by DiAnn Mills
He stared at Marianne speechless. Her words sparked both frustration and hope. She spoke of the one thing he so desperately craved. Peace.
Without responding, for fear of hurting her with his spiteful words, he pointed toward his people. “I must get back to work.” His mind raced with what she’d just said. Could he have been wrong? Nothing from the padres or the books he’d read ever sounded like this. But he had seen this peace in some of the padres’ eyes and in many of the people of La Flor.
Her troubled look touched his heart, and he forced a smile. “I don’t want to quarrel with you. Your ways of worshiping Dios are not the same as mine. Forgiveness can only come through a padre.”
“I understand your confusion,” she said. “I’ll pray for your understanding. I think you may need a little time with Dios.” Marianne turned to leave, then faced him again. “Dios loves you. You don’t need a padre to go to Him. All He requires is a repentant heart.”
Again Armando chose not to reply. Her words whirled in his troubled mind. He’d performed all the things the priests required, all but his priestly vows. He’d never felt the peace that she spoke of. What more must he do?
But the restlessness seemed to overpower him. In his reflections of the blessed Savior, Armando had always considered Jesus as a symbol of love and sacrifice, an example of total humility and an inspiration to do many things for Him. He’d died for man’s sins. Was there more? What could have escaped him?
Armando realized he needed help. The prospect of one more hour with the agony so familiar and yet so hated settled like a heavy yoke. This yearning didn’t come from his sense of duty and responsibility but from something deep inside him.
Heading to a secluded spot far from the others, Armando knew he needed quietness to mend his spirit. The moment he reached a clump of rocks, barren of vegetation, he fell to his knees.
Santo Del Padre, I don’t understand how I can ask forgiveness of my sins without a priest, but I cannot live another day with the restlessness burning in my soul. My sins are more than I can name…greed, selfishness, coveting, allowing myself to look grand in the eyes of my people. So many faults, Dios, and I beg Your mercy upon me.
My heart aches for peace. What must I do? More prayers? Work harder for my people? Possibly return to the San José Mission? I beg release.
He remembered the placid look on Marianne’s face when she spoke of Jesus Christ, as though she knew the blessed Savior as a friend. She talked of acknowledging His sacrifice. Hadn’t he done that every day at the mission? Must Jesus be asked to live in a sinner’s heart? Was that all He must do for peace? How could a single young woman know more about Dios and His workings than a man who studied for the priesthood?
Questions without answers assaulted him. He felt beaten and battered more than if he’d built the barrier wall by himself. Tears flowed down his cheeks. He again begged for mercy. Burying his face in his hands, he saw no alternative.
Blessed Jesus, I know You suffered and died on a cross for my sins. I know You rose from the dead and reign in the heavens with the Santo Padre. I need Your gift of peace. I need You in my life to rule and guide me in all things. I need Your wisdom to lead my people and what You would have me do with Marianne. Come to me and give my spirit rest.
No sooner had the words left his thoughts than Armando felt an invisible hand lift the heaviness from his shoulders. The burdens of his heart vanished. He touched his shoulder. No one was there. Could it be his prayers were answered? The blanket of darkness surrounding him with despair for longer than he cared to remember appeared gone, and in its place dwelled a sense of freedom. And peace.
“Oh, Lord,” he whispered. “I do not see You, but I believe and love You. Thank You for filling me with this unfathomable joy, for I have received the salvation of my soul.”
Rising to his feet, Armando allowed the moment to wash over him. Si, even to drown him. His Dios would be right beside him during the siege of La Flor. Now he could lead his people. Later he’d discuss all of this with his friend Padre Bernardino.
Marianne. Suddenly he saw his beloved with him as long as he held breath. He must thank her for urging him to see the truth and allow her to see all the love he possessed—for Dios and for her.
“Congratulations, Isabella, I’m so glad for you,” Marianne said, as the two women filled their jugs from an open spring. “When is the wedding?”
“Two weeks,” the dark-haired beauty said. “I know what is happening to our village is so very sad, but I cannot but feel happiness when I think of Emilio and me spending the rest of our lives together.”
Marianne hoisted her filled jug to her hip. Her whole body ached from toting water and the lack of sleep, but she must continue to help. “I think love is supposed to make you forget bad things and be happy.”
The two began the trek to where the men worked. “And what of you and Armando? With what you did for us, he will never let you go.”
Marianne’s heart lifted. “I’m not sure what will happen, Isabella. When we last spoke, he thought I should return home. He believes I have no future here.” She gave her new friend a faint smile. “But in La Flor, I’m truly filled with joy.”
Pushing back her raven tresses, Isabella frowned. “He loves you. I see it in his eyes. I saw it the night he brought you to the celebration.”
“Even then?”
Isabella nodded. “I was so jealous.”
“He thinks he must provide for me as Papa does.”
“Don’t listen to him right now. Wait until all of this,” and she waved her hand around them, “is behind us.” Isabella paused. “I feel I should warn you, though.”
Marianne studied Isabella. “About what?”
“Armando is inclined to black moods. I’m not certain why. It may be due to his denial of Dios.”
“Leaving the mission and not taking his priestly vows?”
“He doesn’t believe in Dios, or so he claims. But I think his spirit wants him to.” She raised a questioning brow. “Do I make sense?”
“Si.” Marianne had seen enough black moods from Papa. Surely Armando did not have the same ill temperament. Mama’s warnings sickened her. “I will continue to pray for Dios to touch his heart and give him peace.”
“Emilio and I have been asking Him the same thing. Armando is like a brother to my Emilio, and he hurts to see Armando in such torment.”
Marianne failed to reply. In the last hours, doubts had clamored in her mind. Mama’s words about Papa’s charm during their courting days, and his change after they married crept across her mind. And of course, she could never forget Angelina and Clay.
Marianne scrambled again to recall all of Armando’s good qualities: the times he could have taken advantage of her naïveté or continued in his rebel ways to frustrate Papa. Armando kept his word to the padre at the San José Mission and to the governor. Shaking her head to expel the misgivings roaring through her mind, Marianne decided to pray and seek God’s leading. If she returned to her home, Papa would discipline her severely for foiling his plans. And if he banished her, she could seek refuge with Don Lorenzo…if he still wanted to marry her after this. Guilt caused her to shiver. How wrong it would be of her to run to the kindly Spanish nobleman because Armando wanted her to leave La Flor.
I am spinning my thoughts when it’s not necessary. Trying to think as God does and guess the future is wrong and displays my lack of trust.
“Marianne,” Isabella said. “Emilio and Armando are walking toward us. They must have good news for they are smiling. Please forgive me for alarming you about Armando. Love often changes how a man sees things.”
Marianne turned to her. “Don’t apologize because you merely reminded me of what I already know.”
The young women watched the two men approach. Indeed they looked happy—and in the midst of the pending gloom. Curiosity nearly overcame her.
“Here are the two most beautiful women of La Flor,” Armando said, with a dazzling smile. He reached
for Marianne’s water jug and rested it on the ground. Gathering her up in his arms, he pulled her to him. “You were right, mi ángel.”
She searched his face for answers and saw a calmness not evident before.
“All I needed was forgiveness, a turning of my heart to Dios.” A smile continued to play upon his lips.
“You’ve found peace with the Lord.” His admission filling her with elation, she encircled her arms around his neck and struggled with emotion. “Never have I been so happy.”
“I came to tell you and met Emilio along the way. Peace, Marianne. I have true peace.”
They laughed, and he held her at arm’s length. She brushed a tear from her cheek. “I’m forever crying about something, but this is worth a river of tears.”
Armando chuckled, then sobered. “All the years I have spent miserable and bitter.” Shaking his head, he looked to Emilio. “Gracias for not giving up on me. How sad our village must face destruction before I can call upon Dios.”
Emilio’s eyes grew liquid. “Dios will protect us as He has led you to Him.”
Armando reached to grasp the shoulder of his friend. “I now understand what you’ve been saying to me all these years.” He glanced about him and on to the busy villagers. “At the mission, I learned about Dios, but not about knowing Him. Now he lives inside of me where He should have always been.”
“Your face is bright with the love of our Lord,” Emilio said. “Our souls are singing together, despite the evil that threatens to befall us.”
“Tonight, when it grows dark, all of us will be ready to meet Señor Phillips and his cattle…and our Dios,” Armando said.
“To die if necessary.” Emilio wrapped an arm around Isabella’s waist. “I’m ready.”
Marianne shivered.
Chapter 28
With the sun fading behind the hills, Armando walked the length of the makeshift wall. The villagers had used carts, wagons, tree limbs, rocks, and personal belongings to barricade the entrance. It stood as a symbol of their commitment to their families and homes. The men had bade their loved ones good-bye and sent them on to the hilltop refuge before they assembled with Armando for final instructions. Now they must wait for Señor Phillips.
Emilio stood at the corral with Armando’s horse. “Gracias.” Armando took the reins from his friend. “Dios willing, we’ll save our valley and our people.” He pointed to the moon. “Look, we have a light to guide us.”
Emilio smiled. “As you told the men earlier, we are ready. Dios will fight for the righteous man.”
The two men briefly embraced. “You are a true amigo,” Armando said as they parted. “You and I are brothers. After tonight, we should see Padre Bernardino Vallyo. He’ll ensure justice is done.”
“The Spanish can be of use to us after all.” Emilio chuckled. “We could use them in a few hours.”
“For once I would welcome the sight of a blue and red uniform.” Armando gave him a half smile and swung up onto the saddle. He peered down at his friend, wanting to say more in the event they never saw each other again. “I ask one favor of you, my brother. If something happens to me tonight, take Marianne to Don Lorenzo Sanchez. He’ll not let any harm come to her. Do not let her father near her. I fear for her life after this is over.”
“I promise.”
“Instill in all of those staying in the valley that no one is to reveal to the gringos where our villagers are hiding.”
“Most assuredly, my brother.”
“Tell Juan I’m sorry. Thank him for looking after Marianne all the years she craved the affections of her father.”
Emilio nodded, and Armando spun his horse around in an easterly direction where guards had been posted since early afternoon. There, a little more than a mile from La Flor, Felipe and a dozen others searched in every direction for signs of stampeding cattle. Armando rode confidently, his trust and strength in Jesús Cristo.
He wanted to study more about his Lord. All of his recollections about the blessed Savior pointed to a personal indwelling of the Lord in a man’s heart, but he’d been blinded, spending all of his strength on doing things for other people. He’d believed that Dios counted him worthy to enter the kingdom of heaven by his efforts alone. How many others had fallen to the misfortune of believing heaven could be reached by accumulating good deeds? Marianne spoke such wisdom when she encouraged him to seek Dios with his heart. Later, if He willed it, when the happenings of this night were over and his people safe, Armando wanted to spend time with his Marianne and discuss the way she worshipped Dios. For certain, not all Protestants were pagans.
Marianne. The mere thought of her name invoked a passion never felt in him before. Her happiness and well-being ranked foremost in his life, and he shuddered at the thought of ever letting her go. But that must be the decision of Dios, not Armando’s selfish desires.
He waved at the shadowy figure of a villager posted on a rocky knoll. Already, darkness gathered around them, but the brilliant light cast from the full moon would be their amigo tonight.
Felipe, riding a midnight-blue mare, stole from behind a grove of trees. “Armando,” he said, “I’ve nothing to report. The señorita was wrong.” His words edged with fire.
Armando ignored Felipe’s obvious dislike of Marianne. “If Señor Phillips does not come tonight, it will be because he changed his mind.”
Felipe turned his attention toward the east. “We’ll see who is right. When you look like a fool, the people will elect me as their leader.”
“If the people want you to lead them, then I will gladly concede to your leadership.”
“That will happen before the night is over.”
Armando bit back a retort. This wasn’t the time to become involved in petty disputes. “And where are the other men posted?”
Felipe pointed to the various lookout points. Pleased, Armando saw the strategy in their positioning. He needed Felipe to support him and the plans for this night. “You have done well,” he said. “You haven’t supported me in many of my decisions, but you have done a fine job today. I appreciate your loyalty.”
Felipe stared at him in the darkness, no doubt dumfounded. “Gracias,” he whispered and paused before turning his attention back to the vast prairie of the east.
Armando and Felipe dismounted, and for the next thirty minutes, they listened wordlessly. Insects and birds called out in an air of tranquility. Then a sound, like distant thunder, rumbled in the distance.
Felipe dropped to his knees and listened with an ear to the ground. “They’re coming. And there are many.”
In an instant, Armando sat in his saddle. “You know the instructions.” He whirled his horse around to the north where Pepe and several others waited with nearly one hundred mustangs.
Armando’s dun raced across the hard ground. The steady, rhythmic beat of his horse’s hooves stirred his heart for victory.
“Pepe.” He barely stopped his horse long enough to speak.
The round-faced man emerged from where the horses were temporarily penned. “Are they coming?” Pepe asked.
Reining in his horse, Armando slowed long enough to reply. “Yes. Be ready. I’ll join you with the mustangs.”
Armando spurred his horse toward the villagers who stood guard near the barricade. He repeated his earlier orders. “Watch for the cattle. Make all the noise you can. If we fail, fire what weapons we have to deter them.”
He rode back to Felipe. None of his men would face danger alone. He intended to be with them every step of the way.
As his horse stood beside Felipe, the rumble grew louder. He could smell the danger and almost taste the dust accompanying their approach.
“Now!” Armando fired his musket into the air. The men at the barricade had boys and elderly men to reload for them.
Fourteen men sounded their weapons into the night sky. By the moon’s light, they pursued the stampeding cattle, the village men racing their mounts along the far left side of the herd, urging them to s
werve south.
From the north, Pepe and a handful of men chased mustangs into the advancing longhorns. Behind them followed La Flor’s cattle. The men fought an enemy of sound—as though the thunder of hell beat down on the valley’s defenders. Still the stampede pushed on in a deafening roar. Despite the futile efforts to turn them, Armando refused to accept defeat.
Oh, great Dios, we cannot do this without You. I beg of You, turn the cattle away from our valley.
The mustangs and cattle of La Flor rushed forward, a mere sprinkling against the force threatening to devour them. The men shouted and raised their weapons. How soon before the stampeding cattle pounded their homes into the ground?
Armando would not let his spirit wane. The valley must be saved. “In the name of Jesús Cristo,” Armando shouted. “Do not destroy our homes.” Suddenly, as though an invisible hand touched the sides of Weston Phillips’s cattle, they slowly leaned in a southerly direction.
Elation filled Armando’s being. He shouted at the cattle until his own throat stung with his screams. “Keep them turning. Send them back to where they belong.”
Phillips’s men fired into the villagers. Bullets whistled past Armando, and he felt certain he stood as the main target. Phillips most likely had offered a pile of gold to the man who killed Armando Garcia. He wished he could see if any of his men had fallen. Later, they would gather the wounded. Something stung his right shoulder, biting into his flesh like a swarm of a thousand angry bees. He winced but refused to cease firing and reloading his weapon.
The torch lights of La Flor flickered ahead, but Armando no longer feared for the valley. The cattle now raced south, but he and his men intended to veer them back east. The exchange of musket fire continued. He attempted to count Phillips’s men and realized they were few, just as Marianne had reported.
With the cattle turned, the villagers bravely trailed after the gringos for another two miles, scattering the longhorns so they could not be brought together for another attempt.