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A Hill Country Christmas

By Gail Kittleson, Lynn Dean, Shannon McFarland, Gina Lister, Michael Barr

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A Candle in the Window
Una Vela en la Ventana

CUPPING HER HAND around the candle’s flickering glow, Maria Arnold carried the taper from the hearth to the candlestick on the table. Hendrick had carved this treasure for her as a wedding present.
Could that have been just a year ago? Though she was a new bride, she felt like una vieja—an old woman—at twenty-two.
The tiny flame warmed her palm as she waited for three drops of melted wax to drip into the waiting cup. She set the taper in place and held it steady as the wax cooled. Anchored, the candle would be able to stand on its own.
That’s what she needed—an anchor in the whirlwind of events she’d been caught up in. Losing herself for a moment in the candle’s glow, she drew in a calming breath and let it out slowly, determining that she would savor every part of this night.
She placed the candle, burning brightly now, into a pierced tin lantern. She closed and latched the lantern’s door, then carried it to the window facing the calle, carefully centering the light on the adobe windowsill as she cast a glance up and down the street.
The winter sun was setting. Already a chill evening mist swirled, glistening in the candlelight. But still no sign of Hendrick.
“Can you see Papa?” Eight-year-old Harriet, dark like her father, paused with a spoon of borrachos halfway between her bowl and her mouth.
Maria’s heart skipped a beat then raced to catch up as old fears assailed her. She well remembered the night her own father had not come home and the hard and hungry years that had followed. A lump formed in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. With an effort she swallowed it down, willing her voice to betray no concern. “No. Not yet, but he will return soon. Finish your meal.”
She left the wooden shutters open a crack so the light would show through to guide both Hendrick and the wanderers, for soon the children of San José Parish—dressed as angels and shepherds, Mary and Joseph—would begin Las Posadas, wandering the neighborhood streets to commemorate the holy couple’s search for lodging.
This night, December 23rd, marked the eighth night of Las Posadas. On this night, the children would rest from their quest at Hendrick and Maria’s house and receive drinks and treats before resuming their search tomorrow.
Mama had already taken Maria’s half-sisters to the church, but Harriet had stayed to help Maria with the final preparations.
Tomorrow, on la Nochebuena, the pilgrims’ search for lodgings would end at the Mission church where the friars had managed to prepare a star-shaped piñata for the celebration, likely filled with toys and figurines of braided straw and dyed cornhusks. There would be no sweets or candy. Sugar was in short supply since the siege.
“Do you think Papa will let me go to the fiesta de Nochebuena tomorrow?” Harriet’s black eyes sparkled with hope.
“You can ask him when he gets home.”
Maria’s half-sisters were only a few years older than Hendrick’s daughter. Harriet was too young to understand that they were free. She was not.
Hendrick’s parents came to Texas because a marriage between a white man and a black woman was not legal in their home state of Mississippi. In Texas their mother was free, so Hendrick and his brother, Holly, were also free.
But Harriet’s mother was enslaved. That meant Harriet was not only Hendrick’s daughter, she belonged to him. Maria knew Hendrick had plans to free her one day. It wasn’t her place to ask him why he would not do it now.
Plucking baby Juanita from her basket beside the fireplace, Maria wrapped her against the draft from the window and took a seat at the table beside her husband’s daughter. Too anxious to eat, she had just time to nurse her firstborn before their guests arrived.
It was an honor to welcome the wanderers for this one last Christmas in her San Antonio home, even though Maria had difficulty finding the ingredients for pan dulces—buñuelos and conchas—after more than two months of armed occupation.
Never had she imagined that the military forces of her own government would occupy the city of her birth, frightening its peaceful citizens. The streets had been filled with soldados wearing uniforms and carrying guns. With many questions and little information, rumors grew in place of answers, spreading quickly until the people were afraid to leave their homes.
If she had to be a captive, at least she’d been glad to be a captive in her own home—the home she grew up in, the home which now belonged to her.
So many memories here! Her father, God rest his soul, and Mama, remarried now to Papa “Deef,” who had done his best for them, though doing his best involved moving again and again with each new baby, and always to wild open land where he could hunt to feed his family when there was no surveying work. But he never sold Mama’s home in San Antonio. He understood and honored the life she’d begun here.
This home had been Mama’s anchor after her family fled Guanajuato when she was only a little older than Harriet. Mama refused to speak of that time, but Maria’s uncle told her about the day thousands of starving peasants attacked the Spanish soldados who guarded the granary. By day’s end the peasants had won bread to eat, but four hundred Spanish soldiers and over three thousand of the hungry rebels paid for it with their lives.
No wonder Mama had grown to love living in the peaceful country, on a league of land far away from the crowded town. But she stubbornly held onto the casita until Maria married Papa Deef’s friend, Hendrick. Then she gave the house to her oldest daughter as a gift. “Your father and I were happy here, and I pray you will be, as well.”
Juanita, full now and drowsy, smiled as Maria toyed with her dark curls. Una muñeca viva—a living doll. Crooning softly, she nestled the babe back into her basket, caressing one bronze cheek. Dark eyes sparkled in the firelight. Black lashes blinked then drifted shut, and with a sigh the infant returned to her peaceful dreaming, unaware of the terror so recently ended and the dread of what was yet to come.
Pacing again to the window, Maria peered down the dark street, sorting her thoughts as she sent up a silent prayer for Hendrick’s safety. How quickly their lives had changed!
In late September Papa Deef brought Mama and Maria’s half-sisters from their home at the Cibolo Crossing to help when Juanita was born.
Yes, and he arrived almost too late. Vexation escaped her in a huff. Hendrick had been Papa Deef’s protégé ever since they met in San Felipe when she was just a girl. In addition to teaching her husband the skills of a surveyor, was it her stepfather who also taught him to worry her so?
But Papa had explained his tardiness with tales of how he climbed into a tree to spy on a hundred Mexican dragoons camped just beyond the river. Papa was not so deaf that he could not hear the soldiers’ chatter as the sound carried on a crisp autumn breeze. Colonel Ugartechea, the Mexican military commandant headquartered at San Antonio de Béxar, had dispatched Lieutenant Cantañeda to march his troops to Gonzales in DeWitt Colony to confiscate the town’s small defensive cannon. So Papa had delayed long enough to ride to Gonzales and warn the men of that town, whose alcalde promptly left “on business” so as not to be available.
It was entirely possible that Mayor Ponton’s “business” involved gathering other DeWitt colonists for defense, but Papa, having done his part, doubled back to keep his word. Mama would never have forgiven him if he made her miss the birth of her first grandchild.
After Juanita was safely delivered, the casita bustled with women, chattering girls, and a crying infant. Papa Deef and Hendrick had decided to take advantage of the cool weather to go and hunt buffalo on the winter grazing grounds along Little River north of Waterloo.
Were they surprised to learn, as they returned along the Gonzales Road, that the confrontation at Gonzales had prompted Stephen F. Austin to respond with a declaration of war? They didn’t know, until they were threatened with arrest as they attempted to return to their home in San Antonio, that the city had been seized and occupied.
Papa was Anglo—un gringo—and Hendrick was Black, not that such things had ever mattered in the Smith or Arnold families. Papa Deef explained to the sentries in his perfect Spanish that because their wives were Tejanas they took no side. Their cultures were blended, their families neutral. But when one of the dragoons hit Papa in the head with his saber, knocking off his hat, he and Hendrick had wisely retreated and worked their way home by a well-hidden route.
Mama exclaimed and fussed over Papa Deef’s bloodied head, but he said the dragoon had done him a favor by knocking some sense into him.
They stayed only long enough to store the smoked meat and kiss their women farewell, and then they were off again, riding east on the Gonzales Road to find Austin’s volunteer army, report on the situation in Béxar, and offer their services as spies and guides.
Then for six long, agonizing weeks Maria had fought to keep her mind clear of worry and her countenance calm for her family’s sake. Too much worry could make her milk dry up. Her half-sisters and stepdaughter were too young to carry such troubles, but she and Mama often exchanged glances.
Whether she spoke of it or not, Mama remembered well the dangers of rebelling against an armed government.
At every spare moment Maria peeked through the shutters, as she did now, wondering if she would become a young widow like Mama and her abuelita had.
Finally, on a dark night two weeks ago, Hendrick came home. He entered silently by the back door that led from the kitchen into the little garden behind the house.
She ran to him, weeping with relief, and Harriet clung to his leg.
Hendrick had embraced them briefly, but in a voice low and urgent hissed, “Gather what you need quickly. I must take you to Mission Espada.”
“Tonight?”
“Now.”
Maria had never seen him so fierce, so hardened with resolve. His eyes sparked fire. The terse line of his lips brooked no argument.
With few words they gathered essential belongings and followed Hendrick in silence as he guided them south along a winding route. They stopped only once so Maria could nurse Juanita so she would sleep and not give them away by crying. With only the moonlight to light their way, they followed the San Antonio River, crouching low in the declension of its hand-dug irrigation acequias, until they came to the most remote of the five missions.
Hendrick gave a low whistle, imitating the call of a night bird. After a short wait that seemed an eternity, Maria heard someone withdraw an iron pin. Even this small sound seemed loud in the stillness of the night. The lifting of the crossbar echoed like distant thunder. Then the heavy gate swung inward on groaning hinges, and they walked through.
Not until she heard the gate close, its pin sliding once again through the latch, did Maria dare to breathe easy.
They were safe.
Sturdy sandstone walls, originally built to protect the inhabitants from Indian attack, surrounded a large open compound bordered by private living quarters. On the far side of the compound, beyond a well, moonlight outlined the shape of the chapel’s bell tower against the midnight sky. Next to the chapel, Maria could barely make out the arched colonnade of the convento where the priest lived.
The two lay brothers who had received them motioned for them to follow until they reached an empty guest room built into the eastern wall. As soon as they were settled, Hendrick became agitated, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as if torn between his desire to stay and his duty to go.
Finally, with a tender gaze, he kissed his daughters, embraced Maria, and simply said, “Pray for me. Pray for all of us. I hope to come for you when this is over.” And then he was gone, melting back into the darkness.
She did not see him again until he returned a week later to tell them it was safe to come home. She would learn from others that Hendrick had led Ben Milam’s column of men, attacking San Antonio by surprise under a barrage of cannon fire.
Papa had led the second column—Francis Johnson’s men—as they fought from house to house to take back the city. So fierce was their attack that four companies of General Cos’s most recent reinforcements fled in terror, and the General was forced to surrender.
They arrived home in high spirits…until they saw Papa Deef, wounded and bandaged and resting in the bed.
“What happened to you?” Mama cried before turning on Hendrick. “You did not tell me!”
“Aw, leave the man be,” Papa interposed. “I caught a bullet while I was on top of the Veramendi house, but fortunately with my gut and not with my head like poor Milam.” He and Hendrick shared a somber look. “But Hendrick, here, carried me to a safe place, and he cleaned and bound my wounds right well.”
Papa paused to cough, a long racking retch that came and went over the years whenever the weather turned wet or cold. When he could speak again he said, “He carried me off the roof like a sack of feed, but I walked here today on my own two feet, so I reckon I’ll mend.”
Mama had tensed when he began coughing. She assessed him soberly but said nothing.
Sure enough, Papa gained strength daily, and two days before Las Posadas General Cos had marched out of San Antonio de Béxar in shame with his 800 Mexican soldados looking thin and worn. The townspeople cheered, and Francis Johnson declared that the successful Siege of Bexar was “the period put to our present war.”
That night when the house finally became quiet, Maria joined Hendrick in the kitchen garden. Wrapping her shawl close around her, she sat beside him on the little bench beneath the eaves. A full moon cast patterned shadows over the sleeping furrows, lying in wait for the beans and potatoes, tomatoes and cilantro she always sowed in the Spring.
Would she be here to plant them?
“Do you think what they say is true? That the war is really over?”
Next to her, Hendrick drew in a deep breath and sighed. “I do not, and neither does your Papa.”
“Why?”
“Because General Cos is Santa Anna’s brother-in-law, and Santa Anna is a cruel and prideful man. I’ve heard men tell about what he did after the Battle of Medina the year you were born.”
“What did he do? Mama surely knew, but she’s never mentioned it.”
“She never talks about what happened in Guanajuato, either.”
This was true…but not reassuring. Quite the opposite. “I think I begin to understand.”
Hendrick chuffed in the darkness and shifted to wrap a reassuring arm around her shoulders. “Santa Anna was just a lieutenant then, but he has never been a man who could accept a loss with dignity or extend grace in victory. He takes battles personally, venting his wrath and punishing soldier and citizens alike.” He gave her a minute to read between the lines, to hear everything he was not saying.
Maria remembered, now, that the grand San Felipe Cathedral stood near the corner of streets named Dolorosa and Soledad. Dolorosa … sorrow. Soledad…loneliness. This was where the orphans of the Battle of Medina gathered to share their bread and to sleep in the cathedral’s protective shadow.
“Santa Anna hasn’t changed, Maria. He’s only grown more powerful …and more arrogant.” Hendrick’s voice rumbled in the darkness like the rolling thunder that warns of an approaching storm. “When his wife’s brother returns defeated, Santa Anna will march north to seek revenge.”
He drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with the air of life, and released it slowly as if appreciating the life that was in him—life such as many had lost this week. “This was not the end of the war, Maria. It was only the beginning.”
She’d felt the same but hearing him say it caused her throat to tighten. “What must we do?”
“We must enjoy Christmas,” he answered. “It does no good to waste the days we do have by living in fear of the days that may be taken from us. It’s a long way from Béxar to Mexico City and back again. I figure we’re safe enough until sometime in late January—maybe longer if the weather is bad.” A sardonic chuckle escaped him. “Cannons don’t like mud.”
“Small comfort. A delay…but he’s still coming.”
“Yes, he’s still coming. But we have time to enjoy one last Christmas in our home. A window of peace before the storm.”
“And then?”
“And then we will pack our things and go to San Felipe. I have family in Austin Colony. You’ll be safe there—you and the girls and your mama and your sisters.”
“And you?”
“Deef and I have already discussed it. Once you’re settled safely, we’ll head back to San Antonio. This was where Santa Anna’s brother-in-law was humiliated. This is where Santa Anna will come…and we must be ready for him.”
Dread turned Maria’s heart into a cold stone, almost too frightened of what might lie ahead to keep beating in this moment, but Hendrick was right. This Christmas was their window. Their light in the darkness, and later, their opportunity for escape. They had been caught up in a great rush of events, and who knew where this journey would take them?
Was this how blessed Mary had felt once the angel Gabriel gave her a glimpse of what lay ahead?
“May we host Las Posadas?” she blurted so suddenly that her own voice surprised her.
“Yes, of course.” Hendrick squeezed her shoulders. “Use whatever’s left of our food to share with our neighbors. There’s flour and such stored at your Papa’s house. We’ll pick it up on our way to San Felipe. Welcome the wanderers, for soon we shall be wandering, ourselves.”
And so Maria had been able to sleep that night by fixing her mind on the window of hope they’d been given. That flickering light—like the carefully shielded candle inside the pierced tin lantern—had gotten her through each day and would carry her through this night and through Navidad and down the road to a future that, for now, lay shrouded in darkness.
Hearing the noise of singing in the street, Harriet jumped up and ran to the window. “They’re coming!” she squealed, then she ran to carry the trays of treats to the table.
A softer sound caught Maria’s ear—the whispered footfall of a man accustomed to hunting and scouting, spying and guiding. “Hendrick!” She turned just as he ducked to enter the door of the cocina.
He smiled as he removed his dark coat, splotched with dampness, and shook beads of moisture from his hair. “I told you I would come home in time.” He held his arms wide.
She went to him, wrapping her arms around him—the solid, living strength of this good man. “Si. You did,” she whispered, “…and see that you always do come home to me.”

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