I looked at her curiously and started to form the question Who? before she grabbed me by the arm. “The Farrapos, silly. The Farrapos are here!” she exclaimed as she pulled me out of the hospital. Farrapos meant “ragamuffins,” a name given to the rebels by the aristocracy. It was easy for them to laugh; they could buy new clothing whenever they wanted without going hungry. Manuela and I ran down to the docks hand in hand. We stopped just before the wall of people who stood at the dock cheering. I let go of Manuela’s hand and fought my way through the crowd, wiggling and pushing against people who were as unwilling to move as a tree. I ducked under the thick outstretched arms of a large cheering man. Looking up, I spied the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

The sun gleamed over the head of Giuseppe Garibaldi, making his light brown hair shine with specks of gold. His broad smile filled his bearded face. It was dazzling. He was dazzling. For a moment, I felt blinded by him. I watched as he shook the hands of the people who stood around him, kissing babies and the pretty young girls who held them.

My admiration turned to disappointment as I watched women flock to him. Amid so many beautiful women, how could he notice me? I slipped back into the crowd and quietly returned to my duties at the hospital.

Six

July 1839

Days after Garibaldi arrived, Manuela and I walked through the market. A slave with a basket full of oranges bumped into Manuela. Slaves were meant to be seen and not heard. If they crossed these boundaries, they risked being shamed or beaten. The slave woman took in rapid short breaths. “Sinto muito. Sinto muito.” She bowed repeatedly, refusing to meet Manuela’s eyes. Manuela put a hand on the woman’s arm, causing her to flinch. “It’s all right, there is no need to apologize.” She handed the woman an orange. “Really, it was all my fault.”

“Obrigada,” the slave woman murmured as she hurried away.

Manuela and Hector lived in a spacious bright blue two-story home that sat on a hill surrounded by their own personal orchard. I spent so much time there that Hector liked to tease that I was their adopted daughter.

The week following the arrival of the Farrapos, I took to standing out on Manuela’s balcony to watch the ships. They looked like bucking ponies tied to their posts, anxious to get out and run as they rolled with the waves. How I envied them.

I closed my eyes, lifting my face to soak in the warm sun as my hair danced in the wind around me. Breathing in, I filled my lungs with cool salt air. My thoughts went to Maria and the last time I saw her, rolling away from me. “I wish I had gone with you,” I confessed to the wind. “Oh, Maria, I promise I will not be so foolish next time.” If there will be a next time.