Apalachee

CHAPTER ELEVEN

tance. Then Carlos strode away to join the others, Pedro standing still and watching him go. When they were almost out of sight, Carlos looked back, barely able to make out the overseer’s form in the gathering darkness. ‘‘Señor!’’ he called. ‘‘Here is your whip!’’ And he hurled it away as far as he could into a dark field of weeds. 90 chapter eleven As he walked among the people in the meadow by the town, Father Juan felt strengthened by the night’s festivities, by the laughter and the dancing and the plentitude of summer. It was the Feast of Saints John and Peter, and his Indians were celebrating with as much joy and revelry as he had ever seen among Spaniards in the streets of Seville. It was good to be up from his bed. He felt better than he had in months. Perhaps good health was returning at last. He stood and watched the dancing, the women shuffle-stepping in their circle around the fire, themselves encircled by the men, who were led by a dancer in a bear mask. The unpleasantness of the spring had passed without lasting damage. The workers had returned sullen from Velasco’s ranch, but he had shortened the workday in the mission fields to make it up to them, and everything soon settled down again. There still were too few people in the mission, but he hoped that the deserters would eventually return. Only Carlos remained a pain in his heart. He had changed and Juan did not know him anymore. Why was he keeping to himself and refusing to attend Mass? He would not even come to the convento when bidden. The only hopeful thing about him was that he did not desert, and so perhaps with time he would come around. Juan would certainly take him back, there was no question of that. Carlos was still his best hope for the future. The priest moved to the table where the feast was laid. Half the food had already been consumed, but still there was enough to last through the night and into the following day. He picked at the roast pig and dipped a piece of it into a dish of peach sauce and ate it contentedly, licking his fingers and searching the table for another treat. A distant shout went up from the stockade announcing a rider on the road. Someone coming late to the festival , thought Juan, and he picked up an ear of corn, sweet from the fields. Before long, Don Patricio appeared at his side. ‘‘Look at this feast,’’ Juan said to him proudly. ‘‘Who would know the setbacks this mission has seen? Our Lady watches over us even in adversity. What more proof would a pagan need to turn his eyes to God?’’ ‘‘We have new trouble,’’ the chief said gravely. Juan’s ebullience began to fade. ‘‘Don’t tell me unless it is important,’’ he said. ‘‘Save it for tomorrow.’’ ‘‘Forgive me, Father, but it cannot wait. Solana has sent word from San Luı́s. The enemy has returned. They have destroyed the missions at Patale and Aspalaga. Solana is going out with his forces to meet them at Patale to keep them back from the ranches at San Luı́s. He sends for me to come immediately with my warriors. The four soldiers from the stockade are to come as well.’’ Juan put down the ear of corn in his hand, feeling no surprise, no sudden panic. It was as if he had known this all along. ‘‘So the missions at Patale and Aspalaga are gone,’’ he said. ‘‘We are the only ones left. This place and San Luı́s.’’ ‘‘I will call my men together,’’ said Don Patricio. ‘‘We will leave at once.’’ ‘‘I will come with you,’’ said Juan, wiping his hands on his robe. ‘‘No, you must not, Father,’’ said Don Patricio. ‘‘You are not well enough.’’ ‘‘Who are you to say if I am well?’’ snapped Juan. ‘‘Call out your men. And have Lorenzo saddle me a horse.’’ Don Patricio bowed his head. ‘‘Yes, Father.’’ ‘‘You foolish man,’’ Ana said angrily, pushing Juan roughly from the door. ‘‘You should be in bed, and here you say you go to war. What craziness is this?’’ ‘‘Don’t push me, Ana!’’ Juan said fiercely, grabbing her hard by her wrist. ‘‘I’ll do what I must.’’ Tears came into her eyes and she pulled at her arm...