by DiAnn Mills
“Mi hijo, it is not I who chose a different path. I’ve committed my life to the people of Tejas, and I will never stop praying and fighting for them.” Bernardino spoke his words softly, yet with conviction.
Remorse tore at Armando’s heart. “I apologize for not trusting you with La Flor’s well-being. Now I know if we’d come to you in the beginning, the situation might have been resolved more easily. As their leader, I’m the one to blame for breaking the laws. In the future, I’ll encourage my people always to seek your counsel. But what of my crimes?”
“When I visit Governor Elguezábel, I’ll describe you as a man who loves his people so much that he made foolish decisions. I’ll tell him of your desire to return all of the possessions belonging to Señor Phillips and your confession of doing nothing when others in desperation kidnapped Señor Phillips’s daughter.” He folded his hands at his waist. “I plan to testify of the years you spent with me in the mission and your devotion to the matters of Dios. My prayer is the governor will have mercy on your plight and release you to me in full pardon.”
Armando wet his lips. “And what does that mean for you?”
“Simply said, if you break any more laws, I will be held responsible.”
Never had he expected Padre Bernardino Vallyo’s generosity. “Why, Padre? I don’t deserve your risking your excellent reputation, and I’m ready to take any punishment Governor Elguezábel issues.”
A smile spread across Bernardino’s face. “These are the things the Dios santo has revealed to me. Perhaps He desires you to understand His unmerited mercy.”
Armando felt a yearning in his spirit, and he began to wonder if he’d been wrong in his evaluation of Dios. Then, as quickly as the thoughts entered his mind, they disappeared. In its place came the doubt and guilt so dominant in his mind. “I will never forget all you’ve done for me and my people,” he said. “I swear I will not dishonor your name or cause you to regret your decision.”
“I can do no less for those I love,” Bernardino said, and placed a hand on Armando’s shoulder.
Armando knew of only a few times when speech escaped him, but he could not bring himself to express his gratitude to the padre in the proper words. “I’d like to stay until you receive word from the governor, but Emilio and Pepe need to ride back to their families.”
A smile played on the padre’s lips. “I welcome your company.”
As soon as he spoke, the bells rang out summoning the people to morning Mass. Armando attended the services, knowing his presence pleased Bernardino. This time he didn’t mind the religious atmosphere, for elation filled his spirit at the thought of his people’s safety. Hope replaced the fear of his people suffering injustice at the hands of the gringo or the Spanish, and Armando drank in the rare peace.
Shortly after a morning meal of cornmeal mush, Emilio and Pepe left for La Flor. Meanwhile, Bernardino prepared himself to journey the nearly ten miles to San Antonio de Bejar by wagon. Armando planned to go with him disguised as a peasant.
“This may be foolish, mi hijo.” The padre frowned. He stared at Armando dressed in the typical white shirt, pants, and sandals common to the mission people. “Why not wait here until I return in the late afternoon?”
Armando grinned. “Look at me, Padre. I belong with you.” He climbed up onto the wagon and took the reins of a swaybacked horse hitched to the wooden structure. He patted the palm hat pulled down over his eyes. “I’m your driver, and I can keep you from wild hombres.”
Bernardino climbed up beside Armando. “You always were a stubborn one.” He chuckled. “But I am glad for your company.”
Armando urged the horse forward. It had been a long time since he and the padre had discussed books, history, and life. Without the dreaded topic of Dios, it would be an enjoyable trip.
“Padre.” Armando sensed a lightheartedness not often prevalent in his life. “Did you ever discover who put the frog in the chalice during Mass?”
Bernardino chuckled. “Ah, it was not Felipe, but the rascal sitting beside him that morning.”
“Si.” He laughed. “The other boys believed Felipe had done the mischief, and he enjoyed the glory.”
As the men talked of the old days, the trip progressed quickly. Yet finally, Armando felt compelled to ask. “Do you believe the governor will reach a decision today?”
Bernardino swatted a hungry mosquito resting on his hand. “I don’t know, but I pray he will. It all depends on how he interprets what I tell him, and if Señor Phillips has already been to see him. I’ve been thinking you may need to go into hiding.”
“Not unless I am assured the valley is safe,” Armando said.
“Perhaps I shall have an answer today.”
“Then I shall wait near the wagon.”
“But not patiently. Armando Garcia never waits patiently.”
The sun had not reached its peak when Armando drove the rickety wagon into San Antonio de Bejar’s market place. Excitement buzzed like honeybees, and the shouts of those wishing to sell or barter their goods echoed across the plaza. Creaking two-wheeled ox-drawn carros bringing poultry, colorful serapes, pottery, and various other goods ambled through the dirt street, while owners drove their cattle to the center of activity. Children scurried about in play, and lovely señoritas stole moments with the young men. Madres laughed and scolded as they prepared to serve food later in the day, now and then taking a long look at the colorful blankets and pottery. This was the capital of the Spanish province of Tejas.
Armando drove on past the busy people intermingled with the despised blue-coated soldiers and on to the governor’s palace. Stopping in front of the heavy, carved walnut door, he watched the padre step down from the wagon.
“Where will you be?” Bernardino’s forehead lined with concern.
“In the marketplace. I’ll not be far.”
“Dios be with you,” the padre said, as though by habit, but Armando saw the anxiousness in his brown eyes.
“Don’t worry. I’ll not get into trouble, and no one will recognize me today.” With those words, Armando tilted his palm hat farther down over his eyes and gathered up the reins to continue on his way.
Armando refused to think of what might happen if Governor Elguezábel refused the padre’s request. For now, Armando must tuck himself away in the marketplace and watch the people carry on their business.
Lingering among the merchants past the midday meal and siesta, he ignored the hunger gnawing at him. He really had no mind to eat, for impatience had begun to take its toll. Just when he believed the padre must be begging for La Flor and Armando’s life, the brown-robed figure appeared.
“We need to leave immediately,” the padre said with no visible trace of emotion. “We can talk later.”
Armando accepted the request without question, and soon the two men were on the road south toward Mission San José.
“It went well,” Bernardino finally said. “I don’t know if we were followed, which is why I wanted to leave the city before we talked.”
Feeling his muscles relax, Armando swallowed hard as he waited for the padre to explain what occurred with the governor.
“Dios was with us,” he began. “Just before I arrived, one of the solidats had visited Governor Elguezábel with a complaint. It seems an American who holds an important position at the Phillips Hacienda has dishonored a señorita and refuses to take her in marriage.”
Armando lifted a brow. He well knew the gringo, Clay Wharton…and remembered what he’d done to Felipe’s sister. “I know the man,” he said, “a bad hombre.”
“The governor is highly displeased—and angry with all Americans. The French have sold Louisiana to the Americans, and their occupation threatens Tejas borders.” He turned his attention to Armando, and a wave of sadness seemed to pass over him. “Forgive me, Dios, for I am rejoicing over another man’s sin and a señorita’s dishonor.” Bernardino’s gaze met Armando’s. “Governor Elguezábel will not allow Señor Phillips to take La Flo
r. I am responsible for your actions now, which means I will be journeying to La Flor soon.”
For a moment he thought he might break down and weep like a child. His people would be able to remain in their homes.
“And he will not bring charges against you for kidnapping the señorita. At least not today,” the padre said. “He expects you to return the weapons and half of the livestock.”
All the hatred Armando held for the Spanish suddenly dissipated, if only for the moment. “How am I to return the weapons? Señor Phillips will have me shot if I am within miles of his hacienda.”
Bernardino nodded. “The governor will dispatch an envoy to La Flor in three days’ time to gather the stolen items and return them to Señor Phillips. At that time, he’ll learn of the governor’s decision about La Flor and his demands regarding Señor Wharton.”
“I want to select thirty additional heads of cattle for them,” Armando said, “and horses that I know came from his herds.” He wanted to owe the gringo nothing.
The padre touched Armando’s shoulder. “Dios has saved La Flor and your life. He must have something extraordinary planned for you.” His voice faded to barely a whisper. “Turn back to Him, mi hijo. Turn back to Him. Dios loves you more than you can imagine.”
Chapter 16
Armando knew what Bernardino wanted to hear, but pleasing this dear man meant lying. He had too much respect for the humble padre to resort to such low means.
Finally Armando spoke. “If only to console the heaviness in your heart, I would gladly come to confession, even take my vows. But I cannot live in deceit.” He peered into the clear, compassionate eyes of his amigo. “I owe you my life, the work of my hands, but not my soul.”
“Stating that you don’t owe me your soul says you believe in Dios,” the padre said. “I will continue to pray.” His face held an ethereal glow, and Armando saw the visible peace that he sorely desired for himself.
Armando studied the ruts in the road. Could Bernardino not see he didn’t need Dios? With an inward sigh, he forced himself to examine the truth. When anger did not override his senses, he wanted to believe Dios existed for all of mankind.
“I see the worried frown on your face,” Bernardino said. “We don’t need to talk of such things now. I have a matter of great concern to discuss with you, not of La Flor or Señor Phillips, but of your father, Joseph Garcia. I wanted to settle things with the governor before I shared with you that Joseph contacted me.”
Armando immediately focused his attention on what the padre had to say. Each time he believed his father didn’t matter to him, something nudged him and a host of old memories, both good and bad, crowded his thoughts. Masking his turmoil, he turned to Bernardino. “And what about this man do you wish to relay?”
“After you left the mission, I received a letter from him to give to you. Since that time, you haven’t returned for me to place it in your hands. And those few times I visited La Flor, you were absent.”
“What does it say?” Armando kept his gaze on the dirt road ahead, attempting not to sound overly anxious or even to care about the letter’s contents.
“I haven’t read it, only the portion addressed to me.” Bernardino pulled a leather drawstring bag from inside the folds of his robe. “I placed it in here to protect it.” He held out the bag to Armando. “It’s yours. Perhaps it will ease the bitterness of his departure. I feared,” he sighed, “if the solidats arrested you, you might never know his words for you.”
Armando took the pouch, deeply touched that his friend cared so much to keep the letter. He fingered the yellowed paper and mentally calculated when he’d be alone to read its contents. Placing it inside his shirt, he wondered if the words would feel as soft and supple as the leather against his skin.
“Your father was a good man,” Bernardino said. “He went to his grave loving you and your madre.”
Armando clenched his jaw to keep from firing the words coursing through his mind. “Enough to leave us?” he asked. “Enough to send mi madre to an early grave?”
“Sometimes a man chooses to do things out of love and duty when no one understands but Dios.”
Suddenly Armando remembered Marianne. He’d sent her away with tears in her eyes. “I will read the letter with an open heart.” No pretense laced his words. Heaven forbid if his sweet señorita ever felt indignant toward him when all he wanted rested in her happiness and safety.
Later in the evening, after he’d bid Bernardino good-bye, Armando sat by his campfire and allowed himself to linger upon the memory of Marianne. He’d been a fool not to hold her just once. If he had expressed his emotions then, he might not feel this ache now. For certain, if ever their paths should cross again, he’d kiss her lips and draw her to him until he heard her heart beat next to his.
The news of the governor siding with the villagers still stunned him. Throughout the ride back, Armando had contemplated La Flor’s good fortune. A part of him wanted to ride night and day to his village, and the other desired to savor the report like droplets of honey. Whether the favorable news was attributed to luck or Dios, Señor Phillips would not have the grazing lands of La Flor.
Armando added another log to the spitting fire. He stared into the yellow flames as though the answers to all his problems were buried beneath the embers. The time had come to open his father’s letter.
He pulled the letter from the leather pouch and studied the Garcia seal on it. With no one around but the singing insects and the coyotes calling in the distance, he sought the reason for Joseph Garcia’s abandonment.
My dear hijo, Armando,
Over two years have passed since I last saw you and your madre, and I long to be in your presence. I despise myself for leaving both of you—even more to learn of my Lucita’s death. Perhaps you hate me too but no more than I detest myself.
I was a coward to leave and sail home to the comforts of Spain, but my family feared my health would deteriorate in the new land. Here in my homeland, under the care of good doctors, perhaps the pain in my chest would subside. How unwise of me. I am wallowing in self-pity for things I cannot change and dying slowly day by day. Oh, how I miss you and your madre. I should have spent these lonely two years with my Lucita and my son.
Armando, my earnest desire was to return to you and your madre as a whole man, healthy, strong, and breathing without pain. I wanted to marry your madre and be a true father. I wanted so much for you…to tell you of many things and watch you grow into a man. Instead I listened to my family’s urgings to leave you and your madre behind and seek good health. Dios have mercy on my weak soul.
This letter has not said all that I intended. It cannot bring you peace or joy, or even fill the emptiness from losing your parents. But above all things, please know this: I loved your madre and I love you.
Learn from my mistakes, mi hijo. Do not be easily swayed from your convictions. Search for truth and love. Uphold the integrity of the Garcia name. May Dios give you the courage to forgive me.
Joseph Garcia de la Menendez y Lopez
Armando covered his face with his hands and wept. All these years he’d hated his father, loathed his name, and wished his madre had not allowed the name Garcia to be entered in the mission birth records. Now Armando knew the truth. Joseph Garcia, frail and weak as addressed in the letter, had fallen prey to his family’s wishes and the demands of nobility. At the time, Armando’s father had done what he believed would ultimately be the best for the woman and son he loved.
Shaking his head to rid his mind of the guilt and regret, Armando tucked his father’s letter inside the leather bag and slid it inside his shirt. Moments later, he lay on the hard ground and slept. And for a precious few hours, his mind ceased to race.
The following morning, Armando returned to La Flor. Emilio waved to him from the lookout.
Armando lifted his rifle into the air. “Assemble the men. We have much to celebrate.”
“So the news is good?”
Armando laughe
d. “The padre spoke in our behalf to Governor Elguezábel. We will keep our homes.”
The news spread throughout the village. Once more, the evening rang with laughter and song, and the people called Armando un héroe. For the first time in a long while, he felt like joining them. Even so, he wondered how he should spend his days now that his mission had been accomplished. He relished the thought of raising his own cattle and horses.
“It is a miracle that the governor sided with us,” Emilio said. “The padre is a good man.”
Armando smiled. “I believe so.” He refrained from revealing the information about Señor Wharton. One of the residents of La Flor might know the girl’s family and be humiliated.
In the days that followed, Armando’s joy in seeing the valley prosper in the hands of his people subsided, replaced by the old restlessness. He worked hard with the other vaqueros to keep the cattle and horses together. They branded their stock as the missions had done for years and kept close watch so as not to lose them to the open range or the warring Comanches. All unmarked livestock became the property of the Crown, not the villagers, and they were mindful to secure their own herds. Armando had to admit, some of the mission’s ways were good.
For now, all was well in La Flor, with no more visits from Señor Phillips and his foreman. Armando hadn’t heard what happened with the gringo Wharton, but by now a wedding had been scheduled, or the hombre had been shot. He preferred the latter.
As in days gone by, Armando’s Tia Rosa lived only to please him, and señoritas flashed their eyes in his direction at every opportunity. He should have felt flattered, but not so. Always his mind turned to two matters—his unrest and Marianne. The turmoil in his spirit had always been there, but the yearning for Marianne was another matter. At times he believed if she stood beside him, he could conquer the darkness of his moods. But what if the quest proved impossible? Dare he submit any woman to the torment plaguing his soul?