Those Who Cherish

1

Silence was Father Alonzo’s constant companion. Once, it had been an enemy. A constant reminder of the burden of solitude. But now, silence was almost a friend. It assured him there were no thunderstorms, growing and gathering over distant mountains. The silence told him he still had time to make it back to the presidio before getting caught in a storm that could reach monsoon levels. But he still kept an eye on the horizon, searching for any warning signs while he scanned the ground for certain medicinal plants. Despite the reassuring silence, there was an ominous weight in the air. Heat pushed down on his covered head, and sweat rolled down his brow and into his eyes.

Alonzo straightened and wiped his arm across his forehead. His donkey, Angelica, sighed and rooted at the ground between her feet. He patted her neck affectionately, watching as strands of grass bent beneath her teeth. The bag over her haunches was already mostly full with herbs, bulbs, and flowers. He had had a good day, and there was no reason to stay in the overbearing sun when the donkey wanted to rest and he wanted a bit of wine.

“Should we go home?”

Angelica didn’t respond.

He picked up her lead rope, but he didn’t turn back to the presidio. She trudged along behind him obediently, his other constant companion. Her hooves clopped behind him, hitting the ground in a steady beat. Besides the occasional shout of a hawk, that was the only sound for miles around. Alonzo could go weeks without seeing another soul, days without seeing evidence that other people lived in the area. It was frustrating, to say the least. He hadn’t become a priest to live in utter isolation with a donkey and a Bible, but the men at Fort Davis rarely sent for him, and the heathen Indians would kill him on sight if he visited their villages. The nearest town was over thirty miles away, and they were closer to El Paso than to him.

It was utterly unnecessary to stay in the presidio, but he had his orders. And so he made the most of them and prayed God would deliver him from the torment and send him where he could do some good for somebody. But God had not seen fit to answer his prayers, and so Alonzo had no choice but to accept that he did not fully understand God’s plan for him. He never questioned that God did, in fact, have a plan. But in dark nights, when his soul called out for relief, he longed to know what he had done to be punished in this way.

“We’ll have a good dinner tonight, Angelica. And tomorrow, we’ll thank God for the bounty and spend the day in reflection and prayer.”

Angelica snorted, but otherwise, didn’t acknowledge him. Sometimes, he thought he should take a trip into the mountains. But it was too dangerous. The men at Fort Davis already thought he was insane for staying at the presidio, despite the obvious danger. They warned him that when the Indians raided the presidio, he would be left without a scalp—and if he were lucky, that’s all they would do to him. But he had faith that God would not call him to his final reward prematurely. Despite his faith, he didn’t take unnecessary risks, like journeying into the mountains on his own.

A screech drew his gaze heavenward, and he narrowed his eyes against the glare of the sun. Black dots against the washed out blue sky caught his attention, and soon he realized they weren’t hawks. They were vultures. Circling something Alonzo couldn’t see. It was probably just some animal’s carcass. Only…vultures didn’t circle remains. They were waiting for something to give up the ghost.

Alonzo hoisted himself onto Angelica’s back and kicked her into a trot. The chances were good that he was racing to a dying animal, but something moved deep inside of him. He did not question that feeling—the feeling he identified as God’s voice. He needed to be receptive at all times to the Spirit, even if sometimes he didn’t understand what the Spirit wanted him to do or why. Perhaps he would just use his knife to put some injured or trapped animal out of its misery. Mercy was never wasted.

He had never been good at gauging distances, which was a major problem living in western Texas. There was more land, more miles, more open space, than anybody back in Spain would have been able to comprehend. A person who couldn’t keep track of where he was going would get lost, perhaps never to be found again. Alonzo had no idea how far he rode, but he knew the sun was much lower on the horizon behind him by the time he reached the vultures.