by Livia Ellis
“Politics,” she said. Eduardo refused to admit or acknowledge that he was, without any question, the lord of his own fiefdom. His workers came to him for everything from dispute mediation to his blessing on their upcoming nuptials.
“Politics,” he said. “Besides, all of the preparations are getting under my skin.”
“Nervous? Getting cold feet?” She certainly had cold feet. It seemed too late to back out, but that didn't change the fact she had reservations about the choice to get married so fast.
“Neither. Annoyed people can't just get their jobs done without coming to me for approval every five minutes. If I'm not around, then they need to figure it out on their own. Get dressed to ride. Where we're going there are no roads.” He released her then turned and walked back through the bedroom.
She showered and dressed in riding pants and a polo shirt. Her childhood dream of owning her own horse had become a reality when Eduardo learned she could ride. Although technically Maya belonged to Gloria, Henna had an open-ended invitation to ride her whenever she wanted.
A great deal of hustle and bustle buzzed in the house outside of their bedroom. Their wedding reception was no ordinary party. Everyone was invited. Everyone included all of the people who earned their living working for the Salazar's and their extended families. There would be hundreds of people to feed and entertain. When the decision had been made to get married, Eduardo had insisted on two things. One, they get married in Colombia. Two, they have a traditional wedding. He hadn't eloped the first time around, but it had been fast with little ceremony. Fortunately, Inez knew what needed to be done.
Preparations for the wedding began immediately after Eduardo instructed the staff to make things ready. Two weeks from the day they made the announcement to the day of the wedding. Two weeks. There would be no months’ worth of preparations and hours spent mulling over flower arrangements and color schemes. Just one singular order for a great festival to mark the occasion of Don Eduardo's marriage to the woman they all suspected was probably pregnant.
Henna might not speak Spanish, but she understood body language. That and Simon had told her the main topic of conversation amongst the workers circled around the bloom in her cheeks and the roundness of her belly. Her checks were not rosy and her stomach was as flat as a board. At eight weeks pregnant, there were no external signs of her condition other than the massive party being planned outside in the courtyard of the hacienda.
She walked down the stairs through the foyer and out the door to the busy courtyard. From sun up to sun down the activity was constant at the front of the hacienda. The back of the house, where the pool and gardens were located, privacy and peace dominated. Except for the workers maintaining the grounds and the women working in the extensive kitchen garden, only family entered To the front of the house and off to the side, the coffee beans were processed from brilliant red to pale green.
She spotted Eduardo on the patios, which were a series of concrete terraces where coffee beans where spread out to dry in the sun. She watched him as she walked nearer to where he stood talking with one of the foremen. When he saw her, the foreman nodded to Eduardo who dismissed him.
“They all do that.” She stood next to him as they looked at the terraces. “Run away whenever I get near.”
“They're back country Colombians,” Eduardo said. “You have to just understand their mentality. You're an unmarried woman that openly sleeps in my bed. They don't know what to make of you in that capacity. After tonight, they'll still ignore you, but that's because you're my wife and not my mistress.”
She snorted indelicately. “You realize there is a double standard around here. They all look at me like some whore of Babylon and you're Don Eduardo. Wholly unfair.”
“I'm a man,” he said. “Bad behavior is expected.”
“That is so unfair,” she said. “Our personal life should be ours. They spend more time worrying about my flat stomach and our sleeping arrangements than I do.”
“We're going to solve that problem tonight,” he said. “As of tomorrow, nobody is going to care where you sleep anymore, and as for your flat stomach, time will resolve that question.” He put his hand on her arm just above her elbow as they walked in the direction of the barn. “Are you still wondering if this is the right thing to do? Because it is. At least, for me it is. I want it to be the right thing for you, too. Otherwise, we can wait.”
“We haven't even known each other that long,” she reminded him. They'd known each other three months. Just as long as her sister had known Romeo before they'd jumped into their marriage. If she hadn't fussed so much about Eden getting married after three months, she would probably be more willing to take a leap of faith.
“How long is long enough?” he asked. “We are meant to be together. I have no doubts.”
“I just need some time.” Her excuses where growing increasingly more thin as time went on. She wanted to get married. She just didn't want to get married because she was pregnant. It seemed unfair to her baby. Making the child the reason she and its father married was a lot of pressure to put on her future infant. The psychological pressure could potentially be enormous if, by some fluke of Eduardo's precious destiny, they didn't work out.
“Take all the time you want. If you don't want to get married tonight, then we don't get married tonight. I want you to be happy. If waiting makes you happy, then we wait.” He gave her a kiss on the head. A rare public display of affection from a man who was hotter than the sun behind closed doors and cooler than the moon in front of his workers. She sighed in relief. “Thank you. Maybe after the baby comes. Then we can get married. Just now...” She shrugged. “Now feels like we're forcing this. Like we're getting married for some reason other than we love each other. People should never get married because of a pregnancy.”
“You think that's why I want to marry you?”
“Isn't it? Honestly, would you be pushing for us to get married if I wasn't pregnant?”
“Probably no,” he said. “Okay. If you want to postpone, we postpone. The festival still has to go ahead. Too many people have worked too hard over the past two weeks to cancel because you don't want to marry me. Just so you understand, I want to marry you because I love you. Not because you're pregnant. That just pushed forward plans.”
They walked through the courtyard where lights had been strung from poles festooned with garlands and bouquets of flowers, a bandstand assembled, tables and chairs set out, and a pig roasted while being slowly turned on a spit. Poor pig. What a way to go.
The nearby stucco church where they would be married had been filled with enough flowers to send a person with hay fever into shock. Not that she'd seen. The church, where the nondenominational ceremony she'd insisted on was to take place, had been decorated without her input. Eduardo wanted it to be a surprise. He wanted her to be happy and joyful in their marriage from the beginning. For certain, at least at that moment, he was better than she deserved.
She looked up at his profile. “Why are you okay with this? Don't think I don't know you. Based on everything I know about you, you should not be okay with this. I know you well enough to know that you do not want your child, who you are mystically convinced is a girl, to be born out of wedlock. I know you, Eduardo Salazar. You're up to something. You may drive a Porsche, but you might as well be pulling a donkey loaded down with bushel baskets for as modern as you are about some things.”
Eduardo smiled as he squeezed her. “Henna. I love you. I want you to be happy. If you're happy, then my baby is happy. I'll do whatever you need me to do to make you happy.”
Their horses had been saddled and made ready by the time they entered the barn. Henna swung herself up onto the back of Maya as Eduardo holstered a shotgun to his saddle and mounted the large chestnut quarter horse he rode daily around his plantation.
They headed out of the stable, taking the path through the grenadine and papaya orchards then up the hills to where the coffee plants began. A path was forme
d out of a series of switchbacks that swayed back and forth through the terraces of coffee plants. Workers wearing guayaberas and straw cowboy hats moved with hands that flashed as they rapidly picked only the bright red berries from between the slick green leaves.
Eduardo occasionally stopped and spoke with a foreman before they moved on. As the sun rose higher in the sky, they closed in on their destination.
“How much farther is it?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she hated that she sounded like a complaining child. She felt fine when she'd woken, but the combination of the sun pressing down on her and the change in altitude was making her feel ill. More than ill. Unsteady and faint.
“It's close,” Eduardo said.
They followed an animal track and entered a densely wooded area with plentiful shade trees, bringing her a small amount of relief. The woods opened onto a clearing that held a wooden house, a chicken coup, a pen with two goats, an outhouse, and a well. A flock of chickens scattered when the horses’ hooves came bearing down. The door to the house opened, and a woman in a peasant blouse with a brightly colored skirt walked onto the porch. She had a full and lush body with a head of the most glorious black hair Henna had ever seen.
“That's the ancient bruja?” Henna quipped as Eduardo helped her off of her horse. When her feet touched the ground, her knees buckled slightly before she found her footing.
“Are you okay?” Eduardo asked holding her steady.
“Dehydrated,” she said. “I just need water.”
Eduardo reached into her saddlebag and took out a sealed bottle of water and handed it to her. “That is not the bruja. That is her great granddaughter Juanita. She has the eye, too.”
Henna looked at Juanita who looked at Eduardo with quite an eye. “So I see,” she said. “Let's do this.”
Eduardo pulled a wrapped package from his saddlebag then walked with her up to the shaded porch. He spoke with Juanita who blatantly ignored Henna. She tried not to tap her foot or cross her arms, but she wasn't feeling well and wanted to be offered a place to sit.
“Go with Juanita,” Eduardo said. He handed her the wrapped package. “For the bruja.”
“Where are you going?” she asked, taking the deceptively heavy bundle from him. “What is this?”
“Pork belly. A gift for the bruja. I need to fix the door on the hen house,” he said. “You'll be fine.”
Juanita beckoned for Henna to follow her into the cabin. The cool and dark interior smelled of the dried flowers and herbs that hanged in bunches from the beams across the ceiling. Juanita sat her at a multipurpose table off to the side. A wood-burning stove held a stewing cauldron that steamed theatrically. Henna had to give the bruja top marks for creating an ambiance.
Juanita left her alone for a moment after taking the bundle Eduardo had given her, then returned, guiding a tiny old woman draped in a colorful shawl. Juanita escorted the bruja to the table. She sat in a chair across the worn and smooth surface from Henna and stared at her for long enough to make her uncomfortable. From within the folds of her shawl, her two withered hands, lumpy and crackled from arthritis, emerged. She placed her hands palms up on the table then gestured to Henna with her fingers.
The bruja held Henna's hands for a moment, then ran her wizened fingers over her palms, gently scratching the surface. The old woman spoke with Juanita in a raspy whisper.
“You speak Spanish?” Juanita asked her in broken English.
Henna held up her fingers to indicate a very small amount. Eduardo's family and his chic friends in Bogota spoke English. No one that worked on the plantation spoke English. She'd had to learn quickly.
The bruja spoke with Juanita in a whisper as she gestured about the room. Juanita placed a bandana wrapped bundle on the table in front of the bruja. The bruja unwrapped the red fabric and revealed an abused pack of playing cards. She put the cards in front of Henna and gestured with her hands as if shuffling. Finally, she held up three fingers.
Henna shuffled three times and placed the cards on the table. The bruja spread the cards in front of her one at a time, pausing between each revelation. There were no smiles or frowns. No reaction at all to what the card might or might not have meant to her. When she seemed satisfied, the cards were scooped up and carefully rewrapped in the bandana. Juanita brought a cigar box and a pad of paper to the table and gave them to the bruja.
The bruja spoke to Juanita as she gestured to Henna.
“You...” She patted her tummy. “Bambina. Si?”
“Do I know that I'm pregnant?” Henna asked. “Yes. Everybody knows I'm pregnant.” Why else would two people be getting married with two weeks’ notice? Her mother's words repeated in her head constantly since the conversation she'd had with her mother to announce their rush to the altar.
The plan originally had been to just tell people they were getting married. The conversation had ended with Henna in tears, her mother going for the scotch, and Eduardo being put on the phone to explain to her father that he'd gotten his thirty-seven year old daughter in trouble. Her mother's words.
A thirty-seven year old woman who was a doctor and a home owner was still in trouble in her mother's mind if she wasn't married and pregnant. The final words with her mother had been to the effect that she had best get married quickly and quietly then tell everyone she went into labor early and hope she didn't deliver a ten pound baby.
Eduardo and her father had managed to calm down both women and arrive at a point where her mother stopped referring to her pregnancy as either an accident or a booboo and she had promised not to strangle her mother.
For some reason, and in a way that had never made her entirely comfortable, her father and Eduardo seemed to get each other. Her father had been the least bothered about the abrupt change in circumstances and the most supportive. He'd been the one to tell her that marrying Eduardo would be another smart thing his smartest child had done in her life.
Juanita spoke with the bruja who responded with a few gestures. The old woman took a hunk of black crayon from the cigar box and began making long thick and thin strokes on the paper. Henna watched the paper upside down as two conflicting images began to appear. When the bruja finished and she held the drawing in her hands, Henna wasn't sure what she felt. Annoyance? Anger? Frustration? Sadness? All of the above and then some?
On the left side was sadness. On the right joy. The left rectangle was divided into two triangles. Within the top triangle, Henna smiled and held her baby with San Francisco as the backdrop. The bottom triangle was Eduardo, sad, alone, and miserable. On the right of the page was a family portrait. She and Eduardo with two small girls close in age.
“You understand?” Juanita asked from her place behind the bruja's shoulder. “Comprende?” She pointed her finger to the triangles left side of the paper. “No marry Don Eduardo. Sad.” Juanita frowned and rubbed her eyes as if crying. “Marry Don Eduardo. Happy. Two girl. Isabella. Cecilia. Happy.”
She tipped her head in acknowledgment. The picture was like a blackmail note. Do as I say, or suffer the consequences. No gun to the head could be as potentially motivating as the dual images displayed on the page.
“Say nada picture,” Juanita warned with a wag of a finger. “Or bad happen. Very bad. You break Don Eduardo’s heart.” She placed her hand to her chest and frowned. “Comprende?”
Henna tipped her head again and smiled tightly. Marry Eduardo or I will break his heart. That was clear. She knew that without the bruja drawing a picture. It didn't matter what he said to her, he wanted to get married. It mattered to him. Eventually, the pressure of wanting to get married would push a wedge between them. Because that was what she did. Simon was right. She fought against her own happiness. She stood in her own way. Not once since she'd found out she was pregnant had she considered
“Say Eduardo quickly yes, yes. No trouble. Say no, no. You break heart. Make cry.”
“I get it,” she said. “Marry him or I will break his heart and make him cry.”
The bruja spoke to Juanita who walked to the door and out. After she left, the old woman took the drawing from Henna's hands, folded it in four and gestured for Henna to stick it in her bra. With the drawing safely stowed away, the bruja just sat smiling at her. Finally, Juanita returned with Eduardo. The bruja gestured to the chair next to Henna and he sat down.
The bruja began speaking to him then nodded to her.
“Okay,” Eduardo said to her. “Something you need to do?”
“Did she tell you what that something might be, or is it up to me to tell you?”
Eduardo spoke with the bruja for a moment, then turned back to her. “Whatever it is, you should do what you have to do before sunset tonight.”
She smiled tightly at the bruja who returned the gesture along with a pat to her hands. The old woman continued to speak to Eduardo, cutting her out of the conversation. Finally, the bruja gestured to Juanita who helped the old woman from the table and returned her to the room she'd originally come from.
Eduardo spoke with Juanita briefly as she walked them outside. When they were on their horses riding back, Eduardo was uncharacteristically quiet.
“What did she say to you?” Henna asked, breaking the silence.
“The goat died. She wants another one for Juanita,” he said.
“And?”
“Domingo is the father of Maria's baby, and I had better do something about it before Angelo finds out his daughter's pregnant, gets drunk, and does something about it himself.”
“Okay,” she said. “What are you going to do?”
“Have a firmly worded conversation with Domingo about the virtues of marriage.”
“Anything else?”
“She congratulated us, told me again that we would have two daughters, and that she was very sorry she would not be coming to the festival, but she was going to die tomorrow and that she needed to finish her book.”
“God as my witness, if she drops dead any time in the next forty-eight hours, I will no longer question the power of the bruja or the existence of destiny.”