Epilogue
San Sebastián.
Once, it was a sparkling city that was delicately perched on a hill, at the end of a narrow curve of land that reached out to the turquoise sea like arms eager for an embrace. Once, it was vibrant, beautiful, full of music and culture and faith. Now it was full of ash.
Ana approached the spot where the city gate once stood, hand in hand with Peter, in shock at the emptiness that lay before them.
A lonely silence echoed throughout the place.
By all appearances, the city had long been abandoned by the few Basque and Spanish that survived the sacking.
The remnants of the city were faintly mapped in the form of ash-painted ruins and dusty streets.
Pain and sadness still hung heavy in the air, but with them came a sense of hope.
Someday, Ana hoped, it would be rebuilt.
It was tucked in too beautiful a corner of Basque Country to remain untouched forever, a skeleton of what it once had been.
Ana only wished there was some sort of memorial to all the residents who had died there after sacrificing so much to support the Allied armies.
She wished to know their names, to know of their lives, as they had been the true pulse of this city.
“Let us pray for them,” she whispered, joining her hands with Peter’s.
Together they kneeled, unconcerned at the ash that would dirty Ana’s skirts and Peter’s pants at the knees.
If offering up a prayer to God was some way that they could help these people, both alive and dead, then having stained clothes was an incredibly small price to pay.
And it would be a remembrance of this moment.
Peter wrapped a comforting embrace around her, his lips warm at her temple. Ana leaned into his touch, savoring the strength she drew from it. Theirs was not a visit of happenstance. It was carefully planned, as today marked three years since the burning of the city.
Three years, and seemingly an eternity had passed since then.
Their lives had moved on in ways Ana had never anticipated, bringing blessings that she never could have even hoped for.
Peter had finished his accelerated time at the Inns of Court, had been successful in his call to the bar, had received recommendations from a variety of Matthew’s connections of the gentry, and was now a full-fledged barrister.
A new type of fulfillment had flooded his life upon realizing that he not only had a way to provide for his family, but he could also advocate for retired or abandoned soldiers who desperately needed help.
Of course, working with solicitors and assisting in cases for the Ton also helped to cushion his coffers nicely.
Even with Peter having started his practice as a barrister, the reality of the war with France ending brought a sense of safety and relief to their home that was difficult to put into words.
For too many years, the war had torn apart their countries and families and threatened their futures.
Ana could sleep more easily, with Peter’s deep, slow breathing lulling her into a tranquil rest each night.
Even her night terrors of wartime were fading fast, although Peter’s still lingered on a particularly loud and stormy night.
Ana had not found Mamá nor Abuelita in their visits to Spain, although she had found her grandmother’s grave in Valencia after much searching.
Time had taken them both, it would seem.
And after the mixed feelings of mourning and healing had passed, she found a more complete joy in her household roles, both as a hostess and as a mother.
She invested a great deal of time and feeling into the quaint and quirky community that surrounded her.
And she felt a true sense of trust and belonging in her new family, which provided her with a deep sense of safety and satisfaction.
Perhaps most importantly, she was wildly and passionately in love with her husband.
Their love had transformed through the difficulties of their lives and the shifting of their roles as parents, but it had transformed into something even sweeter, even truer, even more enduring.
Early in their marriage, Ana had sometimes wished for the enraptured, besotted affection typically shown by a couple newly wedded.
But now she understood that she and Peter never could have had such a blissfully ignorant love, not when he had held her battered body and nursed her wounds.
Not when he had carried her throughout the past years just as she had carried Esperanza.
No, their love always had a profound and enduring depth to it that defied any infatuation she had once longed for.
Peter understood her heart and her soul in a manner so healing that she would never be able to put it to words. And that knowledge was irreplaceable.
A true, abiding peace accompanied them now, a reality that Ana had prayed for desperately.
In truth, it was a reality she never thought she would experience again after San Sebastián.
But now she recognized, as earnestly as did Peter, that in an unforeseen way, San Sebastián had given her the greatest blessing of all: a family.
And for that, she would never stop thanking God.
After their first visit to San Sebastián, Ana and Peter started a tradition of lighting a candle in every one of Abbeygate’s windows and burning them through the night to commemorate the tragedy that had altered their lives.
The candles served as a reminder of the duality of hope and despair, of all that was lost and all that was gained there.
And somehow, recognizing that the pain they both had endured there, and in the many years before, made the love that they shared now even sweeter.
It was a holy thing. In the small window of Ana’s sitting room, she would place three candles.
One for San Sebastián. One for Mamá and Papá.
And one for their growing family: Peter, Ana, Esperanza, and Mateo.
Both children carried their Spanish legacy and their Ashmore heritage in their names, having been properly baptized as Peter’s children at the stone chapel and christened for Ana’s sake in a Catholic cathedral during a visit to Spain.
Their adorable son, having been named for his uncle, was now starting to learn to toddle about but was still adorably round and rosy-cheeked.
Each time he smiled at his parents from where he had flopped on the floor, Peter’s crystalline eyes shone up from his small, adorably dimpled face and Ana’s curls brushed against his forehead.
Ana thanked God each day for her husband and the children he had given her, for Peter had given her both of them.
Without Peter, likely neither Ana nor Esperanza would have survived.
Without Peter, they would not now have a peaceful home or a blissful family to enjoy.
Without Peter, Ana would never know true, selfless, unconditional love.
A love that protected. A love that saved. A love that remained.
El Fin (The End)