October 25-31, 1775
As Fernanda packed the trunk for the day’s travels, Nicolas came by and whispered, “Come with me, just for a moment.”
“Not now, Nicolas. I must help my father break camp.”
“I insist.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the other colonists. “It seems I’ve barely spoken with you since the journey began.”
She practically had to trot to keep up as he led her behind the herd of cattle and horses. She hopped over a pile of horse manure.
“Nicolas, I—“
“Shhh.” He stopped and held her hands. “Just let me look at you before I return to my duties.” He gripped her arms. “These past days have been difficult, I know, and the rest of the journey won’t be easy. But once we’re in California, that will change. Of course, I’ll still have to go off on occasional campaigns, but you’ll be well-protected.”
Did he only think about soldiers, campaigns, and duties? Was this why he rushed her over here, herding her as if he were a vaquero and she a stray cow? She stepped away from the manure, the smell burning her nostrils, and bumped Nicolas’s arm. He obviously took this as a signal and moved closer to Fernanda.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, trailing a slow look from her eyes, her lips, down her body, and then back to her lips, where his gaze lingered.
He leaned closer, and she knew he meant to kiss her. Never before had he even tried. It must have been that they were away from the formalities of everyday life that made him so bold. If she were a proper lady, she’d push him away. But she had always been curious what it would be like to be kissed…
He whispered her name, pulled her close, and pressed his lips against hers. He moaned, and she wanted to feel his pleasure, her own desire, but she could only think how dry the kiss was, not soft and sweet as she had always imagined. And shouldn’t her knees feel weak? Shouldn’t the earth tremble beneath her feet?
Nicolas stepped back. “Fernanda, forgive me. I didn’t mean to take advantage.”
“Nicolas, I’m fine. But I-I must go.” She ran back to her tent, thinking she should be excited. She should be floating with the thrill of finally being kissed. But a weight of disappointment anchored her to the earth. She touched her lips and couldn’t help thinking, Is that all there is to a kiss? Is that what all the fuss is about? Then she threw back her head and laughed. Oh, if only there were someone she could tell that the witnesses to her first kiss had been mooing cows, snorting horses, and complaining pack mules.
Later, as the colonists left the mission, Nicolas rode alongside Fernanda, darting glances at her. “Again, I hope you will forgive me.”
She nodded. What did he expect her to say?
He settled more firmly in his saddle, a proud, proprietary look on his face.
Perhaps I shouldn’t forgive him, Fernanda thought. Not for a kiss such as the one he gave me! She bit her lower lip, wishing again she had a woman friend to share the laughter with. She caught Ramona watching her conversation with Nicolas. Several horses separated her and Nicolas from Ramona. She always seemed to be wherever Nicolas was, most likely waiting for the opportunity to dig her talons in and carry him off.
Sliding a glance at Ramona’s jealous face, Fernanda reached out and touched Nicolas’s arm. “How far will we travel today?”
“Probably about six leagues,” Nicolas said. “Our destination on this leg of the journey is the Gila River, thirty-two leagues from here, a five or six day march.” He addressed the colonists who rode nearby. “Today we leave familiar territory. We won’t see Spaniards, missions, or presidios again until we reach California.”
Hearing this, Fernanda forgot Ramona. We’re truly leaving our old life behind. What will I see? Who will I meet?
As if hearing her thoughts, Nicolas swept his arm forward. “Ahead lie deserts and mountains occupied only by Indians.”
“Indians?” Antonio asked. “Do you mean Apaches?”
Nicolas was looking off into the distance, and he nodded distractedly. “Captain Anza is conferring with some other soldiers. I’ll be back.” He trotted away.
All who had heard Antonio’s question and seen Nicolas’s nod began to chatter and nervously check over their shoulders.
Fernanda’s mother had warned them constantly about Apaches, and she had learned to fear them. But stronger than that fear was her excitement at the possibility of meeting the Pimas. Gazing into the expanse of desert before her, she hoped she would meet them soon.
****
Along with the other colonists, Fernanda and her family settled into a routine as they made their way to the Gila River. Each morning, everyone congregated outside Father Font’s tent, and he said Mass while Fernanda daydreamed and her brothers fidgeted. Because Papa had no religious faith, they’d rarely gone to church in Tubac, although Mama had insisted their children be baptized.
After Mass and a breakfast of atole, they would break camp, pack the mules, and walk five or six leagues. When they reached the next camp, they set up their tent and ate dinner, usually beans and tortillas along with dried meat or, occasionally, beef from a slaughtered cow.
Once, as the family sat for their meal, Nicolas surprised them with sausages and cheese.
The boys were ecstatic.
“Beans and rice. Beans and rice,” Antonio said. “It’s all Fernanda knows how to cook.”
“Not to mention the crumbliest, crackliest tortillas ever,” Marcos said.
“Not like Mama’s,” Jorge mumbled.
Fernanda fumed. They were so cruel!
“It’s food, muchachos,” Papa said. “Be thankful for it.”
Marcos stabbed a sausage with his fork and asked Nicolas, “Where did you get these?”
Nicolas winked. “That’s my secret.”
“From the captain,” Antonio whispered. “I’ve seen his servant preparing his meal, and he has the most glorious food. Sausages like these and fresh biscuits, and I smelled cinnamon and cloves.”
“Not fair,” Jorge said.
Luis defended the captain. “He’s the leader of the expedition and has a right to better rations. Isn’t that right, Nicolas?”
“Yes,” Nicolas said. “Consider these extra provisions a treat and something to keep to ourselves.”
As he left them to their meal, Fernanda ran to him. “Thank you, Nicolas. You won’t be reprimanded for giving us the food, will you?”
“No, as long as no one finds out. I’ll do what I can to make the journey easier for your family, and for you, Fernanda.” He picked up her hand and glanced at her mouth. “I wish we had more moments alone.”
Heat rushed to her face.
“Nanda,” Jorge called. “Antonio is stealing your share of the sausage.”
Nicolas laughed. “You’d better get back to dinner.”
“Yes, thank you again.”
As she ate, she thought of Nicolas’s look and his desire to be alone with her. Losing interest in the sausage, she pushed her plate toward the boys, and they dove for the meat.
Since Nicolas’s kiss, she wondered even more about love. She’d enjoyed the physical contact, the feel of Nicolas’s arms around her, the anticipation of being kissed, the adoring look in his eyes. But she’d been so disappointed. Not only with the kiss itself, but she hadn’t felt any strong yearnings of love. She loved him, didn’t she? Of course she did. Perhaps she should let him kiss her a second time. Perhaps she was so surprised with his first kiss she didn’t have a chance to consider her other feelings. He was truly handsome, after all. She sighed and ate the last bite of cheese wrapped in a piece of tortilla.
****
The land they traveled across was as flat and dry as Fernanda’s tortillas. The animals raised clouds of dirt, covering everything with a white dust as fine as flour. Fernanda found the dust in every seam of her clothes, in her food, in her bedding. It matted her hair, irritated her eyes, and coated her teeth. How she longed for a bath, but it would be days before they reached the river.
Ahead, all that broke the straight-lined horizon were scrubby mesquite and hediondilla — the little stinker.
“Don’t eat those smelly flowers or tough leaves, Aletta. They’ll burn your mouth.” She patted the mule. “Soon, you’ll have plenty to drink and delicious sweet grass.”
There was no sign of Apaches or other Indians. When would she see the Pimas? And when she did, how would she talk to them, ask them if they knew of Heosig, her mother, or Suhna, her great-grandmother?
On the morning of the sixth day after leaving the mission, Captain Anza announced they would reach the Gila River that afternoon. As they neared the river, Fernanda was sure she could smell the water. She’d bathe and wash her clothes. No more dust!
She and Luis trotted up toward the front of the train, leaving Papa and the other boys farther back in the long caravan of colonists. Nicolas and the priests also rode in front, behind Captain Anza. They went another league or two, and as the sun touched the desert horizon, a buzz of excitement flew through the crowd.
Luis pointed forward. “Fernanda, look!”
Several Indian men on horseback were cantering toward the procession. One rode slightly ahead of the others and raised his hand.
Captain Anza called to the colonists, “Halt!”
The Indians reined in their horses in front of the captain. Fernanda saw her own fear and excitement mirrored in Luis’s wide eyes, but not the embarrassment that warmed her cheeks. She’d had contact with Indians at the Tubac presidio, at the market and chapel. But this was the closest she’d been to a heathen Indian, as the priests called the un-Christianized Indians. And the Tubac Indians had never been so-so undressed. These men wore loincloths and roughly cut deerskins wrapped around their waists that barely covered them, if at all. Open-toed moccasins — some ankle-high, others up to their knees — protected their feet. Feathers, flowers, and twigs decorated some of the men’s flowing dark hair. Bows and long leather pouches full of arrows were slung across their bare chests. A few carried wooden clubs and rawhide shields.
At the sight of the weapons, Fernanda shifted back in her saddle. Were these Apaches? Nicolas sidled his horse next to hers and said quietly, “Don’t be alarmed. These are friendly people. On the last expedition, Captain Anza forged friendships with Indian tribes in this area.”
The Indian leader greeted the captain, and an interpreter translated his words. “He says he is chief of the Sutaquison people, a tribe of the Pimas. He and his people welcome you.”
Fernanda caught her breath. There were many Pima villages her mother could have come from, but still her chest filled with hope. She must find a way to speak with them.
Off to her right she saw Miguel and Gloria guiding their horses close to Captain Anza and the Pimas. As the Pima leader spoke, Miguel watched him intently as if he understood what the Pima was saying.
Then her mouth dried when the Pima leader handed Anza two scalps.
“Apache," the interpreter said. "Since they’re also your enemy, he asks if you’re here to help defeat them."
“We won’t be engaging in warfare,” Captain Anza said and then explained the reason for the journey. A muleteer brought a mule to the captain. He reached into the saddlebag, pulled out a pouch of tobacco and a fistful of colored glass beads, and handed them to the Pima leader.
The Pima accepted the gifts and then spoke while pointing behind him.
"He says they’ll escort us to our camp," the interpreter explained.
Captain Anza called to the colonists, "We will camp at the lagoon. Tomorrow will be a day of rest."
The crowd cheered. They had pushed forward through the heat and dust to reach the Gila River, and after that day’s twelve-league march — double what they usually traveled — they were ready for a break. Fernanda and Luis rode with the priests as the Pimas and Captain Anza led them to the lagoon. Nicolas rode next to Anza, conferring with him.
Fernanda glanced back at Miguel. Their eyes met, and each quickly looked away. Fernanda felt her cheeks flush. She raised her chin and waved to Gloria, all the while her heart tapping in her chest.
Surprised at herself, and wishing her heart would stop its ridiculous thumping, she gazed across the desert. A short distance away, she noticed some ruins, and pointed. “What could that be?”
Father Font put his hand to his brow and said in a high-pitched voice, "The Casa Grande! Moctezuma, the great Aztec leader, built the palace over five-hundred years ago.” To the other priests he said, “We must investigate the ruins tomorrow."
Fernanda whispered to Luis, “Wouldn’t it be exciting to explore the Casa Grande?” Then she said, “Father, may my brother and I ride with you when you go to the ruins? We won’t be a bother, and we’d love to see them.”
Luis’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please, Father. We’re practiced riders, and we won’t slow you down.”
“No,” Father Font said. “It’s not a pleasure excursion. We want to record the layout of the ruins, take measurements, et cetera. We can’t have children interfering with our work.”
Fernanda flounced in her saddle. Huh! Children? Interfere? They merely wanted to look around. She eyed the ruins. Another plan formed in her mind, and it was something far more interesting than riding out with the priests.
At the camp, Fernanda scratched her dirty head, realizing it was too late to bathe. Tomorrow, as soon as she rose, she’d head for the river. She convinced Papa to set up their tent next to Señor Feliz’s and Feliciana’s, who was nursing the Feliz newborn along with her own Estaquia. Señor Gonzales, his wife Micaela, and their four children also joined the group. They arranged their tents in a circle and shared a fire and dinner.
Each night, Señor Gonzales strummed his guitar, and he was teaching Fernanda to play. She had always loved music but hadn’t inherited her mother’s beautiful voice. Now she could express the joy music gave her through the guitar.
Other families were forming similar communities. Fernanda noticed Miguel had assembled his tent away from the others. When she saw Gloria looking in her direction, she approached them.
“Please join our little group,” Fernanda said. “It makes it easier to share. I know my family is happier since Feliciana has helped me with the cooking.”
Gloria giggled, but Miguel stared into their fire. “We’re fine where we are,” he said.
Gloria, looking at Fernanda, nodded discretely toward her brother, her expression obviously apologizing for her brother. “Oh, Miguel,” Gloria said. “Wouldn’t it be fun to camp with the others?”
Miguel said to Fernanda, “I’m capable of taking care of my sister.”
Whatever it was that had passed between them earlier was gone. Perhaps she had imagined the entire thing. She was a fool.
“I have no doubt you can care for Gloria,” she said. “Can you possibly believe, for just one moment, I was simply trying to be friendly?”
Miguel said through a tight mouth, "We’ll stay here." He picked up a stick and fiercely poked it into the coals of the fire. Sparks exploded into the air and flew toward him and Gloria. Miguel leaped up, pulled Gloria away from the fire, and frantically brushed her skirt.
Gloria grabbed his hand, stopping him. “Miguel,” she said quietly. “I’m fine.”
A look of helplessness flashed across his face, and his strong body seemed to deflate as he settled again next to the fire. But just as Fernanda was feeling a bit sorry for him, he raised insolent eyes to hers, as if challenging her to make a comment about the fire, or Gloria, or the glimpse she’d seen through the crack in his hardened shell.
Fernanda’s arms stiffened at her sides, and she clenched a handful of skirt in each hand. She’d continue her friendship with Gloria, but why let Miguel’s unpredictable behavior bother her? "Do as you wish. But you’re welcome anytime should you change your mind." She touched Gloria's shoulder and said, "Good night."
The interpreter walked by, and Fernanda called out to him, “Señor! Por favor. Would it be possible for you to translate for me? I’d like to ask the Pimas some questions.”
The interpreter scowled. “Questions? What kinds of questions?”
“Nothing bothersome or unfriendly.” She glanced over her shoulder and caught Miguel listening. His eyes darted away. She lowered her voice. “My-my mother was Pima. I just want to know…some things.”
“Your mother? Pima? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And he stalked away.
Fernanda froze momentarily at the interpreter’s rudeness and then glared at his back. She’d find another way to speak to the Pimas. She glanced back at Miguel, who again had been watching her. She felt the heat of humiliation rush to her face. And then the embarrassment was replaced by anger. Santa Maria! Had he decided to spy on her now? She gave him the same squinty-eyed look she’d given the interpreter and then marched back to camp.
That evening, as Papa and the rábanos crawled inside the tent ready for sleep, Fernanda pulled Luis aside. “Let’s go to the ruins tonight!”
“Tonight?”
“The moon’s full to help us find our way. Of course, Casa Grande must be a few leagues away. We’ll have to take horses."
"How can we take horses? The muleteers won’t allow us."
"When we unloaded today, I made sure your horse and Papa's were at the outskirts of the pack. Everyone will sleep soundly after today's long march, including the muleteers. Besides, they won’t notice two horses are gone, and we’ll be back before they’re missed.”
Luis frowned and slowly shook his head. Before he could speak, she clutched his arm.
“An adventure, Luis, come. Aren’t you tired of so much unhappiness? Let’s have some fun.”
He hesitated then grinned. “All right. We must make sure Papa and the boys are asleep before we go.”
“Of course.”
Later, Fernanda lay on her bedroll, and though her legs were stiff, her inner thighs chafed, and her bottom sore, she couldn’t wait to climb onto Papa’s horse. Her brothers and Papa coughed, burped, passed gas — everything, it seemed, except sleep. Oh, the sun would be up before they ever settled down.
Finally, Papa snored, and no other sounds came from the boys. Fernanda was about to sit up when she heard a groan. Now what?
Marcos threw off his blanket and crawled out the tent.
I think I just might scream! Fernanda followed him outside and hissed, “Marcos, what are you doing?”
He snorted. “I have to go—“ He gestured toward the back of the tent.
Fernanda huffed. “Why didn’t you do that earlier?”
Marcos shook his head in disgust and walked around the tent.
Luis crawled out and whispered, “What’s going on?
“Marcos.” She tossed her head in the direction he’d gone. “Now we’ll have to wait until he falls asleep before we can go.”
Marcos walked up behind them. “Go where?”
“Nowhere,” Fernanda said. “Now go back to bed.”
“I won’t until you tell me.”
“Shhh.” Fernanda pulled them away from the tent. She and Luis eyed each other.
“Well, you can come if you want,” Luis said. “We’re going to Casa Grande, and we’ll need help scaring away the ghosts. Right, Fernanda?”
Fernanda bit the inside of her cheek. “Oh, yes, there will be many ghosts to scare away.”
Marcos shivered. “I’m cold and sleepy. I think I’ll go back to bed.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” Luis said.
“Don’t wake the others," Fernanda said. "We’ll return soon, so there’s no need for them to know."
Fernanda and Luis tiptoed through the camp, trying to hold back their giggles. They snuck around the rustling animals, careful not to disturb them beyond the occasional moo, whinny, or bray. Quiet guitar strums and cigarette smoke floated above the herd, but no muleteers were in sight. Fernanda nudged Luis and pointed to their horses. He nodded. They scurried past the other animals, keeping low.
Fernanda crouched next to Papa’s horse, Luis next to his own. Papa’s horse snorted and shook its head. Fernanda quickly rubbed its side and it quieted. She peered beneath the horse’s belly, looking for any sign of muleteers. Nothing. Then Luis jabbed his elbow into her side and jerked his head to the right. A muleteer sat with his back propped against a bedroll and pack, his head tilted to the side. Luis motioned for her to stay, and her muscles tightened as he crawled toward the muleteer.
A few minutes later, he was back. "He’s asleep," he whispered. "Snoring louder than Papa."
Fernanda’s shoulders relaxed, and she quickly checked the horses’ gear. They wore halters and lead ropes. The rest of the tack lay nearby, but she didn’t want to risk waking the muleteer by saddling the animals. She and Luis could use the lead ropes like reins and ride bareback.
She grabbed the lead of Papa's horse and, followed by Luis and his horse, crept away from the herd. They walked until the camp was well behind them. Then Fernanda stopped next to a large rock and pulled up her skirt, exposing the trousers she’d convinced Luis to lend her. Her brother rolled his eyes as she tied the skirt in a knot around her hips. She raised her chin, and then, stepping on the rock, grabbed the horse's mane and pulled herself onto its back. She loved the feeling of freedom the trousers gave her. Why couldn’t she wear them every day? Huh! Just imagine the reactions she’d get from the other campers if, in the morning, she was dressed in rebozo, blouse, and breeches.
Luis climbed onto his horse, and they headed in the direction of the ruins. Seeing no sign they were being followed, they nudged the horses into a trot.
Oh, you are a beauty, my friend, she silently told the horse. We will fly, fly to the ruins. A midnight adventure for us both, no?
“How exciting this is, eh, Luis?”
But he was peering ahead. “Look, Nanda, up there. Two other riders.”
Apaches? Fernanda strained to see. No… no, not Indians. A small figure sat on one of the horses. And the other…? A cloud that partially shadowed the moon drifted away into the black sky. In the light of the moon that suddenly shined bright upon the desert, Fernanda saw the riders were Gloria and Miguel.