Chapter 36
Ana was seated outside on her favorite stone bench in the garden, surrounded by vibrant red roses.
Breathing in their fragrance, touching the soft silkiness, seemed to ground her in the reality of her surroundings.
It also brought a feeling of comfort, of home.
Mamá always loved roses. Red roses, much like these, had encircled their house throughout her childhood.
Until Mamá had left. And without her care, the roses had died.
But Peter had seen how she loved these roses. He had cared for them personally, ensuring that they would blossom to their full potential this summer. That had to be an indication of how he cared for her, did it not?
“Might I join you, Ana?”
Ana started at the sound, surprised to see Peter slowly, hesitantly walking up the garden path toward her, a rose in hand.
They had not spoken in such a private setting since the incident of her leaving the house.
Was she truly ready to be alone with him?
Would she know how to make words of the great, confusing mess inside her mind?
She wanted to try.
So she smiled and answered, “Por supuesto.”
“Where is Essie?” he asked as he stepped closer and saw Ana’s empty arms.
“With your mother.”
A look of surprise flitted across Peter’s face, lifting his eyebrows and causing his mouth to gape slightly. “How fortunate for her. I am glad you felt at ease leaving Essie with her for a time. It is so very needed for you to spend time in the outdoors.”
Ana nodded in agreement and scooted to the side, indicating that Peter sit beside her. The tension or stress that had him locked into his military stance started to release at her invitation. His shoulders loosened and he sat. He was at the other end of the bench, but still, he was seated.
Ana motioned to the rose in his hand. “It is hermosa. Beautiful.”
Peter fumbled with the flower, his voice halting. “I thought it might look particularly nice in your hair. If you would agree . . . and allow me . . . but only with your approval.”
“Por favor,” she said, inclining her head. She wanted to close the distance that had driven them apart as of late. But she was not prepared for the sparks that raced down her spine as Peter’s hand brushed her cheek as he slipped the rose behind her ear.
“Gracias,” Ana whispered with a smile.
Before her eyes, a more familiar Peter began to emerge. His eyes softened and his shoulders dipped, relaxed. He sat beside her, a tentative smile on his lips, and even held out a hand toward her.
Ana hovered her hand above his for a moment.
Becoming close to him again meant endangering her heart—and Esperanza’s—in the case that he would leave them.
But she had given a great deal of thought to what Lady Ashmore had said.
She needed to trust that God had sent Peter to help her, and not only during San Sebastián.
So she laced their fingers together, leaning into the warmth of his arm.
A sigh shuddered through Peter’s frame, and Ana bit her lip to keep from crying at the great comfort that ebbed into her, merely from his closeness.
How she had longed for—and feared—this touch.
“Ana, I have something to confess,” Peter sighed, squeezing her hand.
“As do I,” she responded, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Please, allow me to begin. I have much I wish to say. And I do hope I won’t make a blasted mess of it all.
” He ran a hand through his hair. “I need to ask your forgiveness—no, beg your forgiveness. I have talked to Mother, and it appears that I have left you without the precise type of support you have needed in a very delicate and trying circumstance.” His voice broke, pulling at Ana’s heart.
“I have always sworn to protect the women in my life. I failed to protect Mother, and now I see that I have, at least in recent days, failed to protect you. And for that, I am most deeply sorry. So sorry that I doubt I can forgive myself for it.”
“I know.” Ana swallowed thickly, testing her voice. “I feel so alone these weeks. I am so entirely exhausted, and I do not know how to care for Esperanza in a perfect way. I feel my body and mind are so changed. Will I ever recover?”
“It is true that your body and mind bear scars of the great love you’ve shown our Essie in bringing her to this world. Mother has taught me it is a badge of motherhood, one of great honor.”
Ana smiled through her emotion, “Your Mamá is wise,”
“I know you will recover, Ana. It will not always feel so difficult as it does now.”
“I want to believe this,” Ana said. “But also I feel so sad. Because I love Esperanza so very much. And I do not know how Mamá could love me like this and abandon me still.”
And she could not survive being abandoned by Peter as well. Even a hint of that over these past weeks had been excruciating. She crossed and uncrossed her arms, unsure what to do without the comforting weight of Esperanza in them.
A sob caught in Ana’s throat now, but Peter laced an arm around her and whispered, “Please, tell me whatever is on your mind.”
“You know mi Papi. He was un gran hombre. Always bound to the honor and duty of the armada. But sometimes to be so focused on his responsabilidades en la armada, he lose his responsabilidades at home. To Mamá. To me. To himself, as a Papá. And our family fall apart like the leaves of a tree in fall—so dry, so weak, so tired. First, Papá spent more and more time away from us. He was given great honors and his choice of assignments, so he returned home even less often than before. And Mamá no pudo aguantar más. She could not live her life alone. She needed people, she needed love. But I thought she needed me as well.”
Before Ana realized it, she was tearing at the delicate edges of the rose in her hands and spotting the front of her dress with tears.
Peter gently eased the flower from her hands and tucked it behind her ear before threading her nervous fingers through his own.
“It will serve you better here, querida. Go on. I am here.”
“One day I come in from playing with my friends and I see that Mamá was packing una bolsa with dresses and shoes and todo. She said that Papá would be home pronto, that she was going to visit her mother. Papá returned later that week and cried for a day and a night. Then he wiped his tears, locked Mamá’s armoire, and said for me to travel to the army with him, that Mamá was not going to return. But I did not believe him.”
She rubbed a hand down her neck, as if that could ease the throbbing ache that grew there whenever she cried. “Years ago, when I wrote mi abuela, she said she heard nothing from Mamá, that she never visited. She disappeared to start a new life. One without Papá, without me.”
Ana found her throat was so tight, her voice so thick, that it was difficult to continue, despite the racing words in her mind.
The warmth of Peter’s hand pressed against hers was the only thing that seemed to calm her at the moment.
She brushed her palm against her cheeks, drying them, and continued.
“And so I left with the armada. Papá would not have me fall to the life of a camp follower, even in name alone, so he taught me languages. I became a translator, even as a young woman. It was not the life I ever imagine for myself.”
Peter was silent for a long moment, as if he was trying to map out the history Ana had laid bare for him. Finally, he whispered as he squeezed her hand, “I am so sorry. I am sure they loved you very much, despite their difficult circumstances.”
“I love mis padres, even now that they both are gone. But how could they hurt me so?”
“It seems to me that your parents were trying to survive in a life that had proved quite difficult together. I admire your father’s drive to give you a future, to train you as a translator. And in a sad sort of way, I admire your mother’s courage for recognizing her own need to be loved.”
That Peter would justify their actions, even in some small way, only caused Ana’s chest to throb harder. “But was my love not enough?” she said, the words ripping from her deep inside heart, leaving a wake of tears behind them.
“I do not know. But I know it would have been enough for me.”
Ana’s heart very nearly stopped beating at the admission.
Had he meant to imply that he valued her affection?
And if he had, would it truly be enough to fill the great gaping hole Mamá and Papá had left behind?
Nervousness fluttered in her stomach and journeyed up her body to freeze her tongue.
Peter, it seemed, had been grasped by the same nervousness at his apparent admission, but it instead propelled him to speak freely and in a great rush of words.
“There were many times when I wished that my mother would have the courage necessary to leave my father’s tyranny, if not for our sake, then at least for her own.
It was not merely uncomfortable for her to remain his wife—it was dangerous.
Her safety was continuously put at risk as she was subjected to the blows of his temper, and I was too young to defend her.
” His jaw was tightened with anger, and one lone tear leaked down his cheek, his jaw.
“But such things are not so simple in London’s society.
We would have had no future, least of all her.
And so, although her life with my father was torturous to endure, she remained to ensure that Matthew and I would have the opportunity to choose the sort of lives we would like to have.
I will always be indebted to her for that. ”
Ana pictured the two little brothers running around Abbeygate joyously free, only to return to the terror of their home in London. Her heart ached for them, ached for Peter, who never knew what it was to feel love from a father.
His grip on Ana’s hand tightened. “I do not wish to justify the behavior of either of your parents. It was entirely wrong of both of them to abandon you in their own ways. But perhaps there is some light that can be found in the knowledge that their decisions have led you to me. To our family and life here.”
“I only wish I could have them and you. Some part of me still belongs there in Espana.”
“Do you have any family that lives there still with whom you might wish to correspond?”
“Mi abuela, the same one I wrote about Mamá. I have not seen her in many years, not since I left with Papá.”
“Perhaps we could visit her. When you have healed and when Esperanza is stronger.”
“Me gustaría mucho. I would love that indeed. Actually, I wrote her again.”
But Ana would not admit that it was not merely a letter to renew a relationship.
It was a letter of pain, of desperation.
After painfully relaying her heartbreak at Papa’s passing, she had asked for Abuelita’s help once again.
Ana begged her for advice, asking her if there was a life for her here with Peter or if she should take Esperanza and leave.
But she had yet to receive any kind of answer, and deep in her heart, she knew that she should not wait for one.
She did not even know if Abuelita was still alive.
“Truly?” Peter’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “And did she respond?”
“Not yet, although I know that communication must be complicada with the war.”
“Of course. Well, if there is anything I can do to assist you in contacting her, please allow me to do so.”
A slow, seeping peace began to spread through Ana’s core.
It was a feeling that had left her since Esperanza had been born.
But Peter was showing his willingness to help her, even offering to take her back to visit her homeland.
Surely he cared for her in some way and saw something of a future for their lives that were impossibly intertwined.
For the first time in weeks, Ana was well above the waves.
With every word, Peter pulled her from the water, welcomed her into his boat, and kept her warm and dry.
“Gracias, Pedro, por todo,” she whispered.
“It is my pleasure,” he said. “And Ana?”
“Sí?”
Peter shifted next to her until their noses were nearly touching. He cupped her cheeks with his hands, his touch as gentle despite his rough skin.
“I will always be with you, as will our God. And I am learning that God will heal your wounds which time—and I—cannot. We must trust Him.”