When we disembarked at the station, I bid farewell to the beautiful giant that brought us here so majestically, already feeling the stark difference in climate.
Much colder than what we are used to. I smile at Ciri as she shrinks into herself.
We are given thicker coats to help us stay warm.
Another beautiful carriage awaited us, the coachman fixing his gaze on us, puzzled by our presence at the employer's side.
"How is it going, Francisco? Are the roads safe?"
"Yes, sir, no rains, just the dust will be a slight nuisance, dirtying the fair ladies accompanying you. The police have been doing a good job around these parts. Keeping us free of highwaymen."
"Excellent."
"We can go now, sir."
"This is Adelaide, my wife, and her lady, the young Ciri."
The man’s eyes widen in surprise. The boss spends some days away and returns married?
But the submission to and respect for the boss prevent him from questioning—after all, convenience marriages are ordinary in our times.
Perhaps his greatest surprise was due to my apparent age, close to his.
He’s 55, and I am but 19. A girl compared to him, despite being well-preserved, his wrinkles and graying hair betray his age.
But surely, I have caught his attention. As, indeed, I do with everyone we pass by. If Mr. Otto were truly my husband, he would have been driven to jealousy.
He helps the servants with our luggage, not much since Mr. Otto assured me that we would have new gowns whenever we pleased.
I'm married to one of the largest coffee producers in the region and perhaps the country.
Thus, we brought only the essentials for two young women like us.
We embark again, and shortly, I begin to see the extent of this man's lands.
An immensity.
He proudly shows me his farms, two close to each other, aside from the lands beyond the river banks.
It was truly impressive. How did he become so wealthy in such a short time?
Mother told me he left Valedouro some 30 years ago, and only in the last few did he truly prosper.
I just hope he’s not an illegal trader.
I’ve lived my entire life in the city and seldom visited the countryside, but I'm already excited about my stay here.
I will definitely take long walks through these fields.
About an hour on the dirt road, and we'll soon see the entrance to his main estate.
A white fence stretching as far as the eye can see with fields in the distance and the main house in the center.
And next to it, the mill and roasting house, surely for coffee. This one was immense.
A little further back, a smaller house, made of mud, which I sadly assumed to be the slaves' quarters. As we hadn't discussed this yet.
But a man of his status surely owns slaves. I just hope he treats them well, or we'll have a slight adjustment in our contract.
Upon arriving at the entrance, I see that yes, he has slaves. But these are dressed well and shod, so not just any slaves. The generous employer must treat them merely as servants.
He must be getting accustomed to the new revolution that will soon liberate all slaves in Brazil.
I truly hope so.
My father was utterly against this practice, and I’ve learned from him to repudiate it as well.
We are received with great joy. I think the place missed him.
Servants and slaves smile and greet Mr. Otto from a distance.
Mr. Otto helps me down from the carriage, and when my feet touch the ground, my body freezes.
Now our arrangement truly begins.
I discreetly look around and see no sign of the children. Shouldn't they be able to come to welcome their father after such a long journey?
"Come, Adelaide, I will take you to D. Maria, the housekeeper."
She must be something like a steward.
I ascend the six steps that separate the ground from the house's entrance and look back, admiring the beautiful place.
I think I will be happy here.
Then I follow him, with Ciri behind me, and upon entering, what a beautiful house. It hardly seems like we are in the countryside.
The Victorian style in its purest form and refinement.
Was it his doing or his deceased wife’s? Certainly hers.
We look around in admiration, and I comment on the beauty. And Mr. Otto replies happily, pleased to have someone interested in what they see.
Having grown up surrounded by wealth and frequenting refined places, this house truly impacts me.
He says something about the decor, but I confess I didn’t quite catch it.
We are abruptly interrupted.
I turned hoping to identify the voice's owner because it was firm, deep, and muffled, and it called my attention even more.
"Father, already home? I thought you wouldn't arrive until tomorrow..."
"Change of plans."
The eyes of my husband’s interlocutor roam until they meet the owner of the lovely voices, eagerly conversing with his father:
Me.
He rises from the wide-armed chair and advances without taking his eyes off me, ignoring his father’s presence.
A piercing, intense gaze that made me tremble just by meeting it.
Blue eyes so clear they seemed to embody the sea itself. Narrow eyes and thick eyebrows, his face as impenetrable as a door, and his jaw set so tense, I could see his cheeks moving from the strain.
"And who might you be?" He asks through clenched teeth.
The question is crushing, and I’m left unsure whether to answer. I’m not even sure I can speak.
The presence of the man petrifies me. Few have this effect on me. Whether it’s good or bad, I do not yet know. But I froze. My heart raced, and my breath seemed to lose its way to my lungs, my legs weakened.
I squeezed my hands, willing the blood back into my body.
Such fear in the presence of this stranger!
"Good afternoon to you too, son. This is my wife, Adelaide."
Mr. Otto responds firmly and authoritatively, making sure he's acknowledged.
Now I see mockery in his eyes. He furrows his brows and examines me without blinking.
Scanning me top to bottom, inside out. With that air of superiority that irritates me in men.
As if I were an insect in his soup.
"Wife?" He asks with an ironic tone. Now I think my blood boils over.
The father steps behind me and places his hands on my shoulders.
"Yes. I got married a week ago, brought her from my hometown."
The tall and elegantly poised young man runs his fingers through loose hair with one hand, then spreads his arms in confusion.
"Married? But how? Weren’t you on a business trip?"
Mr. Otto smiles and wraps an arm around my shoulders.
"Exactly. A fine business, wouldn’t you agree, son? I was charmed by this cousin, and as she was available, and so was I, I decided to bring her along. I already had an agreement with her father and now, she’s the new Mrs. Montanese."
"Without consulting us first, father? Don’t you think we should have known we were getting a stepmother? And furthermore, one so... young..."
His tone almost threatens his father. But the confident Mr. Otto does not seem intimidated. I swallow hard as I see a strong standoff there, and I am a cause, or just an aggravator?
"Since when does a father need his sons’ permission to find a companion? As far as I recall, in our last conversation, you made it very clear to me that what I do with my life is my business and vice versa, remember?"
He smiles, biting his lip. He points a finger disdainfully at his father.
"Point to you, old Otto. You’re right. Congratulations on your m-a-r-r-i-a-g-e."
He mocks Mr. Otto clearly, and that irritates even me. If I were allowed to speak, and if I could open my mouth, I would have a few strong words for that insolent man treating his father so disrespectfully in front of a wife he doesn’t even know.
Who does he think he is?
From their brief exchange of extremely cold words, I get an idea of what I'm going to witness from here on out. I hope at least the other brother is less rude because this one has already put me on edge.
Disrespectful, irritating, and rude.
The father travels on business for his future, and instead of a "welcome back," he gets "you were wrong without consulting us." How ungrateful and ill-mannered.
His closed expression mirrors what seems to be in his heart: bitterness and darkness. Though his handsome face allows the imagination to see something more.
Is the father at fault for this behavior, or is the young man like this on his account, lacking sense?
Whatever the case, I didn't like him. And I took Mr. Otto’s part.
To my utter surprise, after staring at each other for a few seconds, Mr. Otto gives me a swift peck on the cheek. Not taking his eyes off his son.
"Let's go, dear Adele. I’ll take you to the housekeeper Maria, and then she’ll make arrangements for your room. You need rest, and later, I’ll show you around the rest of the house and... my loving family."
I follow my husband with a slight bow to my new "stepson," for that is what he is, though he seems much older than me.
We leave the room where the rude young man watches us as we walk along the long corridor to the back of the beautiful house, where the kitchen is located.
I have few certainties about what life will be like here, but one thing is quite clear: I won’t get along with that arrogant son.
I just don't understand my body's reaction to his gaze.
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