“What do you want?” I asked.
He sighed deeply. “I’ve joined the Imperial cavalry. We are riding south.”
I felt the air escape my lungs. He was going to fight in the Imperial Brazilian Army. Useless Manoel, who could barely cobble a shoe. I gulped. “When?”
“Today.” He looked down, kicking a pebble. I stood watching him, my fear keeping me rooted to the spot. It was customary for the women, whether they be wives, lovers, or putas, to travel along with their men so that they could cook and tend to their husbands when they weren’t fighting. Like cattle or, worse, slaves. I silently prayed Manoel wouldn’t ask me to join him. I wanted to leave Laguna, but not like this. My stomach tightened as he opened his mouth to speak again. I spoke first. “If you are coming here to ask—”
“No. At least, I already know what your answer would be if I did ask. It’s just, Anna, I came to say that I’ve always felt like I have had to be something for you. Something more than what I am.”
“Manoel, I—”
“No. I need to say this.” He puffed out his chest. “I have never been able to live up to your expectations. No matter what I do I am never good enough for you. I need to move on with my life and show you and everyone else that I am not a fool.”
He left me there, clutching my laundry in my fists.
* * *
June 1839
My days were tedious, spent doing household chores, occasionally helping my mother and sister in their work as housemaids for the wealthy. I looked forward to spending my evenings with my best friend, Maria da Gloria. We had met by chance, both washing our family’s laundry. She had forgotten the lye. I had a little extra.
We were brimming with ideas of what the world was supposed to be like. It wasn’t long before Maria became my closest friend in Laguna. For a while she was my only friend. I both admired and envied her. Her curly hair made an unruly crown around her head—the only reminder that she was a descendant of freed slaves. When Maria smiled, everyone around her shared her joy.
Maria’s father, Carlos, was a known sympathizer of the rebellion. His home was a safe haven for the most vocal of the rebels. Carlos encouraged Maria to speak her mind. She was his only child and he took pride in her independence. Maria’s mother, Dylla, was an amazing cook. She could make a feast for an army with just a little flour and chicken.
“It isn’t fair that our own government favors the products of foreign nations over those of its own people,” Carlos said one evening, slapping the newspaper down on their table.
“The loyalists claim it’s a matter of quality,” Dylla said as she stirred the beans.
“Quality? How are Argentina’s cows better than ours?” Maria asked. She stood at Dylla’s elbow, helping to prepare our dinner. “The people can’t determine which one they like better if they can’t afford both to compare.”
“You are absolutely right,” Dylla said as she added more herbs to the beans. “What do you think, Anna?”
I looked up in surprise. “I, um…That is…”
Maria elbowed me in the ribs. “In this house, we value a woman’s opinion.”
“‘Value’?” Carlos smiled mischievously. “I don’t think I would be able to stop the opinions even if I tried.”
Maria threw a dishrag at her father, which he blocked just in time by raising his newspaper.
Dylla smiled reassuringly at me. “Come now. You’ve got to have an opinion. Please share.”
“We’ll only judge you if it’s the wrong one,” Carlos joked.
“Well, I feel…” I began, looking at the friendly, expectant faces. “That it’s our government’s responsibility to take care of its people first.” I took a breath, feeling my thoughts start to come out faster. “In taking care of its people it must make sure that the people can earn a decent living, not to make them rich, per se, but enough so that they can feed themselves. The imports from other countries, whether it is jerky or something else, should be the expensive products. Not what is made here.”
“Well said!” Maria exclaimed.
“Why, Maria, I do believe you have been a horrible influence on this poor girl,” Carlos teased. “I don’t think I have ever been prouder to call you my daughter.”
Laughing, Maria hugged her father. I laughed along with them. I felt proud that my opinion had been so well received, but at the same time, I felt a twinge of pain in my chest. Why couldn’t my family be this open and friendly?
The door burst open and a group of men spilled through, led by Francisco, Maria’s fiancé. Francisco saw himself as the leader of Laguna’s rebels. The son of poor freed slaves, he was eager to make a name for himself, and battling against the Brazilian Imperial government was the most expedient way to make it happen.
“You’ll never believe it!” He hugged Maria before standing in the middle of the room. “The great Giuseppe Garibaldi is coming to Laguna!” Maria squealed with joy before wrapping her arms around Francisco’s neck.
“This is such wonderful news!” Carlos exclaimed. “He will liberate Laguna. Where did you hear about this?”
“My friend is a sailor on his ship. He sent a letter ahead of them. They just finished a campaign in the north and are moving south. He’s bringing with him the North American John Griggs and his fellow Italian Luigi Rossetti.”
“Carlos, go get the wine,” Dylla requested, wiping her hands on a towel. “The one we have been saving for a special occasion. Tonight, we celebrate.”
I made my way to Maria, who was beaming, and leaned toward her, whispering, “Who is Giuseppe Garibaldi?”
She turned to me, her face full of shock. “You don’t know who the Great Garibaldi is?” Maria questioned me so loudly that everyone stopped talking and turned to look at me as the heat of embarrassment rose up my neck and into my cheeks.
“No, I don’t,” I mumbled.
“Garibaldi is a man of the people. He lived in Naples,” Francisco began to explain.
“Naples?” Carlos questioned. “I thought he was from Marseille.”
“Marseille? That’s part of France!” Dylla responded, putting the large bowl of beans on the table. “No, he’s a Genoan.”
“How do you know?” Carlos asked.
“Because all the women like to gossip about handsome foreigners.” She wiggled her eyebrows as she kissed a scowling Carlos on the top of his head.
“The point is,” Francisco interrupted, “he was banished. His people are divided. The northern Italian peninsula is ruled by Austria, while the south is a stronghold to a Bourbon tyrant. While in Piedmont he and his mentor launched an insurrection. He was arrested and sentenced to death by exile.”
“And now he is here?” I asked. “Why?”
“He travels the world fighting for the freedom that has been denied to his own people.” Maria sighed.
The situation between the gauchos and Imperial Brazil continued to deteriorate. General Gonçalves, recently escaped from prison, was making gains in the west with his band of rebels. They and all eyes were turning to the prosperous port that was Laguna. War was coming.