Forty
February 1846
I sat in bed stroking the children’s silky black hair. The noises of battle had long since died, leaving behind an eerie quiet pierced by the sounds of stray guns firing. I had started to doze off when a soft tapping roused me. Cautiously, I opened the door to see José standing in the passageway covered in blood.
“Céus!” I gasped, stepping into the hallway, gently closing the door behind me.
“Don’t panic,” he said with his hands in the air. “Most of the blood doesn’t belong to me. I wanted to let you know I was all right.” He paused, looking at the door behind me. “I don’t want the children to see me like this.”
“Of course.” I grabbed my medical bag and followed him below, where some of his men had already set up a bath. They took one look at me and slipped out of the room, cheeks slightly pink. In the hours since the battle, we had sailed to docks at Salto, newly liberated from Argentine control.
José turned to me. “Tesoro mio, could you help me remove my shirt?”
I walked over and gently peeled the shirt off his body. One side was stuck to his ribs. I tsked, grabbing a rag to soften the dried blood around the wound. “José, what happened?”
“Oh, that.” He shrugged. “It only took a little flesh. Nothing catastrophic.”
I looked up at him in frustration as he peeked at me under his lifted arm, laughing.
“Have I told you about the time I was stabbed in the thigh?”
“No, and right now I would rather not hear about it.” I stepped back. “All right, my love, you should be able to take your shirt off.” He wiggled out of his tunic, stripping off his clothes and settling into the hot water in the basin. Crusted blood covered his body; his hair was caked with mud. I picked up a large cup and began to rinse him. “Tell me what happened today.”
He sighed, his eyes closed, letting his head loll in my hands as I worked the blood out of his curls. “There were more men than our scouts told us there would be.”
“How many more?”
“About one hundred. Give or take. It wasn’t going well.”
“I can tell by all this blood.”
He chuckled. “General Gonzalez wanted to retreat.”
“Obviously you didn’t.”
“Of course not!” He sat up straight, sloshing water out of the basin. “I raised my sword and yelled, ‘There is no time!’ And really there wasn’t. If we hadn’t pushed through, we would never have won.”
I moved so that I could face him and wiped a wet curl from his face. “You are a stubborn man, José Garibaldi.”
He smiled, pulling me almost into the basin, kissing my stomach. “With any luck, this child will be just as stubborn as his father.”
“Lord help me.” I laughed.
* * *
The children woke at the sound of us slipping back into the cabin. They jolted to life and sprang on José. Teresita attempted to hang from his neck while Menotti aimed for his midsection. “Careful. Papai got a little hurt,” he said, wincing as he pried Teresita off him.
“Ow?” Teresita asked with great concern in her little eyes.
“Sì, principessa.” He pushed the hair back from her face and gently kissed her forehead.
“Can I see it?” Menotti asked, bouncing up and down slightly with excitement. José grinned and lifted up the side of his shirt as the children drew closer to peer at the wound.
I watched my family in a dreamy haze. Feliciana once told me you can never lose family. At the time we had been speaking of my mother and sisters, remarking on how I was dead to them. Sentimentality for what once was had left me with a pang of guilt, but here, as I watched my children climb over José, I knew that Feliciana was right. This was my family and I would never lose it.
“I have a surprise for you,” José said, ruffling our son’s hair. Menotti’s face grew ecstatic at the prospect of a gift from his father. “But it’s waiting for you at the dock.”
Menotti rushed from the room and darted up the ship’s stairs like a cat chasing a mouse.
“Be careful!” I called after him just as I realized it was of no use. José kissed my cheek and followed his son. Teresita and I made it topside shortly after Menotti, who was already at the railing, standing next to his father.
“Where is it, Papai? Where is my present?” he asked, jumping up and down.
José had a silly grin on his face. He pointed to a trio of horses that waited by the dock. “Do you see that pony? The brown one with the large white spot on his nose?”
“Yes,” Menotti answered, his voice rising with anticipation.
“He’s yours.”
Menotti squealed with glee as he ran down the plank and onto the dock, dodging sailors until he made it to his horse.
“What do you think?” José called out to our son with pride as we followed him.
“He’s wonderful!” He wrapped his arms around José’s legs. “Thank you!”
José looked at me, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “It’s about time we taught him how to ride.”
I huffed. “When I was his age, I was already training horses.” I got on my horse, holding Teresita in front of me. “What will you have us do?”
“Put on a good show for the people of Salto,” José said.
We rode through the streets, followed by the Redshirts, then the Uruguayan army behind them. The people cheered, throwing flowers in our path. I watched Menotti in front of me. His large, genuine smile made him look like a miniature José.
That night the town threw a large fiesta in our honor. The whole garrison came out and mingled with the townspeople. Lanterns crisscrossed over the town square, making a canopy of light. We sat at the head table, flanked by the new mayor and the Uruguayan general who would be making Salto his home. The mayor, a short bald man, was anxious; he kept wiping his forehead with a damp handkerchief. His eyes darted all over the party and his hands shook as he reached for his wine. “He’s so nervous,” I remarked, watching as he loosened his collar.
“Well, I would be too, given what happened to his predecessor.” José leaned in toward me. “The Argentinian army hanged him. It’s the first thing they do when they come into a new town. It’s how they establish their dominance.”
The women of the village began delivering dishes of roasted vegetables and mounds of Spanish scented rice and black beans.
“They were cut off from all their supplies. How do they have so much food?” I whispered to José.
“This feast that they are parading before us is the last of everything they have from every village from here to Brazil.” He nodded toward the food. “When Argentina swept through Uruguay, they burned all the villages, instructing the people to move to the other side of the river in Argentina, because they were now a part of the great South American empire.”
“Only the people didn’t go to Argentina,” I said, looking over the crowd that had gathered.
“No. They didn’t,” José said. “There is one thing about the Uruguayans that Rosas has yet to learn: They will never do what they are told.”
After we ate, the villagers pulled out their guitars and accordions.
José pulled me by the arm, twirling me around in the center of the impromptu dance floor. Lost in my laughter, José pulled me close to him, kissing me passionately in front of everyone, making me blush.
“I need water,” I said, catching my breath.
José nodded. He followed me back to the table where Teresita stood dancing with some of the children of the village. After taking a swig of water José picked up Teresita in one big swooping motion. “If you don’t mind, I will be dancing with my other lovely lady.” He kissed Teresita’s cheek as he brought her out onto the dance floor with him.
I leaned against the table, savoring the cool breeze. Looking over at the other children, I noticed Menotti wasn’t there. I scanned the crowd and couldn’t help but laugh when I discovered him. He twirled on the dance floor without a care in
the world with two girls. Both visions of beauty. Both at least six years older than my son.
My eyes drifted around the crowd of celebrating villagers; the Redshirts joined in the festivities with fervor. However, I noticed that one person in particular was missing, Anzani. There was something different about him lately. Gone was the man we had met in São Gabriel. In his place was a cantankerous imposter.
The party showed no signs of slowing down when José and I decided to retire. Teresita whined and fussed in my arms as her battle to keep her eyelids open was lost. After about ten minutes of searching and asking everyone if they had seen Menotti, we found him asleep under a table. José pulled him out and carried him back to the little house that the village let us use.
After we put the children to bed, José and I climbed into bed, savoring our time alone. The sounds of the party and the scent of wildflowers drifted through the open window on the cool night air. I lay on my side with José’s arms wrapped around me. His hand was flat against my stomach, feeling our baby flutter.
“He’s going to be strong.”
I ran a hand along José’s arm. “We make strong children. Did you see Menotti? He’s taking after you already.”
José chuckled. “Let’s hope we don’t have angry fathers pounding on our door too soon.”
“He has your looks, we should prepare ourselves.”
“You flatterer.” He purred into my ear.
“Isn’t that why you brought me with you?”
José laughed with me, but after a few moments he grew quiet, tightening his embrace. “I am truly happy to have you here.”
“I know, and I am happy to be here with you.”
With the sounds of the fiesta drifting into our room, I worked up the courage to bring up something that had been weighing on my mind. “I saw the blood on Anzani’s handkerchief.”
He sucked in a deep breath. “He’s extremely ill.”
I stared into the darkness, my thoughts racing. “Luisa never told me.”
José shook his head. “I didn’t expect her to. Anzani is doing everything he can to keep it a secret. He doesn’t want the legion to know. He’s afraid it will undermine his authority. Do you know about his lung injury?”
“Yes, that I knew. He was shot in the chest before Tomaso was born.”
“The injury, though not fatal, made his lungs weak. They have been ever since. Until recently he’s been able to treat his lung issues like a challenge to overcome, but they got the best of him. He’s developed the consumption.”
I rolled over to face him. “And Luisa just had a baby.”
With every visit, Luisa had looked more tired, but she swore everything was all right. The baby was very small and had a light yellow tint to him, but he was eating. She had never mentioned Anzani’s illness. I was so focused on my children that I hadn’t stopped to think about my friend’s problems. I could feel the guilt harden in my stomach. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice Luisa was hiding something so terrible.”
“The illness has changed him; it’s likely changed her as well.” José rolled over onto his back, rubbing his hand over his face. “He’s not the man we met in São Gabriel. He doesn’t talk about his family anymore. It is almost like he is trying to separate himself from them so that they can get used to him being gone. Just like what dogs do.” He turned his face back to me, his eyes glistening. “They sent Tomaso to Spain to apprentice with one of Luisa’s brothers.” José stared at the ceiling. “Why does death follow every person we care about?”
I massaged his wrist as I contemplated his question. Though nobody was immune to the hand of death, those we loved felt its harsh sting more than others. I kissed the inside of his wrist. Destiny controlled every waking minute of our lives, but I didn’t want to think about her tonight. Tonight was for José and me.
Forty-One
March 1846
Salto reminded me of my time in São Simão. The people smiled and said hello as they passed us in the streets, ready to help us at a moment’s notice. We easily blended in with the locals. The women gushed over my pregnant belly while the children found new friends to occupy their time. José engrossed himself in the business of the village, helping them to reestablish their trade routes and place the refugees in new homes. The north may have been devastated by the war, but if José had his way, Salto was going to thrive. It would be the ultimate insult to Argentina.
The little house José procured for us had two bedrooms, a large kitchen, and a small parlor all on one floor. Outside we shared a beautiful garden with neighbors who were also Redshirts. The people of Salto thought of the Italians as their saviors and wanted us to live as such. Some of our men even considered settling there, having grown fond of the local women.
One cloudy morning I walked into the kitchen with a basket of laundry on my hip. José looked up, his face creased with worry.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, setting the basket on the table.
“It’s a letter from Rivera, with an impressive offer. He wants to offer thirty-five acres of land to be divided among the Redshirts.”
“Thirty-five acres is a lot of land. Has he made an offer like this to the other legions?”
“Not that I am aware of.” He pointed to a paragraph toward the end of the page. “Those thirty-five acres are from his personal land. This can’t be sanctioned by the government.”
I let out a huff of air. “I don’t trust this. Why would he give all of this to our legion yet not offer anything even close to this to his own men? The Uruguayan army’s uniforms are little more than rags, their families left to starve.”
“I don’t know why he wants to do this, but I intend to find out.” He briskly kissed my cheek. “Expect company this evening. Menotti!”
Menotti poked his head into the kitchen. “Come with me, son, we have work to do,” José said as he grabbed his hat, walking out the door.
As the sun began to set over Salto, the whole Redshirt legion stuffed into our courtyard, spilling out of the surrounding houses. The men perched against trees, crowded in doorways, and hung out of windows. The threat of rain blew in on the crisp fall air. The rustle of dry leaves competed with the chattering of the soldiers. I leaned against our kitchen doorway with my arms resting on my pregnant belly, watching the meeting unfold before me. José stood under the lone tree in the center addressing the men, telling them of the letter and its offerings. Audible gasps spread through the crowd.
“I bring this to you today because it is not my decision to make. This gift is being offered to all of us.”
“You mean Trojan gift!” a young soldier called from the back. I couldn’t see his face in the crowd.
“Comrade!” José called. “Please enlighten your brothers.”
“No one ever gives anyone a free gift,” the same soldier called back.
“Your wife did!” one of the other men called out, to ripples of laughter. I lifted a hand to my mouth to stifle my own laugh as José raised a hand and a hush fell over the men. Every eye turned to him, waiting with still breath for his next command. He pointed to the original sailor from the back of the crowd, who spoke up again. “The question is, what does Rivera want from us in return?”
“That, my comrade, is a wonderful question,” José said, pacing before them. “Does he want unconditional loyalty? To have the greatest legion in all of the Americas at his beck and call, like a dog?” The men cheered as José said this. My husband paused, waiting for the noise to calm down before he began again. “I had a talk with some of the officers from the Uruguayan army today. None of their legions have been offered a gift even remotely close to this. We are the lucky few to be given this offer.” I fidgeted where I stood. Something wasn’t right.
José waited while the men whispered among themselves. “I know the Uruguayan army owes us, but I ask you, are we owed more than our Uruguayan brothers? Have we fought for our adopted country more than they have?” He looked out over the crowd, which was enrapt at his
words. “I tell you no. We are not special. We are soldiers with a job to do and only deserve our fair share.” He looked down at the ground, contemplating some unseen fact before looking back up at the men. Everyone, myself included, leaned forward, waiting for his next words. “I can’t make the decision for you. It’s your choice as to whether or not we accept this gift. We will have a vote.”
Anzani stood up. “Do I have anyone in favor of taking this gift?” The crowd was silent; even the birds stilled.
“Feel free to voice your opinion; we are all comrades here. We are all equal,” José added, but still there was silence.
“Any nays?” Anzani asked the crowd. It was with a unified defining voice they all called out nay. I couldn’t help it. I joined in with them.
“Very well. I will give General Rivera our answer. You are dismissed,” José said.
The next day, as I cleaned up our breakfast and prepared for my morning chores, José sat at the table watching me. He leaned back in his chair. “I have to say, I really like it here. I could see us making Salto home.”
“I do as well. Even though it was under siege, it doesn’t feel like it was tainted by the war.”
“It’s also cleaner than Montevideo.”
“There is nothing like the smell of decaying fish in the morning.” Slowly a giggle bubbled up from my belly and spread to José. Before I knew it I was sitting on his lap laughing.
A firm rap at the door brought us back to our senses. I followed José as he opened it to find a young messenger boy standing there holding a letter. José took the letter and opened it, his smile dissipating.
“José, what is it?” I asked, growing concerned. “José?”
“The war is over.” He left the house without another word.
Forty-Two
May 1846
José had sent out inquiries to his allies in Montevideo. Soon the news came trickling back to us. Rivera had in fact been having disagreements with the Uruguayan government. Rivera wasn’t satisfied with the peace treaty offered by Britain and France—an agreement that put Rivera in charge of Montevideo and Oribe in charge of everything else.
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