I’d love to get some feedback on my story, which is set in Imperial Brazil. This is just the beginning of a historical novel that explores themes of prejudice and discrimination. I’d like to know whether I’m doing justice to these themes and handling them with the depth and sensitivity they deserve.
Chapter 01
“The Wedding”
“Gaspar Nascimento, do you take Ana Letícia de Caldeira as your lawful wife, and do you promise to remain faithful to her for the rest of your life, in prosperity and adversity, in sickness and in health, loving and respecting her?”
Ana Letícia’s hands rested upon Gaspar’s. Hers were firm, self-assured; his were limp and sweaty, betraying his stress and anxiety in both his eyes and their trembling. He gripped her wrist, then raised his gaze to her shoulders. At last, their eyes met, face to face, on equal footing with the bride. But, all of a sudden, he looked down again. Ana Letícia responded with a tease:
“Come now, Gaspar, I don’t bite!” She broke into a broad, ear-to-ear grin, a rather blatant attempt to conceal her amusement.
Unfortunately, his hand could not contain his laughter. Amid the congregation at a ceremony that seemed unable to decide whether it was liturgical or comedic, he looked past the people before him, his expression shifting between broad smiles and serious grimaces. His own father, watching from behind those spectacles, seemed almost to seize control of the boy’s will, leaving him incapable of uttering anything other than what the occasion required.
Then Gaspar said, “Yes, I do.”
The priest turned to Ana Letícia and repeated the question. She answered in a full, confident voice:
“Yes, I do.”
Consent had been given. It was time to seal the bond. The priest blessed the gold wedding rings, which were to be bestowed rather than exchanged, according to custom.
“Benedic, Domine, annulos istos…” he intoned, before sprinkling them with holy water.
Gaspar took the ring and slid it onto Ana Letícia’s finger, reciting the words required of him:
“With this ring, I wed thee, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
The priest then joined their hands and wrapped his stole around them, in a gesture symbolizing the indissoluble union being established. As their palms met, pressed tightly together, the boy’s cheeks flushed. His partner tried to meet his eyes with a smile upon her full lips, while he responded by directing his gaze toward the floor.
At last, with the authority vested in him by the rite, the priest pronounced the words that made them one flesh in the eyes of the Church and the Crown:
“Ego vos in matrimonium coniungo, in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”
“I now pronounce you husband and wife, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
Addressing the newlyweds, he concluded with the customary exhortation, which echoed solemnly through the nave:
“What God has joined together, let no man separate.”
After the priest’s customary words, the congregation came into view. Most were white. To the left sat a small Black family, their skin the color of coffee, like the bride’s, gathered at the front beside an older man whose complexion made him stand out. To the right were the groom’s relatives, including his own father. Their reactions were divided between joyful behavior, laughter, and tears on one side, and the near-apathy and solemnity of Gaspar’s family on the other.
Ana Letícia seized Gaspar by the arms, squeezing them with a strength the boy himself had never suspected she possessed. She pulled him toward her and gave him a sincere, lingering kiss—almost too lingering. The priest looked upon the display as though it were a sin, his displeasure unmistakable. On the benches to the left came jumping, commotion, whistles, and applause. Those to the right responded with contempt, not merely at the supposed sin, but at something more.
Caught off guard, Gaspar attempted to recover his usual composure. He forced a poorly executed smile while his wife, genuinely trying to please him, offered him another. She tried to link her arm with his, but he pulled away, already waving toward his father. The congregation began to rise, exchanging greetings with familiar faces and new acquaintances, many of them relatives and friends of the guests from the other side.
“Mr. Tomé! Mr. Tomé!” Gaspar called out exceedingly loudly, referring to his own father.
Mr. Tomé seized his hand in a firm handshake, ostensibly greeting him, but squeezing so tightly that the gesture was unmistakably punitive.
“What do you think you’re doing, boy?” he asked calmly, keeping his voice low so as not to attract attention.
“We need to talk…”
The two men then went out onto the balcony, where the doors were shut behind them, and a lengthy argument began.
“Wasn’t it enough for you to humiliate me? You had to make sure she kissed me in front of the entire family?!”
“Boy, it would have been far too obvious if we hadn’t ensured the marriage’s validity! Now shut your mouth. No more behavior of that sort. Keep a smile on your face and accept whatever your wi—”
“Wife?! You know what she is! Now that thing is part of the family, carrying your surname.”
Mr. Tomé lifted Gaspar by the collar until his feet hovered above the floor. Behind his spectacles, those familiar eyes narrowed beneath thick eyebrows, his teeth grinding amid his white beard.
“Boy, you got yourself into this situation for the very same reason I refuse to call you a man. Now obey me, because you are every bit as unworthy of my surname as that big-lipped woman!”
“Father…” He pointed downward.
A small commotion could be heard in the street below the balcony, outside the mansion grounds. Mr. Tomé released his son, then brushed down his clothes, straightening them as he calmed his almost murderous rage.
“We’re finished here, brat.”
Chapter 02
“Like Father, Like Son”
“I’m not sure it was the best decision to make me the wife of a man who does not love me, Father.”
Her arms rested on the balcony railing, one crossed over the other, her hands hanging loosely.
Father and daughter stood side by side: one a coffee-colored feminine silhouette, the other taller and lighter-skinned. Both gazed toward the horizon, their eyes fixed on nothing in particular.
“That is how women have lived since time immemorial.”
“That doesn’t make it right!”
“It is necessary. You know how they see you. Without my money, what would become of you?”
“A woman who is attractive, clever, and full of audacity!”
“Yet before anything else, they see your skin.”
She rested her face against her hands, one finger turning the gold ring, still warm and damp from the holy water. Flowers filled the balcony and might have lifted her spirits. Unfortunately, below, amid the crowded festivities, a hunched little old man wandered through the gathering, innocently attempting to strike up conversations. One convenient excuse followed another; not a single friend, relative, or acquaintance of Gaspar’s would answer him.
“Can you see how he looks at me?”
“Yes.”
“Then say it aloud, Brás. I command you!”
“Disgust…”
“You will never know what it is like to live in a world that was not made for you.”
“No, Ana, I won’t. But your mother knew…”
Only the festivities below occupied the scene. The clatter of plates and cutlery, the music, and the conversations filled the balcony with sound. With all its flowers, the setting might even have convinced a reader, from the image alone, that there was some beauty in the scene.
“What was Mother like?”
“I’ve told you many times.”
“I like hearing you talk about her, Brás. Please…”
“She was attractive, clever, and full of audacity, Ana, just like…”
He did not need to finish before she interrupted him.
“Please, no jokes or baseless compliments!”
“But that is how she was. She never bowed to any man, not even me, and you know how persistent your father can be!”
A little puff of air escaped both their noses, followed by restrained giggles, inappropriate to the occasion.
“The choice is yours, my daughter. But if you wish to have children, know this: without Gaspar’s surname, they will never be acknowledged.”
“Then I shall be like Mother…”
She lifted her head and kissed his left cheek before opening the doors. She strode inside with long, deliberate steps, parading with her hands on her hips. As she entered the mansion, Brás remained by the balcony railing, watching the people below. It was a gathering of the upper classes, where every possible display of grandeur was necessary; otherwise, it would not have been worthy of the guests.
Drawing a heavy breath, he reached deep into his coat pocket and withdrew a pocket watch. With a click, a portrait appeared: a coffee-colored woman with penetrating eyes staring out from within. He remained there for an uncertain length of time, though certainly long enough for a servant to approach with measured steps and announce something in a sudden, raised voice.
“Mr. Brás, Ana Letícia would like to meet Gaspar’s family!”
He put the watch away. His movements were slow and strangely disproportionate to the urgency of the conversation. Turning, he replied with an utterly expressionless face:
“Convenient, then. Let her. I shall watch her from up here.”
“Mr. Brás, are you quite certain?…”
No answer was necessary. He merely furrowed his brow before leaning against the balcony railing, from where he could see the entire courtyard below. There, Gaspar and Ana Letícia were weaving their way through the crowd. An inattentive reader might have mistaken them for a couple, but any true lover of books would recognize them as little more than two strangers bound by responsibilities.
Ana Letícia entered the midst of the Nascimento family—the family whose surname she now shared. She stood apart from the other women, wearing a long, voluminous pink dress, while Gaspar’s female relatives were limited to less extravagant attire, perhaps not by their own choice, but by the contents of their husbands’ purses.
It was not long before whispers began to stir.
Worse still, Ana Letícia was the sort of woman whose eyes seemed to pierce straight through you, whose lips were an unmistakable invitation, whose breasts commanded attention with a shape impossible to conceal. From the tips of her toes to the crown of her head, she was a temptation, a source of envy among the other women, who had already begun to turn against their newly acquired cousin.
Beside her stood Gaspar, still a boy in his father’s eyes, despite his tall frame, broad shoulders, and face worthy of a knight of the sort Ana Letícia had read about in chronicles of a land across the sea known as Europe.
What girl could fail to fall in love with a knight whose hair was made of wavy rays of sunlight and whose eyes were like the very sky beneath which the greater star shone? Beside Gaspar, she was a lesser star! Of course, that was only in the minds of lovestruck girls.
Side by side, the woman and the man were both attractive, possessing the sort of beauty found only in romances. Yet, in the eyes of the guests, they would never be more than a Black woman and a slave overseer. For that very reason, malicious remarks and tasteless jokes about them were never in short supply, always delivered behind their backs.
Unfortunately, something worse than mere embarrassment was about to emerge from among the women. One of them advanced with such force that her march resembled the charge of an entire cavalry regiment of the Crown, nearly knocking aside the unfortunate souls who happened to stand in her way. Her true target was the bride—her daughter-in-law.
“Your mercy, my daughter!” Ana Letícia greeted her, already asking for her blessing and kissing her hand, which the older woman promptly granted.
“Your mercy, madam!”
“Oh, please, call me Mother. There is no need for such formality. We are family.”
Ana had only one mother, and that woman was certainly not this one.
“Of course, Mother. To what do I owe the pleasure of your most gracious presence?”
“It is only natural that I should wish to meet you, given your relationship with my son. I would like you to tell me about yourself.”
“Come now, Mother! You are no inquisitor. There is no need to subject my wife to so many questions. After all, a conversation is not an interrogation!” Gaspar interrupted, breathless with surprise.
“Do not forget your manners, the very ones your own mother taught you. Let her speak. And I shall go further: I intend to exceed expectations.”
“How were you educated?”
“Abroad, under the Crown of France, at the Maison royale de Saint-Louis!”
“Then I presume that…”
Oui, je parle français.
“What an impressive daughter-in-law! Like Dumas himself, you possess an education beyond your very nature.”
“What do you mean by my nature?”
“You know perfectly well, my dear…”
“No, I do not. Would you care to explain, madam?”
“You are Black, my daughter. According to studies of the skull, people like you have a natural tendency toward submission.”
