She drummed her finger upon her cheek as she thought of what she would have forgotten. Remembering her toiletries, she stepped to the wash stand and retrieved a wash cloth, rose water, her hair brush and a bar of soap. She knelt at the side of her bed and stuffed these items in with her clothes, then stood up to silently congratulate herself for finally having the nerve to do this.
Satisfied that she had tucked away all that she would need, she sighed. Tonight, she thought, she would control her life. Tonight, she would take her son and start her journey back home.
Remembering that she had not packed her son’s things, she tiptoed to the nursery and filled a bag for him. She noticed that the nurse was not in the room and the baby was not in his crib, but thought that the woman had taken him for a walk in the garden as she had often at this time of day. She touched the tiny pillow in the crib and then took the bag of his things to her room to place them with the others.
Tired from her rushing about and knowing that she would need her strength tonight while she ran away with her child, she lay down on her bed for a nap. She closed her eyes against what she was sure Diego’s angry reaction would bring when he was informed that she had left and had taken his son away from him. Stifling a smile, she turned over onto her side, away from the door and sighed one last time before sleep overtook her.
Chapter Eight
Far, far away, a miserable wailing was disturbing her journey through a thick, blissful forest of dogwood. A veil of fog enveloped her, making visibility nonexistent. She stepped forward, stretching her arms in front of her to feel her way. The crying was coming closer, she heard, closer and louder. Hush baby, she said in her sleep. Mommy’s here. But the crying kept getting louder and louder.
Slowly, slowly, the awareness of reality assailed her. As the fog lifted, she realized that the crying wasn’t coming from a baby at all, but an adult. And as the forest slowly transformed into her bedroom, she found that the dream had vanished but the crying continued, still echoing throughout the dark room.
Savannah slowly opened her eyes to see Maria and Isabelle, Benito’s nurse sitting on either side of the bed, each of then clasping one of her hands. Their faces were wet with tears and their mouths were uttering such a dreadful, pitiful sound.
“What is it?” Savannah whispered as she trying to raise herself from the bed.
Isabelle patted her hand as she searched for the words to tell her, “It’s—it’s Benito. He—he—Oh!”
The woman wailed wildly before she reeled from the bed and ran from the room in a flurry of skirts.
Savannah looked questioningly at Maria, but the maid shook her head and looked toward the corner of the room. Diego stepped from the shadows to her bedside and sat down in the chair that Isabelle had vacated.
“Leave us alone,” he ordered Maria, who frowned slightly but did what she was told, quietly shutting the door behind her.
“What is it?” she repeated to her husband, who squeezed her hand in both of his.
“My son,” he started, but corrected for her sake. “Our son—little Benito has gone to Our Mother in Heaven.”
“What?” She sat bolt upright in the bed. “It can’t be! He was fine this morning when I fed him.”
She threw back the blankets and brushed past him as he called to her, “I tell you it is true.”
She was already in the hallway and running into the nursery when she heard him say, “He is dead.”
The small room was darkened by the same thick drapery that covered all of the windows in the bedrooms and she ran toward the curtain to chase away the gloomy scene that it produced. She turned to the crib and rushed to look inside. To her dismay, the blankets were all that she saw. She picked up the tiny pillow and breathed in the baby’s sweet scent as she felt warm hands upon her shoulders.
“He is gone, Querida,” Diego said sadly as he crossed his arms around her shoulders to comfort her.
“But,” was all that she could force from her wracking body.
She grabbed her stomach as a wave of nausea engulfed her. The room began to spin and the floor would have come up quickly to meet her if Diego had not scooped her up into his arms and carried her back to her bed. Darkness was her friend and her enemy as she fought to regain consciousness in the coming hours.
Diego sat beside her, holding her hand. She had taken the loss as he had predicted. She would be easy to contain now, he thought. Grief does not treat her well at all. He sighed half-heartedly, then placed her hand beneath the blanket and raised the cover to meet her chin and smiled as he told the sleeping woman, “You will not leave me, my wife. You are mine for as long as it pleases me. And, for now, I will keep you here. It is best that you stay right where you are. You must recover, Querida. Soon, I will no longer need you.”
He stalked his way to Maria’s room where he knocked quietly on the door. Seconds passed before she opened the door and smiled up at him. He touched her hair and let his hand cup her chin, while his other hand stuffed a silver coin between her breasts. He knew that this would please her and that she expected a reward for telling him that she had seen his wife stashing away the things for her journey. But, the money was only partial payment for her deed. He knew that Maria expected much more for her part in their plan to rid themselves of Savannah for good.
Maria smiled invitingly at him and reached up to embrace his neck and pulled him into her room. He closed the door behind her and heard her breathe into his chest, “Now, you are mine. All mine.”
Diego chuckled and squeezed her voluptuous body into his as he corrected, “Not yet, my love. We still have to wait. You must be patient.”
“But, I should be your wife. I should have been your wife long ago before that gringo bitch came here,” Maria pouted, pulling away from him.
“Ah, my love,” Diego soothed as he cuddled her from behind. “You will be. You will have all that you wish for.”
Seeing that she was satisfied, he wheeled her around to face the door and added with a sound slap on her behind, “Now, go and see that she stays asleep. I must tend to some errands.”
Maria giggled and hopped out of the room to do his bidding. He was hers, she thought as she slipped into her mistress’ room. This intruding woman would never come between them again. She would see to it. She sat upon the chair that faced Savannah’s bed and dipped a bottle over a spoon before she placed the liquid to the sleeping woman’s lips and said quietly, “This will make you sleep, Miss Savannah. For a long, long time.”
Don Diego Fernandez pulled harshly upon the reins stopping the black horse in front of a small adobe hut on the far side of the village. As he lifted his leg to dismount, he heard a baby cry inside the house. Anger welled up inside him as he recognized the cry that echoed against the walls of the neighboring houses.
He stepped to the door and flung it open to see a frightened woman cowering in the corner as she shielded her child with her arms. He strode to the woman and jerked her baby from her arms and dropped it into its crib before he shook the woman with all his might. The woman screeched her alarm and struggled against his grip, but he held her tightly as he seethed, “My son eats first!”
He thrust the wet-nurse into a chair and stomped to the cradle that held Benito and then carried him lovingly to her before he thrust him into her arms as he warned, “If I find that you let my son go without, your child will pay—with her life!”
He retraced his steps to the door, leaving the blubbering woman as she opened her blouse to his son. The child suckled hungrily at her breast while her own baby cried in her cradle. Before he closed the door against the woman, he told her, “I will visit my son at any time. Remember that he is more important to you than that child.”
The woman followed his pointing finger to the infant that still desperately wailed, and then she whimpered and patted the baby that nursed in her arms. Wiping away the tears, she watched as he slammed the door behind him. She stared fearfully at her daughter who writhed with her crying fit inside her ca
vernous crib. Then she looked down at the strange baby suckling at her breast and she sighed with acceptance of her dismal destiny.
Diego remounted his steed and headed back to the hacienda, knowing that he had gotten through to the woman that he would kill her child if his went hungry. Soon, he thought, the boy will get used to her as his source of sustenance and his need for his mother would wane, and so too, would Diego’s need for his wife cease.
But, what to do with her, he wondered as he stepped into the courtyard of his grand home. Not to worry, he told himself as he went to the veranda for a glass of wine. He had a few weeks to think about it. In the meantime, he would keep her dozing in her comfortable bed while he kept his mistress awake and satiated in his own bed. A deep roaring laugh escaped his lips as he leaned back in his wrought iron chair and raised his palms to entangle his fingers behind his neck. Soon, he would have all that he wanted, he thought. And thanks to his wife’s actions and the cruel yet contemplating schemes of his mistress, he would have it sooner than expected.
Chapter Nine
“Maria, hurry up!” Isabelle scolded as she poked her head into her mistress’ room. “We’ll be late for mass!”
Maria nodded and waved her hand toward Isabelle as she stood over Savannah’s sleeping body. Then, she stepped toward the window to draw the drapes so that just enough morning sun could filter through, giving the room a golden glow. Finding her way back to the side of the bed, she leaned over the woman once again.
Her mistress lay still and almost lifeless in the bed, save for the slight rise and fall of the blankets upon her chest. Too much sleep and too little food had taken its toll on the woman’s drawn features. Her face was sunken and white except for a pair of circles the color of plums that cut into the area below her hollow eyes, filling the deep pits with a sea of violet beneath her black velvet lashes. Her hair a matted, dull black mass hovered around her head on the pillow like a dark, tangled halo except for the single ringlet that twirled around one tight and colorless cheekbone, which jutted out above the thin, chiseled chin. Her once full lips were now thin with hunger and lacked any color but the golden caress of the sun that streamed into the room.
Maria stopped short as she tucked in the blanket when those lips quivered and the eyelids fluttered. She had not seen so much as a twitch out of her charge in over three months. She wondered if she had forgotten to give her the last dose of laudanum while she put her hands upon her full hips and stared at the face that now lay motionless. No matter, she shrugged. She will die soon enough. Diego had promised. The child was suckling eagerly upon the nursemaid’s breast and this one was no longer needed.
Maybe she should let the drug wear off a bit so that when Doña Fernandez is put to her death she will suffer. Maria smiled as she patted the lusterless head that sunk into the pillow. With malice in her voice, she whispered, “I would like to see you suffer, gringa. I have suffered while you have been here. You had taken my Diego from me when he found out about your money, but he no longer needs you in order to get it. Now, it is your turn to suffer. Perhaps Diego will allow me to dispose of you, eh?”
Savannah’s head stirred under the warmth of Maria’s hand and she pulled it away, rubbing the palm as if she had touched the thorn of a cactus plant. She heard Isabelle’s voice calling once again, so she turned to follow her friend out of the room, her mind conjuring up the most despicable demise for the woman who had caused her to put off her own life of happiness with the man that she adored.
Savannah swam back to life through the haze of sleep, her head aching as if she had been dropped from the highest mountain. She groaned as she tried to move her throbbing head. The sharp pain threatened to hurl her back into oblivion but she fought diligently to wake herself from this dark domain.
On their own accord, her hands found their way to her head, pressing hard against each temple to ease the pounding, dizzying drums that vibrated inside her skull. Slowly, oh so slowly, the pain subsided so that she could open her eyes and face the tiny shred of sunlight that shone like a beacon on a stormy night. She turned her face toward the light, that glorious stream of reality that beckoned her to draw closer to its warm, life-giving glow. With its powerful vitality, the beam pulled her up onto her elbows, then into a sitting position. There, she waited until the dizziness subsided, giving her the strength to swing her legs over the side of the bed. She cringed as a knife of pain shot through her head again and she sat there, holding her palms to it to quell the onslaught.
After a while, she took a deep, decisive breath and propelled herself from the bed to stand beside it, wavering as she fought for balance. She took her first step, stretching out her hands to balance herself. Another step and she was only a few feet away from the silhouette of velvet against the illumination of the window. With a grunt of excitement and exhaustion, she fell toward the window and leaned against it, basking in the warmth that radiated there.
Already, she could feel the strength flooding back into her limbs. Soon, she could stand on her own accord and she spread back the drapes to worship the blessing of the sun’s warming rays. She fumbled with the latch and then pushed open the window to breathe in the freshness of the warm spring air.
It took her moments to realize and moments later to say aloud, “It was cool just yesterday and now, it seems stiflingly hot outside.”
A perplexed frown crossed her brow as she leaned out the window to take in the scenery. The garden which flanked her bedroom was withered and dry. The flowers that she had taken such pains to plant and groom now drooped tiredly in the heat that wavered on the tile veranda. She looked past the garden wall at the horizon, which danced hazily in the steam that rose in shimmering waves toward the sky.
“Where did the time go?” she asked herself, placing a hand on her neck. “How could I have slept for so long without waking up?”
Surely, she would have remembered the days since spring melted into summer, she thought as she narrowed her eyes at the confusing sight. Why, she must have missed everything: flowers blooming, riding her horse over the grassy plains, watching her son learn to crawl—
“Benito!” she whispered, placing her fingertips to her neck, suddenly remembering the heart-wrenching news that she had been told yesterday, a week ago, whenever she had fainted in disbelief.
Her baby was dead! Her sweet little Benito was gone.
How can she live without him? He was all that she had lived for. Her broken heart crumbled inside her chest, threatening to send her crashing to the floor again in her overwhelming grief.
But, she must go on. She must call upon the spirit that she used to have before she had married Diego and before he had beat it out of her and bled it from her body with his cutting words and brutal reprimands. As she lifted her chin, she begged for the courage to pull herself up and take herself away from this place forever.
With great effort, she dressed in her riding habit and then knelt beside the bed. Excitement tore through her when she saw that the bags were still where she had put them. She pulled the burlap sack toward her and peered inside. Everything was still there, including the loaf of bread, which was now dusted with a powdery mold that clung to the crusty, hard surface. She picked it up with her forefinger and thumb and was amazed that it was as heavy as an adobe brick and it smelled so offensive that she carried it to the window and let it drop with a thud on the tiles outside. Then, she went back to the bed and collected the bags. Holding the bag that contained the baby’s things to her breast, she sniffed back the sadness as she tucked the beloved belongings into her valise as a reminder of her little son.
She hefted the bags over the window sill and watched as they hit the tiles soundly, crushing the loaf of bread into a powdery cloud around them. She followed the bags, jumping just over the heap and picked them up. She crept to the garden wall, following it to the gate, where she stopped and listened. It stood ajar, inviting her to open it wide and run to her freedom, but she hesitated to make sure that no one witnessed her dep
arture.
She was happy that she had waited, for she saw a guard pacing along the wall of the courtyard, his head facing away from her, so he had not seen her. She took a deep breath, wondering how she could slip by him without him seeing her, for she would have to cross right in front of him on her way to the stables. She pressed her back against the warm adobe wall and tried to think.
As she contemplated her plan, she heard the clickety-clack of claws upon the tiles of the veranda. In seconds, her Chihuahua was bouncing and yapping at her feet.
“Shhh, Pedro,” she scolded, but he was too excited to see her. She knelt down and rubbed his head, letting him slop licks on her face and neck in an effort to quiet him.
She had to make him leave her, she knew, for he was making enough noise to rouse a dead guard, so the one who leaned against a tree and rolling a cigarette was sure to hear. She pushed the dog’s rump, urging him to go out the gate, but he squirmed into a complete circle, ending up back at her side.
“So you want to play, do you?” she whispered, her voice showing mock excitement. She looked around for a stick, and then waved it in front of the panting dog, enticing him to play. Finally, she threw the stick through the gate and to the left so that he would chase it away from the direction in which she wanted to go. Pedro flew through the gate and galloped toward the stick, his tongue lolling behind his ears and his excited yapping echoing through the courtyard.
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