A month ago
Don Alfonso, a wealthy landowner from Mexico who had recently settled in Alta California, looked at the piece of yellow metal glittering on his hand. A broad smile expanded on his greedy podgy face while he looked down to the valley, his gaze following the course of the small river.
"Does this land belong to the Indians?" he asked to his companion, Oliver, a quiet man with mild manners that veiled an aggressive and vicious disposition, especially towards Indians.
"In a way, you can say so. The San Gabriel mission has the land grant for this territory."
"I need to get hold of the rights for this land. However, I don't think they'll sell it to me willingly." Don Alfonso looked around again, ignoring the beauty of the wild landscape, wondering what valid excuse he could put forward to feign interest in such an isolated place. "We need someone corrupt, someone so dishonest and unscrupulous he won't mind bending the rules a bit in our favour."
"I know the perfect man," Oliver said quietly, while mounting back on his horse to come down to the valley.
ZZZ
"Diegooooo! Where are you? We have work to do!" Don Alejandro called, looking for his son. Where can he be? The library, sure, he thought, heading that way.
Diego walked quickly through the secret door by the fireplace, randomly took a book from the shelf, and sank in one of the armchairs. Then he opened the book and pretended to be reading. He was sweating and breathing heavily with the haste of his alter-ego activities, but he hoped his father would not notice it. He didn't.
"Ah, there you are. What a surprise: the library."
"Hello, Father. Are you looking for me?" Diego said casually, closing the book. He put it down on the side table, and only then he realized of the title: "The New Horse Hoeing Husbandry" by Jethro Tull, a new edition of his classic treatise. A book he hadn't had the chance to read yet, although his father insisted it was essential knowledge of modern agriculture.
"Yes. We have to help Padre Benítez with the planning and building of the new orphanage and school. Don't you remember? I donated a large contribution for that project, and I would like to make sure everything runs smoothly," Don Alejandro said.
"Sorry, Father. I forgot it was today. I thought we were doing that tomorrow."
"No, Son. Today. Sometimes I wonder if you'd forget to breathe if you had to do a conscious effort to keep yourself alive. How can you get so distracted with your books?" the old don asked, laying eyes on the book on the table. "Are you finally getting an interest in agriculture and farming?"
"Yes, Father, I am. Everything is on the books, you know? A very interesting subject it is, Agronomy. Quite compelling to read," Diego said standing up enthusiastically, like eager to start working with the hoe right then.
Don Alejandro looked at him as so many times before: somehow perplexed. He shook his head; swished his riding gloves in a circular motion, inviting his son to follow him; and then headed to the main entrance, where Felipe was already waiting with the horses. Diego walked behind his father with a broad grin on his face, glad he could be so irritating on cue.
ZZZ
"A little bit more to your right," Padre Benítez said to his Indian helper, but the man misunderstood and moved the heavy beam to the left. "No! No! The other way!" the priest shouted, circling with his hands, but it didn't matter: the Indian didn't seem to understand. Padre Benítez sighed and came closer to the man to help him level the beam.
A few new workers and volunteers had joined the mission from the Indian village, but they were still learning the language. The growing population of Indians leaving their villages to join the Church to live at the missions was the main reason to build this orphanage and school. In recent years, there had been a succession of epidemic episodes among the Indian population, with a large amount of casualties dying from otherwise mild illnesses for Europeans, such as flu, that had resulted in a significant increase of orphans. Padre Benítez and many others, including the De la Vegas, mistakenly thought the California native Indians suffered from weak health and needed to be helped. The Franciscan Padres tried hard to assimilate them to the white man culture, with a close contact which was detrimental and the cause of the epidemics on the first place.
"Good morning, Padre Benítez," Don Alejandro saluted on arrival, dismounting Dulcinea. "I see that the building works have already started."
"Good morning, Don Alejandro. Diego. Felipe. Yes, we have started. Let me show you the plans. I think your son would be a great addition as a project manager."
Padre Benítez showed them the drawings and the distribution of the basic building, which consisted of three rooms: the school class, the communal bedroom, and the kitchen and dining room. There was a buzzing of activity at the site, with the workers and volunteers carrying large logs, laying the adobe bricks for the foundations, and even raising the first walls. Most of the workers were Indians of the Tongva tribe, called Gabrieleños by the Padres, but some came from other tribes further away. Entire families were involved in the labour, even some small children.
While following the priest around the building site, Diego stopped to look at a young Indian boy who was helping his father. He could not be older than six or seven years, but still, he took his job as a helper very seriously. He was dragging a huge log from a large pile, bringing it closer to his father to build the fence, struggling all the way without asking for help. Determination to carry out the task glowed in his young face. Moved by it, Diego walked behind him and lifted the heavy piece of wood off the ground.
"Let me help you."
"Thank you. Can do myself," the boy said, confident.
"I know you can, but it will be faster this way and you can help even more. Your father won't know what to do with so much wood ready to be used."
The boy smiled, with sparkling white teeth contrasting in his dark skin face. Something else sparkled at the same time, catching a ray of sun, glittering in Diego's eyes. It was the boy's hand-made decorated Indian collar, which got Diego's attention. It was made with pieces of carved wood, bones, feathers and coloured mineral stones, with some metal inlays which resembled… Gold? That's odd, Diego thought.
"That's a pretty collar you are wearing," he said, pointing at it. "Can I see it?"
As an answer, the boy tried to hide the collar under his Indian tunic, and shook his head. Then he ran away to hide behind his father.
"Diego, come here. We need you to make this angle square," the old don called from a distance. Diego nodded to the boy's father, who was looking at him suspiciously with a serious expression, and left to join Don Alejandro at the other side.
"Padre, what tribe are those Indians building the fence down there? They look different to the others," Diego asked to the priest.
"They are Serranos. They volunteered to help us today," Padre Benítez said while extending the measuring rope straight on the ground. "They live in the San Bernardino area, up in the mountains. Some come regularly to trade in with the other tribes, especially weaved baskets. They are quite good making them."
Diego looked back at the little boy again. Father and son were back at work, but the little Indian looked at Diego with curiosity from time to time, with his beautiful collar still tucked away, out of sight. Shortly after, Diego focused his attention somewhere else, when he saw a certain señorita approaching the site carrying jars of fresh lemonade for the workers.
ZZZ
"A white man has been asking my son about his collar," the boy's father said to the Indian Chief in their own language when they returned to San Bernardino, three days after their encounter with Diego at the mission.
"I told you to keep any hint of gold hidden from the white men. He should remove it immediately," the Chief ordered.
"He loves that collar. His mother made it for him shortly before she died. I don't have the heart to take it away from him."
"You know how the white men think and what they do. For some reason, they love gold too much. They will destroy our sacred mountain to get it, as they destroy everything else. But the gold belongs to Mother Nature, and only She can give us little pieces of her goodness if that's her desire."
"My son is not coming back with me down to the valley, at least not in many moons from now. He won't see any white men for a long time. Please, let him keep the collar in the meantime."
The chief nodded slowly.
"As long as no white man can ever see the gold in it."
ZZZZZ