When they stayed home, Papá read choice bits of news aloud to them from la Gaceta de Puerto-Rico, the Spanish government’s thrice-weekly newspaper, such as a census report about the racial breakdown of the island’s population. They learned that the majority of former slaves had moved to coastal towns such as their own Ponce. Papá told them that in 1873, one year after Valentina was born, the Spanish crown had abolished slavery. Papá described how Spanish law had forced the emancipated slaves to work three years longer for patronos. Papá also relayed the amount of silver that Spain had compensated the slave owners, but nothing for the formerly enslaved—surely the nuns taught the girls facts, and not just to read French and say prayers? Prudencia, what do these girls learn? Mamá reassured Papá that their daughters received all the education that a woman needed in Puerto Rico. Some evenings Valentina or Elena read aloud from a book while la sirvienta served café and delicate almond cookies or cinnamon cucas. On special occasions Papá brought home from the pharmacy a box of the famous chocolates from the town of Mayagüez. The family had enjoyed many evenings with Valentina and Elena reading novels aloud. Valentina recalled in particular Benito Pérez Galdós’s Marianela. The girls teased their father every time the character named Teodoro turned up in the story, giving him pointed looks and calling him Doctor Teodoro. Papá had enjoyed his daughters’ teasing and even Mamá had joined in, saying that if only he were a famous ophthalmologist like the Teodoro in the story, then she would be the famous Señora Doctora, his mujer. The whole family was sorry when they finished reading the book. Mamá lamented that Pablo could be so false as to reject the good Marianela, but the sisters agreed with Papá that no one should be expected to look across a table at an ugly face.
As she waited for her husband, Valentina picked up an antimacassar from the back of a chair, her fingertips tracing the mundillo stitching along the border. She was surprised to see that her mother-in-law had the skill of an artist. The nuns had taught them embroidery. How she wished her sister would walk into la sala and offer her unsolicited but always practical advice. Valentina would confess to Elena that perhaps she’d made a mistake. Vicente was not interested in taking her to Paris, and he preferred his mother’s company. She heard Vicente laughing again. For the first time she wondered if she had any power over her husband. A man who abandoned his bride of only days to run to his mother might not be so easily swayed. She opened her hand and let the antimacassar drop to the floor. Ashamed at her pettiness, she picked up the delicate lace and draped it over the back of the chair.
The newlyweds were the first ones at the dinner table. Valentina was determined to show that Vicente had chosen well. Is my hair pretty, Vicente? He reached to touch her coiffure. Stop it! I arranged it specially for your mother. See how I tucked in the orchid? There are so many around the house, and this one reminded me of the sun. No, not of the orchids when we went out in the garden alone! Please, Vicente! Don’t tease me like that in front of your mother! I forbid you! Promise! Thank you. It smells so lovely, don’t you think? Smell it, yes, you can smell it, but don’t touch my hair! Tell me, Vicente. Yes, again. Tell me what you talked about when you abandoned me. Yes, abandoned. Let’s not quibble over a word. We both know that you abandoned me. If you didn’t abandon me and she didn’t already hate me, then why didn’t she come out to greet me, to welcome me to the family? What does it matter that it was la siesta? Is she an old lady? No? Well then! And who is Inés again? Her companion? Is she an old lady also in need of a nap? Why do you laugh like that? Will your father be at dinner? Why not? What do you mean I’m talking a lot? Why do you ask if I’m nervous? Claro, I’m nervous!
Valentina heard the damas before she saw them. Her fingers went to the orchid in her hair. Two women entered arm in arm: a short, plump one dressed in black wearing a mantilla around her shoulders; the thin, tall one wore a dress that after many washings had faded to a soft blue, the color of her eyes.
“Mamá, te quiero presentar a mi mujer, Valentina Sánchez,” Vicente said. “Valentina, this is my mother, Doña Angelina Maldonado Vega.”
“Bendición, Mamá.” Valentina bowed her head for her mother-in-law’s blessing.
“Llámame doña Angelina.” Her mother-in-law’s kiss of welcome splashed like cold water against Valentina’s cheek.
“¡Mamá! Why so formal?” Vicente put his arm around Valentina’s waist. “This is your new daughter.”
Her mother-in-law’s black widow’s peak drew Valentina’s attention to the judgment in her eyes. She reminded Valentina of a black-and-white drawing of Medusa that Dalia had brought back from one of her trips. Angelina didn’t have a nest of snakes in her gray-streaked hair, but Valentina had the urge to turn away lest she be turned to stone.
Inés was not quite forty years old; and even with her faded beauty, Valentina thought that Inés would have inspired fanciful passages in a French novela.
Inés embraced her, complimenting her loveliness and congratulating Vicente on his good fortune. Valentina decided to secretly pretend that she was Vicente’s mother. During dinner, Valentina couldn’t keep her gaze from the women. They must be related in some way because otherwise why would a woman like Inés be a companion to a stern woman like her mother-in-law? As she listened to the familial conversation that excluded her, Valentina wished she were back at her parents’ table, where she’d never had a rock lodged in her stomach. When she felt a sudden urge to wail like a child, she knew that she was just being silly like any bride. She shouldn’t expect too much too quickly, her mother would say. Her husband didn’t know her very well, and her mother-in-law not at all. She must remember that she was a wife now and not a silly girl soon to be eighteen. The time would come when she would feel like family to them and they would feel like family to her. She would try her best to please them.
Valentina picked at the codfish stew. Papá had declared bacalao manna for slaves and jíbaros. It came to her that she was now a jíbara, one of those country people that ponceños laughed at. Maybe one day when she returned to Ponce, people would laugh at her for the plainness of her dress and mock the way she walked, saying that she limped like someone who only put on shoes for special occasions.
“If only we could have killed and roasted a pig,” Inés said. “There is nothing Vicente loves more than lechón.”
“I’ll kill a pig tomorrow,” Vicente said.
“Have you killed a pig with your bare hands?” Valentina stared at the hands that touched her with such tenderness.
Vicente made a slicing motion on his neck.
“You’ll need your father’s permission to kill a pig,” his mother said.
“We can have a little party for the newlyweds,” Inés said. “A fiesta. What do you say, Angelina?”
“¡Una fiesta!” Valentina clapped her hands.
“A hog is expensive.” Angelina poured herself a glass of guava juice from the carafe on the table.
“You should talk to Raúl,” Inés said. “We could invite the neighbors. Luisito could bring his wife.”