Peter tried to still the trembling of his hands as he helped Ana from the carriage onto the wild grasses below.Ana would comment on it, surely, and realize how he was blastedly, annoyingly anxious about the very outing he had planned himself.Mrs.Thompson, clever as she always was, suggested that he tie a length of fabric about his wife’s eyes to prolong the surprise of their special destination.He had done so, resulting in Ana’s needing to lean on him more than she usually did, and he could feel the way that her walk had shifted with the additional weight of her growing child.She now took wider, slower steps, and her body rocked slightly as she moved.
It was no small feat, carrying a child.Peter knew that now more than ever.He truly believed that his wife was as strong as a soldier.Every day, her condition tried her in every sense.Even on the days when she was not sick or aching or incredibly exhausted, he knew that her condition caused great changes in her mind and sent her emotions spinning out of control.He would never assume such things, particularly since Ana was already a passionate woman who would never hesitate to speak her mind.But she had confessed as much to him.Thus, he knew she was performing a great sacrifice in carrying this child.
But he admired her greatly for it.A woman with less mental strength could be bogged down by the literal, physical reminder that she was assaulted.That reminder was growing in her each day.And his wife had suffered the effects of her attack for months, and likely still even did to a small degree.But now, Ana had chosen to allow this coming child to be an inspiration and a hope for them both.Already, the prospect of parenthood had healed them in ways he had not anticipated possible.
“Casi llegamos?” Ana questioned, squeezing his arm.
“Yes, dear, we’re almost there.”
Peter wrapped an arm around her waist, giving her extra support and balance as they rose over the lip of the gradual hill they had been climbing.Finally, they reached the view that he had hoped she would enjoy as immensely as he did.They were not near an ocean view here, as that would remind her of her hometown in Valencia.So Peter had chosen the next best destination: a vineyard.Spain was dotted with vineyards, even in the region where he had met Ana.This particular vineyard was not yet overflowing with fruit, it being March, but the snow had thawed nearly a month ago, and now green growth was beginning to curl about the wooden supports.At the edge of the vineyard, trees with sweeping limbs were sporting the first hint of white, fluffy blossoms.It was truly a stunning sight.
“We’re ready,” Peter whispered in Ana’s ear as he worked at the knot in the fabric at the back of her head.
“Por fin!At long last,” she huffed teasingly.Peter chuckled.How grateful he was for her ability to find levity and humor in the best and worst of situations.Even a year ago, he never would have imagined himself married, much less to someone who could make him truly laugh.
Finally, he pulled the fabric clear of her face and shoved it into his pocket.“Ana, open your eyes.”
Her body was motionless, her voice silent, nothing at all like the squealing and jumping that Peter had imagined her reaction would be.“Is something the matter?”He stepped around her side, taking her by the shoulders so he could see her face.Her eyes were glittering with unshed tears, her mouth partly open in an awed expression.When she finally tore her gaze away from the scene and locked eyes with Peter, the tears spilled over her cheeks.
“I feel I am inEspaña,” she whispered.“I feel I am home.”
An ache tore through Peter’s heart at the words.She was experiencing every sentimental emotion he had hoped she would, but it was not filling him with the happiness he had imagined.Instead, he had to resist the urge to rub at his chest, so physical was the pain he felt.But why?
Because to Ana, Spain was still home.
Suddenly questioning all of his carefully made preparations, Peter moved to the side, no longer obstructing the view, and slipped an arm around Ana’s waist.
After many minutes standing in silence as Ana wiped at her tears, Peter was finally brave enough to speak.“How are you faring?I did not intend to make you cry, you know.”
“I cry because I am happy, silly,” Ana said, blinking her dark eyes at him and smiling despite her emotion.“Gracias, Peter.This beautiful place make me feel so close to my country.It is perfect.”
“Oh, this is only the beginning of what I have planned.”
“Qué?”
Peter led Ana up to a table that he had specially positioned in view of the vineyard.The tabletop was swirled in vibrant floral patterns of white, blue, and red, all shining with their ceramic glaze.He swept his arm across, gesturing at the spread of delicious food he had arranged for.
“Peter!This look so delicious!And this table is so beautiful, it almost look like something...”
“Spanish?”
“Sí.”
“You once mentioned to me that Valencia was famous for its ceramic tiles.Elena assisted me in finding a merchant and collector who often visits that region, and he brought back the most beautiful table I’ve ever seen.I knew I had to get it for you.I thought we might take our evening lemonade at this table all summer long.”
“I would love that so much!”
Peter helped Ana lower herself into her chair before reaching across the table to arrange a plate for her.Elena and Cook had been most helpful in arranging this picnic for them.In addition to a few English dishes, Elena had suggested they prepare a paella, a rice dish topped with an assortment of vegetables and chicken.Peter had something similar during his time in Spain and heartily agreed.She had also helped to prepare a sweet milky drink spiced with cinnamon called horchata.Peter never had the opportunity to try such a drink before, but he could tell from the closed-eyed bliss on his wife’s face that it was more than satisfactory.
After they finished eating, Peter suggested they go sit beneath the shade of one of the blossoming trees while enjoying a slice of lemon cake.
“Shall I bring you another glass of your ‘or-cha-ta’?”
“Sí, por favor,”Ana responded.Soon they were settled on a blanket beneath the large, flowering branches.Ana leaned forward to reach for her glass, her forehead nearly touching his.The afternoon sun cast her in spotted patterns.He was tempted to reach out and finger the spots on her cheek, as they appeared in velvet hues.Then she met his gaze with hers.In the light, Peter glimpsed facets of deep chocolate and bronze in the depths of her eyes.He stared, frozen, until she exhaled, her breath felt upon his lips, so close they were.Then she settled back, leaning against the trunk of the tree, the shade shrouding her eyes into blackness again.
He could not simply go about kissing his wife at every moment she came close to him.So he would have to distract himself.A slice of lemon cake would have to do.
“Cook certainly has outdone herself with this cake,” Peter murmured as he guided another bite into his mouth.
