Chapter 7 — News from the Front
The days passed slowly at Santa Vitória Ranch.
For those at war, time seemed to race by between marches, battles, and constant movement.
For those left waiting, every day became an eternity.
Isabel discovered that soon after Bento’s departure.
The mornings felt quieter.
The afternoons longer.
The evenings, which had once brought her joy, became the hardest moments of all.
Dusk was exactly when they used to meet.
At the fig tree.
In the gardens.
Near the stream.
Now only memories remained.
And longing.
So much longing.
Nearly two months had passed without news.
No letter.
No message.
No reliable word at all.
Only rumors carried by drovers and travelers.
There was talk of battles.
Of victories.
Of defeats.
But no one knew exactly where Bento was.
Or whether he was still alive.
That uncertainty tormented her more than anything.
Every night she prayed.
Every morning she woke hoping for news.
Any news at all.
One afternoon under a clear blue sky, Rosa hurried into the room.
Excitement showed on her face.
“Miss!”
Isabel rose at once.
“What happened?”
Rosa closed the door before answering.
Then drew something out from under her apron.
A letter.
Isabel’s heart nearly stopped.
“Is it from him?”
Rosa smiled.
“Yes.”
For a few seconds the young woman stood frozen.
As though afraid it might all turn out to be a dream.
Then she took the letter with trembling hands.
She recognized Bento’s uneven handwriting at once.
Tears rose in her eyes.
He was alive.
That alone was enough.
Locked in her room, Isabel carefully opened the envelope.
Every word felt precious.
Every sentence carried a value beyond measure.
When she finished reading, she pressed the letter to her chest.
She cried.
She smiled.
She read it again.
Then a third time.
It was as though his voice filled the room.
As though the distance between them had shrunk.
That night, for the first time since Bento’s departure, she managed to sleep in peace.
The next morning she began writing her reply.
She had no trouble finding the words.
They seemed to flow naturally.
Like water from a spring.
“My dear Bento,
I received your letter.
I cannot begin to describe the joy I felt recognizing your handwriting.
Every day I prayed that you were alive.
Every day I wondered where you might be.
Now I know you have survived.
And that has brought peace to my heart.
The ranch is just the same.
The fields are still green.
The fig tree is still waiting.
And so am I.
I carry your memory everywhere I go.
When I walk through the gardens, I remember our conversations.
When I watch the sunset, I remember your eyes.
When I see horsemen crossing the fields, I search for your figure among them.
Come back to me when the war is over.
I will be waiting.
With all the love in my heart.
Isabel.”
When she finished, she carefully folded the pages.
Kissed the paper.
And handed the letter to Rosa.
The two lovers’ secret correspondence had begun.
Over the following months, the letters became an essential part of their lives.
They didn’t always arrive quickly.
Sometimes it took weeks.
Sometimes months.
But they kept arriving.
Every letter became a small miracle.
An invisible thread joining two hearts separated by war.
Through them, Bento told of the battlefields.
His comrades.
The long marches.
The dangers.
Isabel wrote of life at the ranch.
The changing seasons.
Events in the region.
The flowers that bloomed in spring.
The winter storms.
And above all, her feelings.
Feelings that seemed to grow with every letter exchanged.
But as their love grew stronger, another problem was taking shape.
Colonel Anselmo was beginning to notice changes in his daughter.
She seemed distracted.
Pensive.
She often smiled to herself, for no apparent reason.
She spent long stretches writing.
And she’d grown less receptive to Eduardo Amaral’s attentions.
One evening at dinner, the colonel studied her closely.
“You’re different lately.”
Isabel looked up.
“Different?”
“Yes.”
You seem far away.
She tried to stay calm.
“Maybe I’m just worried about the war.”
Anselmo didn’t seem convinced.
“We all are.”
But that doesn’t explain everything.
His gaze stayed fixed on her for a few seconds.
Long enough to leave her uneasy.
A father’s intuition was beginning to stir.
Eduardo Amaral kept visiting the ranch regularly.
Well-mannered.
Persistent.
Determined to win Isabel over.
But the young woman showed less and less interest.
The young man couldn’t understand it.
After all, in society’s eyes, he represented an excellent match.
He had fortune.
Prestige.
Influence.
Everything a family could want for a marriage.
Everything.
Except love.
And that was precisely what was missing.
Meanwhile, the war went on.
And Bento was beginning to stand out among the fighting men.
His courage in battle drew the attention of his superiors.
His gift with horses made him valuable.
His discipline inspired trust.
Little by little he was given greater responsibilities.
He didn’t realize it yet.
But his path in the military was only beginning.
One night, after a long march, he received a new letter from Isabel.
He sat down near the fire to read it.
His comrades already knew the ritual.
Whenever a letter arrived, Bento stepped away a little.
And spent some time alone.
Ant?nio Maciel watched with a quiet smile.
“Another letter?”
“Yes.”
“Go on and read it, then.
Before I die of envy.”
Bento laughed.
And found a quiet spot.
The letter spoke of simple things.
A recent storm.
A few foals born.
The flowers in the garden.
Nothing extraordinary.
But that was exactly what made it special.
It represented the world he was fighting to return to.
It represented the life he wanted back.
It represented Isabel.
When he finished reading, he noticed something curious.
The longing was still there.
Perhaps even stronger.
But it had stopped being only pain.
Now it was hope as well.
Because every letter proved their love was still alive.
Even at a distance.
Even in hiding.
Even surrounded by obstacles.
But fate was preparing new challenges.
Back at Santa Vitória, Colonel Anselmo was growing more and more suspicious.
Certain pieces were starting to fall into place in his mind.
Small details.
Small behaviors.
Small coincidences.
He had no proof yet.
But his instincts told him something was happening.
Something involving his daughter.
And when he finally uncovered the truth, the consequences would be devastating.
Far more devastating than Bento and Isabel could imagine.
Meanwhile, the lovers kept writing.
Dreaming.
Waiting.
Unaware that the greatest threat to their love lay not on the battlefield.
But inside Santa Vitória Ranch itself.