A Ballad of Love and Glory(61)
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When he was dismissed, Riley headed to the Temple of Our Lady del Carmen a few blocks distant, made of Mexican cantera stone that glowed pink in the afternoon sun. Ximena had taken to praying there in the afternoons, and though his schedule rarely allowed him time to join her, that day, he was desperate to see her. He wanted her to be the first to hear the news of his meeting with Santa Anna.
As he traversed the plaza fronting the palace, he fancied himself there with Ximena, listening to the ballads being played by the musicians on the kiosk, the Spanish lyrics a string of sighs. Men and women out for a stroll dressed in their elegant finery greeted him—the dons, in their embroidered jackets, tipped their broad-brimmed hats at him; the do?as lowered their lacy fans to reward him with a smile. “Buenas tardes, teniente,” they said.
“Buenas tardes,” Riley responded. Even after all these months, he was still shocked at how the Mexican aristocrats treated him. Previously, a man like him knew only scorn and disdain from the higher classes, but now he found himself being treated like a human being. And it wasn’t for his skills, he knew that. Mexico was a land where skin ranged in colors, from the deepest brown to the palest pink. He’d not seen anything like it. His fair skin and blue eyes had never afforded him either privileges or admiration before.
He passed the busy cafés, fondas, and shops. Unlike the Río Grande region, this old city, surrounded by mountains with gold and silver mines and a population of sixty thousand souls, had pleasant weather year-round and, best of all, no dreadful humidity. This is why Riley was not surprised to see the streets teeming with people. As he stood before the doors of the temple, stone angels hovered above him, carved into the intricate facade. He entered the temple and was at once overwhelmed by the ornate gilded retablos rising high above him, the decorated pulpits, and the glassy eyes of saints watching him from their pedestals. He wasn’t used to so much opulence and grandeur. For a moment, he missed the humble chapel in Clifden, whose stone walls were covered in moss, not gold leaf.
Making the sign of the cross, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness inside before searching for Ximena among the kneeling figures. Silently, he made his way to the front until he spotted her before the golden altar of the Virgin. Like all Mexican women, she wore a long shawl over her shoulders, and her black hair was woven into an intricate braid that wrapped over her head like a crown. Not wanting to disturb her, he knelt a few paces behind, but she must have sensed him staring at her, because she turned around and her eyes widened in surprise.
“John!” she said, a little too loudly. Her voice—his name—echoing against the golden walls of the church. She blushed, and he could tell she’d forgotten where she was. Methinks the lass is happy to see the likes of you, Seán ó Raghallaigh, he thought, and despite himself, he grinned like a lovesick schoolboy.
“I beg pardon for distractin’ you from your prayers,” he whispered.
“You aren’t,” she said. “I was thinking about Jimmy, about how much he loved to pray.”
“Aye, he was a pious man. A true believer.” Suddenly he no longer wanted to be in there, especially not under the watchful eyes of the saints and Jesus. Though he had not acted upon his longings for Ximena, just having them was sinful enough. “Would you like to take a stroll in the square?”
She nodded, and he offered her his arm as they headed out into the sunny afternoon. A flock of doves was circling above the church. Riley took in the beauty of the temple domes, with their tiles of blue, green, yellow, and white glinting under the Mexican sky.
“It’s a beautiful church, isn’t it?” Ximena asked as they walked toward the plaza. More people were coming out now to enjoy the afternoon breeze.
“Aye, ’tis truly magnificent, but even more impressive is the cathedral yonder,” he said, pointing to the Catedral Metropolitana just a block away. “I’ve never seen so many majestic churches in my life. Nay, I have never seen so many churches, to be sure!”
“You do not have in Ireland?”
“Many of our ancient churches and temples were destroyed and defiled. And several of our cathedrals were stolen from us by the Protestant sassenachs during the Reformation.” He told her about the Penal Laws against Catholics, and how it’d been only seventeen years since the last of them were ended by the great Daniel O’Connell’s campaign for Catholic Emancipation. With the Irish people stripped of their rights and persecuted for practicing their faith, not many large stone places of worship had been built until recently. “But one day, I hope, the Green Isle can once again become a land of cathedrals, shrines, and convents, just like Mexico. And be restored to its days of glory.”
“I pray for it, John.”
He took his eyes off the cathedral and turned to look at Ximena. “I had a meetin’ with General Santa Anna, lass. He’s givin’ me my own company—the Saint Patrick’s Battalion. I’ll be fightin’ under my own banner now!”
Ximena listened attentively as he relayed the details of the meeting, but he could tell she had reservations.
“Are you not pleased for me?”
“Perdón. I do not wish to ruin your happiness. To have your own company is important to you, I know, and you deserve it. But be careful with Santa Anna. Do not sacrifice your honor for him.”