Pottery and Rebellion

Lynae and Brent slowly went about the chore of unpacking their suitcases after flying back to Las Vegas from the Salt Lake City airport. The eight weeks with Mom had gone unusually fast, and now, with less than a week before school starting, they had to get their clothes in order, reclaim their bedrooms from the invasion of steplings over the summer and get geared up for a new school year. Brent was especially excited about beginning high school at Rancho Academy for Aerospace and Aviation.
“Where did you get that braid?” Brent shot an accusing glance at Lynae.
“It’s Mom’s. The one she cut from her hair when she was my age. Look! It is exactly the color of my own hair.” Lynae pinned the braid to her own hair and let it fall down her back.
"Lynae had to bring an extra suitcase just to hold the souvenirs and T-shirts she bought on the trip," Brent reported out loud to no one in particular, sounding disgusted. He was secretly pleased that at least she hadn't spent all her money on candy and junk this summer.
"I work for my money baby sitting; I can spend it on what I like," Lynae defended. "Besides, you haven't even looked at some of the stuff I got in New Mexico." Lynae remarked defensively as she smoothed the Indian blanket over the top of her bed.
"Well I did see that piece of broken pottery covered with mud. I hope you didn't pay for that!"
"No, actually, I picked it up just outside the fence at the Acoma village. I asked the tour guide if I could keep it, and without even looking at it she told me, sure, it's just a rock. But I think it is a piece of ancient pottery." Lynae whispered in a conspiratorial voice.
"Sure, like it's still going to be on top of the ground after four hundred years of wars and weather.”
“Mom says her family used to find pottery and arrowheads on the farm when she was a kid, and sometimes even when she and Dad were first married."
"Well, maybe it just washed up during a summer rain storm.”
“... or maybe it was put there especially for me to find. Come on, Brent, leave your stuff and help me clean it up to see what it really is."
Brent was ready for an excuse to abandon his room and went with Lynae into the kitchen to use the sink. He stopped at the couch long enough to pull on a fresh pair of tube socks from the laundry basket. "We'll have to hurry, Gina and Dad will be back pretty soon, and they said to have all this put away before they got back."
“Good grief, Brent, don’t you have any socks with toes in them?” Lynae scoffed at Brent’s worn socks, then turned to the chore at hand.
"OK, get the little scrubbing brush and a sponge. I'm going to put hot soapy water in the sink, we’ll see if that will dissolve the mud. I don't want to hurt the picture."
"What picture?" Brent asked, somewhat annoyed that he didn't know about it."
"Look, you can see some of it through the mud! It’s coming clearer."
"Lynae, this looks evil." The brightly colored picture seemed to come to life as the mud washed away. Holding it in the light, Lynae could barely see the marks, but as she washed, it seemed to take on a light of its own. On the pottery were three painted figures, and they were carefully sculptured around to make them stand out in relief. Each figure had fire coming from all the extremities of its body.
"Ouch," Lynae cried dropping the pottery onto a towel. "It burned me! It’s hot! Look! it’s glowing where the fire is coming out from the men. It‘s glowing hot! Brent -- don't touch it! It’s evil!"
Lightening-like lights flashed out from the broken pottery, reeling them back through time and space. Brent and Lynae found themselves seated in the back of a Kiva in a Taos pueblo. In the front sat Popé,[1] a San Juan Indian who had participated in previous rebellions. He to worked up the Indians, attempting to combine the Apache and Pueblo tribes against the Spanish. Now, he was communicating with the spirits much as the Gadianton Robbers must have communicated with Satan for inspiration. The vision opened to Popé of the three figures on the pottery.
“Oh, Brent, this doesn’t look good. Do you see the vision that Popé is seeing in the flame?”
“There -- Those are the three figures on your old chunk of pottery.” Brent emphasized the word YOUR, as if to blame Lynae for this trip into history.
Both children listened as Popé communicated with these spirits. “Make a cord of maguey cactus fiber. Tie knots to count the days the tribes must wait for the rebellion to begin!” the voices directed Popé. “Pass the rope from village to village, counting the days. The warriors will know.” The voices continued. “They will remember the betrayal by the ancient white brothers. Vengeance will be ours!” The voice raised to a shrill pitch, increasing the intensity as it described the evils of the ancient legends and the righteousness of the revolt to restore the birthright stolen from them by the earliest white men. These ancient legends of the white brothers who had betrayed them thousands of years before seemed to awaken revenge as the Indian leaders heard the plan for attack and passing along the knotted rope from village to village.
Lynae whispered her concern to Brent, “I read that later on these same Indians will defend their anger and murdering their friends who had not done them harm. Some Indians will tell Friar Defouri that the devil had appeared to them in the form of a giant and told them. He told them that he was their ancient master and ordered them to meet together and put to death all the Spaniards. They were told not to hold back or spare even the church people -- that he would help them. By following him, he promised their lost independence would be restored to them, and they would throw off all subjection[2]. This must have been what they were talking about."
"Sure sounds like Gadianton to me," Brent breathed quietly. “I thought he had been buried with the golden plates,[3] but this is over a thousand years later, and he is still stirring up trouble between the Lamanites and the white brothers.”
“Well, at least he didn’t get a lot of cooperation from the different tribes. Heaven knows he tried hard enough, but he wasn’t able to unite any of the tribes in this rebellion. They just all fought as separate units. There were no common leaders, no definite plan of action except naming of the day for the war to begin by passing the knotted rope! Think how bad it could have been for everyone if they had coordinated their efforts. We might never have been born!”
"I told you,” he suddenly turned angrily to Lynae. ” I didn't want to even think about the 1680 rebellion! Now you brought me here with your filthy chunk of pottery. Don't start crying when things get really scary, because they will. And I'm going to be just as scared as you.“
At dawn on August 10, 1680,[4] Brent and Lynae encountered two men traveling toward Tesuque Pueblo chapel to administer Mass to the faithful Christian Indians, but Friar Juan Baptista Pío and curly haired Pedro Hidalgo found only an empty village.
"Padre Pío, was your grandfather our friend, Juan, that was raised by Cristóbal Baca?"
"Oh, right," Brent countered, "like he would believe you knew his grandfather eighty years ago, and you are still, like -- twelve. Give-me-a-break."
"Well, you talk to them, since you’re so smart. We need to find out where we are and how to get to the others to warn them about the rebellion. Today is the day it the rebellion starts."
"I don't think we can change anything. I think we just have to watch, since we are here."
“At least tell them to be careful," Lynae whispered. Then, darting out toward the two men, she picked up an abandoned shield and handed it to him. "Here Padre, take this shield, and be careful." Brent and Lynae followed closely behind as the friar and his companion found the small congregation waiting in the hills. “Other armed Indians were gathering; some had bows and arrows or lances and shields; some had painted their faces and bodies.”
Holding up the shield, Friar Pío walked toward them, Brent and Lynae could hear his clear strong voice saying, "What is this. . . are you mad? Do not disturb yourselves; I will help you and die a thousand deaths for you.[5]"
“Unable to persuade them to return to the village, they rode into the ravine to join them. Hidalgo rode away to find the rest, while Father Pío continued his attempt to calm and disarm the villagers.
“When Hidalgo saw blood spattered, painted war-horses, he realized one of the warriors carried the shield Friar Pío had taken with him, he stopped frozen in place. The Indians quickly grasped the reins of Hidalgo's horse and tried to pull him down, grabbing his sword and hat. Brent and Lynae mounted the extra ponies and rode along close to Hidalgo pulling at his mount and helping him to escape among the arrows shot at them as they fled.
Riding hard through the farms and villages toward Santa Fe, the three warned colonials of the rebellion: “The Indians have taken up arms against the Spaniards. Being the first to spread the alarm, they shouted to anyone they saw. Joining them on the trail were Sebastian de Herrera Corrales and his Sergeant Mayor, don Fernando Durán y Chaves who had also witnessed the murder of Friar Pío. Slipping south through Ute country they had returned to find their families massacred. Hidalgo was bleeding from a cut on his neck, but the five rode on at a full gallop into Santa Fé plaza to tell of the death of Friar Pío and of the armed Pueblo warriors making their way north.”[6]
Hidalgo left Brent and Lynae at the Governor Oterman office where the governor paced back and forth shouting orders. “Why didn’t I follow up on the warnings yesterday?” They heard Oterman cursing. “Now it’s too late. There is no time to call in the frontier men-at-arms. We must try to send scouts to the settlers along the river in the outlying farms, ranches and haciendas.”
One by one reports of the slaughter of whole families came to the governor. Brent and Lynae stood mutely in the office, fearful to utter a word. Finally Brent got the courage to urge the governor to make repairs to the gates and walls of the villa; Oterman followed the council of the soon to be fourteen year old boy.
All through the Río Grande valley, the rebelling Pueblos massacred settlers, friars, and soldiers. Brent and Lynae remembered that first discussion between Antonio and Juan nearly eighty years ago. "Why would the Pueblos rise up in revolt after being one people for four score years?" Lynae echoed the question that had haunted her since that first encounter.
Brent looked amused in spite of the horrible drama unfolding before them. “Four Score years?”
"I just always wanted to say that," Lynae grinned impishly.
No one had time to answer any questions, now. Brent obediently followed new orders to ride with Corrales and Sergeant Chavez leading a group of soldiers to warn the settlers in the outlying districts and warn them to defend themselves. They slipped past the Taos rebels and those of La Cañada to catch up with the group of colonists evacuating the settlement at Río Abajo, giving them the first news about the situation in the North.
Otterman ordered anyone who could carry a weapon to fight for the defense of the capital. Able bodied men, women and children strong enough to fight were enlisted in the small army. Soldiers carried all types of weapons from the armory: "harquebusiers, blunderbusses, swords, daggers, shields and munitions. Rooftops and gates became sentry towers, and even the church was guarded to protect the holy sacrament and the images, sacred vessels, and things pertaining to divine worship."
Lynae, now a refugee herself, did all she could to help tend the babies and the injured children. Even though the sight of blood usually made her squeamish, she diligently washed and bandaged child after child and taking each in her arms to comfort in this time of pain and the loss, for many of them had lost all the rest of their families. Lynae rocked the children to comfort them. She found herself singing the little ditty her mother had sung to her. “Sana sana colita de rana. Si no sanarás hoy sanaras manana”
Lynae herself found comfort knowing that she was among family. Cristóbal Baca, nephew of Antonio Baca and his three grown sons and three daughters were among the refugees in Santa Fé. Cristóbal was the son in law of Diego de Truillo; his wife Ana De Lara had their children with them: Catalina, Juana and Luisa, and their sons, Jose, Manuel and Ignacio.
Manuel Baca, about twenty five years old, was a well-built man with a ruddy face, thick beard and wavy hair. His wife, María de Salazar Hurtado, worked side by side with Lynae taking care of her own children along with any others that needed help.
Those left inside The Palace of Governors quickly dug trenches, throwing up hills of dirt and stationing armed soldiers on the roofs. They stationed cannons, charged and mounted on carriages, and aimed at the entrances of the streets. It looked just like a scene from the stories Lynae had read in the time of Alma”.
Lynae watched in vein for Brent to return as messengers and refugees streamed into the palace.
What had she done bringing home that pottery and putting their lives in danger? The very time period Brent had begged her to skip, and she had brought them right there into the middle of the most dangerous time. And Brent had obediently ridden away to warn the others. Would she ever see him again; would they be reunited in Las Vegas, or would this be the end for both of them? She wondered, blinded by the flow of oncoming tears.
When Oterman gave orders to seek all survivors and bring them and their herds into Santa Fe, Lynae once again began to have hope that Brent would be found. She heard the report that the messengers sent to García had all been killed and García was under heavy attack between the pueblos of Alameda and Cochita.
More messengers came, but still no sign of Brent. Finally, Governor Oterman was told that García and his band of settlers had been wiped out by an Indian attack.


Lynae walked through the days grieving not only for the loss of her brother, but the loss of her life in the twenty-first century. Without Brent, how would she ever be able to return? She would be stuck in the past forever.
The family of Andres Hurtado had also gathered with the refugees in Santa Fé. He and his wife, Bernadina de Salas y Orozco had held the encomiendas of Santa Ana and neighboring pueblos. Bernadina, now suddenly a widow, was there with several of her children. She was a granddaughter of María de Vera. One of her daughters had married Francisco de Trujillo. There were several Hurtado children.
Bernadina took charge of the Hurtado family along with her own children; she organized them to help feed and care for one another as well as other families, in spite of her grief over the loss of her husband and the capture of her daughter, Juana. Lynae comforted her by promising that Juana would be found and rescued by her own brother Martín, but she didn't tell her that it would take nearly twelve years. Bernadina was in such grief, that she didn’t ask Lynae how she could know that. She just accepted it as a comfort to her at that time. She hugged Lynae to her, realizing that Lynae was alone there as a child refugee. She invited her to stay among her family in need of a protecting family. There was no thought to ask Lynae where her parents were or where she had lived, as the women went among the lost and injured giving comfort and relief in the ever traditional hospitality of the Spanish people.
Lynae sought out her old friend, María Ortíz de Vera; she remembered well the frightened young woman with two young children. Her marriage was been annulled by the church and the father of her children banished to the Canary Islands with his first wife. She felt like her heart would break on hearing that little Petronila, by now a mother with a large family, had been killed at Pojoaque with all of her eight children.

Maria’s second husband was Antonio Abendano; now called María de Abendano, together they held the encomienda of Pojoaque Pueblo. They had a son Simón Salas, and her two daughters from the previous invalid marriage to Diego de Vera. Crowded into the lower rooms of the round watch tower for safety, Lynae overheard gossip about Antonio having been accused in 1664 having relations with on of these step daughters, Petronila. One woman said it was because he was jealous of her husband, Pedro Romero. It seemed so strange to Lynae that here, among all the trials and heartbreak, there would be time to gossip about something that happened over fifteen years before. As she reflected on this for a moment she recognized that things don't change much even over four hundred years; gossip is gossip and it will always raise its head when families get together, no matter what the circumstances.
‘Antonio Jorge de Vera, resident of Rio Abajo in 1661, and his wife, Gertrudis Baca with their children Antonio, Ana, wife of Alonso García de Noriega and Isabel, wife of Antonio Montano de Sotomayer.”
While the Pueblos took the time to get control of the surrounding countryside, the Spaniards had time to bring in survivors from the outlying districts. Two Christian Indians sent by Oterman with a message to García returned horrifying news: the rebels had taken over the road to the Río Abajo. Five hundred Indians from Pecos Galisteo La Cienega and other pueblos were racing back to attack Santa Fe.
Lynae shuddered and could not hold back her fear nor her tears as she heard the cry: “God and Santa Maria are dead! The rebels are coming with one purpose in mind — to kill the governor, the priests and all the settlers."
“Then word came that Apaches had joined the Indian rebels. Could it get any worse? Early in the morning of August 13, sentries at Santa Fé spotted a host of rebel Indians in the fields of maize near San Miguel Church. Then warriors took Bario de Analco, looting and burning houses of Christian Mexican Indians.
“A Pueblo leader, a Tanoan from Galisteo called Juan, rode up to the gates under a sign of truce, wearing a sash of red taffeta. He was fully armed with harquebus, sword, dagger and even a protective leather jacket. He brought Governor Oterman a message. After some discussion, he agreed to enter the plaza to speak with the governor. He confirmed that all deaths and reports of destruction, and reported that the rebel army was on its way. He warned they would offer the Spaniards the choice of one of two crosses, one red, the other white. Choosing the red cross would mean continued war; the white cross would indicate that all Spaniards would abandon the province”.
Hearing the name Juan, Lynae shuddered, realizing that this too might be a grandson of their friend Juan. How had he known that his descendants would fight against Antonio's? Had Juan’s descendants not only killed the families of the colonists, but Brent too? Lynae did the only things she knew to do. She prayed continuously as she numbly performed the grizzly duties. She knew the many mothers and children joined her prayers, continuing to pray day and night for the safety of their men and lost family members. Many of the men had been away with the Leyva escort and no one had heard from them.
“Válgame Diós” Lynae whispered over and over again.

Oterman shouted his answer to Juan. “We do not want war! You will never defeat us! I will give you once chance to lay down your weapons. I promise to pardon the crimes you have committed but you must disarm quietly!”
Juan reported the governor's response to his followers and was greeted by hoots and shouts of laughter. Oterman advisors urged him to attack immediately before the rebels could get more reinforcements, but as the soldiers left the gates other Indians ambushed and killed them. Oterman arrived with reinforcements and managed to drive the Indians off. Turning on the rebels who had burned San Miguel, the Spaniards fought most of the rest of the day reclaiming their houses from the rebels. Wounded and dying many of the Spaniards continued to fight, taking back small herds of animals and some weapons to the villa. The fighting continued through the day, Spaniards burnt many houses to the ground to keep the rebels from using them.
A large army of Taos and Picurus Indians attacked the villa from the other side, forcing Oterman to turn his attack against them. Holding their newly gained positions until dark, the rebels captured many of the houses behind the Casas Reales and set fire to the church. They captured the cultivated fields and a few herds of cattle and sheep leaving the remaining colonists with little food supply.
For nine more days the Indians attacked Santa Fé. They had already been without water for two days. Each sunrise Lynae knotted the rope belt she wore around her tattered clothes.
Oterman stood before the bedraggled colonists and announced: “The only way, out, rather than stay and die of starvation and fear, is for us, all of us, to fight our way through to Isleta. This will be better -- to die fighting -- than to die slowly of hunger and thirst. The women and children must fight as well. If we don’t we won’t stand a chance of anyone surviving.”
“At sunrise on August 20, 1680, the governor advanced with a small force of hand-picked veterans. Taken by surprise the rebels were routed with great losses. By eleven o'clock the siege had been broken. The Spaniards claimed to have killed three hundred rebels and put the rest of the Indian army to flight. Forty-seven rebels were captured interrogated and executed. The Spanish attack, bold as it appeared, was an act of desperation, for the rebel had numbered over fifteen hundred warriors”.
“Abandoning Santa Fé was the only choice. Oterman's officers stated that the safety of the people and animals could not be guaranteed if they remained in the town. He ordered everything destroyed and everyone leave before the rebels recovered. On August 21, 1680, Oterman ordered all clothing and livestock divided among the defenders their families and servants. Then the bedraggled troop set out to rendezvous with Alonso García at Isleta. Day after day they walked southward watching every turn or hill for rebels. The small army fought its way through with the remaining families following close behind.”
There were very few wagons or pack animals, so each man, woman and child carried a pack or a smaller child on their back. Oterman organized the one thousand refugees into groups with appointed myordomos to oversee. Each assisted his own group. In this way all the families could be supervised and their needs met along the way, much like Moses organized the children of Israel on their exodus.
As she walked along each day following the Río Grande southward, they passed burned farms and fields. From those they were able to scrounge meager meals of nearly ripe corn and squash and an occasional tomato or ripening cantaloupe. The irrigation ditches marked the boundaries of the fields of rich fertile ground, and appeared as markers for possible sources of food. Wheat, barley and corn from the fields left standing was gleaned, and each night the women found ways to prepare food for their families.
Lynae mingled with the other colonists encouraging the children and comforting the mothers. She became acquainted with eighty year old Pedro Lucero de Godoy, a native of Mexico City. He had a brother Francisco with him. Another brother, Diego, was a secular priest still in Mexico. She listened to Pedro tell story after story of his involvement in most of the church and political intrigues of his time, detailing how he managed to steer clear of unpleasant consequences experienced by others. By 1663, at age sixty-three, he had attained the rank of maese de Campo. In this same year, he said, he was Lieutenant governor of the Kingdom, as well as Syndic of Franciscans.
Twelve year old Lynae began to feel uncomfortable around him after he boasted that he had married first wife was Petronila de Zamora, when she was just eleven years old. Her brother was Diego Montoya, and the youngest child of Bartólome Montoya and María de Zamora when they came to New Mexico in 1600. Worrying that she might be chosen as the next wife if she were stuck in that time, Lynae decided to travel in different company for the rest of the journey.
Juan Lucero de Godoy was Pedro's eldest son. He had been Secretary of Government and War in 1663. Godoy told Lynae that he had resided in Santa Fé forty years. He was Sargento Mayor and the Alcalde Mayor of Santa Fé when he escaped with his wife, four grown sons bearing arms and four grown daughters. Not having television or books, Lynae enjoyed the stories of this tall, nearly sixty-year-old relative. He had a soothing voice and manner, and after just a few minutes she forgot about his large pock marked face and crooked aquiline nose.
With him was his sister, Catalina de Zamora, who also escaped with four grown nieces and five servants. Lynae grieved with them over the loss of so many of their family. The Indians had killed two nephews and more than thirty other relatives. Juan's first wife was Luísa Romero. This second wife, Juana de Carvajal, had escaped with him. Lynae understood that these losses were especially grievous because they could not have funerals and services for the lost family members. There were friars along, but it wasn’t safe to stop long enough to perform a proper burial. There could be no real closure without seeing the bodies blessed and buried. She wondered about her families in 1997 -- how would they deal with the loss of Brent and herself? Would there be grieving, or would they just not have ever existed?
Under any other circumstances, Lynae would have enjoyed playing match-maker to the couples she knew would be married after the war, but the grief, fatigue and helplessness she felt now, took all the play out of her, and she very seriously attended to the chores at hand.
“Francisco Lucero de Gody an Alferez and Armorer, had escaped with a family of twenty-two persons, including wife, children and servants. He stood tall and erect , had a thick beard, a wound scar on his mustache and another on the right side of his nose. His lands in Santa Fe, which formerly belonged to Andrés López, were on the Cienega road.
“Marching in military formation, more than one thousand men, women, and children left Santa Fé behind them. Oterman, who had been wounded twice, led his settlers southward on the Camino Real which eighty-two years earlier had brought their Spaniard ancestors to New Mexico. Arriving at Isleta they found the pueblo abandoned. The scouts reported the signs that García had already retreated toward El Paso. At least there was a glimmer of hope that some had escaped and taken Brent with them.
As each little child cried that it was too far to walk, or that he was thirsty or tired, Lynae stroked their heads and pointed to the Eastern Mountains. “See the blue mountains? There at he end there is a V where the mountains end, then start again. That is where we will stop and rest.” For all she knew, that would be where she would grow up and live the remainder of her own life. “That will be our home. We will be safe there.”
Day after day the hot sun beat down on the refugees turning the silt covered fields to dust. Thunder and rain storms followed changing the earth into sticky mud that held the wheels of the few carts and slowed the procession of refugees. “Don’t worry, hijita,” Lynae would encourage the children. “The rain doesn’t last more than a couple of hours, and then the sun will shine again.” But secretly Lynae longed for the tiny back seat of the Ford Escort®, where she could curl up with her blanket and sleep through the long drive south in the driving rain.
Day after day they followed the trial southward toward El Paso. Brent had spent most of the last several days standing lookout on one tower then another, hoping for a sign of the Santa Fe people. He could see them coming for miles and excitedly rode out to meet them and to find his little sister, grown mature with compassion and fear.
Brent hugged and dragged Lynae simultaneously as he talked about his weeks with the Río Abajo Refugees. He rushed to introduce his sister to the rest of their family.
“They told us you were all killed!” Lynae cried, throwing herself on the broad shoulders of her precious brother. “They said all of García’s party had been massacred!”
“We escaped,” Brent understated. “We had a good guide and leader and we escaped. They probably sent back that report to make you want to give up. But we’re mostly all here, together. Lynae, you don’t need to cry now. It’s over.” Brent hugged the crying girl, making a valiant effort himself to hold back the flood of tears threatening to flow out from relief and compassion for his little sister. “There, there, no te preocupas.” He petted her head lovingly.
Changing the subject quickly, Brent began to pull Lynae along. "You remember don Fernando Durán y Chaves II? – He is the Capitán, who rode with us to Santa Fe. Father Bernal described him ten years ago as an Alferez and youth of good repute. He is our captain who fled the Indian Rebellion with the Río Abajo people. He was the only one of our leaders who voted to turn back and help the Santa Fé colonists. Unlike the rest of the Chaves family, his Uncle Pedro's family and his first cousin Fernando, the Sargento Mayor of Taos, he’s not going try to stop the resettlement of New Mexico, nor ask to return to New Spain. The rest of his family came with you guys. I’m glad to see them back together. He already said he’s willing to return.” Lynae glanced at the thirty year old man Brent pointed out, and agreed that he could be described as having a good stature with a fair and ruddy complexion. “His wife is Lucia Hurtado de Salas. She had to flee with him and take their four little kids from the raids. They’ll have a bunch more when they return to Santa Fé 1693. Chavez says this is the most important Chaves family, being the only one to return with Vargas so they are the parent stem of the next four hundred years of Chavez families in New Mexico."
"And this is the Captain's first cousin, don Fernando Durán y Chaves," Brent indicated a tall thin soldier, about thirty-four years old, with good features and a thick black beard. "Sargento Mayor resided in Taos Valley. The Indians massacred his wife and three children,” Brent related solemnly. “But he and a grown son, Cristóbal, were away from home on that fateful day. When they returned in the evening they found everything lost. They raced to Santa Fé and found that city overtaken by the Indians. They continued south and caught up with us, bringing us the first news that Santa Fe's people were standing against the Pueblos’ attack. That’s when I knew you would be OK.” Brent patted his sisters sholder to reassure her. “Don Fernando had a sister, María de Chaves, who was the wife of Bérnabe Márquez. His wife, Elena Ruiz Caceres, was also murdered at Taos but his two daughters escaped the massacre because they were captured by the Indians.”
“I promised them that the little girls were alive and would be in 1692, or else they were with their mother's relatives who escaped, Brent admitted sheepishly. "People gave me some strange looks, like 'who are you to tell the future?’ But I just wanted to give them some comfort. It must be so terrible not knowing what has happened to your family in a war like this. It's bad enough being separated from Mom and our own siblings, but at least we know where our family is most the time. When I didn't know where you were, or if you were safe, it was a lot harder to be away from you."
Brent’s face reddened, and he turned abruptly to hide the new onslaught of tears. Then he chattered on, sitting on the tongue of the wagon to remove a rock from his shoe.
“Good grief, Brent, are you still wearing those holey socks? Mine have about worn out, too, with all the walking.”
”Well, maybe our clothes don’t exactly fit the style of our families but our socks do. Haven't you noticed? Most people are wearing tube socks with no toes in them? So we are right in sync!”
“Cristóbal is only about sixteen He’s still single, and pretty good looking -- tall and swarthy. With that mole on the right cheek he fits right in with our own family. He will return with the Reconquest in l692, and three years after the Reconquest, in 1695, he will be stationed at Cuquiasachi in the frontier of Sonora.”
"That is don José Durán y Cháves and his wife, Ana Marquez Carvajal, and her mother, Margarita Márquez who escaped together with a child and ten servants." Brent pointed to a big guy about twenty-six years old, with a thin aquiline face, a thick beard, and half-closed eyes. Brent lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "His wife will try to poison him at El Real de San Lorenzo in 1682 but another Chaves by the name of Juan takes the non fatal potion by mistake and gets sick."
"I guess the post traumatic shock of the rebellion affected everyone's lives and many personalities." Lynae said thoughtfully.
"He was a first cousin of Pedro Varela. He was probably a son of don Pedro II, and will take his side along with the Dominguez clan against returning to New Mexico."
"Over there by the well, that's don Juan Durán y Chaves, he's only about seventeen. They call everyone don that has any age or money. It’s more a title of respect than a first name." Lynae watched a young man walk by and recognized him by the description Brent had made earlier -- a good body, fair complexion a ruddy pockmarked face, with red and curly hair. "He is the one who will drink the poison meant for José de Chaves He is a brother of María de Chaves and therefore also Fernando the Sargento Mayor of Taos. In 1682 Juan will kill Diego Dominguez and that is the last we will ever hear of him.”
“Don’t you think we could warn some of these people and save their lives?” Lynae asked, knowing the answer.
“Well, number one, I don’t think they would listen to us any more than anyone listens to bad things about the future. And B, I don’t think it is our place to change history,. Just observe and learn, and maybe we can take some of the lessons to change our own futures.”
"Don Tomas Durán y Chaves will be nineteen years old in 1681, and will marry the same year. He says that he could not take part in the Oterman Expdition because he has no one with whom to leave his wife and livestock. But actually, it’s because he’s too busy trafficking in cattle and other trade with old don Pedro de Chaves and others. Chavez says his excuses and actions show him to be the son bearing arms, which don Pedro mentioned in 1680.” Lynae started laughing out loud. "What?" Brent questioned.
"I thought the ladies of the family gossiped when they got together. You take the cake! You not only gossip about the past, but can even gossip about the future of these men. “
"But only to you, hermanita, only to you. Look over there,” Brent rattled on ignoring her next comment.
“Besides, I think you cheated and brought along the Chavez book. You are using his colonial words to describe everyone."
“That's Pedro de Cedillo, a native of Quertaro, Mexico. He arrived in New Mexico in second half of the century. By 1680 he was a captain living in the Río Abajo district. He escaped the Indian Rebellion with his family. He says he’s about seventy, and that he has one grown son, twenty years old who is ready to serve as a soldier, and then eight other children. His wife Isabel López de Gracía and the full family name was Cedillo Rico de Rojas. “
“I am surprised at how old some of these geezers are. The work they did in helping the refugee families is amazing for any age."
"Yeah, like Diego de Trujillo over there. He was born 1612 so he's about seventy. He first appears in New Mexico as an Alferez and farmer, nineteen or twenty years old in 1632. He was in the soldier escort for the wagon train in 1641. By 1662 he was fifty, a Sargento Mayor, living in the jurisdiction of Sandia as Lieutenant General for the Río Abajo area as well as Alcalde Mayor of Zuni. He declared that he was born in Mexico City. That's his wife as Catalina Vasquez."
The evening sun was setting over the eastern mountains, casting a shadow on the pass through the mountains to the south Brent and Lynae strolled along through the camp, enjoying their own reunion as well as the sight of the other survivors with whom they had fled. There was a great deal of mourning and grief, but still there were things to be thankful for. At this minute, Lynae and Brent knew that above all else, surviving family members were grateful for their lives and being reunited with those family members who had also survived.
“I guess it will take a long time to get over the grief and the shock of all that has happened during this month.” Lynae said quietly. I know their prayers and their faith will help them through this time of grief.”
Brent didn’t want to dwell on the losses. It was too painful. "You remember Pedro Hidalgo, Lynae. Pedro escaped with us from the murder of Father Pío. He looks different now that he's cleaned up and rested."
Lynae looked at the large, swarthy man who she now recognized. He appeared to be about thirty-four years old with a thick beard and short curly hair. He had a long scar on his neck. Lynae remembered the slash on his neck bleeding onto his shirt while they rode toward Santa Fe. He had been reunited in El Paso with his family of eight. At Guadalupe del Paso he became an officer of the Conquistadora Confraternidad which actively protected the statue of the Conquistadora.
“He cleans up right nice,” Lynae imitated the TV cliché. “We carried the statue with us from Santa Fé, and protected it as a holy relic. Even though it took up precious space in the cargo wagon, it was hidden there with tenderness and faith, as if it were the saint herself. Hidalgo was working as notary for the friars when he got caught with Father Pío on the trail.”
Brent added, “Later he’ll act as an interpreter for the Pecos when Vargas returns to Santa Fé in 1692.”
"It would be interesting to keep you two around.” Brent jumped, startled by the sudden sound of his voice. “From what I hear you seem to think you know the future. I understand that you may be leaving us soon." Captain Chávez surprised the two siblings as he approached from behind overhearing the last of their conversation. Patting Brent on the shoulder, he asked curiously. "Just what family do you come from, and where were you living when you happened to cross paths with those who murdered Father Pío?"
Brent shrugged casually under the hardened hand and cleared his throat. “We are members of the Cristoval Baca Family, of Santa Fe,” he explained proudly. We were out on an afternoon adventure and got caught in the raid. We are grateful to you and your men for bringing us back together." He said in all seriousness. Lynae stifled a giggle and managed to turn it into a sort of cough.
The captain took it as a gesture of thanks and nodded. "You are very brave young people, we are proud to know you as members of our family and community. I hope you will have no further reason to be frightened while you are among us."
"Speaking of fear," Brent said, turning suddenly to Lynae with a startled glance as if stepping from a dream, "we'd better get this mess cleaned up before Dad and Gina come back, they are the ones who will kill us if they find this mud all over the kitchen sink."
"I'm sorry, Brent. I know you didn't want to go there -- to that time." Lynae apologized sincerely.
"No sweat. It was kind of fun!” he shrugged and grinned.“ But I think you better stop reading Twelve Days in August. I wouldn't want to live through that again.”
Then, after a brief pause, “does it say what happened to the Indians after the war? I mean, I know the Spaniards settled in El Paso for about twelve years until they made the Reconquest and resettled in Santa Fe, but what about the converted Christian natives who survived the rebellion?"
"Well, if you're sure you can handle it, I'll tell you what the New Mexico History book says. I'll read it to you while you clean up the mess. Lynae straightened the braid at the back of her head and fingered the knots in her rope belt as she began to read:[7]
“Serious trouble soon arose among the Indians over the divisions of the spoils of war. Within less than two years after Oterman's retreat the Taos and Picures were engaged in war with each other. Soon war broke out between the Tiguas and Queres. The fate of the Piros was their extermination as a tribe. During the period of twelve years during which the Pueblos maintained their freedom, this state of affairs continued almost without interruption, with peace between two or more tribes a rarity. Alternate periods of hostility and warfare and of friendship and peace continued with the resulting death from war, famine and disease decreased the number of Pueblos by half.
“The success of the uprising of 1680 had been due to the weakness of the Spaniards and the suddenness with which the blow fell. But the lack of social political and military organization among these Indians more than undermined their strength. At that time, nowhere on the American continent had conceptions of government risen above tribes or confederacies of tribes, such as the organization of the Six nations of New York State, more commonly known as the Iroquois. The Pueblo Indians had not even adopted this primitive idea of confederacy. On the contrary each tribe maintained its isolated independent position, except to form occasional temporary alliances which were dissolved the moment the object for which they had been formed was attained.
“So long as the Spanish conquerors ruled, peaceful relations among the various pueblos continued. But when the temporary union seemed no longer indispensable, the victorious Indians, as tribes were rent by dissension.
“To add to their miserable condition they constantly had to face dangers of attack from the unfriendly nomadic tribes. As soon as the whites had been driven from the country by the Pueblos, the Apaches, the Utes and the Navajos began a systematic campaign of attacking the scattered villages. They were absolutely without mercy. Knowing that the Pueblo Indians could no longer look to the whites for defense against their hereditary foes, they began a war of extermination on the various semi-civilized tribes.
“The Utes slaughtered and killed the Taos and Picures because of their geographical location. The Pecos and Tehas were killed by Apaches. The western Pueblos were destroyed by the Navajos. No longer did the Pueblo Indians find a military post to which they could flock for protection under Spanish rule. Now, they found themselves without moral support or guidance. The constantly active savage enemies remembered the past in the present and had learned much of the science of warfare from the white intruders.
“Even with the obvious advantages of being under Spanish rule, and the many disadvantages of their isolated position, the town tribes seemed to have no desire for the return to the Spanish rule. The excitement induced by bloody conflict had a strange hold upon them. Not only was the savage instinct rapidly on the on the rise, so far as lust for revenge was concerned, but the freedom gained renewed their devotion to the strange pagan religion.”
"I guess that means they returned to the worship of Gadianton and the old idols." Lynae said closing the history book, and inspecting the kitchen area to be sure Brent had done her job correctly.

[1] Most the history and quotations and paraphrasing in this chapter are taken from 12 Days in August (from 12 days in August, The Pueblo Revolt in Santa Fé, by Joseph P. Sanchez pp 39-50)
Other background information is taken from New Mexico, and History pp 20-24
[2]An evil character who appears in the Book of Mormon, who under the direction of Satin, organized a secret society for the purpose of evil, which lasted over many generations, reappearing from time to time throughout the history.
[3] The Book of Mormon was translated by Joseph Smith from Gold plates which contained the history of a population that began in the Western Hemisphere 600 B.C. The two leading brothers split and their descendants became enemies. The dark skinned group were called Lamanites and the fair skinned group were Nephites.
[4] 12 days in August, pp 39-50. Direct quotes and paraphrasing from these pages are indicated by a change of font.

37 12 Days
[6] Origins p 47, and 12 Days
[7] History of New Mexico

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