José smiled devilishly. “I know, it’s one my favorite features.”
* * *
I rode off to my own vantage point to watch as our men charged down the hill to the camp below us. The Imperialists were waking up, exiting their tents, stretching after their stiff night’s sleep. I wanted to laugh as I watched them jump and scurry to sound the alarm.
José and Rossetti were the only ones who knew of my plan. They had arranged for a small cart to be stashed in the bushes for me. After a time, I moved quickly, hitching it to my horse. Once I was confident it was secured properly, I rode down to the battlefield to make my first patrol looking for injured men.
“Anita!” I turned. Rossetti limped through the smoke, bearing the weight of a brawny young soldier whose arm was wrapped around his shoulders. He moved slowly, though he tried to pull the man along faster. The man clutched his side as blood seeped through his fingers. I jumped from my horse, rushing to Rossetti’s side to help bring our comrade to my cart. Rossetti pointed off in the distance. “There are more up that way. Hurry!”
I acknowledged his order and got back on my horse to ride where he told me to. When I got there, seven men huddled under a tree. One languished over his broken leg while two others tried to help him. The rest, with minor wounds, stood at the ready, their guns drawn. I collected them all in my cart and rode away as fast as I could. We set up a makeshift medical camp a safe distance away from the battle. I dressed the wounds of the men I had saved before making another run through the battlefield.
I was tending to a soldier when José rode up on his steed. He launched himself from the beast as it came to a stop. With just a few steps he was by my side, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Tesoro mio, you again make me the proudest man in the Americas.” He began to pull me away while I was still entangled in his massive hug.
“Husband, you are acting like a drunk.”
“I am!” He whirled me around in a circle. “I am drunk with victory!” He kissed me so passionately I felt a blush of embarrassment pass over me. José pulled away as more men rode up. “We will be moving your patients to our new campsite at the top of the hill.”
“Anita Garibaldi! I gave you a direct order!” General Terceira came stomping over to us, pushing soldiers out of the way. I looked at José, whose face had suddenly turned deep red. I put a hand on his arm to calm him.
“I specifically stated—”
“You specifically told me not to fight in the battle. Those were your exact words were they not?”
“Yes, but—” He raised a finger to make a point.
“I followed your order, General. I did not fight in the battle. I simply rode through collecting the injured.”
General Terceira opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for breath. He looked from José to me, trying to form words. Rossetti came up behind him, putting his hands on the general’s shoulders. “When you deal with the devil, don’t be surprised by the results.”
Rossetti laughed as he walked past him for bandages to dress his own wounds. General Terceira stalked away. José turned to me. “Come, the men will take care of this. I have something I want to show you.”
“But I am dirty,” I whined as José pulled me to him.
“All the better,” he growled into my ear.
José and I rode through a twisting ravine covered in moss with a thick wall of trees on either side of us. Unseen birds high above us sang with an indifference to our horses as their hooves splashed in the stream bubbling through this peaceful paradise. Though the sun was beginning to set, the air still held the warmth of the late afternoon.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked as I urged my horse closer to José.
“You’ll see.” He smiled, looking back at me. As we rode up over the ridge, the valley that spread out before us took my breath away. The ravine opened up into a small cove, with a crystal-clear pool fed by a large waterfall.
“Beautiful, is it not? One of my scouts found this place, and when he told me about it I had to bring you here,” he said as he got off his horse. José began to take off his clothes. “Tesoro mio, won’t you join me for a swim?”
I peeled off my yellow dress, stained with blood and dirt, before wading into the pool after José. Goose bumps spread across my shoulders and arms in the cold water. “It’s freezing!” I laughed.
José waded back toward me, reaching out a hand. “Then let me help keep you warm.” He wrapped his strong arms around me, carrying me deeper into the pool. He pressed into me, my bare chest firmly against his. He kissed me tenderly. Closing my eyes, I inhaled. José smelled of gunpowder and earth, war and victory.
“I love you,” I whispered.
He kissed my neck, my jawline, my lips. “You are the queen of my soul,” he murmured into my ear.
I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. He stroked my hair and face, looking deeply into my eyes.
I took his face in my hands, kissing him harder. He carried me over to a large smooth rock, and we leaned against it to make love. When we finished we lounged on the banks of the pool, entwined. I watched the stars as José lay with his head on my chest, his thumb making lazy circles around my navel.
“Tell me about Italy,” I whispered, afraid to break the spell of the night.
“What is there to tell? Italy is a fairy tale.”
“I like fairy tales.” I could feel him smile against my shoulder.
“All right then. Well, once upon a time there was a man named Dante.”
“The author of that book you and Rossetti love. The Inferno, right?”
“That’s correct, tesoro mio. Up until the fourteenth century our peninsula didn’t speak the same language. Every municipality had its own variation. You see, here, Portuguese is predominantly spoken due to Portugal’s influence. The various dialects branched off from that one root, and though the way you speak may be different from someone in the north, you can still understand each other. However, in Italy, our one language was Latin. Over the centuries since Rome’s fall, we’ve all gone our separate ways to the point where people from some regions can’t even understand someone from outside of their homeland.”
“That would be an awful pain. How can people trade or do business?”
“Exactly. Dante wrote the Inferno in the Tuscan dialect and it was so popular everyone wanted to read it, but they had to read it in Tuscan Italian.”
I thought about it for a moment. “So because everyone wanted to read a book, they all learned one language?”
“Yes, and now most people consider Dante to be the father of Italian. For the first time since the Roman Empire we were unified in the way that we speak. Some men believed if we could all agree on one language, we could agree to be a country of our own.”
“That’s a fairly big jump to make.”
“When the regions bicker among themselves like a bunch of spoiled children, you take whatever compromise you can receive.” José sat up on his elbow, resting his head in his hand. “But as you say, it’s not enough. The people still fight among themselves.” His hungry eyes looked me over.
“But there are still people who believe in unification?”
“Sì, tesoro mio. Another man came along to water the seeds that had been planted by Dante. His name was Napoleon Bonaparte.”
“Ah, the little French man! I’ve heard of him.”
“One’s stature does not dictate the size of their dreams.” José tapped my nose with his finger. “Napoleon ruled the peninsula as one country”—he traced his finger from my collarbone to my breast—“then drove his army from Paris all the way down to Siena.” His finger circled my nipple, making goose bumps appear all over my body. “The army conquered Siena”—his hand slipped to my navel—“then Rome.” His hand started to slide farther south, but I caught it.
“Finish your story.”
José gave me an exaggerated pout. “As you wish, tesoro mio. Under Napoleon we were left alone to be our own c
ountry. We were unified under him. Suddenly, having a country all our own wasn’t crazy talk. We were finally one. However, after Napoleon fell, the European powers broke us apart. They pitted us against each other yet again. But the dream is still alive.” José broke his hand free from mine as it found its way south. My fingers tangled in his golden curls as I gave in to the passion.
Sixteen
May 1840
We slashed our way through the thick underbrush that lined the Caminas River toward Praia Grande. It had been just over five months since that night at the waterfall. In those twenty weeks we discovered that I was with child.
I grew tired of everyone treating me like I was going to break. It was infuriating. Suddenly my life wasn’t my own; a future person was sucking away everything that I was. My temper flared over the slightest infraction, causing people at camp to avoid me.
I still thirsted for action. When my mother had been pregnant, she had sat in her bed with her feet raised, ordering everyone about, for the sake of her babies, she would say. She instructed every woman with child that this was the way to act during a pregnancy if you wanted a healthy baby.
Between the constant digestive discomfort and the awkwardness of carrying so much extra weight in front of me, I hated being pregnant. It was against everything I was told that a mother-to-be should feel, and that scared me.
Every night I dreamed that we picked up camp and left my baby. José would be yelling for me to hurry up, constantly asking if I had remembered certain things. I remembered them all, all but my baby.
Early one morning, during an especially traumatic nightmare, I awoke in my bed with a start. Looking around I noticed José was gone. I dressed and washed my face in the basin, trying to banish the dreams that still clung to me. As I dried my face, I heard my stomach gurgle. I placed my hand to my growing abdomen. “All right, little one, I’ll get us fed.”
I made my way out of the tent and set about cooking breakfast. José came stomping up to our camp. “I can’t believe the stupidity!” he yelled, snapping my attention from the fire to him.
“Do I dare ask who has made you so angry?”
“Canabarro, of course!” He threw his arms up in frustration.
“What transgressions has he committed today?”
José scowled at me. “The bastardo wants to walk away from the war. He wants to let the Imperial forces win.”
“If he can find an amicable peace, what is the harm?”
“What’s the harm? Anita, we need to wipe the Brazilian army from here if Rio Grande do Sul ever expects to be a free and independent nation.” He sat down with a huff.
Sitting next to him, I took his wrist into my hands, in order to massage it. “What do you think?” he asked.
What did I think? This was a question José never asked me. What do I think? I pondered on the question a little longer, carefully choosing my words. “I think Canabarro has a point.”
José ripped his arm from me. “What do you mean by that?” His lip curled up in a sneer.
“You asked my opinion and I gave it.”
“But that’s not the opinion you are supposed to give.”
“Pardon me, José Garibaldi?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “When we are in public, I will stand by you no matter what. If you say we need to go left, I will tell everyone that going left is the best course of action, even if we should really be going right. However, when it’s you and me, I will not hesitate to let you know my true feelings.”
“And what, my dear wife, are your true feelings? That I am an idiot? That I don’t know what’s best for Rio Grande do Sul? Am I rash? Can I not think about what will happen tomorrow?” He was a caged jaguar pacing in front of me.
“José, I do not think you are an idiot.” I stood, readying myself for conflict. “We are fighting a losing battle. We may be winning little skirmishes here and there, but we are losing this war. The Imperial forces keep coming after us; how long are we going to be able to continue fighting? We have to keep in mind that when this is over, our men will have to go back to the families of those Imperial soldiers and beg for forgiveness. They are not just nameless faces. These people come from the same villages. They are neighbors. They are family.” José turned away from me. I took a step forward, continuing with my argument. “When we are done fighting they have to be able to go on living together. Let us only do the fighting that is absolutely necessary.”
“Only do the fighting that is necessary? I came here because they needed me. When I left Genoa, I sailed all over the Mediterranean. I could have kept on sailing, but the republic asked me to be here, they asked me to win this war for them. And like an idiot I said yes. Now that they have me, they don’t want to listen to me! They don’t want to do what is necessary to win!”
“You don’t understand what it’s like for us. You are a foreigner.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I knew as soon as they reached José’s ears that I had said the wrong thing. I shrank back as his face grew crimson.
“Did you dare call me a foreigner?”
“It’s not what I meant. You are not from here, you don’t understand our ways.”
“I am good enough to shed my foreign blood for you on those fields but not good enough to respect. Is that it?” His voice grew low and menacing.
“José, please.” I reached out to him, but he batted my hand away.
He came up very close to me. I tensed, unsure of what was to follow. “Don’t forget that the child growing in that stomach of yours is half foreigner too.” He turned on his heel and strode away, cursing in Italian.
I was still hungry and knew that José would be too, once he came to his senses, so I made our breakfast. I finished eating, just a simple meal of beans and rice. I left a plate for José as I began my camp-breaking chores. An hour into my work he approached our tent.
“I’m sorry for being so angry with you earlier.” He lifted my hand to his lips, gently kissing my fingers. “Do you forgive me?”
I was surprised. It was not like a man, any man I knew, to apologize to his wife. I stammered, “Of course you may have my forgiveness.”
He smiled tenderly, giving my hand a small squeeze. “Grazie, tesoro mio.” Sheepishly, he took the plate I left for him.
With a mouth partially full of food, he began to talk. “I was thinking about what you and General Canabarro said, and you make a valid point.” He swallowed the large mouthful. “If we go southwest, we can also really entrench ourselves with the people, bolster our numbers. I hear the people there are more sympathetic toward our independence.”
I regarded him as he ate, continuing to talk about his new plans. In José’s eyes I was no longer the shy little girl from Laguna. In his eyes I was equal to him and his advisors. My chest swelled with pride. How many other women in Brazil could say this about their husbands? We spent the day breaking camp before setting off on the long journey to General Terceira’s region.
Seventeen
August 1840
In the time it took to travel back to the Vacaria region my belly grew to the point where I felt as big as one of the horses. Nothing alleviated the discomfort.
The Imperial forces that we encountered when we arrived were well fed and well armed. Everything that we weren’t. My heart raced as the men took their places, preparing for battle, head on.
I sat on my horse, surveying the battlefield with General Canabarro as we directed other soldiers on where to deliver the supplies. The general’s black eyes examined the battlefield. From our vantage point we could see the full expanse of the battle laid out before us. His frown accentuated his features, making him look like a toad. He mumbled to himself as he oversaw his soldiers, the Black Lancers.
The Black Lancers were Canabarro’s pride and joy. A contingent made up of slaves who were promised freedom in exchange for their service in the rebellion, they were expert horsemen and fierce fighters. Canabarro assured José I would be safe with them during the battle.
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br /> Holding one hand to my stomach, while the other hand gripped my horse’s reins, I scanned the field below, directing supplies to various points in the battle. I was too distracted, too focused on the task at hand to notice that Imperial forces had set a trap and I was their prize.
I heard the heavy thumping of hooves in the distance. Turning, I watched in horror as the Black Lancers’ horses, devoid of their riders, charged past us. Weren’t the horses supposed to be with the soldiers? was all I could think until the shouting began: “It’s an ambush! The Imperials are here!”
Our men scattered. A large regiment stampeded toward me, their rifles drawn. Turning my horse in a circle, I could see that we were surrounded. There was nowhere for me to go. Panic clawed at my throat as my mind raced. There has to be a way out. Swallowing it down, I moved my gaze toward the cavalry in front of me.
I charged forward. If I couldn’t scare them out of my way, I could at the very least trample them. A single gunshot reverberated like a clap of thunder. My horse collapsed, taking me down with him.
I put my feet out, allowing me to tuck into a ball and roll away when I landed. I felt myself come to a stop at the roots of a tree. I realized it was no tree. I stared at a pair of muddied boots, the leather slightly worn along the soles. My eyes traveled up pristine green pants, past a chest covered in medals, finally resting on a skeletal face. The man smiled, making him look even more dangerous.
“Olá, Senhora Garibaldi. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
* * *
To the Imperial soldier’s credit, I was treated with more respect than a regular prisoner of war. I didn’t know if it was because of my condition or who I was married to. Two young soldiers helped me into the cart, not bothering to tie my hands behind my back. They knew as well as I did that at eight months pregnant, I wasn’t going anywhere.
We stared at each other, my captors and I, as we rode down the bumpy dirt path. Their hollow faces, streaked with dried mud, were aged beyond their years. Blank eyes watched me, not betraying any emotions.
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