Awaken My Heart Read online

  “I don’t like the idea.” Armando shook his head. “What if something should happen to you? How would I explain your deaths to your families?”

  “We’ll conceal weapons and be alert for any signs of trouble,” Emilio said. “I have learned much from you.”

  “I don’t think so, amigos. I would not send you into a snake pit without me.”

  Marianne awoke the following morning with heaviness curtaining her eyelids. She tried to recall everything from the evening before, but weariness lured her back into a deep sleep. Hours later she opened her eyes and attempted to muddle through the haziness enveloping her. She found it difficult to distinguish between what had happened when she returned to the hacienda and the peacefulness of her sleep.

  In her dreams, she envisioned Armando dressed as a fine caballero, a fine horseman, his black trousers and colorfully beaded jacket enhancing his lightly tanned skin. He held his head high and flashed a beguiling smile. In a voice deep and rich, he beckoned her to meet him at La Flor. She ran to him, and he reached out to draw her into his arms. He told her she didn’t have to marry Don Lorenzo. He loved her more than any man Papa could arrange for her to marry.

  Foolish notions. Marianne scolded herself behind closed eyes. Armando has his choice of any woman living in the valley and beyond. She recalled the seductive dance of Isabella, and the ardent glow in her large, veiled eyes. Marianne saw her love for Armando, and the remembrance ignited a spark of jealousy.

  I am acting like a girl instead of a woman. Armando must lead his life in La Flor, and I have mine here. Nothing can alter Papa’s plans for me. Everything remains the same. Yet, I have the memories. I must forget him.

  Marianne forced her eyes open, and her gaze drifted upward. Red and gold silk damask trimmed with gold and black tassels draped the tall, intricately carved pillars of her rosewood bed. A gold and black coverlet, similar in pattern to the tester, covered her lightly. How she’d longed for her bed during those nights in captivity.

  With a sigh, she noted the brilliant light streaming through the lofty recessed windows to her right. The sun’s position in the sky announced the noon hour, and Marianne always woke shortly after dawn. Glancing about, she wondered why someone had moved the walnut and brass brazier from the foot of her bed to a corner near the window. Curious, she looked to the opposite side of the room for any other changes. Her mother, dressed in a brown and white morning dress, sat in an armchair. Her hands folded primly in her lap.

  “Mama, how long have you been here?”

  Her mother smiled, her face pale but blissful. She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Since sunrise.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t have denied yourself rest.”

  “This was such great pleasure for me. I could watch you sleep and know that you were home safe.” She stood and walked to Marianne’s side.

  Pulling herself to a sitting position, Marianne noted soreness throughout her body. She nodded at the sunlight. “I did sleep for a long time.”

  “You needed the morning to recover from your horrible encounter with those evil men.” She touched a wayward lock of Marianne’s hair and rolled it between her fingertips. “You look rested. I would imagine you’re hungry, too. Carmita put aside fruit, eggs, and tortillas from breakfast.”

  “Thank you.” Marianne detected something not so pleasant. “I need to bathe first.”

  Her mother’s fingers slipped from Marianne’s hair to her cheek. “I thought as much, and Carmita has heated water.”

  “Wonderful. I hope this hasn’t been too much work for her.” Marianne reveled in the comforts of home and those she loved who loved her in return. Without warning, a sadness swept over her. “Are Papa and Don Lorenzo in the house?”

  “No, your father took him riding across the estate. They should return by the mid-afternoon meal. The don is concerned about you. He wants to hasten the wedding.”

  Marianne hid her disappointment in light of the sadness in her mother’s face. “I will thank him for accompanying Papa to see about me.”

  Her mother moved to the window and stood for several moments before turning to Marianne. With her hands folded below her waist, she sighed deeply. “Do you wish to talk about what happened during your abduction?”

  Marianne longed to reveal her innermost secrets, the terror and later the bewilderment of being released. But she reminded herself that she could not reveal her knowledge of Spanish or her strange attraction to Armando. She gasped. If she relayed the truth, her dreams would be shattered, and she couldn’t bear to send them away—not just yet.

  “Mama, I know God protected me, especially when surrounded by such grave danger. Please forgive me, but I’d rather not discuss my captivity. It’s best forgotten, as you stated last evening.”

  A wave of compassion swept over her mother’s face and softened her features. “Of course. How could I be so thoughtless to cause you undue pain?”

  Her mother focused on Marianne’s face, and for a moment, she feared her mother knew those wandering reflections about Armando.

  “Do you need to be resting, now that I have wakened?” Marianne asked.

  “Soon. Truthfully, I’m exhausted and should lie down. Would you like to spend time with me in the garden this afternoon?”

  “What a splendid idea.” Marianne took a quick breath. “Could we read the Bible together?”

  Her mother’s eyes moistened. “I’ve prayed so long for your true commitment to the Lord. And yes, we shall read anything you desire.”

  After her mother left her to bathe, Marianne settled into the warm water. She shut her eyes and allowed secret thoughts to drift across her mind. All her life she’d dreamed of a comely man who would make her heart soar. Now that those dreams had begun to take form in a man who was her father’s enemy, she felt empty, as though cheated out of a glorious fulfillment. Perhaps she’d lost something to Armando she never really possessed.

  But I have gained the Lord. My relationship with Him is worth any price. It’s selfish to view the past three days in any other way.

  She firmly pushed aside the advancing reminiscences of Armando. God held a plan for her life, a plan far better than she could ever envision. As Mama had always said, “You are a daughter of the King. Conduct yourself in obedience and humility.”

  Following those words usually sounded simple, unless it involved dealing with Papa. Last night she’d lost her temper, and she should apologize. No matter that Papa cared only for himself and spoke so harshly. Regret crept through her. A surrender of her life to God meant obeying His commands.

  Heavenly Father, how can You ask this of me? Please, I cannot go to Papa. He can be so cruel. Marianne glanced at her hands and saw dirt still embedded beneath her fingernails. She remembered the panic when Felipe kidnapped her. God comforted and delivered her then, and He would be with her when she apologized to Papa.

  In the early afternoon, Marianne and her mother sat under a stone courtyard archway where a light breeze played among the variegated shades of green bushes and small, ornamental trees. The sun warmed the flourishing plants, coaxing the palms, cacti, aloe, and trailing ivy to rise upward. Yellow-orange blossoms from the prickly pear, winsome daisies, and vibrant verbena seemed to nod at her.

  Mama looked much better than she had earlier, for now there was a faint trace of pink in her cheeks.

  “What can I read to you?” her mother asked.

  Marianne touched her finger to her chin. “I think Daniel in the lion’s den.” She laughed. “We have something in common.”

  “My dear daughter, how brave of you to make light of your abduction. I do despise your ordeal.”

  “But Mama, it happened just as the Bible says. They meant to harm me, but God meant their plans for good. I am forever a changed woman. I have faced death and can no longer fear its sting.”

  Her mother failed to respond but the tears in her eyes spoke volumes. Marianne placed her hand over the cracked, black leather binding of the Bible resting in her mot
her’s lap. “Here, I will read, and you enjoy this beautiful afternoon.”

  Mama relinquished the Bible, and Marianne thumbed through the well-worn pages. Her mother’s handwriting and dates beside Scripture passages caught her eye. She wanted to study them. “Do you mind if I read your notes?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “I plan to study God’s Word every day. Will you help me when I don’t understand the passages?”

  A contented sigh escaped her mother’s lips. “Oh, yes. But there are confusing parts for me, too. Perhaps we can help each other.”

  Marianne gathered up her mother’s hand. “A wonderful idea, but I’ll be the student and you the teacher for a long time.” She gazed into her mother’s lovely features. “I pray God makes you strong again.”

  “And I will do all I can to ensure this happens.”

  “I know, Mama. We need each other for strength and comfort when the days are difficult. I don’t want to think of another day without you. If my words are selfish then I’m sorry. And I’ve decided that when Papa returns, I’ll apologize for being disrespectful last evening.”

  “I hoped you would come to that conclusion. You please me, Marianne.” She glanced beyond the courtyard to the distant hills. “Do you feel better about your marriage to Don Lorenzo?”

  Marianne refused to lie. “I’m not looking forward to the marriage. This is a difficult adjustment for me.”

  She avoided her mother’s gaze and took a deep breath. How could she consider sharing her life with this man, a stranger, after Armando awakened her heart? He touched her life with his passion for living and opened her eyes to the hope of a divine love between two people. If she ever did see him again, she’d beg to never leave his side.

  Her mother studied her closely. “This morning you spoke in your sleep.”

  “That’s strange. Perhaps I was having a nightmare from my captivity”

  “You called out a name.”

  While outwardly Marianne guarded her response, inwardly she knew her dreams betrayed her. “Mama, did I call out for you?”

  “You called out for Armando.” Mama glanced around nervously as though speaking his name ushered the man into their presence.

  A chill trickled through Marianne’s body. “He threatened to kill me if Papa refused to meet his demands.”

  “The manner in which you repeated his name did not indicate your dislike for him.” Her mother trembled. “I must ask this, my daughter, although I believe you have not lied to me or your papa. Did he seek your affections…and steal your innocence?”

  Marianne rushed to reply, feeling repulsion for the mere thought of such an ignoble act. “He did not in any way abuse me,” she said. “Your fears are unfounded.”

  “There you are, Elthia, Marianne,” a familiar voice called from inside the house.

  Her father waved as he and Don Lorenzo approached. Marianne’s heart sank. Papa always acted as if he loved her and Mama when guests were present.

  “Good afternoon, Weston, Don Lorenzo.” Mama’s words were spoken tenderly.

  Papa translated his wife’s greeting to the don, and the elderly gentleman responded. Marianne often questioned why Papa didn’t want her or Mama to learn Spanish when he spoke the language fluently. Perhaps his refusal had to do with power over her and Mama and Marianne’s relationship with Juan and Carmita, though it seemed strange to think Papa might feel envious of her affections for the Torres family. She’d gladly bestow her love to him, too.

  “Please offer a welcome to the don for me,” Marianne requested of her father. “And thank him for accompanying you in light of our family’s misfortune.” She prayed for strength. “Papa, I apologize for my disrespect last evening.”

  His mustache twitched, indicating his agitation with her. “You could appear happier in the presence of your future husband,” he said with a pleasant demeanor.

  She managed a pleasant smile and nodded at the don while her father interpreted her words of welcome and gratefulness. Summoning her wits about her, she focused her attention upon the don. He looked distinguished, and in a fatherly way, polite and attentive. In the few times she’d been in his presence, Marianne had appreciated his hearty laugh and the merriment in his brown eyes, the same color as the sherry Papa served him. His hair and beard were a glimmering white, although he did not have the etchings of age in his face. Marriage to him might have interested her if not for Armando.

  “Marianne, the don and I spent the morning riding over the hacienda and discussing your future,” her father said. “He desires for you to learn Spanish and to study Catholicism. I assured him of your agreement to this, and I will make immediate arrangements at the Mission San Antonio de Valero for a tutor.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Her stomach twisted. She wanted to declare she already spoke Spanish and didn’t incline herself to learn about Catholicism. Rebellion engulfed her, and stubborn pride battled with obedience to Papa. With an inward sigh, she yielded to the desire to bridle her tongue and leave her feelings behind. At the first opportunity, she would confess to the don her Spanish-speaking ability and ask him to refrain from informing Papa. As for the Catholic instruction, she needed to learn the differences between her own beliefs and those of her future husband. Marianne saw no other alternative.

  The don cleared his throat. “The señorita looks most charming dressed in blue and white. May I take her for a stroll? Even though we do not speak the same language, it is a way to become more comfortable in each other’s presence. Perhaps you and the señora might join us?”

  Her father gave his approval and announced to Marianne the plans. She stood and the Spanish nobleman offered his arm with a charming smile.

  Marianne fought the churning inside her again, not for linking arms with the don but for what it represented: the beginning of a future she could not change.

  Chapter 14

  Armando, Emilio, and Pepe arrived Saturday afternoon outside the Mission San José y San de Miguel de Aguayo, known as the Queen of Missions. As suspected, they could do nothing until Monday morning. Padre Bernardino Vallyo did not receive callers unless a critical situation arose. He said High Mass on Saturday mornings and promptly oversaw cleaning of the church and sacristy. Then all the women came for a portion of soap so they could wash clothes for their families. To the padres, cleanliness ranked at the top of important matters.

  As the sun began to set and steal the view of overhanging trees bent with moss, Armando and his friends heard the brief ringing of the bells summoning all Mexicans to gather. They were instructed to pray the Rosary and finish with singing. From what Armando remembered, the padre spent the evening in prayer and in preparation for Sunday. The thought of wasting an entire day disgruntled him.

  Emilio and Pepe believed the padre would require confession before hearing about their plight. The two did not mind; in fact they looked forward to it. For Armando, feigning faith in Dios bothered him more than having to wait another day to see the padre. Surely there must be another way.

  “We could hide here among the trees during the evening services,” Emilio said, and Pepe agreed. “And we could attend Mass in the morning.”

  “That choice may not be wise,” Armando said. “What if someone alerts the solidats in San Antonio de Bejar? We could be tortured or hung before we have an opportunity to approach the padre. We’d be accepting defeat.”

  “You’re right. We can make camp close by and stay in hiding until Monday.” Pepe’s boyish face wore a serious look.

  The three men settled down for the night. Soon Armando heard their even breathing as Emilio’s and Pepe’s bodies relaxed. Why must sleep elude him? The wretched unrest. Always his thoughts raced and could not be subdued.

  He didn’t feel comfortable entering the mission. Although San José had no fetters or stocks, Spanish solidats could be out and about. They were easily spotted, wearing short blue jackets with red cuffs, a red collar, and knee-length blue pants. They reminded Armando of strutting roosters
marching about carrying muskets and swords at their sides.

  The questions and probing sure to come from Padre Bernardino Vallyo proved troubling. Armando remembered well his manner of advising one to seek Dios resolutely and not to waiver. And Armando had not seen the man since he left the mission seven years ago. The padre had wept at Armando’s declaration of unbelief.

  Dread plodded through his veins. He didn’t welcome the meeting, but the padre loved his flock and had helped them in the past. Unlike so many missionaries who imposed heavy tasks upon the mestizos, Bernadino Vallyo worked to lessen their burdens. He was La Flor’s only hope, and for his people, Armando must comply with his friends’ wishes.

  Just as sleep began to soothe him, a vision of Marianne danced across his mind. To see her again and hear her say his name, he’d consider walking to the gallows. He dreamed of her and refused to push her memory away. So many times he had been tempted to give his heart to Isabella. She loved him and would make a good wife, but Armando didn’t desire her. Just like his madre, he yearned for forbidden love.

  The next morning, Armando noticed the Mission San José y San Miguel de Aguayo had changed little since his departure. Its massive stone walls were well maintained, with each inhabitant responsible for an area of work. As Armando and his friends walked toward the church, he recognized faces changed by age and hard work. The men still wore the white cotton shirts and pants, and the women dressed in loose-fitting shifts. All the clothing was issued by the padres. Every detail of their lives came under the authority of the mission. As before, a few appeared happy, especially the children, while others trudged through their daily assignments. He imagined the men and boys heading out to the fields, orchards, and quarries, while others stayed behind to work at various tasks. Some of the men tended sheep, cattle, and goats in surrounding fields outside the mission walls. The women and girls worked at cooking, sewing, gardening, and making soap, candles, and pottery. Their only reprieve came with Mass on feast days.