“No, I don’t,” I mumbled.

“Garibaldi is a man of the people. He lived in Naples,” Francisco began to explain.

“Naples?” Carlos questioned. “I thought he was from Marseille.”

“Marseille? That’s part of France!” Dylla responded, putting the large bowl of beans on the table. “No, he’s a Genoan.”

“How do you know?” Carlos asked.

“Because all the women like to gossip about handsome foreigners.” She wiggled her eyebrows as she kissed a scowling Carlos on the top of his head.

“The point is,” Francisco interrupted, “he was banished. His people are divided. The northern Italian peninsula is ruled by Austria, while the south is a stronghold to a Bourbon tyrant. While in Piedmont he and his mentor launched an insurrection. He was arrested and sentenced to death by exile.”

“And now he is here?” I asked. “Why?”

“He travels the world fighting for the freedom that has been denied to his own people.” Maria sighed.

The situation between the gauchos and Imperial Brazil continued to deteriorate. General Gonçalves, recently escaped from prison, was making gains in the west with his band of rebels. They and all eyes were turning to the prosperous port that was Laguna. War was coming.

Notices were posted all over. Recruits were needed for the rebel army at the northern front. All were welcome. I stood by the wagons, grasping Maria’s hands in mine.

“Come with me, Anna,” Maria pleaded. “How wonderful will it be to have my best friend and future husband fighting beside me?”

How I longed to say yes, to taste adventure. But who was I? I could never hold my own in battle. I was only Anna. I was not as brave as Maria. Nor as idealistic as the men she marched with. My fate was here in Laguna.

“No, Maria, I am no warrior.” Battlefields were for the heroic. I wasn’t heroic. “My place is here. Tending to our wounded.” It was true. I volunteered my services at our little hospital caring for wounded rebel soldiers. “You go. You have enough bravery for the both of us.”

Maria gave me one last hug. “Watch over my parents, please.”

“Of course,” I responded, letting her go. I watched as she rode away in a haze of dust kicked up by the overflowing wagon.

I found solace in my work, apprenticing with the nuns. It was rewarding to be needed and to know that what I did made a difference. I dressed wounds, cleaned up after the men, and helped to feed them when necessary. The blood didn’t bother me as it did some, nor did the nutty, putrid, sweet scent that signaled an infection, which clung to the air. It felt good to be useful.

I was wrapping a bandage around the calf of an unconscious soldier when my friend Manuela came running up to me. “Anna! Anna! They’re here.”

When Manuela and I had met at the hospital, we became close friends right away. She reminded me of the tall grass that grew along the coast, swaying like a dancer in the breeze. No one was too far below her class to deserve her kindness, which was unusual for someone in her position. Her husband, Hector, held a position with the local government that afforded them a pleasant life and respect within Laguna.