Shame the Stars Read online

  “No. I do. I do understand,” I said. “You want to be free to explore the world on your terms. But what would you have me do? Forget about you while you travel all over the world in search of adventures?”

  “No, of course not. I just want you to remember that I have free will too.” The dimples on her cheeks deepened as she smiled up at me. “Let’s just promise we’ll always respect each other’s dreams.”

  “Of course!” I said.

  A loud knock on my bedroom door jolted me out of the bittersweet memory. It had been months since I’d been able to see Dulceña at school. I rushed across the room and grabbed my hat.

  My mother called out from the hall, her voice concerned, “Joaquín? Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Yes.” I dug my left boot out from under the bed and slipped it on.

  “Your food is getting cold,” she said as I opened the door and squeezed past her, kissing her temple before I hurried off.

  Our two young maids, Sofia and Laura, approached me as they carried fresh linens up the stairs. Wondering if either one of them had anything to do with the letter tucked safely inside my pocket, I made eye contact with each of them. Their eyes glistened and their faces flushed brightly. Embarrassed, I hugged the wall, making way for them. They glanced at each other and then rushed up to the second floor, giggling.

  On the first floor, Doña Luz went into the dining room with a fresh pot of coffee. I didn’t think she had anything to do with Dulceña’s secret letter. She couldn’t have gotten away so fast that I wouldn’t have seen her in the hall. No. I would have to wait for another day to figure out how the letters were getting to me. I wasn’t too worried about it. I was just glad someone was on our side.

  As it turned out, the letter would have to stay in my pocket longer than expected that day. Before we were even done with our desayuno, the first and most important meal of a working man’s day, Manuel came into the dining room and announced that someone was waiting to speak to Papá.

  My father put his fork down on his plate and asked, “Well, who is it, Man? What do they want?”

  “It’s Captain Munro, Patrón. He says he needs to talk to Gerardo.”

  “Flora’s boy?” Mamá handed the pot of atole to Doña Luz, who hurried out of the room with it like it was on fire. “What in heaven’s name for?”

  “Let me take care of this,” Papá said, wiping his mouth and putting the napkin beside his plate before getting up.

  I pushed back my chair and walked quietly behind my father until we were standing side by side on the porch. Captain Munro had dismounted and was standing next to two other Rangers. I didn’t recognize them, so I figured they must be new to his company. Because of the rebellion, Munro’s company had grown exponentially. Most of the new men were sent to him through the ranks. Others, however, were handpicked from among his friends. Consequently, a lot of his men didn’t have any military training. Their only qualifications were their animosity for Mexican bandits and their willingness to do whatever Munro said without question.

  “What’s going on, Munro?” Papá stepped down and shook the captain’s hand. “I hear you want to talk to one of my workers?”

  Munro nodded. “I need to have a word with Gerardo Gutierrez. We have reason to believe he was involved in an incident at the sugar mill late last night.”

  “An incident?” Papá asked. “What kind of incident?”

  “A group of Mexican revolutionaries crossed the river into Texas last night. They met up with a group of tejano rebels in Hidalgo County and then headed this way intent on burning down our mill. What they thought they were accomplishing, God only knows, but we have witnesses that say Gerardo was involved.” Munro took a toothpick out of his shirt pocket and rolled it between his fingertips, like he wasn’t sure whether to pick his teeth.

  “Gerardo wouldn’t want to burn down the mill,” my father replied. “Those Mexican revolutionaries are trying to gain notoriety, to call attention to their working conditions as laborers down there in Mexico and up here. But Gerardo has nothing to gain from that. He has a good life here at Las Moras, where he gets a fair day’s pay for his work.” Papá put his hand on the porch rail and leaned against it gently while Munro waited for him to finish his thought. “Gerardo doesn’t strike me as the type to run around with revolu­tionaries. Sure, he’s young, his ideals might be a little muddled, but a rebel? No. I don’t think so.”

  “Well, he was at Colonia Calaveras at dawn, drunk and disorderly, talking about hanging out at the mill last night with a gang of rebels and even having the protection of La Estrella,” Munro said. “I’d say he and I have a lot to talk about.”

  Papá sighed. He sounded tired, almost defeated, as he turned to Manuel and said, “Go get Gerardo. We’ll get to the bottom of this right now.”

  “I’m not sure you understand, Ace.” Munro licked his thin lips and smiled grimly, making his leathery skin stretch taut across his gaunt cheekbones. It made me think of a pit viper or a copperhead, all coiled up and ready to strike. “I’m not here to work this out with you and Gerardo. He’s coming with us.”

  “So it’s settled then. There’s no way around it?” Papá pressed his lips together as he waited for Munro to confirm his intentions. “This is a bit much, don’t you think? Do you even have an arrest warrant?”

  Munro didn’t answer my father. He just fixed those strange golden eyes of his on Manuel and said, “Just make sure he brings his horse. Unless he wants to walk all the way back to the station.”

  It didn’t take but a few minutes to get Gerardo. He’d heard about Munro’s visit and was halfway up to the main house when Manuel caught sight of him. Together, Gerardo and Doña Flora, our laundress, walked up to our porch. His two younger brothers were trailing behind them while Manuel followed them all, leading Gerardo’s saddled horse.

  Munro tipped his hat at Doña Flora, saying, “I’m sorry to have to do this in front of your other niños, señora, but the law’s the law.” Then Munro turned away and waved to the two other Rangers, who seized Gerardo and handcuffed him.

  Doña Flora screamed and cried when Munro’s men reached for Gerardo’s forearms and began to cuff his wrists together. Gerardo said, “Son, for your illicit activities at the mill last night, publicly proclaiming yourself a rebel and disturbing the peace in Morado County, I am placing you under arrest.”

  For his part, Gerardo didn’t resist. He just stuck out his chest, spit on the ground right in front of Munro, and said, “Yeah, I was at Colonia Calaveras early this morning. But I was there to see my girl, Apolonia. I wasn’t disturbing no peace.”

  “Who else was with you up at the mill last night?” Munro asked.

  Gerardo frowned. His mouth twisted sideways into a wry smile. Then he shook his head and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about you and your compañeros trying to blow up the mill. Who else was there? Who was with you?” Munro demanded, pushing Gerardo in the chest until he stepped back from Munro.

  “That wasn’t me,” Gerardo insisted. “I told you. I was at Calaveras with my girl. How could I be at the mill if I was with her all night?” He stared Munro down with hooded eyes, avoiding Doña Flora’s increasingly worried expression. The charges were much worse than him spending a night out with Apolonia, but his mother couldn’t have been happy to hear about it. Good girls, girls from decent families, were always chaperoned, and everyone knew Apolonia Morales had no mother or female relative to enforce that social rule.

  One of the deputies behind Gerardo shoved him forward. “What about all this nonsense about La Estrella?” he growled.

  “Well, La Estrella — ” Gerardo started to speak, but then he stopped and looked up at my father like he wasn’t sure he should answer the question. Papá stared him down the way he used to stare me or Tomás down when we were young and we stepped out of line. It was
very intimidating, and I could only hope Gerardo knew how much trouble he was in, not just with the law but also with my father, who didn’t put up with nonsense from anyone. My mother, however, pulled on her shawl and hugged herself more tightly with it, turning her head sideways. It was clear Mamá didn’t know what to say that might help Gerardo, whose eyes were gleaming. “La Estrella is the protector of the people,” Gerardo said softly as the Rangers leaned in to listen. “It doesn’t matter if they’re Mexican or tejano. She helps everyone.”

  Munro cleared his throat, spit on the ground beside him, and spoke to Gerardo again, “And you’re not afraid to be associated with Mexican bandits or tejano rebels and charged with treason?”

  “There is no crime in speaking her name. Everybody talks about La Estrella.” Gerardo lifted his chin, unafraid to speak about the legendary figure whose nickname had become synonymous with rebellion.

  “La Estrella is a myth — a bedtime story,” I said, stepping forward to stand between Munro and Gerardo. “Nobody really expects her to materialize. She gives the people something to talk about, that’s all. Gerardo didn’t mean anything by it. He was probably just trying to impress his girl or something.”

  “La Estrella is real!” Gerardo shouted, his tone passionate. “She’s flesh and blood — as alive as you and me! Someday, Joaquín, you will come to understand why everybody loves her. She’s a hero. She would die for our gente.”

  “M’ijo, por favor. Don’t say things like that,” Doña Flora begged. She reached for her son, but Munro put his hand up to stop her.

  “Son, violent delights have violent deaths. There is nothing more dangerous than idolizing a rebellious woman. I’m sure it feels good to have such a female smile softly at you when you join her cause and conceive and commit crimes in her name, but there are repercussions, muchacho.” Munro took a step back. His golden gaze swept around the small crowd, his tone and expression designed to intimidate all of us. “La Estrella is a fugitive. She has a price on her head. Anyone who aligns themselves with her will answer to me. The looting and vandalism that sympathizers and insurgents get up to in other counties doesn’t go on here. I will not allow you to disrupt the order that my men and I have worked so hard to establish!”

  Gerardo lifted his head and took in the same crowd as Munro. His mother was crying into a pañuelo she had pulled out of her apron, while his little brothers clung to her skirt behind her. My parents were standing together beside me by then. Mamá had come down from the porch and threaded her arm around my father’s while Munro ranted about La Estrella. The campesinos who’d drifted up from the barn, wondering in fear at what the Rangers were doing, hung their heads and shuffled their feet in silence. Our maids, Sofia and Laura, peeked out from the house windows, terror gleaming in their bright eyes. “What?” Gerardo asked, turning back to Munro. “Are you going to arrest everyone who admires La Estrella? Then you’re going to need a lot more men.”

  “I’ve heard enough.” Grabbing Gerardo’s shoulder, Munro turned him around and shoved him at his men. The Rangers put Gerardo on his horse and rode away, leading the animal by its reins as the cuffed young man gripped his saddle horn uncomfortably.

  The lawmen weren’t even out of sight before Doña Flora was gripping Papá’s arm, begging him to help Gerardo. “Please, please,” she kept saying. “You have to do something. They’re going to kill him like they did his father! Please, Patrón. You have to help him!”

  Doña Flora had come to Las Moras six months ago, begging for shelter after her husband was killed in Cameron County by Rangers who acted more like vigilantes than lawmen. With her husband gone, she’d taken on the task of raising her sons alone, working harder than most any other woman at Las Moras. During the day, she laundered our clothes and linens at the main house and the servants’ quarters. And on the way home, she went out to the field house to collect laundry from our campesinos when they came in from working the sugarcane fields in the evenings.

  “There’s nothing I can do right now, señora.” Papá shook his head. “Munro has a job to do. He has to uphold the law. He has Gerardo’s own careless words to use against him, and God knows that’s enough evidence to convict anyone these days. No lawyer in Monteseco would dare take the case. Not now.”

  I felt sorry for Gerardo’s mother as she hung her head. “They’re going to kill him. I just know they’re going to kill him.” Her shoulders began to shake then, softly at first, then more and more vigorously. It broke my heart, and I wanted to turn away and go back in the house because I knew Papá was right. There was nothing we could do right now.

  “Go home, señora. Go home and take care of your other children. The best thing we can do right now is wait. The law’s the law, and we have to let these things take their natural course. I’ll go into town and post bail for him on Monday. Trust me, Gerardo will have his day in court. Munro has always taken care of us,” Papá said. Then, because the rest of the men were standing around gawking, he addressed them too. “Let’s get back to work. We have a cattle drive to prepare for.”

  Even though I wished things hadn’t turned out that way, that Papá hadn’t been powerless to help Gerardo right there and then, nobody expected him to interfere with the law. It would only get him arrested too. Letting Munro take Gerardo that morning was best for us and also for Las Moras. Papá would do the right thing come Monday morning. Even if he had to hire a lawyer out of Edinburg, he’d take care of Gerardo.

  “Let’s go!” Manuel said, waving the men to the stockyard. “You heard the boss. Back to work, everyone.”

  As the men and women went their separate ways, I couldn’t help but be angry at Gerardo for putting his family through this. I didn’t disapprove of his sneaking out to see Apolonia. I was guilty of sneaking out to see Dulce ña myself. No. It was his rebel mouth that infuriated me. It was reckless to run around town shooting his mouth off about La Estrella. Everyone who worked for us knew about her, whispered her name in awe, but never in public, and never to Munro’s face. If I’d been Gerardo’s older brother, I would have given him a fat lip for putting Doña Flora and her boys through this misery. But Gerardo was nineteen, a year older than me, and he wasn’t my brother.

  In a way, I was lucky my brother was a priest. At least neither he nor I were ever going to break Mamá’s heart.

  Letter from Dulceña, Friday, August 20, 1915

  J —

  ¡Cómo te extraño!

  I miss giggling and clinging to your arm as I did when we would walk in your mother’s garden with her faint footsteps following close behind because our parents were still friends. I miss the sound of your voice quietly reading poetry to me. I miss twirling the silky softness of your blond locks around the tip of my index finger as I listened.

  So much has been taken from us. We are but wooden marionettes, you and I, dangling from precarious strings, tangled up in the cruel conspiracies and political plots of devious men — dancing to the tune of their whims, permanent smiles painted on our faces while we waltz around in circles!

  The moon is fading fast, mi amor, and I can’t help but wonder — will I see you at the masquerade tonight? Mateo and Fito already have invitations. Now, so do you and I.

  Te amo,

  — D

  Chapter 2

  Alone in my room that afternoon, I opened the envelope from Dulceña. Inside I found a brief letter and an invitation to Lupita’s quinceañera taking place later that night at the dance hall in the town square. I must have read and reread the letter from Dulceña a dozen times. My heart beat wildly against my chest at the passionate tone of her written words.

  After reading it yet again, I laid it beside me on the bed and skimmed through the invitation she had enclosed with it. Addressed to Romeo del Toro, the invitation gave specifics for attending the themed party with a masque ball in place of a regular baile. I was to pick up my mask when I presented my invitation at the door.
That seemed simple enough.

  Mateo and Fito had talked about going to the party for days, but I hadn’t been interested then. Now I would have to send word with either Sofia or Laura for my friends to wait and not leave without me. It would put my mother at ease to know I wouldn’t be going into town alone.

  After sending Mateo and Fito a message, I bathed and put on my best clothes, and even threw on the slim black tie I wore to church on Sundays. As I combed my hair in front of the mirror, I wondered what could be so important that it would make Dulceña take such a risk as to ask for us meet in public. Even if there were masks involved, we wouldn’t have the freedom to talk alone. We’d be lucky if we got in a dance or two without her parents figuring out it was me behind the mask. Although they hadn’t been able to stop us from speaking to each other at school, they wouldn’t condone our socializing at a baile. Not without a formal apology from my father for the way he had treated them two years earlier.

  By the time I went downstairs, my parents were sitting quietly in the parlor. My mother assessed my outfit and asked, “What’s going on, Joaquín? Why are you all dressed up?”

  “I’m going out with Mateo and Fito,” I said, clearing my throat and fussing with the cuff of my new dress shirt.

  “A dónde?” Papá asked, putting aside the magazine he was reading. “Is there some special event going on in town I don’t know about?”

  “Mateo and Fito want me to go into Monteseco with them; a girl they know is turning fifteen. It’s going to be a hell of a quinceañera, from what I understand.” I leaned over and fussed with my boots. I should have polished them, I thought as I scraped a spot of dirt off my left heel with my fingernail. “Mateo’s girlfriend is going to be there,” I continued, straightening up again. “He hasn’t seen Conchita in days, so he really wants us to go to this thing. I’m not really in the mood for a dance; I’m just trying to find something to do to take my mind off everything.”