December 20-25, 1775
Papa, his shoulders hunched from the cold, shuffled up to Fernanda and her brothers where they huddled together outside the tent. “Fifty cattle are dead,” he said.
“So many?” Fernanda said.
“They were weak and didn’t survive the freezing overnight temperatures. Three more horses are also gone. One of them is Miguel’s.”
Oh, such a beautiful horse. Beautiful, at least, until the journey had ravaged it. And two other horses dead. More people without mounts. More people walking in the snow. Already, she and her family shared only Aletta and one horse. They had all slumped into a heavy lethargy. Had their hopes been buried with the dead animals? Their dreams lost in the flurry of wind and rain and snow? She lifted Ignacio and then peered up at the mountains towering over them. Later that day, they would start the ascent. She held her brother close. For his sake, for all their sakes, she had to hold onto the promise of California.
As she packed the family’s belongings into the trunk, Fernanda rolled her head on her neck, trying to relieve the knot between her shoulder blades. Nicolas and the other soldiers had recovered. For that she could be thankful. Now she had to tell Nicolas she couldn’t marry him. How would she tell him she didn’t love him? How would she explain if they married, they’d both be miserable. He, wanting her to act a certain way, and she, constantly fighting his demands. Get riding out of your system, he’d said at the Yuma horse race. You were born to ride, Miguel had said. She closed the trunk and sighed. As for Miguel… She hadn’t spoken to him since he told his tragic story and left her with Nicolas, almost one week before.
Outside the tent, she said to Papa, “I’ll return shortly.”
“We’ll be leaving soon, mi’ja.”
Fernanda, forcing each heavy dragging step, found Nicolas with the other soldiers saddling his horse. As she approached, her stomach tightened as if she, too, had a saddle cinched around her middle. “Nicolas, can I see you alone?”
Nicolas nodded, finished securing the saddle, and guided Fernanda away from the other soldiers. She could see he tried to walk straight in his soldierly fashion, but his shoulders sagged and his back curved slightly. Yes, he had recovered, his manner still proud, but he was weakened. The journey was changing them all.
“Nicolas, I-I haven’t been honest with you or myself.”
“And how is that, Fernanda?” Nicolas asked quietly.
“I can’t… it wouldn’t be right for me to accept your proposal of marriage.” She put her hand on his arm. “Oh, Nicolas, can you forgive me?”
He stared at her. Then he narrowed his eyes. Stepping backward, he jerked his arm from her touch. “Forgive you? Forgive you for all the months you kept me waiting? Forgive you for all the times you told me, ‘Soon, Nicolas, soon’? I’ve been a fool. An imbecile. I knew this was coming, but I refused to face it because I love you. Forgive you? No, I won’t forgive you!” He swung around, his back to her, his fists tight at his side. After a moment, he again faced her. “I know who stands behind all this.” He spat on the ground. “It’s that yellow dog, that spineless coward, isn’t it? For weeks, I’ve watched how he lurks around you, how his eyes follow you.”
“That’s not true.” But even now, she had no control over the pleasure that coursed through her at the thought of Miguel. “Nicolas, I—” She reached to touch his arm again, but when he stiffened, she dropped her hand. “I’m sorry. Truly. I didn’t mean to deceive you. I-I was so confused about our marriage, if it was the right thing for me, for us. I was searching for something, wanting something else. A different kind of life than my mother’s.”
Nicolas sneered, startling Fernanda with its ugliness. “A different kind of life? What might that be? Your mother led a proud life. I’m sure she’d tell you she had been happy.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. You’re twisting my words. I mean… what I’m trying to say… Oh, you just don’t understand. I want to decide, to choose what’s right for me.”
“You’re right, I don’t understand. You’ve changed. I understood you when you were a young girl—“
“But I haven’t changed. Don’t you see that’s the problem? It was fine for me then to be the precocious one, the adventurous one. Now everyone wants me to change. Prim, proper, the perfect lady. Well, I’m not a perfect lady, and I never will be.”
“No, you won’t!”
Fernanda, shocked, said nothing.
Slowly, the fury relaxed from Nicolas’s face. “It’s true, Fernanda, you were an impetuous child, and I indulged you. When you became a woman, I did want you to act a certain way. But things have changed. I’ve changed. I won’t treat you that way anymore.”
He seemed so sincere, but she knew in time their life would fall into the routine of military life. He would have certain expectations of her. Expectations she wouldn’t be able to fulfill.
Nicolas took her hand between his two. “I do love you. I can give you a good life, security.”
She didn’t want to marry simply for security. “I love you, Nicolas. But not in the way you wish. You must believe I’m doing the right thing, for us both.”
Nicolas dropped her hand. “I don’t believe you’re doing the right thing. But apparently I won’t change your mind.” His face and lips were pale. ”I hope you don’t live to regret this, Fernanda.”
Hurt shadowed his eyes, but Fernanda saw other emotions that mirrored her own: sadness and regret, memories of the past, speculation about the future. Such twists and turns life presented. People take different paths, sometimes knowingly, sometimes not. A turn here, a turn there, and a life is changed forever.
****
Later that day, the colonists threaded their way through a narrow mountain pass that had captured the coldest of the icy air. Though Fernanda’s fingers and toes seemed numb and lifeless, they ached with a raw pain. “At least there’s no snow,” she muttered.
“Wh-what, Nanda?” Ignacio’s teeth chattered.
“Nothing, sweet brother. Just think of the warm fire we’ll have later.”
And soon after, Captain Anza called for them to halt in a dry gully not far from a meager spring. While Papa, Luis, and Antonio set up the tent, Fernanda took the other boys and Tomása with her to collect firewood. She gave Ignacio and Tomása the important job of gathering kindling.
They had almost as much as they could carry and were about to turn back, when two Indian women appeared above them, each carrying a basket. The colonists had passed through a few small villages, and the Indians either fled or stayed hidden, so it was a surprise to see these women so close. The children stared up at them, and the women froze like deer confronted by hunters. They dropped their baskets and scurried back up the mountain.
“Let’s see what’s in their baskets,” Marcos said, and he and Jorge ran ahead. Fernanda followed, holding Ignacio’s and Tomása’s hands. The two boys peered into the baskets, and their faces drooped with disappointment.
“No dead rabbits,” Jorge said.
“Just some seeds and berries,” Fernanda said. “Such scant bits of food. We’ll leave them here. I’m sure the women will return once we’re gone.”
On the way back to camp, Fernanda decided she’d share some of their food with the Indians. When they returned to camp, she raced to her tent, scooped some beans into her bundled rebozo, and ran back to where the women had been. She tiptoed up the slope and dropped a few handfuls of beans into each basket.
She gazed up the mountain, hoping the women would return before dark. Just as she was leaving, a movement caught her eye. Climbing up the rocky hillside was Miguel. She stopped herself from calling out his name. Why was he heading in the direction of the village? A hot flame of jealousy seared her lungs as she wondered if he’d found another woman to care for. She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter to her. But with an empty feeling inside, she headed back to camp.
****
The following morning, Fernanda woke and rubbed her eyes. Oh, it was so cold. She burrowed under her blanket, snuggled closer to Ignacio, and whispered, “Wake up, little brother. It’s Christmas.”
Ignacio’s eyes widened. “I forgot.” He hopped up from the bedroll and clapped his hands. “Piñata!” Small white clouds puffed from his mouth.
“No piñata today, Nacio.” No lighted candles, or ringing mission bells, or sugared cakes fried in fat. “But we can still celebrate.” Before Fernanda left the tent, she pulled out her new rebozo, thinking that was one way she could make the day special.
Outside, gray clouds covered the sky, and patches of fog hovered here and there around the campsite. Feliciana and Micaela already had the fire blazing.
“Feliz Navidad,” Fernanda said.
“Merry Christmas,” the women replied.
Micaela said, “Captain Anza distributed an extra ration of chocolate for the holiday. We can have hot cocoa with our breakfast.”
Tomása had come out of her tent, and she and Ignacio held hands, dancing about and shouting, “Choc’late. Feliz Navidad!”
“Not only that, niños,” Feliciana said. “Cinnamon and sugar to sprinkle on our tortillas. What a feast we’ll have this morning.”
Soon they were all sitting around the fire, savoring each sip of cocoa, each bite of the sweetened tortillas. Across the circle, Miguel kept eying her, then, when she looked his way, darting his eyes in another direction. His entire body appeared tight and tense as if he concealed some secret. Was it about the woman he’d visited up the mountain? As she drank the last drop of her cocoa, some of her joy drained away with it.
After she helped clean up, Fernanda walked back to the tent. Footsteps pounded behind her, and there was Miguel, shuffling at her side, saying, “Feliz Navidad.”
“Feliz Navidad,” Fernanda murmured.
“It was a delicious breakfast, no?” Miguel cast his eyes at the ground, at the trees, anywhere except Fernanda.
“Yes, delicious.”
Miguel touched her arm. “Fernanda, please stop for a moment. I know you’re angry with me. I-I’ve thought much about that night and what you said.”
He cupped her elbow, leading her away from camp. She saw Ignacio with his brothers, so she walked with Miguel.
She couldn’t deny the feeling his presence gave her, how her heart beat a little faster, pulsing in her neck, spreading warmth to her chest and her face.
But why was he so nervous?
“First,” he said, “there’s something I must explain.”
Here it comes, Fernanda thought. Picturing him with another woman, her legs suddenly felt heavy as if she wore iron skillets for shoes, and she stopped walking.
“I have… I had such fury inside me after Hahth and my parents died,” Miguel continued. “I needed someone to blame, so I blamed all soldiers for their deaths.”
Fernanda lifted her head, listening more closely to his words.
“You see, I-I didn’t tell you everything. The soldiers hadn’t been ordered to raid the village, and their superiors punished them. I’m sorry I lied to you.”
“Miguel, you lost your parents and-and Hahth. I can understand your anger.”
“Yes, when it happened. But later, I didn’t handle it well. I hurt others, including my sister. I was a coward.” His eyes showed disgust, obviously now directed at himself.
“Don’t speak that way. You suffered a horrible tragedy.”
“I only wish I was as brave as you.”
“Me? I am not brave! And look at the courage it took for you to tell me what happened.” She couldn’t look at Miguel. “No, I’m not brave. I’ve held a secret inside, too, but it’s worse, much worse.”
“You can trust me, Fernanda,” Miguel said gently.
“It… it happened the day before my mother died.” A damp coldness invaded her body. She felt ill and weak as she remembered that day. If she told, she’d surely be sick. And what would Miguel think of her bravery then?
“What happened?” he asked, his voice still soft.
“My mother and I had a terrible fight. I went to bed angry, refusing to speak to her. Then that last morning, she was so nice to me, and I—“ she spoke through her tears “—I let her leave without giving her a smile, without speaking a kind word. I’ll never, ever be able to fix that.”
“You must believe your mother knew how much you loved her.”
“Yes, I do believe it. But there are so many things I should have said to Mama. There’s so much I should have learned about her. Now it’s too late.”
Miguel clutched her hands. “Listen. This is what else I wanted to tell you. I believe I found someone who knows the story of your mother and great-grandmother.”
For one second, Fernanda stopped breathing. Miguel’s words roared through her head. He tightened his grasp on her hands as she stumbled backward. “What? What did you say?”
“I went up the mountain yesterday and found a village. An old woman lives there. She’s Pima. She must have come here years ago, perhaps married into this tribe. She speaks the Pima language clearly. I can take you to her if you will come.”
“Yes, please,” Fernanda said, dizzy with disbelief and hope. “Please take me.”