Chapter 5 — The Farewell
Rain came in the small hours of the morning.
Heavy drops drummed on the roofs of Santa Vitória Ranch while lightning cut across the sky over the pampa.
Bento stayed awake through most of the night.
Sitting on the edge of the simple bed in his rancho, he watched the lantern’s flame flicker.
In just a few hours, he would leave.
The war, until then only a matter of talk and rumor, had finally become his fate.
On the small wooden table lay his few belongings.
A treasured knife inherited from his father.
A change of clothes.
An old rosary that had belonged to his mother.
A mate gourd.
So little.
His entire life could fit inside a single bag.
And still, he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Not from fear of battle.
But because of Isabel.
The thought of leaving her felt more painful than any fight he might face.
At the great house, Isabel hadn’t been able to sleep either.
Word of the departure had spread across the whole property.
The first contingent of volunteers would leave the ranch at dawn.
Bento among them.
She paced back and forth in her room.
Tried to convince herself she would be strong.
That she would manage to smile.
That she would not cry in front of him.
But every minute brought the farewell closer.
And her heart felt like it was breaking, piece by piece.
On her writing desk sat a small wooden box.
Inside it, something special.
Something she had decided to give Bento before he left.
A simple gift.
But one heavy with meaning.
When the first light of dawn touched the horizon, the ranch was already stirring.
Horses were being readied.
Weapons handed out.
Wagons loaded.
Men said their goodbyes to family.
Some women wept.
Others tried to hide their tears.
Children watched, not quite understanding what was happening.
The mood was strange.
A mix of pride and sorrow.
Hope and fear.
Bento was helping the other hands when he noticed Rosa approaching quietly.
The maid glanced around them.
Then handed him a small folded note.
“It’s from Miss Isabel.”
His heart raced.
He opened the paper at once.
The message was short.
“Come to the fig tree. Before you go.”
He needed nothing more.
The old fig tree stood silent that morning.
The rain had stopped.
Small drops still clung to the leaves.
The air carried the scent of wet earth.
When Bento arrived, he found Isabel waiting.
She wore a dark shawl.
Her eyes showed a night without sleep.
For a few seconds they simply looked at each other.
As though trying to fix every detail in memory.
“So the day has come,” she said.
Bento nodded.
“Yes.”
Silence returned.
Heavy.
Painful.
Neither of them knew quite what to say.
How does one sum up an entire love in the few minutes that remain?
How does one say goodbye without knowing when they’ll meet again?
Or even if they will?
Isabel came closer, slowly.
She carried the small wooden box.
“I want you to take this.”
Bento took the object.
Opened it carefully.
Inside was a silver medallion.
Small.
Delicate.
Inside it, a hand-painted miniature.
Isabel’s face.
The work was fine, refined — certainly commissioned years before.
Bento found no words.
“It was my mother’s,” she explained.
“Isabel…”
“I want you to keep it with you.”
“I can’t accept something so precious.”
She took his hands in hers.
“You can. Because I want you to have it.”
Her eyes began to fill with tears.
“When you miss me…”
Her voice broke.
“When you feel alone…”
Tears finally spilled down her face.
“Remember that someone is waiting for you.”
Bento closed the medallion.
Felt a knot rise in his throat.
“I’ll keep it as long as I live.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
The wind began to stir gently through the trees.
They both knew their time was running out.
Soon they would miss even this shared silence.
“I want to ask you something,” Isabel said.
“Anything.”
“Write to me.”
Bento hesitated.
“Letters?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not good with words.”
She smiled through her tears.
“Then write with your heart.”
The simplicity of her answer made them both laugh.
For a moment, the sorrow felt a little lighter.
“And you?”
“I’ll write too.”
“How will we get the letters to each other?”
“Rosa will help us. She’s already agreed.”
Bento looked at the young woman before him.
Even in the face of uncertainty.
Even in the face of war.
She was finding a way to keep their love alive.
In that moment he understood he wouldn’t be fighting only for the revolution.
He would be fighting for her.
For the future they still seemed unable to reach.
In the distance, a bugle sounded.
The call to depart.
The moment had come.
The sound cut across the fields like a sentence passed down.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them wanted to accept it.
But reality would not wait.
Bento took a deep breath.
“I have to go.”
Isabel closed her eyes for a moment.
Then nodded.
“I know.”
He stepped forward.
For the first time since they’d known each other, he set aside every convention.
Every boundary.
Every fear.
He took her face gently in his hands.
And kissed her.
A brief kiss.
But enough to mark their lives forever.
When they drew apart, tears streaked both their faces.
Neither tried to hide them.
There was no reason to.
Their love no longer needed to be denied.
Nor disguised.
Nor hidden even from themselves.
“I love you,” Bento said.
“I love you.”
The words hung in the air.
Like a promise.
Like a prayer.
Like a hope.
Minutes later, the volunteers gathered in front of the sheds.
More than a hundred men preparing to leave.
Some already mounted.
Others checking their gear.
Colonel Anselmo watched it all, his face grave.
He never noticed Bento’s brief absence.
Never suspected the reason for it.
Isabel watched from the veranda of the great house.
She tried to hold herself together.
But inside, she was breaking apart.
Then she saw Bento.
Mounted on his horse.
Ready to leave.
Their eyes met one last time.
No gesture.
No word.
It would have been dangerous.
But none was needed.
That exchanged glance said everything.
Promise.
Hope.
Love.
Longing.
The commander raised his arm.
The column began to move.
Slowly at first.
Then with more purpose.
The horses advanced across the fields.
Raising dust.
Carrying with them the men who had answered the call to war.
Bento rode among them.
Without looking back.
Because he knew that if he did, he might not find the strength to keep going.
And still, he felt it.
Felt Isabel’s eyes following him as he rode away.
Felt the weight of the medallion against his chest.
Felt the promise made beneath the fig tree.
And he swore, silently, that he would return.
No matter how long the war lasted.
No matter how many battles he faced.
No matter what dangers crossed his path.
He would come back.
Because he had left behind something more precious than his own life.
When the last silhouette vanished over the horizon, Isabel remained still on the veranda.
The wind stirred her dress.
Tears kept falling, silently.
Around her, the ranch slowly returned to its work.
But nothing felt the same.
The war had begun.
And with it began another journey as well.
The journey of two souls parted by distance.
Bound together by letters.
By memories.
By promises.
And by a love that still had to survive the ten hardest years of their lives.