26, Dec’ 1845 Dear husband, I pray to God that whin you receive me letter you’re good of health and spirit. Johnny and I pray for you every night, and we fancy the day when we can finally be together. I received your letter and your remitance, and my heart l ep to me throat wid deligh t to know you have not desarted
us, John, darlin’. We’ve had many a dark day to be sure, but this Christmas was darker than most because you weren’t here with us in these unsartin times. I miss you terribly, John. How many more Christmas holidays will we be apart? Nothing grieves me more than being s eparated from you. I’m afeard of what’s to come if our next harvest fails again. The commissioners can’t figure out why the potatoes rotted undher the ground. Was there something evil in the fog that rolled over our pota to gardens? Did the English lay a curse upon our soil to starve us out? Is it a punishment from the heavens above? My heart longs for you so much, a stór, sometimes I think it will rot widin me, just like our praties. Please, my love, all I ax is that you do what you can to send us the means to ship off. Let nothing prevint you from sending for me and Johnny and me parents. Every night I lie awake, fancying myself riding on the waves of the Atlantic and into your arms. Your wife who loves you de eply, Nelly He knew well enough that she was right to worry. If the potato crops failed at the next harvest, Ireland would once again be faced with the scarcity it had witnessed in times past. Hadn’t he been born in such times? He still remembered the hunger and the s tench of death that overtook his hometown until the potato once again returned, ke eping his people fed but never satisfied. As a lad, hearing the stories of Irish heroes that Father Myles would tell him, or seeing heroes like Daniel O’Connell, or even rebe l groups such as the Ribbonmen fighting on behalf of Ireland, had made him hope that one day he would be a hero, too, and save his country. But then he became a father and realized that heroism doesn’t feed your family. He needed to get them out of Ireland, that much was clear. But Nelly wouldn’t leave without her parents, though he feared they were too old to bear the voyage. And where would he get the money to send for them all? “What troubles you, John Riley?” His comrade’s voice startled him. He folded the letter and put it in his pocket. “How are you ke epin’, ould rascal?” “Never mind me,” Maloney said. “I asked you a question, I did. I know ’tis no music to a man to recite all his woe, but you can’t ke ep it inside, hurtin’ ya. Go on, then. You can tell me, you can.” Riley felt ashamed at seeing the concern in the older man’s face, that even after the brutal punishment inflicted upon him, he was more worried about what troubled Riley. No, what right do I have to unload my sorrows on my comrade, especially when the ould man has just suffered more than he ought? Riley shook his head. “Don’t distress yourself about me none. I’ve nothin’ to tell. I’m here to fetch ya. Captain Merrill said ’tis time.”
Maloney cursed under his breath. “Is it wantin’ to kill me, he is? I’d rather be a deserter, a turncoat, than remain here a blessed minute more.” “Hold your tongue, you fool!” Riley said, wondering if anyone had heard him. Didn’t he know that would only make things harder for him? “See here, boy, I watched my missus and daughter ravaged by disease in that rat - infested ship that carried me here. When their bodies were thrown overboard with the rubbish into the Atlantic, I wanted to join them in their watery grave. But suicide is a si n, so, in faith, I remained alive. And all for what, to end up in hell all the same?” Riley looked at Maloney’s graying hair, his face as wrinkled and sunken as a dried gooseberry, though at least his eyes had not grown dim with age and he still had all his teeth. At sixty - five, his comrade should know better than to disobey orders, to negl ect his soldier’s duty. “I ought to remind you of the words you pledged, the contract you signed? We’re bound to this country, whether we like it or not. Bein’ a turncoat would be a disgrace to you, to your f — ” He caught himself just in time. He was going to say family, but Malon ey had no one. “To your countryfolk,” he said instead. Maloney pointed to his branded forehead. “To perdition with the contract! They made pledges to us, too, didn’t they?” He pointed at a soldier a few cots away. “That German fella had his skull laid open with a sword because he’s ignorant of the English tong ue and didn’t understand his commander’s orders. That Irish laddie is out of his senses, lashin’ on his bed because an officer bound him hand and foot and threw him into a filthy pond till he was nearly drowned. The Yanks won’t abide by their oaths, so why should we?” “Because our vows ought to mean somethin’, and we must go through with what we’ve undertaken.” Maloney spat on the ground. “I can honor the ones I make to Jesus and Saint Patrick then, eh? But the Yanks can kiss my arse. ’Tis a thousand pities I cannot swim a stroke, for if I could, I would be a Mexican soldier by now. And you, John Riley, you were once faithful to the sassenachs , and where has your obedience got ya, eh? What a misguided creature you are. Maybe one day you’ll learn where you belong.” Riley stood to leave. “ ’Tis folly to think things will be better over yonder, ould fella. I ought to know. As you say, I’ve been in two armies now, and they’re both the same. What in blazes makes you think ’twill be different with the Mexicans? I’ve not t he least notion to trade what little I have now for a fate less certain. Now get yourself dressed. Captain Merrill expects ya for duty. And mind that you do it right this time.”
Distracted helping Maloney back to his tent, Riley didn’t see Lieutenant Bragg and his companions heading toward them from across the camp until it was too late. “Privates,” Bragg said. “Is there a reason why you didn’t salute your superiors?” “Beggin’ your pardon, sirs. We didn’t see ye, sirs,” Maloney said, as both he and Riley stopped and saluted the officers. “You didn’t see us?” Bragg said. “The swellin’ on his face has affected his eyesight, sir,” Riley said. “And what’s your excuse, Mick?” Bragg stood closer, his spit on Riley’s chin. Riley was thankful to have the advantage of the lieutenant in height, hence it was Bragg who had to look up at him, not the other way around. “Shall I teach you to pay attention?” Bragg turned to his companions, Duncan and two other artillerists, who immediately grabbed Riley’s arms and twisted them behind his back. Riley tried to break free from their grasp. “Stand down, Mick!” Bragg said, hitti ng Riley in the stomach with the hilt of his sword. “And not a word of insolence from you, if you know what’s good for you.” Riley doubled over, gasping for breath. Maloney rushed to his side to help him stand up, but Riley shrugged him off. “Don’t ya meddle in this,” he whispered, knowing Maloney was in no condition for more punishment. The old man reluctantly retreated into th e crowd that had gathered around them. Riley looked at the soldiers huddled in a circle, witnessing his humiliation. He was a seasoned veteran, not a young fellow like Sullivan, or an old drunk like Maloney, yet there was naught he could do to prevent this bullyragging and ke ep his dignity as a soldier from being trampled upon. He held himself together and checked his anger. Just then, he caught sight of a piece of paper by Bragg’s foot. The letter from Nelly. It’d fallen out of his pocket. Bragg followed h is gaze and spotted the paper. He bent and picked it up. “What’s this? Still carrying around the leaflets from the greasers, are you? After I made you burn them.” Bragg nodded to his companions. “Strip him!” “ ’Tis not a leaflet! I’m no traitor, sir,” Riley said as he struggled against the artillerists’ grasp. “I’ll take whatever punishment you want, but give it back.” Bragg snickered as he held the letter between his hands, and in that second, Riley knew he was about to tear it to pieces. One of his arms broke free from Duncan’s grasp, and Riley lunged at Bragg. The officer staggered back just in time and jabbed his sab er at Riley’s breast. “Insolent fool, how dare — !”
“What in God’s name is going on?” General Taylor’s voice boomed suddenly from behind Riley. He turned to see the general dismounting his mare. Next to him, his second - in - command, Colonel Twiggs, watched from atop his horse. “This scoundrel here has given me impudence, sir,” Bragg said. “He even dared to physically attack me.” Riley remained silent, but he stood straight and held his head high. He was going to be punished, he knew that. There was no point in defending himself, but he wasn’t going to be defeated. “Is this true, Private?” General Taylor said. “You attacked a superior officer?” “Aye, sir, ’tis true sir. But — ” “He’s carrying a leaflet from the Mexicans,” Bragg said, waving the paper around. “ ’Tis no leaflet, sir! But a letter.” “He’s lying,” Bragg said, about to tear it to pieces. “General Taylor, sir!” Riley said, his voice urgent. “If you please, sir, may I have it back?” “What’s all the fuss?” the general asked. He put out his hand, and Bragg handed over the letter. As he read it, the expression on his weathered face changed, and somehow the compassion in the general’s eyes made Riley’s anger return. General Taylor handed Riley the letter and then got back on his horse. “Lieutenant Bragg, let the private go on his way.” “But, sir!” Bragg said. Colonel Twiggs looked at Riley, his face puckered and annoyed. “Should we not make an example of him? Have him court - martialed for disobedience and disrespecting an officer. If you don’t, his countrymen will be following his example.” “We need every soldier we have to win Mr. Polk’s War. Don’t you agree, Colonel Twiggs?” General Taylor said. “But, Private, another instance of disrespect and I will oversee your punishment personally. Understood?” “Aye, sir, I do, sir.” Taylor mounted his old mare and turned to leave, Twiggs following behind him, fuming. Riley stood still, his eyes on Bragg. “Watch out, croppie.” The West Pointer cursed under his breath. “This isn’t over yet.”
Riley and Maloney watched Bragg and his companions follow Taylor and Twiggs to the officers’ quarters. “Och, all the turf in the bog couldn’t warm me to the likes of him,” Maloney said, spitting on the ground. “Don’t let him nettle you, lad. Every dog is bold on his own doorst ep.” He turned to Riley and grinned. “As for the general, though... just did you a b it of a favor, he did.” “What gave you that foolish notion?” No, General Taylor had done him no favor. Bragg would follow through on his threat, and Riley needed to be ready. Throughout the following days, gunshots were heard at all hours. Deserters were steadily bolder, no longer waiting for darkness to brave the river. Seeking what? Riley wondered. What do they think they’ll find? He held no sentimental notions of life on the other side. But he seemed to be in the minority. Some deserters didn’t make it across, but the ones who did would wave and shout at them from across the river. As Riley toiled under the brutal sun to build the fort, he recognized his comrades, not two hundred yards away. “Come join us, fellas!” they yelled. “The Mexicans are treatin’ us as friends!” The Yanks raised their muskets, but Taylor had ordered men shot only in the act of desertion, not after. So they focused their anger on the foreigners in their ranks — the punishments escalated, and, in turn, so did the desertions. The Negro slaves the Yanke e officers had brought to cook and wait on them soon joined the trend to swim south. Mexican abolition laws made them free as soon as they set foot across the river. General Taylor ordered round - the - clock work on the field fort, and Riley and his team on the fatigue details labored day and night. When the redoubt was finished, the walls held four cannons, 18 - pounders, which gleamed in the sunlight as they aimed at the city. One gun pointed straight at the Mexican general’s headquarters. Ignoring his sore limbs and sunburned skin, Riley carried on. But Engineer Captain Mansfield’s grueling orders pushed some to the brink. Five of the men on fatigue duty, driven by exhaustion, deserted in broad daylight. They tossed their shovels aside and threw themselves into the Río Grande. Before the pickets could raise their muskets to shoot, four were pulled underwater and didn’t surface again. The fifth was shot down as soon as he emerged on the other side. Riley saw Maloney’s and Sullivan’s eyes widen in horror as they worked a few paces from him up on the parapets of the fort. Riley wanted to say, You see the danger now? He took his eyes off the dead man and studied the additional sandbag barriers and earthworks the Mexicans had thrown up the night previous. By now, their emplacements contained several cannons that pointed straight at the camp. But thus far, their guns had remained silent. A rumor was afloat in
the camp that the Mexicans were waiting for reinforcements. If that was true, Riley realized they were losing their opportunity since the Yankee army grew more entrenched with each passing day, and General Taylor had plenty of time to strengthen his ranks. Riley was surprised when Mexican soldiers appeared on the other side of the river, accompanied by a priest, and proceeded to bury the deserter who had been shot down. “ Fidelium animae, per misericordiam Dei, requiescant in pace. Amen ...” The Latin prayer was carried over to him by the breeze, and he savored the familiar words. The proper burial heartened him too. “The Mexicans are our brethren,” Maloney said, coming to stand next to Riley. “If we die there, we’ll at least die as Catholics.” “And as traitors,” Riley said. “Or heroes,” Sullivan shot back, coming to join them. Riley glanced up the river at the Mexican colors flying from their commander’s headquarters. In the two armies he’d served, officers had never treated outsiders as friends, much less as equals. Why would the Mexicans be any different? “Quiet, Micks. And back to work!” Captain Mansfield yelled from down below. Riley did as he was told, but he pondered what Sullivan said about heroes. He remembered his uncle back home, who’d joined the Ribbonmen, a secret society that fought against the Irish tenant farmer’s miserable conditions. Riley remembered the day the redc oats captured them and hanged them from the gallows. He had been only nine when he gazed up at his uncle dangling from the rope, raindrops sliding down him like tears. That’s what happens to heroes , Riley thought. April 1846 Rancho Los Mesteños, Río Bravo The village was burning all around them, yet she wouldn’t leave. Though the smoke stung her eyes, and her lungs screamed for air, she remained by his side watching as he took his last breaths. She tried pushing down on his chest to stem the flow, but his b lood se eped through her fingers, an unstoppable river of red. Fire, blood, fear, all choking her. Don’t die, Joaquín, don’t leave me! A building collapsed nearby, then another, and soon his body succumbed as well. In his lifeless eyes, she could see across the months, the years, everything that was to come. “Mijita, wake up, wake up.”
Ximena bolted awake drenched in sweat, choking down a scream. Nana Hortencia was shaking her, pulling her into her arms, soothing her. The old woman smelled of raw earth, of wild herbs and sweet acacia blooms quivering in the balmy breeze, her voice as soft and gentle as the murmur of an arroyo. Ximena clung to her grandmother and breathed her in. Closing her eyes, she listened to the thump - thump - thump of her own heart. She concentrated on taking a de ep breath, and then another, until slowly the pressure in her chest subsided and the acrid smell of smoke and blood faded away. “Was it the same dream?” Ximena nodded, still feeling the weight of her dead husband in her arms. She’d been having the same dream for several nights now, ever since Joaquín had gone off with Juan Cortina. But never before had the image been so vivid, the blood so real.