freedom, part 1/?
Title: Freedom 1/?
Pairing: Ana y Teresa, AETR
Rating: 15
Spoilers: To the end of Series 5 (Temporada 5˚)
Summary: Well, that would give it all away, wouldn't it?
Links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or claim to own them. I make no profit or claim to make any profit, no infringement intended, this is all just for fun, etc., etc. standard disclaimer stuff.
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*Note: Today it takes about 5 hours to drive between Madrid and Santander, so I basically just doubled it to account for the lower speeds and less organised infrastructure of the 1950s. It’s a total guesstimate with absolutely nothing to back it up, so I can’t account for historical accuracy on that one. Wrong or right, I claim dramatic license.
*Note 2: Since I haven't finished the minor character guide yet, Dionisio, for those who don't know, is the Rivas family majordomo/butler. Ana sort of inherited him when Encarna and her parents died. The caretakers are as far as I know unnamed in canon, so they and their particulars are of my own invention.
Freedom, Part 1
(Teresa)
From the moment we left Madrid, I felt a weight lifting off my shoulders and by the time we arrived in Santander, I felt a kind of lightness I’d never experienced before. We’d left early in the morning, before light. I was daunted by the long drive ahead, but heady with the idea of adventure. As the city grew distant, I thought briefly of Héctor and the life I was leaving behind, but then I glanced beside me at Ana, asleep with her head on my shoulder and her hand resting loosely in mine, and I knew I’d made the right decision. Spending that last evening with Héctor was stupid, and when Ana’s warm brown eyes, filled with love and hope, met mine as we climbed into the car that morning, I was overcome with guilt. But as the long drive carried on, it became easier and easier to push the memory from my mind and look forward instead of back. Even though we were still legally married, Héctor was not my life anymore. My life was this woman, and the child she carried inside her and a future that might be ours and ours alone, full of love and without fear or interference.
My own village had not been so distant, and I’d never before been so far from Madrid. I was caught up in the view from the car windows, the changing landscape and vegetation, and the subtle changes in the architecture. It was like watching a film. The road meandered through village after village and I wondered about the people we passed, what they were doing, if they’d lived their entire lives there, what their futures might hold, what they thought of us as the sleek black car passed through their streets. Ana, long accustomed to such drives and travel far more afield, showed no such entrancement and promptly fell asleep.
Dionisio drove quickly, but carefully, and each time we hit a bump or a hole in the road, I noticed him glance back in the mirror. “Just checking on Doña Ana”, he whispered. We’d all treated her like a piece of delicate glass since the miscarriage scare and we still were, even though we’d checked with the doctor before leaving and he’d assured us that all was going well. She slept soundly until we stopped for lunch. There were several times I was so overcome by excitement I wanted to shake her awake to point out some little thing that had caught my eye, or some big moment, like when we crossed the Ebro but I let her sleep. I remembered how exhausted I’d been the first few months of my own pregnancy, and I knew it wasn’t just the length and boredom of the drive that pushed her to nod off so quickly.
Dionisio had packed a full lunch for us, but we stopped at a village café anyway, mainly for the chance to stretch our legs.
“We used to stop here when I was little,” Ana said to me, smiling. “There was an old man here who always gave me chocolates.”
I looked around. A young couple seemed in charge. “Maybe they are his children” I said.
“Maybe,” She replied. She seemed sad. “No matter, it’s just a memory. Life moves on. The people in your life go away”
I realised she was thinking of her parents, of the drives to their country house in her childhood summers. As soon as we were back in the car I clasped her hand tightly, lacing our fingers together in the folds of her full skirt where Dionisio, if he looked back, wouldn’t be able to see.
“I’m not going away” I whispered.
There were unshed tears in her eyes, but she smiled anyway. “Te quiero”, she whispered back. She unpinned her hat and took it off, lay her head in my lap and closed her eyes. My heart skipped a beat. It was more intense and beautiful than I’d ever imagined anything so simple might be. I ran my fingers through her silky brown curls, occasionally brushing them gently against the back of her neck as I turned back toward the window to watch the world pass by.
It was well after dark when we pulled up into the round drive in front of a large, old stone villa. Ana had never shown me a photograph of the house in Santander, but somehow it was just what I’d expected. An elderly couple were standing in front of the huge wooden double doors in the centre of the front of the house. They must be the caretakers, I thought.
Dionisio turned off the ignition and looked back again. “The rooms should be prepared. I’ll get the baggage, if you wake Doña Ana.”
“I think we’re here.” I said, as I gently shook her shoulder to wake her.
She blinked and yawned and leaned up to glance out the window. “Yes,” she smiled. “We’re here.”
___
(Ana)
It was always a long drive to Santander, a tiring journey by any means, but I couldn’t ever remember having slept nearly the entire ten hours. And though I missed most of it, it was a strange journey, familiar yet completely different from any other on this much travelled road to the country house.
Unlike those many lonely childhood drives, where I had sat crossed legged in the back seat of the big car, reading a book, stuffing myself with chocolate, and listening to my parents bicker or exude a silence so thick with tension it might have been shouting, I was instead curled comfortably in the arms of the person with whom loneliness seemed not to exist in the world. The car was quiet, but the silence was tranquil, not forged with bitterness and resentment like that ‘silence’ of the past. Teresa’s fingers winding through my hair and brushing with a delicate touch along the back of my neck lulled me to sleep faster than I thought possible.
Once in a while a slight jolt as we hit a bump in the road roused me and groggy and still half-asleep, I wondered if I were still asleep and dreaming the entire thing, the pregnancy, leaving Madrid, Teresa returning to the flat with her baggage and her smile and announcing she was going to accompany me, the sweet kiss that followed that seemed to seal our fate. A time or two in the few days before we left the city, I wondered if that fate were temporary. Would Teresa change her mind again? Was this just another step in her dance back and forth to Héctor that I’d tried for years to harden my heart against and failed miserably? Would I sit and write another letter that I’d never send, pouring my heart out to the void? During the journey, my musing was short lived, however. I was exhausted from the moment we stepped into the car and barely managed to stay awake long enough for lunch.
***
It was terribly late when we reached the house and I couldn’t stop yawning and half stumbling as Teresa helped me gently out of the car. When I saw María and Martín at the door waiting, however, with their looks of barely contained excited expectancy, tinged with that little bit of deference that forever seemed to characterise the meetings between people of different social classes, recognised or not, I wanted to run into their arms and hug them tight. Of all the people in my childhood, they had been some of the most stable, always here in the background, silently going about their duties, able to completely ignore my family’s chaos as it swirled round them, always willing to allow me to tag along, Martín as he tended to the sheep he kept down by his cottage at the far end of the property, María as she puttered about the kitchen, creating delicacies that fascinated me in the complexity of their preparation, but that I never learnt to make myself.
They gave a slight bow first, trying to hide smiles, before opening their arms for a hug. “Oh Doña Ana! It’s so wonderful you’re here!” They stepped back quickly however, and looked to Teresa, who stood slightly behind me.
“Doña Teresa…welcome”, María said formally, as Martín nodded along.
Even though Teresa was behind me and I couldn’t hear it, I could sense her slightly muffled giggle. She stepped up beside me and reached out her hand to María, who took it with a somewhat confused look on her face.
“Señora García is fine,” Teresa smiled. “Or simply Teresa if you wish.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t do that!” María, accustomed to decades of what I considered tired and outmoded ways, exclaimed. But she gave a little smile after, and I knew immediately that there would be no tension between them.
At that moment, Dionisio appeared with an assortment of luggage, assisted by Martín, who at some point had slipped off in the darkness to assist. The men shifted and half-struggled up the stairs with the bags as we followed María into the house. It was almost funny to watch. Men, half the time so concerned with the image of gallantry inherent in assisting a woman with her baggage, yet completely inept in finding a sensible way to carry it with ease. I stifled a laugh, and it was cut off by a huge yawn that came upon me so fast I barely had time to cover my mouth.
“Come,” Maria said, motioning toward the staircase, “I’ve prepared your room Doña Ana, and the large room across the hall for Señora García. Dionisio mentioned the possibility of a nurse, so I’ve prepared the connecting room to yours as well.”
Teresa and I looked at each other. “María,” I said gently, “there may be a nurse arriving, and the bags may go in the large room, but for now Señora García and I will both sleep in my room……as a precaution” I added quickly. “She’s my cuñada and knows me better than anyone else. If something seems wrong with me or the baby, she’d be the first to notice. We can arrange the baggage and any other details in the morning.”
“Of course, of course,” María said. ‘Shall I ring you for your breakfast in the morning?’
“No need to get up early,” I replied. “Perhaps 11 or so.”
“Of course, you’re tired from the journey and your condition. I’ll leave you to sleep now.” She turned to leave but then turned quickly back “We’re very glad to have you return to us, Doña Ana, we’ve missed you over the years.” Turning to Teresa she added, “We hope you enjoy it here too Señora García.” With a slight smile, she slipped from the room.
***
“I’m exhausted!” I said, flopping back onto the bed as soon as the door closed.
“Be careful!” Teresa gasped, rushing toward me.
“Oh, stop fussing. This bed is softer than a pile of feathers. In fact, it is a pile of feathers.”
Teresa shook her head sternly. “You have to be careful, on the stairs, the bed. You never know what could happen.”
“All that is going to happen now is that I will be asleep in fewer than five minutes. So I’m going to wash and change. The room Dionisio put your bag in is directly across the hall. There’s a washroom beside it or you can use the one here. You’re more than welcome to sleep over there, but I was hoping I’d see you back here.”
Although we both knew that we were too tired to ‘celebrate’ our freedom tonight, Teresa responded to my impudent suggestion with a sly raise of her eyebrow and a wink. “Don’t worry,” she smirked, “I’ll be back before your head hits the pillow.”
****
End of Part One.
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