November 2, 1797

"Oooo, I've got a good one," Francisco said, holding up a fat crawdad. It was pale and muddy and squirmed in his fingers.

"I can find a bigger one," Ramon sang, almost reflexively.

'Berto rolled his eyes and ignored them. He could find a bigger crawdad than both of them, but he wasn't supposed to brag about it: he was older and richer and bragging was unbecoming.

He dug his toes into the soft, cool mud and looked for a likely rock. He flipped a large, flat one and peered through the cloud of dirt that swirled in the water. No crawdads, but two mudpuppies; he scooped them both up, holding their soft, slippery bodies in his hands.

"Gilbeeeerto," Diego called, sliding and skipping down the steep hill above the narrow creek. "Gilberto, come on. We have to go." He stopped and set his hands on his hips, all bossy and reasonable and pretending to be mature.

"Catch," 'Berto said, pretending to throw a mud puppy at him.

"Put your shoes on. We have to go."

"Don't be stupid. We haven't had the picnic yet. And there's a bull and bear fight later."

Diego stepped out on to a flat rock and lowered his voice. "We have to go now. Papa is sick."

'Berto leaned down and released his mudpuppies. "That's really stupid. Papa's not sick. He was arm wrestling with Don Carlos before. And he's going to ride Princess in the race this afternoon."

"I mean it, 'Berto. Mama said - "

Ignoring him, Gilberto turned away and looked for another rock. When he leaned down, though, Diego leaned over and pushed, and suddenly he was on his hands and knees in the cold water.

'Berto hopped up at once and launched himself at Diego's waist. Normally, they were very evenly matched with a slight advantage to Diego, who was a bit taller, but this time Diego was standing on an uneven and slightly slippery rock, and he went flying backwards. 'Berto landed on top of him and pressed his advantage. This was a rare opportunity to give his irritating younger brother a good dunking, and he wasn't going to let the chance slide by.

For several seconds, Diego squirmed and pushed back, swinging his head and making 'Berto shy aside, but then he went suddenly still. His eyes went wide. Gilberto grinned and started to throw his weight forward -

The small, strong hand that caught him from behind lifted him completely out of the water and dumped him in the bank. The surprise at being pulled out of the fight was nothing compared to the surprise at who had done it.

"Mama!"

She was angry. Not irritated-and-trying-not-to-be-amused, not impatient-but-affectionate, not even vexed-because-really!-can't-you-boys-ever-relent. Angry. "Put on your shoes. Quickly. We have to go home."

"Told you," Diego sang, squishing out of the creek.

Mama turned to him. "This is the help I asked for?" Her disappointment was palpable, but she didn't scold him. She just turned and climbed up the hill.

'Berto grabbed his shoes and hurried, barefoot, after her.

At the top of the hill was the small cemetery, decorated for the Day of the Dead and crowded with families setting out offerings and laying picnics. Beyond that, the wagons and carriages were parked. Mama skirted the edges of the crowd, hurrying toward the open carriage they had brought this morning. Hopping and wincing at the pebbles, 'Berto followed. Diego squished behind.

Tall Gus was in the driver's seat. Papa was sitting in the back. Princess was tied behind...

It was very odd and all wrong.

Mama dug into the carrybox at the back of the carriage and produced a wool blanket. "Alajandro? Here." She held it out.

He shook his head, but his arms were crossed tightly against his chest and he was shivering. He wasn't wet, though, and it was warm. There was no reason to be cold.

Sighing, Mama climbed into the carriage and wrapped the blanket around him anyway. She motioned to the twins to hurry and take the seat across. Gilberto climbed up, then Diego. Gilberto turned a bit so he could dust off his feet and put on his shoes and socks.

"We're ready, Augustus, if you please."

'Berto glanced at Tall Gus as the carriage started forward. Normally, Father drove the carriage, and mother sat in the back between 'Berto and Diego. This just wasn't...right.

It was only two miles home, but it seemed longer. Nobody said anything. Diego had has hands balled up and his eyes closed. Even with the blanket, Papa was shivering. Mama pushed her shoulder close against his.

~TBC