8
THE SANTIAGO OLIVE GROVE, MENDOZA, ARGENTINA, 1934
For Valentina, nothing was more exhilarating than harvest time. She stood back and watched as her father rolled up the sleeves of his white linen shirt, his tanned forearms on display as he stood in front of all the workers gathered. Each year he invited as many of the locals as possible, whoever needed the seasonal work, paying them to harvest the olives by beating the trees with sticks while other workers held large nets below to catch the falling fruit.
Her mother always sat in the shade, never venturing far enough to say hello to all the people gathered, but suffering through the day at her husband’s demand. Bruno was a more willing participant, taking whatever job he was given, and this year for the very first time, Valentina had been given permission to help. She was already holding the stick her father had chosen for her, and she knew that it wouldn’t take long for her slender arms to become sore from raising it above her head. But she didn’t care—she was part of the harvest this year, and that was all that mattered.
‘Basilio!’ she heard her mother call.
He finished speaking to the group before sending them on their way, and Valentina hovered, not sure whether she was towait or not, too scared to go near her mother for fear she might send her home early.
‘You’re too old to be doing this,’ her mother scolded. ‘Please, Basilio, why did you insist on getting your hands dirty?’
Her papa winked at her, and Valentina stifled a laugh. ‘Because it would be bad luck if a Santiago didn’t shake one of the first trees,’ he said. ‘Besides, it’s good to keep my arms strong, for holding the polo mallet.’
Valentina did giggle at that, quickly lifting her hand to cover her mouth so her mother didn’t see.
‘Felipe!’ her father suddenly called, and her cheeks stained a deep pink when she turned and saw the boy standing barely ten feet from her. ‘Take Valentina with you and show her what to do.’
They stared at each other for an awkward moment, as Valentina heard her mother mutter something about appropriateness, before Felipe cleared his throat and gestured for her to follow him. She did, trying not to smile and falling into step beside him as she looked at the net he was carrying. Even if she’d wanted to say anything, all words had left her mind at suddenly being this close to him so she just walked silently, trying not to scuff her shoes into the dry ground beneath. This felt very different to the stolen moments they were used to as he walked past her with the horses.
‘You never came for polo lessons,’ Felipe said, glancing at her as he spoke.
Valentina felt her cheeks colour again. ‘I was never brave enough to ask.’
When Felipe smiled at her, her stomach did a little dance and she found it impossible not to smile back at him. The truth was that she’d wanted to ask her parents many times, but her father had never mentioned it again, and she’d been too nervous to even think of being alone with him. Her mother kept her busywith her lessons, and she’d only seen glimpses of Felipe from the window when she had her nose pressed to it, or in their fleeting moments when she watched her father train his polo ponies.
‘I’ve always found it hard to believe that you don’t have your own pony,’ he said. ‘Your father has dozens of horses.’
‘My mother doesn’t think it’s ladylike,’ Valentina found herself saying. ‘Papa allows me to do almost everything—he believes that women can do anything that men can…’
‘But he’s never asked if you’d like to learn to ride?’
She let go a little breath that she hadn’t realised she was holding. ‘Maybe I haven’t wanted it badly enough.’
‘And now?’
Valentina looked away. Felipe had a confidence about him that she wasn’t used to in boys his age. The young men she met through her family were always polite and confident, but the boys and men who worked for her father would never usually even make eye contact with her, let alone talk so openly. And her mother had only become stricter about who her daughter spent time with in recent months, always reminding her that she expected her to be smarter and better read than any of her peers, to play pianoforte more exquisitely than anyone else her age, even though she knew how much her daughter hated to play.
‘Now, I think that I’m ready for those lessons,’ Valentina said, sounding braver than she felt. ‘When do we start?’
‘Will your papa allow it?’ Felipe asked.
Her lips twisted into a smile. ‘My papa is easy to convince, if I want something badly enough, but I might have to keep it secret from my mama.’
‘Felipe, hurry up!’
They both started to walk faster when Felipe’s father called, and she nodded to the older man, slightly breathless when they reached the tree he was standing beside. She wasn’t used to having to move so quickly.
‘Miss Santiago, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have ordered you to run like that if I’d known it was you.’
She glanced at Felipe and they both laughed. ‘Please, you’re to call me Valentina. Both of you,’ she said. ‘You’re also to set me a task, on orders of my papa. I don’t want to stand around while others do all the hard work.’ She secretly loved that Felipe’s father had barked at them to run, as if she were just a regular girl helping with the harvest.
Felipe caught her hand then, holding it up and turning it over, his skin warm and slightly rough against hers. She’d imagined what it would feel like to have his palm against hers for years, and it was even better than she’d thought it might be.
‘These soft hands are going to be covered in blisters by the end of the day,’ he said, his eyes catching hers for just a second. ‘Are you certain you want to work with us?’
Felipe’s father cleared his throat, and she saw the stern way he looked at his son, as if to reprimand him for touching her or perhaps for being too familiar. But Felipe only grinned and held up his net, as if he didn’t know what his father was trying to tell him, which only made Valentina like him more.
