Ana Martin Read online

  “Ana.” He nudged her shoulder.

  Ana awoke to the sight of her uncle’s plantation, which had changed little from the place she remembered coming to as a child. Like a palace in the desert, it spread out before them in grand splendor, a walled fortress with glimpses of many-colored gardens and brick buildings. Behind stretched several long one-story buildings of adobe, where year-round workers were housed. Beyond the main grounds were thousands of acres of cotton fields, and an empty field where, come harvest, a large camp would bustle with mules and carts, and horses and buggies, while transient workers pitched tents and mud huts and lived through the picking season. At four towers, the White Guard posted four men with bayonets, while others on horseback policed the grounds.

  The train crossed over a large irrigation ditch, and Eduardo’s face lit up. He opened the window. Dust blew in but he paid it no heed as he yelled, “Carlos!”

  It was then that Ana first saw the young man on horseback, dust rising behind him. He sat tall in the saddle on a white Andalusian going fast as the train in one fluid motion. The sight of rider and horse caught her breath. Dressed in tight black broadcloth pants and a white cotton shirt, he was waving his hat at Eduardo and calling his name. Even from a distance, his smile was arresting, with rows of white teeth that gleamed from full, wide spread lips. A fringe of black hair blew straight back to expose a tanned, wind-sculpted face. Carlos.

  He rode as if he raced life, dauntless and impatient to challenge his fate. The train slowed steadily until it finally pulled to a stop. The horseman dismounted.

  Sudden apprehension gripped Ana’s heart. Eduardo stepped down from the train. The friends greeted each other, shaking hands and patting one another’s backs emphatically.

  “My friend. How are you?”

  “Good, good. And you?” Carlos stopped abruptly and looked over toward the train. Eduardo followed his friend’s gaze to Ana, who stood at the top of the steps.

  “Ana!” Eduardo offered his hand as she stepped down.

  Ana Martin stepped down to the hard, dust-covered land that stretched before her. Vast and arid, this was where she now would live. The train was stopped beside the empty loading dock of the large plantation warehouse with equipment storage buildings beside it. Beyond that was the business office, a general store, living quarters for the administrative workers, a chapel, and a school. In the other direction was a carpenter shop, a forge, and the stables and corrals. Overlooking it all was the grand house, a sixteenth century stone castle of a building where don Felipe lived with his wife. Eduardo took Ana’s arm and led her to the horseman. Beneath the vaquero hat, coarse strands of black hair brushed against tanned skin.

  Eduardo spoke words Ana failed to hear. Señor Barragan glanced toward her, then with evident effort turned his attention to Eduardo, who was finishing the introduction. The men talked. Ana watched, unaware she was staring.

  A head taller than Eduardo, he was striking, yet seemed unaware of himself. She could not say the same. His face disturbed her, with its boldly hewn cheekbones, above which eyes so deep they seemed lost glared from beneath a dark brow. He looked toward her. She averted her eyes from his guarded aspect, which was paradoxically distant and intense. She felt fearful and yet, when she was sure he would not see, she stole glances. His eyes most intrigued her, as though beset by a long ago sadness that would not be shaken. And yet he was prone to erupt into rousing laughter, which all but hid signs of melancholy. He was not easy to judge.

  Ana almost remembered him, as though she knew him from childhood visits. She was pondering this when he turned, to her surprise. A broad smile etched new lines in his face, and the laughter that followed shone from his eyes. “Carlos Barragan,” was all that she heard of Eduardo’s introduction. His smile charmed her.

  “Señorita.” His eyes were still bright from laughter as he lowered his head. There was no handshake, no touching. His station was beneath hers. Yet Eduardo addressed him as an equal.

  “I am pleased to meet you,” she replied.

  He brought his head upright. Coal brown eyes, no longer smiling, assaulted her gaze.

  Ana tried to look past, but his eyes eclipsed hers, blinding her with their darkness. In that instant, her breath stopped until, the next instant, light softened his eyes. Did he see it in her—sorrow tamped down by a spirit too stubborn to yield? It was only a glimpse, gone again the next moment, or masked by his dashing presence. Even so, a heart without pain does not need such protection, and this man was a fortress.

  Herself weary with grief, Ana felt drawn to his kindred soul, the knowledge of which disturbed and enlivened her.

  “Your trip went well?” he was asking.

  Eduardo said, “Yes.”

  With a start, Ana turned to Eduardo, not believing what she was hearing. “How can you say that? We were robbed!”

  “Robbed, señorita?”

  “Yes, it was horrible! Our train was stopped. If it hadn’t been for señor Guerra—”

  “Ana, please,” Eduardo interrupted.

  She looked at señor Barragan and explained, “He’s too modest. He was very brave.”

  Señor Barragon nodded, intently, and then cast an approving glance at Eduardo.

  “Ana!” Eduardo tried to stop her, but she ignored him.

  Señor Barragan smiled too broadly at Eduardo. “Muy hombre, Eduardo!” Carlos turned to Ana with a look of tremendous concern. “What heroic deed was it this time?”

  “He stood up to a bandit.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. He told him to give back the pocket watch he took from me.”

  “Did he? And what did the bandit do to him in return?”

  Ana looked off in the distance and thought. “Well, nothing.”

  “Is that so?” He frowned and shook his head with amazement. “He sounds like a dangerous bandit.”

  “Oh, but he was!” Ana continued.

  “Oh? How so? Did he put up a fight?”

  “Carlos,” Eduardo said, with narrowed eyes, but Carlos ignored him.

  “Well, no.” Her eyes brightened. “But he was menacing.”

  “Oh? How did he look, this menacing bandito?” said Carlos Barragan.

  Eduardo rolled his eyes and looked away.

  “He was tall—about so.” She held her hand eight or nine inches above her own sixty-five.

  “But thin and weak?” asked Carlos.

  “Oh, no! Very strong!”

  Carlos grinned. “Strong.” He nodded.

  “And horrible,” Ana added.

  “He must have been very ugly,” said Carlos.

  “No, I wouldn’t say that,” said Ana.

  A light shone in Carlos’s eyes. “So, you think he was handsome?”

  “Well,” Ana exhaled, reluctant to admit it. “Yes, I suppose that he was.”

  “But how could you tell—with that bandana over his face?”

  Ana was about to explain, when she suddenly took in a breath. “How did you know he wore a bandana?” she asked, peering at him.

  Eduardo folded his arms as he met Carlos’s eyes.

  Carlos glanced away quickly and shrugged. “He is a bandito. They all wear bandanas.”

  “Oh, of course,” said Ana.

  Carlos nodded, and then turned to Eduardo. “What a hero you are.”

  Eduardo looked at him dryly.

  “What possesses a man to take such a risk?”

  “Carlos—” Eduardo looked at him squarely.

  Carlos offered a sly smile in return. “Could you be in love?”

  “Oh, no!” Ana said.

  He turned his attention from Eduardo to Ana. “He could not be in love? Or do you mean you could not love him?”

  “It’s not that I couldn’t. Eduardo is a fine man.”

  “But no hero.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Ana protested.

  “So he is a hero, but you could not love him.”

  Eduardo snapped. “Carlos, leave her alone.”
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  Carlos looked at Eduardo and stopped smiling at once.

  Ana touched her gloved hand to Eduardo’s shoulder. “I’m very fond of Eduardo. He’s a wonderful man.”

  Carlos, now in earnest, nodded. “Yes, he is.”

  Carlos looked from one to the other. Eduardo studied the ground.

  Ana said, “He protected me in the face of danger. If it weren’t for Eduardo, I don’t know what I’d have done. When I looked in the eyes of that bandit—” She looked into Carlos’s eyes and stifled a gasp.

  Don Felipe was done supervising the unloading and was now approaching.

  Ana stared at Carlos. Sharply, she whispered, “You!”

  Chapter 2

  Carlos met her shocked stare with a glint in his eye.

  Ana clutched Eduardo’s arm. “It’s him.”

  Eduardo leveled a scathing look at Carlos, then leaned closer to Ana and said, “Yes, I know.”

  “But he—”

  “I know. It’s all right. I was going to explain.”

  “When?” asked Ana.

  “When he had to,” said Carlos with a confident grin.

  Eduardo turned to him. “Did you have to choose our train?”

  “How could I know that you would be on it?”

  “We wired ahead with word of our plans.”

  “Yes, well…they forgot to send word to the stable. And besides—I’ve been in town for a week.”

  Eduardo said, “I’m afraid you frightened señorita Martínez.”

  “Did I?” He gave her a look liquid with warmth.

  Ana glared at him. “Don’t look so pleased. I was not nearly that frightened.”

  He studied her for a moment. It made Ana uneasy.

  “Forgive me, señorita Martínez.” He glanced pointedly at Eduardo. “The last time I was told that I did not look menacing enough.”

  He had from her vantage point, but she would not admit it.

  “If I do not look sinister, I am forced to earn fear with my actions.”

  “What sort of actions?” Ana asked.

  He sent a look smoldering through her. “I could tell you, but I would have scared you all over again.”

  Ana stared back at the same burning brown eyes that had peered from above the train robber’s bandana. They cut through, but now deeper. Then, without warning, his face bloomed into a broad smile that made his eyes shine with amusement—at her expense. She felt her cheeks flush, and averted her gaze, which then fixed on his teeth, white and even against his tanned skin. The more flustered she felt, the more charmed he appeared. Ana looked away, unable to speak. He seemed, by design, to throw her feelings and thoughts into fierce competition.

  Eduardo took her arm and drew her attention to don Felipe, who now joined them. Ana flashed a disconcerted look at Eduardo, but for his sake, she kept silent.

  Don Felipe took Ana’s hands in his. “It can’t be. Anita?” he said as he shook his head. His face spread to a smile that carved creases from his eyes to his cheeks. Ana was warmed by the sight of his face, which looked so like her father’s.

  “Look at you—all grown up. What a beauty!”

  Don Felipe swept Ana toward the grand house.

  Eduardo said to his friend, “I will see you later, compañero.” He turned and followed Ana and her uncle to the house.

  “Señorita!” Carlos called out after her.

  She stopped and turned, once more to face that unsettling gaze.

  “You dropped this.”

  Confused, Ana looked at his hand, now outstretched. She stepped toward him. He placed in her hand her father’s watch, closing her fingers around it. A moment passed as tears moistened her lashes. She lifted her gaze to his, but he turned and left without letting her thank him.

  Ana stole a glance back from the veranda. Carlos Barragan was on his horse. The sight took her breath as he rode silhouetted against the Sierra Madres. They loomed still and watchful over the parched scrubland. She felt herself shrinking into the great landscape about her. With a turn toward the house, she brushed away stray strands of hair and fine grit of Laguna dust on her skin.

  The House Martínez was a flurry of activity as peons brought in her trunks and maids scurried about to prepare her room and bath. Ana was seized with a sudden shyness in the presence of the woman who stood before her. She was slender and beautiful, yet brittle and imposing in a starched linen dress, her hair upswept in a fashionable European coif. Eduardo introduced her as tía Graciela.

  “I am pleased to meet you, doña Graciela,” said Ana.

  Graciela was courteous but cool as she kissed Ana on the cheek and offered condolences for the loss of her father. She led Ana up the familiar grand stairway to her room, where a steaming bath waited, after which she could rest until dinner.

  Ana woke in a chair by the window. Dressed in a gray silk crepe gown with an Empire waist and black over-tunic, she had meant simply to close her eyes for a moment of rest before dinner. There was soft but urgent knocking at the door. Ana opened the door. There stood Eduardo in a three-piece suit, looking every bit the well-bred intellectual.

  “Ana.” His eyes shone at the sight of her. “May I escort you to dinner?”

  She was late. A dozen or more sat at a long dining room table awaiting her arrival. She offered her apology and joined the others at the table, with Eduardo beside her, a familiar face among so many strangers.

  Ana was relieved when the conversation turned from her to the local and national politics, which led to a heated discussion with Eduardo at the center.

  “I disagree. Madero should have known better than to run against Díaz,” said a neighbor.

  Another guest said, “It’s a noble gesture, but if he thinks there will ever be a fair election, he’s mistaken.”

  “But at least he took a stand,” said Eduardo.

  “But at what cost and to what end?”

  Ana’s eyes went from one man to another, each one with his own definitive opinion.

  Another chimed in, “He’s in jail right now, as we speak.”

  “In jail?” asked Eduardo, disturbed that he had missed so much while he had been traveling.

  “Oh, yes. He was arrested two days ago. He’s locked up in a cell in San Luis Potosí,” said a neighbor of Madero’s.

  Don Felipe confirmed it. “He’s been charged him with inciting rebellion.”

  Eduardo exploded, “For what? Running against an incumbent?”

  Another shifted the focus. “He’s still better off than the rest of us. At least he’s got money to survive the Jabonera’s price fixing. But we are at their mercy. I don’t know about you, but I won’t last much longer.”

  Eduardo persisted, “But that’s just part of it. Look! See what’s around you. It’s all corrupt: from the price fixing, to the government control of the water, to the foreign investors’ stranglehold on our industries. We’re at the mercy of Díaz—not to mention Guggenheim, Rockefeller and their friends on Wall Street.”

  Some nodded. Some stared, resigned.

  “But Díaz heard Madero’s voice,” said one.

  Eduardo’s eyes narrowed. He looked about from one man to another. “One voice is just that, unless it is one voice with others behind it.”

  “Unlike Madero, I can’t afford to wage a battle,” said one hacendado.

  Eduardo regarded him keenly. “Can you afford not to? Do you think you are the only one hurt by the Díaz regime? What of the people whose small plots of land have been taken: people thrown from the homes they rightfully owned; mothers left with no choice but to sell their bodies or watch their children starve or perish for want of medical care? Are they not hurt as much? Men who are fortunate enough to have jobs spend a season working in fields only to discover, at the end of an abundant harvest, that they owe more than they’ve made. So they go into the next season deeper in debt, until they are, by virtue of their debts, enslaved. And that debt is passed on until we have generations of enslaved debtors who cannot break free. My
God! There are families who must work one hundred years to pay off a debt of just fifty dollars!”

  “Now, Eduardo,” said one of the wealthier hacendados, “with hard work and diligence, they can rise above it—if they want to badly enough.”

  Eduardo exploded, “How badly can a parent want to feed the child who lies in his arms limp from starving? My friend, the notion of rising above your station through hard work is a storybook myth propagated by the very same Wall Street powers that fatten their coffers at the expense of not only our starving, but of your business—and yours—and yours,” he said, pointing to others. “The only way to rise above anything in this regime is to be as corrupt as its leaders.”

  Don Felipe leaned back from the table. “Would you now take on the U.S. as well our country? You must choose your battles, my young friend. You can’t fight them all.”

  Eduardo’s eyes flashed. “There is only one battle that will cure this festering country, and that battle will come soon enough.”

  A hush settled on the room.

  With quiet control, don Felipe said, “Eduardo, think of what you’re saying.”

  Eduardo slammed his hands on the table and stood leaning over it. “Don’t you think I have thought about it? I have thought. But the time for thinking is over. It is now time for action!”

  Awkward stillness pervaded the room as Eduardo glanced about with harsh eyes. The blood rose to his face. “What they’ve done to Madero has sent a clear message. There will be no fair election. The government will not be reformed. They will not listen to the voice of the people until we rise up and use a new voice. That voice will be the sound of gunfire—and it will be heard!”

  Don Felipe tried to calm him. “Now, Eduardo—”

  “Please excuse me. I need some fresh air.” Eduardo stormed out. The front door slammed behind him.

  Ana was stunned.

  Graciela broke the awkward silence. “Please forgive my nephew. He is young and full of passion.”

  An older gentleman with a sly grin said, “When I was young, I had better use for my passion.”