ADVERTISEMENT
The medicines you prepare could be exchanged for the tools and food we need.
You could help not only heal bodies, but also heal the relationships between our peoples.”
The idea that her work could have an impact beyond individual patients gave her a sense of purpose she had never imagined possible.
“Do you think the other tribes would accept me?” she asked with a mixture of ardor and nervousness.
“They’ve already accepted you,” he replied with a smile.
“The results speak for themselves, but there’s something else I must tell you.”
His expression turned serious.
I’ve received messages from my older brother.
He’s considering establishing a formal alliance between several Apache tribes and wants me to be part of the negotiations.
It means we would have to travel to territory not controlled by the Mexican government.
The prospect of greater freedom was exciting, but also terrifying.
What does that mean for us? Tlacael asked.
He took her hands in his.
It means we could have a real marriage according to the traditions of my people.
It means you could officially become my wife.
Not just a government assignment.
His eyes shone with an intensity that made her tremble.
The word “family” rang in Jimena’s heart like a bell.
After years of being considered worthless for being unable to bear children in her previous arranged marriage, the possibility of forming a family based on true love seemed like a miracle, but her happiness was rudely cut short when horsemen appeared on the horizon.
Tlacael immediately went on alert, recognizing the uniforms of the Mexican army, even from a distance.
“Hide in the cabin,” she murmured urgently.
“Something isn’t right, but it was too late.
The soldiers had spotted them, and among them rode a figure who made Jimena’s blood run cold.
Her own brother, Rodrigo Vázquez de Coronado, accompanied by the captain who had brought her months before.
Rodrigo Vázquez de Coronado dismounted from his horse with the arrogance typical of someone who had grown up believing the world owed him obedience.
At 28, he was the perfect image of the high-society Mexican gentleman, impeccably dressed even in the desert, with a carefully trimmed mustache and cold eyes that had inherited his father’s calculated cruelty.
But when she saw her sister emerge from the cabin, her expression changed from controlled disgust to absolute shock.
The approaching woman was not the overweight, defeated sister she remembered.
Jimena walked with a natural dignity she’d never possessed in the family mansion.
Her tanned skin glowed with health, her body had become strong and proportioned, and her eyes held a light of purpose that Rodrigo had never seen.
But what disturbed him most was the way Tlacael stood protectively at her side and how she accepted that protection naturally.
Jimena,” Rodrigo said in a controlled but tense voice, “I’ve come to take you home.
This experiment has gone on too long.
This is my home,” Jimena replied calmly, gesturing toward the cabin and the medicinal garden she had created.
“And I’m not going anywhere.”
Her voice was firm, with no trace of the insecurity that had characterized all her years at the family mansion.
The military captain stepped forward,
holding out some official documents.
Mrs. Vázquez de Coronado, we have received reports that you are being held against your will.
As a Mexican citizen, you have the right to return to civilization.
Tlacael visibly tensed.
No one is holding you back, he declared in clear Spanish.
You are here by your own choice.
His hand instinctively moved to the knife in his belt, but Jimena reassured him with a gentle touch on his arm.
It’s true, Jimena confirmed, addressing the captain directly.
I’m here because I’ve found a purpose and a life worth living.
I don’t need to be rescued from happiness.
Rodrigo approached, studying his sister with narrowed eyes.
Look at what you’ve become, he murmured with a mixture of disgust and something that could have been envy.
Dressed like a savage, living in a hut, working with her hands like a common Indian.
“This is what you call happiness.”
“Yes,” Jimena replied without hesitation.
I call happiness waking up each morning knowing my life has value.
I call happiness being able to help heal people, being respected for my abilities instead of being scorned for my appearance.
I call happiness being with a man who loves me for who I am, not for the last name I bear.
The words fell like bombs in the desert silence.
Rodrigo exchanged a meaningful look with the captain.
It’s clear you’ve been brainwashed.
He finally declared, “Father sent me with specific instructions.
If you don’t come voluntarily, I have authorization to take you by force.”
Tlacael stepped forward, his commanding presence filling the space between the soldiers and Jimena.
“They’ll have to kill me first,” he declared with the calm certainty of a warrior who had faced death many times.
“That can be arranged,” Rodrigo replied coldly, signaling to the soldiers accompanying him.
Six armed men surrounded the couple, their rifles pointed directly at Tlacael.
Jimena felt her world crumble.
For months she had lived in a bubble of happiness, temporarily forgetting the power her family had to destroy everything it touched.
But now reality hit her with brutal force.
She was still a crowned Vázquez, and that meant she would never be truly free as long as her family decided to claim her.
“Okay,” she finally said, her voice cracking slightly.
“I’ll come with you.”
” She turned to Tlacael, whose eyes held a suppressed fury that threatened to explode.
“I don’t want you hurt because of me, no,” Tlacael roared, taking her by the shoulders.
“I’m not going to let you go with them.
We’ve built something beautiful here.
I’m not going to let them drag you back into a life that was slowly killing you.”
Jimena gently touched his face, memorizing every line, every scar, every expression of desperate love.
“If you truly love me,” he whispered, “let me protect you.
I’ll find a way back to you, I promise.”
The ride back to the city was a nightmare of heat, dust, and tense silence.
Jimena rode among the soldiers like a prisoner, her mind working feverishly for an escape strategy.
Rodrigo rode beside her, throwing her occasional glances that mingled triumph with what might have been reluctant respect.
Does he truly love you? he finally asked when they were halfway to the city.
Or is he just using you because that’s what he was given?
Jimena looked at him in surprise.
It was the first personal question her brother had asked her in years.
He loves me, she answered with absolute certainty.
And I love him.
He’s the first man who’s ever seen me as a whole person, not a disappointment to be tolerated.
Rodrigo remained silent for several minutes.
Father He says you’re going to be sent to the convent of the Sisters of Charity, he finally informed her.
He says your soul needs purification after this, the convent.
Jimena had heard stories about that place.
Troubled women from wealthy families were sent there to be reformed through years of prayer, penance, and total isolation from the outside world.
It was a prison disguised as a religious institution.
“And what do you think?” Jimena asked, studying her brother’s face.
“Do you think I need purification?” Rodrigo was slow to respond.
“I believe,” he said slowly, “that you are the first person in our family to have found something real, something not based on money, power, or appearances.”
He paused, as if the next words cost him a great effort.
“I think Father is jealous because you’ve found what he never had.”
“True love.”
Those unexpected words gave Jimena the first spark of Jimena she had felt since seeing the soldiers appear.
If she had managed to touch something human in her brother’s heart, perhaps there was a chance that other members of his family could also see the truth.
When they arrived at the family mansion at dusk, Don Patricio was waiting for them at the main gate with a somber expression, but when he saw his daughter dismount from the horse, his expression changed to shock, exactly as it had with Rodrigo.
The woman who returned was not the same one he had sent into the desert months before.
“Chimena,” she murmured, approaching slowly.
“Do you look different? I see myself as someone who has found my place in the world,” she replied, holding her head high.
“I see myself as someone who has learned to value myself.”
” Don Patricio studied his daughter for a long moment.
The changes were undeniable.
She had lost weight.
Her posture was more upright, her skin glowed with health, and her eyes held a determination he had never seen in her.
But what disturbed him most was the total absence of the submissiveness that had characterized all her previous years.
“Tomorrow you will go to the convent,” she finally declared, as if she could restore her authority through the firmness of her voice.
The sisters will cleanse your soul of the pagan influences you have absorbed.
No, Jimena replied simply.
I will not go to the convent, and I will not allow them to destroy what I have built.
The silence that followed was so profound that the night wind could be heard whispering through the trees in the garden.
Don Patricio could not remember the last time someone in his family had dared to challenge him so directly.
The war between Jimena’s past and future was about to begin.
The news that Jimena Vázquez de Coronado had returned from captivity in Pache spread through Mexican high society like wildfire in the dry season.
By the following noon, the family mansion was surrounded by curious onlookers hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman who had lived among savages for months.
But expectations of finding a traumatized victim were dashed when Jimena appeared on the main balcony with a dignity that left the onlookers speechless.
Don Patricio had summoned Father Sebastián, the director of the Sisters of Charity convent, to assess his daughter’s spiritual state.
The priest, a 60-year-old man accustomed to dealing with rebellious women from wealthy families, arrived prepared to encounter resistance.
What he didn’t expect was to meet a woman who radiated an inner peace he himself envied.
My child, Father Sebastian began condescendingly.
I understand you’ve been through a very difficult experience.
Prolonged contact with pagans can corrupt the soul in ways that aren’t always obvious.
At the convent, we will help you purify your spirit through prayer and penance.
Jimena listened patiently before responding.
Father, with all due respect, my soul has never been purer than it is now.
I’ve spent these months serving God by serving others, healing the sick, and alleviating suffering.
If that’s corruption, then I don’t understand what virtue means.
His words fell like stones in still water.
Father Sebastian exchanged an awkward glance with Don Patricio.
They had expected to find a broken woman in need of salvation, not someone who spoke of her experience as a spiritual epiphany.
Furthermore, Jimena continued in a firm voice.
I have decided I will not go to the convent.
I have found my true vocation, and it is one I can exercise better in freedom than locked within walls.
Don Patricio stood up abruptly, his face reddening with fury.
You have no choice in this matter.
You are my daughter, and as long as you live under my roof, you will obey my decisions.
Then I will not live under her roof.
Jimena replied with supernatural calm.
I will leave tonight if necessary.
I prefer to sleep under the stars as a free woman than in a golden bed as a prisoner.
The impact of her words resonated throughout the room.
Doña Guadalupe, who had remained silent, watching her daughter’s transformation, finally spoke.
Jimena said, her voice trembling.
What has happened to you? You have never spoken like that in your life.
“What happened to me, Mother,” Jimena responded, turning to her with a mixture of compassion and firmness.
“I finally learned to value myself.
I learned that my worth doesn’t depend on finding a husband you approve of or producing heirs to perpetuate the family name.
My worth comes from what I can contribute to the world, from the lives I can touch and heal.”
It was at that moment that the sound of hooves approaching at a gallop was heard.
Everyone turned to the window, where they could see a cloud of dust rapidly approaching the mansion.
When the dust settled, it revealed a sight that took everyone’s breath away.
Tlacael, mounted on his warhorse, but not alone.
He was accompanied by a delegation of Apache warriors and also several Mexican settlers whom Jimena recognized as people she had treated medically.
The Apache warrior dismounted with feline grace and walked directly toward the mansion’s main entrance.
His presence was imposing.
He was dressed in his best war clothes, but he had come in peace, as indicated by the white feathers in his hair.
The warriors accompanying him remained mounted, forming a protective, but not threatening, circle.
Don Patricio stepped out onto the porch, flanked by several armed servants.
What “What does this intrusion mean?” he demanded, his voice intended to sound authoritative but betraying nervousness.
“I’ve come to reclaim my wife,” Tlacael declared in clear Spanish, his voice echoing throughout the courtyard.
“I’ve come to reclaim the woman who freely chose to be with me and who was taken against her will.”
Jimena appeared on the balcony, and when her eyes met Tlacael’s, she felt her heart expand until it almost burst with joy.
Tlacael
screamed, and before anyone could stop her, she ran down the stairs to the patio.
“Stop her,” Don Patricio roared, but it was too late.
Jimena threw herself into Tlacael’s arms, and he welcomed her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” she murmured against his chest.
“You promised you’d find a way to get back to me,” he replied, pulling her back enough to study her face.
But I decided not to wait.
I decided to come for you.
One of the Mexican settlers stepped forward.
An older man in simple but clean clothing.
“Mr. Vázquez de Coronado,” he said respectfully but firmly.
My name is Miguel Herrera.
This woman saved the life of My granddaughter died when the city doctors said there was no sim.
My wife was in terrible pain that no doctor could cure until she prepared the medicines that completely healed her.
Other settlers came forward, each with similar stories.
A young woman spoke of how Jimena had assisted in a difficult birth that had saved both mother and baby.
An old man described how she had cured an infection that threatened to cost him his leg.
Story after story piled up, painting a portrait of a woman who had found her true calling in service to others.
This woman, Miguel Herrera continued, is not a captive in need of rescue; she is a healer who has chosen to live among us because her heart is here.
To separate her from her husband and her work would be a crime against God and humanity.
Father Sebastián, who had been listening silently, approached slowly.
His expression had changed completely during the testimonies.
“Mr. Vázquez de Coronado,” he said thoughtfully, “I have dedicated my life to serving God, and I can recognize a true vocation when I see one.
This woman has found her way to serve the Creator.
To interfere with that would be to interfere with divine will.
” Don Patricio found himself in an impossible position.
The evidence was overwhelming.
His daughter had not only found happiness, but she had found a purpose that touched and transformed lives.
The testimonies of ordinary people carried a moral weight that he could not ignore, especially in the eyes of the watching community.
Doña Guadalupe slowly approached her daughter.
For the first time in years, she truly looked at her.
Not as a disappointment to be tolerated, but as the extraordinary woman she had become.
“My daughter,” she murmured, tears in her eyes.
“Forgive me.
I was so worried about what society would think that I never stopped to see what you needed.”
Jimena hugged her mother, feeling a wound she had carried for years finally begin to heal.
I forgive you, Mother, but now my place is with my husband, serving those who need me.
Tlacael approached Don Patricio with solemn dignity.
“Sir,” he said formally, “I ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.
I promise to love her, protect her, and support her healing work for the rest of my days.
I promise that together we will build something beautiful that honors both her heritage and mine.”
Don Patricio looked at his daughter, who radiated a happiness he had never seen in her during all her years at the family mansion.
He looked at Tlacael, whose love for Jimena was evident in every gesture, every glance.
He looked at the people who had come to testify about the positive impact his daughter had had on their lives.
Finally, with a voice that trembled slightly, he said, “You have my blessing.”
Five years later, in a thriving community that had grown around the medical clinic Jimena and Tlacael had established, the couple watched the sunset from the porch of their home while their two young children played in the garden.
The community had attracted families from diverse cultures looking for a place where differences were celebrated rather than feared.
Jimena, now a respected midwife, whose reputation as a healer spread throughout the region, leaned against her husband’s shoulder with a smile of complete satisfaction.
Do you ever regret it? Tlacael asked her, as he had many times over the years.
Never, she replied, watching her children running among the medicinal flowers they had planted together.
I found my place in the world.
I found my purpose.
I found true love.
What more could I ask for? In the distance, the sun was setting, painting the sky gold and crimson, blessing a love story that had begun as punishment and had transformed into the most beautiful of gifts.
End of story.
ADVERTISEMENT
