Chapter 27
April 2, 1814, Abbeygate, Surrey Hills, England
Ana braced herself on one elbow, pushing herself to a sitting position in her bed, a task that now took a great deal more effort than it used to, now that her body swelled with child.Ever since her Spanish picnic with Peter in the vineyard, Ana’s thoughts had been running through faded memories of cousins whose names she could hardly remember.Aunts who once loved to sing and dance withMamá.AndAbuelita,Papá’smother, who had spent endless hours playing with Ana and teaching her words in Portuguese and English.PapáandMamáhad created distance between themselves and their families that had caused Ana to feel as if they lived on the other side of the world rather than the other side of the country.
But perhaps there was something that Ana could do to remedy that, at least in some small way.And it would have to start withAbuelita.How had she not thought of it before?
“Elena?”
“Sí, Señora?”
Ana smiled at the beauty of their native tongue, continuing their conversation in Spanish.“Would you know where Peter keeps his stationery?It seems I have used the last of mine.”
“I will ask Burnsey and return with some in a moment.”
True to her words, Elena returned in a short moment, her arms full of a large stack of parchment and a few newly sharpened quills clutched in her hand.Ana moved over to her desk, eager to start writing.She had so much to tell her grandmother—that is, if she actually received the letter.She needed to know that she would have a great-grandchild.With an ache in her chest, Ana realized that she would also need to informAbuelitaof her son’s passing.How she missedPapá.
“Elena, do you have any family left in Spain?”
Her tongue rolled, twisting delightfully around the Spanish words.Even just speaking the language of her heart brought a sense of contentment that was difficult to express to Peter.
“No, we have all come here to England, or to Portugal.The war has been so terrible for our country, you know.”
“It has been heartbreaking, to lose one’s country,”
“It is more than my homeland—it is who I am,” Elena whispered, her voice soft and her face still with melancholy.
Ana nodded as her throat tightened with emotion.“What do you miss the very most about Spain?”
“I miss the delicious food, of course.Even just to smell it walking down the street, it was a thing of comfort.I miss the music and how people felt the music in their souls, always dancing in their words and with their feet.But most of all, I miss the feeling of being understood.That bone-deep comprehension of each other’s experiences, each other’s challenges, just by sharing the same language and same country.”
“It is a miracle to experience, truly,” Ana murmured.
“It is impossible for the English to understand,” Elena continued, her dark eyes shining with emotion as she twisted her apron.“To them, everything foreign is bad.They see how I look different, hear the accent in my voice, and they fear me.They assume I am dangerous, or at the very least, entirely uncivilized and minimally educated.All the things that make me belong to my heritage, my culture, seem to be all wrong here.”
Ana had seen that same shock and alarm on too many faces as she and Peter traveled across the ocean, and then again as they made their way up to London—although she much preferred those sorts of reactions, as uncomfortable as they were, to the disgusting leers she had endured too often at camp in San Sebastián.Peter had protected her in so many ways by bringing her here, to Abbeygate.
“YourPedrowas the first to recognize that my heritage could mean something good—not just for you but for your family.He is special.”
“I know.I am most fortunate to have found him.I would not have survived without him.”Ana’s hand went to her rounded stomach, feeling for the movements of her baby as her throat choked with emotion.
Peter did so much to ensure her comfort in every way imaginable.And on the whole, Ana truly was feeling safer and happier than she had in quite a long time.Every day, she spent time with the man she cared most for in the world.Every night, her babe tapped out rhythms on her stomach, which were normally delightful though occasionally exhausting.The ache of the absence ofPapáwas beginning to lessen somewhat, just as it had forMamáyears ago.
But still, there was a portion of her soul that would always yearn for Spain.And that was something Peter would never truly understand.But perhaps reestablishing this relationship withAbuelitawould satisfy that yearning in some small way.
Chapter 28
May 5, 1814, Surrey Hills, England
Peter sat back in his saddle, surrounded by the quiet morning of the Surrey Hills.The only noise that interrupted his heightened breathing and pounding pulse was the warbling of a few insistent birds.It would have to do.Normally, such surroundings brought him a steadying peace.But not this morning.
Isolation.That had been his aim.He did not want Ana overhearing his cursing or outburst when he read the missive that had arrived late last night for him.His name and address were scrawled in an unfamiliar hand, although the army’s official crest indicated the letter’s origin.Fear squeezed Peter’s heart.This was no letter from David or Matthew, or even Captain Davies.This would be a summons, likely back to battle.
A cruel fate it would be indeed to be recalled weeks before the birth of their baby, when Ana would need him most.She had already lost her father.And, somehow, her mother.How would she fare if she lost Peter, and in such a needful and delicate time?Peter knew that on his part, life in the army would never be the same again.Not after San Sebastián—not after Ana.Instead of being an escape, a place of relief, being at camp and on the road in foreign lands would fill him with loneliness and longing.He felt it already, just at the thought of leaving Ana and Abbeygate.Would he really be called back, forced to end the lives of so many when the tiniest, most precious life was just beginning back at home?Would his child even know his face, his voice?The grip that fear had on his heart clenched ever tighter.
Peter offered up a desperate prayer and allowed his mind to spin through the comforting verses he had studied in the Bible that very morning.If there were ever a moment to need God’s strength, it was now.For this letter could decide his entire future—not only with the army but with his family.Finally, he tore through the wax seal.The letter within was not signed, nor addressed specifically to him.It must have been a mass communication sent out to officers.
Paris is secured.Napoleon has been deposed, abdicated by the French Senate.Wellington was hailed a hero and was made the Duke of Wellington on 3 May 1814.An armistice was signed on 23 April 1814, and a treaty is currently being constructed between France and the Sixth Coalition, including Great Britain, Prussia, Portugal, Russia, Austria, Spain, Sweden, Sardinia, and a number of German States.This will ensure that stolen and conquered territories are returned to their respective countries, reducing the expanded borders of France.
