Menotti smiled and nodded. Teresita snuggled closer to me. “Once upon a time, there was a girl. A lonely girl who used to dream of sailing away on the ocean looking for adventure. Every day she would go out to the balcony and watch the ships that sailed in and out of the port, pretending that she was on them. What she didn’t know was that there was a very handsome sailor who stood on one of those ships. Every day he watched her with his spyglass. He made a vow; he said, ‘She must be mine.’”

Menotti giggled. “That’s silly.”

“It is not. That’s how your father and I met. It’s why you’re here.” I playfully poked him, making him laugh even more.

The ship drifted forward along the river as the sound of gunfire thundered in the night air. I cast spells with my words, weaving stories about Laguna, about renegades, about sleeping under the stars and facing monsters in the woods. Enraptured by my words, I was able to draw their attention away from the chaos outside.

Forty

February 1846

I sat in bed stroking the children’s silky black hair. The noises of battle had long since died, leaving behind an eerie quiet pierced by the sounds of stray guns firing. I had started to doze off when a soft tapping roused me. Cautiously, I opened the door to see José standing in the passageway covered in blood.

“Céus!” I gasped, stepping into the hallway, gently closing the door behind me.

“Don’t panic,” he said with his hands in the air. “Most of the blood doesn’t belong to me. I wanted to let you know I was all right.” He paused, looking at the door behind me. “I don’t want the children to see me like this.”

“Of course.” I grabbed my medical bag and followed him below, where some of his men had already set up a bath. They took one look at me and slipped out of the room, cheeks slightly pink. In the hours since the battle, we had sailed to docks at Salto, newly liberated from Argentine control.

José turned to me. “Tesoro mio, could you help me remove my shirt?”

I walked over and gently peeled the shirt off his body. One side was stuck to his ribs. I tsked, grabbing a rag to soften the dried blood around the wound. “José, what happened?”

“Oh, that.” He shrugged. “It only took a little flesh. Nothing catastrophic.”

I looked up at him in frustration as he peeked at me under his lifted arm, laughing.

“Have I told you about the time I was stabbed in the thigh?”

“No, and right now I would rather not hear about it.” I stepped back. “All right, my love, you should be able to take your shirt off.” He wiggled out of his tunic, stripping off his clothes and settling into the hot water in the basin. Crusted blood covered his body; his hair was caked with mud. I picked up a large cup and began to rinse him. “Tell me what happened today.”