We stared at each other, my captors and I, as we rode down the bumpy dirt path. Their hollow faces, streaked with dried mud, were aged beyond their years. Blank eyes watched me, not betraying any emotions.

My heart sank as we rolled into the village that the Imperial army now occupied. Vacaria, much like Tubarão, the village of my childhood, was made up of gauchos and their families. Gauchos who were loyal to the rebellion. A loyalty that had cost them dearly. Most of the homes were burned to the ground. Only husks of what they once were remained. Hazy dust rolled across the remains and the smell of charred meat filled my nose. A sick thought crossed my mind: Where are all the people? Carts sat abandoned. Stray dogs gnawed on mystery meat that lay by the homes. I tore my eyes away from the gruesome scene and looked up to the fluffy white clouds that lazily floated above us.

They brought me to the abandoned courthouse, now serving as the headquarters for the Imperial army. Inside what was once the constable’s office, papers lay scattered about the desk, interspersed with miniature cannons and saint statues collecting dust. My thoughts turned to José. Where is he? I placed my hand on my belly, where my baby kicked. I closed my eyes and pictured a panicked José in my head. Standing in the middle of the battlefield, realizing that I was gone. He was going to rescue me. I was sure he would be breaking down the door at any moment.

Hearing the sound of voices on the cool August air, I ventured toward the window.

“How much damage can she cause? She’s only a woman, and a pregnant one at that.”

“Just let me do the talking. I have a plan.”

So, they had a plan? This should be interesting. I settled into a chair and demurely waited for the officers to make their way to me. After a brief knock at the door, my captor entered the room. I inspected his suntanned face, from his dimpled square chin to the crinkled corners of his eyes. The gray hair peppered with light brown made him look almost fatherly. But I wasn’t fooled. The smile he flashed sent a shiver down my rigid spine. Clicking his boots together, he gave a small bow as a plump middle-aged woman slipped in with a tray of food. I watched her as she hurried away, head bowed, doing her best not to be seen.

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Senhora Garibaldi.”

“Boa tarde, Senhor…?”

“Senhor Moringue.” He smiled warmly as he handed me the plate of bread and cold chicken. “I thought you might be hungry. Women in your condition need to keep up their strength.”