November 3-16, 1775
An unexpected heavy rain fell as the colonists set out the next morning. Fernanda hunched inside her rebozo, but the water soaked through the cotton and trickled down her neck. She shivered. At least with the rains back home, she’d had the dry adobe hut to escape the downpour. Now there was nowhere to go except forward, slowly plodding forward. How she longed to gallop ahead, to leave the others to their sluggish march. Even if she dared, it wasn’t possible because, like all the saddle animals, Aletta took slow unsure steps through the slippery soil. She patted the mule. “You haven’t had a good meal in days, but don’t worry. Captain Anza said there will be plenty of grass at the lagunas.”
But when they reached the lakes, Fernanda plucked a handful of grass from the salt-caked soil, and then let the blades fall to the ground. “Galletas,” she said. “Crackers, Aletta. That’s your sorry dinner. Grass as salty, stiff, and dry as galletas.” She draped her arms around the mule’s neck. “Oh, mi mula. We’re tired, aren’t we? Tired of heat and dust and rain. Tired of tasteless food or food not fit to eat. Your poor bones are beginning to show, and probably mine, too, no?” She sighed and petted the animal’s coarse hair. “Well, eat and drink what you will before we return to camp.”
As the mule sucked up water at the lake’s edge, Fernanda noticed the cloudy water and decided not to fill her own bucket. Back at camp, she told Papa about the unclean water.
“The lake water is probably fine for the animals,” Papa said. “But I think we should drink from the river.”
Fernanda called to Luis and the rábanos, “Help me carry water from the river to our camp. We can’t drink the lake water.”
The rábanos protested. Luis simply ignored her.
“Muchachos, help your sister,” Papa commanded. “Now!”
Fernanda marched to the river and, seeing the boys shuffling behind her, snapped, “Hurry, will you? You should help without Papa ordering you.”
“You’re not my mother,” Marcos shouted. “Don’t tell me what to do!”
“That’s right,” Antonio said. “Do you think you’re a sergeant commanding his troops?”
“Fine,” Fernanda yelled back. “You can look after yourselves. See who will cook your meals and wait on you like a slave.”
Luis crossed his arms and made a sound, “Pffff. You think we’ll suffer without your cooking?”
All the weeks of resentment that had been building inside her exploded, slamming her heart against her chest. “Oh, that’s easy for you to say when you sit like a king on his throne waiting to be served. I’ve tried my best, but none of you care. Always it’s the same. I do the chores. You do nothing. Well, I’m tired of caring for you, for all of you. Tired, do you hear? Tired!” She stamped her foot, and then stomped on. Yes, she had to remain strong; they could whine and complain. It simply wasn’t fair. If only she could be free of them, free of them all so she could live her own life as she pleased without their whining and demands, without all the rules about what was correct behavior and what was not, without this rebozo tied around her head. Yes, why must she cover her head? So her skin wouldn’t darken? So she appeared to be a proper lady? She yanked the shawl off her head and jerked around. Were they coming to help, or would she have to—?
“I want Mama,” Jorge wailed. Tears trailed down his face.
Fernanda ran to Jorge and wrapped her arms around his thin body, his shoulder blades like fragile bird wings poking her arms. How could she be so cruel? They were all trying to adjust to life without Mama. She wasn’t the only one tired and hungry and wondering when would they ever reach California. She was the oldest, after all, and they relied on her. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking at her other brothers over Jorge’s shoulder. “I know we all miss Mama.” She pulled Antonio and Marcos into her embrace.
“We’re sorry, too, Nanda,” Antonio said.
Luis gently tugged her braid. “Your cooking’s getting much better, Nanda.”
Marcos nodded against her shoulder. “The tortillas weren’t so dry last night.”
Fernanda kissed Marcos’s forehead. “Hopefully they’ll be even better tonight.” Then she held Jorge’s hand and said, “Come, who will be the first to reach the river?”
The boys whooped, and, laughing and yelling, Fernanda and her brothers raced across the field and down the bank to the river.
****
The next morning, Fernanda found Aletta with a bloated stomach. Other animals’ bellies had also swelled, and when some of the colonists fell ill, Captain Anza decided the culprit was the salty lake water. He ordered everyone to drink only river water, and all day there was a constant stream of men, women, and children hauling water from the river for themselves and the animals.
Nicolas broke away from his duties to help Fernanda and the boys bring water to their camp. Once, when he and Fernanda were alone at the river, he pulled her into his arms and leaned toward her for a kiss. Fernanda closed her eyes, thinking, Perhaps this time I’ll have the feelings Feliciana spoke of. But before their lips met, she heard voices, and both she and Nicolas turned to see several people tramping down the bank carrying buckets. One of them was Miguel. He stopped abruptly.
Fernanda pushed out of Nicolas’s embrace, and his face became rigid, a sharp question in his eyes.
Fernanda ducked her head, feeling her face flush. “Not in front of the others.”
Nicolas stared at her for a moment, and then his cheeks became mottled with red, and he glared at Miguel.
Miguel, with Gloria behind him, continued toward the river. Gloria paused to speak to Fernanda. “Miguel’s horse is sick. We quit watering both our horses at the lake.”
“Aletta was sick this morning, but I think she’ll be okay,” Fernanda said. She glanced at Miguel, who had also stopped. She regretted how she’d reacted when she’d seen him. She’d pushed away from Nicolas almost without thinking. Almost. And now she wanted to sweep the thought from her mind — that she’d done it so Miguel wouldn’t see her in Nicolas’s arms. “I’m sure your horse will be better soon. He’s a strong animal.” She spoke to Miguel deliberately using a tone she would with any colonist whose animal was ill.
Miguel’s eyes slid from her to Nicolas, the slightest curl of disgust on his lips. “We’ll see. Let’s get our water, Gloria.”
Fernanda felt the sting of Miguel’s look as if he had slapped her. It had happened again. The caring man from only two days before had become a hateful, self-righteous… Then her shock suddenly changed to anger. How dare he judge her? Huh! He thought himself so above the others, so superior to them all.
As Miguel and Gloria walked away, Fernanda glanced at Nicolas. For once it seemed they were of like minds about Miguel, both directing furious looks at his retreating back.
****
The travelers christened the campsite Laguna del Hospital. Three horses died, and the muleteers worked the entire day to drag and bury the horses away from camp. Fernanda busied herself near the tent, not wanting to see the dead horses. Her brothers, though, eagerly watched the event. Santa Maria! She would never understand boys.
On the fourth day, Captain Anza, worried about the possibility of snow in the mountains, ordered the settlers to pack, and they moved on. The rain stopped and the wind returned. Fernanda used her rebozo to shield herself and Ignacio from the stinging sand that blasted them from all sides. The dust swirled into clouds so thick she couldn’t see two horses in front of her. Next to her, riders and horses bent their heads as they plodded forward.
They made little progress, and Captain Anza halted the train. After one night’s rest, they set off again. The wind abated, and the captain pushed them into a grueling march of twenty leagues in two days, almost three times what they normally traveled. Fernanda’s body had toughened after weeks of riding. And though she’d lost weight, her thigh muscles were stronger and harder. But when they finally stopped to make camp on the bank of the Gila River, and she climbed off Aletta, she cringed at the pain in her stiff legs and her aching bottom.
With grit still crunching between her teeth and grime covering her like an extra layer of clothing, Fernanda said to Feliciana and Micaela, “Let’s see what the river looks like.” The other women carried the babies while Fernanda herded Ignacio, Tomása, and Micaela’s daughter, Gregoria, down to the river.
When Fernanda saw the flowing water, she said, “We can certainly bathe in this. The women here, and the men… I’ll be right back.” She ran down the beach, around a bend, and then dashed back to the others. “There’s another pool where the men can bathe.”
“I’ll tell the others,” Micaela said, and she climbed back up the riverbank.
Fernanda pulled off her sandals and sprinted into the water, clothes and all. She dove into a pool and then burst up gasping for breath. “Freezing!” she yelled. She’d brought Miguel’s kerchief and quickly rinsed it, scrubbing out the tiny splotch of dried blood. Back on shore, she peeled off her dripping bodice, blouse, and skirt, draped them over an arrow weed bush along with the kerchief, and then unbraided her hair.
“You’re going back in?” Feliciana asked.
“Yes, it’s glorious! Cold, but I don’t care. At least it will numb my sore muscles.” Fernanda splashed back into the river, feeling lighter in just her petticoat and chemise. Ducking below the surface, she scrubbed her scalp. Her dark hair swirled around her face. Her arms glowed with a pale green tint. Just like, just like Mama on that horrible day… her flowing hair mingled with blood… her ghostly skin… her unseeing eyes…
Fernanda launched herself toward shore and crawled out, gasping.
“Fernanda!” Feliciana said. “Are you all right?”
Fernanda nodded. “The river… it’s just… I remembered…” She glanced at Ignacio and murmured, “My mother.”
“Pobrecita.” Feliciana wrapped Fernanda’s rebozo around her shoulders.
Fernanda clutched the shawl at her throat. “Thank you.”
Ignacio watched her with troubled eyes.
Ignacio relies on my strength, she thought. He can’t see me distressed. She hugged him, saying, “It’s Feliciana’s turn, and then you’re next!”
Fernanda held Estaquia while Feliciana, hollering, ran into the river. She soon came out, plopped next to Fernanda, and took Estaquia from her. “Does my little one care for a bath?”
The baby wailed, and the women laughed.
Micaela returned, followed by a trail of women and girls. “I’ll help Tomása, Gregoria, and Ignacio bathe,” she said, and she led the children down to the river.
The men’s shouts and splashing floated around the bend in the river.
“They sound as if they’re enjoying themselves,” Fernanda said.
“Oh, ho,” Feliciana said, winking. “What a sight that must be.”
“Feliciana! Perhaps we shouldn’t consider such a sight.”
“Come now. You’ve certainly seen your share of naked men on this journey. For an unmarried woman, you’re getting quite a lesson on the male anatomy.”
“True. I have to admit I’m almost accustomed to the naked Indians.” Fernanda poked her toes in the sand. “Feliciana?”
Feliciana lay on the sand with Estaquia sleeping soundly on top of her, her own eyes closed. “Hmmm?”
“I was wondering… Well, I wondered… I-my mother spoke of marrying my father at fourteen. A frightened girl, she said, but still a woman. Mama was not one to speak of-of physical love. But I knew that’s what she meant. I wonder, sometimes, well, about…”
Feliciana regarded Fernanda, her face friendly and encouraging. “Why is it improper to speak of a natural loving occurrence between a man and a woman?”
“Well, I’ve certainly been told many times I’m not a proper lady.”
“So, you’re wondering if physical love, sexual relations, is frightening, my improper Potra?”
Fernanda’s face burned. “I never thought I’d be scared. It’s just — I’m wondering what’s it like between a husband and wife.”
“Some women speak of pain the first time, but if there is, it’s brief.” Feliciana’s voice became soft and dreamy. “It’s the most beautiful experience in the world. There’s the physical pleasure, yes. And what incredible pleasure it is. Better than anything. Better than… chocolate!”
Fernanda laughed. “For me, perhaps, it will be better than riding a horse, because that’s the most pleasurable thing I can imagine.”
“Yes, that’s a good way to define it: better than the best thing you can imagine.”
Fernanda scooped up a handful of sand and let it sift over her toes. She loved Feliciana for treating her as an equal, for not laughing at her questions, for being someone with whom she could discuss such matters.
“But,” Feliciana continued, “it’s more than just physical pleasure. To be so close to the one you love, to share that love between you, to — for those glorious moments — become as one. That’s the real essence of making love.” She paused for a moment, and then said softly, “That’s how it was for me and my beloved José.”
Fernanda touched her friend’s arm. “Oh, Feliciana, you must miss him so.”
“Yes.” She caressed Estaquia. “I do. So much. I’m grateful I had such a love, if even for a short time.” She held Fernanda’s hand. “I wish that happiness for you, too, Potra.”
Will I have such a love with Nicolas? Fernanda wondered. Or…?
Gloria scampered down the bank. Ramona followed and, standing near a bush, began to remove her outer clothes and unbraid her hair while talking with some women. Fernanda envied Ramona’s beautiful figure and the reddish highlights in her dark hair that caught the sun and made it shine in spite of days without washing. Unlike Fernanda’s black hair, now lank and dripping down her chest and back. She was glad the men could not see them.
“Gloria,” Fernanda said when the girl approached. “You should bathe. It feels wonderful.”
“Perhaps,” Gloria murmured. She removed her skirt and blouse, laid them neatly on the ground, and tiptoed into the river. With a yelp, she scurried backward. “Oh, it’s cold!” Then she tried again, wincing as she stepped on the small river rocks. She quickly dunked her lower body into the water, squealed, and hobbled over the rocks back to shore.
Fernanda joined her at the water’s edge and began to unravel Gloria’s long braid. “Let me wash your hair, Gloria. I promise you’ll not regret it.”
After some protests, Gloria bent her head into the water. Fernanda scrubbed the dirt from her hair, dark and flowing like her own.
Gloria pulled her head out of the water. “The cold makes my head ache, but you’re right. It does feel good.”
“We’ll be clean and beautiful.” She raised her voice toward Feliciana. “The men will have someone else to look at besides Feliciana.”
Feliciana rolled her eyes, and Gloria giggled. She and Fernanda sat on the shore, and Fernanda began to untangle Gloria’s hair.
“I’ll try not to pull too hard,” Fernanda said. “When we go back, I’ll get my comb.”
As Fernanda worked on Gloria’s hair, a warm blush colored Gloria’s cheeks. “It’s as if we’re sisters,” she said.
Fernanda hugged Gloria. Ever since she was little, and brother after brother was born, she had wished for a sister. Perhaps, at least for the journey, she and Gloria could be sisters.
Micaela came back with the children, and Ignacio ran to Fernanda, squatted, and played with the top Gloria had given him.
“My brother loves the top,” Fernanda said. “I hope it wasn’t too precious to part with.”
“My father made it for me,” Gloria said, watching Ignacio try to spin it on the pebbly ground. “I have others. He made many toys for me, but I had to leave them behind.”
“I’m sorry. Your father must have been so talented and loved you dearly.”
Gloria stared at the ground and nodded.
“I can see your brother loves you, too.”
Gloria’s face softened. “He does. But he treats me like a baby. He wanted me to ask if you would watch me here at the river.”
Since leaving Laguna del Hospital, she’d barely spoken to Miguel, but then most of the colonists, braced against the terrible weather and strenuous march, had kept to themselves. Still, she was surprised he wanted Gloria with her after the look he’d given her by the river when he’d seen her with Nicolas.
“I’ve noticed he is overprotective, to say the least. If he were my brother, he’d learn soon enough he couldn’t control me.”
Fernanda was hoping to make her smile again, but Gloria just shrugged and helped Ignacio spin the top.
Poor Gloria. What had happened to her parents? Whatever it was, Miguel obviously felt obligated to protect her — to the extreme, although he didn’t seem the type to follow rules or rigid discipline. Why had he approved of her trousers, but appeared disgusted when he saw her in Nicolas’s arms? Why did he say he was tired of fighting, but seemed filled with a rage he could barely control? Why was he full of such contradictions, and why did she care?
****
Later, back at camp, Fernanda and Gloria sat next to the fire and finished drying their hair. With her cow-horn comb, Fernanda removed the tangles from Gloria’s hair then braided it. Gloria insisted on doing the same for Fernanda. Sitting with her back to Gloria, the fire warmed Fernanda as Gloria combed her hair. Her eyes were half-closed. She felt drowsy and content.
Gloria said, “Before I braid it, I have a surprise for you. I’ll be right back.”
Moments later, Fernanda heard footsteps. She lazily opened her eyes, expecting to see Gloria. Instead, Miguel approached. A breeze had picked up, and it pressed his billowing shirt against his broad chest, showing his muscles through the soft cotton. Fernanda realized the better she knew Miguel, the more handsome he was in her eyes.
Fernanda tilted her head toward the fire to hide the blush she knew was there. She ran her fingers through her hair to finish drying it. “Gloria just ran off, but she’ll return in a minute.”
Miguel squatted next to the fire. “Thank you for watching her today.”
He seemed to have forgotten her embrace with Nicolas. His face was softened by the fire and a gentle smile.
“She’s so sweet,” Fernanda said. “I truly enjoy her…”
Miguel stared at her as if entranced by her movements. He had pushed back loose strands of hair from his face, leaving his hand in his hair as he cocked his head to look at her. It was a gesture he did often, and it always warmed her like a cup of sweet cocoa.
With his look, she had stopped combing her hair, and he said, “Don’t stop. Your hair… it’s beautiful in the firelight. With it loose, I can see the Pima ancestry in you.”
Warmth flushed her face. “I’d be happy to have just a small bit of my mother’s beauty,” Fernanda murmured. “And I hope to have her wisdom someday, too.”
Miguel leaned toward her. “Fernanda, don’t you realize you have a beauty and a wisdom all your own?”
His words filled her head. Mama, Papa, Nicolas, everyone it seemed, had told her she did things wrong, she should be better, she should act like a proper woman.
Why, just days before, she had vowed once more to try harder. But she failed and failed and failed. She did want to be more like Mama and the other women, but was it only guilt and shame that propelled her? Perhaps… perhaps she didn’t have to change? Perhaps how she acted, what she wanted from life wasn’t wrong. Could what Miguel said be true?
She remembered the kerchief she’d brought up from the river, now dry and folded, and handed it to him. “I meant to return it sooner.”
As Miguel took the kerchief, his fingers grazed hers. Fernanda’s breath shortened with surprise that his brief touch could cause her heart to beat so rapidly. Flustered, she playfully tugged on the kerchief. Miguel grinned and tugged back, and Fernanda tightened her hold. They both laughed, and when Gloria ran up, Fernanda let Miguel take it.
Gloria’s hands were hidden behind her back. “I have a present for Fernanda,” she told her brother. She danced in front of Fernanda. “Pick a hand, pick a hand!”
Fernanda pointed, and Gloria swung her arm out from behind her back. She held a silky green ribbon embroidered with gold, fancier than any Captain Anza had distributed.
“It’s beautiful, Gloria,” Fernanda said. “But far too precious. I can’t accept it.”
“I have others. Please, I do want to give it to you.”
“Thank you.” Fernanda bent her head while Gloria scooped up her hair and tied it with the ribbon. She peeked through her eyelashes at Miguel. He still watched her, and his face still wore that warm soft look, a look that heated her inside and out more than any fire could.