An Unhappy Country

The U.S. army has taken Santa Fe without firing a shot. The Mexican American War is over in New Mexico. Or is it?

Two days after the Army arrives, seventeen-year-old Jessie Milbank and her friends stumble on a man with a knife in his back in the Santa Fe plaza. Then someone close to Jessie’s friend Juanita is murdered. When an insurrection is suppressed in December, Jessie begins to wonder if the three events are linked. 

Were the murdered men part of a conspiracy to throw out the invaders? And were they the only ones hoping for a fight? After revolt does finally break out and the Americans suppress it at the battle of Taos Pueblo, yet another man is murdered. Will the reasons for his death provide clues to the earlier ones?

A richly imagined story steeped in New Mexico and American history.

Now available from your favorite bookstore, Barnes&Noble, Bookshop.org, Amazon.com, and other retailers.

SAMPLE CHAPTER

CHAPTER 1: Wednesday, August 19, 1846

The Santa Fe plaza was dusty, crowded, and silent, the only sound the slap of the newly raised American flag responding to the morning breeze. The people below glanced up at it occasionally, then turned back to watch the long flat-roofed adobe building on the north side of the square.

Finally, the palacio’s massive double doors swung open and uniformed men filed onto the covered portal. “There he is,” Jessie’s father said. “General Stephen Watts Kearny himself.”

“And Donaciano Vigil, the traitor,” Raúl muttered. “In the garments of los americanos.” He tugged at the short waist of his green Mexican-style jacket, smoothed the heavy yellow embroidery on its lapels, then resettled his broad-brimmed flat-crowned black hat.

Jessie put a hand on each man’s arm and stretched onto her toes to see better. The row of men on the porch gazed impassively at the crowd. Vigil was tall and so stood behind the general, only his head and shoulders visible, but what she could see of his coat was clearly American.

The flag snapped overhead. Jessie sank back, frowning a little. She was an American citizen. She should be happy that New Mexico was now part of the United States. And taken without a fight.

Beyond Raúl, her friend Juanita leaned sideways to peer around Manuelita, whose bulky middle-aged frame blocked her view. “There are others in americano garments, as well,” she said. “The acting governor, por ejemplo.”

Raúl tugged on the lower edge of his jacket. “Traitors, all of them.”

“However, they are here and not running away as Governor Armijo has done.”

Raúl moved impatiently. The silver buttons on the outer seam of his trousers flashed in the sunlight. The linen that flared from the gap below his knees was startlingly white. “His Excellency retreats strategically,” he said. “He will return.”

Jessie pulled her blue-and-white rebozo, the voluminous traditional Mexican shawl, closer to her shoulders. “I certainly hope not. How many people would have died if he hadn’t fled?”

Her father patted her arm, his narrow face still focused on the palacio. “Hush now. General Kearny is about to speak.”

She peered forward again, focusing on the hawk-nosed man on the edge of the portal, the one with the gold epaulettes on his shoulders. He spoke clearly, loud enough to reach the far corners of the square, but in English. Donaciano Vigil had stepped forward to translate. His voice was hesitant at first, then strengthened, stubbornly neutral in tone.

“We have come amongst you to take possession of New Mexico,” General Kearny said. “Which we do in the name of the government of the United States.”

As Vigil repeated this in Spanish, a sigh that was half groan swept through the plaza. Jessie shivered. Her father put an arm around her shoulders. “Remember, you are an American,” he said into her ear.

“Juanita isn’t,” she murmured. “Or Raúl. We’ve taken their country from them.”

“Peaceably.”

She nodded, but as the men on the portal continued, her mind drifted, remembering the fear that had crept into the city alongside news of the oncoming army. The bitter looks. The rumors that Governor Armijo would round up all the foreigners in New Mexico. In retaliation? As tools for barter? It wasn’t clear. Her father had scoffed at the idea, but some of his fellow merchants had barricaded themselves in a shop on the plaza and stockpiled weapons and supplies, sure that the governor would take them into custody.

Jessie glanced at Manuelita’s stolid back. The cook had snorted when she’d heard about it. “El tímido Armijo?” she’d asked derisively.

And she’d been right. As Kearny and his men marched closer, Manuel Armijo hadn’t raised a hand against either the resident foreigners or the oncoming troops. Instead, he fled south, leaving hastily raised fortifications and most of his cannon east of the city in Apache Pass.

And now an American flag flew over the plaza of New Mexico’s capital. Jessie shook her head. As she refocused on the building that had housed Armijo’s administration the week before, General Kearny announced, “You no longer owe allegiance to the Mexican government.”

The Spanish translation was barely out of Donaciano Vigil’s mouth before the hissing began, spreading across the plaza like steam from still-glowing coals. Raúl pushed his hat off his forehead and glared at the portal. “That is not for him to decide!” he growled.

The general went on as if no one had made a sound. “It is my intention to continue in office those by whom you have been governed, except the governor.”

Juanita turned to Raúl. “You see? Nothing much will change.”

As her cousin sniffed derisively, General Kearny went on. “I am your governor,” he said. “Henceforth look to me for protection.”

Raúl scowled. His spine straightened even further when the next speaker stepped forward. This was a cousin of Donaciano Vigil’s and the man who’d been Lieutenant Governor under Manuel Armijo. An aristocratic-looking gentleman in gleaming American broadcloth, he turned to General Kearny and began speaking, Spanish phrases flowing elegantly.

Vigil reversed his translation, switching to English as the lieutenant governor acknowledged America’s acquisition of Nuevo Méjico. The nuevo mexicanos would be cooperative, he added, saying, “It is for us to obey and respect the established authorities, no matter what may be our private opinion.”

As this was translated into English, Jessie glanced at Raúl. His eyes were black with fury. Juanita placed a calming hand on his forearm, but he only scowled and jerked his chin toward the lieutenant governor. “You see?” he hissed. “Listen to him!”

Jessie leaned forward. The man’s voice had dropped, as if he were speaking more for General Kearny’s benefit than the people in the square, but Donaciano Vigil took up the slack. His words, still with that neutral tone, carried across the plaza. “Do not find it strange if there has been no manifestation of joy and enthusiasm in seeing this city occupied by your military forces,” he said. “To us the power of the Mexican republic is dead. No matter what her condition, she was our mother.”

“You see?” Raúl hissed again. “Even he, the bastard handing over the reins of power, admits we should be sad.” His chin lifted. “Viva Nuevo Méjico!” he muttered.

Juanita shook her head anxiously and a thickset stranger standing behind them leaned forward to put a quieting palm on Raúl’s shoulder. The younger man frowned impatiently, but subsided. His face was still glum when the speeches finally ended and New Mexico’s former officials had all sworn allegiance to the United States of America.

When that was over, General Kearny stepped to the edge of the portal and announced that a ten p.m. curfew was now in effect. He waved a hand toward the hilltop just visible behind the palacio roof. Jessie looked up. A row of cannon stared back at her, aimed directly at the plaza. They would be fired each night at ten o’clock, the general said. After that, everyone was required to be indoors.

She glanced at Raúl. His jaw was tight and his fists clenched, eyes dark with fury.

Kearny raised his arms, dismissing the crowd, and Juanita laid a restraining hand on Raúl’s sleeve. “¿Mi primo? Cousin? Will you be so kind as to bring tu amor Guadalupe to me tomorrow evening and stay yourself for a little refreshment?” She turned to Jessie. “And you? Will you join us?”

Jessie nodded, but her father frowned. “Your uncle and aunt are kind and hospitable people, but will they be in the mood to entertain?” he asked. “I expect they’ll wish for quiet, to mourn this week’s events.”

Juanita’s chin lifted. “We Senas are descendants of los conquistadores españoles who came to this land with General Diego de Vargas. We do not bow our heads before what others might call defeat.” Then she shrugged, her face rueful. “Besides, one must learn to dance to the tune that is played.”

Jessie’s father’s dark brown eyes crinkled in amusement. “I bow to the Sena experience and resilience.” He turned to Raúl. “If you will promise to see my girl safely to the Sena compound and back tomorrow evening, I will gladly agree.”

Raúl smiled, his irritation seemingly forgotten. “I will be happy to escort her, Don Hubert.”

“I don’t need an escort, Papa,” Jessie said. “Our house is less than a quarter mile from the Senas and I’ve been walking that route for almost two years now. I’ll be perfectly safe.” She glanced mischievously at Juanita’s cousin. “Besides, Raúl will want to devote his energies to escorting Guadalupe to the Sena casa and back.”

Juanita grinned. “Yes, the little Guadalupe, who lives closer, on the street on the other side of el palacio!”

Jessie’s father shook his head. “The streets and plaza will be full of soldiers.”

Jessie’s lips tightened. She glanced at Raúl. His hands were no longer clenched. The invitation and responsibility of escorting her had done their work. As he said, “I will be happy to escort your daughter, señor,” Jessie and Juanita exchanged bemused glances and Jessie nodded, accepting her role as female in need of protection, if only to keep the male out of trouble.

The girls gave each other the customary sideways hug, murmured affectionate farewells, and turned with their men toward their respective homes.

Manuelita had disappeared while the others were talking. Jessie and her father moved through the remnants of the crowd, cutting diagonally toward the street to their house and shop. They were almost across the square when Jessie spied the cook in front of the half-ruined Spanish military chapel on the south side.

Manuelita stood with her hands on her hips, facing a small bronze-skinned man who slouched against the chapel’s weather-beaten door. Above his head, the marble bas-relief of the Virgin rescuing sinners contrasted sharply with his rough, uncombed black braids, but his thin face was alert, his eyes bright. A small smile played across his face and widened when the cook put a hand on his arm and lifted the other beseechingly, though her face was set in its usual frown.

Jessie’s head turned as she and her father went past. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen Manuelita with a man she wasn’t buying provisions from.”

Her father glanced over. “She is a quiet one,” he agreed. “A woman who keeps herself to herself.”

Jessie lifted a brow. “And you prefer that to a more open-hearted approach to life?”

He grinned. “There are advantages to a less outgoing demeanor.”

She opened her mouth to argue the point, but was interrupted by a dark-skinned man in a brown coat who had stopped in their path and removed his battered broad-brimmed hat. “Mr. Milbank!” he said, beaming.

“Well, if it isn’t Dick Green!” Jessie’s father held out his hand and the other man took it with a look of real pleasure on his square face. “Jessie, you remember Dick Green from Bent’s Fort? Charlotte’s husband?”

The newcomer’s eyes twinkled as he turned to her. “No matter where I go, I’m always known as Charlotte’s husband.”

She laughed up at him. “As it should be!” She took his hand. “But yes, I do remember you, Mr. Green. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

He squinted at her. “I wasn’t rightly sure it was you.”

She adjusted the rebozo over her head self-consciously. “It’s been two years.”

Her father smiled. “And she’s adopted a few Mexican customs. The headgear. The sideways hug.”

The other man looked confused and she stepped impulsively toward him to demonstrate. He broke away, his dark face reddening, and looked at her father, who laughed.

Dick Green shook his head. “You two are the kindest—”

Jessie’s father waved his hand. “It’s not your fault the Bents think they own you, Dick. We Milbanks don’t hold with slavery, and we’re not going to treat you as a person in bondage.” He glanced around the plaza, almost empty now. “Are you here on business? Do you have time to come back with us for a meal?”

“I’m afraid I’m called to other duties at the moment, Don Hubert,” the other man said regretfully. “But I do appreciate the invitation.”

“Please feel free to accept it whenever it’s convenient,” Jessie said.

Her father nodded. “We’d be happy to see you any time. There’s no need to stand on ceremony.”

They shook hands again and Dick Green gave Jessie a small bow, then they separated. Manuelita and her friend had also parted. She was almost out of the plaza now, moving swiftly for such a large woman. The Milbank house and shop stood on the first corner past the square, facing the road south to Albuquerque. The building’s adobe-walled courtyard bordered the street that ran west. By the time Jessie and her father arrived, the cook had disappeared into it.

Jessie moved toward the big gate, but her father shook his head. “Come into the store with me,” he said, and she turned left with him to the mercantile door.

The room was dark and smelled of leather, cloth, and corn flour, with an undertone of tobacco. Jessie sniffed appreciatively and opened the nearest set of window shutters, then maneuvered between the various stacks of goods and around the potbelly stove to the counter on the back wall.

Her father had been shopkeeping in Santa Fe five years now, yet the counter was still a mere hand-adzed board set on two empty barrels. Jessie smiled as she ran her hands along the edge of the pitted wood slab. “You should get this replaced with something more permanent,” she said.

“I expect it wouldn’t make any difference in sales.” He leaned against the end of the board and studied her, a small crease in his forehead. Here it came. He was going to start worrying again.

She began unwrapping her rebozo. “I am surprised Mr. Green didn’t recognize me. I haven’t changed that much since we went through Bent’s Fort.”

He chuckled. “That was two years ago and you were still wearing Eastern clothes.” He nodded at the rebozo. “In that headgear, I expect you could pass for a Mexican girl. In fact, your eyes and hair are darker than Juanita’s.”

“And she’s so tall and slim,” Jessie said a little enviously. She folded the long length of blue-and-white cloth and laid it on the counter. Then she smiled. “She is very pretty, isn’t she? That pale skin and those hazel eyes.”

He nodded absently, then frowned, focusing on her face. “You need to be careful from here on out.”

She suppressed a sigh as he brushed an imaginary piece of dust from the counter. “Most of Kearny’s men haven’t seen any females to speak of since they left Missouri,” he said. “From the little I’ve seen of them, I expect they’re a fairly raw and ill-mannered lot.” He looked up. “They’ll be especially impertinent to Mexican girls.”

“And I look more Mexican than American.”

“In the rebozo and that short Mexican skirt, yes, you do. Especially since almost every rebozo in town has that same blue and white stripe.”

“There are two petticoats under the skirt, it’s a mere six inches shorter than before, and I’m still wearing an American corset and bodice.”

“When you’re wrapped up in the rebozo, they can’t see what’s underneath. Not that I want them looking closely enough to do so.” He rubbed at a spot on the counter. “I don’t suppose you could see your way to going back to more Eastern fashions.”

Her chin went up. “My clothing choices reflect Mother’s philosophy of simplicity of dress. I will not change it.”

He tilted his head sideways, as if he’d been expecting this answer. His fingers moved across the wood, tracing a crack in the counter. “I should never have brought you here. Violence against Americans has always been a threat, even before this summer. And now the danger has switched sides. Anyone who looks Mexican is at risk.” His mouth twisted. “I should have sent you to your aunt.”

“If I had to leave Missouri, I certainly didn’t want to go to Pennsylvania. Philadelphia is far too prim and proper for the likes of me.”

He smiled faintly and looked away, toward the glassless windows with their carved wooden bars. “I should have insisted.” In the street beyond, a harsh Yankee voice shouted a curse. He shook his head. “No matter what path I choose, I put my women in danger.”

“Oh, Papa!” She moved down the counter and reached for his hands. “I am to blame for Mama’s death, not you.”

“You are not to blame. Besides, you were a child at the time.”

Now it was Jessie’s turn to look away. “I did nothing to stop them.”

“If you had, I expect you would have died too.” His face twisted, clearly recalling the frantic search two years before when he returned to Missouri and discovered his wife and daughter missing.

Then he shook himself, dropped her hands, and gave her a stern look. “This war between the United States and Mexico is not over. Not in the rest of the country and certainly not here. The men who arrived with Kearny are itching for a fight they didn’t get. And Raúl isn’t the only nuevo mexicano who wishes Armijo had stood up to them. It’s difficult to tell what will happen next. There’s danger from both directions. You will be careful. Do you understand?”

She opened her mouth to argue, but the memory of what they had both endured in Missouri stopped her tongue. “Yes, Papa,” she said.

© Loretta Miles Tollefson, 2024

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