March 1504
Almost two years had passed since Hernan’s brush with death. In those two years he managed to heal himself. And more important, he matured. No longer the brash youth, he now thought before he acted. Applying himself in positive ways, he helped his father manage the vineyards and mill. Acquired a knowledge of his own strengths and shortcomings. He became less impatient with others.
The incident at the Ortega hacienda had been graciously excused by the Ortega family. Since they had been away at the time, no serious dishonor to anyone had occurred. They even went so far as to convey get-well wishes to Hernan.
His rowdiness and womanizing curtailed. He looked forward to the only thing that really mattered now. The New World! The passion he felt for the New World, still burned in him. Still persisted in his longing to experience all the wonders and treasures this strange new land possessed.
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Again able to convince his parents that his future lie in the New World. They, after much hand wringing and arguing, agreed to let him go. His father again booked passage for him on one of the treasure ships leaving for Santo Domingo, sometime in June.
Happy and content, Hernan looked forward to the quest he had so often dreamed of.
In contrast to Hernan’s happiness, Diego was morose.
Unhappy while Hernan was convalescing, he moped about while Hernan was getting better. Now that Hernan had completely recovered, he perked up somewhat. Although his parents and Hernan still felt something was deeply troubling him.
Diego thought he was unhappy because Hernan was leaving in a few months. Leaving for a land far away, totally inaccessible to himself. But if he closely examined his feelings, he knew the true reason for his despair. It was Tia Francisca’s conversation with his uncle! A conversation that he inadvertently heard, while visiting in Cordoba.
Now he constantly refused to visit his aunt and uncle. He was not angry with them, just confused. What had they meant when they spoke of: The Convent of Santa Maria de Los Ninos. Diego’s mother, Elena de San Miguel!
Sitting at the patio table, the cloudy cool, spring sunshine barely warming him, Diego again tried to make sense of what he had heard that evening so long ago in Cordoba.
His mother was Eva Cortes de Monroy, she had never, to his knowledge, ever resided in a convent. Who was Elena de San Miguel?
“Hola, hombre. What are you doing sitting like a little old woman in the sun,” Hernan called out to Diego, interrupting his thoughts. “Papa wants me to go to the mill,” Hernan continued.
“He said it would do you good to come along, and I agree.
Mama packed something for us to eat and drink, we’ll picnic after.”
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“Hernan, has Mama ever lived in a convent?” Diego suddenly asked without thinking.
“Mama in a convent! What crazy talk is this? Come on, let’s get the horses.”
“But, Hernan…”
Lifting his brother from his seat by the scruff of his neck, a puzzled Hernan interrupted Diego, saying, “Let’s get started, Diego. You’re not making any sense. Mama has never lived in a convent.”
Not wanting to irritate his brother, Diego silently followed him to the stables.
Saddling the horses, they began the short trip to the mill, following the narrow track which skirted the olive grove. The weather had gotten better, the sun warmer, the clouds decreasing.
The mill itself was about two miles away. It had been part of the Cortes hacienda for the last fifty years. Besides providing for the Corteses’ flour needs, the mill also provided milling services for the two or three other local haciendas.
Riding at a leisurely pace enjoying the warming sun, both boys were silent. After about a half-hour, Hernan finally spoke.
“Hermanito, que paso contigo?— Little brother, what’s going on with you? You mope around like a sick old dog, ask strange questions about Mama.”
Diego, realizing he desperately needed to talk with someone, hesitatingly began to answer, then quickly decided. Tell Hernan all, everything.
“Hernan, I want to go with you. I don’t want to be here all alone. And, and…was I born in Medellin, or somewhere else?”
Hernan felt something stir in him. And at the same time was saddened at his brother’s unhappiness. But more important, hearing Diego mention something he had been aware of, but cautioned never to speak of. Hernan became alarmed and alert.
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all. Where had he come from? How, who were his birth parents?
All these facts were unknown to Hernan.
He never really thought about Diego’s background before.
But now witnessing his brother’s sadness, Hernan began thinking. Maybe Diego should be told the truth.
Deciding to wait until they had completed their errand to the mill, which gave him more time to think of what, if anything, to tell Diego, Hernan softly said, “We’ll talk after we are finished at the mill. Then we’ll picnic at the olive grove.”
Diego, sadness beginning to overtake his whole being, just nodded his assent.
Quickly reaching the mill, Hernan found the Head Bracero.
And after a short discussion, he concluded Martine’s business.
Letting the horses rest for a short while, Hernan and Diego started back to the hacienda, silent, deep in their own thoughts.
Reaching the olive grove, Hernan indicated that they would stop, and have their picnic meal. Eating with good appetite, Hernan was enjoying his food. While at the same time considering how much he could reveal to Diego. Maybe I should wait and talk with Papa before I say anything?
Barely eating, Diego’s thoughts were far from food. He was troubled. Fearful that he might have angered Hernan, and sorry he had ever spoken of the matter.
Hernan, finishing his food, decided getting Diego to talk, to speak of what was troubling him, might be his best approach.
Looking at him, he softly asked, “What makes you think that you were not born in Medellin?”
Hearing his brother speak the agonizing question that was torturing him, Diego’s feelings exploded with emotion, and he began to weep.
Sobbing, Diego related what he had overheard in Cordoba, and poured his heart out. Who was Elena de San Miguel? What did she have to do with the Convent of Santa Maria de Los Ninos?
Had he been born there. Did his aunt and uncle know something they were not telling him? Mama, Papa, Quemadoras, Conversos.
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As all of his fears and anxieties poured from Diego. In a deluge of words and sobs, a torrent of emotion flooded his entire being. Emotion that affected Hernan in a way he had never felt before, a powerful impulse to protect, help, and ease Diego’s pain.
“Hermanito— little brother,” Hernan began softly. “There may be some truth in what you are thinking. But I, Mama, Papa have always…” Stopping to consider the consequences of what he was going to tell Diego. The affect it would have, Hernan decided he would reveal all that he knew. “You will always be my brother, Diego. And you must understand, Mama, Papa and I will always love you. No matter who your birth parents were.
You will always be a part of the familia. ”
Explaining to Diego how Juan had brought him to Medellin as a baby, how happy this made Martine and Eva, Diego listened but said nothing, merely stared at Hernan.
Giving no indication he understood any of what he was being told, nor what Hernan had explained, Diego simply mounted his horse and headed for the hacienda.
Calling for him to wait, Hernan quickly gathered up the picnic remains, Mounted his horse and followed Diego home.
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