“You foolish man,” Ana said angrily, pushing Juan roughly from the door. “You should be in bed, and here you say you go to war. What craziness is this?”As he walked among the people in the meadow by the town, Father Juan felt strengthened by the night’s festivities, by the laughter and the dancing and the plentitude of summer. It was the Feast of Saints John and Peter, and his Indians were celebrating with as much joy and revelry as he had ever seen among Spaniards in the streets of Seville. It was good to be up from his bed. He felt better than he had in months. Perhaps good health was returning at last.
He stood and watched the dancing, the women shuffle-stepping in their circle around the fire, themselves encircled by the men, who were led by a dancer in a bear mask. The unpleasantness of the spring had passed without lasting damage. The workers had returned sullen from Velasco’s ranch, but he had shortened the workday in the mission fields to make it up to them, and everything soon settled down again. There still were too few people in the mission, but he hoped that the deserters would eventually return. Only Carlos remained a pain in his heart. He had changed and Juan did not know him anymore. Why was he keeping to himself and refusing to attend Mass? He would not even come to the convento when bidden. The only hopeful thing about him was that he did not desert, and so perhaps with time he would come around. Juan would certainly take him back, there was no question of that. Carlos was still his best hope for the future.
The priest moved to the table where the feast was laid. Half the food had already been consumed, but still there was enough to last through the night and into the following day. He picked at the roast pig and dipped a piece of it into a dish of peach sauce and ate it contentedly, licking his fingers and searching the table for another treat. A distant shout went up from the stockade announcing a rider on the road. Someone coming late to the festival, thought Juan, and he picked up an ear of corn, sweet from the fields.
Before long, Don Patricio appeared at his side.
“Look at this feast,” Juan said to him proudly. “Who would know the setbacks this mission has seen? Our Lady watches over us even in adversity. What more proof would a pagan need to turn his eyes to God?”
“We have new trouble,” the chief said gravely.
Juan’s ebullience began to fade. “Don’t tell me unless it is important,” he said. “Save it for tomorrow.”
“Forgive me, Father, but it cannot wait. Solana has sent word from San Luís. The enemy has returned. They have destroyed the missions at Patale and Aspalaga. Solana is going out with his forces to meet them at Patale to keep them back from the ranches at San Luís. He sends for me to come immediately with my warriors. The four soldiers from the stockade are to come as well.”
Juan put down the ear of corn in his hand, feeling no surprise, no sudden panic. It was as if he had known this all along.
“So the missions at Patale and Aspalaga are gone,” he said. “We are the only ones left. This place and San Luís.”
“I will call my men together,” said Don Patricio. “We will leave at once.”
“I will come with you,” said Juan, wiping his hands on his robe.
“No, you must not, Father,” said Don Patricio. “You are not well enough.”
“Who are you to say if I am well?” snapped Juan. “Call out your men. And have Lorenzo saddle me a horse.”
Don Patricio bowed his head. “Yes, Father.”
“You foolish man,” Ana said angrily, pushing Juan roughly from the door. “You should be in bed, and here you say you go to war. What craziness is this?”
“Don’t push me, Ana!” Juan said fiercely, grabbing her hard by her wrist. “I’ll do what I must.”
Tears came into her eyes and she pulled at her arm until he released her.
“You do not know the terrible way you look,” she said, fighting back the tears. “You do not know you are so thin, so black around your eyes. You cannot walk nine leagues to Patale. How are you thinking? I do not understand you.”
“I’m not going to walk. I’ll ride a horse.” He stopped to let the anger go out of his voice. Then he said, “I must go. This is our last chance, our last battle against the pagans. I feel good tonight, Ana. My health is good. I believe the Holy Mother has raised me up to give me this final opportunity to do what is right. I want to give strength to my warriors. I want to inspire them with courage and urge them on in the fight, maybe even bring them to victory. God grants miracles to men of faith. Yes, He does. And these men of mine, these loyal ones, they may be few in number but their faith is stronger than any army we’ve ever mustered from this place. They’ve stayed with us because they love God. The least I can do is go with them to fight in His holy war.”
Ana looked at him, and for a time she said nothing. Her eyes moved slowly across his face and down his thin body beneath the brown robe. Moving to him, she dropped to her knees and took his hand in both of hers and kissed it. He reached out with his other hand and caressed her hair.
“God casts us down and raises us up again,” he said softly. “Blessed be His name.”
Lucia was sleeping when Isabel came with the news. The enemy had returned to Apalachee; the warriors from Ivitachuco were going out to fight; and Carlos was outside, asking to see her. She sat up, her hand against the dull menstrual pain in her body.
“He is going to war?” Sleep was clearing from her mind, but still she felt confused. When she had gone to bed, the town was feasting and dancing, she keeping to herself because her menstruating condition made her dangerous to others, especially to men. And now while she was sleeping, war had come.
“I cannot see him. Tell him I am in my menses. I would spoil his power. Tell him …” She stared into the darkness. Tell him what? That she was afraid for him? That she did not want him to go? Who was she to say any of those things? Especially like this, through Isabel. She looked at her grandmother and could only see the faintest outline of her in the darkness. “I wish that I could speak to him,” she said quietly. “But I cannot. Tell him I wish him well.”
“Perhaps I should tell him you will fast for him,” said Isabel.
Lucia lay back on her bed. “Yes. You can tell him that.” She turned on her side and watched as Isabel left. Then she heard her grandmother’s voice outside and the voice of Carlos coming softly in reply. She pulled up her knees against the menstrual pain. He was going to war, then. He would not go to Mass for the priest, but he would go to war for him. Though what else could he do? He could never be chief if he refused to join the men in war. That would seal it. He might as well desert then, go north and find Maria.
She closed her eyes, wishing to call out to him, to say something to him, anything, and hear him answer. But there was silence now and she knew that he was gone. She opened her eyes and stared at the empty doorway. In a moment there was a glimmer of firelight there, and it grew brighter as Isabel appeared carrying a piece of burning pine that she had lit from the outside fire. She brought in some small wood with her and dropped the pieces onto the cold hearth and then thrust the burning pine into the midst of them.
“He is gone,” the old woman said.
“I know.” Lucia sat up to face the fire, folding her hands between her knees, her shoulders bent forward. She did not look at Isabel.
“It is surprising to me that he came,” said Isabel, pulling a cane mat away from the heat of the fire and sitting down on it. The night was already too warm and the fire was only for light, as if Isabel had a special need to see Lucia’s face as she spoke with her.
“He is a friend,” said Lucia, staring into the flames. “At Don Gaspar’s ranch he would come with me when I went to water in the mornings. He was trying to learn the old ways.”
“And you told him things?”
“I taught him a little. The kinds of things that most people already know. He barely knew more than a child would.”
“Have you lain together?”
Lucia looked at her. “No. It was not that way.”
“And since you have come home from Don Gaspar’s? Have you still been teaching him?”
Lucia looked down at her hands clamped between her knees. The fire was making her hot. She could feel perspiration on her face. “At Don Gaspar’s there was a stream and I could get away to a hidden spot. But here when I go to water at the spring other women are there, so he does not come. I talk to him sometimes in the plaza or when we are working in the fields. But it is not serious talk.”
“But now that he is going onto the war trail, he comes especially to speak to you. More seriously, I think.”
Lucia shrugged. “We are friends. Since he moved out of the church, he does not have many friends. People are puzzled by him. They do not know what to say.”
“He said to tell you not to be afraid.”
Lucia rubbed a hand over her forehead, wiping away the perspiration. The menstrual pain was growing strong again and she rocked gently to ease it.
“He said he would come back,” Isabel said quietly.
Lucia nodded, slowly rocking as she stared into the heat of the dying fire. The glowing embers fell in upon themselves, and the light faded back into darkness.