Saving the World (10 page)

Clearly, she had not heard the hospital rumors about the English doctor. This was odd as Doña Teresa kept abreast of most gossip.
La gaceta,
especially, had proliferated her sources of scandals, strange tales, and memorable stories. “Are you quite sure, Isabel, this isn't another one of
his
cures?” she scowled again. King Carlos was known to dabble in the sciences and was often offering purgatives and palliatives to his nobles and foreign visitors. So
La gaceta
had reported.

“No, no, Doña Teresa. This cure is already established in Rome, France, Russia.” I recounted what Don Francisco had told me, assuring her at crucial points where my own faith had faltered that science was handmaiden to religion. I outlined Dr. Jenner's experiment, omitting that he was English, explaining about the milkmaids, the cowpox, the epidemics raging in the colonies. But in order to get the vaccine across the ocean, live carriers were required, which is why Don Francisco had come to the foundling house. He was requesting twenty-two of our boys to carry the cowpox fluid across the sea.

“I see,” Doña Teresa said with a deep nod. She was quiet a moment, gazing fondly at the boys who had been listening intently to the story. This was the first they knew of our visitor's request, for the fact that he had come from the king had eclipsed any further questions about the reason for his visit. “So, my little sailors,” Doña Teresa inquired of them, “which of you wants to go on a big ship across the ocean?”

“Me!” they shouted and lunged toward Doña Teresa, almost toppling her over in her chair. She might have been the big ship herself they were ready to board.

“Boys!” I scolded. But I could tell our benefactress was enjoying herself. She came precisely to feel the sticky, needy warmth of their affection.

“You mean to say that you would leave your Doña Teresa all alone here in La Coruña?” She made a pouty face.

“I'll stay,” Clemente offered, inciting a complete reversal. So much for the enlightened rule of the multitude, I thought, remembering how it was the rabble next door in France that had cut off their king's head. Or so I had read in one of the discarded
Gacetas
Doña Teresa had brought me.

Only Francisco held his course. From the beginning, that boy was determined to go. “Por favor, Doña Teresa, let me go.”
Por favor?
I registered the change. The boy might still mend.

“That's enough now, boys,” I quieted them. I should never have started this explanation with the boys afoot. But Doña Teresa's questions had met me at the door, forcing me into the conversation I had cleverly (and uselessly!) prepared for.

She was shaking her head at them now. “You must remember, my boys,
that if His Holiness asks anything of us, we must obey. That way, we can all finally be together in heaven. We will all meet there, will we not?” The boys nodded solemnly.

Only your conniving rectoress might not be there, I thought.

Doña Teresa turned to me. She spoke in a lowered voice, as if the boys were incapable of hearing anything said in confidence in their presence.

“I worry only about these poor innocents. They have never been further than the Tower of Hercules. How can we be sure they will survive such a voyage? And when will they be sent back? What if they catch some other horrid disease?
La gaceta
reports that the Americans are full of illness.” All the questions and qualms I had swept aside in my excitement swarmed round me. I had scooped out honey from the hive, tasted its sweetness, but now the worrisome bees were after me. My mind was full of unease.

Perhaps my face was as easy to read as hers, for Doña Teresa stopped abruptly. “Oh dear, Isabel, now I've got you doubting. Always, the Evil One tries to tarnish a noble deed with ignoble quandaries. I have known you these dozen years, and I know you would not endanger the welfare of boys you love so well.”

My face burned with shame at her undeserved trust. “I myself will accompany them,” I said, knowing my self-interest would be mistaken as self-sacrifice. “Don Francisco requested it,” I added, not daring to look up for fear Doña Teresa would see the lie in my eyes. “Natividad can take over until my return,” I proposed, anticipating a possible objection.

“Brave Isabel!” Doña Teresa was now smiling fondly at me.

I could not bear her praise. Any moment now, I would blurt out the truth. “Boys.” I turned my attention to them. “Go tell Nati Doña Teresa is here, to put on the kettle. Go on now! A warm tea, Doña Teresa?” I offered. “You have gotten wet in this rain. You must not catch cold.”

“In a bit, in a bit.” She waved my offer away. She was still in the thrall of all she had heard, just as I had been. “To think, Isabel, that there might be a cure for the smallpox.” Her pale eyes grew watery. “If only that discovery had come sooner! Consider how our own lives would have been so different.”

I thought of my parents, my dear sister, and I felt that heaviness in my
heart again. Perhaps, no matter how far I wandered, there would be no escaping it.

“Now, I'm making you sad, poor Isabel.” Doña Teresa blew her nose into the kerchief she had removed from the pocket of her dress, a trumpet sound that made the boys at the door giggle, disclosing their misbehavior.

“Boys!” I chided. “What did I say? Go wash your hands for merienda!” Off they went, anticipating the snack of grapes that Doña Teresa's coachman had carried into the kitchen earlier. “You, too, Francisco.” Reluctantly, the boy peeled himself away. But before disappearing down the corridor, he sounded his little trumpet one more time. “He came from the king—”

“Francisco!” I cut him off, but Doña Teresa had caught the one spark that could kindle her temper.

“What does that ridiculous cuckold have to do with this noble mission?” She was addressing not just me but the room itself, which had witnessed the interview with our visitor. She went on to provide the answer, sparing me another lie. “Let him try to take over this mission. Just let him! These are my boys, and I myself will help with the cost of their expenses.”

I was torn between guilt at my means and delight with the results. Although Don Francisco had not asked, no doubt he would welcome additional monies for his expedition.
Excellent!
he would say.
You are a wonder, Doña Isabel. Provision as well as permission!

Doña Teresa stood up slowly, a pained expression on her face, which turned to fond chuckles when she noticed the seat she had chosen. “That Don Manuel,” she said, shaking her head. “We really should gift those chairs to the Royal Council!” (The council had recently voted to levy additional taxes on all church properties.) Then, gathering herself up, she hooked her arm in mine. “Let us go see to our boys' grapes.” Doña Teresa enjoyed delivering her treats in person.

“By the way, Isabel,” she said as we came apart at the narrow corridor that did not allow someone of her wide girth to go accompanied, “you are looking quite handsome. That necklace suits you!”

My hand flew to my throat. I had forgotten to remove my beads! My
face was burning again, as I fell in behind her, thinking how easily we can change our lives if we desire to do so above all other things.

W
ITH DOÑA Teresa'S BLESSING,
I began to select the twenty-two boys who would take part in the expedition.

Each one had to be checked thoroughly to be sure that he had never been exposed to the smallpox. Suddenly, relations began stepping forward, fathers and mothers and brothers who had never existed before, wet nurses who had given the breast to this or that infant boy, all of whom had heard that the chosen boys would become the king's special charges and so had come to claim their rightful compensation for letting His Majesty have
their
boys.

Once I had chosen the carriers, I began assembling what they would need from the list Don Francisco provided for me. Each boy was to have six shirts, a hat, three linen trousers and jackets, one woolen trouser and jacket; three kerchiefs for the neck, three for the nose; three pairs of shoes; one comb. So much to be bought, sewn, attended to!

The hours sped by; the days were over too quickly; September turned into October in a heartbeat; and then it was November, and we were still getting ready. A ship could not be found. Some of the instruments Don Francisco had ordered had not arrived. France and England were at war, and safe conduct for our expedition had to be sought from both countries; proof had to be presented that we were carrying boys, not munitions.

I was glad for these delays, for I had twenty-two wardrobes to assemble, not counting my own “trousseau,” as Nati had begun referring to it. “For you are bound to get married over in New Spain.” She was sure of it. I waved her off, though I admit, it pleased me to think that perhaps in America among so many survivors of the smallpox, my scarred face might blend in. A new Isabel would emerge in that new world!

“What man will take me with twenty-two boys in tow?” I challenged. Out of habit, I could not let myself hope.

Nati crossed her arms and regarded me. “You don't know the first thing about men, do you?”

“I have been raising them for a dozen years,” I reminded her.

T
ODAY, FINALLY, THE HOUR
of our departure had come. We assembled in the front parlor, each boy attired like a little prince. We were to parade down the crowded streets toward the docks, Don Francisco's idea. Our departure should be accompanied by fanfare. Ours was a noble venture, which all of La Coruña should know about. And it would hearten the members of the expedition to hear the cheers and see the waving crowds.

This was probably true for his assistants and nurses, who marched ahead, accompanied by our bishop and officials from the city council. But the children were too frightened to enjoy the added commotion, even the older ones who pretended confidence, and yes,
even
my thorn, Francisco, who had managed to talk his namesake into allowing him to come, swearing upon several holy objects that he had “never been near no pox.” All the good-byes at the orphanage, the kisses and embraces lavished upon them, admonitions to be brave, not to fear the ocean with its great Leviathan or the savages who ate their own kind—my poor boys were beside themselves with terror. They clung to Nati and Doña Teresa, to bedposts and wall posts, to the boys who were staying. Only Benito seemed strangely calm, but, of course, he was clinging to me.

For the last few weeks on pleasant days, I had been bringing the selected group down to the dockyards to accustom them to the idea of going on a ship, crossing the ocean they knew only as a span of blue globe they could cover with their hands. A quiet stroll down to the docks and a climb aboard the ship with no ceremony would have been far better. But our director, of course, had the greater glory of our enterprise to consider and not the silly fears of little boys, fears stoked by the envy of those who were staying behind.

We must have looked a sight, dressed in the colors of Spain, the rectoress and her twenty-one boys! (At the last minute, Carlito had fallen ill and could not come along; a substitute boy I knew nothing about would be joining us on the ship.) Uniforms had again been Don Francisco's idea. “We will be marching into villages and settlements in the wilderness and our attire must create a sense of wonder. It will impress, believe me.” Of course, I believed him. He had seen so much of the world, knew the hearts and minds of men and had ministered to their bodies. What did I know but my
little round of duties, shut away in a foundling house for a dozen years? “And you, too, Doña Isabel, must wear our colors. You are now an official member of the expedition. The king has approved your appointment.”

I, who had worn only black for so many years, was now dressed in crimson and gold! Nati was speechless. “I feel like a flag.” I laughed nervously.

Nati shook her head. “You look like a lady. You will have to fight the men off with this.” She handed me the farewell gift she had purchased at the seamen's bazaar, a hairpin with a pearl at one end for holding my veil in place. I did not have the heart to tell her that Don Francisco had ruled against my covering my face.

At last, the boys had calmed down, lining up, an older one with a younger one at each hand. Out we went into the street, past the post where Benito had been tied, past the hospital where most of them had been abandoned, past the Carmelite convent with its grates at the window, where I perceived the vague shadows of Sisters looking out upon this commotion. I dared not glance back to where a tearful Nati and Doña Teresa stood at our doorway, calling out reminders to me and the boys. One glimpse of what I was leaving behind, and I feared that my heart, if not my limbs, would turn to stone.

What on earth had I been thinking? My poor little boys, big-eyed, trying to be brave, were about to embark on a perilous journey! Eight of them, including my Benito, were no older than three—the younger the boy, the less likely he had ever been exposed to the smallpox. They still tottered on their land legs, still wet their bedding, though even some of the oldest had been doing so with the excitement of these last few days.

I suppose I, too, was in a state. Not since my illness as a young girl had I shown my naked face in public. To my surprise, no one turned away or curled a lip in disgust. Awe had blotted out any defects. The crowd cheered for the boys! They cheered for the rectoress! “See,” I tried to rally my charges. “Everyone is so very proud of you.” They looked about warily, as if they were unsure whether they were soon to be fed cake or fed to the Leviathan.

The
María Pita
loomed before us. Don Francisco had called it “a modest ship,” a last-minute choice after the larger frigate he had contracted
was delayed in repairs. One benefit of a smaller vessel was that it could enter the harbor and we were able to board right from the dock. I could not imagine the added trouble of a double embarkation: first onto a boat to take us out to sea, then up a rope ladder to the deck of a rolling ship, sails fluttering and filling with wind. My hands were full enough already! The boys were hanging back again, eyeing this floating house that squeaked and tilted as if one good stamp of the foot could break it apart. One thing was to have seen the ship from shore, another thing to climb on board and sail away until you could see land no more.