kiss against his lips.
“Thank you for these words so sweet. Por favor, return to me as pronto as you can.”