Notices were posted all over. Recruits were needed for the rebel army at the northern front. All were welcome. I stood by the wagons, grasping Maria’s hands in mine.
“Come with me, Anna,” Maria pleaded. “How wonderful will it be to have my best friend and future husband fighting beside me?”
How I longed to say yes, to taste adventure. But who was I? I could never hold my own in battle. I was only Anna. I was not as brave as Maria. Nor as idealistic as the men she marched with. My fate was here in Laguna.
“No, Maria, I am no warrior.” Battlefields were for the heroic. I wasn’t heroic. “My place is here. Tending to our wounded.” It was true. I volunteered my services at our little hospital caring for wounded rebel soldiers. “You go. You have enough bravery for the both of us.”
Maria gave me one last hug. “Watch over my parents, please.”
“Of course,” I responded, letting her go. I watched as she rode away in a haze of dust kicked up by the overflowing wagon.
I found solace in my work, apprenticing with the nuns. It was rewarding to be needed and to know that what I did made a difference. I dressed wounds, cleaned up after the men, and helped to feed them when necessary. The blood didn’t bother me as it did some, nor did the nutty, putrid, sweet scent that signaled an infection, which clung to the air. It felt good to be useful.
I was wrapping a bandage around the calf of an unconscious soldier when my friend Manuela came running up to me. “Anna! Anna! They’re here.”
When Manuela and I had met at the hospital, we became close friends right away. She reminded me of the tall grass that grew along the coast, swaying like a dancer in the breeze. No one was too far below her class to deserve her kindness, which was unusual for someone in her position. Her husband, Hector, held a position with the local government that afforded them a pleasant life and respect within Laguna.
I looked at her curiously and started to form the question Who? before she grabbed me by the arm. “The Farrapos, silly. The Farrapos are here!” she exclaimed as she pulled me out of the hospital. Farrapos meant “ragamuffins,” a name given to the rebels by the aristocracy. It was easy for them to laugh; they could buy new clothing whenever they wanted without going hungry. Manuela and I ran down to the docks hand in hand. We stopped just before the wall of people who stood at the dock cheering. I let go of Manuela’s hand and fought my way through the crowd, wiggling and pushing against people who were as unwilling to move as a tree. I ducked under the thick outstretched arms of a large cheering man. Looking up, I spied the most beautiful man I had ever seen.
The sun gleamed over the head of Giuseppe Garibaldi, making his light brown hair shine with specks of gold. His broad smile filled his bearded face. It was dazzling. He was dazzling. For a moment, I felt blinded by him. I watched as he shook the hands of the people who stood around him, kissing babies and the pretty young girls who held them.
My admiration turned to disappointment as I watched women flock to him. Amid so many beautiful women, how could he notice me? I slipped back into the crowd and quietly returned to my duties at the hospital.
Six
July 1839
Days after Garibaldi arrived, Manuela and I walked through the market. A slave with a basket full of oranges bumped into Manuela. Slaves were meant to be seen and not heard. If they crossed these boundaries, they risked being shamed or beaten. The slave woman took in rapid short breaths. “Sinto muito. Sinto muito.” She bowed repeatedly, refusing to meet Manuela’s eyes. Manuela put a hand on the woman’s arm, causing her to flinch. “It’s all right, there is no need to apologize.” She handed the woman an orange. “Really, it was all my fault.”
“Obrigada,” the slave woman murmured as she hurried away.
Manuela and Hector lived in a spacious bright blue two-story home that sat on a hill surrounded by their own personal orchard. I spent so much time there that Hector liked to tease that I was their adopted daughter.
The week following the arrival of the Farrapos, I took to standing out on Manuela’s balcony to watch the ships. They looked like bucking ponies tied to their posts, anxious to get out and run as they rolled with the waves. How I envied them.
I closed my eyes, lifting my face to soak in the warm sun as my hair danced in the wind around me. Breathing in, I filled my lungs with cool salt air. My thoughts went to Maria and the last time I saw her, rolling away from me. “I wish I had gone with you,” I confessed to the wind. “Oh, Maria, I promise I will not be so foolish next time.” If there will be a next time.
I lowered my eyes to look over the harbor. “As God is my witness, if I get to leave here again, I will grab the opportunity by the mane and never let go.”
* * *
Early one morning, at the end of the week, I arrived at Manuela’s house to help her tend to the grapes that ran along the edge of her property. The smell of the ocean thick on the brisk air. We moved about the grapevines, trimming back the unruly leaves and harvesting what fruit we could before heading back to the warmth of her home at midday. “Will we be eating these for lunch?”
“Yes, though I was thinking I would give some to the church to hand out to the poor,” Manuela said, picking up her basket. “That’s assuming you won’t be eating them all before we get in the house.”
“I only stole a few,” I said midchew as I followed.
When we reached the back door, Manuela paused in front of a bush of vibrant yellow flowers. “Go ahead without me, I just love the smell of fresh flowers in the house. These will be perfect on the table.”
I went into the house but stopped quickly. Hector was sitting in his parlor talking to someone. From where I stood, within the safety of the kitchen, I could see Hector but not the visitor.
“I can’t guarantee the cooperation of the magistrate. There are too many loyalists in our ranks.”
“What makes these men so loyal? The rest of Santa Catarina is preparing to join Rio Grande do Sul in war. Laguna will need to go with them or be left behind,” the visitor responded. “Hector, my friend, they must realize that Laguna is going to be the central point for the war, whether they decide to join us or not.”
I could have sworn I had heard that voice before. It was an odd accent, not one from South America, but I couldn’t picture who was speaking. The deep purr made my breastbone vibrate. It dawned on me: I knew who was in the other room with Hector. My feet melted into the floor, and I couldn’t move.
“Anna, you silly girl! What are you doing just standing here?” Manuela shoved me, stumbling, into the parlor. A steady arm reached out and grabbed me by the elbow, keeping me from falling face first into the brown tiled floor. Sheepishly, I looked up into the shining eyes of the mysterious man who had been speaking with Hector: Giuseppe Garibaldi.
Everyone else in the room fell away as I stared into his face. His eyes grew wide as his mouth hung open. Garibaldi stood frozen, bent over me, his grip firm on my elbow where he had caught me.
My heart thumped against my chest like a bird trying to escape a cage. I could feel heat rising up my neck and into my cheeks. My vision rocked like waves in the sea. I tried to swallow but my mouth and throat were dry. My eyes drifted to his throat as his Adam’s apple slowly bobbed.