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Interestingly, the US denied the battalion’s existence for several decades. Perhaps to downplay the high number of desertions during the war, especially of the immigrants in its ranks who were mistreated by nativist officers. Perhaps to avoid drawing attention to the largest mass hanging in US history, which took place in September 1847 in Mexico City.

Not much of Riley’s personal story is known since parish records in Ireland were destroyed in a fire. What is known is that he left a son behind in Ireland, and perhaps a wife. And that he sent money home. This story was familiar to me. My own father had immigrated to the US, leaving his wife and three children behind in Mexico. He came to this country for the same reasons I imagined Riley had—to find a way to help his family escape grinding poverty and give them a better life. In the 1840s, the Irish were the least desirable group of immigrants, dehumanized and reviled—much as Latino immigrants are today. I realized I did have a personal connection to Riley, even if we came from different cultures and historical eras. So, one day, I wrote a scene from Riley’s point of view. Then I wrote another. To capture his voice and honor his cultural roots, I did extensive research, read nineteenth-century Irish literature and diaries, consulted with Irish historians, and visited Riley’s hometown of Clifden in County Galway.

Researching the war, I came upon John Greenleaf Whittier’s poem, “The Angels of Buena Vista,” about a Mexican woman named Ximena who tends the wounded from both sides on the battlefield. I was intrigued by this woman. Who was she? How did she end up on that battlefield? Who and what did she lose in the war? Through Ximena, I wanted to honor the Mexican “soldaderas”—wives, mothers, daughters—who followed their men into battle to serve as cooks, laundresses, and nurses, and, when the need arose, even took up arms alongside their men. That Ximena becomes a soldadera herself was my way of acknowledging the contributions and sacrifices these courageous women made on behalf of Mexico. Because I had very little to go on, Ximena proved to be the most challenging character to render, and yet, her voice became the most important in the novel. It was through her experiences that I felt, in every fiber of my being, the gravity of the moment: the loss, the struggle to survive, the desire to defend home and country against invaders, the fierce determination to save Mexico’s Irish heroes from the gallows, especially the man she loves.

In the US, the soldiers of the Saint Patrick’s Battalion were viewed as traitors and renegades, but in Mexico, they are heroes and martyrs. This novel is a song of love and mourning dedicated to these brave sons of Erin, and to Mexico, a country devoured.

Thank you for reading A Ballad of Love and Glory, for joining Ximena, John Riley, and the Saint Patrick’s Battalion in their fight for freedom, honor, and love.





Acknowledgments


This novel was a first for me: my first historical fiction, my first attempt to write outside of my culture and gender, my first exploration into telling an immigrant story outside of my own experience. I confess that every time I sat down at my desk to write, I did so full of anxiety and fear. Had I set myself up for failure? Did I really have it in me to tell this story? Thankfully, I had my troops around me, ready to fight this battle alongside me.

First and foremost, I would like to thank my second-in-command, my husband, Cory Rayala, for the endless hours of listening to me brainstorm ideas, and then the tedious hours of copyediting that followed. Thank you for encouraging me, for believing in my ability to tell this story even when I did not.

I am grateful to my incredible agent, Johanna Castillo, for having my back and supporting me every step of the way. I have so much gratitude for everyone at Atria: my editor, Michelle Herrera Mulligan; the Atria team—especially Alejandra Rocha, Maudee Genao, and Gena Lanzi—and everyone behind the scenes who helped bring this novel forth into the world. And a special thanks to Edward Benítez, my editor at HarperCollins Espa?ol, who is bringing this story to readers in my native tongue.

My deepest gratitude to Elaine Colchie for her careful edits and for sticking with me to the end. To Leslie Schwartz for her guidance and wisdom. To Cathal Smith for his invaluable help and deep knowledge of Irish language, culture, and history, and Pedro Chávez for his insights into Texas and his assistance in research and fact-checking.

The rest of my battalion is composed of all my friends, colleagues, teachers, and early readers, whose insightful feedback made this novel better than I dreamed it could be: Diana Savas, María del Toro, Ben Carson, Rigoberto González, Jesse Donaldson, Paco Cantú, Norma Cantú, Micah Perks, Julissa Arce, Macarena Hernández, Jeff Biggers, María Amparo Escandón, Michael Hogan, Breandan O Scanaill, Yareli Arizmendi, Jessica Garrison, Yaccaira de la Torre, Connie Biewald, Monica Tejeda, Robin McDuff, Michael Nava, and Carol Ruxton. Thanks to Yvette Benavides, Rosie Castro, Jesus de la Teja, Joie Davidow, and ire’ne lara silva for fact-checking some excerpts and answering my questions.

I would also like to give a special thanks to the Rowland Writers Retreat for giving me a room to work in and feeding me delicious meals. I will always treasure those ten days in Aurora full of writing, friendship, and beautiful views. I’m grateful to the Under the Volcano Writing Residency and the Macondo Writers Workshop for giving me a place where I could connect with others when writing got lonely. A big shout-out to all the Volcanistas and Macondistas who read a chapter of this novel during workshop and to my workshop leaders, Valeria Luiselli, Carla Trujillo, Ruth Behar, and Sandra Cisneros.