Chapter 35 #2
“I . . .” Peter stammered. Why had Mother just come to this conclusion now, so many months after their marriage?
It seemed rather late for such a statement, although for Peter, it felt rather soon.
Did he truly love Ana? He cared for her more than anyone, that much was true.
He would sacrifice anything for her. But did he love her?
And how would it appear to Mother to admit he wasn’t sure of his feelings for Ana when they had just welcomed their first child into the world? He rubbed a hand across his forehead.
“Now, Peter, you may have removed yourself from London for a number of years, but you are still my son, and I still pride myself on knowing you better than anyone. I would be ashamed if I couldn’t tell when my son was in love.
And on the day of your wedding, you were not yourself.
You were distant, lost. It was clear to me, even more then, that yours was a wedding of necessity, although I had guessed as much when you wrote me after so long a silence and asked me to seek out a special license. What a surprise that was.”
Peter’s mouth dropped open. The nervous bouncing of his knee was stilled by Mother’s comforting hand.
“I didn’t need to know the particulars of your original arrangement, dear.
I had seen enough to know that you were—and are—a great protector of your Ana María.
It was merely an observation that it appears you have found love at last. And one that I am glad to know.
I have always wished you would find a wife to love. ”
Peter stood, his shoulders back and rigid.
His arms snapped to his sides as he began to pace.
In a moment such as this one, when his mind was so utterly occupied, his body reverted to years of discipline and muscle memory.
“I care a great deal for Ana. She has given me great purpose, has helped me to adjust to a manner of living that I never thought possible. I never could have married another. But I am not quite certain if it is love that I feel for her.” He stopped his pacing in front of Mother, shaking his head.
“I have not decided to love her, you see.”
“If only it were so simple,” Mother chuckled, her tone hoarse with amusement and a hint of .
. . could it be pain? Peter’s gaze darted to her face.
Yes, pain was written there, evident in the small crease in her brow and the tight twist of her lips.
“Peter, dear, you cannot decide when or whom you love. You may be able to decide whom to court, or even whom to marry, but whom to love? No, that is not something you can decide of your own volition. Love is like a summer rainstorm. It cannot be hindered, cannot be stopped. One can only shelter from the rain or choose to relish it, rejoice in it. For after a summer rainstorm, there is the possibility of growth. But a tiny seedling of attraction can either grow or drown.” Mother’s voice broke, and she put a hand to her throat.
“And that is the choice that you do have, Peter.”
Peter laced an arm around his mother’s shoulders, pulling her into his side, and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
He did not miss the tear that raced down her face at the contact.
It had been years since Peter had seen this type of emotion from her.
Did she have love in her past that he had never detected?
Surely the love she had felt was not for his father.
The mere flicker of memory of the man brought a heat of anger to Peter’s head.
And yet she had remained by his side for all those years, even through numerous scandals.
She had borne him two children. Was there more to his parents’ story than Peter had ever seen before?
“Now that the truth of your feelings for your wife is free between us,” Mother continued, “how can we ensure that she knows she is well loved by you? Because I suspect that knowledge will do a great deal to calm, comfort, and heal her during this fragile time.”
* * *
“Lady Ashmore.” Ana slowly bent, curtsying on trembling, exhausted legs. “Forgive me for being so slow to attend you.”
“Not at all, my dear. I understand that it takes some time to move about after delivering a child. I remember it well,”
“Just so, my lady.”
“Please, call me Eleanor. We are family, after all.”
“Very well, Eleanor,”
“You have been through quite a challenging ordeal. How can I be of help to you?”
“I assure you I am all right. De verdad.”
“And I assure you that cannot be true. Not entirely.”
Lady Ashmore’s deep blue eyes didn’t waver from her own, burying Ana in a wave of overwhelm that was difficult to sort through. This woman saw her. Ana blinked quickly in an effort to dispel the tears that quickly gathered in her eyes.
“I know what it is to struggle with a myriad of feelings after the birth of a child,” Lady Ashmore shared.
“And I also know that familiar weight of guilt that appears alongside them. You have a beautiful daughter. Shouldn’t you be grateful?
But instead, you feel exhausted, overwhelmed, alone, and unequal to the task at hand. ”
The anxiety Ana had held in her shoulders, her neck, slowly started to melt.
“I also know what it is to be mistreated, even violently so, when you least expect it.” Lady Ashmore’s voice broke.
“That builds in you a protective nature that only grows upon becoming a mother. And there is no shame in that.” Lady Ashmore placed a hand on Ana’s shoulder, her touch light and careful.
“It is no fault of your own how you have come to carry, and now birth, this child. It is even less your fault that you now feel a great need to defend yourself and your daughter against any hint of discomfort or pain. In fact, I believe it would be expected of anyone who has lived through even a fraction of what you experienced before coming here to England.”
Tears soaked Ana’s cheeks now. Lady Ashmore knew.
And whether Peter had told her, or whether she had divined Esperanza’s true heritage herself, Ana found she didn’t care.
Instead of panic, she was doused in aching relief at the knowledge that someone understood at least part of what she was feeling at present—and didn’t criticize her for it.
“I felt—feel—that same protective nature for my boys. I have not lived through wars in my homeland like you, but I have seen battles of a different sort in my home. And it is no easy thing to experience the delicate changes of new motherhood while also trying to maintain some semblance of defense against a threat.”
Pulling Esperanza closer to her chest, Ana tilted her chin so her tears would run down her face and neck instead of dripping onto the sleeping babe.
Her thoughts strayed to Mamá. Had she also suffered from these innate, unpredictable emotions as she tried to hold together a family that would unavoidably fall apart?
Did she mourn as she saw her husband report repeatedly to his duties, leaving her the lone witness to her daughter being heartbroken at his absence?
What if Mamá left because she too was drowning and had nobody there to pull her above the waves?
What if it was the only way she could survive?
Although Ana could never understand nor forgive Mamá for leaving her, she started to understand the intricacies of emotion that may have caused her to leave Papá.
The ache that sat heavy in her heart started to soften as she afforded Mamá that small portion of forgiveness.
A great sigh released from her chest, as if it had been trapped there for months, even years.
And yet even with the beginnings of understanding, she had yet to find any words to speak.
She wished so desperately for her parents.
She wanted to embrace them, forgive them.
Most of all, Ana wanted to place their granddaughter into their arms and see their joy.
But those were blessing she would never have.
“Regardless of the past difficulties you have faced, this beautiful infant is a miracle. She is a gift from God above, a great blessing for both you and Peter.” Emotion washed over Lady Ashmore’s face, her eyes shimmering with tears.
“I felt that I was blessed with my boys for a reason, that God had entrusted them to me specifically, despite the challenges I faced within the walls of my home. And I know with all my heart that God has given you this darling girl because He loves you and trusts you.”
The spiritual peace that Ana had been searching for, even unknowingly, clicked into place, like the latch in a lock, holding her heart secure and whole once again.
Love and forgiveness from above enveloped her like an embrace that was difficult to describe.
Her tears continued to flow, although for an entirely different reason.
“I know it is difficult to speak of these things, dear. I only wish you to feel more comfortable knowing that I understand, at least to some degree, what you are feeling. And please, know that you are safe with me. And with Peter.”
At the mention of her husband, an ache ran through Ana’s heart.
But it was duller, dimmer than it had been in weeks past, as buoyed with newfound peace as she was.
If Lady Ashmore truly understood so much of what she was experiencing, there had to be some truth in her words about Peter, did there not?
Their path ahead would be difficult. He would undoubtedly have to leave them again to report to his duties.
But how had divorce ever crossed her mind?
It must have been brought on by the desperation of sleepless nights when all her will and rationale disappeared.
Ana watched as Lady Ashmore’s eyes lingered on the babe in her arms, a dim light of sad longing there. Ana bowed her head, breathing deeply so as to fight off the waves that threatened their way upward. “You wish to hold her?”
“Only if you are not in need of her.”