337

***

In the end, Luciano was stuck waiting for his sister to write her letter. Her pen scratched busily across the paper.

"Cárcel,

I do not know which sea you are in now, but I pray that the sky is clear, the sea is calm, and the wind is in your favor. I am writing you this urgent letter because I was told that a supply ship would be leaving Calztela tomorrow..."

Inés suddenly stopped writing and muttered, "No, wait... this would make it obvious."

"Make what obvious?" Luciano asked.

"The fact that I haven't been writing any letters ahead of time."

"But it's true. You haven't," he pointed out indifferently as he took a bite out of an apple.

She looked serious, furrowing her brow. "Cárcel apparently has letters piled up to send to me. He's been writing them in between battles."

"Of course he has," Luciano commented with a shrug.

"He was going to send them all, but he said he didn't in case I grew tired of them. He is far too thoughtful... He should not listen to such useless advice."

"I see."

"But I didn't write him a single letter here in Mendoza, where nothing has been going on..." She pulled a long face, looking almost defeated.

Luciano stared at her for a moment before asking, "When you say 'nothing, are you including the poisoning and your dangerous pregnancy?"

"I won't fall dead all of a sudden, but Cárcel is at war -where you could lose your life at any moment," said Inés, overlooking the fact that she could hardly take a sip of water herself.

As exasperated as Luciano was, he simply nodded at her to finish what she was doing. But Inés was beside herself with worry. She acted like a completely different person now that she had been told she could send her husband a letter.

"I'm sure he'll be disappointed in me," she muttered.

"It isn't as though he loves you without knowing the kind of woman you are. Cárcel Escalante most likely never expected you to write at all, so don't worry," he replied, offering cool yet gentle words of comfort.

Inés shot him a mild glare before asking, as though she had just thought of the idea, "Perhaps I should tell him I also have a stack of letters written to him. What do you think?"

"Don't forget that all of those fictitious letters have to exist by the time your husband returns from war. Not that it wouldn't be entertaining to watch you rush through the work you put off while being heavily pregnant as your due date nears."

Her mouth dropped a fraction at the realization. "Right. Then I'll be honest and let him know that I haven't written a single thing."

"Just be sincere and tell him the news. It may not be entirely good, but you could start with the fact thatyou two finally have a child on the way."

"Wouldn't that seem like I am getting to the point too quickly?"

Luciano leaned his chin against his hand with a raised eyebrow, not understanding what the problem was. His sister, the Inés Valeztena, was acting like she was writing a love letter to a young man she had been admiring from afar. "As soon as he reads that you are with child, he won't notice anything else you say," he replied. "Especially once you tell him it's twins. He'll be so shocked that he won't know what to do with himself."

Inés nodded as though this was convincing enough and resumed writing her letter.

"Are you injured at all? You did tell me that you were safe, but as you know, I do not exactly trust you when it comes to your well-being. In any case, I have no choice but to believe that what you say is true.

That you are still safe, and that no pain or illness ails you. But if anything did happen to you, please do not let me find out by discovering a long-healed scar on your body. That is much more painful for me than worrying about you.

I am glad to hear that your father's lost cigars bring you such joy. It delights me that you have been thinking of me so much that you have already burned through most of those expensive cigars. But do try to leave at least one of them intact to bring home with you-for your father. I am sure he will be overjoyed if you tell him that it went on the expedition with you."

Inés had no qualms labeling the items she had stolen from the duke as "lost" cigars, and went so far as to shamelessly think of her father-in-law as well. Then she glared down at the empty part of the paper for a moment, unable to think of how to continue.

Would it have been easier had he been in her presence? Or if the news had been something to rejoice over without worry?

Brushing the thoughts away, she began writing again. "Speaking of good things... We have been granted a child, Cárcel. This will be yet another reason for you to return to Ortega safely. I pray that you will be able to return before I give birth. If truth be told, it does not matter, as long as you are safe. I am simply worried about you."

Perhaps you will never rejoice at this news, Cárcel, she thought to herself. You may never see the child or my swollen stomach, if you cannot return by the time I give birth. Perhaps, when you finally return after a long time, everything will be gone. Including me. Perhaps, once again, we will be... Inés put aside her errant thoughts, and her pen continued to move smoothly across the page.

"I feel like I would have nothing to fear with you at my side, Cárcel. Everything is going well already, of course. I have been recovering in bed for a while, because my father nags me relentlessly and insists that I must be careful, but both the children and I are healthy. I do not have any morning sickness, and my appetite has been ravenous; I have been eating constantly.

Juan and Isabella have started treating me like a little girl, and Miguel has been acting like an older brother. Juana acts much like a prison warden. Raúl needs an extra pair of hands because of how busy he is thanks to me. And my father, who is like the chief warden, makes daily visits to the Escalante residence and troubles Juan. I have been using Luciano as much as I want, since my husband isn't here, but I am unsure of how much longer that excuse will work."

In truth, Inés felt like she was being crushed by anxiety at the smallest recollection of that life. The terror she had felt every day in that time, fearing that Cárcel might never return to her, or that she could be dead by the time he did, and suppressing the thought of their tragic ends was like swallowing poison. Those old memories suddenly came to mind -the countless failures, mistakes, losses, and dead children... The voices of Cárcel and herself as parents at the mere age of eighteen lingered in her mind.

"Ricardo Escalante de Esposa," she had said.

"Ricardo... is that the name of our son?" he had asked.

"I wouldn't decide that without you. I was simply asking. The child's baptism is approaching. If you don't like it, Cárcel, we'll think of something else-"

"I like it. I really do, Inés. He looks like a Ricardo."

"What on earth does that mean?"

"Let's see if he recognizes his name already. Ricardo?"

"He just started hearing sounds. He won't understand you."

"Ricardo!"

"Stop calling his name like he's a dog, Cárcel."

"He smiled-He smiled at the name. He must have understood!"

"He just smiles a lot. He takes after you."

"You try calling him, Inés."

She stared down at the ink stain steadily getting bigger on the paper, unable to hear Luciano calling out to her.

"How did you come up with the name Ricardo?" Cárcel had asked.

"I just thought it was a nice name. I used to tell myself that I would like to name my son that someday."

"I wish I had known that sooner. Then we could have called him by his name the moment he was born."

"It's all right. He'll be hearing it so often from now on that he'll grow tired of it."

The young Cárcel laughed. "Have you thought of a girl's name too?"

"What about you?"

"I have thought of so many ever since you became pregnant that I can't count them... Tell me yours first."

"Ivana. I always thought it was a lovely name."

"Ivana... Ivana... It really is lovely. Almost as exquisite as your name, Inés."

She remembered the awkward glances, the way she could hardly look him in the eye. She had been embarrassed of the way her voice grew stiff whenever she noticed herself getting too comfortable, as if she wasn't used to such things. She had felt a little abashed upon noticing how talkative she had become. But whenever he was sincerely happy and shared his intimate feelings, her pulse began to race-and it wasn't due to displeasure.

The way his face lit up whenever her eyes met his accidentally, as though he had been waiting for her to look at him... the way his gaze chased her whenever she walked ahead of him and turned back to her if she fell behind... the flowers he picked from the garden of Esposa Castle to make her happy... All of this pointed to his long, unrequited love that she had never repaid. She would watch him with bewilderment, as though his love was something she had taken on by mistake. She felt responsible for it, more than anything. But before she knew it, feelings of her own had blossomed. From mere moments such as these.

The moment he would stare at his pregnant wife as though she were a miracle, taking time to ride to her side from Calztela every ten days or so. The moment his eyes filled with wonder as he looked at her heavily pregnant stomach. The moment he had shed tears for her despite his large size, the moment they had sworn to protect their son his whole life long... After all those moments, her embarrassment became nothing more than a habit.

At times, she would wait for him to arrive. She would stare out at the castle gates all day long when she felt like another visit was well past due. It must have been humiliating for her to realize that she missed him. Facing Cárcel Escalante at eighteen felt like forcing herself to face that emotion, as though she had been exposed. Even though she knew that he would never use her feelings against her.

In the end, she would have grown to love him. It would have become a nice life. Her feelings would have become so intense that she would have failed to hide them. Inés knew that it would only have been a matter of time, as slowly as it seemed to pass. Things would have always gotten better, and eventually, she would have forgotten all about her awkward pride and shame.

If things had gone the way they should have. If they hadn't lost Ricardo.

"Inés," Luciano called her again.

"Maybe I shouldn't send him this letter..." she muttered.

"After all that fuss you just made?"

"What if I make him happy out there on his ship, but by the time he returns, I have nothing to show him?"

"That won't happen. Just finish writing, will you? I'm quite busy," Luciano said firmly, as if trying to cut off her negativity at the root.

The memories faded into the background again. Inés paused for a moment before saying, "I have to write it again. The ink blot ruined it."

"I'm sure your husband will be overjoyed to see what a hurry you were in when he sees it. More so than any neatly written letter you send him."

"Cárcel does interpret things whichever way he pleases. But this won't make him feel my affection and sincerity."

"You can barely drink water, eat nothing but a couple of fruit a day, the children in your womb are at risk, and you are suddenly unable to use one of your hands. Have you mentioned any one of these things to your husband?"

"How dare you peek at my love letter."

"You were the one asking me what to write."

Inés turned away, having run out of complaints, and made her brother chuckle. "There's no need to make him worry about me when he can't be here. That's all," she said.

"That is your affection and sincerity, Inés. It is so obvious now that you need no longer prove it."

She looked down at the last few lines of her letter.

"I am doing well, as always. Things are peaceful here in Mendoza, so all I want to know is that you are safe. Lieutenant Commander Elba's advice is useless, so please send me every letter you have written next time. If I cannot see you yet, I would at least like to read them.

Your Inés, from the Escalante residence in Mendoza."

It did seem like there was no need to prove her affection with more words. She now felt no embarrassment over this kind of thing at all.

Luciano folded the letter and placed it in an envelope for her, seeing that she couldn't use her left hand. "Cárcel Escalante's Inés..." he muttered, referring to the way she had signed it. It was an affectionate attempt at teasing her.

Inés used her right hand to make a fist and whack him in the arm, just as she had done once upon a time.

***

That evening, the first bundle of panote was discovered under the floorboards of a scullery maid's bedroom.