I tried to smooth the tangled hair that flew out around his head. “If you had known, you would have left the front lines and returned to me.”

He put his forehead to mine. “That’s no excuse. I should have—” His voice caught. “I should have been with her. With you.” He pulled a hair’s breadth away and put his hands on my growing abdomen. “And how is this one?”

“He’s well. Strong, like his father.”

“Good. We leave for Salto at the end of the week.”

“Salto? Why do you want us to go to Salto?” Salto was a three-day ride by horse.

“Argentina is invading from the northwest, cutting us off from Brazil. If we do nothing, we’ll have no choice but to give in to Argentina’s demands.”

“‘We’?” I questioned. “We can’t bring two small children with us on such a long journey.”

José shrugged. “It’ll be an adventure.”

I narrowed my eyes, preparing for a fight. “Giuseppe Garibaldi, I am not going to Salto.”

“And I will not lose another member of this family!” José bellowed.

Heavy footfalls pounded on the stairs. We glimpsed Menotti, who we hadn’t seen come downstairs, as he ran up to hide. I moved to follow after him, but José stopped me. “I’ll talk to him.” José kissed my temple and went after his son as I slipped into the kitchen to make tea and ponder José’s proposal.

As I waited for the water to boil, José’s words clung to me. I will not lose another member of this family.

Just as I started pouring out the tea, José joined me in the kitchen, taking a seat at the table.

“How’s Menotti?”

“He’ll be all right,” José said as I handed him his faded red gourd. “I had to convince him I wasn’t taking you away.”

“He is grieving for his sister in his own way,” I said as I took a seat opposite him.

José thoughtfully took a long sip. “We all are.”

I watched as he used the bombilla to slowly stir the leaves around in his gourd. “Tell me, why do you want your family to pick up and follow you to Salto?”

“My orders are to escort a general to Salto in order to lift the siege of the city. It’s the first step in beating back the Argentinian army.”

Refugees had been spilling into Montevideo as Argentina pressed in from the west, burning villages along the way. They had filled in along the edges of the city in makeshift camps, and the increased population meant tighter restrictions on our food rations. Filth filled our city, overflowing from the gutters and spilling into the streets. Pneumonia was no longer our only concern; cholera had finally made its way to Montevideo.

The political situation wasn’t faring much better. The Uruguayan army was doing well in its defense of the capital, thanks in no small part to the Redshirts, but there was discord within the government. Rumors abounded; many weren’t happy with Rivera, our current president. Would there be another war inside a war already raging?