October 23, 1775
“Everybody mount,” Captain Anza commanded, “and our journey will begin.”
Fernanda lifted Ignacio onto her mule while eyeing Luis’s horse. Not fair! She shouted to herself for the hundredth time. Because of the Apache raid, many people had to settle for mules, and the younger children shared mounts with adults or, like Antonio and Marcos, with each other. Papa, of course, deserved a horse, but why should Luis get one and not she? Raising her chin, she stroked her mule’s muzzle. “You’ll get me to California as well as any silly horse, mi amiga. Yes, we’ll fly to California. I’ll name you Aletta, Winged One.”
She climbed up behind Ignacio, flicked the reins, and Aletta, along with the rest of the procession, marched forward. Dust and the smell of manure rose in the air. Cows mooed, bells clanged, children wailed. Vaqueros trotted their whinnying horses around the cattle, horses, and pack mules, their shouts and whips chasing any strays back into the herd.
The pack mules brayed, complaining about their loads: tents, food, shovels, iron pans, the colonists’ saddlebags and trunks. Earlier, Fernanda had packed the family’s blankets and clothes into a trunk, including wool petticoats for her and wool gloves and cloaks for the entire family, which Captain Anza had also supplied. She couldn’t imagine the need for such heavy clothes.
She’d also brought Mama’s special silk rebozo beautifully embroidered with butterflies, though now worn and frayed. On top of her mother’s shawl, lay Fernanda’s new petticoat, skirt, blouse, and rebozo, safe and clean until her arrival in California. Today, though, she wore the new red ribbon in honor of the journey’s beginning.
Nicolas rode up to the Marquina family. Even though most everyone’s faces were beaded with sweat, his was barely damp. “So, we begin our journey.” His voice and eyes were bright with excitement. Under his leather vest, he wore a new blue military coat with red cuffs and collar.
“How far will we travel today?” Papa asked.
“The first camp is five leagues north of Tubac at La Canoa.” Nicolas glanced at the sun. “It’s nearly eleven o’clock now. We should reach camp by three.”
“We stop so soon?” Fernanda asked, thinking she could run all the way to California.
“Believe me,” Nicolas said, “when we reach La Canoa, you’ll be ready to rest.”
Ramona trotted up on a chestnut horse.
A horse! Fernanda fumed, her breath trapped in her chest.
Ramona wore all the new finery provided by the captain: a blue ribbon wove through her long braid, a crisp white petticoat peeked out from a skirt hemmed in lace, and a blue-and-white-striped rebozo slipped below her shoulders.
Fernanda’s chest tightened even more, and she pulled her braid, tied with the shiny new ribbon, over her shoulder.
”Buenas dias, Señor Marquina,” Ramona said to Papa, sounding as polite as could be, but eyeing Nicolas the entire time.
“I see you were assigned a horse,” Fernanda said.
“Yes, my father arranged it. He has some influence with the military, isn’t that right, Nicolas?” She tilted her head and smiled up at him so sweetly Fernanda could almost see the sugar crystals forming on her lips. A douse of cold water would melt her smile, no doubt.
Nicolas cleared his throat, shifted in his saddle, blushing. He was probably used to women’s attention, but Ramona was so forward. Couldn’t she see he wasn’t the least bit interested?
“Your horse looks to be a fine animal,” Fernanda said, “but for a long and arduous journey such as this, I think a mule is much more dependable.” She gave Aletta a vigorous pat on the mule’s side.
“Actually, you’re quite right, Fernanda,” Nicolas said. “Mules can handle—” He stopped when he saw Ramona’s look of dismay and Fernanda’s smug set of her lips, realizing he’d gotten into the middle of the girls’ spat.
Papa scratched his nose, obviously trying to hide a smile.
Ramona tossed her head, said, “Buenas dias,” and trotted off.
Nicolas cleared his throat again. “Hey, muchacho,” he said to Ignacio. “How would you like to ride with me?”
Ignacio bounced. “Sí, sí!”
Fernanda had been staring with burning eyes at Ramona’s back, and now she helped her brother crawl over to Nicolas’s saddle.
“I’ll return him soon,” Nicolas said and, looking relieved to be escaping, cantered back to the soldiers.
While the boys chattered with Papa about Captain Anza’s sword, his fine horse, and his uniform, Fernanda nudged Aletta, and they drifted off among the other colonists. She imagined herself an experienced horsewoman such as New Spain had never seen. She’d jump Aletta over the crowd and gallop to California all on her own. To Monte Rey — King’s Mountain — where surely not mere rocks but gold covered the hillsides, and people dressed in silk with intricate embroidery would greet her and ask her to join their feast of fresh meat, fruit, and chocolate.
A raucous laugh interrupted her daydream, and nearby a woman nodded left then right at two men who rode beside her.
“Assuredly,” the woman said in a loud throaty voice, “it was a sight you wouldn’t have believed.” Fernanda guessed her to be in her early twenties. Tied securely in her shawl and sleeping peacefully against her chest was an infant. A girl, perhaps four years old, sat in front of the woman, clutching the saddle horn. “Now there’s a rival to contend with. What a beauty!”
Fernanda’s face grew hot when she realized the woman referred to her.
“Come, Potra Bonita,” the señora said. “Tell us your name.”
Fernanda grinned at the name the señora had called her: Pretty Filly. “I’m Fernanda. Fernanda Rosalia Marquina. I’m traveling with my father and five brothers.”
“Oh ho! What you must endure with so many men in your household. My name is Feliciana Maria Arballo. Please call me Feliciana. I’m an expert on men, I’ll have you know. And I’m at your service should you ever need my assistance.”
Fernanda laughed. “Thank you, I’ll remember that.” She glanced at the men riding with Feliciana.
“No, neither of these fine gentlemen is my husband,” Feliciana said. “I’m traveling with my two daughters.” A look of sorrow seemed to cloud her eyes for a moment, and then, with affection and gentleness, she placed her hand on the little girl’s head. “This is Tomása. Say hello, mi’ja.”
“Hola, señorita,” Tomása said with a quiet lisp.
“This is my new little one, Estaquia.” Feliciana kissed the baby’s head. Then she eyed Fernanda from head to toe. “What beautiful hair and pretty red ribbon. I see you’re the practical sort not wearing your new clothes, unlike many of the women here.”
Thinking of Ramona, Fernanda decided she quite liked this woman. “Yes, I’m saving them for California. They’ll surely be ruined if I wear them now.”
“Perhaps you might risk it at least once on the journey. There could be an occasion, possibly a fandango—” Feliciana raised her voice and winked at the travelers who moved in closer to hear, “—where you might want to look your prettiest to dance with some handsome soldier.”
“A fandango?” Fernanda repeated. “While we’re traveling?” Even though the idea sounded impossible, she imagined her new petticoat brushing against her calves as she twirled around Nicolas and the other dancers. “Perhaps. Now I must return to my family. I enjoyed talking with you.”
“We’ll talk again, Potra. Goodbye.” Feliciana continued talking with the men who couldn’t seem to take their eyes off her.
Fernanda made her way back to Papa, thinking what a brave woman Feliciana was to come on the journey with an infant and young daughter. Had something tragic happened to her husband? Forcing her thoughts away from tragedies and sorrow, she sang Feliciana’s nickname in her head, Potra, Potra. A filly is what I am. I’ll dance and prance my way to California!
She noticed a young man and girl who’d been listening to Feliciana, the girl smiling, the man scowling. They rode beautiful horses with strong limbs, shiny coats, and silky manes and sat on skillfully tooled saddles. Then she realized they were the ones she’d seen riding past her home, and the memory of the young man’s look rippled through her body.
Fernanda thought he might be eighteen or nineteen. Even though he was dressed casually, it was obvious his clothes were of the highest quality. The majority of men, in spite of the heat, wore either jackets or mantles, capes saved for formal occasions or traveling. This man’s scarlet jacket was bundled and tucked into a saddlebag. The finely woven cotton of his blue shirt, free from grime and sweat, settled softly over the breadth of his shoulders and muscled biceps. The collar lay open, exposing small beads of sweat on his broad chest. The material of his breeches wasn’t the thick, practical plush common in Tubac. Instead, though the fabric appeared durable, it was thinner and showed off the thick muscles of his thighs, the same way his stockings clung to his toned calves.
The girl, close to Luis’s age, was also richly dressed. She wore a white silk rebozo, woven with red flowers and threads of gold and silver. Her skirt, the color of burnished silver, was also silk, and a red ribbon with the same gold and silver embroidery as her shawl decorated the end of her braid.
Why were they on this expedition? Certainly poverty hadn’t prompted them to join. Their looks made it clear they were brother and sister. Where were their parents? As Fernanda passed them, the girl shyly waved to her. Both she and her brother had dark eyes, hers open and friendly, his hard and hostile. She remembered his eyes that had held such a mixture of emotion—surprise, sadness…desire?—she hadn’t been able to look away. Now, they held only anger.
Fernanda reined Aletta alongside the girl’s horse. “What beautiful horses you have,” Fernanda said.
“Thank you.” The girl seemed guarded, and she glanced at her brother.
“My name is Fernanda. I must confess I know your name, Gloria. Do you remember giving my brother the top the day you first arrived in Tubac?”
Gloria’s face softened. “Yes, I do. What a darling boy he is.” Her soothing musical voice reminded Fernanda of the mourning doves that nested near her house in Tubac. “Then you remember my brother, Miguel.”
Strands of black hair had escaped his loosely plaited braid, and he raked them from his face with his fingers. Fernanda noticed a scar ran close to his ear past his jaw and partway down his neck.
“Yes,” Fernanda said. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Miguel said nothing, his face impassive.
His coldness seemed to flush right through her, and she was embarrassed and angry with herself for thinking his look had had some meaning. To Gloria, she said, “You’ve been traveling since Horcasitas?”
“Yes,” Gloria said. “For four weeks now.”
“You’re experienced then,” Fernanda said, winking. “Perhaps we can join forces and camp together. My family would appreciate learning from you and sharing what we can.”
“Oh, yes! We—“
Miguel quickly interrupted his sister. “There’s no need to share your provisions.” His voice was quiet, controlled. All the feeling he held back from his voice escaped through his black eyes. “We will camp by ourselves. I have a responsibility to my sister, and I won’t have anyone interfering.”
“Miguel, she meant no harm,” Gloria said.
Something flashed in his eyes. This time not fury. But, shocked, Fernanda realized it was fear. Though he gazed at her, his mind was obviously elsewhere. His eyes flickered. His lips moved as if he was going to speak. Then his eyes snapped back to their dark temper.
“As I said, we only need each other.” His face became as hard and impenetrable as the rocks scattered across the desert. “That’s how we’ll survive the journey, as well as our lives in California.”
Santa Maria! Such a rude man. “Your sister is correct, I meant no harm. And you may find sometime you will need more than each other, at least for your sister’s sake.”
“Fernanda.” Nicolas rode up with Ignacio perched on his saddle. “I’ve been looking for you. Ignacio wants to ride with you now.” While he spoke, he darted glances at Miguel and Fernanda. “Is there a problem?”
“My sister and I wish to be left alone,” Miguel said to Nicolas, his mouth twisting as if he might spit.
Nicolas, seemingly oblivious to Miguel’s scorn, said, “Oh… Fernanda. She can be a little… shall we say, overzealous?”
“I did nothing!” How could Nicolas assume she’d acted inappropriately? How could he not put this rude beast in his place? Was he blind to the snarl on Miguel’s face?
Nicolas straightened his back. “I don’t know what happened here, but it’s my duty as a soldier on this expedition to ensure all goes smoothly.”
“You think you can flaunt your authority,” Miguel said. “No soldier will tell me what I must do.”
“Wha-what?” Nicolas sputtered. “While on this journey you will obey—“ And then his eyes narrowed. “You. It is you. I’ll take no more of your insolence, you—“
“Please hand over Ignacio,” Fernanda interrupted. Angry with Nicolas, but startled by Miguel’s hatred, she simply wanted to leave. “Papa will be wondering what’s become of me.” She settled Ignacio on her saddle, and then said to him, “This is the nice girl who gave you the top.”
Ignacio’s face lit up. “Gracias!” he said.
“He plays with it all the time,” Fernanda said. “It was a pleasure seeing you.”
“I hope to see you again,” Gloria said, glancing at Miguel, who sat as stiff as a bronze statue on his horse.
“I’ll escort you back to your father,” Nicolas said.
“No need,” Fernanda said. “I can find my way.”
Nicolas set his lips. “I will escort you.”
Fernanda raised her chin then nudged Aletta into a walk, away from the men. She heard Nicolas say coldly, “Remember my words.” She knew he was talking to Miguel, but she heard no response. Nicolas trotted up and rode by her side, but she didn’t speak to him as they made their way back to her family.
****
With Ignacio sitting in front of her on the saddle, Fernanda settled into the monotonous clop-clop-clop-clop of Aletta’s hooves on the sun-baked ground. Besides slowing the mule’s steps, the hot rays seared Fernanda’s thoughts and any desire to talk. She covered both their heads with her rebozo, but she didn’t know which was worse: the sweltering, steamy heat beneath the shawl or the scorching sun that made Ignacio’s hair hot to the touch. Sometimes she let the shawl slip to her shoulders, and she’d blow air onto Ignacio’s neck and then lift her braid, hoping for a breeze to cool her sweaty skin.
The sun hung halfway down in the sky when Captain Anza gave the order to halt. Fernanda helped Ignacio down from the mule and then stretched. Glancing over her shoulder, she rubbed her bottom. Nicolas was right. She was happy they weren’t going any farther that day.
Luis retrieved their pack mule from the muleteers, and Papa and the boys began setting up the tent. Fernanda grabbed a leather bucket and went in search of water. The camp had been transformed into a makeshift town. Soldiers created shelters by draping their capes and blankets over branches of trees that grew near a small stream. The colonists had raised their tents, and they were lined up in orderly fashion. Servants set up tents for the priests and a large round one for Captain Anza.
Fernanda followed others to a wooden trough that had been built in the middle of a spring so livestock could drink without muddying the water, and she realized the camp, La Canoa, had obviously been named after the canoe-shaped trough. She stepped into the line of colonists waiting to fill their containers. Ramona stood a few people ahead of her, and they glared at each other. Miguel and Gloria walked past, Miguel carrying a bucket filled with water. When their eyes met, Fernanda raised her chin and deliberately faced away from him. She sighed. She was supposed to be making friends, not enemies.
Gloria stopped and said hello, and just as Fernanda was about to speak to her, the cattle, in a cloud of dust, thundered toward the spring. The vaqueros, trying to herd the beasts, shouted, “Step aside. Let them through!”
Fernanda grabbed Gloria’s hand. Miguel dropped his bucket, wrapped his arms around each of their shoulders, and forced them out of the cattle’s path.
Fernanda stumbled, and Miguel’s grip tightened, pulling her close to him. She had clasped his shoulder to stop her fall, and now, with her body pressed against his, she became aware of the soft cotton of his shirt and the firmness and strength of his body. For a moment their eyes locked. Miguel had the same look on his face as that day in Tubac. The look that erased his anger. The look that again made her heart skip, her breath catch, her cheeks grow hot, just as his must be beneath the flush spread across his face.
Then Gloria whimpered; Miguel released Fernanda and hugged his sister. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” Gloria said, but her face was a faded dusty brown.
Miguel kept his arm around her and, avoiding Fernanda’s eyes, said, “I need to refill the bucket.”
Downstream, soldiers dug in the sand to bring more water from the spring. Fernanda pointed toward the soldiers, picked up her bucket, and with Gloria between her and Miguel, they walked to the new watering hole.
Fernanda said to Gloria, “Those animals must have been terribly thirsty. I suppose they wanted to be first in line.”
Gloria giggled and the color returned to her skin.
Miguel’s face had locked up again, and he didn’t react to Fernanda’s joke.
Fernanda filled her bucket and then said, “I must get back to my family.” She hugged Gloria and said goodbye without meeting Miguel’s eyes. As she walked away, she thought how sweet Gloria was, and how volatile Miguel was. What would it be like to have such a brother? Yes, her brothers could be annoying, but at least she knew what to expect. Miguel, though…
She glanced over her shoulder for one last look.
Miguel was smiling down at his sister.
Huh! Fernanda hadn’t known he was capable of smiling. But she dropped her derision when he smoothed Gloria’s hair and spoke in a gentle manner. He refilled their bucket and took her hand. As he led Gloria away, he kissed the top of her head.
Fernanda slowly walked back to camp. She would never have believed Miguel was capable of such affection. Something else lay hidden behind his anger. Secrets and layers Fernanda would probably never penetrate, nor did she wish to. But that wouldn’t stop her from speaking to Gloria. She clearly wanted a friend. And, as the only girl in each of their families, couldn’t they both use a sister?