Chapter Sixteen


December 25, 1775

Fernanda followed Miguel past the rocks where the Indian women had dropped their baskets. As they climbed, the slope got steeper.

Miguel reached toward her. “Come,” he said. “Take my hand.”

Her dream. Again! And there truly was an old woman awaiting her on top of the mountain. Not her great-grandmother as she had suspected, but another woman who might know the truth about her mother’s past. She grabbed Miguel’s hand. He pulled her up onto a boulder, and then they hopped down onto a path that wound farther up the mountain.

It’s easy from here,” Miguel said. “Just a short distance.”

They walked on, and Fernanda stared straight ahead, watching for the first sign of the village. What if the woman didn’t know her mother after all? What if she did? What if it were true, that Great-grandmother had abandoned Mama in the desert?

Miguel pointed ahead. “There’s the village.”

Fernanda breathed deeply, but she couldn’t unravel the knot in her stomach. She followed Miguel into a meadow dotted with four huts similar to those of the Pimas and Yumas. They walked past a family — a woman building a fire, a man skinning a rabbit, and two children chasing each other around the boulders and bushes. The children stopped their game to stare at the strangers. Miguel nodded at the adults. They eyed Fernanda then returned to their work.

Miguel stopped near the small door of a hut and called out in the Pima language.

A woman’s shaky voice answered.

Miguel squatted, waved to Fernanda, and they crawled through the blanket-covered opening.

A small pile of red coals smoldered in the center of the round hut. Light filtered through the sides of the brush walls. As Fernanda’s eyes adjusted to the shadowy interior, she saw the old woman lying on a blanket cushioned with leaves. Like the old woman in the dream, her loose white hair streamed over her shoulders and across the blanket. She gestured limply toward the floor, indicating they should sit. Fernanda and Miguel sat on the dirt floor, facing her across the fire.

The woman pushed herself up, sat cross-legged, and pulled the frayed blanket around her legs. She tugged another blanket over the grass shawl that covered her shoulders and breasts. Miguel spoke to her, and Fernanda recognized her mother’s Pima name, Heosig, and her great-grandmother’s name, Suhna. He gestured toward Fernanda, and the old woman peered at her as if she could see into her mind and deep into her soul. Fernanda rubbed her arms and inched closer to the coals.

You may address her as Sikul — Great-great-grandmother — if you wish,” Miguel told Fernanda.

Then Sikul began to speak.

She kept her eyes on Fernanda, and when Miguel interpreted, Fernanda understood Sikul addressed her directly. The old woman’s gentle voice and the musical sounds of the Pima language enveloped Fernanda, and she felt as if she and Sikul were alone in the dusky hut.

At the time when your mother, Heosig, was a small girl, she, her mother Marsatû, and many of our people lived at the mission among the Black Robes. Heosig was known by Pimas throughout the area not only for the mystery of the flower on her face, but for her beauty, kind spirit, and diligence. Even at an early age, she won many hearts.”

Fernanda held her arms close to her waist, hugging the excitement that rippled through her body.

“We went to the mission,” Sikul said, “for protection against Apache warriors, for livestock and meat, for seeds and the land to cultivate them. We learned to use their plows and hoes, their sickles and saws. Some chose to live in the olas-ki of our ancestors, and built the round huts near the mission. But others, heeding the priests’ wishes that we live like the white man, built adobe dwellings and wore the trousers and petticoats the priests gave us.”

Fernanda imagined Mama at the mission, a young Pima girl, uncomfortable in her new confining clothes, just as Captain Palma had tugged at the soldier’s uniform.

Sikul went on. “For all this, the Black Robes asked for nothing in return except that we learn about their God, their heaven and hell, their Christianity. We were in awe of their God’s power and the Black Robes’ ceremonies. Some of our men were given scepters with silver knobs and flowing ribbons. Although they had no authority with the Pimas, it was through these men that the priests administered their laws.” Sikul’s blanket slipped. With knobby, thick-veined hands, she tugged it back over her shoulders then continued.

The Black Robes enticed our children with gifts their mothers and fathers couldn’t give. Parents went to the mission to claim back their children. Once there, many decided to stay.”

That must be what Papa meant when he spoke of ploys, Fernanda thought.

“There were those,” Sikul said, “who didn’t want to follow the ways of the Black Robes’ God. They lived their lives as the Pimas had always lived, under the eyes of the gods Elder Brother and Earth Doctor. Your great-grandmother, Suhna, was one of those. Even though it meant she wouldn’t be with Heosig and Marsatû, she refused to live at the mission or to accept the priests’ God.”

Fernanda clasped her hands tightly in her lap at the mention of her great-grandmother’s name. Now she would learn the truth.

“Some days,” Sikul continued, “Suhna came to the mission to visit, and other days she brought Heosig to the village to teach her Pima songs and other traditions. In this way, your mother split her heart between two worlds: the mission and the Pima village.

As time went on, some at the mission became discontented. They began to denounce the priests, the soldiers, the white man’s leaders. We were being mistreated, they said. We were the Black Robes’ slaves, they told us. We at the mission listened with our ears and then with our hearts. Yes, some things they said were true. We were forced to plant the fields even when we didn’t want to. Children were dying from the white man’s diseases. Women and men were being punished with lashings. Sons lost respect for their fathers who were forced to do women’s work.”

Fernanda’s mind buzzed with confusion at Sikul’s words. The missions were helpful to the Indians, weren’t they? They provided food and protection. Her mother had never said a bad word about the missions or the priests.

“And one day…” Sikul raised her voice, as if to interrupt Fernanda’s thoughts. “And one day, we rose up against the Black Robes.” The coals on the fire shifted. The old woman continued, her voice now raspy. “There was a terrible war. Blood covered the land, flowing from the jagged wounds of musket shots and the piercings of a thousand arrows.”

Fernanda dug her fingers into her thighs.

Black Robes died. White people died. Pimas died. Marsatû died.”

Harder, harder Fernanda gripped her legs, pressing deep into her muscles, hoping, somehow, the pain might keep her from feeling the horror of Sikul’s story. Poor Mama, her father already dead at the hands of the Apaches, and now her mother also killed so brutally. But what about the Apaches? “Miguel, ask her about the Apaches. Mama told us her mother was killed by Apaches. Were they there?”

Miguel questioned Sikul then reached for Fernanda’s hand and said gently, “No Apaches fought at the mission. Just Pimas and soldiers. The priests must have told your mother Apaches killed Marsatû.”

Fernanda’s mind flashed with images of the soldiers on the expedition, of their muskets and ten-foot-long lances, of Nicolas gripping his sword… Her friends. Her neighbors. They had killed her grandmother. How could they?

Wait, what was she thinking? Of course those soldiers hadn’t killed Grandmother. She moaned. She’d been so angry with Miguel for blaming all soldiers for his parents’ and Hahth’s deaths. Now she was doing the same. She dropped her head into her hands and silently cried.

Sikul was still talking. “New white rulers signed a treaty with our leaders, and we returned to the mission. The Black Robes took Heosig in with the other orphans. Suhna came to claim her—” The old woman hacked and clutched the blanket around her throat. “—came to claim Heosig to raise her as a true Pima. The priests refused to let her go. So Suhna devised a plan, and on a dark moonless night, she stole your mother away.”

Fernanda jerked her head up, all her attention now on Sikul.

The Black Robes, with the help of the soldiers, found Heosig and brought her back to the mission. All we knew is what the priests told us: the heathen Suhna had abandoned your mother in the desert. And that’s what young Heosig was brought up to believe.”

Fernanda’s body tensed, and she leaned toward the old woman. It’s not true, she wanted to shout. Tell me it’s not true.

Time passed.” Sikul’s voice had lowered. “Like all of us at the mission, Heosig lived her life under the influence of the Black Robes. Each day carried us further away from our Pima traditions. Then one day, a white man came to the mission. Love grew between him and Heosig. He took her away to be his wife. That’s all I know of your mother.” The hand clenching the blanket at her throat shook, and she closed her eyes.

Fernanda stared at the pile of coals, now covered in a layer of ash. The room had dimmed and cooled without their warmth. Her head throbbed with the weight of her disappointment. So, it was true after all. Great-grandmother had left Mama, alone, afraid, in the desert. What Fernanda had felt inside, about her mother and great-grandmother, were those all lies? She couldn’t trust her deepest feelings? She dropped her chin to her hollow, aching chest. Now what would she do?

Miguel touched her knee. “Fernanda, are you listening?”

Sikul’s gravelly voice had continued. “As for Suhna—“

Fernanda slowly raised her head.

“—we hadn’t seen her for many years. She suddenly came to the mission at the time of the saguaro harvest festival. She wished to bring Heosig to the village celebration. When Suhna learned your mother was gone, and we couldn’t tell her where she now lived, her face withered and dried before our eyes like the molted skin of a snake. We asked her about the time she stole Heosig, and if it were true she had abandoned her in the desert. Suhna’s eyes sparked, and she told us what the Black Robes had not: the priests and soldiers had ridden into the village and demanded the return of Heosig. Suhna had refused. The chief and village council, to avoid confrontation with the Spanish soldiers, forced Suhna to let your mother go. The priests and the council forbade her to visit Heosig, and that’s why she stayed away those many years. After Suhna told us this story, she returned to the village. We watched her ride away with sorrow as her dark companion, her back surrendering to its weight. That’s the last we saw of your great-grandmother. I believe her soul has gone to Morning Base.”

Fernanda raised her hand to her lips. All those years Mama had renounced her Pima past. All those years she believed a horrible lie about her beloved grandmother. Oh, if only she could tell Mama what she knew. That Great-grandmother truly loved her. That she didn’t desert her. That she'd come back for her.

But then Fernanda closed her eyes, and a smile spread through her. Mama did know, for surely she and Great-grandmother were reunited. And Fernanda had given Mama the gift she had promised her the night before the journey began. A gift to Mama and Great-grandmother, a gift of truth so they could have peace and love between them forever.

Fernanda said to Sikul, “Thank you. I thank you with all my heart for this knowledge.”

Sikul nodded. There was no need for Miguel to translate.

“I-I have one more favor to ask, if I may,” Fernanda said. “I’d like to know my name as it’s spoken in the Pima language.”

“Your name can’t be directly translated,” Miguel said. “The Pimas take their names from something they like. For instance flower, sky, river.”

“Oh.” Fernanda played with the end of her braid. Of course! She’d pick horse for her name. Then she remembered how her mother’s face would light up whenever she saw the colorful moths at night or the butterflies during the day. Yes, butterflies were light and free and beautiful, and they had made her mother smile. “Butterfly. Please tell Sikul I’d like my Pima name to be Butterfly.”

When Miguel translated, Sikul nodded and said, “Yâkimali.”

Yâkimali,” Fernanda repeated. Then slowly, enjoying how her mouth formed the word. “Yâkimali.”

They stood to leave. Miguel placed some wood on the coals, and soon orange flames flickered around the small logs. Fernanda said, “Oh, we should give her something. To thank her.”

Miguel looked around, as if hoping to find some gift lying on the ground. “We have nothing to give her.”

His words echoed her own the night Aqwaq had given her the necklace. She fingered the shell at her neck. She’d told herself she had nothing to give in return. But she did that night, and she did now. Her new rebozo. Her beautiful rebozo with its fine embroidery and golden fringe. Her rebozo that she should have given to Aqwaq. What better gift to present to this woman who had given her the truth about Mama and Great-grandmother. “Yes, Miguel, we have something for Sikul.” She walked around the fire and, squatting next to the old woman, slipped the shawl from her shoulders and wrapped it around Sikul.

Sikul stroked it with her gnarled hands. Then she rested her palm, dry and rough like a piece of bark, against Fernanda’s cheek. “Yâkimali,” she said, her voice hoarse from her storytelling. She said more words, and Miguel translated.

I see the spirits of Suhna and Heosig live in your soul. Because you sought the truth, their journey has finally ended. For you, another begins. May Elder Brother and Earth Doctor guide you on your new journey.”

Mama and Great-grandmother lived inside her, and she had somehow helped them! There was nothing, nothing, anyone could have said that would fill Fernanda with such happiness, as if joy were a thing she could hold in her arms. And she’d hold those words, that joy, close to her heart for the rest of her life.

****

Fernanda and Miguel followed the trail out of the village. Sikul’s words whirled through her head. She didn’t want to forget one detail the old woman had told her. “Miguel, can we stop for a moment? I must think, there’s so much to understand.”

We can sit on this boulder.”

When they sat, their legs couldn’t help but touch. Fernanda stared straight ahead, trying to slow her heart as she remembered Miguel’s kiss. Then she secretly glanced at him. His head was bent, strands of hair falling forward. She had an urge to brush the hair away from his face, and as if reading her mind, he pushed it back, keeping his hand in his hair and turning to her, the gesture she loved.

Shyly, briefly, she touched his arm. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me, to learn the truth about my mother and great-grandmother. Poor Mama. I wish she’d known what truly happened. But they’re together now. Do you know what this Morning Base is Sikul spoke of?”

The Pimas believe after death all souls go to Morning Base, the place where the sun rises. They don’t believe in a heaven or hell, reward or punishment. At Morning Base, they celebrate with dancing and feasting. They enter the other world wearing their finest clothing.”

Fernanda pictured her mother and great-grandmother together in the sun-filled Morning Base, wearing silk rebozos rich with embroidery, feasting on juicy meats and sweet creamy chocolate. “Oh, I like the idea of Morning Base. Similar to heaven. How wonderful they have no hell. But confusing. Do they believe even bad people go to Morning Base?”

Miguel shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps they believe no one is truly bad.”

Even the soldiers who killed your parents, and Hahth, and my grandmother?”

Perhaps the Pimas believe people’s souls aren’t evil, that the evil is in the time and place and circumstances.”

“And what about the circumstances at the mission? Mama never said a bad word about the mission, but something went terribly wrong. Do you think the priests were to blame? The soldiers? The governor?” At Casa Grande, Miguel had helped Fernanda see the Indians from their perspective when he and Luis had argued about the soldiers and Apaches. Feliciana had done the same when she said Indians and Spaniards had their own way of dressing, their own customs. “Perhaps the Pimas shouldn’t have come to the mission in the first place, forced to live as we do.”

“Ay, I don’t know,” Miguel said. “Why is it better to live the Spanish way? Why is it better to be called Spaniard? Why are people given names depending on how big their drop of Spanish blood is: mestizo, castizo, coyote, mulatto?

“It’s true. My mother, your parents, all people want to be known as Spaniards. If they can claim it, they do. But why should it matter?”

“The answer is, it shouldn’t. I’m tired of those prejudices and tired of all the fighting.” He glanced at her. “Believe me, I am. And it’s not just one group who’s to blame. Apaches killed your grandfather. Soldiers killed your grandmother, my parents, Hahth. Pimas killed soldiers and priests.” Miguel bowed his head, holding it between his hands. “I don’t want to live a life with killing, always killing.”

“Miguel, that’s in the past. We don’t have to think about it now.” Fernanda was sorry she'd reminded Miguel of his pain. But she felt such ease talking to him, sorting out the confusing questions that cluttered her mind. “I loved hearing Sikul talk about my mother and great-grandmother. Great-grandmother sounded like a person who wanted to do things her own way. Once, Mama said I was like her. I suppose that’s what she meant.”

“Your great-grandmother fought for those she loved. That’s the quality your mother must have also seen in you, Fernanda.”

I wish it were true. But… but I’m afraid for my entire life I’ve only thought of myself.” Instead of helping Mama, instead of being honest with Nicolas… “I didn’t realize how selfish I’ve been until now, until this journey and all that’s happened.” Her face burned with her confession, but she also felt relief at saying it aloud.

Miguel took her hands in his. “Fernanda, didn’t you hear Sikul say you have Heosig and Suhna’s spirits inside you? Who’s the one who held your family together when your mother died? Who nurtured them on this journey? Who’s the one who helped the Feliz children begin to accept their mother’s death? Who stood by the women in labor, Nicolas and the other sick soldiers, the dying animals? You, Fernanda. You fight for the people and things you love. That’s the spirit Sikul was talking about, the power and strength of your love.”

Miguel’s words swam in her head. She saw herself as weak, not strong, not thinking of others as she should, only wishing for her own enjoyment. How could what he said be true?

Miguel was still talking, breaking into her thoughts, confusing her even more.

“And that’s what I saw in you, Fernanda. I watched how you cared for those around you. I watched how you kept their spirits up, never surrendering to fear or despair.” He glanced away then stared at her with his dark eyes, now so open as if he no longer had secrets to conceal. “I thought I didn’t need anyone else. Just Gloria. I thought I was protecting her, when I was actually hurting her, keeping her from others, keeping myself from the chance of more pain. You changed that for me. You are—“ he seemed to search for the words “—so beautiful, so in love with life, so passionate about your beliefs, and you fight for those beliefs.” He held her face between his hands. His voice softened. “I love you, Fernanda.” He slid his hand down, cupped her chin, and traced her lips with his thumb. “I love you as much as anyone can possibly love.”

His hands slipped to her arms, and he gently pulled her close. “Te amo,” he murmured. Then he kissed her softly on the lips.

For that moment, all that existed for Fernanda was the touch of Miguel’s lips on hers, the feel of his body so close to hers. He’d said he loved her, and his words were a joy that rushed from her head to the tips of her toes. She returned his kiss, pressing against him, wishing to feel his body close… closer. He caressed the back of her neck. His other hand slid down her back, and he pulled her tighter against his broad chest. His heart pounded against hers; his heat inflamed her body. He parted his lips slightly, and she did the same; their kiss deepened, their mouths probing, tasting, urging. Nerves she never knew existed tingled. Her desire was a torch burning inside her, igniting a fiery passion, wanting, needing the oneness with Miguel that Feliciana had described. Mi amor, Fernanda thought. My love!

Miguel slowly pulled back, keeping Fernanda in his embrace. As if emerging from a world where nothing existed except Miguel’s kiss, his body, Fernanda became aware of her surroundings: the whistle of a bird, the roughness of the rock she sat on, the cool air and faint rays of sun. Did her face have the same look of joy she saw on Miguel’s? Surely it must. Her head felt as if it might float away. In her mind, she twirled and leaped.

“Miguel, I love you. I realize now I’ve known it in my heart for quite some time.”

And Miguel loved her, not some idea of what a woman should be. He had never asked her to change. He had only encouraged her to be herself. With him, she could be the person she truly was.

Miguel stroked her cheek. “You’re beautiful, Fernanda. My beautiful butterfly, my Yâkimali.”

“Yâkimali,” Fernanda repeated, closing her eyes briefly, savoring the name and Miguel’s caress. “Do you have a Papago name, Miguel?”

“At the village I told you of—“

She grasped his thigh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to remind you.”

“No, I can speak of it now. There are good memories, too.” His face softened, as if even now recalling some happy moment.

Fernanda waited for the stab of jealousy for his past with Hahth, but it didn’t come. No. Hahth had made him happy, so she was part of the goodness in him.

“They loved to hear me play my flute,” Miguel said. “If I agreed, they would have me play for hours. So they called me Kuhutham, musician. I thought it a good name.”

“Kuhutham,” Fernanda repeated. “Yes, it’s a strong name, and fitting since you play the flute with such feeling.” Miguel still stroked her cheek, and she placed her hand over his. “Is there a Pima word for love?”

Yes, Yâkimali, there is. It’s tachchuthag.” He kissed her lips. “Tachchuthag.”

“Tach… chu… thag,” she whispered, returning his kiss. She rested her head against his chest, her mind clear, her body sinking, relaxing into his love. “What will you do once we reach California?”

“In Horcasitas, I helped my father run his ranchero, raising cattle. I sold everything after-before Gloria and I joined the expedition. Unlike most of the colonists, I won’t settle at the mission. My plan, my dream is to have a ranchero of my own.”

Fernanda wondered what the missions would be like in California. As Sikul described? That was a long time ago. Surely things had changed. “I imagine Papa won’t want to live at the mission, either.”

What about you, Fernanda? What’s your dream?”

“My dream is to do whatever I choose to do.” She laughed and sat up. “The only problem is, I don’t know what that is, yet. I’ll help Papa with the boys, of course. Get their new lives settled. Then? I’ll see what there is to see.”

Perhaps you can see my vision of life in California: family and friends, fiestas, cattle grazing on lush hillsides that overlook the ranchero, well-built fences, an adobe house and fine carved furniture, a garden.” Miguel pulled her close and murmured into her hair, “Do you see it, Yâkimali? I could use a skilled horsewoman such as yourself.”

Fernanda didn’t reply, but she kissed him, all the while picturing herself galloping across green hills with Miguel at her side.

On the way back down the mountain, Miguel held Fernanda’s hand until she broke free and ran ahead, laughing, prancing over the rocks, trying to keep up with her leaping heart, her soaring heart. Soaring as it did when she rode horses, and now, soaring with love.