Conquistadora by Esmeralda Santiago

men’s anxious eyes were on her. Severo Fuentes, especially, watched her, with nervous expectancy. “Don’t look so worried,” she said, meeting first Ramón’s then Inocente’s eyes and trying to convince herself more than anyone. “It’s going to be fine.”
    The brothers sighed in relief.
    Severo nodded as if she’d answered a question correctly on an exam, and again closed-lipped, briefly, surreptitiously, smiled. She sensed that he knew exactly what she was feeling and had noticed her efforts to dissimulate. Annoyed at herself for her foolishness, it irked her even more that Severo could see what Ramón and Inocente didn’t. There was a sharp intelligence beneath his dutiful, obsequious veneer. Just as on the beach, he appeared to be both present and one step ahead of everyone else.
    He opened the door to the first bedroom and bowed them in. Facing the window was a mahogany four-poster bed with banana-flower motifs on the finials. The footboard and headboard were deeply carved with broad leaves curving toward each other and bunches of bananas dangling from each trunk.
    “You’re fortunate to have a skilled carpenter working on the premises,” Severo said. “José can make anything. As you can see, he also carves well.”
    “Surprisingly good,” Inocente said. “Don’t you think so, Ana?”
    “Oh, yes,” she responded, not trusting her voice to say more. The bed was elaborately made but looked incongruous in the small room with its single window and wide plank floor. The thin mattress was covered with the linens she had sent ahead. In the corner by the window a shelf held her porcelain washbasin and pitcher, her painstakingly embroidered towels folded neatly over a dry branch nailed to the wall. They looked absurd here. Under the shelf was a chipped chamber pot.
    The two trunks that held her and Ramón’s clothes, shoes, and intimates were pressed against the wall, next to the linen chest. She’d begun assembling the bride’s chest when she was old enough toknow she’d be married someday. In the six weeks before her wedding, Elena, Jesusa, and her friends and relatives added to its contents. The chest was filled with lace-edged napkins and tablecloths, embroidered towels, sheets. An ancient crucifix in her family for generations was wrapped inside a fine silk cloth, to be used for the household altar. Ana swallowed hard again.
    Severo led them to the next room. It was nearly bare, with a shelf for the washbasin, the towel draped over a hook.
    “Unfortunately, José had time to finish only one bed,” Severo said. “Don Inocente will have to sleep in a hammock for now.”
    The
hamaca
hung diagonally across the room. Inocente gently pushed at the heavy, homespun cotton. Ana could tell he was eager to jump into the
hamaca
, but dignity wouldn’t allow it in front of the
mayordomo
.
    “They’re surprisingly comfortable,” Severo said. “Some people prefer them to beds.”
    “I’ve slept on them,” Inocente said. “No need to apologize.”
    Severo led them back to the living room.
    “José is working on chairs and a dining table. I’m sure the
señora
has ideas for the furnishings,” he continued. “I’ll send him whenever you’re ready. But please be aware that during the
zafra
we need every able body. Even the skilled slaves work in the fields.”
    “I understand,” Ana said, without giving away her disappointment: it was obvious that it would be years before they’d have a proper home.
    Two women and a man were waiting on the porch. Burrs and small twigs clung to the women’s skirts; the man’s pants and shirt were torn and stained. They’d been working in the fields but had washed their faces and hands, and the women had rewrapped their head coverings.
    “If you permit me,
señora
, the house servants …” Severo gestured them to come in. One of the women was a head shorter than Ana but older, with large, alert eyes and a smile that she had trouble keeping in check. There