Ignacio's Letter

Ignacio sat at his large desk for a long time before starting to write. After a few false starts, and screwed up, scrunched up paper thrown down on the floor in anger, he wrote Gushing Stream's letter.

Dear Sarah,

Please excuse my writing; I may be pushing my limits in our friendship. The writing is shaky - my hands are trembling with cold.

It sounds stupid, I know, but there is nothing I can truly say that will make any difference to how you feel about me. I make mistakes, I am who I am. I have never been a perfect man, and never came close to goodness before your friendship made me rethink my life. I was in the process of changing, but without you, there is no hope at all.

I cannot do a great job of overseeing this pueblo. I never have been a great Alcalde, and I never will be. You can ask Diego de la Vega, and several others, if you think I am being self-deprecating. Believe me, I am less than a man. Without you, I have no chance at a good life.

As it is I am hereby resigning from the position of Alcalde of Los Angeles, as I feel incapable of rational leadership at this stage. Rest assured I will provide for my child's needs, and you will lack for nothing. I will provide a home for you both, so that you can live without fear.

Our letters have provided a link to your heart in the past. I would wish to continue our correspondence, even if we cannot continue to live together.

Please accept my apologies for being extreme in my actions recently. I have the responsibility until my resignation is accepted to maintain law and order in the pueblo. Some actions require more severe punishments than others, but I have acted out of hurt pride and arrogance over the last few days. I have disregarded your feelings, and run roughshod over your fears and wishes for peace. Forgive me if you can.

I will always be,

Your Loving Husband

Ignacio De Soto.

He finished writing the letter, and looked up at the glowing lamplight. He was cold, and his hands were shaking, but it may have been more from shock than the cold. He sighed and stretched his hands, before rubbing them to get the circulation running faster.

He reread the letter, and wondered if it was alright to send to her. It seemed foolish and badly written, but it said all that was running through his mind. It said what he would say if she was standing in front of him right at that moment. He was tempted to screw the letter up completely and write another one, but it was as good as he would get it right now.

He sighed; she may never understand why he kept making a fool of himself. He didn't understand himself half the time, so why he thought she would was completely insane.

He sat in the glow of the lamp light, until he got so tired; he rested his eyes, leaning on his folded arms.

Zzz

He woke in the same position hours later, blinking in the light of dawn.

He stretched aching muscles, and listened to the silence in the building and the town. Was this all he could look forward to for the rest of his life? Exhaustion filled his entire body, and dulled his mind, and he wasn't sure what he could do anymore. He stared straight ahead and wondered why he bothered trying to reform himself. He was what he was. Why did he think he could be a better person? It was a lot harder than it looked, he realised. Habits of a lifetime were hard to break, even for the sake of a perfect woman.

He had survived without friends for too long, he realised. Now he had friends, he was failing all of them. He would lose everyone's respect and friendship if he continued down the path he had begun. He would try to change, but he was already trying. He had the love of his soul mate, and was losing it. It had made no difference. He was still evil by nature. He could not deny the taste of power had gone straight to his head as if it was some sort of rare champagne. It had clouded his judgement, and he had forgotten what he had gained from doing what was right.

A young lancer cautiously entered his office to collect the letters and hand deliver them to his recipients. Ignacio held the letter for his beloved in his hands as if trying to hold on to her, and the lancer hesitated.

"Alcalde, do I take the other letter as well?" The young man asked clearing his throat nervously. Ignacio noticed how the man's hands shook a little as he reached out to take the paper, and then withdrew it quickly as if unsure.

"Yes, this one is personal and goes to the de la Vega hacienda. It goes first," Ignacio said softly. He noticed the trembling in his lancer's hands didn't stop, as he handed him the letter, and stared at the young man, making him even more nervous.

"Do I wait for a reply, Alcalde?" The young man asked trying to make sure he did exactly what was expected of him. He seemed unwilling to be substandard in any way.

Ignacio shook his head slowly, and waved him away. The man saluted and was out the door as if he was running for his life. Was the man that frightened of his commanding officer? He hoped not.

He sighed and paced his office, and decided to arrange someone to deliver his meagre belongings to the hacienda on his new estate. His belongings were mainly clothes and books, with a few trinkets and pictures on the walls. He would pack Gushing Stream's clothes and belongings as well, and if necessary he would have them delivered immediately to the de la Vega hacienda. As Armand had said, it was not far from where he was going to live.

He would wait to discover the outcome of his letters in the peace of his empty house. Armand had assured him that it was fully furnished, but the style may or may not be to his taste. He could not care less what it was like. It would be his sanctuary for a few days, or a few weeks. If he had to he could sell it, and return to Spain with the proceeds. His uncle and cousins might work together to find him suitable employment in Madrid.

He used to miss the familiar comforts of the great city. Madrid, where all the beautiful girls lived and danced, and the parties and the wine went on forever. How he had missed the place when he first arrived in the dust bowl of California. He had only one goal back then. Get rid of the pest known as Zorro, and return as a hero.

So much for goals and dreams. He would return to Spain, but as a broken man, not a hero. His chances of a good post would be meagre, but someone would slot him somewhere, even if only to tease him with hard and boring office work.

He didn't want to, he realised. He didn't long for the streets of Madrid or his old comrades as he used to. He longed for the sweet embrace of his beautiful wife, and the touch of her lips on his. Things that he may have lost forever.