Read Online The Spanish Marriage by Madeleine Robins - Free Book Online

began.
    “Señorita Cannowen,” Matlin called to her. “We
must start. I hope to reach Segovia tonight. After that,” he cast a
general look of apology at the crowd, “perhaps safer for us all if you do
not know what our route is.”
    “Sensible.” Mother Beatriz took Thea’s
hands in her own and kissed her forehead. “Blessings. Go with God.”
    “I will, Mother. Take care of Silvy for me. I’ll
write when we are safe home. And Mother, thank you. I never....”
    Matlin made a noise of impatience and the Mother Superior
pushed Thea away with a smile.
    Just before the road twisted Thea turned her head for a last
look behind at the convent. They stood in a cluster: Silvy, tall and narrow and
pinched-faced beside Mother Beatriz’s shorter, more substantial form,
other nuns, indistinguishable at a distance. They waved and Thea raised her
hand in a final salute. When she could not see any more she turned her eyes
forward to the road for Segovia. It was not yet noon of her wedding day.
    o0o
    They rode without speaking. That morning Thea had wished for
a few minutes to think, to catch hold of all the notions which had run through
her mind since she awakened; now there was nothing but the slip-slap of
blankets against the mules’ sides to distract her; she had all the time
in the world to think, but her mind was empty. Every now and then something
would pass through her mind: Father Anselmo’s broad smile as he
pronounced them man and wife; Silvy’s white, agitated face; the sweet
dusty tang of the convent wine drunk at their wedding toast. Nothing made sense
to her. After a time Thea gave herself up to the drowsy rhythm of the
mules’ trot and concentrated on nothing but keeping her seat.
    Later, when they stopped to eat, Matlin commented on it. “You’ve
been uncommonly silent this morning, quite unlike yourself.” He tore a
piece of bread from the loaf in his hand and offered it to her. “You’re
not afraid of me, are you, child?”
    “Afraid?” she echoed. You’ve been silent
too, she thought, but, “I’ve never been married before,” she
told him. “It’s a lot to think about.”
    Matlin laughed briefly but with amusement. “No more
have I; I suppose it does give one food for thought. You know, I am aware that
this cannot be all easy for you. You will miss Doña Clara, the Sisters. If you
want to talk, if I can help, I’d like to.”
    Startled, a little undone by this kindness, Thea took refuge
in a quick retort. “I’m not the one with a great gash in my head;
so long as you don’t faint away from the sun I’m sure I will be
perfectly happy.”
    Matlin smiled again, finished up his bread and the spicy
sausage he had smeared on it, and began to pack the hamper up again. Striving
for some dignity Thea picked herself up from her perch on a downed tree. Child, she thought irritably. That word again.... I’m your wife! I’ll
make you forget that word if it’s the last thing I do.
    “Are you ready? I’ll help you up,” he
offered, leading her mule over. Thea wished that she could refuse his help, tell
him she could manage very nicely without it, but that seemed childish too. She
let him swing her up and sat astride the mule’s back, running her hand
along the bristling mouse-brown neck. “Señorita, shall we?” Matlin
urged, gesturing with a flourish toward the road.
    “Señora,” she retorted, and prodded the mule
forward.
    o0o
    For the rest of the afternoon, if they were out of earshot
of other travellers, Matlin kept up a stream of nonsense in his patchy Spanish,
as much for practice as to amuse his companion. At first Thea refused ostentatiously
to be amused, but when he committed a truly horrendous error in pronunciation
she corrected him loftily and after that found it impossible to maintain her
starchy facade. Then they chattered together as they had in his sickroom. Only
when they passed other travellers or neared a town or farmhouse did they fall
silent of one accord.
    Each mile