by J. L. Jarvis
He grabbed her wrist and awoke with a start. Ana gasped. He was not too weak for his grip to cause pain.
“It’s all right. You’re here with me.”
His eyes lost their wildness at the sound of her voice. He let go in an instant. “Ana?”
“Shh…we’ll talk later.”
“I thought—”
“I know.” She gently pressed him back against the pillows. He watched her for a moment, then fell back to sleep.
It was not until late afternoon that he was able to sit propped up in bed and sip soup. He finished and set the bowl down beside him. Ana reached for it. Eduardo took her hand and examined the bruised handprint on her wrist.
“Who did this to you?”
“It’s nothing,” she said. She picked up the bowl and went on with her work.
“I did that?”
“You were not yourself. It’ll be gone by tomorrow.”
“I did not come here to hurt you.”
“You were right to come here.”
His defenses were down. His emotions shone through and reminded Ana how it felt to be loved.
“Rest now,” she said calmly.
“Let me walk just a little. I need some fresh air.”
Ana argued against it, but Eduardo made his way to the porch. He sat down slowly, with care. His face was contorted with pain.
Ana said, “It’s all right to complain.”
“My being here is trouble enough. You don’t need my whining.”
“I would hardly call it that. You’ve been hurt, and I’m glad I can help. I’m glad that you’re here. It feels…right,” said Ana.
He smiled and held her gaze.
Ana looked away first. The sun, now an ember, rested on the horizon. “What happened back there?”
He told her of how the men came upon him on the road in the night on his way home to the city. “I awoke in a cell made of Mexican brick.”
“Who did it?”
“Huerta’s men.”
“So, you were right. They came for you.”
He nodded. “Was there news of it here?”
Ana shook her head, and then reached for his hand. “But you’re here now. I thank God for that.”
“Well, I am here. I’m not sure about God’s part in it.”
“Eduardo, the very fact of your presence is proof.”
He gave her a patronizing smile. “I’m here because the thought of you here kept me going.”
When he woke the next morning, his first sight was of Ana, her face surrounded by light from early morning, which shone through the rippled glass panes of the window. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were an angel.”
Ana laughed. “And you, my friend, need to put on your glasses. But first, how about a bath and a shave? Do you think you can manage?”
“I made it here. I suppose I can make it to the washtub.”
“There’s a towel and cloth over there. I’ll be outside if you need any help. Don’t look so shocked. I can get one of the ranch hands to help, if you need it.” Ana paused on the threshold. “You’ll find clean clothes on the chair.” And she closed the door behind her.
Sometime later, he stepped out on the porch in a crisp chambray shirt and blue jeans, which hung loose from a thin, belted waist. The cuffs of the trousers were rolled up. How different these clothes looked on Eduardo. She set down her memories and looked at his face. It was a fine face.
“You clean up very well,” she said, shyly forcing a smile on her lips. She averted her gaze before she could see its reflection in Eduardo.
Neither spoke for a moment. There they sat on the porch, looking at twilight on a still night with a sky washed in salmon and robin’s egg blue. Its vivid beauty made her sad.
Eduardo took hold of her hand. They sat watching the sky until dusk cast long shadows. In soft voices they talked.
“I don’t know how long I was left in that cell. Several days? A few weeks? One day they came in and got me. We were going to Mexico City, they told me. I knew enough to doubt I’d ever arrive there, but they watched me too closely. There was nothing to do but wait and wonder, and watch.
“We boarded a train. About an hour past Torreón, our train was derailed. We must have hit some bad track. I don’t know. My guards were unconscious. I got away and found my way back to a stock car with horses. I rode off before they came to—if they ever did.
“The only place I knew to go around there was to the House Martínez.” He looked at her, reluctant to say it.
She watched him intently.
“Your uncle is dead.”
Ana did not move.
Eduardo said, “I’m sorry.”
“And your Aunt Graciela?” It was an afterthought.
“They said don Felipe found her one day with the foreman.”
“Is it true?”
“I have no reason to doubt it. He sent her away.
“Not long after that, the hacienda was destroyed by a renegade band of revolutionists. Some peons remained. They tend small plots of land, but the hacienda we knew is no more.”
“How did he die?”
“In the raid. I don’t know much more. They say he died quickly. He did not suffer.”
Ana said, “That’s a fiction created by war. I have seen people die. People suffer.”
Chapter 25
In the morning, over breakfast, they spoke of practical things.
Eduardo said, “When they found your uncle, in his jacket lining there was a paper. No one knew how to read it. They gave it to me.” Eduardo reached into his pocket. He gave it to Ana. “It’s a will—holographic—dated the day of the attack. It is brief.”
Ana stared at the plates on the table. They were simple, without design.
“He left it to you—everything. Of course, not much is left. The land will be distributed. The buildings are burned and in ruin.”
“It was so beautiful.” Ana wanted so to recall all the memories before they were gone like the smoke of the burning plantation.
“I think,” he began gently, “we should go to the Galveston bank and see what is there. There were also accounts in Mexico—Gómez Palacio, Veracruz—everywhere he held business interests.”
“He loved his land and his horses.”
“We’ll take care of it later. I will help you.”
Ana looked at Eduardo intently. “But how did you get here?”
“By horse, at first. The trains were not running, so I rode until I was exhausted. I needed some food. The horse needed rest. Some men there admired my horse—at gun point, actually.”
“Oh, Eduardo. They hurt you!”
“Not really—a few bruises. After that, I walked.”
“But that’s hundreds of miles—”
“On the way, I was helped. People offered me rides, shared their food—what little they had. I camped out with others who were heading for the North, too. Word had reached there that Madero was dead. They wanted to leave before it got any worse.”
“How well did you know him?”
“Well. We had differences. I even thought about leaving. I think I would have before long. He was not bold enough. His accusers said he abandoned the ideas we’d fought for, but I think he just tried to please too many people. It slowed down our progress, and the people just wanted their land. Even so, he did not deserve what Huerta did to him.”
“How can you be sure it was Huerta?”
“I know—just as surely as if he held the smoking gun in his hand.”
Ana said, “I thank God that you’re safe.”
“For a while. If I’m lucky, they’ll assume that I died in the train wreck. But if they come after me, I can’t put you at risk. I must leave soon.”
Ana did not hide her disappointment. “But where will you go?”
“Where I was headed before—San Antonio. I have friends there. We have so much to do. We must get rid of Huerta.”
“But who would stand up against him?”
&n
bsp; “Carranza, for one. He is rallying support to move against Huerta. But it will not be easy. Huerta has Wilson in his back pocket. I’m convinced that President Wilson could have prevented Madero’s murder.”
“Eduardo, you don’t know that.”
“Huerta was with Wilson at a party in Washington when Madero was shot. He may not have known Huerta’s plans, but he knows Huerta. At best he looks the other way.”
“Would Carranza be better?”
“That’s a very good question. There is a man who, I think, might be better.”
“Not Pancho Villa,” said Ana.
Eduardo grinned. “No. There’s an Indian from Morelos, Emiliano Zapata. He is one of the people, and they look up to him. I have met him. He is a good man with principles. But can he manage the politics of an unstable country? I don’t know. But he would be better than Huerta.” His eyes shone with bitterness.
“I am frightened for you,” said Ana.
“For me? No. Be frightened for your country. It is far more at risk.”
“My country?”
“Mexico—the country you fought for.”
“I fought for the people.”
Eduardo’s eyes warmed with a smile. “I could use you at the paper.” His eyes lit up. He leaned forward. “Ana, why don’t you come with me to San Antonio?”
“I have work here to do.”
“Ah, yes. Your children.”
“Eduardo, you should see the looks on their faces. They learn and they hope for a future—to make their lives better. These are gifts I can give them.”
Eduardo lifted her hand as though he might bring it to his lips, but instead he held it with both of his hands. “And your future?”
She put her other hand on his. “I belong here, for now.”
Chapter 26
San Antonio, Five Years Later
In a room at the back of a San Antonio bookstore, Eduardo sat writing. He set down his pencil and let out a deep breath. Ana opened the door and, seeing him working, stepped quietly inside and waited. Eduardo was unaware, with his thoughts in the stars. Some of his star dust must have settled on her, for she watched him and smiled. He wrote with deep passion that shone even through his smudged spectacles. As if hearing her thoughts, he removed his glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief. What fine features he had, expressive and earnest. Sitting there, reading through what he had just written, he burned with purpose. He was where he belonged, putting words onto paper and inspiring others. He was the most free when he was writing, just as Carlos was free when he rode on the back of a horse through the desert.
He erased and penciled in changes, reread them and nodded, satisfied.
And then he saw Ana. “Oh, my God, Ana! What time is it?”
“Don’t worry. I’m a few minutes early.”
The concern vanished and left a transfixed expression. Then warmly he said, “I’ll just be a moment.” Her mere presence was pleasure.
Ana waited serenely.
He tore his gaze from her with a grin and shoved his chair back. “Paolo?” He got up and bounded across the room to the pressman. “Can you set this tonight?”
A wry grin on the pressman’s face did not faze Eduardo. But Ana’s words did. “Let the poor man have some dinner!”
Paolo shot a sideways glance at Eduardo, and then smiled at Ana. “God bless you, dear lady. If it were not for you, I would starve. All this man does is work.”
“Not this evening.” Ana took Eduardo’s arm and led him toward the coat rack. “I have something to show you.”
Eduardo got his jacket and hat from a hook. The pressman finished reading the last page and called after Eduardo, “This is good! A little dangerous—but good.”
“Safe words don’t change worlds.” Eduardo glanced at Ana, and then back at the pressman. With a wry grin, he said, “You work too hard, Paolo. Go get yourself something to eat!”
Paolo waved him off with mock disgust, while Ana took Eduardo’s arms and walked out into the moonlight.
“And what is so dangerous?” Ana asked him.
“Paolo worries too much.”
Ana eyed him skeptically.
“I speak what I see—what others should see. Truth should not be obscured by fear or ignorance. Is that not why this country of yours was founded?”
In Ana’s face a question was poised.
“Freedom, Ana. The freedom to speak. Is it not fundamental?”
“I hope so. But sometimes what you say is so…”
“Perceptive? …Brilliant?”
“Caustic.”
Eduardo’s eyes lit at the challenge. “I say what I mean—unlike a certain President, who sends troops to attack a neighboring country, but does not call it war. When the bullets are flying, it doesn’t much matter whether you call it a ‘punitive expedition’ or an attack. Bullets kill, just the same. And this war in Europe—” He looked up and stopped speaking. With a forced exhalation, he just closed his eyes for a moment.
Ana said, “I never said Wilson was right.”
“Well then, there’s still hope for you.”
“And I know that you’re right. But the way that you say it could get you in trouble.”
“My sweet Ana, how long have you known me?”
Ana looked him straight in the eye.
He said, “I do what I must.”
Her eyes softened. “I know. But I worry.”
Eduardo lifted both her hands. “Do not worry. Just care.”
The impulse was so sudden. She looked down to avoid it. “I do care,” she whispered.
He stroked her hair and her shoulders. “Why, Ana!” He tilted his head down to see her expression.
She wiped a tear and looked up, embarrassed. “I’m fine. I’m just hungry.”
Eduardo lifted her chin and studied her face. With a kiss on the forehead, he said, “Then we’d better go eat before you burst into tears.”
Their favorite restaurant was two blocks away, small, and filled with a candlelight haze. In the corner, they sat talking over their coffee. Muted voices blended into a blur of intimate thoughts and polite conversations made magical by the occasional ting of a glass. Ana sighed.
Eduardo said, “You’re worried about Carlotta.”
Ana looked up, distracted. A soft smile followed. “No. She’s with Lupe. She’s fine.”
“But there is something.”
“If you’re trying to prove that you know me too well—”
“Never too well.” He deflected his eyes from her gaze.
Seeing this, Ana reached out and touched his hand gently. He looked up, startled to see a warm smile in her eyes. Ana said, “It’s all right.”
“I try not to….”
“I know.” Ana looked down at their entwined hands. She looked up at his face. Strands of wiry silver wove their way through black curls on his forehead. Tiny lines were beginning to frame earnest eyes that were so gentle now, yet at times fiery black. It was a fine face, like his soul: fine and steadfast.
Ana held out her hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”
It was a clear and warm night, and the breeze brushed against them like velvet. Their hands touched and clasped as they walked. Ana stopped in front of a wrought iron gate, which surrounded a large limestone house that looked empty.
“I love you,” said Ana.
“I know.” He had heard it before. He was Ana’s dear friend. He smiled through the ache of another reminder.
“No, that’s not what I mean.”
He looked into her eyes. “We have had this discussion too many times for me not to know what you mean.” He looked away.
“But I’m trying to tell you—”
“Please.” He let go of her hand and gave her arm a gentle squeeze before turning away.
Ana’s brow tightened. She said softly, “I know that I’ve hurt you.”
“No, Ana. I hurt myself by subjecting myself to years of gentle caring.”
Ana grabbed hold of the ba
rs of the gate and looked up toward the house. “When Carlos died, everyone was so kind and so caring, and I just wanted to scream at them to stop being nice. It was not nice. It was death. He had not gone to a better place. There was no place better than here, in my arms. And although I knew they were just being kind, it hurt more. I’m afraid that I’ve done the same thing to you.”
His expression confirmed it. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“It could not be helped.” He gave her an encouraging smile.
“You’re too good,” Ana said, her eyes misting.
“My God! Please! Not that! I’ve been here, by your side, because I could not make myself leave. If I could, I’d have gone far away. I was selfish. I stayed here—not for you, but for me. I was too weak to leave.”
“Don’t say that. You’re strong, and you’re brave. You have changed people’s lives—people’s hearts.”
“Except yours.”
“But you have.”
“Ana, forgive me. It’s late. Let’s not open an old wound.”
He turned to leave and his hand caught on a sharp edge of the wrought iron gate. It drew blood. “Damn it! Damn you and your love!”
Ana gasped. “Eduardo! You’ve put a curse on me.”
“You’re not serious! You’re too smart for those old superstitions.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just me. And I can’t live on this pedestal you keep putting me on.”
“I never meant to—”
“But you did it! From the first time we met I was up there too high. I was too far to reach because you put me there!” Her voice had an edge that shocked even her as the words tumbled out.
He was wounded. He glared with dark eyes through the wire-rimmed spectacles.
Ana whispered a plea. “Let me down.”
“It’s your pedestal. Climb down yourself!”
Ana’s eyes opened wide. He had turned and was walking away when she cried after, “Wait!” He kept walking without looking back. She chased him down the block and caught up at the corner. A passing car kept him from crossing.
Ana tugged at his arm. “Look at me.”
“I’m sorry,” said Eduardo. “It’s late and I’m tired.”