by DiAnn Mills
“Are you saying Señora Phillips has not sent a rider after her husband?” Armando asked. “Have they no love for the señorita, especially since she chose to take the place of her madre?”
At that moment, Juan looked much like Emilio, wide-set eyes revealing the weight of his heart. “Si, she did send a vaquero after him.”
“Then Señor Phillips will return home in time to save his daughter.”
Juan peered out to the hills and leaned on his straight leg. “I fear many things, Armando. Señor Phillips can be a harsh man, and he may decide to destroy the whole valley for what you’ve done to his family.”
“I have my spies.”
“Maybe so, but you could help guarantee the safety of our people by allowing me to take the señorita home.” Juan’s voice was edged with emotion.
“No, I must fulfill my vow.” Armando stiffened with his reply. “This is the way I have chosen.”
“Have you asked Dios for help?”
Armando thought through his words carefully. To deny God when his people worshiped Him meant losing their esteem. “Have you not heard my people? All of them seek Dios for our success. I am not one man imploring Dios to grant us victory, but many men, women, and children lifting prayers to the heavens.”
Juan fixed a steady gaze into Armando’s face. “Our Dios does not condone murder—”
“The padres have told us the stories of King David and his mighty armies. I read them while studying at the missions. Many people were killed.”
“And you are comparing yourself to King David? This is not the same. You have kidnapped an innocent young señorita to hold as ransom for your demands, a young woman who already sides with your plight.”
Armando tapped his boot against the ground to contain his fury. “How easy for you to judge. You live in the safety of Señor Phillips’s Hacienda. Your children have food to eat and clothes to wear. My people,” he waved his hand back toward La Flor, “will have nothing if we are forced to leave the valley. Our children will starve. The señorita is sympathetic to us? How easy for the rich to throw crumbs to the poor.”
Juan’s face flushed red. He wet his lips before speaking. “The missions are there to help.”
“The missions, humph. One more ploy of the Spanish to keep us under their thumbs. They make laws to benefit themselves then have the padres dictate to our people how they should live as though the mandates were from God.”
“Let’s not argue, Armando. I did not come to arouse your anger, but to plead for the señorita. I believe Dios always has a better way, one that does not involve killing the innocent.”
“The innocent are the ones I’m trying to protect.” He slowly gained control of his anger. “I will keep her to bargain for La Flor. I believe her father will allow us to live on our land.”
“I don’t understand you; neither do I accept your decision. The thought of the señorita dying or losing my friends and family here grieves me. I wish I could make the situation right, but my Dios holds the power in His hands. Prayer is the best weapon I can carry…and I will use it night and day.”
Tense, heavy silence settled upon them.
Armando sighed and laid his hand upon Juan’s shoulder. “Stay with us, eat, and rest before you journey back.”
“If I’m missed, there may be trouble for my family. May I see the señorita before I leave?”
“No, mi amigo. It would not be wise.”
Juan narrowed his eyes. “You would deny a father the right to see his daughter?”
“Perhaps, if she were really your daughter.” Armando forced a slight smile. “It’s better this way.”
Juan turned and limped back toward the village. Armando watched him secure his horse and ride away without a word to anyone, even Emilio.
Now, as Armando steadied his gaze into the flickering firelight, he regretted denying Juan the right to visit the señorita. Juan considered her as one of his own. He even believed the señorita sided with the villagers. Tomorrow he planned to tell Emilio of this poor decision and apologize to Juan at the first opportunity. After all, Armando possessed honor among the people, and he intended to maintain his position. Juan had been right. Shedding innocent blood was not the way to secure peace for his people. But how?
I am nothing but a poor man leading a ragged troop of farmers, a man who loves his people. I desire only to see them live in peace and watch their children grow.
He studied his captive, who also seemed to engage her thoughts in the flames lapping at the fire’s logs. He wondered about her fear, and if she truly felt her father was wrong in his plans to take the valley. Juan said she sided with La Flor. Again remorse nudged at him—for too many things.
Marianne sensed Armando’s gaze upon her, but she maintained her musings and stared into the fire. What thoughts rippled through his mind when it came to her? Was he considering how Papa would get revenge for her kidnapping? Until she had heard Armando speak his heart, she’d hated him. Now she better understood his reasoning and determination, but he was terribly misguided.
The soft sounds of the guitar soothed the chaos in her spirit. She inwardly smiled. Mama had insisted she learn to play the piano, and Marianne had practiced with fervor. The sweet lilt had comforted her when Papa’s stern words and actions had torn at her heart, and the music of tonight held the same effect.
Papa…how wonderful if he would ride into La Flor and demand that Armando release her.
“She is my daughter, and I love her,” Papa would declare.
How foolish of me. Still dreaming of things that will never happen.
Exhausted, she fought the stinging in her eyes to keep from weeping. Oh, for a whole night’s sleep without the painful ropes. She didn’t care where—she’d even welcome the hard dirt floor. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and massaged her neck and shoulders. The pounding in her head had grown worse. Mama would have suggested a cup of tea with a hint of honey.
Marianne started. Something touched her side. At first she thought it was a dog, but a quick glance revealed a small boy had snuggled beside her. He peered up into her face, and a tousle of thick, dark hair rippled across his forehead. Instinctively she wrapped her arm around his shoulders. He smiled and nestled closer. He couldn’t have been more than three years old, trusting, warm, and so little. She kissed the tip of his nose and delighted in the child-like smell of him. It didn’t matter that he needed a bath. Carmita once said children should play as hard as their parents work.
The child laid his head upon her lap and drew up his knees to his body. She brushed her finger across his soft cheek. How good of God to bring her this glimpse of Him. Marianne swallowed a sob.
Heavenly Father, forgive my selfish ways. How could I ever have doubted You? I do not deserve Your mercies, Your love. I know You are here, as You have always been. I surrender my fears to You. No matter what becomes of me.
The child’s hand slipped into hers, confirming to her His presence. A wave of peace settled about her. Armando, still seated at Marianne’s left side, bent forward. She felt his scrutiny penetrate the shadows, and she met his gaze. Nothing audible passed between them, but she sensed the sight of the child resting in her lap softened his austere disposition.
She turned her attention back to the child and continued to stroke his face. With her head bowed, she wept for more reasons than she cared to list.
Armando reached across her lap and stirred the child. “Little one, where is your madre?”
The little boy pushed himself up and looked about him. Confusion etched his angelic features.
“Rico?” Armando lifted the child’s chin and studied his face in the shadows.
The little boy’s lips quivered.
“Where is your padre?”
Rico looked into the crowd then back at Armando and Marianne. He shrugged and laid his head down without releasing her hand.
Armando stood and scooped Rico up into his arms. He walked to the guitar player and silenced him with a n
od. The crowd also hushed. “Little Rico is looking for his padre. Pepe, where are you?”
A man exited from the shadows. “Mi hijo. My son.” He opened his arms to the child, and the boy leaped into his father’s embrace.
Jealousy stirred in Marianne. She had relished the child’s touch and did not want to let him go, even to his father. But she knew Rico had been sent to her on the wings of an angel.
Armando raised his arms to the people. “This is why we fight for La Flor, so our children will have a home.”
The villagers roared in agreement, and the music continued. Firelight illuminated Armando’s high cheekbones and upturned lips. Standing erect and clothed in a vaquero’s finest, he possessed a general’s bearing. With a wave of his arm, he gestured to his men and incited their zeal for the valley.
Marianne marveled at the power Armando held over the villagers, and the way they clung to his every word. For a moment she felt the passion for his cause. No wonder his tattered army obeyed him, and the women craved his attention.
Marianne’s father did not have an inkling of Armando Garcia’s leadership.
Chapter 8
When the music and laughter from the celebration faded, Marianne watched the villagers return to their homes. Parents carried sleeping children, and couples knit together as one. Armando remained alone among the dying embers. He paced back and forth in front of the still crackling fire, reminding Marianne of a wildcat her father had once caged. Snarling, incensed, the animal simply wanted to be free.
He motioned for Marianne to stand. With a deep breath, she did his bidding and hid her reluctance. For a few precious hours, she’d masked her despair with the sights and sounds of the festivities. The truth of her plight now brought a weariness that crushed her spirit. Where was her faith? God must think her fickle.
Alone in the shadows, Armando seemed too preoccupied in his thoughts to leave.
Finally he ceased pacing, and they silently began the trek to Manuel and Rosa’s hut. Armando grabbed her upper arm and pulled her away from the path. Marianne shivered and resisted his hold.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I have no plans to hurt you. Sleep will evade me this night, and you can accompany me while I contemplate what I must do.”
She willed her trembling body to relax and abandoned the useless struggle. How long before he realized she understood his every word?
“Ah, my voice calms you,” he said. “I wish the nearness of you did not affect me so strongly.”
Marianne dwelled on the tenderness in his voice. She could tell he wrestled with his decision to kill her.
“But my desires are selfish,” he said. “The welfare of my people is most important.”
Her spirits plummeted farther than before. She wondered if she relinquished her promise to Juan and tried to speak to Armando, perhaps she could convince him to abandon his resolve.
They began the slow ascent of the path that led away from La Flor.
“Ah, did you notice Felipe in the shadows when the others left for their homes? I wonder what treachery he plans next? If he were not my mother’s cousin, I’d throw him from the valley.” Armando breathed deeply and turned to view the village.
He stood close enough for her to feel his warm breath upon her neck. A strange sensation crept over her. She was bewildered. When the time came, this man would kill her. Had the toll on her emotions driven her insane? How could she feel anything but repulsion for her abductor?
“I do not know what is best,” he whispered.
Suddenly she noticed a flash of fire rising from one of the huts. Marianne gasped and tugged at Armando’s arm. He, too, detected the consuming flames.
“Dios Santo, remember the prayers of Your people.” He grasped her hand, and together they raced toward the village.
Marianne worked alongside every available man, woman, and child to fight the fiery monster that consumed first one then two huts. The people formed two lines and passed buckets of water from the village well to the flames threatening to devour their homes. She heard their prayers to Mother Mary, pleading with her to bring their cause to God. The raging fires must halt before La Flor was nothing but burning embers. Marianne offered her own silent supplications for the innocent.
She looked for an opportunity to escape. No one would come after her as long as they battled the blaze.
The muscles in her shoulders and arms begged for release, but she still swung the pail of water on down the line as the fire persisted. None of the villagers slackened for fear their homes lay next in the treacherous path.
Several young children clustered near the fire, some were stunned by the devastation and others crying for their mothers.
“The children,” a woman said to the left of Marianne. A mixture of perspiration and soot streamed down her face. “Someone needs to tend to the children before they’re hurt.”
Rosa broke from one of the lines to gather the little ones about her, but they were too frightened to follow. Another old woman attempted to help, but amidst the shouts of those battling the inferno, the children refused to move.
A gust of wind blew the flames onto another rooftop and immediately ignited the dried grasses. Marianne stole a moment to catch a glimpse of the children. A small boy escaped Rosa’s grasp. He looked like Rico.
Marianne searched for Armando, but she knew he must be at the front of the line combating the fire. With his permission, she could help with the children. Alarm grew for the fate of the little ones. Rosa and the other woman had them under control, all except the one small boy who had inched closer to a hut that sat in the path of the blaze. A spark caught the rooftop.
As though spurred by an invisible demon, the child raced toward the burning hut. Rosa screamed a warning, and the other woman grabbed the closest two children. Without heeding their cries, he ran inside as the roof went up in flames.
The women could not leave the children alone. Neither could they go after the boy. Their cries brought the attention of an old man, but the fire had gathered momentum and had spread over the entire roof, deterring him. Giant yellow tongues snatched up and ingested every twig and dried leaf in its way.
Marianne rushed from the line toward the burning hut. The image of Rico stayed foremost in her mind, the small boy with a sweet smile and a gentle touch. Oh, God, help me to get to him in time. Not a child, Lord, please, do not take this child.
The intensity of the heat took her breath away, and the smoke billowed from the doorway as though it defied her entrance. She lingered a moment, but the shrieking child propelled her inside the raging furnace. Glancing up, she saw the weakened roof shift and a sputtering of fiery dried grass drift to the floor. She had to find him before they both were smothered by the flames.
Smoke stung her eyes and throat and swirled about her face. Flames leaped and lapped up a chair in the center of the room. In a far corner, she saw the child. It was Rico, surrounded by a wall of fire. He cried out.
Shielding her mouth and nose from the suffocating smoke, Marianne fought her way to him. She prayed the roof wouldn’t collapse before she had time to carry him out. Her fingers stretched to latch onto his extended hands. She snatched him up into her arms, his tiny body hot and trembling. He laid his head against her shoulder, and she placed a protective hand over his face to help him breathe.
The path to the door stretched endlessly as she dodged falling fire sticks and burning debris in her path. An invisible crushing weight pressed upon her chest. She choked and coughed, fearing the worst.
Oh, God, help us. She could no longer hear anything for the roar and sputtering of the fire.
She strained to keep her eyes open, afraid to shift her focus from the door. They must escape the fire…only a few more feet. Rico must make it to safety.
Suddenly, Armando stood in the doorway.
At first she thought him a vision. “Armando!” He rushed inside and wrapped his arms around her and Rico, leading them through the fiery maze to fresh, clean air.
Once free of the flaming mass, Marianne felt her knees give way. She convulsed for air, afraid she would fall and injure Rico. Someone lifted him from her arms. Needle-like smoke filled her eyes and blinded her vision. Her chest hurt and tears welled her eyes.
“Here, drink this water.” Armando took a bucket from Rosa. Marianne obediently sipped water from his cupped palm and wet her parched lips.
Her throat burned like a lighted torch. Again she coughed and struggled for air.
“Easy.” His voice was gentle above the fiery inferno.
After several minutes, the overwhelming sensation faded, and her breath returned in less painful gasps. Marianne thanked God for deliverance, but when she tried to murmur a word of gratitude to Armando, she choked.
A droplet of water fell upon her head. She peered upward and felt a sprinkling of rain dot her cheeks. Its pace quickened, and she closed her eyes, allowing the steady stream to cleanse her face. Another miracle and answered prayer to a land that received little rainfall.
Shouts rose from the villagers. Marianne began to laugh. With wobbly legs and torturous wheezes of air, she attempted to stand. Armando’s strong arm encircled her waist and supported her. If her body had been strong enough, she’d have danced for joy. Never had rain given such pleasure.
My Lord and my God. Thank You!
The cool water penetrated her hair and clothes, washing away the dirt and smoke. Glancing at Armando, she saw a smile creep across his face.
She smiled in return. “Gracias.”
The heaviness of sleep tugged at Armando’s eyelids. Nearby, Manuel and Rosa slept on pallets as did his captive. The women’s even breathing and his uncle’s snoring sounded peaceful after the turmoil of the past few days. All of them rested but him.
He knew he needed to rest, but his mind failed to release him. Thoughts of the evening whirled and spun with everything from the celebration to the fire, and always settling on the señorita. Staring at her small figure, he wrestled with what he must do now.