PARTE TRES: "Bad Father"

The luxurious new de la Vega carriage passed through the plaza gates. A few seconds later, its driver halted in front of the tailor shop.

Sergio Esperanza jumped off the driver's seat and opened the carriage door on the left. Don Alejandro descended first, followed by his son, Don Diego. In turn, Don Diego extended his hand to his new wife, Doña Victoria, and helped her out of the carriage. Their newly-adopted son, Don Felipe, climbed out last.

Don Alejandro waved to the carriage driver, who drove away. Don Diego turned to his new son, clasping his hands behind his back. "Well, Felipe, are you ready?"

Don Felipe nodded. With an amused smile, Don Diego repeated the question. With a sheepish grin, the boy said, "Si, Father." As he spoke, he rubbed the back of his neck. A cool breeze caressed his cheeks.

Don Felipe still tended to respond to a question with a nod or a gesture, in part because his voice was not, as yet, fully functional. It sometimes came out in whispers, and sometimes as the voice of a much-younger child. Sometimes, it would squeak, or fade out altogether. His father and grandfather had assured Don Felipe that as he practiced speaking, his newly-restored voice would stabilize. In the meantime, they insisted that he answer questions with spoken words.

Doña Victoria had married Don Diego eight days before; she and Don Diego had adopted Felipe the day after. The day after Don Felipe's adoption and the emissary's announcement of the boy's ennoblement, Don Diego had taken his new wife to the dressmaker's shop to be fitted for a wardrobe befitting a doña; Don Felipe, because of a sprained ankle, had postponed visiting the tailor. Doña Victoria had received her new clothes the day before.

That morning, she had donned a pale-pink silk dress and a darker-pink shoulder cape; both glistened in the morning sunlight. She wore a comb in her dark-brown hair and held a white reticule. Now that Don Felipe's ankle had healed, he was to be measured for his own new wardrobe. He had been newly re-christened a few days before, as Felipe Juan Paco Sebastian de la Vega. Since Felipe's previous godfather was dead, Don Alfonso de la Calderon and Ramon Escalante had both agreed to be named as the boy's new ones.

The boy swallowed. "Am--am I really going to--" His voice squeaked; he paused to clear his throat. "Am I really going to have new clothes? Dress like you and Don Ale--I mean, Grandfather?"

Don Diego chuckled. "Of course, you are! You and your mother are de la Vegas, now, and you must dress like de la Vegas."

Don Felipe smiled back. Until recently, he had not thought of dressing like a caballero. All his life, he had dressed like the peasant he had always been. Even after Don Diego had announced the boy's adoption months before, wearing the attire of a Spanish don had not occurred to him. Somehow, the idea that Don Felipe was going to dress like his adoptive father and grandfather really made the change in his status real! He wondered if receiving a new wardrobe had had the same effect on his adoptive mother.

"Sergio and I'll wait for you and Felipe in the tavern, son," Don Alejandro said. "Where will you be, Victoria?"

"I'll wait with you and Sergio." Doña Victoria smiled. "I want to see my brothers."

Don Diego and Don Felipe waved as the three left them. "Come on, son." Don Diego squeezed his son's shoulder. "Let's go inside. The tailor is expecting us."

Inside the shop, the tailor greeted them. "Do you still have the wardrobe list I sent you, yesterday?" Don Diego asked him.

"Si, Don Diego. I have it right here." The tailor took the list off a shelf and held it up in front of Don Diego and his son. "I've brought in all my part-time help, and I'll have them work full-time on Felipe's clothes until we're done. Your son will have his new wardrobe in a week, and it will be the best we can make. You have my word on that."

"Gracias." Don Diego smiled and put his arm around his son's shoulders.

"Felipe, if you'll come with me to the back room, I'll measure you for your new clothes." The man gestured toward the back door. "Then I'll let you choose the fabrics for your new suits."

Don Felipe followed the tailor into the fitting room. For the next hour, the tailor measured the boy carefully and thoroughly. As the tailor did so, Don Felipe stood frozen in every position the tailor requested.

At last, the tailor laid down the measuring tape. "I'm done, amigo. I have all the measurements I need." Don Felipe sighed in relief. Toward the end of the session, he had grown considerably weary and exhausted. As the boy leaned against the adobe wall to catch his breath, the tailor chuckled. "Being measured is tiring, amigo; your adoptive father and grandfather will tell you the same. But it's necessary, so your clothes'll fit properly."

Don Felipe smiled wearily as he scratched his arm. "Si. You're right." His voice came out in a hoarse whisper, so he paused to clear his throat. He glanced down at his white, oversized, unbleached, homespun cotton shirt and cotton trousers. "It'll feel strange, not to wear these homespun shirts and trousers and sandals anymore."

The tailor nodded. "Others who have made the change have felt strange, too. But it will also feel good, I assure you."

Don Felipe nodded in return, then followed the tailor back to the front room. For the next half-hour, the tailor showed the boy and his father shelves of expensive fabrics. With his father's guidance and the tailor's assistance, Don Felipe selected a variety of fabrics that would look good on him. For his jackets, coats, and trousers, he picked pale-blue, pale-green, brown, and dark-blue velvets and broadcloths. For his vests, he chose velvet, satin, and brocade. And for his shirts, he selected snow-white, fine linen and silk.

"I'll have your new clothes ready, a week from today," the tailor promised Don Felipe, when every cloth had been chosen.

"Thank you." Don Felipe smiled.

"I'll pay you when his clothes have been delivered," his father added.

The boy followed Don Diego out the door. The caballero glanced at his gold timepiece as it gleamed in the sunlight. "All right, Felipe. It's time to visit the bootmaker."

That visit lasted a half-hour, during which the bootmaker measured the boy's feet and showed him the leather he would use to make Don Felipe's new boots. "How many pairs do you wish me to make for him?" the bootmaker asked Don Diego, who leaned against the wall.

"Three, por favor."

"When do you want them delivered?"

"A week from today."

The bootmaker nodded. "I'll deliver them."

"Gracias," Don Felipe said. His voice sounded like a little boy's, much to his own embarrassment.

Don Diego and Don Felipe said good-bye and stepped outside. After a visit to the hatter, who helped Don Felipe pick the top hats and the flatter-topped hats the boy would need, Don Diego glanced at his watch. "Well, son, shall we join your mother and grandfather and Sergio? They're waiting for us in the tavern."

Out of habit, Don Felipe nodded. Don Diego repeated the question. With a grin, his son nodded again.

"I'm tired and thirsty," he said. "I--I could use some lemonade."

The two joined Don Alejandro, Doña Victoria, Sergio, Francisco, and Ramon in the tavern. "Have a seat, gentlemen, and I'll get you some lemonade." Ramon jumped up. "Felipe looks exhausted."

"I am." Don Felipe plopped wearily down on a hard, unyielding bench and rested his hands on the table.

Minutes later, Ramon returned with a glass pitcher of lemonade and two more empty glasses. He made haste to fill them and set them before Don Diego and his son. As Don Felipe and his father drank their lemonade with the others, Don Felipe shared with them the feelings that had run through him while the tailor had measured him, and then helped him choose the fabrics for his new suits. His mother, especially, listened attentively.

"All my life, I've wore homespun cotton and wool. Somehow--" Don Felipe's voice faded to a whisper again, so he paused. "Going through this--this ritual--makes the changes I've gone through seem so real!" He rubbed his fingers on his glass's smooth, cool side. "It never really felt real till now."

Doña Victoria smiled and laid a hand on his arm. "I know, son. I know exactly how you feel." She squeezed Don Felipe's wrist. "I felt the same way a week ago, when the dressmaker measured me for my new clothes. And to put them on for the first time, this morning, made me fully realize--as nothing else had--that my days as a tavern owner are really over! You and I are going through some big changes, son, and it takes time to get used to them."

Don Alejandro nodded agreement. "It does, indeed."

Don Diego gazed thoughtfully at his glass. "Tomorrow, Father, I want to send one of the servants to Santa Paula, to buy Felipe some silk cravats."

Don Alejandro nodded. "Send Manuel." Manuel was Don Alejandro's personal servant.

Don Felipe took a sip of lemonade. "I've been a de la Vega for a week, now. When I've been a member of the family for 10 years, will I look back to this day a decade from now, and--" His voice squeaked; he cleared his throat. "And marvel at how much I've changed in the years since?"

Don Diego nodded. "Undoubtedly, you will. This is only the first of many changes you will go through--or, rather, the second, if you count the traumatic events that brought you into our lives. When you're 21, my son, you will go to Madrid University, and then you'll go on a Grand Tour of Europe. Those experiences will change you still further, as they did me." Don Diego smiled at his son. "When you return to Los Angeles, you'll be a boy, no longer. You will be a man. A man ready to take on a leadership role in this town, among the caballeros." Don Alejandro nodded agreement.

Don Felipe gazed at Sergio, then paused to ponder that prospect. Suddenly, a teenage boy wearing a light-brown, homespun cotton shirt and a pair of white trousers entered the tavern. Ramon saw him in the same instant Don Felipe did, and rose to meet him.

"Could I help you?"

The young man nodded. "Si, señor. Mi padre sent me to find the alcalde; he wants to see him. The sergeant told us we could find the alcalde here in the tavern."

"I am the alcalde." Don Alejandro rose to his feet and approached the boy. "What is your name, muchacho?"

"Mi llamo Sancho Sanchez. My papá wants to see you, señor. We've just moved to Los Angeles, and my father needs help to find a place to rent. He used to be a tenant for a big caballero in San Diego, Señor Alcalde."

"Is he outside in the plaza?" The boy nodded.

"I'll go with you, Father." Don Diego rose to his feet. Don Felipe followed suit. Grasping her reticule, Doña Victoria followed. Her brothers and Sergio brought up the rear.

Sancho led the de la Vegas, the Escalantes, and Sergio outside. A man and a woman stood next to a burro-drawn haycart, in front of the church. "These are my parents," Sancho said.

The man nodded. "I am Pedro Sanchez, and this is my wife, Maria."

Don Alejandro introduced himself and his family. "Your son tells us you need help."

Señor Sanchez nodded again. "Si, Señor Alcalde, we do. We've just moved here, and we need to rent us a farm. Can you help us find one?"

Don Diego and Don Alejandro glanced at each other, and at Doña Victoria. "I own a large estate west of here," Don Alejandro said. "My son and I would be glad to rent you a plot of land, Señor Sanchez. For a small rent."

The man turned to his son. "Leave us alone, while we talk."

"Si, Papá."

Don Diego turned to Don Felipe and Sergio. "Felipe, Sergio, why don't you keep Sancho company while we discuss the terms of the rent?"

Don Felipe and Sergio glanced at each other and nodded. "Si, Father," Don Felipe said. "We will."

"Si, patrón," Sergio said.

The two boys led Sancho toward the plaza fountain. For a moment, Sancho gazed at the stands that crowded the edges of the plaza, and the people milling around. He then looked at Don Felipe for a moment.

"Felipe, are you really a de la Vega?" He glanced at Don Felipe's clothes as he spoke, then stared at his gold signet ring. "You called that caballero 'Father.'"

Don Felipe glanced down at his shirt, and nodded. "Yes, I am. By adoption." His voice faded to a whisper, so he paused and grasped his left arm with his right hand. "Don Diego and Doña Victoria just recently got married and adopted me. Sergio has taken my place as houseboy." Sergio nodded agreement as Don Felipe paused again. "The de la Vegas are my parents, now," Don Felipe went on. "I'm going to get a new wardrobe; that's why we're in town." Again, his voice sounded like a young child's, so he paused as Sancho stared at him.

Don Felipe glanced at the tailor shop, then looked at the tavern. "My adoptive mother owned the tavern until last week; now, it belongs to one of her brothers. When did you arrive?"

"Today." Sancho looked at Sergio. "What is your name--your full name?"

"Sergio Esperanza. Like Felipe, I'm an orphan."

Don Felipe nodded. "He was raised by the church till last summer. From the day he was born. The de la Vegas took me in when I was seven years old."

"That's when his parents died," Sergio added, rubbing his face. "In Mexico. Don Diego found him and brought him here. His mamá and papá were peons--tenant farmers. Felipe used to be a deaf-mute, but he's not, anymore. He was a servant till last week. Now, the king's ennobled him, and the de la Vegas have adopted him."

"Ennobled?" Sancho stared at them quizzically.

"Si." Sergio nodded. "He did a service for the king, so the king gave him a title--he made Felipe a nobleman. A conde. That's why he's wearing that signet ring." Sancho glanced at the ring.

Don Felipe nodded. "I just got back my voice, last week--I was deaf for six years, and mute for ten. I only regained my voice last week; for now, I have trouble making it sound right."

"Oh." Sancho nodded.

Don Felipe scratched his arm. "My parents were Juan and Consuela Cortez. We lived near the village of San Miguel de Bajio, in central Mexico, and we were dirt-poor. Had my parents lived, I would live there, now. We--" His voice squeaked, so he cleared his throat. "We were caught in the crossfire of a battle during the revolution, and my parents were killed. I was just seven years old, when that happened."

"My papá died before I was born," Sergio added. "And my mother died having me. The church has raised me since, until last summer. Now, I have to live with the de la Vegas and work for them till I'm twenty-five. What's brought you here, Sancho?"

Sancho fidgeted. "My father's made friends with a couple of men, recently. They're tellin' him they can make him rich if he moves here. So, here we are." He grimaced.

Don Felipe frowned. "Who are these men?"

Sancho shrugged. "Papá's never introduced us to 'em; I don't know. I've seen them from a distance, though. I didn't want to come here, but one doesn't say so to my father."

Suddenly, a loud, harsh voice startled the three boys. "Sancho! Get yourself over here! It's time to go." It was Señor Sanchez's voice.

Wincing, Don Felipe stared at the man for a second. The peasant's weather-beaten face looked harsh and stern.

Sancho gulped. "Si, Papá!" He turned to Don Felipe and Sergio. "I got to go. Adios." He scurried toward his parents.

The way Señor Sanchez had ordered his son to rejoin his parents chilled Don Felipe; it reminded him of another man who used to bark harsh commands. A man whom Don Felipe had feared and resented, yet obeyed without question. His father, Juan Cortez, had been harsh, grumpy, nervous, boorish, and tyrannical toward his family until the day he and his wife had died.

For a long moment, as Don Felipe stood by the plaza fountain, he remembered how his late father used to terrify him repeatedly...holler at him…call him names…bark commands...slap his face...and whip the boy with a leather strap. Somehow, Don Felipe didn't doubt for a second that Pedro Sanchez treated his family in the same way. When he had stared at Sancho's father, a second earlier, he had seen the same harsh expression on the farmer's face that he had seen, repeatedly, on his own father's face, as a little boy.

"Felipe!" Don Diego's voice broke Don Felipe's reverie. "It's time to go, son. You, too, Sergio."

Don Felipe and Sergio hurried toward the carriage. As soon as Don Felipe had taken his seat, the driver shook the horses' reins, and the carriage moved forward.

"Felipe? Is something troubling you?" Don Alejandro gazed at him.

Don Felipe looked at his grandfather and nodded. "Did--did--" His voice came out in a whisper, so he paused. "Did you hear the way Sancho's father spoke to him?"

Don Alejandro nodded. "I did, indeed; we all did. He didn't speak in a very gentle manner, did he? But some men are just that way, Felipe." He smiled at Don Diego. "Not all men are like your father, you know--kind and gentle."

Don Felipe grimaced. "He certainly isn't! He's more like my late papá was. Boorish and hot-tempered, especially when he was drunk. And tyrannical. Always tyrannical."

Doña Victoria stared at her son and furrowed her eyebrows. "You've never told us about your papá, son. Was he like that?"

Don Felipe nodded. "Si. He was hard to live with. His name was Juan Cortez. And my mother's name was Consuela." The de la Vegas nodded; the late Paco Lopez, Felipe's godfather, had told the boy his parents' names when he was first reunited with Paco and his nephew, Rafael. The boy gazed at the distant San Gabriel Mountains. Overhead, an eagle screeched as it soared across the sky.

"And what was your mother like?" Don Diego furrowed his eyebrows in concern.

Don Felipe smiled. "She was a saint. Kind and gentle. She took me to church and taught me to pray. She worked hard and took good care of me. I--" His voice squeaked again. He paused, fidgeting. "I was devoted to her--she was my security. I told you, years ago, that she bequeathed me her rosary, the day she died." His parents and grandfather nodded.

Don Felipe described all he could remember of his father, his disposition, and his treatment of his wife and son. "He scared me a lot," he said, at the end. "I was so afraid of him. I feared him--and resented him." He paused. "Señor Sanchez treats his family the same way, Grandfather. I sense it."

Don Alejandro and Don Diego glanced at each other, soberly. "There's not much we can do about him, if you're right," Don Alejandro said. "But we will keep an eye on the situation, and befriend the Sanchezes as much as we can. Sancho, especially, could use a friend. If I know you, son, I know that you and Sergio and Rafael Lopez will be true friends to Sancho."

Don Felipe nodded. "I will try." He reclined against the velvet seat, pondering for several moments. "If it hadn't been for my mamá, the padre, and Godfather Lopez, I couldn't have stood life with my papá very well. I've told you about my mamá, and you had the chance to know my godfather." The de la Vegas nodded agreement. "And the priest--Padre Pablo--was a great friend of mine. He told me stories about the Bible and about the saints, and he helped me cope with my father when he hurt me. Before my confirmation, he made me learn how to sacrifice. And Rafael--well, as you know, he was a wonderful playmate."

Don Alejandro and Don Diego glanced at each other and chuckled. Don Felipe could see that neither of them doubted him for a minute. Paco Lopez, who had died a week before the arrival of Gilberto Risendo, had been Felipe's godfather; he, his late wife, and their orphaned nephew, Rafael, had rented a tenant farm next to the Cortezes' near San Miguel de Bajio. Paco, who was kind and gentle by nature, had frequently entertained his godson and nephew by telling them stories and playing songs on his mandolin. Paco Lopez and Rafael had moved to Los Angeles the previous spring, in an effort to flee their wicked, unjust patrón. Now Rafael rented and tilled the two-acre plot of land his late uncle had rented from the de la Vegas, and Felipe and the de la Vegas visited him often.

When the de la Vegas arrived at the hacienda, Don Diego led the way inside. As the family entered the drawing room, Don Diego turned to Sergio. "Would you please fetch the object I told you about, and bring it here?"

"Si, patrón." Sergio scampered out of the room. His woven-leather sandals clicked on the gleaming marble floor.

"Stay here, Felipe," Don Diego told his son. "Your grandfather and I have a gift for you. Sergio's gone to my room to get it." He inserted his thumbs into his vest pockets as he spoke.

Minutes later, Sergio returned with a small, polished cedar box in his right hand. He handed it to Don Diego. Don Felipe gazed at the box, wondering what could be inside.

Don Diego glanced at his father, who nodded. He approached his son, and, with an affectionate smile, he squeezed the boy's shoulder. "Felipe, my son, 10 years ago, when your mother died, she bequeathed you a family heirloom you've treasured ever since." Don Felipe nodded.

Don Diego smiled again. "Neither my father nor I have ever had to tell you to pray with your rosary--you've done that faithfully for the past 10 years. And I know you take seriously your late mother's injunction to bequeath it to your own children, someday."

Don Felipe nodded. He did, indeed.

"Well, my son, we de la Vegas have our own heirloom we wish to give you, too. And we've decided not to wait until our deaths to bequeath it." Don Felipe stared at his father as Don Diego spoke.

Don Diego handed his son the cedar box. "Inside, Felipe, is a solid gold timepiece that was once given to your grandfather by King Carlos III, before I was born. It was a reward for valor on the battlefield. When I went to Madrid, my father gave it to me as a going-away present. We have both taken care of it all these years, and it works as well, now, as it did when it was first given to your grandfather."

He smiled at Felipe tenderly. "Now, it's yours. My father had it freshly engraved with your name, last week. Your new adoptive name."

Speechless, Don Felipe lifted the box's lid and stared at the gleaming timepiece. He lifted the lid of the timepiece and silently read the inscription engraved on the inside. He then gaped at his father and grandfather.

"Now, you have two family heirlooms to cherish, son," Don Alejandro said, softly, clasping his hands behind his back. "One from your late mother's family, and one from ours. This really makes you one of the family."

Don Felipe threw his arms around Don Diego. After giving his adoptive father a long hug, he embraced his adoptive grandfather. "Gracias!" His voice sounded husky. "I'll take good care of it. I promise." He glanced down at his clothes as he spoke. "I'm--I'm afraid to wear it, just yet." His voice came out in a whisper.

Don Diego laughed and rested a hand on Don Felipe's shoulder. "Don't worry about that, my son. Just hold onto the timepiece, and keep it in your bedroom until your new clothes arrive." Don Felipe nodded agreement.

As the boy closed the box's lid, he asked, "Are you--are you going to rent the Sanchezes a plot of land?"

Don Alejandro nodded. "Tomorrow morning. I've given Señor Sanchez directions to our hacienda. Your father and I are going to take him and his family to the place I've picked for them. It's not far from Rafael's."

"I think it'd be a good idea, Felipe, if you came with us." Don Diego gazed at the boy. "Someday, you'll be making these decisions and meeting the needs of your tenants."

Felipe nodded. "Si, Father. I would like to see Sancho, again."

The next morning, the de la Vegas showed the Sanchez family the plot of land promised them. The fertility of the land pleased Señor Sanchez, and the stately trees and the proximity of the creek pleased his wife. The day after, and every day for a week, de la Vega ranchhands showed up to help Señor Sanchez build an adobe hut.

Each day during that period, the de la Vegas, Rafael, and Sergio stopped by to help; Don Felipe, Rafael, and Sergio kept Sancho company the whole time. The three boys played together part of the time, and helped the men build the hut the rest of the time. Within a week, the hut was finished, and the Sanchez family moved in.

The morning after the Sanchezes had moved into their new home, Don Felipe slept late. When he woke up, he was alarmed to see that the sun had risen considerably into the sky. He pushed back the soft bedcovers. I've overslept! he thought.

As he hopped out of bed, he found a note on the polished mahogany bureau. It stated, "Stay in your room, Felipe. Don't leave it until we say you may, and don't get dressed. Ring the bell if you're hungry; one of the maids will bring you breakfast. We have some surprises for you."

Don Felipe grinned. "I think I know what those surprises are," he whispered to himself. "My new wardrobe must have arrived." He paused. "I'd better say my prayers and read my three chapters in my Bible, before I eat."

After he had put on his brown woolen dressing gown and bed shoes, he finished his devotions and rang the bell. A few minutes later, a maid brought him a gleaming, ornate silver tray laden with food.

"Your father says to stay in here until he tells you to come out." She laid the tray on a table in front of the silk brocade couch.

"Have my--" Don Felipe's voice squeaked, so he cleared his throat. "Have my new clothes arrived?"

The maid nodded. "Si, but that's not the only surprise." She opened the drapes.

Don Felipe paused to think about that while Elena made his bed. When he spoke again, his voice sounded funny to his ears. "Doesn't it feel weird, Elena, to be treating me like a caballero and not like a fellow servant?"

The maid straightened the corner of the navy-blue satin quilt. Straightening up, she gazed at Don Felipe for a long moment. She smiled, a mixture of affection and amusement in her brown eyes. "Not really, Felipe. We've known since June that they were going to adopt you, you know; we've been prepared for this change for months. And for years, we've expected it."

Don Felipe stared at her. "You have? All of you?" The maid nodded. "Why? You never told me!" His voice squeaked.

The maid laughed. "No, we didn't; that wouldn't have been fair to you, as long as the de la Vegas wouldn't tell you. But yes, we have. The de la Vegas gave you more learning than most servants ever get. You were far closer to them than most servants are to their masters. And they expected more of you in manners and lessons than they ever expected of the rest of us. We've all sensed, ever since you were a small boy, that one day, you would be joining the family."

She paused, looking thoughtful. "We don't sense that about Sergio, you know. They'll be kind to him; they won't mistreat him or overwork him. They'll pay him fairly for his work, and take good care of him. And they'll expect the rest of us to be good to him." Don Felipe nodded agreement. "But they'll never admit him so deep into their hearts as they did you. They will not raise him to someday become a caballero. You've been given a rare privilege, amigo." She smiled at the boy and left the room, leaving the door ajar.

Don Felipe thought about that, for a moment. She's right, he thought, as he sat down to eat. Father, himself, told me he couldn't adopt every orphan he meets. Usually, if the de la Vegas find an orphan, they send him to the orphanage, or they find him a home and pay the family that takes him a regular income for his keep. That's what they tried to do for me, in the beginning.

Don Felipe bowed his head. "Bless me, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which I am about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ my Lord. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, amen." He made the sign of the cross and raised his head. He spread his napkin on his lap and took a sip of the milk.

After the boy had eaten his breakfast, he bowed his head again. "I give Thee thanks, Almighty God, for these and all Thy gifts, which I have received from Thy bounty through Christ my Lord. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, amen."

Don Felipe rang the bell. The maid returned to fetch his tray. A moment later, Sergio entered the room and leaned against the dull-yellow wall.

"Don Diego said to tell you it won't be long, now," he announced. "He wants you to be patient just a bit longer. In the meantime, he wants me to keep you company, and he wants you to shave." He grinned broadly, and fidgeted with suppressed excitement.

Don Felipe grinned back. "I guess I'd better shave, then."

When he had finished shaving, Don Felipe sat down with Sergio on the bed; the mattress sagged and creaked underneath them. For the next 15 minutes, they chatted and roughhoused.

Suddenly, the mahogany door swung open. Don Diego stepped into his son's bedroom. "Felipe, my son, come with us down the hall. We have something to show you."

Don Felipe stared at Sergio as the two boys followed Don Diego out the door. Several doors down the hall, Don Diego paused and gestured. Don Felipe and Sergio entered the bedroom, where they found Don Alejandro and Doña Victoria waiting inside, with broad smiles.

When Don Diego followed the boys in, Don Felipe gaped at him. "This--this is a suite!" His voice squeaked, again. "It's beautiful!"

"That's right, son." Don Diego put an arm around Felipe's shoulders. "A bedroom, a sitting room, and a dressing room, all for you. From now on, this suite is yours." Don Diego hugged his son to his side and beamed on the boy. "The servants have already put your new clothes in the dressing room. Even now, as we speak, they're packing your old clothes for removal, and packing the rest of your things to bring in here."

Don Felipe gaped at his father. "What--what will happen to my--my old clothes?"

"They will be returned to the church. And that includes the nightshirt, dressing gown, and bed shoes you've got on."

"Oh." Don Felipe nodded. "To give to other orphans."

"Yes."

With a smile, Don Alejandro inserted his thumbs into his vest pockets. "Felipe, before the servants bring your things into your new suite of rooms, why don't you get dressed? Your mother and I will wait for you in here--your father and Sergio are going to help you put your clothes on." The boy nodded acquiescence.

Don Diego and Sergio escorted Don Felipe into the dressing room, where Don Felipe found a suit of clothes lying on a chair. Don Felipe gazed at each item of clothing for a long moment, then swallowed.

These clothes are mine! he thought. These are the clothes of a caballero! He swallowed again. How did my life change so dramatically? First, I lose my parents and work for a caballero; then I become one!

"Son, we think the best way for you to make the adjustment to your new life is to jump right in, head-first. So, we've decided to dress you in one of your vests and frock coats." Don Diego patted his shoulder. "You'll wear all four of your frock coats and tailcoats for the first eight days, and then you'll wear your charro jackets--one a day--until you've worn them all."

Don Felipe nodded his acquiescence. He didn't trust himself to speak, and for once, his father didn't order him to.

Don Diego turned to Sergio and clasped his hands behind his back. "Amigo, you'll help him dress from now on. But for this first time, I will. Watch me carefully, and hand me each item when I ask for it."

"Si, patrón."

Don Diego chuckled at his son's dumbstruck expression. "I have a third surprise for you, my son. Just as you used to be my valet, henceforth, Sergio, here, will be yours. Now that Zorro is no longer needed, Sergio's services in the cave won't be, either. So Father has hired a houseman to replace you both."

"Who?" Don Felipe gaped at him.

Don Diego's eyes twinkled as he motioned to his son to remove his woolen dressing gown and bed shoes. "It's one who's been most faithful to my father, all these years. One who's served your grandfather as faithfully and well as you used to serve me."

Don Felipe and Sergio grinned at each other. "Manuel!" they said, in unison. Don Felipe handed Sergio his dressing gown. He reached down to take off his bed shoes. He handed them to Sergio, then began to remove his nightshirt.

Don Diego nodded. "Yes. Manuel. My father has decided to promote him, Sergio, and to hire a new valet, so that you'll be free to devote your services to Felipe, here."

Don Felipe and Sergio beamed at each other, and Sergio's eyes shone. When Don Felipe handed him his nightshirt, Sergio took the nightshirt, bed shoes, and dressing gown into the bedroom. Don Diego and Don Felipe waited for him to return.

When Sergio returned, the procedure began. With Don Diego's help, Don Felipe donned a pair of white woolen socks, a pair of pale-blue trousers, and a snow-white silk shirt with ruffled sleeves and a ruffle down the front. With his father's help, the boy tugged over his socks a pair of dark-brown boots made of quality leather. He inserted the legs of his trousers into his new boots.

The boy slipped on a dark-blue satin vest, then his father tied around his neck a navy-blue silk cravat. Don Diego helped his son attach the end of the gold chain of his new timepiece to one of the vest's pearl buttons. Don Felipe dropped the timepiece itself into one of the vest pockets.

Sergio handed Don Felipe a pale-blue frock coat, embroidered with gilt braid. Don Diego helped his son put it on.

When Don Felipe had pulled the crisp, ruffled sleeves out over the wrists of his frock coat, Sergio handed him his rosary, his crucifix, a white linen handkerchief, and a white pair of gloves. Under Don Diego's direction, Don Felipe inserted each object into one of his pockets. Sergio handed his friend a comb.

"This first time, my son, let me comb your hair," Don Diego insisted. "I want you to wait until you're well-groomed before you look in the mirror." He carefully combed his son's brown hair as Don Felipe stood still.

At last, Don Diego handed the comb to Sergio and smiled. "All right, son--look in the mirror!"

Don Felipe slowly approached the full-length gilt-edged mirror set up across the room from the entrance. For a moment, he gaped at his reflection, then gazed down at himself.

For the first time in his 17 years, Felipe did not look like a peasant. He did not slouch like one; he did not dress like one. In the mirror, Felipe saw the image of a young caballero. Even as he stared at himself, he squared his shoulders unconsciously, as the de la Vegas had taken pains to teach him to do.

I look more like the noblemen in my father and grandfather's portraits than I do old Felipe Cortez, he thought. My adoptive mother's right. Seeing myself in these fancy clothes makes it real to me--more than any other change has--that my old peasant days are really over. I am a caballero, a don, and a titled nobleman, the Conde de Bajio. I am a de la Vega!

Slowly, Don Felipe turned around. He gazed at his father and his new valet, and grinned.

Smiling broadly, Don Diego approached his son and embraced him for a long moment. "These new clothes become you, son," he said, softly. "You look nice." His eyes shone with warmth and pride.

"You sure do," Sergio agreed. "You look like a de la Vega, now!"

Don Diego nodded agreement. "Th--thank you," Don Felipe whispered. "And I thank the good Lord, too."

"We all do." Don Diego's expression turned serious. "Felipe, my son, these new clothes you own, and that signet ring you wear, carry a responsibility you've never had to face, before." Felipe glanced down at his new frock coat and vest, then looked at his gold signet ring.

"Had you grown up to be a peon farmer--which would have been your fate, had your parents lived--your main responsibilities would have been to support and take care of your family, to pay your debts and taxes, and to obey and respect your patrón. As our servant, your responsibility was to obey and respect my father and me, and to do your duties faithfully and well." His son nodded agreement.

Don Diego fixed his eyes on his adoptive son's face for a long moment. "Felipe, what I have to say is very important, so listen carefully. As a caballero--as a titled nobleman--and as a de la Vega, my son and heir, you will, from now on, have responsibilities no servant or poor farmer need worry about. It will fall to you, someday, to make sure your tenants, ranchhands, and servants have what they need; as their patrón, you'll have to see to their welfare--the Sanchezes, for example. And Sergio, here. And your old friend, Rafael." Don Felipe glanced at his friend. "Furthermore, you will have duties toward the pueblo, itself. After all, as a de la Vega, you'll be a leader among the caballeros." Don Felipe nodded.

Don Diego paused. "Unlike my father and myself, my son, you were born a peasant. Therefore, you have a unique advantage we lack: as a former peasant, the son of a peon, you'll understand, as we cannot, what your tenants are going through, the hardships they suffer. You have an empathy your grandfather and I can never share, because we were born to wealth and privilege, and can only try to imagine what poverty is like."

Don Diego raised his finger for emphasis. "Never forget where you came from, Felipe. Never forget what it was like, the hardships you and your parents endured. Always remember your beginnings and be proud of them; don't let anyone put you down because you were born to a poor family. Use that empathy for the good of the poor, son, and you will be able to help them in a way no one else can. Do you understand?"

Don Felipe nodded, and looked down at his clothes again. "Si, Father. I--I do." He gazed at his signet ring.

His father smiled approvingly. "Good. Your grandfather and I have decided to teach you about these things now, instead of waiting till you return from Europe, years from now. For that reason, we've assigned Sergio to look after you. It will be his job to take charge of your wardrobe, to lay out your clothes every day, to help you dress if necessary, and to perform any service for you that you need. It will be yours, son, to see to his welfare. Don't oppress or exploit him, or otherwise take advantage of him, because he works for you. Remember how your grandfather and I treat our servants--how we always treated you--and follow our example. Understand?"

Don Felipe nodded again. Father's right, he thought. I'm a de la Vega now, and I must act like one. But, Santa Maria, to go through so many changes and face so many new responsibilities is dizzying and unnerving! He glanced down at his frock coat and ring, for the third time.

"Well, son, what do you want to do, today?"

Don Felipe thought a minute. "Por favor, Father, may Sergio and I visit Sancho this afternoon? After siesta? And then, may we visit Rafael? I want to show him my new clothes!"

Don Diego laughed. "I have no objection, but I want to give you boys your fencing lessons, first. Today, Felipe, you shall have your first lesson in using a saber, now that your ankle's healed. And Sergio, you shall start your lessons with a foil, as Felipe did." Sergio nodded. The boys grinned at each other.

"In the meantime, this morning, we'll go to town--after you show yourself to your mother and grandmother, that is, and Sergio and I show you the rest of your new clothes. It's market day, and we need to pick up some vegetables."

In the bedroom, Don Felipe stood on display before his admiring mother and grandfather, who complimented him on his appearance. Back in the dressing room, for the next 15 minutes, Don Felipe went through the closets and dressers in his dressing room, gazing at, admiring, and fingering his elegant new clothes. Broadcloth and velvet coats, jackets, and trousers, and velvet and satin vests hung in his closets. In one closet, two extra pairs of polished leather boots stood on the gleaming marble floor.

Silk and fine linen ruffled shirts lay folded in many of the dresser drawers. In one dresser, several silk and linen nightshirts lay folded. Three silk dressing gowns lay folded in another.

At last, Don Diego sent Sergio out to get the horses ready. By then, Don Felipe's belongings had been brought to his new rooms and neatly arranged. Don Felipe spent the next five minutes going from room to room, admiring each one.

Half an hour later, in the plaza, Don Felipe and Sergio helped Don Diego buy some vegetables. The men and women who sold the de la Vegas their vegetables complimented Don Felipe on his new clothes. After Don Diego had paid for each purchase, the three spent a half-hour in the tavern, where Ramon, Franciso, Sergeant Mendoza, and some caballeros shook Don Felipe's hand and congratulated him on his new wardrobe.

That afternoon, after the boys' fencing lessons, Don Felipe and Sergio rode their horses to the Sanchez farm. They found Sancho outside, raking hay.

"Santa Maria!" the boy exclaimed, throwing down his rake. It landed in the dust with a thud. "Felipe, look at you! Your new clothes arrived, si?"

Don Felipe glanced down at his new clothes and grinned. "This morning."

Sergio nodded. "From now on, Sancho, I'm his valet. I have to take care of his clothes and do other things for him. But we're still friends, too. He treats me like a little brother." He grinned, and Don Felipe nodded agreement.

"Where--where are your parents?" Don Felipe scanned the yard as he spoke. He didn't look forward to seeing Pedro Sanchez. He glanced briefly at two crates stacked near the barn.

Sancho glanced at the hut. "My father's gone to town, and my mother's inside. Come in with me."

Don Felipe smiled as he looked around. "It's so nice out here, Sancho. The breeze feels so good." The others boys smiled in agreement.

At that moment, a baaa! from the barn startled Don Felipe. The goats, he thought. They're inside the barn. Sancho grinned.

"We've got chickens, too, now, and a pig, thanks to Don Alejandro." Sancho pointed at the barn, then led his visitors inside.

As Don Felipe stepped across the threshold, Señora Sanchez gaped at him. "You look like a caballero, amigo."

Don Felipe looked down at his clothes again. "Everyone's been telling me that, today." His voice sounded like a little boy's.

Señora Sanchez nodded. "Your father's told my husband and me about your adoption. Congratulations. Won't you boys sit down, and I'll pour you some milk?"

Don Felipe, Sergio, and Sancho perched on the hard, unyielding pine benches at the table. Señora Sanchez served each boy a clay cup of goat's milk. As Don Felipe sipped his, he gazed at the hut. He looked at the two narrow bunk beds built into the right wall, the fireplace that stood across the room from the entrance, and the rolled-up straw mat that leaned against the left wall. Don Diego suspected that Sancho slept on that mat.

It looks lived in, he thought. They've moved all their things inside. You'd never guess it was only built this last week. These adobe huts are much nicer than the wattle-and-daub hut my late parents owned.

Sancho grinned at his mother. "My mother is hardworking and good. She'd do anything for me." Señora Sanchez blushed and smiled at her son.

Don Felipe nodded. "My late mamá was the same way."

As Señora Sanchez took each boy's cup, minutes later, a man's voice hollered, "Where's Sancho? Why isn't that lazy boy outside, doin' his chores?" Sancho turned pale. He gulped and made the sign of the cross.

Señor Sanchez stumbled into the hut and glared at his wife and son. He then stared at the visitors. "Maria! Make me somethin' to eat!" he ordered. Señora Sanchez nodded, tight-lipped, and set a pot on the fire.

"And you!" Señor Sanchez glared at his son. "Every day since we came here, you've been doin' your chores slipshod! Now, you go outside and do 'em right! You hear?"

Trembling, Sancho leaped to his feet and scuttled outside. Don Felipe and Sergio, meanwhile, sat quietly at the table, hoping not to attract the man's attention.

Señor Sanchez plopped onto a pine bench and glared at the two visitors. For a moment, he stared at Don Felipe's new clothes. "When'd you turn caballero, muchacho?"

Don Felipe suppressed a frown of disapproval at the man's tactless question. "The de la Vegas adopted me recently, remember? I'm their son, now," he said, quietly. "My new clothes were delivered this morning." His voice faded to a whisper as he spoke.

The man grunted as his wife set before him a clay bowl of steaming soup. "You rich people are so soft and spoiled. The people who adopted you probably never done a day's work in their lives! Your papá's so weak, so--soo--" He broke off. "And your mother's so--so--if I was her husband, I'd put her in her place! Here, I'm master, and my wife and son obey me." He stared at his wife as he spoke.

Don Felipe paused for a moment, to weigh his words. He rubbed the back of his neck and prayed silently that his voice would remain steady. "My adoptive father is gentle and loving. But he's not weak." He paused again, and silently prayed again. "As for my adoptive mother--yes, she is strong-willed. She's had to be; life's been hard for her. But she's ladylike and compassionate." To his relief, his voice did not falter.

The man grimaced. "Not a proper lady if she's strong-willed. Mark my words, boy: strong-willed women are nothin' but trouble!"

He glared at his wife, who said nothing. "Hear this! Soon, my new friends are goin' to make us rich. And when they do, I don't want my family disgracin' and shamin' me! You hear, woman?" Maria sighed and nodded as he picked up the wooden spoon.

Don Felipe's stomach turned queasy. His heart churned as he watched the man bark orders and slurp his soup. Clearly, Pedro Sanchez was most unpleasant to live with, especially when he was drunk.

Like Juan Cortez.

Suddenly, Don Felipe heard a loud thud outside. Cursing loudly, Señor Sanchez leaped to his feet, knocking the bench on its side, and stormed out the door. Don Felipe's heart pounded with fear for Sancho. Sergio's face looked pale, and his lower lip trembled. Señora Sanchez wrung her hands.

Don Felipe rushed toward the door. As he stepped outside, he saw Sancho's father shaking his son violently by the shoulders. "You stupid clumsy! You lazy oaf! You baboso, when will you learn to be more careful?!"

He clouted Sancho's face so hard, the boy staggered backwards. Off to the side, the now-overturned crates lay on their sides. Evidently, Sancho had inadvertently knocked them down.

Don Felipe winced to see his friend punished so viciously just for having an accident. As the young caballero watched the man strike his son's face again and again, boy's stomach turned nauseous. For a moment, he had to struggle not to vomit up the milk he had drunk. Next to him, Sergio clapped his hands over his eyes. Don Felipe put his arm protectively around Sergio's shoulders.

He reminds me of Papá, Don Felipe thought. Papá used to hit me, too. Just as Señor Sanchez does Sancho. It's awful! His hands shook.

A terrible event from the recesses of Don Felipe's memory slammed into his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to shut out the memory, but it did no good. Instead, the memory shut out everything else...

"Felipe!" Juan Cortez stood in the doorway of the one-room wattle-and-daub hut, just underneath the straw thatch that covered the roof. "Pour me some pulque. And don't spill it like you did, last time!"

"S--si, Papá!"

The five-year-old boy picked up the clay jug and a dark-brown clay cup. He carefully poured some of the alcoholic beverage, distilled from the juice of the maguey cactus, into his father's cup. He knew to be careful; his father had whipped him before, for spilling the pulque.

As Juan squatted down on a sitting mat, made of reeds, Felipe slowly carried the cup with both hands to his father. The only light in the hut poured through the doorway, forming a solid bar of sunlight on the hard-packed dirt floor. The boy held out the cup; when his father took hold of it, the cup slipped through Juan's hands and bounced off his left trouser leg. Pulque spilled on his white, unbleached cotton trousers and onto the dirt floor.

With his face contorted with rage, Juan leaped to his feet and slapped Felipe, who screamed and staggered backward. "You little clumsy; I told you not to spill it!" Juan's face had turned red, then purple; a vein pulsated in his neck. He slapped Felipe again, then grabbed Felipe's right earlobe.

"Ow!" the boy cried, as pain exploded in his ear. His mother stared at him and his father in horror.

"You're goin' to get it, young man! Come with me!"

Juan dragged his whimpering son outside and toward the barn. Inside, he released the boy's ear, only to grab his upper arm. With a vicious yank that made Felipe's shoulder feel as if it were being pulled right out of its socket, Juan jerked the little boy down to the ground. The landing knocked the breath out of Felipe, who winced in pain and rubbed his throbbing earlobe. His face throbbed incessantly where Juan had struck it.

As Felipe lay trembling on his stomach, he prayed silently that his father would not be able to find the leather strap, or that he would be too tired to whip his son. Even as Felipe prayed, he knew from experience that his prayer would go unanswered. Not only would Juan Cortez find the strap in its usual spot, he would give Felipe more than 10 blows with it. The blows would leave the boy's back, legs, and hips riddled with red, raw stripes that would be painful to touch and slowly turn bluish-purple. And the boy would be in sheer agony during the beating, and afterward. The terrified boy squeezed his eyes shut.

A clinking sound told Felipe that his father had found the leather strap and lifted it off its peg. A wide strip of metal lined the end that hung from the nail; a hole was bored through the metal strip. As the man strode toward his son, Felipe listened to the thuds of his father's woven-leather sandals.

"You will obey me, Felipe!' Juan shouted, as a whish! told the boy that his father was flinging the strap backward. "You will do as I say, even if it kills you!" A swoosh! told Felipe that his father was swinging the strap toward the boy's back. Felipe tensed every muscle and screamed in terror...

"Felipe?" The woman patted his cheek. "My husband has just passed out." She pointed at her husband, who lay sprawled on the ground, snoring. "He won't remember any of this when he wakes up. I promise you."

Don Felipe stared at her. "How--how is Sancho?" he whispered. "Is he badly hurt?" He looked at his friend as he spoke. Tears streaked down Sancho's newly-reddened cheeks as the boy snuffled.

Señora Sanchez's sigh told Don Felipe volumes. "Actually, he--he got off lucky. It could have been a lot worse." She tried to smile.

Don Felipe grimaced. He could see that.

"Is Señor Sanchez always like this?" Sergio's voice shook.

Señora Sanchez nodded. "He's always worse when he's drunk, though."

Like Papá, Don Felipe thought. A knot of anger welled up in him. Taking a deep breath, he approached Sancho and clasped him for a long moment, as the boy struggled not to cry. Sergio stood nearby and watched, fear and concern evident in his eyes.

Use your empathy for the good of the poor, son, and you'll be able to help them in a way no one else can. As Don Diego's admonition rushed to the forefront of his thoughts, Don Felipe winced.

How? his heart cried out. How can I use my empathy to help Sancho? What can I do about his father?

He let go of Sancho and stepped back. Sergio tried to smile. "Gracias, Felipe."

Señora Sanchez put a hand on each visiting boy's shoulder. "You better go, you two, before he wakes up. I want to thank you for makin' friends with my son. He needs friends."

Don Felipe and Sergio tried to smile. "Sergio and I want to be his friends, señora," Don Felipe said, and Sergio nodded agreement. Sancho smiled gratefully.

Don Felipe glanced down at his brand-new frock coat as he and Sergio trudged toward the horses. Before Don Felipe climbed up on Emilio, he turned to look at the Sanchezes. "Adios, Sancho. I'll come back, soon." Sergio waved good-bye, and the Sanchezes waved back.

A half-hour later, back at the hacienda, Don Felipe and Sergio stood on the porch, telling Felipe's parents and grandfather what had happened at the Sanchez farm during their visit. "Sancho is afraid of his father," Don Felipe said. "His--his father hurts him." His voice faded again; he cleared his throat. "Just as my father used to hurt me."

Don Alejandro shook his head and led the way inside, his boots clicking on the gleaming marble floor. His grandson trudged into the spacious entrance and leaned against the wall. As Don Alejandro sighed, he pressed his lips into a tight line, a sign that he was deeply displeased. "It grieves me to hear this, boys. It truly does. My heart goes out to the boy and his mother. How they must suffer!"

Don Felipe smiled at the elderly caballero gratefully. "You're a kind, good man, Grandfather. You, too, Father." He paused to glance briefly at his pale-blue frock coat and dark-blue satin vest, then gazed at his gold signet ring. "Father, you told me to use my empathy to help the poor. Is there anything we can do to help Sancho and his mother?" He looked beseechingly from his father to his mother, and then to his grandfather, as he spoke. To his relief, his voice came out strong and clear.

Don Alejandro glanced at Don Diego and shook his head. "Unfortunately, son, no. It isn't our place to interfere between a man and his family. But we will befriend them as much as we can. From what you've told us, they need our friendship desperately." Don Diego and Doña Victoria nodded agreement.

Don Diego rested a hand on his son's shoulder. "It pleases me to see your yearning to alleviate that family's suffering, son," Don Diego said, gently. "Rest assured, we'll do all we can for them."

During the months that followed, the de la Vegas and Sergio did just that. They gave the Sanchez family corn, beans, and chili peppers, to tide them over until Señor Sanchez could harvest a crop. To his sorrow, Don Felipe soon learned that the family was totally illiterate, and that Señor Sanchez refused to even consider letting his son learn to read or write. The de la Vega men spent much time with Señor Sanchez, and Doña Victoria visited Señora Sanchez frequently.

Don Felipe and Sergio came to see Sancho as often as the weather permitted, after Don Felipe had finished his daily lessons. Frequently, Rafael came with them; silently, Felipe wished that Godfather Lopez were still alive to befriend Sancho as well. Privately, Señora Sanchez told Don Felipe, Rafael, and Sergio that their visits always cheered up her son. I hope so, Don Felipe thought.

As Don Felipe spent much time with the family, his worst fears were confirmed. Pedro Sanchez was, in temperament, exactly like Juan Cortez. Being with the man was, for Don Felipe, like being with his late papá once more. And seeing the man oppress his wife and son opened old wounds in Felipe's heart he had hoped were healed.

Again and again, during or after a visit to the Sanchez farm, Don Felipe had to fight off memories of his own father yelling at him, slapping and/or beating him, and hurting his wife. Or just plain not being there for Felipe when Felipe had needed him. The memories of his father always hurt; only the memory of Juan's efforts to save his family from certain death during the battle that had killed him, felt good. As a result of his own re-opened emotional wounds, he hurt for Sancho.

My new clothes gave me a responsibility to help the poor, he thought, repeatedly. Somehow, I've just got to help Sancho! He shouldn't have to suffer like this. Frustration because his hands were tied would well up in Don Felipe. I know exactly how he feels, how much he hurts, how scared he is of his father. How can I use my empathy to help him? I want to--I've got to! But how?

From time to time, two men came to visit the boy's father, and the three men would go off together. Sancho always told his new friends about it afterwards. "My father says those men are goin' to make us rich, but I don't see how," he would say. "They sure don't look rich!"

In the meantime, Don Felipe wore a different jacket or coat every day. After he had worn his four frock coats and four tailcoats for the first eight days, he wore each of his charro jackets, until he had worn them all. For the first time, he participated in parties as a de la Vega and not as a servant. During November, the de la Vegas held several parties in his honor, to celebrate his adoption and ennoblement. Don Felipe made sure that Rafael was invited to each one.

To Don Felipe's relief, his voice slowly stabilized. All the while, he continued his studies in the mornings, and his art, music, and fencing lessons in the afternoons. Every morning, before breakfast, he read three chapters in the Bible and prayed with his rosary. Now that Don Felipe could play the piano and guitar proficiently, his father taught him to play the violin. And he and his father took turns teaching Sergio to fence with a foil.

Once a week, as he had done since the de la Vegas had hired him, Don Felipe had to perform a regular farm task for two or three hours. Once a week, he and his family visited the ranchhands at work. Once a week, he and his parents visited one of the tenant farms. And whenever one of Don Alejandro's tenants fell sick, the boy went with his parents to take that tenant some food and supplies. All this he had done throughout his time as servant boy, but now, as an adopted de la Vega, these duties of his took on a whole new meaning.

Since much of November was stormy, neither boy could go outside much of the time, except when they engaged in the duties that required it. Don Felipe spent his free time reading, carving, drawing or painting pictures. He played the piano, guitar, and violin; he played checkers, chess, or cards with members of his family. He helped his father with his scientific experiments. And he played with Sergio.

Sergio served Don Felipe as faithfully as Don Felipe had served Don Diego. The younger boy saw to it that Don Felipe's clothes were kept clean and mended, and he laid out the older boy's clothes every morning. In return, Don Felipe treated Sergio with kindness and genuine affection, and played with him often. He never forgot that Sergio was an orphan like himself, who needed to feel loved and secure. Don Felipe exerted himself to treat the younger boy like a brother as well as his servant.

Christmas came and went. Until then, the de la Vegas had stood in as guardians for Felipe on Christmas Day and Epiphany every year, so he had eaten the big holiday dinner with them and opened his gifts with them as well. Since this, however, was Don Felipe's first Christmas as a de la Vega and not as a servant, the others wanted to make it an especially nice Christmas for him, so they gave him lots of gifts. Don Felipe, for his part, went to great lengths to give nice presents to his new family and to Rafael.

Don Diego's cousin, Don Rafael, who owned a horse ranch in Santa Barbara, his wife, Margarita, and their two young children spent the holidays with them. So did Ramon and Francisco. Rafael Lopez ate Christmas dinner with them at Don Diego's invitation, since the de la Vegas realized that it had been the Cortezes and the Lopezes' custom to celebrate holidays and other special events together, and the two boys wanted to continue that custom.

As always, the family attended the yearly Christmas Eve party at the tavern, and then attended midnight mass at the church. Sergio attended both events with his patróns, as did Rafael. The family opened gifts twice: on Christmas Day and on Epiphany.

One afternoon, in early February, Don Felipe and Sergio rode to the Sanchez farm. The air felt pleasant, and a gentle breeze blew. The two boys found Sancho whittling outside.

"Hola, Felipe! Sergio!" With a grin, Sancho threw his knife and the block of wood to the ground, and leaped to his feet.

Don Felipe waved a greeting as he swung off Emilio. He and Sergio tied their horses to the hitching post.

"Where is everyone?" Don Felipe asked.

Sancho shrugged. "Papá's gone off with those men, again. Mamá's inside."

With that, he led the way inside. As always, Señora Sanchez greeted the two visitors warmly and poured each one a cup of goat's milk.

After Don Felipe had drunk the last of his goat's milk, he strolled toward the doorway and gazed out. "It's so nice outside," he said.

Suddenly, he frowned. Two horses and one burro appeared over the horizon. "Sancho, your papá's coming home."

Sancho inhaled sharply. "I hope he's not drunk. He'll be real mean if he is." He made the sign of the cross as he spoke.

Don Felipe nodded agreement and returned to the rough pine table. His palms grew moist. Minutes later, as Señor Sanchez stumbled inside, Sancho's cup slipped out of his hand. It crashed on the stone-tile floor, and a puddle of milk spread in every direction.

Swearing, the man strode toward his son and whacked him viciously across the face. "Ow!" Sancho cried, throwing his arms over his face.

"Por favor, señor, don't hit him!" Don Felipe leaped to his feet. "He didn't mean to drop his cup! It slipped out of his hand!"

Growling, the farmer whirled on Don Felipe. He shoved the boy against the wall with such force, the blow knocked the breath out of him.

"Don't you tell me how to treat my son!" he roared. "I don't care if you are a young caballero; I'm master in my own house, and I treat my family how I please! Now, you get out of my hut, and your friend, too!" He glowered at Sergio as he spoke.

Without another word, Señor Sanchez stormed out of the hut, himself. Sancho wiped the tears off his bruised face with the palms of his hands. "Gracias, Felipe. Thank you for tryin'."

Don Felipe nodded. He put a hand on Sancho's shoulder. "Sancho, I know what you're going through." He cleared his throat and glanced down at his charro jacket. "My late papá used to treat my late mamá and me the same way. I was afraid of him, because he was violent. My mother was scared of him, too."

Don Felipe smiled wryly. "He worked hard from dawn to dusk, to support my mamá and me, and when we were in danger, he'd protect us. But he drank all the time, and he was always a tyrant. I never knew what was going to set him off--he could explode over anything. Then he'd yell at us; sometimes, he'd hit us. Papá had a leather strap he used to beat me with; he kept it in the barn. I know what you're going through, Sancho."

Sancho nodded. Señora Sanchez squeezed Don Felipe's shoulder. "You'd better go, you two, before my husband comes back in."

"I'll see you again," Sancho assured the boys.

Don Felipe and Sergio returned to the hacienda, where Don Felipe told his father what had happened. He then went to the family chapel to pray for the Sanchez family. Tears streamed down his face as he prayed.

That evening, while Don Alejandro and Doña Victoria sat chatting in the drawing room, Don Felipe and his father played a game of chess in the library. Don Felipe won the game.

His father smiled ruefully. "Your grandfather and I have taught you too well, son." Don Felipe grinned. He knew that, beneath the rueful smile, Don Diego was proud of his son's skill in chess.

A pounding on the door startled them. Don Alejandro and Doña Victoria leaped from the silk-brocade couch and rushed toward the door. As Don Diego and Don Felipe reached the library entrance, a trembling Señora Sanchez lugged her limp son inside. Sancho lay in her arms, moaning. His face looked bruised and puffy.

"What the--!" Don Alejandro stared at the boy, white-faced.

"Señora! What happened?!" Don Diego took the boy from her arms and strode toward the hall. Sergio joined them.

"Did--did his father beat him?" Don Felipe's voice shook.

Señora Sanchez nodded. "Si. After you and Sergio left, Pedro sat the rest of the afternoon, drinkin' pulque. He kept scoldin' Sancho for droppin' his cup this afternoon. Finally, he was roarin' drunk, and he slapped me for not cookin' his supper just like he wanted it. Sancho caught me before I fell and tried to help me sit down on the lower bunk; then his father grabbed him."

She followed Don Diego into one of the guest bedrooms. "Pedro slapped Sancho again and again, and kept yellin' at him the whole time. Kept sayin', 'How dare you defy me! I'll treat your mother any way I please; I won't have a no-good brat standin' in my way!' Then he got a stick he brought home, yesterday, and he--he hit Sancho with it over and over and over--" She stopped, gasping for breath and choking down a sob.

Sergio followed them into the bedroom and pulled down the soft bedcovers. Don Diego gently laid the boy on the fine linen undersheet. Sancho moaned as Don Diego removed his sandals while Don Alejandro unbuttoned his cotton shirt.

"It's all right, amigo." Don Diego rested a hand on Sancho's shoulder. "You're in good hands, Sancho. My father and Felipe and Victoria and I will help your mother take good care of you." He gently squeezed Sancho's shoulder. "I know it hurts; I know it feels terrible. But we're going to do everything we can to ease your pain. Just relax. Everything's going to be all right." He brushed Sancho's hair out of his eyes.

"It hurts." Sancho's voice sounded weak and feeble. "It hurts all over."

"I know it does." Don Diego rubbed his hand over Sancho's hair. "I know it does."

Don Alejandro turned to the boy's mother. "Where is your husband, now? And how on earth did you manage to get Sancho here, all by yourself?"

Señora Sanchez leaned against the wall, shaking. "He's at home, passed out. I didn't dare take Sancho out until he did. I carried my son here, on foot. It took me three hours to bring him here. I had to stop and rest often."

The de la Vegas gaped at one another for a long moment. Doña Victoria approached Señora Sanchez. "You must be exhausted," she said, gently. "Let me get you a cup of tea and something to eat. You'll need your strength if you're going to nurse your son back to health."

Señora Sanchez shook her head. "Gracias, señora--but no. I thank you for takin' my boy in; I don't want him around his father till he's well, but if--if I don't get home immediately, Pedro will--" She shuddered.

Don Alejandro laid his hand on her shoulder. "If he comes here, I'll confront him and deal with him," he told her. "Your place is with your son--he needs you. If you go home now, Pedro might injure you even worse than he did Sancho. Don't even think of going back there until your son is well enough to return home."

Señora Sanchez gazed at each de la Vega for a long moment. She nodded. "Thank you. I'll accept." Gratitude shone in her eyes.

Don Diego smiled at her tenderly. "We'll see about getting you a nightgown, señora, and some changes of clothes. We'll get a nightshirt for Sancho, too."

"And we'll have our cook make you something to eat." Don Alejandro turned to Don Diego. "We'd better send one of the servants to fetch Dr. Hernandez, son."

Time passed; no one kept track of it. As the de la Vegas waited, Don Felipe perched on a chair next to Sancho's bedside. Deep pain for his friend warred with his gratitude that for the moment, Sancho and his mother were out of harm's way.

Dr. Hernandez came to examine Sancho. To everyone's relief, he announced that the boy would recover, bound his wounds, and then left a pain medicine for Sancho to take.

An hour after the doctor had left, Don Alejandro and his son and grandson sat in the library. Doña Victoria stayed with Señora Sanchez and Sancho. As Don Felipe sat on the satin-brocade couch with his father and stared at the blazing, crackling fire, his heart ached inside. He meant to do all he could for his friend. Not for the first time, as he glanced down at his gold signet ring, he thought that Sergio was better off as an orphan than he would have been with a father like his own and Sancho's. At least, Sergio had consistently been raised by kind people--first the padres, and then the de la Vegas.

At least, he thought, gazing at Don Diego, God has given me a better father than I had in the man who sired me. I'm truly blessed. I wish--how I wish that Sancho were! Don Felipe gazed at his rosary, wrapped around his left hand. For a moment, he fingered its smooth beads.

Don Diego smiled at his son and put an arm around the boy's shoulders. "You are so dear to me, my son," he said. "You're such a fine young man. I love you so much."

Don Felipe snuggled against his father and smiled. Don Alejandro nodded agreement as he gazed fondly at his son and grandson for a long moment.

A second pounding at the front door ended the de la Vegas' reverie. "It's probably Pedro." Don Alejandro pursed his lips tightly. He strode to the door and opened it.

"Where is my wife and son?" Señor Sanchez's loud voice sounded slurred and angry.

"Asleep," Don Alejandro said. Approaching the library entrance, Don Diego and Don Felipe found Don Alejandro barricading the front entrance against the farmer who tried to push past the elderly caballero. "Your son is badly hurt, señor; he needs his rest." Don Alejandro planted his feet apart and clutched the polished mahogany door, as Señor Sanchez tried to shove him aside. "He must not be disturbed."

The man snorted. "I know what you're tryin' to do. You're tryin' to interfere with my business! You're--"

Don Alejandro snatched the man by the front of his homespun cotton shirt. With the other hand, he gripped Pedro's left arm so tightly the man winced.

"Señor, you listen to me!" Don Alejandro told him sternly. "Until I say otherwise, your wife and son will remain in my care! Now you go home and don't come back until I say you may! If you try to cause any more trouble, I'll evict you first thing in the morning! Do you hear me?!" He tightened his grip for emphasis.

Pedro glared at him for a long moment. Without another word, he turned and left.

With a sigh, Don Alejandro closed the door. "I don't think he'll cause any more trouble. When he's sober, I hope he'll think about what he's done. Men like that--" Don Alejandro scowled and shook his head.

Sighing, Don Diego glanced at Don Felipe. "Let's go to bed, shall we? Someone will have to fetch Señora Sanchez's clothes from her hut in the morning." The de la Vegas went to their bedrooms.

The next morning, after breakfast, Señora Sanchez approached Don Felipe, when he and Sergio entered Sancho's bedroom. "Amigo, por favor, do me a favor." She rubbed her hands on her green woolen skirt.

"Go to my place and fetch some things for me. I couldn't bring my clothes and Sancho, too."

"Want me to get them, Felipe?" Sergio asked.

Don Felipe smiled and shook his head. "Gracias, no. I'll do it. Stay here in case Sancho needs you, all right?" Sergio nodded.

Don Felipe went out to the stables. Minutes later, he galloped Emilio toward the Sanchez farm, sitting tall and straight in the saddle. When he saw the hut in the distance, he saw two men on horseback approaching the farm from the opposite direction.

Instinct prompted Don Felipe to tug the reins. "Whoa!" he ordered. Emilio halted.

Don Felipe dismounted. He hid behind a grayish-brown boulder and watched the men approach the hut. One of them climbed off his horse and knocked on the rough pine door.

The door swung open; Señor Sanchez stood in the doorway, his weather-beaten face unshaven. "Si?" Don Felipe heard him ask.

"Where's your wife and son? Not back, yet?"

Señor Sanchez shook his head. "No. And they're not goin' to be, either. Not for a while."

He looks sober, now, Don Felipe thought. I wonder if he regrets what he did to Sancho, last night. I hope he does! The boy clenched his fists and scowled.

The two men spoke so low, Don Felipe couldn't hear their words. Señor Sanchez nodded and disappeared; a few seconds later, he reappeared, wearing his wide-brimmed straw sombrero. While Don Felipe hid behind the boulder and watched, Señor Sanchez saddled his burro. A moment later, he rode off with the two men.

Where are they going? Don Felipe wondered. I'd better follow them and find out. Those men are bad news. I can feel it. He shook his head. There may be work for the alcalde--and for Zorro!

Glancing briefly at his signet ring, the boy climbed back on his Andalusian stallion. For the next several miles, he followed the three men from a distance, careful not to let them see him. All the while, Don Felipe feared for Pedro's family. If these friends of Pedro Sanchez were, in fact, bandidos, as Don Felipe suspected, Sancho and his mother could be in danger.

An hour after they had started out, the men stopped; so did Don Felipe. He dismounted Emilio and moved the horse behind a hill.

As he climbed that hill, a twig snapped under his boot. He froze, then ducked behind a bush.

"Hey!" one of the men shouted. "What was that?"

Felipe crouched behind the bush and held his breath. Silently, he prayed that the men would not find him.

A long moment passed while the boy knelt, not daring to move. Would the men search the hill?

"It must have been some animal," one of the men said. "There's lots of them on the desert. We don't have time to waste, so let's get movin'."

Don Felipe leaned against the bush, weak with relief. Years of spying for Zorro had taught him the importance of blending into the background when trailing bandidos; failure to do so had severe consequences, as he had learned from hard experience. Once, a gang of bandits plotting to murder the alcalde had kidnapped him because he had stepped on a twig and given his presence away. Another time, another gang of bandits who had murdered the Monterey coach driver had stalked him when he knocked a rock down a ridge, betraying his presence. And more recently, when an assassin had kidnapped the Duke of La Mancha's grandson, Don Rodrigo, the assassin had discovered Felipe trailing him and his prisoner, and kidnapped the boy.

Don Felipe rose to his feet. He mounted Emilio and followed the men from a distance, once more.

Ten minutes later, the men stopped again, and so did Don Felipe. He dismounted once again, hid behind a ridge, and waited. As he watched, a caballero on a white stallion rode toward the three men.

"Excelente!" the gentleman said, in a voice Don Felipe instantly recognized. "You brought him. Good work, men!"

The voice sounded exactly like that of Los Angeles's former alcalde, Don Luis Ramon's! Yet, Don Felipe knew it couldn't be. Don Luis Ramon had fallen to his death at the Devil's Fortress, two years before.

And that meant only one thing--

Don Vincente Ramon! Don Felipe thought, horrified. Luis Ramon's twin brother--the one who tried to impersonate him! I remember him! Why is he here? What is he up to?

"Señor Sanchez," Don Vincente said, "early this morning, my men and I made a decision. Last night, when we visited you and you told us how bitter you felt toward your family and how they had wronged you, I told you I would help you."

Señor Sanchez looked at him warily. "I moved my wife and son here because your men told me they could make us rich. Can they?" Señor Ramon nodded. "How?"

Don Vincente gazed at him for a long moment. "By becoming a member of my gang. Robbing banks, haciendas, you name it, all over the territory. That will make us all very rich, señor."

The man froze, then fidgeted. "I--I see." He furrowed his eyebrows as he spoke.

Good, Don Felipe thought. He doesn't really want to become rich that way. I'm glad to see that. Perhaps, there is good in Pedro Sanchez, after all.

Señor Ramon looked at Señor Sanchez sternly. "There's just one condition, señor; if you agree to it, the job is yours. I'm willing to make you rich, but not your wife and son. You must kill them--they'll just be in the way if you let them live. Since you feel such bitterness and resentment toward them, and don't really love them, I'm sure you won't object."

Señor Sanchez froze a second time; Don Felipe caught his breath in horror. For a long moment, the farmer gaped at the bandit leader.

"You're not serious?!" he exclaimed. "Me murder my own family in--in cold blood?! I will not! I want to make my family rich, too--not just me! If I said I didn't love them, I must have been stone-drunk."

Don Vincente glared at Señor Sanchez for a long moment. "Seize him!" he ordered, whipping a pistol out of a holster.

The other two bandits grabbed the farmer's arms and tied them behind his back. "Take him to Chielo Ridge!" Don Vincente ordered. "Hold him there till I get back! Since he won't kill them himself, I will. If they're not back at the farm by now--if they're still at the de la Vega hacienda--I'll go there and kill the de la Vegas, too!"

"How long will it take you to get back, patrón?" one of the bandits asked.

Don Vincente glanced down at his timepiece. "It's ten o' clock, now. It'll take two hours to reach the Sanchez farm. If I go to the de la Vega hacienda afterward, it'll take me another half-hour to get there. I'll be at Chielo Ridge in eight hours."

"No!" Señor Sanchez cried, as the caballero mounted his horse. "Not my family! Kill me if you must, but don't kill them! Oh, Santa Maria, what have I done?!"

Don Felipe ducked his head as Señor Ramon rode past. The boy had heard enough. He made up his mind to tell his father right away. He glanced down at his jacket, then looked at his gold timepiece. It gleamed in the sunlight.

Ten o' clock, he thought. I have just two hours--two and a half, at the most--to get home. I'd better hurry!

He mounted Emilio and dug his heels into the stallion's sides. The horse galloped toward home. Don Felipe prayed silently that he would get there in time.

Please, God, he prayed, don't let me be too late!

Several times, he stopped to look at his timepiece. Time was passing more rapidly than Don Felipe liked. If he didn't get to the de la Vega hacienda quickly, it would be too late.

At last, Don Felipe reached the hacienda. He handed the reins to a stable boy, then glanced down at his timepiece. Twelve o' clock, he thought. I made it! Gracias de Dios; I made it! He patted Emilio's neck. But for such a fast horse like Emilio, I never would have made it in time! Parche would have been too slow.

He raced into the entrance hall. "Father!" he shouted.

"In here, son!" Don Diego called.

Don Felipe darted into the library, where he found his parents and grandfather reading. Leaning against a bookshelf and gasping for breath, Don Felipe explained what he had seen and heard. The others leaped to their feet as he spoke, looking pale.

When Don Felipe had finished, Don Diego looked grim. "Zorro rides."

"I'll tell the grooms to saddle Toronado and Dulcinea while you put on your costume, son." Don Alejandro strode toward the library entrance, where he paused to speak. "Then I'll go to town and order out the garrison. I'll send half my troops to this house to guard it, and to protect Señora Sanchez and Sancho."

"Father, is there anything I can do?" Don Felipe asked.

Don Diego shook his head. "You've already done it, my son. Thank you. Stay here and prime the pistols and muskets, just in case they're needed. I'll tell Sergio to help you. Time is of the essence."

Don Felipe nodded. His father entered the secret passage.

As Zorro rode toward Chielo Ridge, he prayed that no harm would befall his family or the Sanchezes in his absence.

My father's a wise commander and a brave fighter, he thought. He'll do all he can to protect the señora and her son.

When he reached Chielo Ridge, he slowed Toronado down. He did not want to give his presence away if he could help it. He slowly rode past the ridge, searching for caves. Toronado's hooves clop! clopped on the stone ground.

Suddenly, he saw two horses and a burro standing before a narrow cave opening. This must be it! he thought.

Zorro dismounted Toronado and patted the stallion's shoulder. The masked man unsheathed his Toledo-steel saber and tiptoed toward the entrance. For a moment, he halted next to the mouth of the cave to listen. The voices of three men drifted toward his ears.

"You'll never escape us, señor!" a man said. "When your wife and son's dead, you'll have nothin' to go back to. Nothin' to hold you back. You can't escape us."

Zorro sprang inside. "You are truly brave men!" he announced. "It only takes two of you to guard one unarmed farmer!"

The bandits leaped to their feet and gaped at him.

"Zorro!" One of the bandits unsheathed his rapier. "We're brave enough for you, señor!"

"I'm sure you are!" Zorro raised his saber in a salute. "But are you skilled enough?"

For the next ten minutes, Zorro fenced with the two bandidos as Señor Sanchez watched. Zorro and the bandits thrusted, lunged, and parried; their swords clanged continually. One by one, Zorro sent the rapiers flying out of their hands and knocked the bandits out. He carved a Z in the trousers of each man.

Zorro helped Señor Sanchez to his feet and untied his hands. "Gracias, señor," the shamefaced farmer muttered, looking at the cave floor. "My wife and son are in danger. Por favor, save them!" He bent over and grabbed his straw sombrero with a trembling hand, as he spoke.

"I will," Zorro promised him. "But first, we must tie up these bandidos so they won't make any more mischief."

Minutes later, Zorro and Señor Sanchez led the horses carrying the two bandits, bound hand and foot. Three hours after leaving Chielo Ridge, they arrived at the de la Vega hacienda. Don Alejandro met them as they dismounted.

"Vincente Ramon is dead," he told them. "My lancers shot him as he tried to break into the hacienda, almost three hours ago."

"Where's his body?" Zorro asked.

"My lancers have taken his body to Los Angeles." Don Alejandro looked hard at Señor Sanchez. "Señor, you are one fortunate man--more fortunate than you deserve to be." He gestured toward Don Felipe, who stood in the doorway. "If it hadn't been for my grandson, Felipe--and for Zorro, here--it would be your wife and son now being prepared for burial, not the bandit leader."

Señor Sanchez accepted the rebuke silently. "Where's my family?"

"In one of the guest rooms. Your son's in no condition to travel. Dr. Hernandez has strictly forbidden that, for the present."

Señor Sanchez nodded. "Si, señor. I'd like to see them."

Don Alejandro nodded his consent. "You will, soon. First, Zorro and I must take these bandits to town. Please stay in the drawing room with Don Felipe and Sergio and Doña Victoria, until we return."

"Si, señor." As the two men left with their prisoners, Señor Sanchez removed his sombrero and bowed. Don Felipe invited him inside and led the way into the drawing room, where Doña Victoria and Sergio waited.

Doña Victoria turned to Sergio. "Would you tell Maria to send us some juice? Señor Sanchez must be thirsty after that long ride."

"Si, señora." Sergio trotted to the kitchen, his sandals clicking on the gleaming marble floor. Doña Victoria invited Pedro to sit down.

Moments later, a maid brought three crystal glasses of lemonade on a gleaming, ornate silver tray. After Don Felipe took his glass, he sat down next to the farmer on the couch and glanced down at his satin vest. "Señor, your permission, I'd like to tell you a story. About my late papá, Juan Cortez. He was a peon in Mexico, as I've told you. He barely eked out a living from a small plot of land he rented. He was a tenant farmer, like you. A peon."

"Oh." Señor Sanchez regarded the boy warily through bloodshot eyes, as Felipe sipped his lemonade. "What was he like?" The farmer gulped a mouthful of the juice. "What's this, señora?"

"Lemonade," Doña Victoria told him. "It's sold at the tavern, too." She glanced at her son and folded her hands in her lap. "Go on, Felipe."

Don Felipe took another sip of lemonade. Leaning back, he chose his words carefully. "Well, he was a hard worker, and a good one. He worked very hard to support my mamá and me. He did his best to keep us safe, too. When danger threatened, as it sometimes did, he'd protect us." The boy paused. "And yet--and yet, he was hard to live with. My mother and I feared him and resented him."

"Why?"

"Because he was a tyrant and a boor and a drunkard. He had a violent temper; he was grumpy and nervous and ill-mannered. He drank too much pulque, and he didn't really love us. At least, we never felt that he did. He hit us a lot--much of the time, for no good reason."

For the next 15 minutes, Don Felipe told the man stories of his late father's temper and tyranny, and the clashes those two traits had caused with Felipe and his mother. He explained some of the occasions his father had struck his face and/or beaten him with a leather strap because he had dropped, spilled, or broken something. Or because Felipe had either forgotten to do some chore, or had failed to do his chores to his father's satisfaction. Or because when Juan had accused Felipe of doing something he hadn't done. As the boy spoke, Señor Sanchez listened, clenching and unclenching his callused hands.

"Once, when I was four years old, my father hurt me so badly, I nearly died afterwards," Don Felipe said. "He thought I had taken his pulque and hidden it, so he tried to beat a confession out of me. I hadn't taken it, of course--I didn't even like pulque--but it did no good to tell him that. Instead, my telling my father the truth earned me a beating so severe, I was in a coma for three days afterward. When I finally came to, I was delirious with fever for days and days, and it was weeks before I recovered." He grimaced. "And he never even apologized! Or acted as if he was sorry. He just said, afterward, that if I'd told him the truth, he wouldn't have had to hit me." He pressed his lips tightly and clenched his own fists as he spoke. Doña Victoria winced and shook her head.

Pausing, Don Felipe leaned toward Señor Sanchez. "Señor, your son is badly hurt because you let your temper get the better of you. Your wife brought him here because he wasn't safe around you. If you keep on treating your family this way, you'll alienate them altogether. They might even decide to flee the territory, lest you end up killing them. That would not be good, would it?" Pedro grimaced, but did not respond.

"And even if they don't run away, Sancho's memories of you, when you're dead, will hurt. As my own memories of Papá do, to this day. Sancho'll always remember you as the father who treated him badly, who hurt him time and again, who was never there when he needed you, and who frightened him so much that he was afraid to be around you. Is that how you want your son to remember you, Señor Sanchez?"

The farmer sighed. "No," he whispered. "I don't."

"Good." Don Felipe looked at him beseechingly for a long moment. "Sancho needs a father, señor--a father he can love and respect and look up to. And remember with fondness, when you're gone. And your wife needs a husband she can love and be proud of. They both need you to be someone they can please and make happy--as you are, now, you're impossible to please! Most importantly, they need you to be sober. Because you lose all control when you get drunk, as you did last night."

Señor Sanchez leaned over and put his head in his hands. For a long moment, he sat in that position, motionless. When he lifted his head, his unshaven face was streaked with tears.

"You're right, muchacho." His voice sounded husky. "I haven't been much of a husband or father, have I? Not only have I hurt my own son, as you said--and my wife, too--my greed almost killed them both." He sighed. "And you're right about the pulque. I do lose it when I drink that stuff. I don't even remember beatin' Sancho with a stick, last night, but I know I did."

Doña Victoria smiled. "Did the lemonade taste good, señor?"

Señor Sanchez nodded. "Si, señora. It was delicious."

"You should start drinking lemonade, Señor Sanchez. That won't cause you to lose control." The farmer nodded.

The front door clicked open; Don Diego and Don Alejandro entered the drawing room. "The bandidos are in jail, and Don Vincente's body has been prepared for burial. A coffin is being built, right now." Don Alejandro looked at Señor Sanchez. "Are you ready to see your family?"

"Si, señor." The farmer rose to his feet and picked up his sombrero.

As Don Alejandro led the way toward Sancho's guest room, the other de la Vegas and Señor Sanchez followed. Don Alejandro entered the bedroom. "Señora Sanchez, Sancho, you've got a visitor."

"Who?" Señora Sanchez asked.

Pedro entered the room, clutching the straw sombrero. "Hola, Maria. Hola, Sancho," he said, softly.

Don Felipe stood by the doorway and listened. "Sancho, I owe you a big apology." Señor Sanchez's voice sounded husky again. "I hurt you last night, when I was drunk." The man paused. "Fact is, I've hurt you both, time and again, all these years. Worse, my greed nearly got you killed, today. I--I'm so sorry."

Another pause. "I've got a lot to make up for, I know. I pray that--that you'll be willin' to let me do that."

Don Felipe listened. Señora Sanchez choked down a sob. "Oh, Pedro--it means so much to hear you say that!"

"I--I love you, Papá," Sancho said feebly.

Now, it was Don Felipe's turn to choke down a sob. He tiptoed down the corridor and leaned against the wall.

"Are you all right, my son?" Don Diego stepped beside him and squeezed the boy's shoulder. Don Felipe leaned against his father's chest; for a moment, Don Diego hugged him tightly and patted his back.

"You and Sancho have a lot in common, don't you?" Don Diego said, at last. "The tragic difference is, your father never learned in time to be the husband and father you and your mother needed him to be. Pedro Sanchez now has that chance."

Don Felipe nodded. Don Diego was right. For a long moment, he pictured himself making the same speech to his own late father that he had made to Pedro Sanchez moments earlier.

He smiled to himself. Seeing Pedro Sanchez humble himself the way he's doing, now--it's like seeing my late papá doing the same thing. Making peace with my mamá and me. He paused and thought it over. It--it feels as if he has! I've never felt so calm and at peace, before.

In that instant, Don Felipe realized that, at long last, he had made peace with his memories of Juan. A healing had taken place inside the boy's heart that made it possible for him to forgive his late father and maybe even love him.

My papá was messed up inside, he realized. He didn't know how to love, that was his problem. He didn't know how to give love or receive it. Maybe--maybe his own father wasn't very good to him or his mother. For a moment, Don Felipe pondered that possibility.

My adoptive father's right--Juan Cortez never had a chance to learn differently. He died before he could get that chance. Don Felipe winced. If it hadn't been for a crisis that forced Señor Sanchez to realize how important his family is to him, he might never had learned differently, either!

He looked at Don Diego, who drew the boy to his side and put his arm around his son's shoulders. "Are you all right?" he whispered.

Don Felipe smiled and nodded. "I am, now."

Relief spread over the tall caballero's face. "I'm so glad!" He gently hugged his son for a long moment. The hug felt so good.

"I told you that if you used your empathy for the good of the poor, you'd be able to help them in a way no one else could. With this family, my son, you've done just that. I'm so proud of you!" Don Felipe smiled his appreciation of the praise as he burrowed his face into his father's shoulder.

Don Diego is my father, he thought. And he has what my late papá never had--the ability to give and receive love and approval. From now on, I'll seek the fatherly love I crave from him. He'll never fail to give it. The boy leaned back and wiped his face with his linen handkerchief.

Don Alejandro approached them. "I've just invited Señor Sanchez to stay here with his family until Sancho's well enough to go home." He smiled. "And he's granted me permission to invite Padre Benitez to come here and visit him. If anyone can help Pedro Sanchez, it's the good padre."

Don Diego and Don Felipe smiled at each other. "Just hearing that he's receptive to seeing a priest is a good sign, Father," Don Diego said.

"It certainly is." Don Felipe smiled. "A caballero can do a lot of good, can't he?"

"He certainly can!" Don Alejandro squeezed his grandson's shoulder and smiled at the boy proudly. Don Diego nodded agreement. Don Felipe looked down at his signet ring, then glanced at his charro jacket. Life felt so good!

END OF PART 3

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