A Ballad of Love and Glory(70)
Her sarcasm made his smile vanish, and in his eyes appeared the familiar flash of rage and indignation. But then, to her surprise, a certain sadness registered on his face. It was so unexpected—his naked sorrow—that she forced herself to apologize to him. He said nothing, and she thought that perhaps he hadn’t heard her apology. His eyes had a faraway look to them, lost in a bitter memory.
As she dressed his wound, he watched her in silence, and she wondered if her words had upset him. Losing a limb was a deeply traumatic experience, she knew, and she reprimanded herself for her rude remark. Her grandmother would have been disappointed in her behavior. This was no way for a healer to behave. This man brings out the worst in me, Nana.
“My leg is no longer interred,” Santa Anna said at last.
She looked up at him. “Where is it?”
“Vanished. Right before I was forced to go into exile in Cuba, the mob in the capital took it out of its tomb, dragged it through the city streets in protest. Imagine, having the limb I lost so gloriously in service to my country treated in that manner. And it wasn’t just my leg that received such treatment, but my statue, my theater, robbed and defiled, my portraits burned! They would’ve pecked my eyes out, had I let them.”
Two years before, after he’d made a mess of the country, he had been overthrown. Joaquín had talked about it for weeks, asking Ximena to read to him every newspaper article that covered the revolt in the capital. Santa Anna had tried to regain control of the government, but it was too late. The revolt couldn’t be stopped. The people, fed up with the oppressive conditions he had them living under, protested and rioted in the streets, not just in the capital but in other cities, including in his home state of Vera Cruz. The president-general was captured while trying to escape and thrown in prison for months before being exiled.
“Well, it doesn’t matter now. Fortune turned its back on me in ’44, but it has smiled upon me again,” he said, his somber mood suddenly lifting. “The people have thrown the city gates open to me once more and have hailed me as their savior. My return to the capital was a day of celebration. I wish that you’d been there to witness how the people entrusted the destiny of Mexico to me, how they saluted me again with the title of Soldier of the People! And look at me now—se?ora Ximena—I have been reelected as president of this great republic!”
Yes, he was back in power. Somehow, he’d gone from being the most hated man in Mexico, deposed and exiled, to being president again and the commander-in-chief of the Army of Liberation. She wondered how he had pulled that off. How did he get past the blockades the Yanquis set up in Vera Cruz? How did he take back the reins of the Mexican government, with the support of the same political and military rivals that had imprisoned and exiled him? How did he get the masses that had so gleefully dragged his limb across the public streets to hail him once again as their liberator and president? Could the rumors of his secret dealings with the Yanquis possibly be true?
Ximena knew he could see the questions in her eyes, but he didn’t answer them. He puffed up his chest and gloated instead. For a second, she almost expected him to crow.
26
January 1847
San Luis Potosí
7, Sep’ 1846
Dear beloved husband,
I pray that this letter reaches you wherever you may be in that far land. I think too many of me letters seem to have miscarried. I received your remitance, which we were verry much wanting afther we ate our last potato. It soothed my sowl to know God has spared you and kept you safe, a stór. We are doing our best to keep going, but life is getting harder and harder. It looks like the praties are rotting in the fields again, God help us. Scarcely a house has escaped the hunger or the terrible faver. There are dead lying in homes, in the ditches, in the fields, and everyone is too hungry and weak to bury them. And you couldn’t believe the stench of it all, John. Anyone who has the means to escape is laving. My dear frind Molly and her family jist up and left and went over to America a few days ago, widout even a farewell. I pray that you can send for us soon, a stór. Mammy and Daddy talk about us going to the workhouse. We oughtn’t to do that! They would take Johnny from me, sure enough. We would all be separated. At laist for now, thanks to you, we still have a roof over our heads and a bit of food in our bellies. What you send keeps us alive, but most important, it keeps us still together. I regret not having betther tidings from home. Sometimes I’m afeard God has left us widout Him. I know it isn’t thrue. God is good, and I must have faith.
I remain your loving wife,
Nelly
The letter had arrived at the cathedral in late December. Riley hadn’t received new correspondence from his wife since Matamoros, but he suspected, even before she’d confirmed this to be true, that whatever letters she’d sent since had been lost. Her words weighed on him, but he found comfort in knowing that at least his letters were reaching her, and most important, the remittances. At times of crisis, the price of food was inflated to outrageous amounts and money was needed more than ever. He finished his next letter to her just when marching orders were given, and once again sent her everything he could. With a heavy heart, Riley prepared himself to do his soldier’s duty, hoping that this would be the last campaign. Mexico needed to win this next battle. Then he could finally have the land that was promised him, and he could send for his loved ones.