Chapter 1: 1885: Taos, U.S. Territory of New Mexico

An infant’s plaintive cries pried me from my sleep. Soon enough, that jarring note was replaced by the quiet yet eager suckling noises of my four-month old daughter. I rolled over onto my left side to watch baby Roberta -- named for my mother -- nursing at Feliza’s swollen breast.

My wife, sitting up against the headboard using her pillow as a cushion, smiled at me and she said in her soft voice, “Buenos dias, corazon.” (Good morning, sweet-heart.)

I returned a serious look and breathed a barely audible, “Mis preciosos tesoros,” (My precious treasures) as I reached my hand across Feliza’s waist to embrace her and draw myself close enough to kiss Roberta’s head. Feliza’s tan skin took on a rosy hue while Roberta simply ignored me.

“Te amo,” (I love you) she said, the depth of her feeling apparent in the way she looked at me.

I lifted myself on my elbow and kissed Feliza’s shoulder, then rolled back toward my side of the bed and sat up on the edge, sliding my feet into the low moccasins I used as carpet slippers. With the call of nature pressing at my groin, I stood and stretched, my naked skin registering the chill air of a May morning at the seven thousand foot elevation, where Taos was set on the lower slope of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. I walked around the bed to snag my robe from a hook on back of the bedroom door and slipped into its blanketing warmth. I then bent to the box of cordwood by the door and lifted two pieces of the split tamarack from it, carried them to the kiva style fireplace in the corner of the room, and settled the seasoned wood onto the embers. After that, I went to Feliza’s side of the bed to retrieve the covered chamber pot, which I intended to take with me to empty in the privy out back.