“But should he not know? What if he sees Tío Enrique and says that he is taking Elvira, then …?”

“Leave that to me. I leave your friends to you.”

He told them, in fact, next to nothing, saying only that Elvira was sailing to Havana with her godmother’s cousin and that they would be joining her as fellow passengers. Put that way, the arrangement met with the Braithwaites’ approval. They were all three so impatient to get out of Cárdenas, they probably would have agreed to anything.

Later, the two women appeared to cook la comida, as they had every evening. The bohío was again redolent with the aromas of green pepper and onion and garlic sautéing in an iron skillet, and the boys gorged on plantains and rice and a spicy shredded beef called ropa vieja. While strong coffee brewed in a small octagonal pot, Rosaria told Will that Luis Figueroa planned to sail earlier than expected, with tomorrow evening’s tide.

“Here is what will happen,” she continued. “Tomorrow afternoon, I am going to tell my husband that Elvira and I are going to gather herbs. We will be waiting at a place on the beach beyond town. Luis knows about it. You will go to the harbor later on and board his boat and he will sail to where Elvira and I are waiting, and then she will join you, and then I, for the first time in many years, since her mother died, I will walk home without Elvira.”

“And that makes you sad?”

“Both sad and happy,” she replied. “Luis said the tide is at five o’clock. He asks that you be at his boat before then. It is called La Esperanza.”

They drank the bitter coffee from demitasses, the two women joining them, and when the pot was drained, Rosaria went outside to relieve herself. Elvira sprang from her chair and began to clear the table, carrying the cups and saucers to the washtub. One cup dropped and broke against the dirt floor, which was trod to the hardness of stone. Will went to help her clean it up, but she waved him away, stooped, and with one hand, swept the fragments into the other.

“You seem nervous,” he said, stooping beside her.

“Of course I am. You would be, too, if you were in my position.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Yes, there is.”

“This morning, when Rosaria asked if it was true you loved me, you moved your head to say yes. Can you say that now with your lips? I want to hear it. I want to hear you say, Will, sangre de mi corazón, me encantas, te quiero, te amo.”

“Please, this is not a love song we are living. This is not an adventure. Be serious.”

“I am.”