“I love to look at maps. What does this show?” The map was faded, blotched with water spots and ink spills. “I see us here, Alta California. It’s so tiny.” She touched the spot, but Padre Romo brushed her hand away.
“Look, this is where Salvador Tenorio comes from.” Padre Romo held down the right edge of the map and pointed to a speck marked, “Cadíz.” His finger traced above the parchment map all the way to Refugio. “Your uncle was not much older than you when he arrived here with our Mission founder, a Franciscan named Padre Serra.”
“Was my tío a religious man, like you?”
“Your uncle’s pathway took many turns, but now he serves the governor of our territory, and he is due to arrive here any day.” Alicia wondered what turns in his passage the padre referred to, but she did not seek an explanation. “Remember, I told you some men from the wreckage were taken to Monterey? Salvador was in Monterey when those survivors arrived.”
The padre’s stories were still in her mind when Alicia approached the hacienda at twilight. She looked out to the ocean, imagining the sunken ship, the drowned sailors, and chests of gold.
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