Chapter 5

Christmas Day

In the dim light of the winter morning Gabriela watched MJ’s sweet untroubled face as she slept. The large clock over the doorway to their hospital room said it was just a little after seven-thirty.

MJ was on her side in the bed pushed against hers, close enough to be touched and comforted in case of bad dreams. She was wearing her new pajamas with one arm protectively covering the white folio containing her treasured colored pencils – a gift, like the pajamas, from Papá Noel.

Gabriela smiled. It’s Christmas morning! MJ looks like a little angel – a Christmas angel. I feel so much better.

It’s so quiet here – no street noise, no barking, no loud music from cars or next door, nobody yelling, or worse, screaming, and the sirens ... sirens, day and night.

She reached out to stroke MJ’s hair and pain lanced across her sides and back.

Ow! Oh, it still hurts to move. It will take some time, like before...

Suddenly, it was as if a black cloud had descended. She felt tears as she remembered Roberto’s fists, their escape from Tía Elena’s house, and being stranded, sick and alone in that cold place.

She pushed those thoughts away, and tried to concentrate on the good things that had happened. Her mood brightened as she remembered Essie’s kindness and the wonderful doctor who carried her into the clinic and reassured her with his quiet voice, and being welcomed by all the kind people at Magdalena

And then there was last night, Nochebuena, and the unexpected gifts from Papá Noel. The time was made even more special because they were joined by their rescuer Essie, Doctor Prescott, Doctor Jones, and her friend Doctor Jamie.

Gabriela took a tissue from the box on the tray next to the bed and dried her eyes. She smiled as she returned her gaze to her sleeping sister. Last night, seeing MJ as a little girl, smiling and laughing, was such a rare treat.

She’s had to grow up much too fast for a seven-year-old, and now...

Now, we’re safe. The lady from the attorney’s office said we will never go back there ... and we don’t have to be afraid.

She looked at her special gift – the gold bracelet. She touched the beautiful metal. This is the nicest gift I’ve ever received.

She ran her fingers over the polished gold and gave a slight shake of her head. No, the greatest gift was the miracle from Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe who answered my prayers and sent Essie to rescue us.

Señora, your miracle gift keeps growing through the kindness we’ve received since we arrived. Now we have a home – a home where we’re welcome and safe, and where we can be with friends.

She thought of Brie and Amy. Gracias Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. We’ll work hard to deserve this gift.

Gabriela slowly raised the head of the bed so she could be more upright. The pain was manageable. She took a photo from her bedside tray and brushed a tear as she touched the images. It was the only photo that remained with their mother – the three of them in happier times, sitting on the sunny porch of their little house in Los Angeles.

“I miss you,” she whispered

Madre worked very hard, but then she got sick. I know she’s happy now in heaven seeing us at the Magdalena School, but I miss her every day. Madre, I promise I’ll never forget you and I won’t let MJ forget you.

She dried her eyes and set the photo back on the tray. She noticed a small card with the colorful image of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe on it. She picked it up.

Where did this come from?

At the bottom of the card were Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe’s words to the peasant, Juan Diego, ‘No estoy aquí, yo que soy tu madre?’

’Am I not your mother?’ Yes, and she also told him he was under her protection, just like the protection she has given us.

Still holding the card, Gabriela ignored the pain as she reached across and covered MJ’s hand with hers. She closed her eyes and lay back enjoying the morning quiet and the contentment she felt being in this place with MJ among caring people.

Awakened by footsteps in the hallway, she looked at the bed next to her, but MJ was not there. She spotted her across the room at the table under the window. She was eating her breakfast. Next to her breakfast tray was one of her new paper tablets, several colored pencils at the ready.

When did that happen? I must have slept.

Gabriela’s attention was drawn to the doorway. She watched Nurse Ellen enter with two others; a tall, very thin man in a dark suit wearing a clerical collar. She noticed he walked with a limp and relied on an ebony cane, and his dark hair was shot-through with gray.

The third person was an attractive, dark-haired woman, perhaps in her thirties, wearing a dark skirt and a red sweater covered by a gray blazer.

A priest. Why’s he here?

From the foot of the bed, Nurse Ellen announced, “Gabriela, I’ve brought some guests. This is Father Hidalgo, our chaplain, and Mrs. Alvarez, his assistant.”

The priest moved to the side of Gabriela’s bed. He looked over at MJ, who had set down her spoon, picked up a pencil and was busy sketching something outside the window, paying no attention to their guests. He turned his attention back to Gabriela, smiled and said, “Please just call me Padre Miguel.”

Up close she judged him to be somewhere between forty and fifty. It was hard to tell.

The hair and cane make him look older. Oh, and that jagged scar from hairline to chin doesn’t help.

The woman spoke up. “And, please call me Dorotea.”

“Mucho gusto en conocerle, Padre y Dorotea.”

He smiled at her formal greeting. “I understand you and your sister are our newest students. Bienvenido.”

Chaplain for the school? He has kind eyes, but that scar – recent? It hasn’t faded much. It must have been a terrible wound.

“Gracias, Padre.” She looked at the card she was still holding. Wondering.

Seeing her questioning look, he said, “Last night, after midnight Mass, Doctor Prescott asked if I’d join him in checking on you and your sister.”

Doctor Prescott checked on me last night? Of course.

“During our walk from the chapel, he said you and your sister were saved because of your prayers and the intercession of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe.”

Her throat suddenly tight, Gabriela simply nodded.

The priest nodded. “We didn’t waken you, but I blessed you and your sister and I left that Holy Card. I carry them with me always because I believe in the power of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. In a place far away, she heard my prayers, and through a miracle saved me. When I was rescued, I promised I’d dedicate my life to her.”

Very softly Gabriela said, “We ran away from a very bad place and we were cold and hungry and sick and she sent an angel...”

It was his turn to nod. He placed a warm hand on the hand that held the card. “I look forward to seeing you and your sister on our campus and at Mass.” She crossed herself as he blessed her and then he smiled and said, “It’s almost time for Mass, and I must go. I will leave you in Dorotea’s hands. She’ll have some questions about your Catholic education and the sacraments. Feliz Navidad, Gabriela.”

“Feliz Navidad, Padre.” She held out the card. “Y gracias.”

He smiled again and then he turned and limped from the room, leaning heavily on his cane.

Dorotea watched him go before taking the chair next to Gabriela’s bed.

“We’re very lucky to have Padre Miguel.”

Nurse Ellen brought Gabriela her breakfast tray, and café con leche for Dorotea. They spent a pleasant half hour together, including an introduction to a smiling MJ who came over to liberate a concha from Gabriela’s breakfast tray.

As Dorotea was readying to leave, she stilled as Gabriela asked, “It seems Padre Miguel has been seriously hurt ... was it an auto accident?”

Dorotea looked uncomfortable but finally answered, “It’s no secret, it was the Sinaloa Cartel in Tijuana.”

Gabriela shuddered. “I know about Sinaloa. But...?”

Dorotea sighed. “Padre Miguel had been a soldier for a long time and somewhere in some God-forsaken place, he heard the call. He left the military and took holy orders and became a missionary and ended up in Tijuana ministering to the poor and sick.”

Gabriela waited as Dorotea composed her thoughts.

“He founded an orphanage and since he’s originally from San Diego, he was able to secure funding from lots of sources.” She paused. “Somehow, he convinced the local gangs to leave them alone, and apparently some even supported his efforts. But then came Sinaloa and their constant turf wars and worse, drugging, or hooking children on drugs, and kidnapping of young girls and boys for...”

Dorotea looked uncomfortable.

Gabriela reached out and took her hand. “I know what they do.”

“Oh.”

Dorotea is saddened because I know about the cartels and what they do to children.

“So, he decided to oppose them.”

That was very brave and foolhardy and dangerous.

“One night, he was kidnapped, and they left him for dead in some remote area. He crawled for some distance to a main highway, all the time praying to Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. He was found by a passing trucker the next morning. That was over two years ago.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before Gabriela asked, “Then, how did he come to Magdalena?”

“Oh, yes. He has a younger sister who is a physician in Lodi. Do you know where that is?”

Gabriela shook her head.

“It’s about three hours south, on the other side of Sacramento.”

She nodded. Dorotea continued, “she’s a widow with two children.” She paused, and then smiled. “She and her daughters will be here today to celebrate with Padre Miguel. They’re very close.”

Another pause, this time lengthier and her smile disappeared. “It took more than a year for him to recover, which included months of physical therapy. During that time, he was befriended by Father Xavier, the local parish priest, and through him a Lodi woman named Jessica Brandt who is one of the backers of this school. Somewhere along the line it was decided by the governing board of the school that there was a need for a chaplain, so he was offered the position.”

“Has he ever been back to Tijuana?”

Dorothea shook her head. “No, but he still communicates with many of his flock and the teachers and students at the school located at the orphanage. He also does a podcast each week about the evils of the cartels.”

“Is he safe now?”

Dorotea looked a bit surprised by the question, as if anyone would bother Padre Miguel here.

She considered her answer. “There is a man ... I’ve only met him once, a Mister Ramirez from Lodi. He’s some sort of businessman, and apparently has many contacts across the border. One evening I came back to my office, because it was raining and I’d forgotten my umbrella, and Mister Ramirez was in Padre Miguel’s office and the door was partially open. I wasn’t trying to listen, but I heard him tell Padre, not to worry because he’d spoken to some people in Tijuana.

“I’m nor sure what that was about, maybe it was simply about the orphanage and school. I’m sure Padre is perfectly safe here.”

After Dorotea left, MJ joined Gabriela. Sitting side by side on the bed, MJ showed her a detailed pencil drawing of a bird.

“It was on the feeder outside the window. Nurse Ellen, knows about birds and she said it was a rufous crowned sparrow.”

Gabriela looked at the detailed drawing and suddenly her emotions overwhelmed her – their mother’s death, uprooted from the only home they’d ever known and placed in a home full of terror, suffering to protect MJ, pain and sickness, fleeing their abusers, a miraculous rescue, this place full of kind and caring people, even Papá Noel last night. Gabriela was overwhelmed. She covered her face but she couldn’t stop the tears.

I’m only fourteen!

Distressed, MJ gently hugged her sobbing sister. “Gabriela, don’t cry. We’re safe here ... I’ll ask Nurse Ellen to bring more chocolate caliente and some conchas. You’ll feel better. Todo estará bien.”

Gabriela could only nod and try to smile as she hugged her sister.

Yes, she’s right, everything will be fine. Chocolate caliente and conchas will make everything better. Gracias Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe.

Essie halted her early morning ride across the vast grazing lands on the hills on the west side of the Sacramento Valley. The Moore’s ranch extended from the valley floor to the tops of the hills and some distance beyond. Astride Blanca, she turned to watch the sunlight as it touched the snowcapped top of 10,000-foot Mount Lassen fifty miles to the northeast.

She was dressed for the chilly winter morning. Her layers were topped by a heavy canvas duster and her head covering was her favorite battered Filson-Stetson fur felt hat.

A restless and too short night had seen her arising before dawn, well before the rest of the Moore household. She just wanted some quiet time with her horse doing the familiar, riding in the solitude of the morning. A pair of red-tailed hawks circled, hunting for breakfast while she considered her future.

Red-tailed hawks mate for life, like my parents and Jim and Bonnie. Tom and Rashmi? They’ve only been married a couple of years, but they’ll grow old together. Could I do that?

Unbidden, Press Prescott intruded in her musings.

She shook her head. Too soon. Too soon. I have decisions to make about my future that can’t be put off. Should he even be considered?

My future? That’s a tall order. I’m just twenty-four and I’ve been offered a promising new assignment with SpaceX – working on the Red Dragon crew capsule of the Starship. Starship is going to Mars and perhaps in the next few years, I could be one of those chosen to be the first humans to set foot on the Red Planet. They’ll need engineers on the crew – engineers who designed and built the capsule – a chance to be part of something so amazing that it hardly seems possible. As the big boss says, ‘I can’t think of anything more exciting than going out there and being among the stars.’

But now I’m being dragged in so many directions. Mrs. Raniger has offered a permanent teaching position at Magdalena School, a place that welcomed me years ago and gave me teaching responsibilities each summer through the riding program that I created at nineteen and nurtured while I was in college.

She smiled with pride. Every summer, every college break, every Christmas holiday she had worked to make it better, more welcoming to these girls who had been, in most cases, abused, abandoned, and orphaned. The program proved to be very popular. It gave the girls who enrolled responsibilities of their own – responsibilities like caring for a thousand-pound horse.

The Brandt scholarship and the Magdalena School gave her something more, a sense of place, an anchor. and most importantly it gave her Jim and Bonnie Moore. She became a daughter again and a sibling to Tom and Rashmi, and this place – their ranch – became her home. If someone asked her where she was from, her automatic answer was Red Bluff, not the ranch of her first fifteen years in New Mexico. She never wanted to forget her parents, but they were gone and she was sure they would approve of her new parents and loving rancher family.

There was also her other family, the welcoming sisterhood of La Banda. Sofía had paved the way, but she was readily accepted by the other women, and a contract with Cowgirls Incorporated soon followed. She cared little for the celebrity; it was the company. The money was a bonus that, coupled with her SpaceX salary, allowed her to carry a hefty bank balance for the first time in her life.

And then there’s Press Prescott. There’s no getting around it, I have to consider him.

She smiled as she thought about Christmas Eve with Press.

Was that just last night?

She touched her lips, remembering their kisses, and the way he held her hand throughout the Christmas service. After the service, he’d insisted on taking her home to the Moore’s ranch.

And during the much too short ride, I had my head on his shoulder, eyes closed as I smelled the wonderful smell of Press Prescott and felt his warmth through his jacket.

Essie shook her head. What’s wrong with me? We’ve known each other maybe thirty-six hours and I’m acting like some love-sick teen.