She rubbed a hand down her neck, as if that could ease the throbbing ache that grew there whenever she cried.“Years ago, when I wrotemi abuela, she said she heard nothing fromMamá, that she never visited.She disappeared to start a new life.One withoutPapá, without me.”
Ana found her throat was so tight, her voice so thick, that it was difficult to continue, despite the racing words in her mind.The warmth of Peter’s hand pressed against hers was the only thing that seemed to calm her at the moment.She brushed her palm against her cheeks, drying them, and continued.
“And so I left with thearmada.Papáwould not have me fall to the life of a camp follower, even in name alone, so he taught me languages.I became a translator, even as a young woman.It was not the life I ever imagine for myself.”
Peter was silent for a long moment, as if he was trying to map out the history Ana had laid bare for him.Finally, he whispered as he squeezed her hand, “I am so sorry.I am sure they loved you very much, despite their difficult circumstances.”
“I lovemis padres,even now that they both are gone.But how could they hurt me so?”
“It seems to me that your parents were trying to survive in a life that had proved quite difficult together.I admire your father’s drive to give you a future, to train you as a translator.And in a sad sort of way, I admire your mother’s courage for recognizing her own need to be loved.”
That Peter would justify their actions, even in some small way, only caused Ana’s chest to throb harder.“But was my love not enough?”she said, the words ripping from her deep inside heart, leaving a wake of tears behind them.
“I do not know.But I know it would have been enough for me.”
Ana’s heart very nearly stopped beating at the admission.Had he meant to imply that he valued her affection?And if he had, would it truly be enough to fill the great gaping holeMamáandPapáhad left behind?Nervousness fluttered in her stomach and journeyed up her body to freeze her tongue.Peter, it seemed, had been grasped by the same nervousness at his apparent admission, but it instead propelled him to speak freely and in a great rush of words.
“There were many times when I wished that my mother would have the courage necessary to leave my father’s tyranny, if not for our sake, then at least for her own.It was not merely uncomfortable for her to remain his wife—it was dangerous.Her safety was continuously put at risk as she was subjected to the blows of his temper, and I was too young to defend her.”His jaw was tightened with anger, and one lone tear leaked down his cheek, his jaw.“But such things are not so simple in London’s society.We would have had no future, least of all her.And so, although her life with my father was torturous to endure, she remained to ensure that Matthew and I would have the opportunity to choose the sort of lives we would like to have.I will always be indebted to her for that.”
Ana pictured the two little brothers running around Abbeygate joyously free, only to return to the terror of their home in London.Her heart ached for them, ached for Peter, who never knew what it was to feel love from a father.
His grip on Ana’s hand tightened.“I do not wish to justify the behavior of either of your parents.It was entirely wrong of both of them to abandon you in their own ways.But perhaps there is some light that can be found in the knowledge that their decisions have led you to me.To our family and life here.”
“I only wish I could have themandyou.Some part of me still belongs there inEspaña.”
“Do you have any family that lives there still with whom you might wish to correspond?”
“Miabuela, the same one I wrote aboutMamá.I have not seen her in many years, not since I left withPapá.”
“Perhaps we could visit her.When you have healed and when Esperanza is stronger.”
“Me gustaría mucho.I would love that indeed.Actually, I wrote her again.”
But Ana would not admit that it was not merely a letter to renew a relationship.It was a letter of pain, of desperation.After painfully relaying her heartbreak at Papa’s passing, she had asked forAbuelita’shelp once again.Ana begged her for advice, asking her if there was a life for her here with Peter or if she should take Esperanza and leave.But she had yet to receive any kind of answer, and deep in her heart, she knew that she should not wait for one.She did not even know ifAbuelitawas still alive.
“Truly?”Peter’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.“And did she respond?”
“Not yet, although I know that communication must becomplicadawith the war.”
“Of course.Well, if there is anything I can do to assist you in contacting her, please allow me to do so.”
A slow, seeping peace began to spread through Ana’s core.It was a feeling that had left her since Esperanza had been born.But Peter was showing his willingness to help her, even offering to take her back to visit her homeland.Surely he cared for her in some way and saw something of a future for their lives that were impossibly intertwined.For the first time in weeks, Ana was well above the waves.With every word, Peter pulled her from the water, welcomed her into his boat, and kept her warm and dry.
“Gracias, Pedro, por todo,” she whispered.
“It is my pleasure,” he said.“And Ana?”
“Sí?”
Peter shifted next to her until their noses were nearly touching.He cupped her cheeks with his hands, his touch as gentle despite his rough skin.
“I will always be with you, as will our God.And I am learning that God will heal your wounds which time—and I—cannot.We must trust Him.”
Chapter 37
July 15, 1814, Abbeygate, Surrey Hill, England
Over the past week, Peter had seen a slow shift in Ana’s behavior.She had appeared calmer, more peaceful, and even more energized.They had taken to walking daily in the rose garden, as he had promised.Mother’s being there greatly helped as well, as she assisted Ana in understanding the many changes she was undergoing.In turn, Ana felt more comfortable leaving Esperanza in Mother’s care and even in Peter’s.It was surely an indication of the safety that Ana felt in her presence.There was a unique understanding between the two women that seemed to exude the quietude of soul that could only be found after crossing through a great deal of similar difficulties.
