THIS DIARY IS THE PROPERTY OF CHRISTINE JOHNSSON FONSECA:
April 15th, 1818
It seems as if this family always has to go through some sort of hardship, and it has come to the point where I feel it is now unnecessary to even think about it anymore. I can't stand seeing everyone around me happy with life while we have to suffer, or I might have to correct myself, mother and I suffer while the rest of our new family is all smiles and laughs. It is not fair. This diary might be the only place where I can let lose all those feelings that grow inside me during the day, anger, grief and most of all, an unexplainable irritation toward my new step-sister Isabella.
Today mother married, again.
It is supposed to be a happy day, and for most I guess it was, mother seemed happy for once, my new father was almost unable to contain his glee and joy as they walked out of the church this sunny morning. All was good I suppose, aunt Mary was there, with Elizabeth and Jonathan, cousins I have gotten to know a lot better since father passed away last winter. Isabella was there, of course. Rodrigo, that is my step-father's name, had seen to it that most of his family was present, even if the journey was a very long one. People have come all the way from California just for this wedding.
Rodrigo Fonseca is from a very rich family with a proud lineage and the wedding was grand indeed, it was celebrated here, in Boston, because it had been here that he and mother had met on one of his business trips the winter my father died. Mr. Fonseca had of course given my mother some room to grieve although it was clear that he was enchanted by her to say the least. But a few months ago he came back and it was not long before he asked my mother to marry him, the inconsiderate bastard. I am even more ashamed to say that my mother accepted his proposal. I believe that she is not marrying for love or anything close to it, we have always been financially unstable and even more so after father died, it was by the grace of my aunt Mary and her husband George that we have managed to survive up until this point.
I suppose I'm saddened more than anything, this past year has not been kind on me or my mother, we have had to work for our living and my friends have all but left me, since I have no money that means no dowry and all eligible suitors have left me as well. It hurt especially bad to see Isabella flirt with Victor yesterday when I showed her around town, he was one of my suitors. To think that we were engaged at one point. It seems a lifetime ago.
April 16th, 1818
I have always found packing a tedious task, and I will never get used to other people doing it for me. They never know where my things go, I have a special place for everything and it is even more tedious to have to repack everything when they have finally left me alone. Mr. Fonseca has half of his estate with him on this trip I'm sure, because both mother and I have at least five people waiting on us in the little town house Rodrigo has rented for the festivities.
Tomorrow we sail on the first ship to California, I leave this land that is so familiar to me, this state that I have never set foot outside, for a measly Spanish colony in the middle of no-where. I do not even speak Spanish, although both mother and Mr. Fonseca have insisted I start learning, and even oh so sweet Isabella has offered to teach me. I don't want to leave my country, I don't want to leave Boston and I most assuredly do not want to leave my run down home at the far end of my aunt's and her husband's vast estate. I will miss them, I will miss my cousins and I will miss the snow. Isabella told me that there is no snow in California, at least not where we are going. Up until now Mr. Fonseca and Isabella have been living in San Francisco, but they are moving to Los Angeles for the time being, Mr. Fonseca has bought a hacienda, a rancho that is, close to the town and will be setting up another trading route there. Isabella seems oddly exited to move to Los Angeles, which is a particularly small and boring town, as I understand it. But she keeps blabbering on about bandits and adventure there. I must mention my new sister, a young woman that irks me to no end. Might I be jealous of her? Maybe, she is indeed pretty and looks so exotic compared to me or any other young woman I have ever seen here in Boston. She has the darkest hair I have ever seen, darker than the blackest of nights in the middle of winter when not even the white snow is enough to light up the darkness. She has these brown, large eyes that look so understanding and friendly, while still she seems seductive, the gentlemen of the area can't get enough of her company. She has a small, delicate face and a petite figure. But I don't dislike her because of her appearance, I don't find that I am that petty, although sometimes I wonder… I dislike her because of her naivety toward the world. She has never known hardships, real hunger or desperation. I bet she has always gotten whatever she wanted in life with the point of a finger. And what irks me the most is that even though she is this immensely spoiled child, she is kindhearted and treats me like I might actually be her sister. I hate myself for being so petty.
April 17th, 1818
I barely got any sleep last night, I couldn't stop crying. Around midnight mother came into my chambers and sat on the bed and stroked my hair while I cried, we haven't had a moment like that for a while. She assured me that our new life in California would be easier, that Mr. Fonseca would take care for us now and that we never again had to worry about putting food on the table, or even starve.
One of the servants awoke me, she helped me get dressed, a task I can do perfectly well myself and it is something I have to enforce when we arrive in Los Angeles. They carried our trunks to the waiting carriage, it was still dark this morning when we rolled to the harbor, we boarded a grand ship and I took a moment to watch the sky as it lightened and saw the sun rise on the horizon, painting the clouds orange and pink and the sky a deep red, reflecting all the colors in the black ocean as the waves gently rippling in the breeze. This was my goodbye, in some way, I know that I will see the sunrise many more times, and I know that I will see the ocean as well, but it won't be the Atlantic ocean, but the Oceanic Sea, and it won't be the Boston skyline that the sun will illuminate but the Californian one. It is something I would rather not think about.
The rooms we have gotten are quite comfortable but by afternoon mother was already ill from all the rocking of the ship, earlier this night I felt it too, Captain Jones, a stout man in his late forties, only laughed and told us that we haven't gotten our sea legs yet.
April 28th, 1818
I am sick of this ship, there is no point in writing in this blasted diary if the entries are going to be the same every day;
I wake up, I eat some breakfast, I take a stroll about the deck I read, I take a nap, I meet my family for lunch. Then I take another stroll around deck, I might have a conversation with the Captain, then there is yet another stroll, I have some dinner, I read some more, I go to bed.
This has been my routine for the past eleven days and to think that there is at least a month left to go on ship is breaking my spirits. Mr. Fonseca wanted to arrive in Los Angeles as soon as possible so we are sailing to Panama to cross the thin strip of land and on the other side there is another ship waiting for us, it will drop us off in the port of Los Angeles on its way to San Francisco. This way is seemingly shorter since we won't have to sail all the way down to Cape Horn. Mr. Fonseca also said it is quite dangerous going that way since the waters around the cape are infested with storms, strong enough to tear ships such as the one we are on apart.
May 15th, 1818
We are days from Panama and it will be good to set foot on land again. For the past two weeks mother and I have been getting Spanish lessons from Isabella. Mother is a faster learner than I am and she can already have a basic conversation with Mr. Fonseca, but whenever I bring it up she only argues that I'm not trying hard enough, that I'm to prideful and won't allow myself to begin any type of conversation with Isabella. Isabella seeks me out now most of the days on the ship and has limited herself to only speak to me in Spanish, which I find very irritating indeed. I suspect she enjoys taunting me when I'm not able to respond back to what she is saying. At least now I can get a notion of what she is talking about. I know the standard verbs and their conjugations in simple times such as to be, to have, to eat or to live in past, present or future tense. Each day I have to learn ten new verbs, nouns and adjectives. Who knew Spanish was such a hard language to learn?
May 18th, 1818
When I set foot on land today for the first time in a month I was about to cry out from joy, although mother warned me about my place. Isabella has been teaching us to behave as proper Spanish women, the social Spanish etiquette is so much more strict than what I am used to, there are so many formalities, for example, a man of high social standing, if he be a gentleman and have no title to his name as, for example, Count or Marquis, one has to place Don before his name. So Mr. Fonseca is actually Don Rodrigo, or another acceptable appellation would be señor Fonseca. Same goes for women. A woman who is married and of high social standing is called Doña, or señora. So my mother is either Doña Camillaor señora Fonseca. But as for young unmarried women, such as me or Isabella, the only term that she said that everyone uses is señorita. My problem now is to figure out whom I can use these new appellations on and who I cannot. Because then there are a bunch of other terms that are used. But Isabella said that we would learn about it more when we got on the next boat. We have spent the whole day crossing Panama and late this night we have arrived in Panama City.
It is unbearably hot, I have only read about the tropical climate in books, I could never imagine it would be this sweaty and exhausting. There are currently a million mosquitoes drawn to the lit candle I am using to write. It might be best to put it out and write another day.
May 19th, 1818
I leave this infernal place at last! Both mother and I are covered in tiny specks of mosquito bites and it looks like we were stricken by some illness of some sort. Isabella has some bites as well, but not to the extent mother and I have. Señor Fonseca seems to have avoided all the mosquitoes by some miraculous chance. I dearly hope there will be no mosquitoes or any other unwanted surprises in Los Angeles. We set sail early this morning and so begins another voyage by sea. This time the ship is smaller and I am forced to share my cabin with Isabella. She doesn't seem to mind it all that much, in fact, she sees it as an opportunity to practice some more Spanish with me. I wonder if I shall arrive sane to Los Angeles.
May 27th, 1818
There seems to be another pace on this boat. It is a Spanish merchant ship and the Spaniards seems so different to what I am used to. The stereotype of not working hard and laying around having a siesta all the time could not be further from the truth. They seem happy, albeit not all of them as is to be expected, but rarely one day goes by where I do not see a smile upon their faces. I guess it is because the treatment they are given from their commander and captain. He is a gentle, younger man, about ten years my senior putting him at around thirty. He is enchanting and has Isabella cooing at him while he tells wild stories of Indians and bandidos of alta California. With me he doesn't tell those stories because I think he knows not to take me for a fool, although sometimes he looks at me with something akin to pity, and I cannot for the world of me know why he would pity me if he barely even knows me. Instead of telling tales of adventure he would sit down and talk about the politics of the land, the customs and the traditions, which has me more engaged. He talks about days of festivities, the difference between the American courtship and the Spanish one. I am wondering now more than ever what awaits in the untamed lands of California. If this is a glimpse of what is to come I don't know if I should be worried or exited.
A/N: I know what you are going to say, "wasn't Disney's Zorro set to begin in 1820?" Yes, yes it was and that is what irritates me most of all because the Mexican independence is one year later and as each season unfolds, assuming each season is a year, there is no mention of it from what I can gather. So let's just say for CONVENIENCE'S sake that everything that we have seen in the series has already happened, the Monastario timeline, the Eagle timeline, the Monterrey timeline etc. It just makes it easier to set it in 1818 for me. Thank you for reading and leave a review if you like (it sure encourages me hehe).
