Though Mountains Fall

by Dale Cramer

  “It’s not your fault,” she said gently, rubbing his shoulder. “You only did what was right.”

  He gave a little snort, shook his head. “What I thought was right. My stubbornness cost me a son, and now it has cost me a daughter as well.”

  “What one man calls stubbornness, another might call courage and conviction,” she said. “Only Gott knows what the future will bring. It was not your fault Aaron died, or that Miriam fell in love with Domingo.”

  “But neither would have happened if I hadn’t brought us here.”

  “Maybe so, but we don’t know what else might have happened. I’m pretty sure Mamm would not have lived this long if we hadn’t moved to a dry climate.”

  “Maybe. I will not complain against what Gott has ordained, but I still wonder if I’ve done right.”

  “You did what you believed was right. That’s all any of us can do.”

  Her father looked at her then, and a smile of gratitude crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I guess in the end that’s all Gott asks of us.”

  This was one of those moments, and she knew it. Her father was a man of principle, but Emma was one of the few people who could sway him . . . if she was careful. She’d been waiting for such a moment.

  “No, Dat, that’s not all Gott asks of us,” she said, and let the words hang there a moment. “He also asks those who have been forgiven of their sins to pass it on. He asks us to forgive, too.”

  It was a gamble, a risk she took willingly. But his eyes hardened.

  “Gott asks us to forgive those who ask for forgiveness. Those who repent,” he said, then turned and walked away.

  Winter settled in gently, as usual. Light snows brushed Paradise Valley on occasion, but the season was never as harsh as what they’d known in Ohio. Once the winter wheat sprouted, the pace of the farm slowed. The women took to their quilting and sewing and a hundred little household improvements that had been set aside for calmer days, while the men spent their time mending fence and harness, cutting firewood, and making trips to Saltillo to market a plentiful harvest. When the weather permitted, there were wells to be dug, shops and sheds and chicken coops and smokehouses to be built, all the projects they had put off in the warmer seasons when they were in the fields from daylight to dark.

  At Christmas Rachel put on the same kind of show with her school children that Miriam had always done, yet it wasn’t the same. Her pupils were almost all Amish now. When Miriam left, most of the Mexican students—as well as her extraordinary gift for teaching—went with her.

  Rachel did the best she could with help from Leah and Barbara, and even the new children, being Amish, behaved themselves well enough. But the eagerness, the fun of learning, the sense of discovery, was all but gone.

  The week before Christmas, Emma and Levi went to visit Miriam.

  “Now, we won’t be exchanging any gifts with Aunt Miriam, but that doesn’t matter,” she told little Mose. He was in the front beside his dat, peering over the seat at her while she held the two smaller ones on her lap in the back. “Miriam says there’s going to be a big party with lots of children and a piñata!”

  Mose’s tiny hat tilted and he looked up at her with eyes as serious as an adult’s. “What’s a piñata?”

  Holding the reins, Levi looked around at Emma and frowned. “Will Miriam and Domingo provide the piñata?”

  She smiled. “No, we thought of that already. Miriam said she would make sure someone else brought the piñata and everything in it. She knows the rules, Levi.”

  He gave her a sly grin. “Jah, and it looks like she’s learning to bend them as good as you.”

  “It’s called a posada,” Miriam explained. There were already a bunch of people gathering in her yard, setting tables, putting out food and drink. “For each of the nine days leading up to Christmas the children march from the church to a different neighborhood in the village. Two of them dress up like Joseph and Mary, they put the girl on a burro, and all the children follow them, singing while they go door-to-door asking for shelter. Everyone refuses, except for the house that has been chosen for the day. Today is our day.” Miriam beamed. “It’s going to be a big fiesta.”

  Levi went to put the buggy away, leaving little Mose to stand by himself in the front yard, watching two old men clinging to opposite sides of a rickety wooden stepladder. They were hanging a paper-mache piñata from a cottonwood tree and arguing over how high to hang it.

  Emma and Miriam carried the two younger babies to the house. “Look at him,” Emma said, nodding toward Mose. “He never hears anybody argue like that at home. It scares him a little, but he can’t turn away from it. Mose likes for everybody to get along.”

  Domingo leaned down beside the three-year-old and said, “Pay them no mind. Those two old men are the Castillo brothers. They have fought like that for sixty years, but they are only playing. They never really get angry unless someone else gets between them.”

  Emma stepped inside the front door of Miriam’s house and froze, gawking. “Miriam, I guess I’ve never seen the inside of a Mexican house at Christmas before. This is really something.”

  “You mean the nacimiento—the nativity scene. Jah, I was a little surprised myself.”

  There was no Christmas tree, though in a corner stood a leafless limb from what looked like a dogwood, festooned with balls of cotton and draped with brightly colored bows and ribbons, and there were potted poinsettias scattered around the room. But the real attraction was a nativity scene that took up nearly half of the front room. The backdrop was made mostly of painted paper, sawdust pastures rising from the middle of the floor, soaring into red mountains that climbed halfway up the wall. The foothills were covered by a village of thatched huts and little houses surrounded by fences and trees, complete with hand-carved wooden people, farmers and shepherds in the fields, women haggling with a grocer, men watching a blacksmith shoe a horse, and children fishing in a blue pond beside an old man while a dog treed a hissing cat.

  In the center, in a little hole of a cave, were Mary and Joseph holding Baby Jesus beside the manger. A red rooster crowed the arrival of the Christ child. There were sheep and chickens and cows, and a farm girl on a stool, milking. When Emma looked close she even saw a flock of ducks on the pond.

  She stuck her head out the door. “Levi, come look! You’ve got to see this.”

  Miriam gave them a tour of the miniature town, showing off the intricately detailed figures. Even the faces were painted, each of them bearing a different expression.

  “Domingo made the landscape and carved some of the figures,” Miriam said proudly.

  “Only a few,” Domingo said. “The nacimiento has been in my family for a long time—ever since my mother was a child. My grandfather and my uncle added to it every Christmas for years. It was given to my mother when she married, and now she has given it to me.” He put an arm around Miriam and smiled.

  “It is our proudest possession,” she said.

  Domingo laughed dryly. “It is our only possession, Cualnezqui.”

  There was a little uproar outside, and the singing of children drifted faintly down the street as Kyra and Domingo’s mother crowded into the little house along with their aunt and uncle, Paco and Maria.

  “Wait till you see the children,” Miriam said. “Behind Joseph and Mary there will be wise men and shepherds and angels and a hundred other children, all dressed up.”

  The singing drew nearer as the throng of children paraded down the street, until from inside the house Emma could hear the thumping of shepherds’ staffs in time with the music. Silence fell as the procession stopped outside the front door.

  Miriam flung the door wide. Father Noceda stood between Mary and Joseph, dressed in his full cassock and holding the reins to the burro. On a signal from the priest a hundred children began singing their request, asking for shelter for the night.

  From inside the house Domingo’s kin sang their answer: “ ‘Welcome, holy pilgrims, to our humble home. Wh
ile it may be simple, our gift is from the heart.’ ”

  Thus began a celebration such as Emma and Levi had never seen. A band comprised of musicians with guitars and horns and a squeeze-box played bright music while men and women danced and ate and drank, and children flocked to the piñata. Emma was surprised at first to see Miriam commanding and controlling a hundred Mexican children, but then Domingo’s mother whispered to her, “See how the children love and respect their teacher? Not even Father Noceda commands their attention as Miriam does.”

  Three-year-old Mose got a few whacks at the piñata as all the smaller children went first. Miriam didn’t blindfold the little ones. When one of the older boys finally shattered the paper sheep, candy and little gifts flew everywhere. Miriam stepped back out of the way while the children swarmed. She ended up on the sidelines next to Emma.

  “Is Levi okay?” she asked.

  Emma looked around for Levi and spotted him standing alone, well clear of the festivities. “Jah, he’s just a little uncomfortable around all this craziness. Leave him be. He’ll get used to it after a while.”

  The party went on for hours, the Mexican peasants of San Rafael celebrating the coming of Baby Jesus as only peasants can. Then, in the middle of the afternoon, a squad of soldiers rode down the street and trotted their horses right up to the food-laden tables in Miriam’s yard.

  The band stopped playing, and complete silence fell as Domingo worked his way through the crowd and stood in the path of the captain’s horse. Everyone else backed away in fear except Father Noceda, who came and stood at Domingo’s shoulder. Even the children remained quiet.

  The captain stayed in the saddle, his hands crossed calmly on the pommel as five armed federales fanned out in a V behind him. Ignoring Domingo, Soto fastened a hard glare on the priest. “What is the meaning of this, Padre?”

  Noceda shrugged. “It is a posada, Captain. You are Mexican—surely you have seen a Christmas celebration before.”

  The captain rolled his eyes. “Sí, I know it is a posada, priest. It is not my ignorance that concerns me, but yours. Perhaps you are unaware that it is against the law to hold a religious ceremony in public.”

  Father Noceda’s shoulders rose in a prolonged shrug as he spread his hands. “Does this look like a religious ceremony, Captain? To me it only looks like a Christmas party for the children.”

  The captain didn’t smile. Climbing down from his horse, he kept his eyes fastened on Father Noceda. He moved casually and gave no warning, so it came as a complete shock when he whipped his pistol from its holster and struck Father Noceda in the head with it. The priest collapsed in the dirt as if he’d been shot.

  Domingo stepped between them, but before he could do anything the pistol was in his face, the barrel jammed under his nose. Domingo raised his hands very slowly, palms out.

  “My quarrel is not with you,” the captain said coldly, “but with this peon of the pope.”

  The priest shook his head and raised himself up on an elbow, touching fingertips to the blood on his forehead. Kyra rushed over and knelt at his side, holding his head.

  Captain Soto kept his pistol pressed to Domingo’s face as he glared down at Father Noceda. “Article 24 of our constitution expressly forbids religious ceremonies outside of the church.”

  Noceda winced, touching the gash on his head, and without looking up he muttered through clenched teeth, “Then perhaps you would be so kind as to give me back my church.”

  Soto laughed out loud, but there was a sneer in it. “Insolent to the last, I see. Perhaps, Padre, a fine will change your tone. Article 130 forbids a priest to wear his cassock in public. If I am not mistaken I have warned you about this before. The fine is five hundred pesos. Deliver it to my office. You probably already know how to find my office—it used to be your home.”

  Father Noceda looked up at him and started to say something, but Soto wagged a finger in warning.

  “No, no, no, priest. If I were you I would not speak. The law also says that if a clergyman complains against a government official”—Soto pressed a hand against his own chest—“and I am a government official, you can go to prison for five years. One more word and I will have my men drag you away in chains.”

  No one said anything. Domingo’s eyes made his contempt perfectly clear, but even Domingo would not start a fight against six armed soldiers with a hundred children in his yard.

  The captain lowered his pistol slowly and stepped back, pointing a finger at Domingo to warn him to stay where he was. But he wasn’t finished with Father Noceda.

  “Your time is over, priest—your power broken. Superstitions like yours have left our country destitute, but our presidente is putting an end to that. You are going to find that Mexico no longer belongs to European priests and Italian popes, but to Mexicans.” He swung up into his saddle, but before he turned the horse away he spat at Father Noceda. “You have until the end of the week to pay your fine, Padre. Don’t be late.”

  Chapter 19

  The party died instantly. As soon as the federales left, everyone gathered up their children and hurried off toward home, heads down. Kyra and Miriam helped Father Noceda into the house and sat him at the kitchen table to bandage his head. Emma and Levi stayed to clean up the mess in the yard.

  By the time Emma and Levi came into the house the priest was looking better. There was blood all over his cassock, but at least his face was clean and his head bandaged.

  Levi sat across the table from him. “Señor Noceda,” he said, and it was no surprise to Emma that Levi would refuse to call a Catholic priest father, “a question is in my mind. I saw what that soldier did, how he talked to you, and it was like he was already mad at you before he got here. Why does he hate you so bad?”

  Father Noceda didn’t answer, but Emma saw him avert his eyes from Levi as if he were hiding something.

  Domingo straightened up from stoking the little stove, for the evening was growing cold. When he turned around there was a grin on his face.

  “It’s a good story, Father,” Domingo said, seating himself at the end of the table. “You should tell them.”

  Father Noceda shook his head. “Captain Soto doesn’t need an excuse to pick on a priest,” he said, “and at the moment I’m trying very hard not to hate my enemies.”

  Domingo nodded. “But you have to admit you gave him a reason to dislike you.”

  Father Noceda shrugged as Miriam set a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. She caught Levi’s eye and raised a cup, but he shook his head. Rules.

  “That wasn’t me,” Noceda said. “It was the hand of God. All I did was laugh at him, but Captain Soto is a little man, and I should have known it would make him crazy.”

  He took a sip of coffee and told the story to Levi.

  “They came the morning after the long rain when I went to the church to see if there was any damage. Captain Soto rode through with his patrol at the same time, and when he saw me he decided to have a little fun.”

  Noceda ticked his clerical collar with a forefinger. “Soto doesn’t need much of an excuse to torment a priest—the collar is fair game these days. But we were lucky. On the morning the soldiers came, the church was full of beans.”

  Levi’s brow furrowed. “Beans?”

  “Sí. Levi, you were the one who stored Domingo’s beans in your loft, weren’t you?”

  “Sí, that was me.”

  “Well, a lot of the farmers in the village brought their beans to the church that same night. We cleared everything out of the church, and they worked all night, just like you did, hauling their vines into the empty building. Captain Soto and his men found me at the doors of the church the morning after the rain stopped. They surrounded me with their horses, laughing, threatening.”

  “Cowards,” Domingo said, “threatening a priest.”

  Noceda raised an eyebrow. “You would be surprised, Domingo. There was a time when I would have thrashed them all, but that was another life. Now I try to live
at peace with all men. Even morons. Captain Soto told me he had heard there was a new iglesia in San Rafael, and how very fortunate he was to find me there because he was in need of a warehouse to store all the grain he had ‘bought’ from the farmers in Paradise Valley.

  “I said to the captain, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is already a warehouse. Your godless presidente might be happy for you to steal the property of the church, but to confiscate a warehouse owned by a Mexican citizen might end with you in prison.’

  “The captain grew very angry then, and said he would burn my church with me in it. He jumped down from his horse, knocked me out of the way and flung the bar from the big double doors.”

  Noceda grinned, remembering. “There were many wagonloads of bean vines piled inside the church, and they must have shifted during the storm because when that little worm threw the doors wide a mountain of vines collapsed right on top of him. Knocked him flat in the mud and covered him from head to toe. It was like a miracle—the hand of God. Soto was cursing and screaming, his men slipping and falling in the mud while they tried to dig him out. I think perhaps it was the funniest thing I have ever seen. I laughed until my sides hurt.”

  “Even Soto’s men were laughing about it,” Domingo said. “I heard the story from soldiers who came here for beans.”

  Levi frowned. “They took your beans?”

  “Only a hundred pounds or so,” Domingo said. “We have plenty more, but I was trying to make them last because by the end of winter there will be people in the village who have none. Many of them lost their whole crop in the long rain.”

  “Soldiers must eat an awful lot,” Emma said. “Two weeks ago they came and took Ira’s prize pig.”

  Levi nodded. “It was the one he was fattening up for Christmas, too. Ira was spitting mad. But I still don’t see why they would take your church. They already have the stone church in El Prado.”