PARTE DOS: "A Title, a Memory, and a Signature"
"Run!" Consuela screamed. "Run, Felipe! Into the cart! The soldiers are coming!" Clouds of dust shrouded Felipe's mother as she and Juan gestured to their seven-year-old son. Cannonblasts and rifle shots exploded in the distance.
Felipe darted toward the pushcart where his parents waited. To his horror, they vanished with the cart just as he reached them!
"Mommy!" the little boy screamed. "Mommy! Where are you?!"
No answer. His parents did not reappear. Felipe was trapped in the direct line of fire; soon, the soldiers would arrive, and they would kill him! Felipe looked around wildly for help. "Mommy! Papá! Where are you?!"
Felipe shot up in bed, screaming at the top of his lungs. Only this time, no sound came from his throat. He stared wildly around the bedroom, quaking violently. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. Gradually, he ceased shaking.
Felipe pushed back the soft bedcovers and rose to his feet. It must be dawn; he could see the early-morning sunlight through the drapes. He put on his orange cotton shirt and white cotton trousers; he slipped his feet into his woven leather sandals and wrapped a brown woolen sash around his waist, at the top of his trousers. He shaved his face and combed his brown hair, then patted some men's cologne on his face. He leaned against the bureau, taking deep breaths and rubbing the back of his neck.
That was a horrible dream! He shuddered. How much longer till I quit dreaming about that awful battle?
He trudged up the hall, his woven-leather sandals clicking on the gleaming marble floor, toward the front of the house. He found the de la Vegas assembled in the drawing room, waiting for breakfast to be served.
Don Diego, who had evidently just returned with his new wife from an overnight stay at the tavern, rose to his feet and stared at the boy, brows furrowed in concern. "Felipe! What's wrong? You're as white as a sheet!"
Felipe just stared at him, quivering, then fell into his patrón's arms. For a moment, Don Diego hugged him, then stepped back. "Did you have that nightmare again?"
Felipe nodded. Doña Victoria, Don Diego's new wife, approached Felipe and clasped him to her chest. "You're safe, now," she said gently. "You're with us." She kissed the boy's cheek.
"That's right." Don Alejandro squeezed the boy's shoulder. "And just think! Very soon, when Don Luis has the adoption papers ready to sign, you're going to be my grandson." Felipe smiled, wanly.
The dinner bell tinkled. "Let's eat, everyone." Don Alejandro gestured toward the dining room. "Nothing like a good hot breakfast to chase ghosts away." He glanced down at his shiny gold timepiece and strode toward the dining room.
What will it take to chase these ghosts away? Felipe wondered, as he sat down at the dining table, laden with silver, china, and crystal. The ones that come back, night after night, to haunt me in my sleep? He grimaced. For that matter, what will it take to free me from my past once and for all, so I'll be able to speak again? He pressed his index finger on the glistening, snow-white tablecloth and bowed his head.
"Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord," Don Alejandro prayed. "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, amen." Felipe made the sign of the cross and raised his head. Silently, he prayed that the nightmares would stop.
Felipe had been having the same nightmare, in various forms, for the past four months. In it, his parents would disappear, or the soldiers would pursue Felipe. In the latter form of the nightmare, Felipe's parents lay dead, and Felipe tried in vain to scream for help. Just as the soldiers raised their rifles and aimed them at the little boy, to shoot him, he would wake up, terrified.
After breakfast, Felipe and the de la Vegas bowed their heads again. Don Alejandro prayed, "We give Thee thanks, Almighty God, for these and all Thy gifts, which we have received from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, amen." Felipe made the sign of the cross and rose from the table.
A few minutes later, Don Diego met privately with his wife in their bedroom. Doña Victoria ran a comb through her thick, dark-brown tumbled curls, then laid it down. "Emissary de la Fernandez and your brothers will be here, soon; I wanted to talk with you first," he said, as they perched on the bed. The mattress sagged and creaked underneath them.
Doña Victoria nodded. "It's about Felipe, isn't it?" She sighed. "Poor boy! What can we do, to make those nightmares of his stop?"
Don Diego sighed. "For now, all we can do is hold him and comfort him when he has one. That's what I do." He paused. "I hope that his being adopted will do much to heal those painful memories of his. And that's why I brought you in here, dear wife. I felt that we should discuss it before we meet with Don Luis to sign the adoption papers." Doña Victoria leaned toward him.
Don Diego paused. "As you remember, Don Luis told us, last night, that if we adopt Felipe, he will be considered the oldest son in the eyes of the law even if you give birth to a son later. And will receive an oldest son's share of the inheritance."
"Which would cut off any son I give birth to." Doña Victoria sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap as she spoke.
Don Diego nodded. "Yes."
The two paused for a moment. Then Doña Victoria asked, "Diego, what are you getting at? Are you having second thoughts?"
Don Diego chuckled. "No, Victoria. I still want Felipe to be my son; Don Luis's words have in no way changed that. But I did feel that you and I should discuss the issue before he brings the adoption papers. I want Felipe to be my son for a number of reasons, Victoria. For starters, he's always been like a son to me, anyway, and I wish to make it legal. I'm deeply fond of him, as you well know. But there's another matter, as well."
Don Diego frowned as he shifted position; the mattress sagged and creaked underneath his weight. "As you know, Victoria, the welfare of our tenants has always been of vital importance to my father and me. We want the man who inherits the money and lands after me to share that concern. In the wrong hands, tenants can suffer greatly. As you know from experience, Victoria."
"Are you referring to Don Pedro de Soto, who tried to evict all his tenants when he inherited his father's estate, years ago?" Doña Victoria gazed at him.
Don Diego nodded. "The trouble with waiting till we have a son of our own, Victoria, is that we have no way of knowing what he'll turn out to be like. Sometimes, children turn out bad, despite their parents' best efforts. Felipe, at least, can be fully trusted. Not only was he born a peasant himself, he has been raised by us to care about people and about justice."
Doña Victoria smiled and laid her hand on Don Diego's arm. "And in that, you and Don Alejandro have done a wonderful job. Felipe is a fine young man, and I know he will care about your tenants."
Don Diego smiled back. "Yes. He will. In my heart, Victoria, I would rather bequeath the estate to one I know can be trusted with it, rather than take my chances with unknown factors. If Felipe had not been a part of our lives, there would be no question about taking such chances--necessity would force us to do just that. But Felipe is a part of our lives; he's completely trustworthy. I love him dearly, and I want to provide for him. I want him to be my son and heir."
He paused. "Well, Victoria, I've shared my feelings; now, I want you to share yours. Please be honest with me; don't tell me what you think I want to hear, if your feelings run differently. Victoria, do you object to having Felipe for your son?"
Doña Victoria smiled. "I'm not going to lie to you, now, Diego. That's the worst thing I could do." She brushed a stray hair out of her eyes. "There's many unknown factors to consider, if we wait to have our own children. We may have nothing but daughters; we may have a son, only to lose him before he grows up. I'm with you, Diego. I feel that Felipe can be trusted, too. He's a kind, good, brave, intelligent young man, and his manners are excellent. And I understand your desire to make up to him for what he lost as a child. He needs to have a family he can belong to, whose last name he can share. He hasn't had that since he was a little boy." Don Diego nodded to indicate his agreement.
Doña Victoria paused for a moment. "If there were no Felipe--and especially if there were no unknown factors to worry about--I would want my son, if I gave birth to one, to inherit everything. But I, too, love Felipe, and I, too, want him to inherit the estate someday. I want him for my son, too, Diego. Therefore, I say--" She paused. "Let's adopt him, and trust God to work out for good all those unknown factors."
Don Diego smiled gratefully. He hugged her tightly. "Gracias!" He leaned back and gazed at her fondly. "You know, Victoria, you've always been a lady-a compassionate lady, I might add! Your mother and father did an excellent job of instilling manners in you. Now, you have the title of a lady to go with those manners and that compassionate heart. I can think of no better woman to bestow that title on." Doña Victoria smiled her appreciation of the compliment.
He embraced her again. Affection for his new wife welled up in his heart. Suddenly, a servant entered the room and cleared his throat for attention.
ZZZZZ
Felipe sat cross-legged on his bed, showing Sergio his spyglass. Sergio gazed through it and aimed it at Felipe for a moment. With a grin, Felipe posed for his friend, pressing his palm on the soft, navy-blue quilt.
"Did Don Diego give this to you?" Felipe nodded as Sergio clasped the spyglass against his chest.
Sergio laid the spyglass down. He yanked his slingshot and wooden toy sword out of his wool sash and showed them to Felipe. "Felipe, will you play soldiers with me, later?" Felipe nodded. Sergio held up the spyglass again.
A servant entered Felipe's bedroom; the boys looked up at him. "Felipe, Don Paco de la Fernandez wishes to see you."
Sergio laid down the spyglass, and inserted his slingshot and toy sword into his sash. He and Felipe trotted to the front of the house, where they found Don Alejandro, Don Diego, Doña Victoria, her brothers Ramon and Francisco, Rafael Lopez, and Don Paco waiting in the drawing room.
"Well, Felipe!" Don Paco shook the young man's hand. "I've been waiting for you." He gazed at each person in turn. "I have very important news for all of you. It pertains to you, amigo." He gazed at Felipe and inserted his thumbs into his vest pockets.
Felipe stared at Don Paco. To Felipe?! The boy pointed at his chest and gaped at the emissary questioningly.
"Yes, Felipe. To you." Don Paco paused, an amused smile tracing his face for a second. "Felipe Cortez, the King of Spain has ordered that, as a reward for your role in saving the lives of the Duke of La Mancha and his family, you are to be given the title of the Conde de Bajio. You will have your own coat of arms." The man showed him a picture of the chosen coat of arms; Felipe gaped at it in stunned silence. "This is an extinct title, muchacho, so there's no lands to go with it. But the crown will send you a regular income: 50,000 pesos a year."
Felipe froze and gaped at the emissary. He couldn't believe his ears. A count? Felipe thought, rubbing the back of his neck. I'm to be a count?!
The de la Vegas, Escalantes, and Rafael were also stunned. For a long moment, they gaped at one another and at Felipe. Felipe glanced at Rafael; the normally-fidgety boy stood stock-still, gaping at his old friend.
"Don Francisco told us he was going to ask the king to reward Felipe, but the most we expected was a written commendation," Don Alejandro said.
The emissary nodded. "Don Francisco asked the king to reward this boy, yes, but he didn't specify the form the reward should take. The king himself thought of the title. He sent me here with the first year's allotment of money; I've taken the liberty of depositing it in the bank in Felipe's name. And yes, the king has asked me to present to Felipe this plaque and this written commendation. He wrote the commendation, himself, and dictated the message engraved on the plaque." He handed Felipe a rolled parchment.
Felipe unrolled it and read it silently. He handed it to Don Diego, who in turn read it to himself while the others read it over his shoulder. With a proud smile, Don Diego handed the written commendation back to Felipe, who gazed at it once more before rolling it back up.
Don Paco handed Felipe the plaque. "Give me your right hand," he ordered. As Felipe held the plaque with his left hand, the emissary slipped a gold signet ring onto the boy's finger.
"This ring has the coat-of-arms for your new title," he explained. "When you need to affix a seal to a letter you've written, use this ring to do it with." Felipe nodded.
"When does the title go into effect?" Doña Victoria asked the emissary.
"It's in effect now." Don Paco clasped his hands behind his back. "It went into effect the day I sailed from Spain. Felipe, here, has been a conde ever since. When the king presents one with a title, Felipe, it's official. You are a nobleman, now--you are no longer a peasant."
Felipe stood stock-still, stunned. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. The de la Vegas and the Escalantes hugged him, one after the other; Doña Victoria kissed the boy's cheek.
"Well, Felipe! I'm so proud of you." Don Alejandro clasped Felipe to his chest.
"You deserve it, Felipe." Don Diego embraced him tightly. "If it hadn't been for you and Zorro, Don Rodrigo de la Calderon and his grandparents might well have been murdered."
"Señor--" Rafael's voice broke. "When did they do that?"
"Months ago, amigo. Before you and your uncle came," Don Alejandro explained.
Felipe told the emissary, with gestures, that he thought Zorro deserved a reward, too.
Don Paco smiled ruefully and shook his head. "Zorro has his reward, Felipe--his pardon and a new, just alcalde for Los Angeles. The king cannot reward him beyond that, because in the eyes of the law, he's a bandit. But he could pardon him and end the need for his crusade by appointing a new alcalde, and he did."
"And that, Felipe, is all I ever wanted for myself," Don Diego assured the boy. "I'm satisfied." Felipe nodded.
Don Paco glanced at his timepiece. "And now, I need to return to town. Don Diego, I will return when Don Luis has the adoption papers ready, then I'll take your former alcalde to Spain to stand trial. I'll see you at the adoption ceremony--Don Felipe Cortez, Count of Bajio!" He left.
Don Felipe Cortez! the boy thought. Count of Bajio! That sounds so funny, being applied to me. But I guess I am, aren't I? He gazed at the gold signet ring shining on his finger.
The de la Vegas, the Escalante brothers, and Rafael milled around Felipe, slapping his back and congratulating him. Felipe grinned broadly. Sergio himself shook his friend's hand and grinned back.
Don Diego chuckled. "Unlike Gilberto Risendo, I'd say Don Paco is a fair, just emissary." Everyone agreed.
Rafael shook his head in evident disbelief. "This sure isn't what we expected, is it, Felipe?" Felipe shook his head. They sure hadn't. When they were little boys in San Miguel de Bajio, not in their wildest dreams had either boy expected to become a nobleman.
Don Alejandro raised his hand for silence. He glanced at Sergio. "Felipe, I have a request to ask of you on Sergio's behalf." Felipe gazed at the elderly caballero as he clasped his hands behind his back. "Would you be willing to give your horse, Parche, to Sergio?"
Felipe stared at him. I don't want to give up Parche! He's been my horse for years! I saw him come into the world! I raised him, trained him; I've ridden him since I was thirteen. No, I don't want to give him up!
Don Diego rested a hand on Felipe's shoulder. "Felipe, my father will give you another horse. You have my word on that. You know, Sergio really does need his own mount--he has to run errands, you know." Don Diego paused. "I know how much you love Parche--after all, you raised him and trained him yourself. It's your decision, amigo. " Don Diego squeezed the boy's shoulder.
"Sergio rides as well as you do, now, Felipe," Don Alejandro added. "If he's going to keep running errands for us, he must have his own horse."
Felipe gazed at Sergio, who stood silently, holding his breath. Felipe exhaled slowly. Don Diego and Don Alejandro were right.
Felipe looked at Don Alejandro. The boy nodded his consent, then smiled at Sergio. Sergio grinned broadly and threw his arms around Felipe; the others smiled approvingly. "Gracias!" the younger boy said, hoarsely.
Felipe asked, via gestures, which horse would take Parche's place. Don Alejandro smiled. "When Diego, Victoria, and I have changed clothes, amigo, come out to the stable with us, and I'll show you."
A half-hour later, Felipe and the others followed Don Alejandro outside. Don Alejandro wore a grayish-blue broadcloth frock coat, a matching pair of trousers, a blue satin vest, a snow-white silk shirt with ruffles, and a coal-black silk cravat. Don Diego wore a bright-blue broadcloth tailcoat, a matching pair of trousers, a snow-white, ruffled silk shirt, and a white silk cravat. Victoria wore a white cotton blouse and a red plaid skirt.
As Don Alejandro strode toward the stables, the others trotted behind. At the entrance, the aged don held up his hand to stop the entourage. "Wait here," Don Alejandro told them.
As the elderly caballero entered the stable, Felipe watched. For a moment, as a gentle breeze brushed his cheeks, the boy gazed at Toronado, who now had a stall of his own with the other horses. Don Alejandro took the reins of his prize stallion, Emilio, and led him outside.
"I'm giving Emilio to you," Don Alejandro told the boy. "My gift to you. He's yours, now, Felipe, and I know you'll take good care of him."
With a nod, Felipe smiled his thanks, then threw his arms around Emilio's neck. He had always loved the magnificent, spirited, dark-brown Andalusian stallion. If he had to give up Parche, he would be glad to have Emilio in place of the pinto. The brown stallion sniffed the boy's face and hands; Felipe hugged the horse tightly.
When Felipe let go of his new horse, he entered the stable, took Parche's halter, and brought the pinto pony out by the halter. He handed the halter to Sergio, who in turn hugged Parche. "Gracias, Felipe. I'll take good care of him. I promise." Felipe smiled and nodded. He did not doubt that Sergio would keep his word.
"Si. You will," Rafael agreed. "Felipe's going to be a good caballero, too."
Don Diego glanced at his gold timepiece. "Victoria and I need to go to the tavern and meet with Don Luis. Would you like to go with us, Felipe? Rafael?"
Felipe shook his head. Rafael glanced at him, shifting from leg to leg. "I got to go home. I've got some chores to do."
"We'll give you a lift home, Rafael," Don Diego offered. "What about the rest of you all?"
"I will," Don Alejandro offered.
"So will I. I need to get back to the tavern, anyway," Ramon said.
"Yes, and I need to get back to work," Francisco said. He hesitated. "Uh, Diego, are you sure the lawyer knows what he's doing?"
"He certainly does," Don Alejandro assured him. "Don Luis has a sharp legal mind, Francisco."
"We'll let you all know when the adoption papers are ready to be signed," Don Diego told them. "Felipe, I'll give you and Sergio your fencing lessons, late this afternoon."
The grooms saddled the horses for the men and Victoria, who mounted them and left, sitting tall and straight in their saddles. Rafael rode behind Diego on his mount. Felipe and Sergio watched them until they disappeared over the horizon. Felipe gazed for a moment at the sky, and smiled.
Pretty, fleecy clouds, Felipe thought. They look so pretty, dotting the sky the way they do. And the breeze feels so good!
As Felipe leaned against Emilio, rubbing its neck, a memory suddenly flashed into his mind...
A seven-year-old Felipe had just carried an armful of twigs into the house, as he did, twice every day. "Put 'em in the firepit, son," his mother said. Felipe nodded, and knelt on the hard-packed dirt floor in front of the firepit.
As Felipe carefully arranged the twigs in the firepit, he asked, "Mommy, where's Papá?"
"He's gone to town to get some pulque." His mother rolled the stone metate back and forth across the crushed corn kernels as she spoke. "It won't be long, the alcalde said, before we'll have to leave San Miguel, and your papá wants as much pulque to take with him as he can." She wiped the sweat off her forehead as she spoke.
Felipe paused and straightened his back. "Why do we have to leave San Miguel?"
"Because the government soldiers are comin'. There's goin' to be a battle here."
"Are we ever comin' back?"
"Someday. When it's safe."
"When do we have to go?"
"Very soon. Now, get those twigs ready, son."
When Felipe had arranged the twigs to his mother's satisfaction, he rose to his feet and leaned against the rough wattle-and-daub wall of the hut. For a moment, he gazed at the rafters overhead, and at the thick thatch of straw comprising the roof. "Mommy, why is Papá always mad at me? Am I bad?"
His mother laid down the metate. For a moment, she just sat there on her knees, looking sad. As Felipe approached her, she rose to her knees to hug him tightly. "No, son, you're not bad. You're a good boy, and Papá loves you."
"Then why does he always shout at me and hit me?"
Tears welled up in Consuela's eyes. "That's just the way he is, Felipe." She sighed. "He treats us both that way. He's just nervous and grumpy; it takes so little to make him mad. You have to be careful around him, and so do I. Don't forget, son, your papá hits me, too."
Felipe winced and rubbed his bruised cheeks. His father had struck him only that morning for missing the bucket while he had milked the she-goat...
Felipe swallowed a lump in his throat. Just a few days later, he recalled, the alcalde had evacuated all the peons, split them into several groups, and sent each group to a different place, escorted by soldiers. The Cortez family and the Lopez family had been sent with different groups, much to Felipe's disappointment. The group Felipe's family had been sent with had been safe enough at its destination, at a pueblo 50 miles north of San Miguel de Bajio, for two weeks. Then, the government soldiers had come and laid siege to the village.
After two weeks of fighting, the pueblo itself had fallen under attack. The peasants had tried to flee for safety while the battle raged around them. Every revolutionary soldier, and every peasant except Felipe, had been killed in the battle.
In an effort to drive the painful memory out of his mind, Felipe fixed his thoughts on his mother. He recalled how his mother would comfort him when he'd had nightmares...how she'd rock him and sing to him when he fallen sick...how she'd tell him stories about her early life...and how she'd apply homemade salve to his face, legs, and back after his father had slapped his face and thrashed his legs and back with the leather strap.
Don Diego is a kindlier, gentler man than my late papá was, Felipe thought, wryly. Not even the most charitable priest could have called my papá a gentleman, even if he'd had a title. Don Diego is. He'd be a gentleman even without the rank. He glanced down at his gold signet ring as it shone in the sunlight. I shall try to be one, too. Now that I bear the rank, I must have the manners.
Thinking about that brought Don Gilberto Risendo to mind. Risendo had definitely not behaved like a gentleman, even though he had dressed like one! Felipe knew he would never forget the time Risendo had come to Los Angeles to collect a war tax. The emissary's coming had so devastated the de la Vegas.
I felt so sorry for Don Alejandro, Felipe thought. He was so hurt--so devastated to learn that he'd had a second son and didn't even know it! And so was Don Diego. I hurt for them both. He squirmed.
Felipe remembered how Señor Risendo had kidnapped Toronado...how Risendo had planned to use the black stallion as bait to capture Zorro. He recalled how Zorro had outsmarted Risendo and rescued his horse. In the process, Zorro had received a gunshot wound; later, Felipe had carefully removed the bullet and bandaged Don Diego's arm. That wound had later betrayed Don Diego's secret to Risendo; in turn, Risendo had nearly betrayed that secret to Don Alejandro, just before the alcalde had shot him.
"Felipe, are you all right?"
Sergio's voice startled Felipe; he jumped, then smiled apologetically at Sergio. He shrugged.
"Felipe, I'm going inside, all right?" Felipe nodded. "Later, when I'm done with my tasks, can we play soldiers?"
Felipe nodded again; Sergio left. Felipe gazed at Emilio for a moment, and patted the horse's neck.
I've lived here for ten years! he thought. I first came here when I was just seven years old. Now, I'm seventeen. So much has happened since I came here, and before, too!
More memories shot into Felipe's mind: Felipe working in the corn patch with his father, weeding. Felipe milking the she-goat or feeding the two goats, twice a day, while his father fed and groomed the burro. The Cortez family going hungry when the crops failed, to the point that their stomachs ached incessantly. The family participating in the yearly fiesta honoring the pueblo’s patron saint, the Archangel Michael. Consuela spinning thread, weaving and dyeing thread to make cloth, and sewing the cloth into clothes for the family. Consuela weaving straw into baskets, hats, and other items, to take to the weekly village market. Felipe and his mother going to the village market, so she could sell or barter her wares; going to Mass on Sundays and to confession on Saturdays; praying with Consuela's rosary as she and Felipe knelt before the family altar every night. Juan Cortez thrashing Felipe in a fit of rage, or beating his wife for displeasing him in some way.
Soldiers arresting Felipe's father and taking him to jail. Juan sometimes had to stay in jail for varying lengths of time, for creating public disturbances, as Felipe recalled.
I used to visit the padre when we went to town, Felipe thought. He and my mamá and Godfather Lopez were my favorite people. They all told me wonderful stories. The padre would tell me stories about God and Jesus and the saints, and my godfather Lopez would tell me all kinds of folk stories and stories about his family. He'd play his mandolin and sing wonderful songs, too, whenever we visited them. Godfather Lopez was a kind, good, godly man. And Mamá would tell me stories about her childhood. The boy sighed. I wish Godfather Lopez were still alive. I miss him! He could have watched me get adopted, too, if only he'd lived.
Intense pain welled up in the boy's heart. He leaned his head against Emilio's neck. I don't want to remember any more! It hurts too much! Convulsive sobs forced their way out of his throat; tears streaked his face.
Suddenly, in a desperate effort to escape the pain, Felipe swung himself onto Emilio and gathered the reins. He dug his heels into the stallion's sides; Emilio galloped north. The boy sat tall and straight in the saddle, as he'd been taught in childhood.
An hour later, as Felipe neared the San Gabriel Mountains, a deafening explosion shook the ground. Emilio whinnied and reared; Felipe just managed to land on his feet as he fell. Pain shot through his right ankle, making him wince.
Gritting his teeth, Felipe grabbed Emilio's reins and patted the horse. Slowly, the horse calmed down. Felipe tied the horse's reins to a nearby bush, then hopped toward a hill. He leaned against a boulder to peek over the hill.
Not a fourth of a mile away, a wagon rested. Its horses stood grazing in a patch of grass close by. Three men milled around.
"How long till we take over Los Angeles?" one of the men said.
"Not long, now," another said. He scratched his neck as he spoke. "You'll have to fight like never before, men, for Los Angeles has some tough men to defend it."
"What about the alcalde?"
The first man snorted. "We don't have to worry about him anymore. He was fired just yesterday morning; I was there. Don Alejandro de la Vega has been appointed in his place. Since we're going to kill the de la Vegas anyway, that won't be a problem."
Felipe froze in horror. What are these men plotting to do? He decided to listen for a few more minutes.
"After we've taken over Los Angeles," the first man went on, "we'll go to every other pueblo in the territory. We shall free California from Spanish rule and set up a Californio government. We've been under the Spanish yoke long enough!"
"When shall we leave?"
"Shortly. First, though, let's take these horses to water, shall we? They've had nothing to drink since yesterday."
As the men led the horses away, Felipe considered his options. With his ankle twisted, he couldn't ride to the hacienda and tell the de la Vegas. Yet, he knew he would have to act fast if he wanted to save the de la Vegas and the pueblo.
I've got to hurry! he thought. There isn't much time.
Suddenly, he remembered the notepad and pencil he always kept in his trousers. Yanking them out, he scribbled a note to the de la Vegas. Hopping toward Emilio, he fastened the note to Emilio's saddlehorn and slapped the horse's rump. Emilio galloped away.
Felipe cautiously hopped back toward the wagon. His only hope, he knew, was to ride as a stowaway and pray that the men wouldn't see him. To his relief, boxes and crates filled the wagon, and a heavy cloth covered them. Lifting the cloth, he climbed inside and lay down. The cloth fell.
As Felipe lay huddled, waiting for the revolutionaries to return, he suddenly remembered the massacre of the revolutionary soldiers during the battle that had killed his parents. Suddenly, in his mind, cannonblasts, rifle shots, shouts, and terrified screams filled the air.
Felipe trembled as his parents pushed the cart. He clutched the bars till his knuckles turned white. "Push!" Juan Cortez ordered his wife. "We got to get away from here!"
Suddenly, a deafening cannonblast hurt Felipe's ears; as the pushcart overturned, he screamed. Terror and grief overwhelmed Felipe, who sobbed convulsively, yet soundlessly. He rolled back and forth in his pain, bumping against the boxes and crates filling the wagon.
"Let's get going!" A voice grabbed Felipe's attention. "Come on." It was the revolutionary who had spoken earlier, giving orders. Felipe gulped and, with great effort, stifled his silent sobs. He cautiously raised his hand to wipe the tears off his cheeks.
As the wagon jolted, Felipe squeezed his eyes shut. He dared not move, lest they overhear him. Minutes passed.
Please, God, don't let them find me! he prayed. And please don't let these men make war on California!
ZZZZZ
Sergio wandered aimlessly in the kitchen. He tossed his toy sword into the air and caught it repeatedly. "Sergio, find something to do or get out," Maria, the de la Vega cook, said when he bumped into her for the third time. She sounded annoyed.
"I'm sorry, Maria." Sergio plunked down onto the bench and rested his arms on the table. "I just wish the de la Vegas and Felipe would get back, soon. Felipe's going to play with me."
Before Maria could respond, the back door banged open. A breathless vaquero rushed into the kitchen. "Sergio, take this to the de la Vegas. Felipe's in danger and he needs help. Miguel is saddling Parche for you, now." He tossed a folded piece of paper on the rough pine table.
Sergio leaped to his feet. He snatched the note and raced out the door, wondering what it was about. When he reached the stables, he paused to read Felipe's note.
"I've got to find Don Diego!" he told himself. "Felipe's in real danger!"
Miguel, the vaqueros' foreman, had saddled Parche; he helped the boy mount the pony. Sergio inserted the note into the top of his trousers and thanked Miguel. He rode to town, to find the de la Vegas.
Meanwhile, as the wagon also approached town, Felipe lay stock-still. The corner of one of the crates dug into his thigh, making him wince in pain. Unfortunately, there was no room to move his thigh. He forced himself to breathe shallowly. He prayed that he wouldn't sneeze; that would be a dead give-away!
Felipe knew that if a battle took place in Los Angeles, innocent people would be hurt or killed, as his parents had been. It wouldn't only be the soldiers who lost their lives; civilians would, too. Since the de la Vegas had been targeted for death, they would certainly perish, and possibly Felipe himself with them. Somehow, Felipe had to stop these revolutionaries!
I've got to save the de la Vegas! he thought. I can't let these revolutionaries kill them!
The wagon stopped. Felipe heard boots thud and felt the wagonbox shake, as the revolutionaries hopped off the driver's seat.
"Come on!" the leader ordered. "Let's go to the plaza and examine it, shall we? Then we'll plan our attack."
When the thuds had faded, Felipe cautiously crept out from underneath the heavy cloth, wincing as his ankle throbbed. He hopped toward the back of the tavern and leaned against it for a moment. He glanced down at his ankle; it was bruised and swollen. I'll have to remove my sandal and bandage my ankle, he thought. Suddenly, he heard the men's voices. They were returning to the wagon! Felipe crouched behind some crates to avoid detection.
"We need a way to draw the soldiers out," the leader said. "This is what we'll do. We'll set up the dynamite behind the cuartel. Then we'll take some firecrackers and shoot them off behind the dynamite, to attract the lancers' attention. When the soldiers come back here to check, we'll explode the dynamite. Then we'll pick off any surviving soldiers with our rifles."
"And then we kill the de la Vegas."
"Si, if we don't see them first. If we do, we'll shoot them before we do anything else. And we'll start with Don Alejandro, himself."
Felipe felt hopeless. He had done all he could do, he knew; without Zorro, all was lost. These men are going to kill the de la Vegas if Zorro doesn't get here fast!
Old memories exploded into his mind. He had been helpless on that other day, too. In fact, he had been just as helpless to save his mother and father, back then, as he was, now, to save the de la Vegas. In that instant, he knew the memory was going to overwhelm him again; this time, he would not be able to stem it. He leaned against the rough tavern wall, pressed his nose against the adobe brick in front of his face, and braced himself for the storm.
It struck with an onslaught...
Consuela Cortez crouched on her knees against the cold, stone wall of the huge barn, and Felipe stayed close to her. Sweet hay crinkled underneath as she shifted position; her dark-brown wooden rosary dangled from her neck. Her husband, Juan, stood in the doorway with three other peasant men, waiting for the coming soldiers. Other peasants surrounded Consuela and Felipe. Some sat on the bare ground or on piles of hay, Indian-style; some paced the barn; some leaned against the walls; and still others knelt on the lumps of hay and prayed. In the distance, cannonballs exploded.
Juan turned around to face his wife and his seven-year-old son. "They're comin' closer." He took a deep breath. "They'll be here, soon."
Felipe shivered and approached his mother. She extended her arms, and the child crawled into her lap, whimpering. "Mommy, I'm scared." Felipe nestled against her bosom as she clasped him tightly.
"I know, son. We all are." She paused. "We're in God's hands, Felipe. We can only trust Him." Felipe nodded.
For a time, she rocked him and hummed. The distant cannonblasts gradually became louder.
Suddenly, Consuela let go of Felipe. As he watched her, she removed the rosary from around her neck. "We will pray, once more," she told her son.
" Si, Mommy."
For a time, Felipe and his mother prayed for safety, counting each decade on the rosary as they did. When they had finished, Juan approached them. "We must put everything in the cart, soon, Consuela. It's almost time."
Consuela nodded and rose to her feet. She took Felipe outside to relieve himself, and then they went to get a drink of water from the plaza fountain. Her dull-green skirt swished as she led her son toward the fountain. Other peons stood in line there, waiting for their turns, so Felipe and his mother had to wait. When Felipe had quenched his thirst, Consuela took a swallow. She then led her son back to the barn, where Juan still stood in the doorway.
Felipe squatted on the hay in the rear of the barn, and Consuela paused. As Felipe gazed up at her, she removed her rosary from around her neck and held it out to the boy.
"Take care of my rosary, Felipe." Her voice shook; she took a deep breath. "It's yours, now." She bent over to hand him the rosary; as Felipe rose to a kneeling position to take it, the hay underneath him crackled. His father, who still stood in the doorway of the barn, paid no attention to his wife or his son. He was too busy watching for the soldiers, as he had done every day since the siege had started, two weeks before.
Consuela knelt to look her son full in the face. "Mi madre gave it to me when she died, and her mother gave it to her. Now, I'm givin' it to you. Pray with it every day, just like I taught you. When you die, give it to your own child."
They paused to listen to the gunshots and explosions. Consuela patted his cheek with a rough, workworn hand. "It belongs to you, now, son, so take good care of it. Whatever happens, go to church and be a good boy. Promise?"
Felipe's voice trembled. "I--I promise, Mommy." Why was his mother talking like that?
The next cannonball explosion sounded louder. The government soldiers were getting closer. Felipe shivered.
His mother sat down on the pile of hay and hugged Felipe tightly. The hay crackled underneath her. "Just remember, son; God loves you, and He will take care of you. Remember that!"
"Y--yes, Mommy." Felipe nestled against her bosom again.
Consuela rocked the little boy and crooned to him as he tried to ignore the increasingly louder noises of battle. The other peasants surrounding Felipe and his mother alternately sat silently and prayed.
Half an hour later, the battle exploded in the village plaza. All the peons hurriedly gathered their belongings and fled the pueblo. Felipe and his parents packed all their possessions inside the wooden pushcart. The family belongings were packed in two huge bundles.
Consuela hastily draped her shoulders with a yellow woolen shawl, and her husband put on his homemade, gray felt sombrero. Consuela had made it for him two years before, when Felipe was just five. Juan then lifted Felipe and set him inside the pushcart.
"Hold tight!" he ordered the boy. "Don't move!"
Felipe trembled as his parents pushed the cart out of the barn. He clutched the side till his knuckles turned white. He could feel the smooth rosary beads pressing against the side of his hip, where they nestled inside the top of his trousers.
"Push!" Juan Cortez ordered his wife. "We got to get away from here!"
As the peons rushed out of the pueblo, government soldiers and revolutionary soldiers surrounded them, fighting. Rifle shots and musket shots, cannonblasts, battle shouts, and terrified screams echoed in Felipe's ears. Thick clouds of dust from the cannonblasts blocked his vision and choked him. He coughed and coughed, trying to clear his windpipe.
When he could finally breathe, Felipe clutched the side of the cart and stared ahead. Please, God, protect us! he prayed silently.
Suddenly, the pushcart stopped. The other peasants rushed on ahead as Consuela darted past Felipe to the front end of the cart. "Consuela, you pull on that end!" Juan ordered. "I'll push it from behind. We got to get this cart loose!"
As Felipe watched his parents and gripped the round wooden bars that comprised the right side (and the left side) of the cart, his parents pushed and pulled; the cart refused to budge. With a loud grunt, Juan gripped the handles so hard his knuckles turned white, and he threw his whole body against the end of the cart. Clutching the front end, Consuela heaved and strained.
"Mommy!" Felipe cried, just before the pushcart began to creep forward.
Consuela rushed back to the handles and helped her husband push them. Suddenly, an earsplitting cannonblast exploded in Felipe's ears and jolted the ground violently; Felipe soared through the air and landed on his head. The terrified boy screamed as he fell; excruciating pain exploded inside his head when he landed on the ground. Pitch-blackness descended. He knew nothing.
When the blackness receded, Felipe found himself lying facedown on the ground, with grass tickling his nose. An eerie, absolute silence surrounded him. The two bundles containing his family's possessions pressed his back, pinning him down. His head throbbed, making him wince.
Felipe raised his aching head and clutched the side of it with his right hand. The sides of the pushcart lay up-ended on the ground; it had been overturned.
Mamá? Felipe thought. Papá? Where are they? The boy winced. Ow! My head hurts!
He looked around. Several feet from his head, his father lay facedown in the grass, his felt hat lying askew. Where was Felipe's mother? He just had to find out!
Gritting his teeth, Felipe rose to his elbows and knees. Shaking his body sideways, he shoved the bundles to the side. He crept out from underneath the overturned pushcart, and looked toward his left.
His mother lay sprawled on her side on the other end of the cart. Felipe crawled toward her and shook her shoulder.
"Mommy," he tried to say; nothing came out. "Mommy," he tried to say, again, as he shook her a second time. No sound came from his mouth.
Fear gripped Felipe's heart. He clutched his throat. "Mommy!" he mouthed a third time, in an effort to shout. His throat did not vibrate as it usually did when he spoke.
I can't talk! Felipe thought. Mommy's dead; Papá's dead!
He scrambled to his feet and looked around. Dead peons and soldiers lay scattered in the grass and surrounded Felipe. He could see no one alive in any direction he looked; he couldn't hear a single voice, thud, or creak. Even the victorious government soldiers had disappeared. He was alone. All alone.
Desperately, in an attempt to gain someone's attention, Felipe tried unsuccessfully to scream for help, wincing as his head throbbed. He clapped his hands, but no one came; there was no answering shout. Felipe clapped his hands again. This time, he noticed that the sound his hands usually made when slapped together was totally absent. He stared down at his callused, workworn hands and clapped a third time. There was no clapping sound.
No! the boy thought. It's not true. It's not! His hands shook; he swallowed a lump in his throat.
After an unsuccessful attempt to revive his father, Felipe wandered away from the dead bodies. He found a fist-size rock and picked it up. In that instant, he decided to find out if he could hear or not.
Felipe hurled the rock toward a nearby tree. It bounced off the trunk and landed in the grass. The thuds Felipe had expected to hear did not reach his ears.
I can't hear! he thought. I can't talk; I can't hear!
Panic seized the little boy as he fully realized the mortal danger he was in. Unless someone found him soon, he would die of thirst and starvation, he knew. Felipe collapsed on the ground and wept profuse, heavy, yet silent sobs.
For the next three days, a terrified, grief-stricken Felipe wandered the desert, looking for help. At night, he slept under trees; during the day, he looked in vain for water. He did not know how to find food, so he didn't even try.
At night, when he lay still, he would try to warm himself by scrunching his legs upward and wrapping his arms around his chest. He would pull his rosary out of his trousers and, counting the beads, pray for rescue. As his terrors overwhelmed him, Felipe would sob convulsively, till sleep overcame him. Later, during the night, a nightmare would force him to wake up, screaming soundlessly for his mother.
Once, a downpour drenched him; Felipe raised his head to drink the rain, and thus quench his overpowering thirst and soothe his dry throat. The rain lasted all afternoon; he drank the rainwater again and again, as it poured on his face. The rain could not satisfy his hunger, alas. As the sun set, the rain stopped and the clouds cleared away.
Gradually, he became too weak from hunger and thirst to keep walking. On the evening of the third day, he finally settled down in an area where part of the fighting had occurred; dead soldiers lay scattered everywhere he looked. As usual, as he had done for the past two nights, he lay huddled on his side, said his prayers, and cried himself to sleep. That night, for the third time in the last three nights, he had a nightmare that made him wake up, screaming soundlessly. He then cried himself to sleep again.
The next morning, at dawn, Felipe woke up and sniffled. The tears had dried, but his nose felt stuffy. Feeling too weak from hunger to walk any further, Felipe sat up, grabbed his rosary, and prayed with it as his mother had taught him. When he was finished, the sky had turned blue. He inserted the rosary into his smudged trousers, folded his legs upward, laid his right hand face-up on one of his knees, and rested his face down on it. What was going to happen to him?
Please, God, he prayed, silently whimpering, don't let me die!
Time passed; Felipe had no idea how much. Every time he raised his head, the sun had risen further into the sky. Hours passed as he sat under that tree, too weak to stand up and walk.
Once, when he looked at the sky, the sun had risen halfway up. It was mid-morning of the fourth day, and he was alone. He stifled a sob and lowered his face back onto his hand. Maybe, he thought, when I die, there'll be an angel to take me to Heaven. I hope there will be.
Suddenly, a half-hour later, a breeze arose, ruffling his hair. A few moments later, a sweet scent Felipe had never smelled before wafted toward his nostrils. It didn't smell quite like a flower, but it came close. What was causing it?
As Felipe slowly raised his head to find out, he saw a pair of shiny, black leather books with spurs just a few feet from his face. Raising his head further, Felipe saw a pair of white trousers, a sash, a snow-white shirt with ruffles down the front and on the sleeves, and a yellowish-beige jacket. Above that jacket and shirt, he saw the face, blue eyes, black hair, and thin moustache of a strange man--a caballero!
Felipe had never before seen a caballero up close. He had, of course, seen them from a distance in San Miguel, but none of them had ever deigned to speak to him. His parents had warned him against trying to approach one. "Caballeros don't like peons, Felipe," his mother had warned him repeatedly. "We're not equal to them, so they look down on us. They would be very angry if a peasant boy dared speak to one. Keep away from them, or they'll hurt you!"
"Si, Mommy," Felipe would say. He had kept his word; he had been careful to watch rich landowners only from a distance.
The gentleman stood straight and tall, with his shoulders held back. He gazed down at the little boy, deep sadness and compassion etched on his face. His blue eyes looked kind. He wore a yellowish jacket over a snow-white, ruffled shirt; a brown woolen cape hung from his back. Felipe gazed back at him, terror and grief etched on his face, and did not try to say a word.
Without saying a word, the gentleman bent over and took Felipe in his arms. He lifted the little boy up and supported the boy against his shoulder. Felipe wrapped his arms around the caballero's neck and rested his chin on the man's shoulder. What's this caballero gonna do to me? Felipe wondered silently.
The man gently carried him away from the tree. He spoke to another gentleman and a peasant man, then tried to speak to Felipe, himself. Try as he did, Felipe could neither understand a word the man said, nor utter a sound.
At last, the man set him in a wagon. He climbed into the wagon with Felipe and fed the boy some water, some chicken broth, and three tortillas. Felipe gulped the food down as fast the man handed it to him.
The caballero then climbed out of the wagon and mounted his horse. He spoke to another gentleman, and the other one, in turn, spoke to the peasant man. The peasant climbed onto the driver's seat and took the reins. Felipe leaned against the side as the wagon jolted forward...
Felipe came to himself with a start. Grief overwhelmed him, consumed him, swallowed him like a deluge, and forced a flood of tears to ooze from his eyes. He doubled over and wept heavy, profuse, yet silent sobs. For the next several minutes, he couldn't stop crying, he hurt so badly. It felt as if a tornado was ripping apart his insides.
At last, the storm inside him subsided. Sniffling, Felipe straightened his back and removed his cotton handkerchief from inside his trousers. He dried his face and blew his nose. As he stuffed the handkerchief back into his trousers, his heart felt curiously light.
Suddenly, he overheard Don Alejandro's voice. "Sergeant Mendoza, order out a patrol of men immediately. Felipe's in danger; we must find him quickly!"
"Si, mi alcalde!"
Felipe hopped around the tavern and saw the de la Vegas, the Escalantes, Rafael, and Sergio assembled in front of the cuartel. Rafael didn't go home, after all, Felipe thought, wryly. Don Alejandro had strapped a rapier to his side; it dangled in its scabbard. He and his son and daughter-in-law had on the same clothes they had worn when they had left the hacienda.
Good, Felipe thought. Sergio took them my note. I must tell them I'm here, and so are the revolutionaries!
To his horror, as Felipe turned his head to find something he could lean on, he saw the three revolutionaries standing next to the blacksmith shop. As he stared at them, they aimed their rifles at the de la Vegas.
No! Felipe screamed inside. They're going to shoot; I've got to stop them!
The panic-stricken boy thought frantically. Let's see. When Zorro was in danger of being run through by one of those killers, months ago, God permitted me to shout a warning. Maybe, this time, He'll do it again!
He swallowed, then took a deep breath. As he opened his mouth, he prayed silently that God would give him success.
"Don Diego!" he shouted. "Don Alejandro! Look out!" Much to his relief and joy, his voice rang out loud and clear; the startled de la Vegas and their friends gaped at him. "The blacksmith shop! Look out!" The boy pointed toward the blacksmith shop.
The de la Vegas whirled around. Don Diego shoved Sergio to the ground and covered the boy with his own body; Rafael dropped down next to them. Don Alejandro whipped a pistol out of his holster and ducked behind a water trough. In the next instant, shots rang out, frightening the villagers.
The soldiers raced toward the three men, who fled. The de la Vegas and Sergio darted toward Felipe and took turns hugging him tightly. "Felipe! You spoke!" Don Diego's voice sounded husky as he repeated that statement over and over.
"This is wonderful news!" Don Alejandro embraced Felipe tightly. "It truly is!" Doña Victoria kissed him and agreed. Rafael said nothing, but his beaming face spoke for him.
Don Alejandro glanced down at Felipe's swollen foot; concern spread across his face. "You've sprained your ankle, amigo. We'd better get you inside."
Ramon and Francisco joined them on the terrace. "Take Felipe and Rafael and Victoria into the tavern, and take care of Felipe's ankle, would you?" Don Alejandro asked them. "Diego and I must return to the hacienda for a moment."
"Certainly." Ramon smiled at Felipe. "Let's get you inside."
"Zorro rides," Don Diego told Felipe. "Stay inside until we have those revolutionaries behind bars. You, too, Rafael." Felipe nodded acquiescence.
"Si, patrón." Rafael glanced at Felipe and nodded.
Inside the tavern, Doña Victoria removed Felipe's sandal. Ramon bound the boy's ankle with strips of white cloth. Rafael knelt to the side and watched.
"You fell off Emilio?" Francisco asked. Felipe nodded. "You're lucky you didn't break your neck. Or your head." Felipe smiled wryly and nodded.
Minutes later, Felipe, leaning on a cane, hobbled outside. As he stood in the doorway, the de la Vegas' new carriage entered the plaza. It was luxurious and elegant; it had dark-green sides with gold trim, and light-green velvet seats. Sergio sat in the driver's seat next to the driver himself. The carriage maker had delivered it to the hacienda, only a few days before.
As the carriage stopped in front of the cuartel, Sergio leaped to the ground and opened the door for Don Alejandro, who stepped out. "Sergeant!" he shouted, as Sergio raced toward the church. "Are the men ready?"
"Si, alcalde!"
"Not so fast, alcalde!"
Felipe whirled around; to his horror, the leader appeared on the church porch, holding a pistol on Sergio. "If anyone comes near us, this boy dies!" He gripped Sergio's arm as he spoke; Sergio winced.
Don Alejandro pressed his lips into a thin line of rage. "You swine! Is this how you fight for Californian independence?" he shouted. "By taking children as hostages? Are you so cowardly, señor?"
"We use any means necessary to break California free of Spanish rule!" The man gripped Sergio's arm so hard the boy cried out in pain.
Don Alejandro removed his rapier from its scabbard and pointed it at the leader. "Señor, I warn you! Unless you release the boy right now, my men will fire! You have but one minute to decide!"
"And this boy will be the first to die! He is in front of us, as you see." The man pushed Sergio in front of him and wrapped his left arm around Sergio's chest. Don Alejandro growled as he lowered his rapier.
Suddenly, a rock landed on the man's head; as he tottered, Sergio stamped on the man's foot and fled toward his patrón. Zorro landed on the ground before the leader and unsheathed his heavy Toledo-steel saber. "Let's see how well you fight when you don't hide behind innocent victims, señor!" He saluted.
For the next several minutes, Zorro fenced with the three revolutionaries. One by one, he disarmed them and knocked them out. When he had defeated the last revolutionary, he carved a Z in the trousers of each man, then saluted Don Alejandro. "They're all yours, alcalde!"
Don Alejandro grinned. "Gracias! Once again, you have come to our aid!"
The soldiers yanked the revolutionaries to their feet and marched them to the cuartel. Zorro disappeared behind the church, only to reappear a few minutes later as Don Diego.
"Are you all right, amigo?" he asked Sergio. The boy nodded. "Good. Let's find Felipe."
The de la Vegas, the Escalantes, Sergio, and Rafael gathered around Felipe on the tavern's terrace; Don Luis and Emissary de la Fernandez joined them. "Speak again, Felipe!" Don Diego urged. "Say my name."
Felipe hesitated for a moment. Suppose he couldn't?
"Try, Felipe," Don Alejandro urged. "Speak my son's name. You can do it."
"Si, Felipe," Rafael added. "You can do it!"
Felipe took a deep breath. He slowly spoke the words, "Don--Diego."
He froze as the realization of what he had done swept over him. He spoke the words again. "Don Diego!"
Doña Victoria squealed with joy and hugged Felipe tightly. Her husband embraced him next, then Don Alejandro, then the two Escalante men. Don Luis and Don Paco followed suit, then Rafael. Sergio hugged him last.
"It's a miracle!" Don Alejandro hugged Felipe again. "Gracias de Dios! My boy can speak! My boy can hear!" His voice sounded husky and choked. "Thank You, Lord! Thank You!" Don Diego echoed his father's sentiments. Felipe, Rafael, and Sergio gazed at one other for a long moment.
Don Diego clasped Felipe's shoulder. "I told you, Felipe, when those killers stalked you, that if you let go of the past, you would speak again. Did you finally make peace with the loss of your parents? Did you remember everything?"
Felipe nodded. Pretending not to notice the nod, Don Diego asked the question again.
"Si." Felipe nodded again. "I remembered--and I cried. For several minutes, and I couldn't stop. It-it swept over me like a flood. Behind the tavern, before you all came out of the cuartel."
Don Alejandro embraced the boy. "I'm glad, Felipe. You needed to mourn their deaths. As long as you were unable to do so, you couldn't put it behind you."
Don Diego glanced at the lawyer and the emissary. "I propose that we make this a day to celebrate in every way. Are the adoption papers ready to sign, Don Luis?"
"Si. Do you wish to sign them here, or at your hacienda?"
"At the hacienda, por favor." Don Diego glanced at his timepiece.
"Then, let's get into the carriage," Don Alejandro said.
"I'll stay close to Felipe." Don Diego put his arm around Felipe's back, to support the boy. "He can't walk fast, Father." He hugged the boy to his side as he spoke.
Felipe turned to Sergio. "I--I can't--" His voice faded, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "I can't play soldiers till my ankle heals." Sergio nodded.
Minutes later, back at the hacienda, the de la Vegas, the Escalantes, Don Luis, Don Paco, Felipe, Rafael, and Sergio entered the drawing room. At Don Diego's insistence, Felipe sat down on the silk brocade couch. Rafael sat next to him, but swung his feet constantly. Sergio stood behind him, leaning against the back of the couch. He grinned broadly and fidgeted.
A servant brought in a table and set it in front of the couch. Don Luis spread out the adoption papers, and Don Paco leaned against the wall and watched. Both gentlemen were dressed in their best.
Ramon and Francisco stood side by side with Don Alejandro. Doña Victoria brushed her hair out of her eyes. Don Alejandro clasped his hands behind his back. Felipe fidgeted; butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and his palms grew moist. He swallowed hard, twice.
After the lawyer had explained the legal terms, he handed a goose-quill pen to Don Diego. "Sign here, Diego, and Felipe will become your firstborn son. By what name do you wish to call him?"
"Felipe." Don Diego smiled at the boy. "Felipe Sebastian Juan Paco de la Vega. Sebastian for my grandfather, Juan for the father who sired him, and Paco for his late godfather." Rafael beamed at that.
Felipe grinned broadly and fidgeted again. Doña Victoria and Don Alejandro smiled their approval of Don Diego's choice. The lawyer wrote the boy's new legal name in the margin he had, until then, left blank.
Don Luis handed the quill pen to Don Diego, who dipped it into the gold inkpot. He smiled affectionately at Felipe, then bent over to sign his own full, legal name on the line indicated. Doña Victoria signed hers, next. The lawyer affixed a seal with his signet ring to the left side of their signatures.
Everyone in the room clapped and cheered. As Felipe leaned forward, Doña Victoria approached Felipe and hugged her new son; Don Diego followed suit. "My son!" he said, huskily. "My firstborn son!" When Don Diego stepped back, everyone else took turns hugging the new de la Vega, starting with Don Alejandro and ending with Sergio.
When everyone had finished cheering and hugging and congratulating Felipe, the maid brought a silver tray of drinks and served a crystal glass of wine to every person. Don Diego took his glass and sat down next to Felipe. Doña Victoria sat down on the boy's other side. Don Alejandro cleared his throat.
"A toast to my new grandson!" While Don Diego put his arm around Felipe's shoulders, Don Alejandro inserted one thumb into a vest pocket and raised his crystal glass. "Felipe de la Vega! Conde de Bajio!" Everyone raised his or her glass and took a sip.
Don Diego smiled. "Well, Father, I have everything a man could want! I'm married to the woman I love, and now I have a son who's very dear to me." He gazed at Doña Victoria and Felipe as he spoke, and hugged his adoptive son to his side.
Don Alejandro nodded agreement. "When you and I are gone, son, I can think of no better person to bequeath my inheritance to, than Felipe, here. He's been an excellent servant all these years. I know that Felipe will be an excellent caballero, as well, and take his duties as one seriously."
Felipe nodded. His ten years as a servant boy had taught him the importance of service, so he fully intended to use his new position to serve others, as his new father and grandfather had always done. First, I must finish my studies, he thought. And that means going to college.
Don Diego smiled fondly at his wife. "Well, my dear, now that you and Felipe have become de la Vegas, it's high time you and our son received new wardrobes. Tomorrow, I'll take you to the dressmaker so she can take your measurements. A week from now, when Felipe's ankle has had a chance to heal, I'll take him to see our tailor."
Don Alejandro nodded. "That's an excellent idea." Don Luis, Don Paco, Ramon, and Francisco agreed. Rafael and Sergio grinned.
Don Paco glanced at his timepiece. "And now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen--señora--I must go. A ship for Spain leaves the port of San Pedro tonight, and my soldiers and I must see Ignacio de Soto onto it." He and Don Luis left the hacienda. The de la Vegas, the Escalantes, and Rafael made plans to celebrate Felipe's adoption for the rest of the day.
End of Parte Dos