When José, Rossetti, and I arrived at the Costas’ door, Antonia was already out front waiting for us. She stood in the doorway with her hands on her wide hips. Her black hair was pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck, though a frizzy halo of black curls framed her face. As soon as I dismounted Guapo, Antonia had her hands all over my stomach, pressing at various places.

“Good. The baby seems to be in the right position, but we should prepare for your confinement. Come inside, I have your room ready.”

“We still have unloading to do.”

“Nonsense, let the men take care of that.” Antonia waved me off. “You need your rest, Dona Anita. When this child comes you will never be able to rest again.” Suddenly she was distracted by something behind me. “Patrizio! Get down from that wagon this instant! Paulo, get your son down from there before he drives the whole army into the river.”

A portly bald man with wire-rim spectacles, who I assumed was Paulo, walked calmly over to the giggling child who wiggled like a cat as his father threw him over his shoulder. Antonia turned back to me. “And that is why you need to take your rest now, while you can. It’s been nine years since I’ve had a moment to myself. Your boy will be a handful, as most boys are.”

“You’re certain it’s a boy?”

“Yes, dear. Don’t you know when a mother glows that means she will have a boy? When she fades, she will have a girl, because a girl takes her beauty from her mother. It’s something my mother taught me, hasn’t failed me yet.” She cupped a hand to my cheek. “And you, my dear, are gleaming.”

In total the Costas had five children. Giorgia, nine, and Beatrice, seven, had both begun assisting their mother in the midwife trade. Then there were the three boys that were an oncoming storm. The five-year-old, Dante, was the ringleader. He kept an eye on both his younger brothers, Patrizio and little Paulo, but also led them into trouble at every opportunity. I watched the boys with trepidation and joy as they ran around in front of the house like a pack of puppies, trying to picture my own black-haired child among them.

We settled into life in São Simão quickly. While I turned myself over fully to Antonia and her care, allowing myself to be her humble student, José spent his days tending to our new herd of cattle. One morning I stepped outside to find him petting the nose of one of our cows while she took hay directly from his hand.

“You would have made a good gaucho,” I said, coming up to stand next to him at the fence.

“You think so?”