Chapter 34
Just when Peter had thought he had begun to understand his wife more wholly, she had been delivered of a child.
And everything had changed most drastically.
He knew the delivery of their child had been incredibly taxing upon Ana’s body and mind, more than he would likely ever truly understand.
But he only wished he did not feel so helpless.
Even if he changed every one of Essie’s soiled diapers, it seemed he could never do enough to relieve the burden on Ana’s shoulders.
As of late, she was irritated when he spent long hours at her side but seemed equally as bothered when he spent long hours away from her. To see their trust and bond begin to crumble like the walls of San Sebastián sent panic through Peter’s heart.
Fortunately for them both, Esperanza was an incredibly sweet babe, even at such a young and needy age.
She had the sweetest lips, and her skin was unbelievably soft.
Even her wee cry seemed musical. Peter was entirely besotted with her.
It was a blessing he had never even hoped to pray for. Could he really leave her?
Peter looked up from his pacing, finding himself outside the nursery door, unanticipated. But all was quiet inside. Esperanza must be asleep. So, he continued down the hall to Ana’s rooms. He tapped his fingers on the door.
“Sí?”
He cracked open the door and saw Elena arranging the bedclothes on Ana’s bed.
“Elena, have you seen Mrs. Ashmore this afternoon?”
“I believe she is taking a siesta in the nursery, sir. And the beba as well.”
“That is a rest that is well-deserved. Will you please come find me when they are both awake? I wish to speak with her.”
“Sí, claro.”
“Thank you, Elena.”
The accoucheur had clearly instructed Peter that a lying-in or confinement period should be continued for about a month following the birth of Esperanza.
Ana had gone through quite a trying ordeal and required plenty of rest. He knew that she was growing restless despite her exhaustion, and he wanted to arrange a diversion for her but doubted how such an idea would be received.
As it was, Peter would have to present his idea to Ana after her much-needed nap.
Now, was there not somewhere he was meant to be right about now?
Peter pulled a small pocket watch from his waistcoat and scratched his head.
He was nearly overdue for his visit with Mr. Smith.
How was it that such a small baby could throw off a well-planned schedule so entirely?
He strode quickly to the back door and chuckled.
His groom already had Warrior brushed and saddled. Peter swung himself up into the saddle in a practiced, easy movement and snapped the reins. His would have to be a quick journey to the chapel today.
Peter’s journey was so automatic, so well-traveled by now, that he hardly noticed his surroundings. But a shadowed bundle dragged his gaze down to the dusty dirt path. Was it a cloak, forgotten by one of the chapel’s visitors? As he neared, a faint sound pulled painfully at his heart.
“Ayúdeme, Papá . . .”
Peter leapt from his horse and ran, his stomach sore with panic. “Ana?” She continued to moan but didn’t move. “Amor!” His voice cracked painfully in his throat.
He scooped her into his arms, his panicked tears mingling with her desperate ones.
“Why are you here? And all alone? What were you thinking?”
Her cheek, torso, and hands were dusty, and her eyes were nearly swollen shut from crying. The sight froze his heart. Memories of a bloody and bruised Ana lit by firelight mingled with the sight of the exhausted, defeated Ana before him, and Peter could not still the pounding in his chest.
“Answer me, please, amor.” He felt her face, arms, and legs for injuries. “I need to hear your voice.”
“Papá?” Her voice was childlike and pleading.
“No, querida, it is Peter, your husband. I’m here.”
“No, Peter, no. Leave, por favor. You should not see me así.”
“I am your husband. I have seen you in all manner of conditions.” He brushed a hand over her hair, her curls tangled in disarray.
“Tell me how you ended up here alone. Did someone leave you here? I will deal with them myself.” He scoured his mind, thinking of who could possibly know of their residence here.
Did someone from the army find her and try to silence her? He would hunt them down.
“I wanted to go for a walk.”
“You should have been taking a siesta. That is what Elena said!”
“But I had to escape the desastre.”
“What disaster? Esperanza? Is she all right?”
“No, the desastre in my mind.” Finally, Ana’s dark eyes cracked open as they poured out hot, large tears, tracking stripes down her dust-caked face. Her eyes were distant, unseeing. She looked haunted.
Peter was familiar with the mental distress that a traumatic injury could bring. He had seen many panicked states among his soldiers upon suffering a serious blow. Ana herself had endured a very difficult lying-in, which is why it was so distressing that she would have ended up so far from home.
“You are in no state to be exerting yourself in such a manner.”
“But if I stayed inside any longer, I would have drowned. Me vuelvo loca.”
“So you do not wish to be trapped inside any longer?” That much, Peter understood. But what could she mean by saying she would have drowned?
“Sí.”
“Shall we make arrangements for you to have a place to rest with Esperanza out of doors on the balcony?”
“Perhaps it would help. Perhaps not.” Her eyes were frozen in a distant, enraptured fear, reminding him of her state during their escape from San Sebastián. Her silence had echoed through their journey. But she had never looked so defeated.
“Come, we need to get you home. Mr. Smith will have a horse and cart we can use.” She was in no condition to ride on Warrior with him.
Peter stood, scooped Ana into his arms, and grabbed Warrior’s reins. He felt something warm trickle down his arm. Blood. The hems of Ana’s skirts were spattered with it. “Blazes,” Peter cursed as he hurried his steps, soon bursting through the chapel doors. “Mr. Smith, please help me!”
Bending down, Peter laid Ana gently on the long, wooden pew.
“Ana, it appears that you are bleeding, and I need to examine . . .” Peter looked up at Ana’s face, only to see that she had paled and fallen into unconsciousness.
He would not delay any further, despite the momentary hesitation he felt at lifting her skirts.
He was her husband and needed to know what care she required.
The large vicar stayed at a distance once he saw Peter lifting Ana’s skirts.
Her feet or legs were not cut from her long walk.
Instead, blood had trickled down her legs after soaking through her stockings and underclothes.
Clearly this was an injury related to her recent lying-in and rough recovery.
Fear stabbed through Peter, just as violently as any battle wound.
He did not know much of what was required of a woman’s body during childbirth, but he could imagine it to be quite extensive, even in the months following.
He would not diagnose the seriousness of her condition himself, not when it could put his wife at risk.
“Mr. Smith, I need you to take Warrior and ride for the physician, as quickly as possible.”