Since that time he has created a sensation across the land. The Examiner was only the first. Now his many newspapers have incited the populace to call for war with Spain. I cannot even look at the banners screaming across the front of the paper. He has separated me from the person I love. From my husband. From my husband. Julio was selected to embark with the first expedition on account of his facility with the Spanish language and his knowledge of the cannon.

I nearly fainted from unseasonable heat as the troops passed through the Lombard Gate of the Presidio on their march to the waiting ships. I rushed along with the crowd to Market Street and then to the docks. All was shouting and chaos as men, supplies, and livestock boarded the steamships. The destination was the port of Manila in the Philippine Islands, a place I’d never heard of. I cannot even imagine a place so far away.

When we said goodbye, I didn’t know about the baby.

“That’s so sad,” Natalie said to her grandfather. “That was the last time she ever saw her husband.”

“And she blamed Hearst. His papers exaggerated and even manufactured events to incite the war that took her husband from her. I believe that’s where we get the term ‘yellow journalism.’”

“Why would he do that?”

“To sell papers. Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer. The papers whipped everyone into a frenzy about Spain and didn’t let up until war was declared.”

“Are we doing any better now?” She thought about the current online shouting matches and misinformation campaigns, and it made her wonder. “The world is still a mess, but journalism—real journalism—is a lot better. I like to think so, anyway.”

Colleen’s later entries were briefer and less frequent, likely a consequence of looking after a baby.

By the time my beautiful son was born, Julio was gone, missing and presumed dead. Killed by native rebels.

Only the existence of my baby boy keeps me from following Julio into death, the way I yearned to follow my departed family. My son, Julius, is my only anchor to this world.

See how he thrives at just six months. Sunny and happy, the very picture of health, though he was born with a bad foot. My sweet cherub. He will never know his da.

“Look at the sketches,” Natalie said. “These are pictures of your father.”

They went through the drawings, one by one. There was Julius as a baby and then a toddler. And then a small boy, slender and doe-eyed, dressed in knickers.

“Could this be the old apple tree you remember?” Natalie showed her grandfather a sketch of the boy, barefoot and shirtless, sitting on a low branch. Under the drawing was the name Julius Harper in childish lettering.