Awaken My Heart

by DiAnn Mills

  “You are my best medicine. We must talk of many things, Marianne. Your father will be gone for a few days, and he has asked me to prepare you.”

  “Prepare me for what?” Immediately her thoughts flew to La Flor, but her mother would not have knowledge of such things. Papa kept his affairs to himself and Clay.

  Her mother brushed back a lock of light brown hair. Not a single strand of silver wove through her tresses, and her features still bore the smoothness of youth. If only the spirit of good health surrounded her again. “He plans to visit Don Lorenzo Sanchez…to arrange your marriage.”

  Chapter 2

  A chill raced up Marianne’s arms. “When is the marriage to take place?”

  “September.” Tears pooled Mama’s eyes. “I wish I had better news, my dear. I could not persuade your father to postpone it until next year.”

  Marianne inhaled sharply and fought the urge to weep. She refused to upset her mother. Still, her lips quivered as she lifted her chin. “I do not want to marry him. The don is older than Papa.”

  “He can give you fine clothes—more things than you possess here. And he has kindly ways.”

  “But I have no feelings for him.” Marianne kneeled at her mother’s bed. “How can I marry a man who is more like a father? Shall I be his daughter?”

  “Your plight could be much worse.” When Marianne failed to respond, Mama moistened her pale lips. “Clay has also asked for your hand.”

  Marianne shuddered. She knew exactly what her mother implied. She stood and walked to the window. Some called Clay striking with his deep violet eyes and chestnut-colored hair, but Marianne loathed him. The way he looked at her made her feel as though she hadn’t bathed. Her hand in marriage might be what Clay wanted for killing Armando Garcia.

  “Yes, Mama. Marriage to Clay Wharton would be a severe life.”

  “Perhaps in time, you’ll learn to love the don. Come here, dear.” Marianne obeyed, and Mama touched her soft hand to her daughter’s cheek.

  “Did you not dream of love?” Marianne knew her words were laced with desperation, but she could not stop herself.

  Mama’s dull eyes appeared distant. “Ah, yes. I loved your papa from the moment I first saw him, and I still do today.”

  “Papa?” Was Mama delirious?

  She continued to stroke Marianne’s cheek. “He courted me with the utmost tenderness, a perfect gentleman in every respect. I loved him with all my heart.”

  “What happened? I mean now…”

  Her mother sighed. “My dear, your papa does have his tender side. Over the years, his ways have become peculiar at times, and I know you don’t understand him. But everything he does is for you and me.”

  “And you still care for him?” Marianne found it difficult to imagine her father anything but demanding and harsh.

  “My love for your papa has never faded. And each time I look at you and see his smoky-blue eyes and thick, honey-colored hair, I realize how blessed I am.”

  For several moments, Marianne studied her mother’s face, unable to comprehend how she could love a man who openly voiced his disdain for her. He ignored Mama unless he had guests. “If you can endure Papa, then I can make the best of a marriage to Don Lorenzo Sanchez.”

  The stranger’s face from earlier today flashed across her mind, but she pushed it away. The brief encounter could have been her demise. She had been foolish to tarry for so long.

  Mama’s face brightened. “How noble of you to not rebel against your papa. God will reward you.”

  “Yes, Mama. God will keep me in the shelter of His wings.”

  “Do not give up on your papa.”

  Again Marianne fought the urge to weep, but God loved all and she could do no less. “I won’t. I promise.” Desiring a change in conversation, she glanced out the window overlooking the garden in its spring splendor. “Let’s spend the afternoon together, and Carmita can prepare us a fine meal. We can eat with the smell of flowers and the singing of birds.”

  “Splendid, and we will talk no more about your marriage until the morrow. Today is for you and me.”

  Marianne gently grasped the hand caressing her cheek. “Rest for now. I must tend to a few things and bathe. Later I can read to you in the garden. The day is lovely, Mama.”

  “I will look forward to our time together.” Her mother eased back onto her pillow. Her eyes closed, and Marianne stayed by her side until the sound of even breathing met her ears.

  Oh, Heavenly Father, I do not want this marriage, and I’m sorely afraid that Don Sanchez is like Papa.

  Once Diablo was groomed and Marianne had bathed and washed her hair, she again considered marriage to the cattle baron, a wealthy Spaniard who had inherited land and gold through his family. The man did have an amiable disposition. Surely her Heavenly Father knew best.

  A short while later Marianne found Carmita grinding parboiled corn kernels to make flour. The dark-haired woman had beef simmering with onions, and in a separate pot she boiled seeded red peppers and wild herbs to make a thick sauce. All would be rolled into a warm tortilla and topped with more sauce.

  Sensing hunger pangs, Marianne picked up a tortilla left from breakfast. Carmita glanced up from her work. Her earth-brown eyes twinkled. “You left the casa early this morning before breakfast, señorita,” she said in English.

  “I spent a glorious morning riding Diablo.”

  “And you are hungry?”

  “Extremely, but this tortilla will do until later. Mama and I are spending the afternoon in the garden.”

  Carmita handed her another tortilla. “I see hunger on your face.” She smiled and went back to grinding corn kernels and humming a familiar tune.

  Marianne swallowed a lump in her throat and wondered how she could ever get along without Carmita and her husband Juan, whom she fondly called tia and tio, aunt and uncle. She loved them and their children. Spending hours with their family showed Marianne that a true family, such as what God wanted, was possible. Wealth had little to do with happiness; love could not be measured in gold, but in open hearts.

  The afternoon with Mama sped by, and a hint of color returned to her mother’s cheeks. Marianne read aloud from William Shakespeare. Thoughts of marriage to the don settled uneasily in her heart and mind as she read from the great love story Romeo and Juliet.

  The sun slowly traversed across the horizon, and Marianne glanced up from her book. “Are you sure you feel well enough to eat?” She had asked Carmita to forgo the normal afternoon meal for a later one in hopes Mama would have an appetite.

  “I am weary.” Her mother closed her eyes and smiled. “But I do want to spend this time with you. Let’s enjoy the garden a while longer. Come September, these days will be a fond memory for me.”

  “For me, too.” Marianne allowed Shakespeare to fold in her lap, and she took her mother’s frail hand. “Mama, please get better. I need you.”

  “I will try, for your sake. And I think your papa needs me too.”

  Armando Garcia allowed his dun gelding to pick its way along the water’s edge. Beneath the cool canopy of overhanging cypress trees, he drank in the tranquility which often escaped him. He allowed his mind to wander beyond the needs and responsibilities of his people to the señorita who rode the white stallion. At first he’d thought she was a dream, a beautiful angel sent upon a magnificent beast to give him a revelation about the problems of La Flor. Never had he encountered such a stallion. Never had he seen an animal with such fierce devotion.

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The señorita appeared frightened, but it was he who fell captive in her presence. He’d caught a glimpse of her before she detected him and lowered her sombrero. Her beauty gripped him. She stood a little taller than most women and graceful in her walk. He could not recall ever seeing a woman with light brown hair spun with tendrils of gold. The color was like that of a young doe poised in a ray of sunshine. He wanted to study her face, to ask where she lived, but she had touched the sides
of the stallion and raced away.

  He turned his gelding toward La Flor. The mere gesture reminded him of his people’s sad plight. How could he keep the gringo Weston Phillips from their land? Armando’s refusal to leave the valley made him a rebel in the eyes of the two Americans but a saint in the eyes of the poor. He detested his people’s homage, but his failure to acknowledge their praise only encouraged them to designate him as their fearless leader.

  The Spanish control of Tejas was nothing more than a way to ward off the United States from extending its borders. So why had the Spaniards allowed Weston Phillips to settle so close to the San Antonio missions? Armando recalled the many sick children, lonely widows, elderly, and hopeless men who needed help to survive. He’d rallied the villagers together and initiated a genuine caring for all its people. Now, no one went hungry or suffered alone.

  The villagers had an opportunity to secure a meager living in the beautiful valley of La Flor. From Phillips’s herds, they had bred cattle and had begun breeding their own stock. They had captured wild mustangs, broken them, and built their own herd. Sheep had provided wool for the cold months, and chickens had supplied eggs. The rich earth fed by underground streams produced fertile gardens and abundant pastures. Here his people had an opportunity to thrive.

  But guilt was always hovering over Armando. He knew it was wrong to steal from the Phillips Hacienda, but at the time, his people were hungry. To him, it was more important to give his people an opportunity to raise their own cattle and become self-sufficient. Many times he’d considered driving the animals he’d stolen back into the Phillips’s herds. He desired to owe no man.

  And now the lord of the Phillips Hacienda laid claim to their valley. Weston Phillips would kill for the fertile land; earlier today he had stated so. Why should Armando be surprised? The wealthy had always oppressed the poor. That was life.

  “Get out of La Flor unless you want a blood bath,” Phillips had said in Spanish. “Take your people to the missions.”

  Phillips had leaned on his saddle and spit at Armando’s feet, daring him to protest. Anger had seized him, but women and children were about, and he did not want the gringos to open fire. Besides, Armando needed time to find a solution to his people’s problem without the shedding of innocent blood.

  “This is your last warning, Garcia. I’ve tolerated you for as long as I intend,” Phillips had said before leaving La Flor.

  Armando had spent the morning and afternoon thinking about how the villagers could oppose Phillips’s intentions and not get themselves killed in the process. Although Armando didn’t have a strong plan, he still needed to assure the villagers that their valley was secure. Sharing the pastures might temporarily solve the dilemma, but how long before Phillips decided he needed all of their land? Presenting the situation to the governor in San Antonio de Bejar held little merit. The high-ranking officials always took the side of the landowners. In their eyes, mestizos were an annoyance, something to deal with like pesky flies. As long as they worked hard and did not interfere with the Spanish aristocracy, the poor mestizos were tolerated.

  Even so, Armando had vowed on his mother’s grave that he would not relinquish La Flor. He’d gladly give his life, but he was afraid that, with Phillips’s irrational behavior and demands, more lives than his might be sacrificed.

  Chapter 3

  Marianne sorted through an ornate, walnut-stained chest containing her dresses and searched for a particular one that would please her mother for tonight’s dinner. She recalled Mama telling of ladies in the States who changed gowns according to the time of day and scheduled activities. What nonsense. Marianne felt perfectly content in wearing the cotton skirts and blouses of the servants.

  An unpleasant thought occurred to her, and she frowned. Would the don expect her to dress lavishly when they married? And would Papa allow her to take Diablo with her? Perhaps as part of her dowry?

  With a sigh, she pulled a pale green gown from among her other frocks. Fitted high at the waist, the dress gathered and flowed to the floor with lace trim around the neckline, cuffs, and hem. Carmita’s daughter Josefa, a dark-eyed beauty of fourteen, helped Marianne slip into the garment.

  “Will you arrange my hair?” Marianne asked. “Mama enjoys seeing it pinned up, and I lack patience to do it myself.”

  “I will make you more beautiful than you already are.”

  “I love you, Josefa. If I had ever enjoyed the company of a sister, she would have been just like you.”

  Moments later, they viewed the effect in a handheld silver mirror. Marianne’s hair looked decisively Spanish, complete with beaded combs.

  “Gracias, Josefa.” She laughed. “Now, if I could find a lace mantilla.” Suddenly remembering her upcoming marriage, Marianne turned to her. “Do you believe a father should always arrange a marriage or should a woman marry for love?”

  Josefa’s huge eyes danced. “Señorita Marianne, a woman must always fall in love before she marries. I think it’s the best way.”

  “I did hope for love, but now I have no choice but to marry the man Papa has selected.”

  “I’m sorry,” Josefa said. “Maybe you will learn to care for him. I’ll light a candle and say a prayer.”

  What more could Marianne ask of one she loved so dearly?

  Down the long hallway to the dining room, a dozen candles flickered in the iron chandelier above a pine table. The Phillips’s adobe home stood as tribute to the Spanish. Every room held carved furnishings decorated with bright colors of mineral paint. Mama had originally added touches of Virginia, her girlhood home, but Papa had them removed. He claimed Tejas was their home, and they would honor the Spanish, who allowed them to live in their country, and the Phillips Hacienda to prosper.

  Although Papa had sworn allegiance to the Roman Catholic Church in order to purchase his land, he and his family did not attend any of the five missions set along the San Antonio River. The priests were too busy tending to their duties to enforce the religious laws. This concession allowed Mama and Marianne to privately worship according to Protestant beliefs.

  Upon the table sat tortillas, beef stew, and vegetables for many more than the two women, who dined alone. Seated across from each other in leather bound chairs, they talked freely, without Papa there to silence them.

  “Mama, you look lovely tonight,” Marianne said. “The deep purple gown is fitting for a queen.” She felt reluctant to comment on her mother’s health.

  “Thank you. You are my medicine. You have always been my joy, just as Jesus is my strength.” Mama’s face saddened. “When your baby brother was born dead, after we had lost so many children before him, I wanted to crawl into the grave too. But I cannot live in the past another day. I am determined to be strong again.”

  Marianne smiled. She had prayed earnestly for her mother’s health, but until recently, there had been little improvement. Perhaps God had not forgotten Mama after all.

  She glanced at Mama’s untouched plate. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  Her mother folded her thin hands primly in her lap. “I am extremely tired, but I want to spend every minute with you.”

  “Mama, it’s important that you eat something.”

  “For you, I will have a little—”

  Angry voices resounded from the rear of the house. Startled, Marianne strained to hear every Spanish word while she studied Mama’s blanched face.

  An unfamiliar male voice barked for Carmita and Josefa to step aside. The two Mexican women screamed, sending Marianne to her feet. Pottery crashed onto the tile floor, and she realized the intruders must have turned over the massive cupboard, the trastero, that held their finest dishes.

  With Papa and several of his men away, only the women servants presided in the house, and Marianne knew she could not get to Papa’s weapons fast enough. Before she could gather her thoughts, four men burst into the room waving pistols and muskets while pushing Carmita and Josefa ahead of them. Dressed in simple clothing and tattered somb
reros, the men looked more like farmers than evil men. But the weapons and the grim looks upon their faces gave them away as criminals.

  “Por favor, leave,” Carmita said in Spanish, “Señor Phillips will return soon.”

  A man laughed. “I know he’s been gone from the hacienda since early morning.”

  Terror gripped Marianne, but at the sight of how shaken Carmita and Mama looked, she gathered her courage.

  “What do they want, Carmita?” She rushed around the table to her mother’s side and bent to embrace her shoulders. Marianne’s mind spun at the gravity of their situation, and her gaze swept across the table. Where once the tantalizing aroma of food rose pleasantly, now she smelled desperate men.

  Please, Carmita, do not let these men know I understand them, for I fear it will not go well for any of us.

  Again Carmita asked the men what they wanted.

  “To take Señora Phillips with us,” the same man said. The apparent leader, he wore a silver dagger at his waist in addition to carrying a fine pistol. No doubt stolen.

  “Why?” Carmita asked. “What has the señora done?”

  “The woman is nothing. We need her so Señor Phillips will know we refuse to leave La Flor. It is our valley and not his for the taking.” His dark eyes flared.

  “Kidnapping the señora will not help the people in the valley.” Carmita reached for Josefa and pulled the young woman into her arms. “It would only make the situation worse.”

  Marianne turned to Carmita. “Please, tell us what he said.” Papa’s greed has caused this. God help us!

  After Carmita’s translation, Marianne stood from embracing her mother’s shoulders. She stiffened and curled her fingers into her palms. She faced the leader, a harsh-featured man who looked to be in his twenties. “Tell him my mother is ill. She cannot go anywhere.”

  Carmita translated the message, but the man issued a sardonic laugh.

  “Tell him Señora Phillips could die without proper attention,” Marianne said. “Then they all would face my father for murder.” She hoped none of them could hear her fluttering heart or see the lack of courage in her eyes.