Awaken My Heart

by DiAnn Mills

  Weary and weak with the loss of blood from his shoulder, Armando joined his men to return to the village. Victorious. But two men lay dead from stampeding cattle, and one had been thrown from his horse only to be speared in the leg by a longhorn.

  Dismounting, Armando tore his shirt at the shoulder and wrapped it around his upper arm to stop the bleeding. The bullet had only grazed him, and he had full intentions of riding with some of the men to the hilltop site where the women, children, and elderly took refuge. There he’d speak to the families of the two dead men. Both had small children. Felipe volunteered to stay with additional guards in the valley in case the gringos returned. Perhaps Armando had earned Felipe’s respect tonight. Swinging on to his horse, Armando bit back the pain. Much was left to be done before he rested.

  “Let me talk to those who lost a loved one tonight,” Emilio said. “You need to take care of your wound.”

  “I will…soon.” Armando appreciated his friend’s concern. “This is nothing compared to the grief our men’s widows and children are about to face.”

  Marianne refused to relax for even a moment’s reprieve from comforting a woman or a child. Many hours had passed since she’d last slept. Her body longed to be delivered. Her mind begged for its release, but she couldn’t give in until she knew the outcome of the evening. Many people lay around her on pallets and the bare ground. Only the children slept. She and Isabella had held hands and prayed until their words were muffled by sobs. They all desperately needed to hear word from La Flor. The sharp crack of musket fire revealed that Papa had followed through with his plans. Oh, how she’d hoped he had changed his mind.

  Consumed with haunting fear, Marianne knew the impossibility of no one being wounded or killed. Bullets would fly from the muskets owned by Papa’s men, and the villagers must defend themselves. The thought frightened her, sickened her. She wanted neither side to taste injury or death.

  The sound of horses and excited voices captured her attention. Instantly she and Isabella stood from their position near the fire and joined the anxious throng.

  “Our homes have been saved!” a man shouted. “We turned the cattle.”

  Another man jumped from his horse and ran to embrace his wife.

  “Thank you, Dios,” Marianne said. She embraced Isabella, and they laughed.

  Amidst more men, she saw Emilio dismount. Isabella cried out for him, and soon they were in each other’s arms. Marianne searched the crowd for signs of Armando. Where could he be? Heat flooded her body.

  “Emilio, where is Armando?” She hoped her voice did not sound as frantic as she felt.

  He immediately released Isabella and reached for her hand.

  Panic swept through every inch of her. “Where is he?”

  “He first went to the families of two men who were killed.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She released a heavy sigh. He was alive and not stricken by one of Papa’s men. “How dreadful for those people. Are there injured also?”

  “One man fell from his horse and suffered an injury to his leg, but he will recover. A few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious.”

  Isabella touched Marianne’s shoulder. “Our prayers have been answered.” Isabella stared at Emilio with tears streaming down her face. “Forgive me for being selfish, but I’m rejoicing that you are all right.”

  Emilio pulled her tightly to him. “Tonight was a miracle for all of us. We were outnumbered, doomed to die, but Dios had mercy on La Flor.”

  Marianne stepped back. The couple should have time alone, and she interfered with their privacy.

  “If I’m not needed, I’ll sit by the fire until Armando comes.” She smiled. “Por favor, tell Armando where I am.”

  “No, wait,” Emilio said. “We will stay with you.”

  “It’s not necessary. I am comfortable alone with my thoughts.” She offered another smile to show her words were spoken in earnest.

  “But we want to keep you company.” Isabella broke from Emilio and linked arms with Marianne. “I don’t want you peering into the fire without a friend when we can talk…and laugh. I want to remember laughter forever, for it seems so long since my people were really happy.”

  While Emilio tended to his horse, Isabella and Marianne were too weary to speak. Marianne urged her new friend to rest, but the dark-eyed young woman refused. They would all wait for Armando.

  In the distance, Marianne heard wailing and cries of grief. No doubt Armando had revealed the tragedy to the family. Shivers raced up and down her arms. She despised the discord raging between her father and these good people. Men had died tonight. And what of Papa’s friends? Had they escaped harm? What of Papa?

  The longer she reflected, the heavier her eyelids. She knew once she gave in to sleep, nothing would wake her. Just as she drifted away, someone touched the top of her head. She lifted her gaze to see Armando kneel beside her. Immediately she saw a cloth tied around his shoulder.

  “Armando, you’re hurt.”

  He shook his head. “This is nothing, mi ángel.” But in the firelight she saw the bloodstains.

  “Has it been dressed properly?” She vowed not to let her exhaustion summon needless emotions. Armando had seen her in tears too many times.

  “I’m ready to clean it now,” he said. “And it is merely a breaking of the skin. Nothing for you to concern yourself.”

  “I think you are wrong.” She viewed the red stains through the makeshift bandage. When she attempted to rise, his uninjured arm forced her to remain seated.

  “You haven’t slept in two nights,” he said. “I can take care of treating my arm.”

  “But I want to bandage it for you.”

  Emilio chuckled. “As tired as you are, Marianne, someone will need to rescue you. I have bandaged this hombre many times, and I can again. Both of you,” and he gestured to Isabella, “need to rest. Tomorrow we can talk and celebrate our victory.”

  “And bury the dead,” Armando said. “Two men gave their lives for their dreams.”

  Marianne understood. He would rather have given his own life than cause others to suffer loss.

  Chapter 29

  Marianne and Armando leaned against the corral fence watching the horses. She rested her chin on her hands, and although she appeared to study the animals, her thoughts were absorbed with the events of the past two days. After Emilio had bandaged Armando’s arm, she’d slept until the sun reached its highest peak, but her body still ached. Her heart ached more for the families of the dead men—and Papa. Not knowing how her father was needled at her heart. She couldn’t return, but she shouldn’t stay in La Flor and leave her mother alone to face Papa’s wrath.

  After helping Rosa put her and Manuel’s hut in order, she had accompanied Armando to bury the two men. La Flor had no priest, but Armando and Emilio led the people in prayer.

  “Another day is nearly over,” she said to Armando. “What happens to the hours?”

  He shook his head. “The older I get, the faster time goes.”

  She eased up from the wooden fence and studied his injured shoulder. Only dried blood met her scrutiny. “How is your arm? Are you in pain?”

  He pushed his sombrero back on his head. “A strong man like me? No, not at all.” He gave a laborious sigh, much like an old man, and turned to her. Suddenly his dark eyes sparkled mischievously, as though he resolved to put the ugliness behind them. “Dios has given us a beautiful day to put our lives in order, and He’s given me a beautiful woman to keep me company.”

  “And I thought you would need a kiss to stifle the agony in your shoulder. But I guess not.”

  “Oh.” He grimaced. “It’s throbbing like a torch has branded me.”

  She laughed. “Sorry. I have no more kisses left.” But she did let him steal a quick brush across her lips. Her mood instantly softened. “I love you.” She reached up to weave her fingers through his black hair.

  “And I love you,” he said. “I think I must hold you captive, so I don’t
lose sight of you.”

  “How long?” She widened her eyes just for him.

  Before Armando could answer, Diablo snorted and demanded her attention.

  “My prince is jealous. I believe Diablo should know you better to appreciate your fine qualities.”

  “He hates me,” Armando said. “I think if I were him, I’d feel the same.”

  “I think the two of you could be amigos. With time, he accepted Juan.”

  She sensed him studying her. “How did you manage such a feat with Juan? I’ve heard the stallion sometimes gives him a difficult time.”

  “Juan had the idea. He gave me one of his bandannas, and I tied it on my wrist every day for two weeks. During that time, Juan approached him a little every day. He fed Diablo with me present and talked to him. Then I gave Juan one of my scarves, and he wore it on his wrist. It took a while, but finally Diablo allowed him near without me.”

  “I can try,” he said. “He is a magnificent horse.”

  “You must talk to him, compliment him on his beauty.”

  “Like a lovely woman?”

  “Si. You know how to treat him already. If I love you, surely he will too.”

  Armando said nothing, and she sensed him deep in thought. A part of her wanted to know his musings, but a larger portion feared he wanted to send her back to her father’s hacienda or to Don Lorenzo Sanchez. Teasing her about being his captive wasn’t the same as wanting her to stay with him always.

  They stood, and with his left arm around her waist, he drew her to him. “I feel it’s selfish of me to ask you to stay.” He pulled her around to face him. “You are mi ángel, and I love you more than I ever dreamed possible, but my love requires a responsibility for your happiness. Through your prompting, I know what it means to trust the Santo Padre with all my heart. I owe you my life and what you’ve done for La Flor…. Yet the rivalry between your father and me is not over.”

  He lifted her chin. “I fear it will never be resolved.” His handsome features spoke of tenderness and compassion. “How can I ask you to marry me when it puts you in more danger than before? It wrenches my heart to think of you wed to Don Lorenzo Sanchez, but there you would be safe.”

  “No, Armando.” She fought hard to maintain her composure, remembering her vow to be a strong woman. “Don’t send me away when my place is with you. True, Papa doesn’t give up easily, but neither do I.”

  A smiled curved at his lips. “You are a stubborn one, which is only one of the reasons why you are such a treasure to me.” His features darkened. “What would you have me do? Ask that you spend your days in poverty? I can’t risk your despising me one day because of a harsh life. Poverty shortens the lives of those who battle with its cruelties.”

  “I could never despise you. My place is with you.” She swallowed the liquid emotion threatening to drown her.

  Armando stroked her hair. “If you love me, then you’ll heed my words and do what I ask.”

  “Then you’re sending me away?”

  He looked beyond her, as though viewing the future. “Soon, Marianne—to Don Lorenzo—not to your father’s hacienda. This is real love, mi ángel, to put you above what my heart craves.”

  She nodded, unable to reply for fear she’d cry. “I’ve already spoken all I can. For you, I will do as you ask and go to the don’s hacienda, but can you send word to mi madre? She will worry about me.”

  “Si. I can send a rider in the morning to Juan. I regret your madre’s knowledge of me is only as the ruthless man who held you captive.”

  “We’ve talked about you, and Mama knows my heart.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her, at first lightly then deepening as she felt his passion flow through her. When they separated, she trembled.

  “I believe Dios brought us together,” Armando began, his voice but a mixture of the early evening and a light breeze. “You are mi ángel, a gift from Dios, a gift I cannot keep.”

  Marianne wakened the following morning to the peaceful sounds of nature unfolding in the splendor of another day. Last night she had cried in Armando’s arms, despite her resolve for their time together to be filled with happiness.

  Why must it be so, God? Her only comfort lay in knowing He wanted the best for her, even if she could not fathom another day without Armando. Far better to spend her life without her beloved than to live against God’s will. Someday she hoped to accept that concept, but now her heart ached too much.

  Today Armando planned to send a rider to Juan and then on to the Mission San José to seek Padre Bernardino Vallyo. He would inform the governor of what happened at La Flor. What of Papa? How would he treat Mama now that Marianne was a traitor?

  No matter if Don Lorenzo still wanted to marry her or he, too, had turned away in disgust. Mama would be alone to deal with Papa’s temperament, and to go through the months before the baby was born with no one to talk to her. Marianne considered the possibility of Mama living at the Lorenzo hacienda. She needed someone to care for her. And would Juan and Carmita continue working for Papa? So many questions, and the answers were yet to come.

  “Marianne.”

  Hearing Armando’s voice, Marianne opened her eyes to see him standing in the doorway with one of the vaqueros who worked for her father. She blinked and recognized the man posted on guard the night she left home. The vaquero mentioned her name, and she strained to listen to the low hum of their voices.

  “I will have her ready within the hour,” Armando said. “And I will accompany both of you.”

  “Señor Phillips’s guests left yesterday. None will harm you.”

  Marianne raised her head. “What has happened?” She made her way from the pallet to Armando’s side.

  He brushed back a wayward strand of hair from her face. “Your father is sick,” he said. “Your madre needs you.”

  She searched his face. Lines etched around his eyes, his telltale sign of worry. “Tell me about Papa. What is wrong with him?”

  He gathered her hand into his. “He became enraged with the outcome of the cattle stampede. His heart is failing him.”

  She nodded and swallowed hard. How well she remembered Papa’s temper and the way he often grabbed his chest. Oh, Lord, this cannot be. Papa does not know You. He and I have never settled our differences.

  While they prepared their horses, Marianne’s concern mounted.

  “Talk to me,” Armando said. “It will make you feel better.”

  She shrugged and tightened the girth under Diablo. “I miss what I never had with Papa. I’ve told you about him before…. We seem to make each other miserable. Besides, I envied how he felt about Clay. Many times I deliberately made Papa angry, and I know I wanted to somehow punish him for hurting me. This time, I may have killed him.”

  “You are not guilty of this,” Armando said. “All of us are responsible for the choices we make. You’re not the cause of your father’s illness any more than I am.”

  She shook her head as though to dispel the anxiety pelting her senses. “My mind tells me what you say is true, but my spirit hurts because Papa has always been so unhappy.”

  “I understand unhappiness,” Armando said. “Remember I once hated my father for deserting mi madre and me. So your father and I have more in common than you may think. Trust in Dios, mi ángel, let Him be your comfort.”

  “I will.” She forced a smile she did not feel. “Thank you.”

  His loving gaze said more than words.

  Within moments, Marianne, Armando, and the vaquero raced toward the Phillips Hacienda. She tried desperately to think of fond memories of her father, but they were few. She remembered one occasion, when a Spanish soldier told Papa she had eyes like his, and Papa had smiled. Another time, she overheard Papa tell Clay how proud he was of her ability to tame Diablo. But any other good recollections were vague at best. Papa had wanted a son, and she had disappointed him. Even if Mama bore him a male child now, the relationship between Marianne and her father would still be held to
gether by a slender thread, if anything at all.

  Marianne felt Armando studying her. She couldn’t acknowledge him and not weep, so she kept her attention fixed on the trail ahead. How could she expect him to understand? He and Papa were enemies. But what if Papa died before she had the opportunity to say she loved him? Could she live with herself with such guilt? She shook her head. Papa had chosen to ride to La Flor that night. It was his decision. But her realization that his failing heart was not her fault did not ease the pain in her heart. She didn’t know what lay ahead, and the unknown could be a formidable beast.

  They were nearly home. A churning sensation swept through her. When they reached the front of the house, Juan met them near the stables. He hugged her close before taking Diablo’s reins. His wide-eyed gaze locked with hers.

  “Is he alive?” she said through a raspy breath.

  “I think so.”

  “Go to him,” Armando said. “I’ll wait with Juan.”

  Marianne nodded and stared briefly at the house before walking toward it. Inside the heavy door, silence met her ears. Fearing the worst, she hurried to Papa’s room.

  Mama sat beside him, grasping his hand with both of hers. Tears streamed down her face, and her eyes were closed. Papa’s face held the gray pallor of death. Marianne gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, her fears confirmed.

  Mama glanced up. “He lingers still,” she said. “He has been asking for you.”

  “For me?” Marianne repeated.

  “Please sit here.” Mama stood from the bed. “If he is strong enough to talk, you will want to hear him.”

  Marianne obeyed her mother’s bidding. She hesitated, then picked up Papa’s hand, limp and weak. Her fingers brushed over the many calluses, and she remembered all of the times she had wanted to feel the roughness. So many times she had silently begged those hands to touch her in love and acceptance. Those hands had built this land. His sweat had built this house and his empire.