Their lovemaking was tender, passions tempered, until it finally exploded in a soaring ecstasy that had been building for more weeks than she could remember. The rush of sexual fulfillment had rendered her unable to move as her breath had come in long, surrendering moans of amazing completeness. Then she slept for hours, long past the time when she had allotted to prepare herself for the pre-Carnival party she and Aaron planned to host for her brother, sister, their friends, and neighbors.
She retouched her mouth with a shimmering copper lip color, then ran a comb through her professionally coiffed hair. The image staring back at her reflected a woman in love. She literally glowed: her eyes and flawless skin competed with the length of flawless diamonds draped around her neck.
She had elected to wear midnight-blue silk—sleeveless top with a scoop neck banded in satin, and matching silk slacks. Her shoes were low-heeled, navy-blue patent leather pumps with satin bows. Her jewelry was Aaron’s mother’s wedding ring, his Christmas gift necklace, and a pair of diamond stud earrings she received from her parents to celebrate her sixteenth birthday.
Checking her reflection for the last time, she went downstairs to join her guests.
Taped music blared from a sound system set up around the courtyard and pergola. Regina and Aaron had catered a sit-down dinner for twelve following a buffet where platters of fish and meat appetizers and potent drinks to wash down the spicy fare were served by silent, efficient waiters.
Dinner included grilled meats and chicken and feijoada, a dish consisting of black beans, sausage, beef, and pork served with rice, finely shredded kale, orange slices, and farofa. Regina had quickly developed a taste for farofa, which was manioc flour that was fried with onions and egg. She avoided most dishes prepared with coconut milk, dende oil, and the fiery malagueta pepper. Certain foods she had been able to consume before becoming pregnant were now shifted to a DO NOT EAT list.
Throughout dinner she watched Tyler interact with Marcos Jarre’s female cousin and her sister flirt with his two male cousins. Arianna had elected to wear a black tank dress that showed off more flesh than Regina had ever displayed, creating a stir among the younger males, who were stunned by the perfection of her strong, lean athletic body. Dinner was a leisurely affair, lasting nearly three hours before everyone retreated to the courtyard to dance or walk off the ample portions of food that were followed by a number of rich, sweet desserts.
Marcos approached Aaron and patted him on his back. “Excellent party, friend. Good food, good music, and perfect weather for a gathering of old and new friends.” He gestured with a hand holding a glass filled with a well-made caipirinha. The concoction of cacahaça—a high-proof, sugarcane alcohol—lime, sugar, and crushed ice, was Brazil’s national drink. “Your niece and nephew seem to have hit it off well with my cousins.”
Aaron took a sip of his own caipirinha as he watched Tyler lean closer to whisper in the ear of the sixteen-year-old girl from Santo Domingo. Tyler and Arianna, like Regina, were also fluent in Spanish.
“What can I say, Marcos? They are teenagers.”
Marcos nodded, withdrawing a slim cigar from the pocket of his jacket. He snapped open a lighter, and within seconds the flame caught and lit the fragrant tobacco.
His hand tightening around his glass, Aaron stared numbly at Marcos. “When did you start smoking?”
Taking several more puffs to ensure the cigar was lit, Marcos blew out a stream of smoke, watching it curl in the air. “About a year ago. I took a side trip to Turkey and decided to sample one of their renowned blends. After a couple of puffs, I was hooked.” He held the cigar between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s not Turkish, but it’s the best Brazil has to offer.”
“Be careful where you put it out. I’ve had two fires in my fields this season.”
“I thought I smelled smoke the other night.”
“You did. I’ve lost a little more than a hundred acres. I’ve banned all smoking on the property.”
“I’ll be careful.” Even though Marcos had spoken to Aaron his gaze was fixed on Regina as she laughed at something his Dominican-born mother had said.
Aaron saw the direction of his gaze, and a shadow of annoyance settled onto his features. Since he had spoken to Regina about spending so much time with Marcos she had curtailed her outings with him, but apparently that had not stopped his boyhood friend from seeking her out.
Marcos had called one morning asking to speak to her, but was disappointed when Magda informed him that Senhora Spencer had gone to Salvador with her husband.
“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about Regina,” Aaron began in a dangerously soft tone.
Marcos lifted his head alertly, but did not look at Aaron. “What about her?”
“I want you to stop seeing her so often.”
Turning, Marcos glared at him from behind the lenses of his glasses. “Are you telling me to stay away from her?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“What you are asking is impossible.”
“And why the hell not!”
“Because I love her, Aaron.”
“Don’t even go there, Marcos.”
“And why not? We wouldn’t be having this conversation if you paid more attention to her.”
Aaron’s left hand shot out, his fingers grasping the front of his neighbor’s shirt. Tightening his grip, he jerked Marcos closer. “I’ll forget you ever said that because I’ve always regarded you as a brother. But if you ever cross the line and try to come between me and Regina, I’ll forget the oath I took when I became a doctor and take your life.” His chest rose and fell heavily as he tried curbing the rage coursing throughout his body.
Marcos had seen Aaron angry once, and that one time was enough. He would not test him further. He had told him the truth. He loved Regina—her beauty, intelligence, sensitivity, and her enthusiasm for learning—but he wasn’t in love with her, at least not enough to test his lifelong friendship with Aaron or his volatile temper.
“I would never disrespect you or Regina,” he offered in apology. “At least, not the way you think.” He let out a sigh of relief when Aaron released him. “You’re a lucky man, Aaron, because you have what most men spend all of their lives seeking. You have a beautiful, intelligent woman who loves you selflessly. You are the heir to lands whose history is documented in books written about this region, while the woman you love is carrying a child who will eventually inherit not only his property, but also a heritage which he or she will be able to trace back to the powerful and mighty kingdoms of ancient Africa.”
Aaron took several steps, then stopped and stared up at the clear summer sky. He was losing it. He hadn’t realized how close he had come to injuring Marcos until after he had grabbed him. If he hadn’t been holding a glass in his right hand he was certain he would’ve hit him.
For several seconds it had become déjà vu. He had loved Sharon, and so had Oscar. Now, he loved Regina, and so did Marcos. He had lost Sharon, but he had no intention of letting Regina go. He would fight to keep her, and if necessary give up his own life in the struggle.
“I’m sorry.” The two words came out in a hoarse whisper.
Marcos closed the distance between them, placing a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “No, friend, I’m sorry.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Aaron smiled at him. Seconds later the two men were hugging and thumping each other’s backs. Marcos extended his glass, touching it to Aaron’s before they drained the contents.
Grimacing, Aaron shook his head. “I should test this stuff at the lab. I’m certain it’s responsible for minimal brain damage.”
Marcos nodded in agreement. “I think you’re right. Let’s get another glass to make certain.”
The two men returned to the small crowd of people talking, dancing, and sitting on chairs under the clear, nighttime Brazilian sky as they anticipated the start of Carnival.
Chapter 26
Regina survived the first night of Carnival, but declined
Tyler and Arianna’s offer to accompany them the following evening. She could still hear the nonstop, ear-shattering music coming from live bands atop trucks packed with musicians, singers, and gyrating dancers.
After several hours of dancing, she had been swept along in a sea of people, losing Aaron and the others in their party in the crowd until she took refuge in a restaurant and waited for them to search each establishment until they found her. She was jostled without regard to her physical condition, and there had been a time when she feared for the life of her unborn child.
Marcos, Tyler, Arianna, and the Jarre cousins decided they hadn’t partied enough, so she and Aaron returned home. The sky had brightened with the beginning of a new day when the Cole siblings stumbled in and fell across their beds fully dressed.
“What’s the matter, Sis? Can’t hang?” Tyler teased.
Cradling her belly with both hands, she squinted at him. “You’ve got that right. Do me a favor. Try not to come in with the sun.”
Arianna’s head jerked up. “You sounded like Mommy.”
“She’s just practicing,” Tyler teased.
“I’m serious.” Her expression mirrored her statement.
“She’s right,” Aaron concurred, speaking for the first time. “Your parents entrusted us with your safety, and as long as you’re under our roof you’ll follow the rules.”
Tyler sobered quickly. “What time do you want us to come home?”
Regina stared at Aaron and inclined her head. She would let him establish the curfew.
“Tell Marcos I want you in before one.”
Arianna and Tyler shared a smile of relief. That would give them at least six hours to party.
“Thanks, Aaron. One it is,” Tyler confirmed.
Waiting until the teenagers left the living room, Aaron moved over to sit beside Regina. “I’m not even a father and already I’m setting curfews.”
Resting her head on his shoulder, she closed her eyes. “I don’t even want to think about it. I just hope and pray I’ll survive weaning, toilet training, and teething.”
“You’ll do okay, Princesa. You’ll be a wonderful mother.”
I hope you’re right, she mused. The more she advanced in her term the more doubts she had. Would she be able to breastfeed? Would she have enough milk for the baby? Would the baby be colicky? Would she undergo a period of postpartum depression?
“Princesa?”
“Yes, Aaron.”
“We are going to have to go to Argentina next week.”
Her eyes opened and she stared up at him. “Why?”
“You have to renew your visa,” he reminded her.
“I can’t believe I’ve been here for almost ninety days. Time has passed so quickly.”
Too quickly. Aaron did not look forward to the next time when her visa expired. This time he would have to prepare to put her on a plane for her return to the States. He hadn’t proposed marriage again since the time he made love to her in her garden. Each time she rejected him he gave up a little piece of himself. One more rejection, and he would cease to exist. And he had to survive—not only for himself, but for Regina and the child kicking so vigorously in her womb.
Regina stood at the window in her bedroom, staring at the ripe coffee plants stretching for acres and beyond her range of vision. Within two weeks the workers would begin harvesting the crop, while she would prepare to leave Bahia.
She inhaled, holding her breath when the baby did what she imagined was a somersault inside her. She had just entered her eighth month, and her overall weight gain of fifteen pounds made her feel large and lumbering whenever she walked up the staircase. It was time she considered occupying one of the first-floor bedrooms.
She missed Aaron. He had been gone only three days, but it seemed more like three months. He had been invited to lecture at the Walter Reed Army Institute of Research on the process that was used to produce the bandage that miraculously minimized blood loss.
He had been reluctant to leave her, but she gently coerced him into going, saying she would be waiting for his return. She expected his return the following afternoon, and she had managed to keep busy in his absence.
She was nearing completion of restoring the garden. Her greatest satisfaction had been uncovering a kapok tree concealed by the overgrowth of other trees and shrubs. The tree, native to Asia, had probably been planted before Alice da Costa had passed away. They were known to survive centuries and grow to heights of more than a hundred feet. Its massive twisted trunk and branches would provide a canopy of shade for generations to come.
The soft chiming of the telephone shattered the silence, and she moved over to the table to answer it.
“Olá.”
“Hello, yourself. How’s it going?”
Her eyes crinkled in a smile. “I’m here, Marcos.”
“How would you like to go to a candomblé ceremony tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t you enjoy the last one?”
“Yes,” she agreed reluctantly. She had enjoyed it, even if her baby hadn’t. Hours after she left the temple and returned home the baby moved and gyrated as if he still heard the rhythmic passion of the drummers beating out the sounds of Africa.
“How about I pick you up and we go into Salvador for dinner. We’ll hang around for a while, then head over to the terreiro. If we get there early we’ll be able to get a good seat.”
She did not want to share dinner with Marcos, even though she wanted to see another candomblé ceremony before she left Bahia. The ancient religion mimicked the Catholic worship of saints with their own native gods. At first she associated candomblé with the voodoo ceremonies of the Caribbean, but Marcos quickly reminded her that there was a major difference between the two. Unlike voodoo, candomblé was not aimed at producing bad luck for one’s enemy. Candomblé was used only to produce positive results for the worshiper. There were no dolls with pins sticking in them in any of the ceremonies.
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Don’t you want to eat out?” he insisted.
“No. I’m on a very bland diet nowadays.” Recurring heartburn and indigestion made it impossible for her to ingest anything with the spices indigenous to the region.
“What time should I expect you?”
“I’ll call my driver and tell him to pick me up around eight-thirty.”
“Then I’ll expect you at nine-fifteen.”
“I’ll see you later, Marcos.”
Regina walked into the kitchen to get several bottles of water to take with her. Magda glanced up, halting stacking dishes in the dishwasher.
“Are you going out, Senhora?”
“Yes, Magda. I should be back around midnight.”
“With Senhor Spencer gone, would you like me to stay in the house until you come back tonight?”
“That won’t be necessary. But thank you, anyway.”
She retrieved the bottles from a shelf in the pantry, slipped them into a large woven tote, then walked through a door at the back of the house and made her way around the courtyard to wait for her driver.
The driver pulled up within minutes of her arrival. He jumped out of the large, battered sedan and opened the rear door for her.
She stepped into the car and settled back against the aged leather seat, closing her eyes. The driver shifted into gear and the car rolled smoothly across the courtyard and down to the main road leading to Salvador.
They hadn’t been on the road for more than five minutes when Regina sat up straight and opened her eyes. Sniffing, she turned and glanced out the rear window. An orange glow lit up the sky. Fire! Someone had set the coffee fields on fire again.
“Turn around!” she screamed at the driver. She shouted at him again, then realized she had spoken English.
“Stop and go back!” she demanded in Portuguese.
The driver hit the brake, the car skidding dangerously off the road, sliding precariously into an embankment. Panic spurted th
rough her when she was slammed against the door of the car and fell to the floor. Pain ripped through her middle as she stifled a cry of agony.
The driver put the car in reverse and accelerated, and the vehicle eased back onto the solid road surface. Meanwhile Regina crawled onto the seat and lay down, fighting the waves of pain washing over her.
She lost track of time when she concentrated on the waves of pain slicing through her abdomen. The acrid smell of the smoke drifted through the open windows the closer they came to the coffee fields.
The car stopped in the courtyard, and when the driver helped Regina from the car she forgot her pain when she saw the orange glow that illuminated the night sky.
“The world is on fire,” she whispered to herself.
“Senhora?” the driver asked, his voice trembling.
Reaching into her tote, she grabbed a handful of bills and threw it at him. “Get help,” she ordered.
She did not wait to see what he would do as she made her way toward the house, both hands cradling her belly.
As she walked into the house, the telephone rang. Her hand was trembling uncontrollably when she picked up the receiver.
It was Sebastião. He was shouting into the phone, and she could not understand what he was saying. She thought she heard something about water, but any and everything around her faded with the next wave of pain, which brought her to her knees.
She knelt, staring at the widening circle of liquid pouring onto the floor. She had lost her amniotic fluid. “No,” she moaned. The baby couldn’t come now. It wasn’t time. It was not full term.
Somehow she crawled across the floor and made it to one of the bedrooms on the first level. The contractions were coming faster when she pulled herself up to the bed. If she delivered on the bed, then maybe her baby had a better chance of surviving than on the floor.
Regina had no idea of how long she lay on the bed as waves of pain washed over her in measured intervals. One time she opened her eyes to find Magda standing over her.
Reaching out, she caught the housekeeper’s hand. “Help me,” she pleaded.
Magda’s mouth curved into a sneer. “Puta! You need me to help you birth your brat, don’t you?” She leaned closer, and Regina saw her own death in the woman’s eyes. “You will die, and so will your baby. I will see to that.”
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