Paradise Valley
January 1, 1776
As the heavy fog thinned into cloudy wisps, the figure of Papa leading Antonio and Marcos atop the horse appeared before Fernanda. In the clearing haze, the horse stepped confidently down the path. Aletta, following behind and carrying Fernanda, Ignacio, and Jorge, picked up the faster pace. The sky opened with patches of brilliant blue. Fernanda squinted against the brightness, her joy rising like the mist that left dewdrops glistening in the sunlight. They were finally descending the mountain, and today — Año Nuevo, the first day of the new year — they would reach the valley floor.
If only her mother were there. Since listening to Sikul’s story, so many memories of Mama had returned to her. And when a bird flitted by, its feathers as blue as the sky, she remembered a story Mama had told her when she was young, a Pima legend about bluebirds and coyotes. She understood now why Mama stopped telling the Pima tales: so they wouldn’t ask questions about her Pima past. But their Pima ancestry shouldn’t be forgotten, just as Great-grandmother had wished. Now that Fernanda knew the truth, she was sure Mama would have wanted it, too. She’d tell her brothers the Pima traditions she remembered. Someday they would tell their children, their children would pass them on, and each generation would know about the rich mixture of blood that flowed through their veins.
”Little Brothers,” she said. “I was thinking of a Pima legend Mama told me when I was a little girl. Would you like to hear it?”
“Si!” Ignacio said.
“The legend tells us the bluebird was once an ugly color. The unfortunate bird decided to bathe in a lake four times every morning for four mornings. The bird sang this song while it bathed, ‘There’s a blue water. It lies there. I went in. I’m all blue.’ On the fourth morning, the bird lost all its feathers. On the fifth morning, it bathed once more and came out with blue feathers.”
“And it stayed blue forever?” Jorge asked.
“Yes,” Fernanda said. “But there’s more. All the while the bird bathed, Coyote watched. When he saw the beautiful bluebird, he was jealous and decided he wanted to be blue, too. At that time, Coyote was bright green.”
The boys giggled.
“Coyote bathed in the lake four times for four days while singing the song, and on the fifth day he came out of the water as beautifully blue as the bird. He was quite proud of his new color. In fact, he was so proud that, as he walked along the road, he looked to the left to see if anyone noticed him. He looked to the right to see if anyone was admiring him. He even checked behind him to see if his shadow was blue. And since he wasn’t watching the road, he fell across a stump and into the dirt. The dust covered up the lovely blue, and that’s why, today, coyotes are the color of dirt.”
“I like green coyote,” Ignacio said.
Fernanda ruffled his hair. She vowed to try to remember more of Mama’s stories, and learn as much about the Pimas as she could.
Ahead, voices shouted sounds of surprise or excitement. Luis and Gloria, sharing Gloria’s horse, trotted back to Fernanda. Fernanda waved then searched the trail farther ahead. Where is Miguel? She thought. And then, savoring the words, Where is my love?
Luis hopped off the horse. “Fernanda, I’ll stay with Ignacio and Jorge. Miguel is waiting up ahead. You must go see. It’s California. We’ve reached California!”
She jumped off Aletta and ran, pushing her way forward, saying, “Excuse me, excuse me.” She passed Nicolas, who stood next to his horse, talking to Ramona.
“Nicolas,” Fernanda said. “They say we’ve reached California. Is it true?”
“Yes. Such a journey, but we’ve finally arrived in California.” The smile on Nicolas’s face didn’t hide the touch of melancholy in his eyes.
“It’s exciting, isn’t it, Fernanda?” Ramona asked. “And Nicolas has news that makes the day even more so.” Her eyes were filled with pride.
Nicolas flushed. “The captain has promoted me to sergeant. I have a regiment of my own now.”
“Nicolas! Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you. Now go. You must see for yourself the reason for our long travels.”
Fernanda ran on, glancing back once more at Nicolas and Ramona. They’d returned to their conversation. Perhaps Ramona would finally get her wish. She’d make a good wife for Nicolas, a good military wife as her mother had been and her grandmother as well.
Fernanda found Miguel with others at the edge of a ridge. A path wound down to the valley below with a sparkling river that crisscrossed the lush green floor.
“Miguel,” Fernanda called.
With shining eyes, he grabbed her hand. “Come!”
She followed Miguel down the path, running, skipping, both of them laughing and shouting with joy. Fernanda’s head felt light with the realization that she had made it to California, that the dreams and longings in Tubac she could never quite define lay before her: a new life in California.
Gasping, they reached the stream. Fernanda cupped her hands into the cool clear water and drank. Had water ever tasted so sweet? She splashed Miguel. He laughed and did the same to her. She snapped a twig from a bush and breathed in its perfume. “Rosemary.” She held it out for Miguel to smell. “And look.” Mixed with the rosemary were wild roses covered with dormant buds. She clutched Miguel’s hand. “It’s a paradise. We should call it Paradise Valley.”
Miguel pulled her close. “I arrived in Paradise a week ago, on the day you told me you loved me.” He kissed her, his lips still fresh and cool from the stream.
Hearing shouts behind them, they jumped apart. The others trailed down the path, and Captain Anza said they would set up camp next to the river.
That night, the women pulled out their new petticoats, rebozos, and ribbons to celebrate their arrival in California. Alone in the tent, Fernanda dressed for the party. She slipped into her petticoat and skirt and tied a red ribbon at the end of her braid. Reaching for her new rebozo, she remembered she’d given it to Sikul. She saw the corner of Mama’s shawl tucked into the bottom of the trunk and pulled it out. As she draped it around her shoulders, she thought of the day Papa had brought it home for Mama’s birthday. A special gift, one they could probably little afford. Mama had protested, but how radiant her face was when he enfolded her in its silky opulence. Fernanda smoothed the material against her arms, feeling the worn, loosened threads of the embroidered butterflies. Tonight, no one would have a more beautiful rebozo than she.
When she joined the party, Papa eyed the shawl, touched it lightly, and then kissed her forehead. His eyes were pensive, but he wore a small smile.
“Papa, what is it?”
“Oh, sorry, mi’ja. It’s only that you’re looking more and more like your mother.”
Fernanda threw her arms around her father’s neck and whispered, “Thank you,” in his ear.
Señor Gonzales called to her, “Let’s play some music. Their feet are itching to dance.”
Fernanda, the señor, Miguel, and other guitarists and drummers played while Feliciana sang. The colonists danced and cheered. After several Spanish ballads, Fernanda set aside the guitar, stood, and pulled her father to her side. “Papa,” she whispered, “will you join me in a dance I learned from the Yumas? A dance I want to do for Mama?”
Papa squeezed her hand and nodded.
“Please,” she called out. “I want to show you a dance. Can you form a circle?”
A few people laughed, and one of the Feliz boys called out, “Fernanda, what strange dance will you have us do?”
“You’ll see, our Indian ancestors knew how to celebrate, too.”
People shuffled forward, forming a wider and wider circle as more joined in: her brothers, Miguel, Gloria, Feliciana with Estaquia wrapped snugly against her chest, Tomása, the Gonzaleses, the Felizes, and the Gutiérrez family. Ramona hesitated, and then took her sister’s hand, and she and her family joined the circle.
Nicolas stood with three other soldiers on the outskirts of the circle. Fernanda wanted so badly to ask him to join. He had loved Mama, too. He’d been friendly enough earlier, but everyone knew of their broken engagement. Would it humiliate him if she approached him and singled him out in front of the others?
And then Miguel walked over to the soldiers. Nicolas’s shoulders stiffened. Miguel spoke to him, nodded toward the circle, and gestured at the soldiers. Nicolas crossed his arms, still scowling as Miguel talked some more. But slowly, Nicolas’s shoulders and arms and face loosened, and when Miguel held out his hand, Nicolas shook it. Miguel walked back to the circle, and Nicolas and the soldiers found places among the colonists. Nicolas nodded at Fernanda with a small smile on his face, a sad smile, it seemed, but one that told her everything was okay between them. She nodded back, and then put one arm around Papa’s shoulders and the other around Gloria’s.
“Just follow what I do,” she said.
Everyone linked together, arms draped over their neighbor’s. Fernanda stomped one foot then the other and bent forward at the waist. “That’s all. We step in unison around the circle. That’s the key. We must all dance as one.”
The group followed her lead. One of the colonists beat on a drum, and Miguel broke from the dance to play his flute, both musicians following the rhythm of the dancers’ footsteps. Joy lifted Fernanda’s feet. Surely Great-grandmother and Mama were celebrating with them from their home in Morning Base.
Some dancers stumbled and collided with each other. Fernanda laughed with the others as the circle broke. Señor Gonzales strummed his guitar, Miguel continued playing, and others grabbed their instruments while the colonists danced as before. Papa bowed and asked Feliciana to dance. Nicolas took Ramona into his arms and led her around the other dancers. Ignacio and Tomása held hands and tried to follow the adults’ steps. Luis danced with Gloria.
Fernanda slipped away from the celebration. She strolled for a short distance, breathing in the soft perfume of the surrounding herbs. Laughter and music floated toward her. They sound so happy, she thought.
She gazed up at the stars that sparked against the black sky and felt the strong presence of her mother. If only Mama could see her now, see how she had changed. Look at me, Mama. Perhaps I’m not the woman you expected, or hoped I’d be. But I’m happy and excited about my life. I think you’d be happy for me and approve of my choices.
Fernanda suddenly understood Mama, too, had made choices. She had lived the life she wanted with her husband, her children, her home. Great-grandmother also did as she wished, living with the Pima traditions, refusing to follow the white man’s ways. Now Fernanda would follow her own path, and the life she had longed for would somehow be realized. She’d build a life in Monte Rey that would honor both her Spanish and Pima ancestors.
She suddenly thought of the song Mama had begun to sing that last morning and remembered now she had also sung it one spring day when Ignacio had been an infant. A Pima song Mama had said, one of the few times she'd mentioned her Indian past. Fernanda had been in the garden, caring for her tender seedlings. Mama had walked around from the front of the hut, cradling the infant Ignacio in her arms. She'd smiled at Fernanda and then snuggled her nose against Ignacio’s tummy. When she raised her face, it had been full of joy, and she'd sung the song. A song, she'd said, the ancient ones sang when they emerged from their journey through the dark center of the earth. A song of happiness and the promise of a fresh start in a shining new world.
Now, as Fernanda listened to her fellow colonists celebrating their arrival in California, and she looked ahead to the life she’d share with Papa, her brothers, her love Miguel, and her sister Gloria, the words of her mother’s song came to her:
This is the bright land:
We arrive singing,
Head-dresses waving in the breeze.
The land trembles with our dancing and singing.
Singing and dancing, we all rejoice.
We have come! We have come!