North to El Paso

The overnight visit to El Paso on this whirlwind vacation trip would be a welcome stop for all three travelers. The little blue car seemed to Lynae to be more of a prison than anything by the end of the day. It wouldn’t have been such a long trip if Mom hadn’t insisted on stopping at every historical marker and museum.
At the State Park, Brent and Lynae ran ahead into the visitors’ center. Lynae ran directly into the lady’s restroom. Brent was already enthusiastically admiring the ancient coins, which had been found in the nearby excavation, and Lynae had been attracted naturally, to the wedding dresses displayed in a glass case.
Mom stopped to drool over the books on New Mexico History by Chaves and other New Mexico experts. “You know there’s a two dollar entrance fee?” the park attendant suggested politely.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mom apologized without any embarrassment, as was her usual style. “I left my purse in the car -- I’ll have to run out and get it. Be right back. You kids go ahead and look around. Is that OK?“ She asked the attendant as an afterthought, not waiting for his answer. Brent and Lynae headed out the other door to the excavation site.
“Brent, look at the covered wagon. Climb up here and we can be pioneers. The wagon was firmly planted in concrete slab and had no animals attached.
Suddenly as they were seated on the wagon seat, the wagon lurched forward and living animals appeared, straining forward along with many other wagons.
“Where do you think we’re going, Lynae? This desert landscape looks familiar. And look the sun is setting on the left! We’re not headed west. We’re traveling north!
Friar Francisco Farfàn rode up beside the wagon with his soldier escort. “We’ll be reaching El Paso del Norte by sunset,” the Friar announced. The settlers who stayed behind last fall will be ready to greet us there and help us recover from this trip north from Mexico City.
“Padre,” Lynae called. What year is this, again?”
“1694. It’s June. Are you all right hijita?”
“Oh, yes, I’m fine. I guess I was just dreaming or dozing off. Sorry. Padre, grácias”
Brent was holding his mouth with both hands to suppress an excited giggle of delighted surprise mixed with anticipation.
“Lynae, we’re on our way to El Paso from the south. This is one of the yearly wagon trains from Mexico to Santa Fe. We must be among the Reconquest settlers and colonists one hundred fifty years before the Mormon pioneers and settlers crossed from Illinois to Utah. Let’s see if we can find some of our old friends when we get to the camp tonight.”
“I think we’ll have to wait ‘til morning to go visiting. There will be plenty to do to help out when we first arrive. Besides, I‘ve got to find a restroom.”
“You should have gone before we left!” Brent imitated the adults.
“I did, Brent, I went at the museum.”
Brent and Lynae energetically took their place among the colonists as they pulled the wagons into El Paso del Norte, where they were each assigned to a family for the night. Lynae quickly fell in with a group of girls headed out into the desert away from the wagon train. She had heard the wagon master, or myordomo, shout, “Women to the right, men to the left.” She realized that would be the only form of privacy available. The girls stood in a big circle with their full skirts hiding one another, an activity that Lynae was not looking forward to repeating. She determined then and there to always carry a clay chamber pot like the Pueblos used in the wagon with her.
A hot dinner of corn tortillas and frijoles just hit the spot, and it didn’t take long to fall asleep on the familiar blanket on the earthen floor.
From 1680 there had been no Spanish settlements in New Mexico. The refugees from the Pueblo Revolt regrouped in Guadalupe del Paso, where they recovered and began building their lives again during those twelve years.
There were several military expeditions sent by governor Oterman attempting to force the Pueblos into submission. While some of the Indians bowed down to terroristic tactics, others continued to resist. Diego de Vargas followed Oterman, obsessed with plans for successful re-entry in 1992. Vargas combined military measures with much bargaining and persuasion, finally gaining permission from the Pueblos for the Spanish colonists to move back into the region. The Pueblos insisted on compliance with the Laws of the Indies, which banned the encomienda system as well as forced unpaid labor by the Indians. They also demanded certain settlers be forbidden to return, because of their past actions against the Indian people.[1]
Early in the morning Lynae and Brent began visiting families. None of the women wore brightly rouged faces that had been popular at other times, but many were dressed in the more traditional brightly colored dresses and shawls. After a few years in New Mexico they, like earlier settlers, would replace the silks with more durable, rugged buckskin outfits.
They learned that only about forty of the families they had known had returned to Santa Fé with the Reconquest in the fall. Some would move immediately south to Bernalillo area. Many were here in El Paso to help the newcomers prepare for the treacherous journey ahead. The two determined to find a way to visit with more cousins when they arrived in Santa Fe. Brent caught up with cousin Cristóval, now thirty-four, and his wife, María de Salazar and their growing family. Soon after arriving in Santa Fé, Cristóval would establish himself at Bernalillo on lands that had belonged to his father and grandfather, the first Cristóbal Baca.
After the Reconquest in 1692 there were fewer revolts and some of the pueblos remained empty and deserted until early 1700. The Indians continued to live on high mesas, or as in the case of Jemenez Indians, live with the Navajos. During this period of uncertainty and fear, numerous Pueblo Indians seem to have assimilated into various nomadic tribes, since the Pueblo population declined so sharply as the nomadic population continued to grow.[2]
After asking questions and wandering through the streets of El Paso, Brent and Lynae finally found Juan Antonio Baca, a young cousin who would marry María Gallegos at Bernalillo on August 2, 1716, and have only one daughter Teodora. “It’s a good thing he married Petronila Garcia Jurado after the death of María. They had two more children – one, Juan Francisco is our direct ancestor, and his sister was Rafaela, who later became the wife of Diego de Torres and then Baltazar Baca.” Lynae chattered.
Juan Antonio helped Brent and Lynae find other families heading for Santa Fé.
Juana Baca, daughter of Manuel Baca and María de Salazar, had two daughters. The first Juana was called “la moza” married Francisco Durán y Chávez. The second daughter was Antonia, who became the second wife of Francisco’s brother Antonio Durán y Chávez. While visiting with Juana and Francisco, Brent and Lynae were able to learn about the plans De Vargas had for the reconquest. About one hundred soldiers and eight hundred settlers would retrun to Santa Fé in the fall of 1693. Many of them were volunteers who had been living in Mexico City. Brent and Lynae were traveling with these new settlers who were called Españoles Mexicanos because they had been born and raised in Mexico with the Spanish culture. Many were descendants of the early conquistadores and their Indian wives.
These new settlers raised maize, a hard corn that they let dry. Then they soaked it in lime to make hominy, and ground it with a stone matáte and mano like the Indians of Mexico and the Pueblos of New Mexico, bringing this favorite form of corn into the southwest. They brought seeds for fields of grain, tobacco, and cotton. There were seeds to plant gardens with chiles and tomatoes, and onions. These families were headed to re-enter Santa Fé to claim it, once again, in the name of Spain. Once again cantaloupe and fruit trees would be cultivated in the rich farmland of the Rio Grande.
Accompanied by Fran Francisco Farfán these twenty-seven families came from Acatecas, Fresnillo and Sombretes around Northern Mexico in 1694. Many were farmers and ranchers were recruited especially as examples of sobriety and Christian piety, to share their skills, hoping they would be a good example and teachers to the Indian neighbors.
“Maybe you can teach them how to drive a tractor or roto-tiller,” Lynae teased.
“It looks like I might have to learn to harness a plow to an ox.”
José García Jurado was one of the natives of Mexico City, the son of Fernando. He was forty years old when he joined the 1693 colonists with his family. His wife, Josefa de Herrera was thirty; she had been born in Oricana, the daughter of Agustin Mazin. Brent recognized tall Josè with his broad forehead and nose, and small, deep-set eyes. Josefa had bigger eyes, a low forehead and heavy eyebrows. Brent thought unlike the period twelve years earlier, it wouldn’t be too bad to be stranded in this time period headed to Santa Fe, with Jose’s two sons. Ramon, who was thirteen like Brent, would make a good friend. Another son, seventeen year old Antonio, had a high forehead and small eyes like his dad. He had a scar beneath his chin that Brent imagined he got fighting with the Indians. “Too bad Monte isn’t here. We’d make quite the foursome!” Brent imagined.
The years since the revolt had not been without Indian battles, but it seemed that things had settled down enough for the safety of the new colonists.
Ramón had a broad face, resembling his mother, with his large eyes and smaller nose. He too had a scar on his left cheek. Since they had not been with the colonists during the massacre, Brent found himself wondering if the scars were actually from battles with each other, like scars he and Monte had on their own heads.
Don Fernando Durán y Chávez II escaped in 1680 from the Sandia district with his wife, Lucia Hurtado, and their four small children. Brent rode with him on the escape route f rom Santa Fé south to safety. Lucia told him they would soon move back to the family farmlands in Bernalillo. Don Fernando was one of the leaders in the grand Entrada into Santa Fé, December 17, 1693, and settled in Santa Fe. They said that they also planned to leave Santa Fé quickly to settle Río Abajo.
Diego Montoya arrived in Santa Fé as soon as the colonist arrived there in 1693. He told Lynae that the Indians were still living in the houses in Santa Fé when earlier colonists had returned to reoccupy them.
“So we are Spanish now, because the territory belongs to Spain, not because of our blood line or heritage?” Lynae felt confused and wondered where it would all end. First the Spaniards murdered and subdued the Indians, married and lived with them. Then the Indians revolted against the Spaniards, killing over four hundred of them, burning many of their houses, and taking over others that were not burned by the Spanish soldiers. They lived in them for over twelve years -- her whole life time in twentieth century years. Now, the Spaniards were returning to reclaim Santa Fe, the farms, houses and nearby estancias, and they would probably chase the Indians off.
But it was obvious that many of the children were a mixture of Spaniard and Indian. Lynae felt much more conspicuous with her light brown hair and fair skin among these new families from Mexico, who were mostly as dark Indians. She noticed among the Indian families more very light skinned children. They had intermarried in Mexico the past two hundred years, since Columbus, and the other explorers had brought soldiers and colonists from Spain and the Canary Islands.
“I don’t even feel like I could choose sides. I am the product of all three -- Indian, Mexican and Spaniard,” she remarked to Brent as they walked through the narrow streets visiting with families and asking directions to others they wanted to see.
“It makes you wonder who you are, seeing all these people -- our ancestors. When we are with Mom we think of ourselves as Jacobs, then we go to Dad’s family reunions and even Gina’s family mixes in with ours until we all just sort of blend together, the same as these families of Spaniards, Indians, Mexicans have.”
“Yeah, and there are still three hundred years of mixing ‘til we grab on to a branch of this family tree. I guess that is what Mom’s Dad must have meant when he told her they were ‘galvanized Mexicans.’ A mixture that is stronger than a single element because of combining elements.”
Juan de Barera came to New Mexico from Guadalupe del Paso with the Reconquest colonists. He was a soldier and a native of New Mexico and pretty much took charge of Brent and Lynae for the final trek north to Santa Fe. Padre Farfán rode his pony along side of Brent and Lynae’s wagon during most of the next day. “See this is the stretch of desert between Las Cruces and Socorro.” Brent looked to his left. The barren peaks were almost pink in the predawn light. Those are the Fray Cristobal Mountains on the left, Padre pointed out. There, to the right begins the malpaís, the badlands.
“Only if we stay between the mountains in the west and the lava flow can we cross the desert safely -- or at all,” he added. Brent measured the width of the passage in his mind, no more than the length of five football fields. This then, he realized, was the Lava Gate, the entrance to the Jornada del Muerte. As far as his eyes cold see were wagon tracks, carved into the lava by over a hundred years of wagon trains, following the Camino Real from Mexico to Santa Fé.[3]
“Padre how old is this trail?” Lynae asked.
“Thousands of years old hijita. The Pueblo Indians have traded along this trail since at least the eleventh century. They traded for turquoise, salt, and macaws with other tribes. The Spanish conquistador Juan de Oñate rode through this gap in 1598.”
Brent turned to Lynae. “This is really the most important and earliest trail in the United States. It was the first European road in the continent, and probably the longest one, too.”
“Padre added, “the first horses used for breeding and riding were brought into this country along with cattle and sheep. This is the trail that brought the first wheels, gunpowder, first written language. Christianity and the Holy Bible were brought to this wilderness along this very trail.”
Captain Pedro Varela Jaramillo had died at Guadalupe del Paso, but his sons Cristóbal and Juan came back in 1693 to resettle their ancestral lands in the Río Abajo. Juan rode part of the day with them. Toward evening he introduced Brent and Lynae to his new wife, Isabel de Cedillo, whom he married at Real de San Lorenzo February 11, 1692. It was Juan and Isabel who took the time to explain how the settlement in Santa Fé and Bernallio would be organized:
“The settlers who came with de Vargas were given land grants for new communities. Some single families received grants, but mostly groups of families were given a grant, and their title was only confirmed after they had built homes, dug irrigation ditches, planted crops, served in the local militia and resided on the grant for several years. Each grantee family received an allotment of land on which to build a home and raise crops, but each community had areas of common land both within the village and in the surrounding hills and forests, which represented the principal acreage of community grants; here livestock grazed on the unfenced range and the settlers gathered wild plants and firewood, as well as cutting timbers for their houses, furniture and implements”[4].
Another day Brent visited with Bérnabe Baca, who he remembered better as Bérnabe Jorge. Lynae recognized Juana Montoya, a young woman now, and began to visit with her. Juana told her that her family had already arranged a marriage to Pedro Durán y Chaves, which would take place on January 27, 1703.
“The tight knit central plaza with intersecting streets forming a gird plan was required in the grants. Most land grant communities developed, however, as a series of small, kin-based placitas, built above the easily cultivable islands of irrigable land in the usually narrow river valleys. The number of nuclear families in a placita ranged from less than a dozen to more than fifty families, and with all residents sharing a great part of their subsistence activities. After men had cleared the fields, women, children and the elderly tended the crops. Teenage youths and men engaged in care of livestock on the mountain range, in buffalo hunting and trading with the Indians, in militia service, and in accompanying the annual trade caravans to Chihuahua and other Mexican cities.”[5]
Brent became more and more convinced he would really like it if they happened to get stuck in this time period. But he couldn’t help puzzling on the effect it would have on future generations.
“José García Jurado was a native of Mexico City. This son of Fernando was about forty years old when he joined the 1693 colonists with his family. He was tall, had a broad forehead and nose, but small deep set eyes. His wife, thirty- year- old Josefa de Herrera, was the daughter of Agustin Mazin, born in Oricana. At just medium height, she had big eyes, a low forehead with heavy eyebrows. They had two sons, both born in Puebla. Ramon and Antonia had one daughter, Petronila, who became the wife of Pedro Ascencio Lopez, and later married Juan Antonio Baca.”
“Remember Antonio’s father, Cristóbal Baca, told us of the first wagon trains led by Juan de Oñate in 1598. The wagon train carried 1129 men, and many families. There were seven thousand head of livestock and they traveled over three hundred miles across these dry deserts and wilderness before coming to the Rio Grande near Él Paso. Cristóbal told us about the Manso Indians who guided them to the ‘pass of the north’ and showed them a crossing where they could ford the river. That's when Oñate called it ‘las puertas,’ the gates. Now it's is called Oñate’s crossing.”
"The rest of the trail is long and hard, hijitos," the padre comforted. “You are on this journey alone?"
"No, Brent, said, shaking his head, we are a part of many of the families, we are with kin."
"Kin?" Lynae giggled. "We are among our kin," she mimicked.
"Well, it must have translated all right. I didn't see the Padre grinning with a stupid grin like yours." Brent defended shoving at Lynae's grip on his elbow with the hand he held the reins, causing the lead animal to swerve dangerously in the trail.
During the weeks to follow Brent and Lynae realized the truthfulness of the Padre's kind warning. Three hundred fifty miles on the Camino Real, passing Robledo Mountain, named for one of Oñate’s officers who died on this trip north. Through the Jornada desert, water was rationed water food was eaten cold. One camp site was named "Perrillo," recalling a little dog with muddy paws that had entered the camp looking for food. The soldiers had followed the little dog's muddy tracks, which led them to pools of water in an arroyo.
"Lynae, we'll be with this train awhile. It would take a wagon train over eighteen months to make the round trip from the starting point, Santa Barbara in Mexico, to Santa Fé and back. They say that the wagons returning to Mexico were not the same wagons that left the settlement. Every piece of them would have been replaced along the way “.
"That must be why we carry such a load. Have you looked through our supplies? We started from Santa Barbara with sixty-two pounds of tallow for lubrication, three extra iron tires, two spare axles, and dozens of extra spokes. There are barrels of cord, nails, bolts, washers, harping pins, cleats, linchpins, ribs, saws, hammers, adzes, and crowbars."
"What are harping pins, linchpins and adzes?" Lynae asked.
"I don’t know, but we got plenty of ‘em. Some kind of tools, I'm not sure. I think I know what the rest of the things are. I just wonder what they are doing in our wagon.
lynch pin adze
“Every wagon is required to take those supplies, plus carry goods for the missions: sacramental wine, bronze church bells, vestments, silver chalices and candlesticks, carved saints, religious paintings, crosses, incense, lamp oil, cloth, tools and many other items. When the trains return, the wagons carry back piñon nuts, hides, wheat, corn, raw wool, salt, cattle, and Indian slaves."
"Oh, I hope we get to help gather piñon nuts," Lynae said. “I can remember picking piñon nuts somewhere with Uncle Eliseo when I was really small. That's all I remember about it. I don't know where we were. "
"Must have been near Quemado or Mangas if we were with Uncle Eliseo.” Brent said thoughtfully. Then added casually in the same tone, "Maybe I can sell you for a slave, and you can go back to Mexico with the wagon train. I understand a good healthy young girl like you could fetch upwards of four hundred dollars."
"Brent, that's not even funny -- that’s sick and wrong. How can people keep and sell slaves?"
"People do it all over the world. Even in our own time there are forms of slave trade, but back now, it is an accepted custom in most cultures. What is kind of ironic, the Indians traded slaves among the tribes even before the European soldiers came. Then the Europeans took and sold Indian slaves, then the Indians rebelled, remember that, Lynae? And the Indians took Spaniards as slaves during the rebellion.”
“Well that doesn’t make it right.” Lynae shrugged trying to erase the vivid memories of those August days and nights.
“What is popular is not always right, and what is right is not always popular.” Brent dryly quoted the poster he had seen on the wall of Mom’s office.
“I understand there are some of the early colonists still missing among the Indian tribes. Cousin Martín and some others are getting together a rescue party to head into the mountains around Santa Fé. They plan to rescue some of the family members as soon as we arrive in Santa Fe.”
“Will they even remember Spanish ways after twelve years with the Indians? Will they want to come back to their families?” Lynae tried to imagine being forced twice in a lifetime to change cultures so suddenly. “Yeah, duh!” she sighed hitting her forehead in self-disgust. “That’s exactly what we’ve been doing on every adventure!”
“Somehow, I just don’t think it’s the same thing, Lynae.”
The wagons continued the long dreary drive. Day after day they passed through dry desert. The vegetation varied from beautiful landscapes to some of the most terrible forsaken scenes ever seen. Just the deep grooves of road and trail could be seen mile after mile after mile.
The wagon train pulled to a stop at the end of a long day of travel. "This is one of the most important campsites of the Jornada trail. It's still thirty miles to Socorro -- at least two more long days of travel. This is the last rest stop on the river before crossing the Jornada coming South. That means we have crossed the Jornada desert." Padre narrated pointing to the far mountain he added, "the face of Fray Cristòbal, who died near here in 1599, is still visible there.” He pointed. “The Fray Cristòba Mountains are named for him."
They continued their journey on past the Río Grande, through what is now Española, and on into the new town of Santa Fé -- "Holy Faith".
Arriving in Santa Fe, volunteers were recruited to take a census. Brent and Lynae eagerly volunteered to record the names of family members and other colonists entering Santa Fé for the resettlement. They were aware that these very important folks would be the ancestral foundation upon which at least the next two centuries of New Mexico genealogy would be built.
[1] History p 25-28
[2] History p 29
[3] Smithsonian, and New Mexico Magazine—much of the descriptions of routes and scenery is from these two articles. Information is also taken and quoted from History and New Mexico. Change of font indicates direct quotations.
[4] Typed manuscript pp 10-12
Typed manuscript pp 10-15




Lynae burst through the apartment door with Brent close on her heels. "Guess what!”, they both shouted.. "Mom’s taking us to the Shakespeare festival in Cedar City. We get to go for the whole week-end. Our English class has been reading Shakespeare’s play, Romeo and Juliet, and we’re going to get to see it live on stage. Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?"
"I'm right behind you, fair Juliet. Let's watch the video again so we know the story line."
"This new version is too weird, but I kind of like it.”
“It makes Verona and the families seem all modern and today. It kind of brings it into the present without changing the story.”
Dragging suitcases and a backpack from the car in Cedar City, they watched as costumed actors handed out event flyers. Lynae began to imagine how Brent would look in tight pants and a frilly jacket, and herself as the beautiful young Juliet. Exploring behind the scenes on a tour of the sets, Brent and Lynae stepped out onto the stage as if to perform the play themselves. As the stage curtains opened, where the Montigues and Capulets should have been standing were the Armijos, the Bacas and other people of Santa Fé during the summer of 1733.
"Psst -- Brent! What have you done? We're not in Verona; we're back in Santa Fé. Look at the Sangre Cristo Mountains. There's no mistaking those mountains for anywhere else.”
The narrator began to introduce the play:[1]
In the summer of 1733 young Manuel Armijo and Francisca Baca of Santa Fé fell madly in love with each other. But her father, Captain Antonio Baca, disapproved most vehemently. He even threatened to run Manuel through with his sword if the youngsters continued seeing each other. Undaunted the youth sought legal aid from the church authorities and as a consequence the entire high society connected with church and state became seriously involved.
Brent stared. He decided he would never be able to take this time travel business for granted. "The plaza looks almost the same as it did last time. There's the Palace of the Governors, only it looks like Governor Domingo Bustamante is in charge of the Kingdom of New Mexico like the Prince of Verona, and there is his nephew, Vicar José Bustamante, who also lives at the Palace.”
As Brent and Lynae walked out onto the stage, the audience vanished and the other three sides of the Plaza materialized. These sides made up the more important citizens' residences, among them that Captain Antonio Baca and his wife María Aragon. The houses were built next to each other with portales or large windows across the front.
Up the main street to the east the Parroquía of San Francisco rose high and adobe-clean against the mountain backdrop as the town's most imposing structure.[2]
"Brent, they've finished the Parroquía -- it is really beautiful! And look at little Francisca Baca. She has also grown so beautiful. Too bad all these beautiful girls are related, huh, Brent."
Brent stood by speechlessly blushing.
"Lynae, my friend. You see they have finished the Parroquía nearly sixteen years ago, near the time I was born. I have always imagined that it was built just for me as a celebration of my birth, and here I shall one day marry Manuel Amigo. Here with pomp and ceremony, flowers and bells chiming we will have the most beautiful Church wedding that ever was. ¡O! Here comes Manuel! You won't tell anyone that we are meeting here, Lynae, will you? We have to meet secretly because my parents do not approve of our love."
Brent and Lynae nodded their heads knowingly. After all, they wouldn't even be allowed to date at that age, much less be making plans to marry. "My parents have chosen another man for me to marry when it is time, but I am not in love with the other man. I have always loved Manuel and we are going to be married one day, here in the Parroquía.”
"I know about arranged marriages, but why won't your parents arrange the marriage to Manuel, if you love him and they want you to get married?" Brent asked Francisca.
“Uncle Duane says he is going to arrange my marriage to someone he picks especially for me.” Lynae bragged, at the same time hoping Uncle Duane had been joking.
Francisca attempted to explain. "My family, the Baca's, have been well to do stockmen for generations. Our family came from Bernalillo but my father, Captain Antonio Baca, us to the Villa de Santa Fé some years ago when he become a prominent military leader and civic official. Our family is very close to the governor's. Besides, my father always boasts about being a direct descendant the first conquistadores who had settled the kingdom of New Mexico in 1598, and built the Villa de Santa Fé in 1610. His people had also helped reconquer the kingdom under Governor Vargas in 1693 after the terrible Pueblo Indian Revolt of 1680."
"Yes, that’s true", Brent and Lynae nodded, wide eyed. "We know about that part of our history. We were there."
Francisca ignored this slip of tongue and continued her story. My mother belonged to the wealthy and influential Ortíz family of the Villa."
"So, it’s like you are in a higher social class. I didn't know we were so important." Lynae said smugly, holding up her nose in the air in mock pridefulness.
"But with Manuel 's folks it is differe”nt." Francisca continued.
"His father, Vicente Armijo, holds neither military nor civic posts, and his house stands beyond the western outskirts of town in the barrrio of Alto del Rión, (a street and section along Santa Fé's mountain stream). Besides, the Armijo family only came to New Mexico about forty years ago, in 1695, well after Santa Fé was taken back from the Indians."
"And how would that make them any less important," Brent demanded defensively.
Francesca was not to be side-tracked. "What is still worse in my parents’ eyes, Manuel 's mother, María Apodaca, was half Indian and had no known father. She had been born in some pueblo after her mother was captured by the Indians in the Revolt of 1680."
"And your parents blame her for that? Let me tell you, that was no fun time for any of us! María was one of the lucky ones to even live through the war and captivity at all." Lynae blurted out.
Brent looked more puzzled than before. "But what about Manuel‘s Uncle, Antonio? He is the only surgeon in the Kingdom, and the Ortíz people generally can read and write better than some of the Bacas and other influential families. Doesn't that give them any status? Your parents can't just judge worthiness by where somebody lives and how long they've been in the state." But even as he spoke, they both realized that New Mexico was not yet a state and they could indeed, judge by any standards they chose, as with any age.
"It's kind of funny.” Brent said more in an aside to Lynae. “The Mexicans who are of 'pure Spanish heritage’, hold themselves above those with Indian mixed blood, and among the mixed heritage, they divide themselves according to who came with the early settlers and who didn't. But when more recent Indian blood gets mixed up in the genealogy it creates an even different class of people. My word, I guess there is something to prejudice people against one each other in every generation. The Montigues had their hang ups against the Capulets, and here its the Baca and Ortíz family versus the less wealthy Armijos from the wrong side of the river...”
"What’s worse," Francisca continued weeping, ignoring the side conversation, "is that my father has threatened to kill Manuel if he is caught seeing me again. You see, that is why we meet secretly here at the Parroquía.”
"He wouldn't really kill someone for dating his daughter, would he? He'd never get away with it! What could he plead not guilty by insanity?"
“I don’t know,” Brent whispered. “I understand Dad made some pretty big threats against some of the guys that dated our older sisters.”
"Everybody knows," Francisca corrected, "including Manuel Armijo, that my father could carry out his threat and possibly get away with it."
Lynae wondered privately if her dad would threaten so rashly if she began to date and talk about marriage when she barely turned fifteen.
Manuel appeared from the shadows suddenly. "Francisca, my love, I have nothing more to lose. My life is nothing without you at my side. I have been talking to the friar, the pastor at the Parroquía. Padre is afraid to go against your father because of his political importance and refuses to perform the wedding.
Beautiful Francisca began to cry again.
“No Francisca, don't cry any more.” Manuel said stroking the girl’s long brown hair. I have a plan. In spite of your father and the friar, we will be married soon! Even though he would not perform the ceremony padre gave me a good idea. He may be afraid of your father, but he is the only clergyman in the area. You know how the Franciscans resent the presence of Vicar Bustamante at the Palace. He is the official representative of the Bishop of Durángo in New Spain hundreds of miles away. So, anyway, Padre was happy to inform me of a rarely invoked, but very strict, Spanish law."
"How can an old law help us now. My father knows it is against the law to kill you, but I think he still will, regardless of the law,” Francisca, still not comforted, could not stop the tears that came.
"No, no, listen. According to this law, whenever parents refuse their consent to a marriage, the groom can make a formal complaint before two witnesses to the highest church authority. Then this high personage is obliged to sequester the bride in a neutral home for a stated period, to give her ample time to make up her own mind.”
“That would just give the parents and family time to talk her out of it.” Lynae said remembering all the times Mom had wished she could have talked the older siblings out of rushing into their marriages.
“No,” Manuel continued, “any interference by the parents or others would call for instant excommunication from the church. Even Vicar Bustamante can’t go against that law; your father wouldn't risk excommunication.”
"You mean they think that leaving me alone, separated from you, I will decide not to marry you -- come to my senses?!"
"Yes, but if you finally insist on the marriage, the wedding has to take place." Manuel stated triumphantly. “You won’t change your mind, will you, Francisca?” he begged, kneeling before her and taking her hand in his.
Brent muttered to Lynae, under his breath, “She looks as bad as you do when you’ve been crying.”

ACT TWO Romeo and Juliet

From the back ground music and changing lights, Brent and Lynae recognized the beginning of Act Two. The setting was again not Verona, but Santa Fé.
"Young man, you are trying to manipulate the church by referring to an ancient law that is never used in this modern day and age." Vicar Bustamante knew that he was being put on the spot when Manuel Armijo appeared before him with his two young friends from Albuquerque as his witnesses. Brent and Lynae stood tall and firmly at his side. Manuel had invited them along when his Santa Fé pals declined to help out of fear of political complications.
"It is only because I know it will anger the Viceroy in Mexico City if I refuse to act on the case. I know that the friars would waste no time in getting a report to Mexico." The Vicar himself admitted, even if he was the Lord Governor's immediate relative. And so, after vain haggling and many excuses, he promised to have Francisca Baca sequestered in a "neutral home," the house of don José Riáno who was a cousin of Governor Bustamante from the same countryside in Spain.
Lynae stayed with Francisca. “I can’t see that this is a very neutral home, in spite of the threat of excommunication,” Lynae reported to Brent on one of his visits. María Roybal, the lady of the house has a younger brother, Mateo who is engaged to Francisca's sister Gregoria.” She explained indicating by the shake of her head that it was another convoluted relationship. “And, you know how the residences on the plaza adjoin each other? It is so easy and tempting for the ladies from all the related families, like the Montoyas and Ortízes, to pester poor Francisca with their arguments night and day. I don’t think they even know about, or at least they don’t understand the seriousness of excommunication.”
Lynae watched in surprise as Francisca greeted her father with a big hug and friendly smile. "Papá everyone has pestered me day and night since I came here. I cannot stand the pressure anymore, so I will give up the love of my life and obey your will." Francisca appeared to be giving up on her plan to marry Manuel. Lynae stood open mouthed with shock, feeling helpless as she listened, but when she saw Francisca crossing fingers behind her back she made a mental note: “Boy, I guess that was a trick even back then to not feel guilty about telling a lie.”
So once out of her enforced isolation, Francisca began meeting her beloved in the dark recesses of the Parróquia, or else in the alameda of cottonwoods and mountain poplars along the villa's mountain stream.
Captain Baca discovered this treachery, but having come to realize that manslaughter would get him into trouble no matter what his political status, Baca decided to send his daughter away secretly, far from Santa Fé, to the great hacienda of his sister Josefa Baca.[3] It was located at Pajarito just south of Albuquerque, a two-day's ride by horse back from Santa Fé. One morning well before dawn, a sad Francisca Baca set out under an armed escort led by her brother-in-law, Antonia Montoya, husband to her sister Ynez.
“Brent,” Francisca begged, "you have to find Manuel and tell him to come to rescue me. Tell him I‘ve been kidnapped! Tell him I’m being held captive against my will!"
Brent promptly mounted a horse standing handily by and sped away to help rescue the fair Francisca. Along the King's Highway, west from the plaza along Agua Fria Street, past the suburb of Alto where Manuel was sleeping soundly, unaware of what was happening to Francisca.
By sunrise the group carrying the unwilling captive had turned more southward to La Cienega, and the over the high plateau of La Tetilla where the men rode cautiously watching for any sign of Apaches. “The Indians killed some sheepherder here just a few weeks ago.” Francisca sobbed, as Lynae tried to comfort her. "I hope the Apaches will attack and kill us too. They have been seen in the area."
"I don't think that would help, and anyway, I am a bit young to die, so let's hope for a different plan." Lynae answered, at the same time unconsciously held tightly to her own scalp, once again wondering about possible future consequences of such an event.
She watched the hillsides where the lonely herders called pastores wandered among their sheep. She thought about the bible references to shepherds and the Good Shepherd, and prayed for help and guidance on this journey, as she had on so many others. Knowing it was an important marriage, and that it was going to happen, she had a hard time making it into a crime that would ‘bring shame on the family.’ As she pondered the ethics of her actions, and the long term results of this entire adventure she fell into a dazed trance which helped numb her against the bumpy wagon seat as well as the slow movement of time.
Lynae spotted goats among the sheep and noticed one black goat among many white sheep. “Why are there black goats in among the sheep?” She asked one of the guards, more to take her mind off the long drive than out of interest in sheep.
“The pastores have only ten fingers to count. They can’t count more sheep than they have fingers. So they count as many sheep as they have fingers, and toss a black rock into a sack. When they have as many rocks as they have fingers, they have a group of one hundred sheep, and put in a black goat so they can keep count. The goats make good leaders, and step-mothers to nurse the orphan lambs. They’ll nurse a lamb right along with their own kids.”
“Was it that important to keep track of the number of sheep in a herd?” Lynae wondered aloud
“Well, both to the patrón and the pastore. Sheep are like money to the owners, and they make the pastores pay for any missing lamb. They have to skin the dead sheep, ears and all and take the pelt back to prove that the sheep had died and how.”[4]
After descending the plateau to the valley of the Río Grande, the party stopped at the Pueblo de Santo Domingo to eat, drink and rest before continuing on to Bernalillo.
"Oh, Lynae, I can't stand it. Not only have I been stolen from my love, but away from my home and family. Look it's getting dark, and I can't even look back on the beautiful Sierra of Santa Fé. It’s completely out of sight.” Francisca was wailing now. “Will I never be allowed again to see the big Parróquia where all my dreams of my wedding and my babies’ baptisms? Will I never see Manuel again?” Lynae was tempted to tell her the outcome of the story, but patiently petted her arm and told her things would be OK.
In the early morning sun as they continued the journey the next day Lynae pointed out the thrilling view of the great Sandía. “That view has always been so beautiful to me,” she gestured hoping to distract Francisca from her misery.
Francisca looked up and answered, “I always look for the first glimpse whenever my family comes down to visit my grandparents and relatives in Bernalillo. But today it gives me no comfort -- the sight only makes me feel even sadder. “
Lynae was beginning to wonder about Francisca; would she ever be happy again? Not even her relatives attempted to comfort her when the party stayed overnight at the paternal Baca hacienda, for they all concurred in saying that her father had done the right thing.

ACT Three Romeo and Juliet

As the caravan arrived at the enormous, prosperous hacienda at Pajarito, they caught a glimpse of, Doña Josefa Baca, elder sister of Captain Antonio Baca. She owned the property, but it was run by a number of ranch hands whose wives took care of the many household chores. She herself had several children, some older and some younger than her niece Francisca.
Lynae felt a little uncomfortable knowing that these children had all been born out of wedlock, but Josefa made no apology and seemed to be comfortable in her life-style choice. Lynae heard whispered gossip that doña Josefa was the secret mistress, or apparently, not-so-secret-mistress, of none other than Governor Domingo Bustamante himself! But this was purely family gossip. Although some of the priests like Father Morfí[5] of the time strongly proposed social reform among the New Mexico settlers, the community as a whole seemed comfortable with less rigid mores.
Several of doña Josefa Baca’s children are on our pedigree chart, Lynae,” Brent reminded her as they met the younger boys and girls in the family.
“She seems to be doing a fine job of single parenting. I guess she probably gets some help from the not so secret father.” Lynae judged. “She seems to be a very strong personality with ideas of her own,” she added. “I don’t think her brother in Santa Fé figured on her siding with romantic love instead of these who were so pious and class-conscious.” Lynae immediately began to like this aging ancestor, especially her attitude. They shared a rebellious streak, which seemed to run through the family for many generations. Finally someone to agree with her.
"Francisca, mi hija, don't worry. Don't cry anymore. You are here, and Tía Josefa will take care of you. ¡No te preocupas!” Josefa held Francisca close and petted her long brown hair. “Everything will come out all right, you will see." Her precious Auntie softly sang the words Lynae had sang so many times before: "Sana sana, colita de rana. Si no sanas hoy sanarás mañana."
Meanwhile, Brent had awakened Manuel, and rode back with him. "The feast of San Lorenzo is coming soon, on the tenth day of August." Lynae explained." I hope it is a bit less exciting than the tenth of August in 1680; I don't want to have to live through another Indian uprising." She suppressed an involuntary shudder of chill.
"The rebellion of Francisca and Manuel might go down in history as just as important, at least in our genealogy." Brent joked. “And just as bloody!” they said in unison, laughing nervously.
"Brent, Josefa is just like the Nurse in Shakespeare's version of this story. Doña Josefa Baca has gone to her parish church in Albuquerque to visit Fray Pedro Montano. She says he will not want to cross her, and he will welcome the opportunity to get even with the bishop's vicar in Santa Fé. I guess he is the friendly Friar Lawrence of Veronica!"
"Let me guess the next scene,” Lynae predicted, standing now in front of that first little church in Albuquerque on August 10,1733. Lynae was quick to appraise the plain front with no towers, but because it faced eastward toward the majestic Sandia Mountains she decided the view almost made up for the difference between it and the Parróquia.
Lynae and Brent stood together in the bare front, near the graveyard looking toward the rows of portaled buildings across the square. "Remember when we were here with Mom? There were trees and a gazebo here where we are standing.” Brent gestured to the bare dirt yard in a casual sounding attempt to cover his anticipation of the excitement that was about to come.
The festive mass in honor of San Lorenzo ended, and the people all began to push forward onto the big square. The musicians were starting to play, and hucksters of tamales and sopaipillas were shouting their wares.
"Oh, Brent, do you have any coins? We could buy some tamales -- I wonder if they are as good as the ones Mom makes at Christmas time."
"Maybe she inherited her tamale talent from one of these ancestors." Brent agreed, his mouth watering, as his heart began to feel a bit homesick.
"Let’s go inside the church,” Lynae urged. "Maybe we can get a good view.” Father Montano still in his red vestments was standing, waiting at the altar. Aunt Josefa and a beaming Francisca stood to one side, turning their expectant faces to the front entrance. From behind the open door Manuel Armijo with Brent and Lynae close by, stepped forward and walked toward the altar.
Before Lynae could even get excited, the friar heard the vows from Manuel and Francisca and pronounced them man and wife.
"Oh, Brent, it was all so beautiful, but not like Francisca had dreamed of. It was too fast, and she didn't have a beautiful gown, or flowers or even music."
"I bet Manuel was glad not to have to wear a tuxedo or boutonnière. I think this is the way any guy would want to have the wedding."
"Oh, Brent, always the romantic!" Lynae scoffed sarcastically.
Somehow the news filtered quickly back to the folks on the plaza, and they begin filling the front graveyard to congratulate the newly-weds. Women standing by quickly made bouquets from flowers they picked from some nearby gardens, and Lynae tossed handsfull of flower petals in the walkway where she expected the couple to walk.
But in place of the newly weds marching triumphantly to their carriage, Lynae turned in horror as she heard a scuffle and a loud murmur. The crowd parted to see two men take their measure with drawn swords. Captain Antonio Chávez, commander of the local garrison stepped into her view, then came another, Antonio Montoya from Santa Fé, Francisca's brother in law.
"Who is on whose side?” Lynae asked along with many other spectators.
“Oh, gosh," Brent murmured. “This is where everyone gets killed in Shakespeare’s play. We better stop it or we won't have any ancestors left to descend from."
“I'll try to stop Antonia Montoya. He’s looking very angry about the wedding. Lynae, you go with Tìa Josefa to intercept Captain Chávez. I have heard him described as a well-known ladies' man in the Río Abajo, but he is married to Antonia Baca, one of Aunt Josefa’s other nieces.”
“Brent, would you quit with the detailed gossip! This is not the time or the place!”
Brent started bellowing in his most commanding ROTC voice, telling people to stop the fight, and was fortunately able to encourage the townsmen to put a stop to the duel.
"Good work, brother. Because of you, there is no graveyard strewn with corpses as in Shakespeare's tragedy." Lynae hugged Brent.
"It’s a good thing we were here,” Brent sighed in relief. “Who would have stopped that fight if we hadn't come? It could have ended with everyone dead, including Manuel and Francisca."


Final Vows
Brent and Lynae returned two years later to watch as Manuel and Francisca moved back to Santa Fé," to have their wedding ceremony renewed in the great Parróquia with all the pomp of bell, book and candles that Francisca had dreamed about.
As for Romeo and Juliet themselves, we know that they had one daughter in 1748, while living in Nambe, but for lack of records we don't know what Armijos and other folks are directly descended from the pair. But as was mentioned at the start, most of the other characters in the drama are our own direct grandparents, from Governor Bustamante and the parents of both Romeo and Juliet to the dueling Captain Chávez. The rest are collateral ancestors.
All this is said here, not by way of boasting, but to show that, since we Hispanic New Mexicans are all cousins from far back, thousands of folds still living on the same stage with the beautiful Sangre de Cristo and Sandia mountains for a perennial backdrop, are in some way or another children of the original cast of New Mexico's Real Romeo and Juliet.
Lynae put down the Chavez article she was reading and sighed. "How romantic," as Brent mumbled something she couldn't understand.
"That was a fun trip to Cedar City," he added casually. "I'm glad we got to go together. You can be pretty fun sometimes." I hope we have more adventures together. I can’t believe how fun it is to get acquainted with our ancestors, who were just names in a box of papers before.
[1] Friar Angelico Chávez Much of this chapter is quotations and paraphrasing of this story by Chavez.
Chavez got his information and details from the existing document consisting of a compliant made by the Franciscan friar of Albuquerque against the bishop's vicar in Santa Fé.
The document of complaint was made against the bishop's vicar in Santa Fé for having broken a certain Spanish law regarding marriage, and of a countercharge against the friar for his having performed a wedding in spite of everything. Fray Angelico Chávez took the information from the court record and turned into a romantic story, telling history and why Manuel and Francisca were not allowed to marry, and why so many people in different levels of society had to get involved.
[2] it looked almost exactly like the present St. Francis auditorium of the museum of fine arts and it was only some sixteen years old at the time. "
[3]Romeo and Juliet; p 264, 144 Chaves Pedro Duran y Chaves married Juana Montoya on January 27, 1703.

Origins Josefa Baca


[4] Coronado p 95
[5] Coronado p 129