The Spanish Daughter(87)

But Martin never came to see me.

I must forget him. I would have plenty of opportunities to do so since I doubted that he would continue to work at La Puri—not when his dreams of owning the plantation that had once belonged to his family had come tumbling down with my very existence.





CHAPTER 42

May 1920



The sight of my husband’s casket unleashed a turmoil of emotions. It was like opening a faucet; out poured all the pain and tears I’d been suppressing for weeks. Not only for my husband’s sake, but also for everything that had happened since my arrival in Ecuador.

For Martin. For my father. For my siblings.

I’d been doing everything wrong.

I hugged the casket, asking for forgiveness, and was unable to maintain my composure as the Panamanian authorities explained that Cristóbal’s body had washed ashore and a Jamaican fisherman had found him. The man had contacted the local authorities, who’d been aware that a couple of men aboard the Andes had been missing.

“But we suspect he died on impact,” said the somber officer, squeezing my shoulder.

*

Upon my return to Guayaquil, I learned that a judge had dismissed my siblings’ contention of the will since my father’s doctor, the bank manager, and Aquilino had all testified that my father was in his right mind when he wrote his last wishes. When hearing the news, Angélica, Laurent, and Catalina had left the plantation and were staying with friends in Vinces.

“But I never wanted them to leave,” I mumbled, fixing my gaze on the intricate carvings on Aquilino’s bureau. I’d been thinking, innocently perhaps, that they would come to resign themselves to my father’s desires and we would all live in harmony at the hacienda, like sisters.

I squeezed the handkerchief in my hand—I hadn’t been able to stop crying since the funeral.

“Aren’t you satisfied with the news?” Aquilino said. “As the majority holder, you’re free to take possession of La Puri now if you wish to.”

I nodded, but I never thought that good news could taste so bitter.

I dabbed the corners of my eyes with the handkerchief. “Why have you been helping me?” I asked. “You’ve known my siblings for much longer than me.”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. I worked for your father for many years and he always confided in me the remorse he felt about leaving you and your mother behind. He said his fortune was built thanks to your grandmother, who introduced him to chocolate. Without her influence, he would’ve never left Europe. So, he thought it was only fair that you should benefit from your family’s legacy. He felt he owed it to your grandmother and he made me promise that I would make sure you got your part—I think he suspected that his decisions might cause problems between his children.”

“What about Elisa? Did he ever talk to you about her?”

“He mentioned her a few times, but he always had doubts that she was truly his. Elisa’s mother didn’t have a good reputation around town. She was known to have had many”—he cleared his throat—“friends, so he was never sure that Elisa carried his blood. This is why he never truly accepted her, why he didn’t leave her anything.” Aquilino stood up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment.” He removed a key from the pocket of his vest. “Here’s the key to the hacienda. La Puri is yours.”

*

When I entered the house, my hacienda, I felt a chill. My heels echoed across the foyer. I met my father’s gaze from his portrait, sitting proud, oblivious to all the havoc he would cause after his passing. In the parlor, everything was in order: the elegant furniture intact, the grand chandelier dangling above my head, not a single ornament seemed to be missing. I ran my finger by the sideboard, where the porcelain figurines of three ballerinas were covered with a thin layer of dust.

There was an empty space in the corner of the room; it was the spot where Angélica’s harp had always sat—apparently, it was the only thing she’d taken. It almost seemed as if my sisters had left in haste and would be back any second.

But that wouldn’t happen.

Somehow, the sight of these elegant furnishings was more painful than if I’d encountered a demolished house with tables split in half, lamps turned upside down, sliced curtains, and shattered glass all over the floor.

The excitement I’d first experienced when I boarded the Valbanera to come to Vinces was no longer there. I couldn’t even identify with the woman I’d once been, the one who’d innocently believed a grand cacao plantation would give her everything her life lacked.

The truth was that this perfection, these beautiful objects surrounding me, held no meaning for me.





CHAPTER 43

Martin looked like he hadn’t slept in a couple of days—large circles darkened his eyes—his hair was longer and disheveled, and his beard, unshaven. Had the realization that he would never own the plantation affected him this much? Or was it Angélica’s departure? He’d said their relationship was complicated.

I was annoyed at my own quickening pulse as he walked into the hacienda.

“I heard you were back,” he said, studying me as if seeing an apparition.

I realized why. This was the first time he’d seen me in women’s clothes. I wore a black dress with silk chiffon sleeves and a leaf-like design embroidered on the collar, which I’d purchased in Panama, among other gowns. I was finally paying Cristóbal the proper respect by donning mourning clothes.