No! Look at him now with the children, hugging them all, laughing, she told herself. The children should never know, Will must never know. He was a good, loving husband and father. He was home from the war, and they would get their lives back together. Tonight, difficult as it would be for her, she would allow her husband to make love to her. They both needed it, needed to feel this reunion in the most intimate way in order to grow close again.
She followed Will and the children into the house, where Louisa and the other house servants greeted Will with exclamations of joy, Anna carrying on in Spanish about how she would have to fatten him up by cooking all his favorite dishes for him. Santana stayed close to him, touching him often, needing to reassure herself that this was real. Will was home. Somehow everything would be all right, except that Gerald was not here, would never be here. She knew how difficult it would be for Will to go on without his brother. It would be even worse for poor Agatha.
Santana slipped into bed beside her husband. After three days home, this was the first time they had slept together. For the past two nights they had stayed at Agatha’s house, Santana insisting on sleeping on a cot in Agatha’s bedroom. The news about Gerald had devastated her. What made it all the harder on Agatha was that there was not even a grave she could visit. It was as though her husband had walked off into the air and disappeared.
“If only I could have held him once more,” she had lamented over and over. “Told him once more that I loved him, comforted him in his dying moments.”
They had both assured her that Gerald most surely had known how much she loved him, that he had taken that love with him, and that one day they would be together again, in a place where there was no war, no pain.
The children had also taken the news hard, especially James, who had begun working at the mill, following in his father’s footsteps. He had counted on his father coming home, and was so proud of the things he had learned, things he had meant to show Gerald. Will had spent a lot of time talking to the children, seventeen-year-old James, fifteen-year-old Suellen, eleven-year-old Dora, and six-year-old William, who barely remembered his father. William had cried almost constantly, mainly because he was distraught and confused over his mother’s sorrow and the tears of his siblings.
“What a terrible three days,” Santana said as she lay down beside Will. “The joy of your homecoming is overwhelmed by the news of Gerald’s death.”
Will pulled her close, reveling in the fact that he was truly home, lying in his own bed, his wife beside him. What a happy moment this would be if only Gerald had come back with him. Forever he would carry the secret of how his brother had really died, where he was really buried. He felt sad for James, too, who had cried when Will gave him Gerald’s pocketknife.
“It’s going to take all of us a long time to get over this,” he said, running a hand over Santana’s arm. “I wish I could erase all of this like a bad dream, Santana, but what’s done is done.”
Yes, she thought. What’s done is done, and Hugo Bolivar’s life has taken hold inside of me. We must make love tonight, carino mio, so that I can say that this child was conceived out of love, and that his or her father is Will Lassater, not the horrible monster who created him. Her emotions rose and fell in her like a mighty storm, part of her wanting her husband again in the most intimate way, to know this was real and not a dream; and part of her still hating him for leaving her, and dreading the thought of any man touching her that way. Somehow she had to rise above her fear, for she had no choice in this matter. To protect the life inside of her, protect her family’s name, her husband’s honor, she must do this.
“I am just glad to be alone with you for the moment,” she said aloud, “to lie in your arms. So many nights I was afraid it would never be like this again. My heart aches for Agatha. How I wish she could be with Gerald this way.”
“I miss him so much, Santana. I missed him when I first came out here, but that was different. I knew he would eventually come here too. Now I’ll never see him again. With both my parents gone and now Gerald, the old place back in Maine sold…I don’t know. It’s like my whole past has been erased. I have no roots there now.” He turned, putting his arms around her.
“Do you think Aggie will go back home?” Santana asked.
“She probably will. Her family is there.” He rolled on top of Santana, holding his weight off her. It had been a long, long time since he’d given any thought to the pleasures of a woman, and losing Gerald made him feel closer to Santana. He needed her tonight, needed to know he was still a man, that the horrors of prison and the war had not destroyed him that way. “My family is here,” he added. “I have no one else now. Just you and my beautiful children.”
A hundred emotions rushed through Santana. An awakening of the old desire for her husband; and the stinging memory, images of Hugo hovering over her, the realization that she was no longer just Will Lassater’s woman. “It…has been a long time, mi esposo.”
“Much too long. I know it’s been hard, Santana, all the sorrow we’ve known the last few days, being like strangers to each other. I want to get it all back as quickly as we can, the beautiful love we shared, the friendship, the desire. I am still Will Lassater, the man who left here three and a half years ago, the father of your children. You burned brightly in my mind through all of it. In the worst moments, when I thought I was going to die, you were there with me in spirit. I need my woman, Santana. Is it too soon for you?”
Oh, yes, it is, she thought, in more ways than you know. Yet even if they made love that night, when the baby was born she would have to say it had come early. There was no time to waste if she wanted to avoid any suspicion. She must force herself to bear this, and she hated Hugo even more for spoiling what once had been beautiful between her and her husband. “No, it is not too soon,” she answered. “I, too, want to find what we had. I have missed you so, needed you so.”
Will kissed her for the first time since he’d returned. When she’d first run to him, they had only hugged and kissed each other’s cheeks, both of them feeling awkward in spite of their utter joy at seeing each other. For Will, it was time to find out if he was still a man. He feared something had changed in him, but the moment he met Santana’s full lips, he knew that nothing had changed. She was still soft and beautiful. He touched her breast, feeling it through her gown and buried needs and desires burst forth with awakened glory.
Santana closed her eyes, forcing herself to remember that this was Will, her husband, the man she loved more than her own life. She wanted so much for the familiar desire to be there, and it came back to her in little spasms when he kissed her, when his strong hand caressed her breast. Somehow she had to find that part of herself that had enjoyed being a woman before Hugo ruined it all for her. She had to fight the panic and revulsion that wanted to rear their ugly heads. She must not allow it, certainly not this first crucial time, when her husband needed her so, and she needed to be able to say his life was growing in her once again.
Pretend. Yes, she must pretend. For the rest of her life she would be pretending, lying, living with the awful secret. She felt perspiration breaking out all over her body as her husband pushed her nightgown up past her hips. Visions of another man pushing up her dress tried to make their way into her mind. No! She must not allow it! This was Will…Will. Her underwear came off, and his manhood was pressing against her thigh. She whispered his name, needing to say it aloud to remind herself that this was her husband and he had a right to do this.
But did he? Wasn’t it his fault she was in this predicament? Oh, she wanted so much not to blame him, yet she couldn’t help it. She allowed him his pleasure, feeling like a rag doll, so weary from great sorrow. The unhappiness of the last few years, especially this last month and now the last few days with Agatha, enveloped her. She could not find the passion she once had for her husband, and when he was finished she turned away from him.
Will touched her shoulder. “Santana! My God, I’m sorry. You weren’t
ready.” He stroked her hair. “I know it’s hard, but we still love each other, and that’s all that matters. I didn’t mean to upset you. You should have—”
“No. It’s all right.” She remained turned away, curling up, needing to scream at him that he had abandoned her, needing to tell him what had happened to her, loving him but also hating him. “We just need a little more time,” she said.
She felt him move away from her. He stretched out on his back, saying nothing. Santana wanted to turn to him, tell him all of it, but he might not understand. He might blame her, never look at her the same way again. What hurt the most was that her passion was gone. Hugo had destroyed her womanly needs and desires. She could go on being a good mother, but she was not so sure she could be the wife Will had left behind.
Twenty-Four
Will watched Santana help Estella Joaquin tutor Glenn and Ruth. Estella had stayed on at La Estancia de Alcala after Santana married, teaching the children of the ranch hands, then tutoring Gerald and Agatha’s children, and Santana’s. Santana was assisting her today, and she and Estella sat with Glenn and Ruth at the huge dining table in the great room.
It was not his children’s lessons that interested Will, but Santana herself, who had seemed deeply disturbed about something ever since he came home. Something was wrong, something he could not name. She was distant, distracted, nervous, evasive. He supposed it was only because he had been gone so long. They were more strangers to each other than he cared to admit, and he worried something had been lost between them that they could never get back.
She had so resented his going, and perhaps she would never quite forgive him for it. He knew he should get up to the mills and see Noel and get back to work, but he could not tear himself away from Santana. They had made love twice more in the last three days, but it was not the same. It was as though she were a different woman, not nearly as receptive and passionate as she once had been. In fact, she seemed to resent his touching her, even to resist a little.
Had something changed in him because of his malnourishment and suffering in that prison camp? Was he not the man he’d been when he left? He felt the same passion, the same needs, and although he was thinner, he had thought he was no different as a man in bed. No, it was something else, as though there was some secret in Santana’s soul that she was not telling him. Perhaps she merely wanted to shout that she hated him now, would never forgive him for the lost years. Maybe she felt that if he had taken a stand not to go to war, Gerald would also have stayed in California and would still be alive. Will had certainly considered that himself. She didn’t need to blame him for anything. He blamed himself plenty, especially every time he looked at Juan, whom he held on his lap now, a son he had to get to know from scratch, a little boy who still looked at him as though he were just a good friend of his mommy’s, not his father.
He held a bead-counting board for the boy, watching his fat little hand as he poked at the beads and moved them back and forth. He smiled when he did so, glancing at his father proudly as though he had done something wonderful. He was a beautiful boy, his skin dark and smooth, charming dimples in his chubby cheeks. Will wished he had been present when the boy was born, and knew Santana must resent that, too.
Dominic sat on the wood floor nearby playing with building blocks. Here was another son who barely knew him. He’d only been ten months old when Will had left for the war, but at least throughout the following years he’d been old enough to understand when Santana talked to him about his father.
Still, the children would not be a problem overall. They were innocent and eager, and he knew he would gradually earn back the closeness he wanted with his sons and daughter. It was Santana who worried him. The children were unconcerned about why he had been gone. They took it for granted that it had been necessary and now he was home and everything was fine again. Santana, on the other hand, had never felt it was necessary, and everything certainly was not fine. Sometimes she was so warm, so genuinely thrilled that he was home. Sometimes the old spark and passion and deep closeness they had once had was there, but then it would vanish again, replaced by something dark and remote.
They needed to talk. Whatever was bothering her, he would get it out of her. Now. He set Juan on the floor with his bead counter and rose, but Agatha walked into the room just then. The awful sorrow in her eyes tore at Will’s guts, and he wished he could do something to bring the woman happiness again. She had loved Gerald very much, and he doubted she would ever quite get over his death.
“I’m sorry to just walk in,” Agatha said, “but the doors were open.”
Santana rose, reaching her before Will did. She put an arm around her sister-in-law. “You know you can walk right in anytime, Aggie. We were both going to come and see you a little later. Did you get lonely?”
Agatha glanced at Will. “It isn’t that so much. I need to talk alone with both of you.”
Will and Santana looked at each other, both suspecting what this was about. Agatha wanted to go home. The thought stabbed painfully at Santana, for she treasured Agatha’s friendship. Here was another change in her life. So many things were so different. Even though she had not been able to bring herself to tell Agatha about what Hugo had done, just her presence had brought a kind of stability to Santana’s life, a sameness that she needed, a friendship she knew was there even though they did not share all their secrets.
“Come into my study,” Will said to Agatha. He took her arm, and the three of them walked down the hallway to Will’s study, which Santana had been careful to leave just as it had been before he left. He walked to his desk and picked up a pipe, filling it with tobacco. After he’d lit it, he said to Agatha, “You’re going home, aren’t you?”
Agatha looked at him sadly. “I have to, Will. I can’t stay on here where I’ve never been truly happy, not without Gerald. It was all for him, you know.”
“I know. You have parents back in Maine, two sisters, a brother.”
“My parents have a huge house. We can live with them for a while, until I decide what I am going to do. With the money Gerald has coming from the mill, we’ll be fine.”
“I’ll send you money every month,” Will told her, “whatever Gerald would have gotten if he were alive. If I get the mills built back up to where they were and they grow even more, you’ll be a very rich woman the rest of your life. You won’t have to worry about how you’ll support the children, I promise you that. You can trust me to send the money.”
Agatha blinked back tears. “I know that. I’m not the least bit concerned about finances. That isn’t what I came to talk about.”
Will sat down in the chair behind his desk, and Agatha sat down across from him. Santana walked to a window, lost in her own thoughts, hating to see Agatha leave for more reasons than anyone knew.
“What is it you need, Aggie? Just name it,” Will said. Much as he hated to see her go, he knew it was probably best for her. She had aged considerably in just these few days. Perhaps once she was back in Maine and with her family again, she would grow stronger and be better able to go on with life.
She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “It’s James,” she said. “He’s been working up at the mill for two years now with Noel, learning the trade. He loves it, just as his father did. It’s in his blood, I suppose. At any rate, he also loves California. He’s met some young Mexican girl down at the main ranch, Enrique Hidalgo’s daughter. She’s only sixteen, but you know how young love is.”
Will glanced at Santana, remembering she’d only been sixteen when he met her. She looked back at him, and for a moment all the sweetness of that time came back for them. She smiled wistfully, looking almost ready to cry. Then she looked back out the window. “Si, I know how it is,” she answered Agatha.
“At any rate, she’s very sweet and pretty, and between her and his love of California weather and the land and the mill, he doesn’t want to leave. He says it’s his responsibility to go on in his father’s place, learn the business f
rom the ground up, work closely with you, and with Glenn and Dominic and Juan, too, if that is what they want. I would like him to live here with you, stay with you when he’s up at the mill. I’d like your promise to be the father to him that he’s lost. He may be seventeen, but he still needs a father figure, some guidance.”
Will leaned back in his chair, puffing on the pipe for a moment. “Did you really think you would have to ask or coerce me into keeping him? James is a great kid. Of course he can stay with us. I’d keep every one of Gerald’s children and raise them if I had to.”
Agatha smiled through her tears. “Well, I supposed you would, but I wanted to be sure it’s all right. Please promise you’ll be very careful with his duties up at the mill. It’s such dangerous work, and young people think they’re invincible, you know. They tend to take foolish chances.”
“You know I’d never let anything happen to him if I can help it. He’s a smart boy. I’m sure he understands the dangers.”
“I just—” Agatha had to stop for a moment to find her voice. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost a child too. It will be hard enough leaving James behind…my firstborn. And he looks so much like Gerald. I will miss him so much. The trip home is going to be heartbreaking, but I think once I get there, things will be better, and at least I’ll have my other three children with me. Do make sure to keep in touch, and remind James that he promised to write often.”
Will took another puff on the pipe, then set it in an ashtray. “He’ll write. I’ll make sure of that. How do you intend to go back? I don’t like the idea of you and the other three kids traveling alone. Let me hire someone to accompany you.”
Agatha nodded. “I would appreciate that. I’ll take only necessities for now, so that I can go the quickest way possible, by coach, then riverboat and train. I need you to arrange to have some other things sent by ship. I’ll leave most of the furniture where it is. I won’t need it, and even if I get a home of my own in Maine, I’ll refurnish it. I just…I don’t want to take much with me from California. It would only remind me of my unhappiness here. You can do whatever you want with the house, rent it, use it for a guest house.” She glanced at Santana. “Santana, I hope you don’t think my unhappiness here has anything to do with your beautiful California, or with you. You do understand, don’t you?”
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