Rancho Felipe
Near Los Angeles, California
1822

This is it, Maria thought. The wet, hacking coughs were getting worse. With this new bout, she dug her fingernails into the wooden door, as if she could reach inside for whatever was killing her father and pull it out.

She wanted to be inside, to hold his hand. To tell her father it was all right, that the rancho would be taken care of. She would see to it. The oldest child of Don Miguel Felipe, Maria had begun taking over her father's duties as his health had worsened. She knew the land inside and out. She knew the vaqueros by name.

But the men–ugh, the estupido men–said she was too delicate. That it would not do for a woman's constitution to see her father wasting away. As if she hadn't already seen the blood he coughed into his handkerchief. As if she hadn't heard the coughing spasms loud enough to wake the dead.

Maria pressed her ear to the door, but the thick wood prevented her from hearing the low conversation inside. Her brother, Juan, was inside, along with the doctor, and the lawyer from the pueblo. Juan was a year younger than she, but since he was Miguel's sole male heir, these final decisions would rest with him. A spoiled boy, who cared little for the rancho and those employed by her father. Maria hoped fervently that her father had not put Juan in charge after his death. Rancho Felipe would cease to exist.

It had been silent for far too long, she realized. The door handle moved and she stepped back hurriedly as her brother, Doctor de la Cruz, and Senors Escobar and Sanchez came out of the room. Just over Senor Sanchez's shoulder, Maria could see her father, lying still on his bed.

"No…" she breathed.

"I am sorry, Maria," Juan said, enveloping her in a hug. She sobbed into his shoulder, and he guided her to a lounge chair and sat her down, whispering an old Spanish prayer in her ear. She lifted her head off his shoulder. "Doctor de la Cruz," she whispered. "Thank you, for everything you've done for my father in these past few months."

The older man nodded. "Si, senorita, it was nothing. I tried my best to keep him comfortable."

"I know you did," she said softly. Then, she looked at Senor Sanchez. "What happens now?" she asked.

The lawyer exchanged a glance with Juan, and Senor Escobar. Maria knew Escobar owned the rancho a few miles away. A pleasant enough man, the few times she'd made his acquaintance, and an old friend of her father's. But she didn't like the look Sanchez was giving him.

"As you know, Senorita, Juan is not old enough to run the rancho on his own, he is only sixteen," Sanchez began.

"I know this," she replied. "It was always Papa's intention that I keep things working in his stead, until Juan was old enough to take over."

"This is true. However…"

The color drained from Maria's face. Her brother was slowly pulling away from her, leaving her to sit by herself. "However, what?" she demanded.

"Your father made his intentions clear," the lawyer continued. "It was his dying wish that you, senorita, go to the convent school in San Diego."

Maria's eyes widened. "I beg your pardon, senor!" she objected. "My father's intentions were that I run this rancho!"

"That would be difficult," Senor Escobar stepped in. "You see, your father signed your property over to me." He looked sympathetic, but something in his eyes…Maria didn't like it, not one bit.

She rounded on her brother. "And you, Juan Marco Felipe, you agreed to this?"

Her brother swallowed. "I-I only did what Papa wanted," he stammered.

Maria stood, and slapped her brother. His hand flew to his cheek, and Dr. de la Cruz reached forward, grabbing her forearm before she could try again. "How dare you!" she screamed at him. "You have not followed Father's wishes; you have betrayed them!" She yanked her arm from the doctor's grip, and thrust a finger at the other three men. "And you!" she shrieked. "You cheated my father, somehow! I know my father, I know that he would have never-"

"Senorita, por favor," Dr. de la Cruz begged her. "You need to calm down!"

"I will not!" Maria's eyes flashed. "You will all get out!" she yelled. "Out of my house!"

"It is no longer your house, Maria," Escobar started, but she gave him a shove. Her brother reached around and grabbed her around the waist.

"It is my house, and you will have to pry it from my cold, dead fingers!" Maria retorted. She looked at her brother. "This is your fault-all of you!" She glared at them all. "And you will pay for this!"

She elbowed her brother in the stomach. Juan coughed, doubled over, and released her. Maria stormed past the four men, and out into the night.

She was never seen again.