A message of freedom (a story about the War of Mexican Independence)

A message of freedom

1. The sun hadn’t even crested the horizon on the day I met the woman who would help me save Mexico from the Spaniards.
2. The first time I saw Doña Josefa, I was covered in sweat and wrestling with a stubborn stalk of maize that I wanted to season the morning’s

   atole

   . As I ripped at the resistant plant, she appeared in my vision, elegant in clouds of ivory silk. So embarrassed was I by the contrast between my filth and her perfection that I fell butt-first into the dirt. I would have given anything for a sinkhole to swallow me at that moment.
3. Alas, no sinkhole appeared. However, something even stranger happened. Josefa, wife of the

   magistrate

   , spoke to me.
4. “Are you alright?” she asked, offering a perfectly manicured hand.
5. I didn’t dare touch that hand. Me, touch the hand of a

   criollo

   ? I had no wish to bring punishment on myself and my family.
6. But she continued standing there expectantly, so I finally said, “Gracias, Señora,” and pushed myself to my feet, ignoring her outstretched hand.
7. She lowered her arm, but kept her penetrating gaze on me. “What’s your name? And why are you out here so early?”
8. “María, Señora. It’s been hard for Mamá since Papa died. I’m just trying to help before I have to get to work in Don Sanchez’s fields. He likes us there at sunrise.”
9. Those black eyes of hers softened. She paused for a moment, considering. “Come with me.”

10. Three years later, I bustled through the magistrate’s

    encomienda

    , carrying a letter for Josefa. For three years, I’d worked in her household, garnering trust and responsibility. I’d risen to become Josefa’s personal maid, although I’d say I gained as much from her ideas as she did from my service.
11. I found her alone. “From Hidalgo, Señora,” I murmured, passing the letter. She ripped it open, skimming the lines of cramped writing.
12. She looked up at me. “October 1st. The revolution begins October 1st.”
13. My heart thrilled with fear and excitement. I’d always dreamed of equality, of freedom, but it had never seemed possible before Josefa had welcomed me to the resistance. It had started with a question here, a quote from

    Utopia

    there. As she’d grown to trust me, she’d offered more of her thoughts, cultivating my mind and heart, making me part of something bigger. And now, revolution was upon us.
14. She threw the letter in the fire, a protection for all involved, and I began arranging her hair for dinner.

15. It was three nights later that the magistrate raced in, panic written in the width of his eyes and the set of his shoulders.
16. “They’ve been discovered! Those friends of yours–

    Hidalgo

    ,

    Allende

    –they’ve been discovered! I’ve been ordered to throw them in prison. They know about October 1st.”
17. Josefa surged to her feet, eyes blazing. “Well, then it’s up to us to warn them.”
18. “You’ll do no such thing,” said her husband. “I can’t have you risking yourself.”
19. Before she could protest, he’d slipped out the door, locking us in.
20. Josefa banged on the door, to no avail. After several minutes of fruitless knocking, she sank to the floor. “What do we do now, María?”
21. I glanced around the room, trying to figure out how to keep the resistance alive and my beloved Josefa safe. Finally, my eyes alighted on a newspaper spread carelessly on her desk. “We write,” I said, pointing at the paper. “And then, we get Ignacío to deliver it.” Ignacío Perez, who lived in the room below Josefa’s, was part of the resistance and would happily deliver the letter, if we could get his attention.
22. Together, we composed a letter from newspaper clippings, so no one would be able to identify Josefa’s handwriting. She’d be safe even as we warned the revolutionaries.
23. From there, it was a simple matter of stomping on the floor until Ignacío arrived. We slid the letter under the door, calling to him that it needed to go to Hidalgo and Allende.
24. They say that when Hidalgo got the letter three days later, on September 16th, he immediately raised his flag, rallying the people with his cries of “Death to bad government!” The revolution began that night. It didn’t end like I’d hoped. But, though I’m gray with years now and no one but my children knows of my role in the resistance, I’ve never stopped believing that change can begin with nothing more than an idea, a friend, and a newspaper.