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Colorado Book Award Winner
Meadowlark was awarded first prize in the Young Adult category at the 13th annual awards from the Colorado Center for the Book.
WILLA Award Finalist
Meadowlark was recognized by Women Writing the West as a Finalist in the WILLA award competion.
Meadow Lark by Mary Peace Finley (available in hardcover or paperback editions)
Chapter 1
Rocks on the streambed pressed hard into Teresita's knees, but she scarcely noticed. Her fingers were numb from the icy water. She slapped another diaper on the flat scrubbing stone and rubbed a strong-smelling bar of brown soap on the stain. As she scrubbed, she sang.
This soap I have made
These clothes I will wash
But the stream flows on to the sea
Charting a pathway for me.
From a willow branch overhead, a yellow-headed black-bird trilled to her song. Oka-wee! Oka-weee! Teresita sat back on her heels, stretching, and smiled up into a sparkling eye. "So you're happy today too, are you Señor Blackbird, hiding behind that bandit's mask? You know that something exciting is going to happen. You feel it, too, don't you?"
A foot slid and rocks clacked against each other on the stream bank. Teresita turned, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“Teresita Montoya, estas loca? Are you crazy, talking to a bird?" Teresita's sister Eugenia reached for the piles of washed clothes and began spreading them on bushes to dry.
"Not crazy, Eugenia, excited! It's spring. Listen! Roosters are crowing. Mules are braying—"
"Roosters always crow, tonta, and mules always bray." Eugenia snapped the wrinkles from a shirt. "You're just being silly."
"No, Eugenia! I feel it! Something is going to happen!"
"You and your hunches." Eugenia flicked a spray of water from her hand toward Teresita. "Que chica tan loca."
Teresita hid her smile. The feelings that came to her were strange, but they came. And this time the feeling was really strong.
Eugenia grabbed a pair of their brother Julio's pantalones. "After morning mass. Father Martinez told Mamá that a wagon train is headed here into Taos today."
"There! See? The fandango tomorrow night will be the biggest dance since New Year's. Ay! What a party that was, the first day of 1845! And this could be even better. More wagons? Mmmmm...." Teresita batted her eyes. "Traders!" She pointed her fingers like the horns of a bull, shouted "Olé!" and lunged toward the trousers. "Trappers! Olé! Adventurers! Olé!"
"Ay, Teresita, don't forget what dragged in from the trail last time." Eugenia slapped a cotton rag across a branch.
Teresita laughed. "Remember that old trapper who smelled like rotten beans and broke wind every time he stamped his feet? And he wanted to marry us! Both of us!"
"I remember." Eugenia hid her face behind her hand, smothering a giggle.
"What I like about the foreigners isn't their dancing. It's their stories. Eavesdropping on what they say, listening to all those languages," Teresita said, wringing out a white camisa. She loved hearing tales of places far away. Someday she'd go to those places the trappers and traders talked about and speak the languages they spoke. She would leave this dusty little town with its little mud houses and ride south to Santa Fe and Chihuahua and to the grand capital of Mexico with its towers of gold. She'd ride east across Indian Territory to Bent's Fort, the adobe castle on the plains, to visit Papá, and on to the United States and sail across a big blue ocean to even bigger stone castles in Spain and....
"Teresita, watch what you're doing!"
"Ay, no!" Mamá's white blouse had floated from her hands into the swift current.
Teresita stepped out, but as the stream tugged at her ankle, she jerked back. Eugenia was already splashing out into the deeper water.
"Gracias, Eugenia." Teresita cringed, avoiding her sister's eyes.
The church bell rang out from the center of town. She was grateful to escape Eugenia's usual lecture about being afraid of water. "Ay, Eugenia! Listen to the bell! Everything's new today! The wagon train is here! Who knows what else will happen?" She grabbed Eugenia's hands and sang,
Who makes the soap?
We do.
Who washes the clothes?
We do.
Who dances the fandango?
We do.
Who says, "I do"?
We do!
"Teresita! Eugenia!" Their sister María ran down the stream bank toward them, waving, jumping up and down, and spinning in circles like a top. "Come quick! It's Papá! Papá has come home!"
"Papá!" Skirt hoisted high, hands dripping, Teresita raced up the embankment toward the road. "Then the wagons have come from Bent's Fort? See, Eugenia? I knew something would happen!"
Eugenia panted beside her as they ran into the dirt yard of their adobe casita. There Papá stood, dark and handsome as Teresita remembered him. He was wearing the same sheepskin vest he had worn on the day he left three years ago. His stubby eyelashes angled over high cheekbones that looked even higher now over an enormous smile.
"Papá! Papá! You're home! Finally, you're home!"
Teresita ran into his outstretched arms, and as if she were still a baby, Papá scooped her up and swung her in a circle. "Ay, mi hija bonita! My beautiful daughter." Teresita burrowed her nose into his sheepskin vest and the familiar scent of tobacco and dust and hard work. As he set her back onto her feet, Teresita saw tears glistening beneath his lashes. "I've missed you, Meadow Lark," he said softly.
"I've missed you, too. Papá."
Papá stepped back, blinking, and looking at Teresita and Eugenia. "You are not my little girls anymore." He shook his head. "In three years you've become beautiful young women. It happened so fast." His smile faded. "Too fast."
"But now you'll be home with us every day!" Teresita lifted the wet hem of her skirt as if she were dancing.
Papá stiffened. As he looked over Teresita's head, the sparkle in his eyes disappeared. She turned to follow his gaze, and suddenly a sliver of cold sliced through her.
Mamá stood near the doorway of the casita, fists planted at her sides. Teresita's younger sisters huddled together beside her. The youngest, Gabriela Ultima, hid in the folds of her mother's skirt, staring wide-eyed at the father she'd never seen before today. The twins clutched each other's hands. Except for rocking on the edges of her bare feet, even María was still, standing halfway between Mamá and Papá. All eight sisters, Mamá, Papá—the whole family was here, everyone but her brother, Julio, who was watching the sheep. Teresita glanced toward the meadow, wondering if she should go for him, and noticed for the first time the contents of Papá's saddlebags strewn in the dirt—a pair of pants, a frayed shirt, a tin cup and plate, and silver and gold coins, more escudos and reales than she had ever seen before.
A stiff silence stood like a wall between her parents. Teresita blinked hard. A salty taste tickled the back of her throat. Slowly she looked up past the coins and dirt and corn shucks and chicken droppings, over the flat roof of their one-room house, beyond the flat roofs of other adobe houses scattered here and there along a dirt road that wound into the Taos Plaza, and raised her eyes to the peaceful blue mountains that fringed the Taos Valley, remembering. Remembering what she'd tried to forget, the fighting when Papá was home before.
A little black and white sheepdog snapped the tense silence. The dog tore into the yard, yipping and twisting and flinging itself against Papá's legs. "Chivita!" The sparkle flashed in Papá's eyes again. "You remember me, eh, Little Goat? At least you are happy to see me."
"Papá!" A voice shouted. Teresita turned as her brother slid to a stop at the edge of the yard. He brushed the long strands of blond hair away from his eyes as if he could not believe what he saw. "Papá?"
For a second Papá didn't move. "Ay, mi hijo! My son!" His voice broke. "You have become a man!" Her father and brother rushed into each other's arms, Chivita still tugging at Papá's pant legs.
"Every day I was gone, I thought of you. I prayed for you." Papá knuckled the top of Julio's head, but now he reached up instead of down. Laughing, Julio ducked away. Papá wiped his cheeks with the palms of his hands, and he looked from Julio to Teresita, then one by one to all the others. "I prayed for all of you." When he looked at Mamá, his smile stopped. The sparkle faded from his eyes, and silence clamped over the yard once again.
No! No, no, no! Words of warning raged inside Teresita's head. You can't be this way, Mamá! I won't let you! She took in a deep breath. "Por favor. Mamá! Please. Please don't start fighting with Papá again!"
But Mamá held her head high, defiant. Her eyes flashed a warning. "He's leaving."
"Leaving? Papá!" Teresita saw from her father's bowed head that it was true. "But why?"
"I must honor my promise to Señor William Bent."
"You promised me, too," Mamá snapped, "a long time ago. We have enough money now. Those coins can never take the place of a husband! Or a father for my children."
Papá's arms raised, then dropped to his side like dead weights. "You wanted me to go to help build Bent's Fort! You wanted...."
"And now I want you here! You've been gone too long." Abruptly the sharp edge of Mamá's voice cut to a near whisper. "If you leave again now, Enrique, I'm afraid you will never return."
"I'll be back...."
"Pick up those coins," Mamá ordered, stabbing her finger toward the dirt. Her younger sisters scurried, but Teresita did not.
“Papá, please, don’t be angry with Mamá for not wanting you to leave again so soon. Mamá—”
"Pah! Let him ramble like an old bear!" Mamá jerked her head toward Teresita. "What do I care if he goes?" She flounced toward their one-room adobe casita scattering daughters and squawking chickens, clutching the gold and silver coins Papá had earned making adobe bricks to build Bent's Fort. "Magdalena, María, Constancia, help me with the cooking!"
The comer of Papá's left eye twitched violently. Teresita remembered that twitch, how it flickered when Papá was upset, pressing stubby eyelashes against high cheekbones, straight and harsh. Her own eyelashes pressed down that way, too.
"Three years," he muttered, shaking his head. "Three long years for this." Teresita wanted to run to Papá, put her arms around him, and make things right, but she knew only Mamá could do that. When I get married, she promised herself, I will never treat my husband the way Mamá treats Papá! Never!
"Teresita?" Julio edged to her side, speaking softly. "What happened?" His shoulders lifted, then fell. "Why is Mamá acting that way? Why are women like that?"
"Julio!" Teresita's hand landed on Julio's face with a loud smack. Her voice, out of control, cried out, "I'm not like that! I'm not like Mamá at all!" She backed away, staring at the stinging palm as if it were not her own. She had slapped the person she loved most in the whole world—exactly what Mamá might have done.
Julio's startled green eyes stretched wide, filled with disbelief. A red splotch began to rise on his pale cheek.
Papá stopped his frantic packing and stared at them as if they were strangers. Gabriela Ultima, who had been peeking from the doorway, ran into the house, wailing.
"I'm sorry," Teresita whispered, touching Julio's face with the tips of her fingers. "But you don't understand. With Papá gone. Mamá is lonely. And it's just—just—Julio, not all women are like Mamá. I won't be!"
Papá snatched a tin cup from the dirt and flung it into a canvas pouch. "It's a long way to come to be thrown out of my own home. I thought your mamá would be glad to see me, even for two days."
"Two days!" Julio jerked as if his face had been slapped a second time. He ran his fingers through the straw-colored strands of hair over his forehead and looked from Papá to Teresita. "Where are you going?"
Sighing, Papá knelt and reached out, snapping his fingers. Chivita sprang up, her feet on Papá's knee, tail wagging. "El Señor William Bent needed someone to carry a message to his brother Charles here in Taos. I volunteered to come so I could see you and your mamá," he added bitterly. "Now I have Señor Charles's letter to return to Bent's Fort." He stood and touched his chest. Beneath the sheepskin and white cotton shirt, Teresita heard the muffled crunch of paper. "It's important."
A sudden shiver brushed Teresita's shoulders. Mr. Blackbird! Is this it? Is this what that feeling meant? Is this my chance to go, too? With Papá?
"The United States has elected a new president, a man named Polk. Señor William thinks this President Polk will take Texas into their union. Then Mexico's problems with Texas would become problems with the whole United States." Papá drew a sharp breath, and Teresita realized she hadn't been listening. "The Independent Republic of Texas! Independent Republic of thieves!" he muttered. "There are rumors of war between Mexico and the United States." Papá shook his head and looked toward the house. "The Bents are worried."
"I know, Papá," Teresita rushed into the conversation. "I've heard Señor Charles and María Ignacia talk about it. The Bents know that many people don't like the Americanos here." Her words tumbled over one another. "They say los Americanos marry the women of Taos only to own land and get trade privileges. Did you know that two weeks after Kit Carson and Josefa's wedding, a mob went after Señor Charles? If he hadn't escaped to Bent's Fort, they would have killed him."
Papá was staring at Teresita with a look of disbelief. "You have grown up, haven't you?" He nodded. "I talked with Señor Charles when he was at Bent's Fort. Bad times are coming, es cierto. That's for sure."
Papá threw the last of his scattered gear into his saddlebag, then stood with the load draped across his shoulder, looking at Teresita, the longing in his deep brown eyes intense. "Take care of yourself, Meadow Lark, until I return," Papá said, lifting her chin with the tips of his fingers. "Never stop singing your song." Slowly he turned and walked from the silent yard, his shoulders stooped like a man defeated.
"Papá!" Julio sprinted away from Teresita's side. "You said you had two days! Where are you going?"
"Two days, but I won't stay here. Tell your mother." Papá raised his voice as he glanced back toward the shadowy doorway. "Tell your mother and sisters good-bye for me."
"Papá!" Julio fell into stride beside him. "Papá, I'm going with you."
"I am, too, Papá!" Teresita shouted, but Papá only frowned and pointed with his chin toward the casita door.
RETURN TO MEADOW LARK (hardcover)
RETURN TO MEADOW LARK (paperback)
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