in the summer of 1813. In the Chumash Indian language, the land was known as Amúu, the canyon of the watercress. The earth was warm but the ocean breeze cooled the air while making its way up the hills towards the fertile farmland.

The mission re-construction was underway. December’s earthquake shattered the old mission. The heavy rains melted the remaining walls to mud. The men were now at work building the temporary structures at the new Los Berros site. The neophytes were at their tasks with the corn fields and cattle. Padre Payéras was taking a moment for his siesta. He reclined in a chair in the shade beneath a giant oak. His feet wandered mindlessly below him, etching circles in the gravel as he sat in the chair trying to find a comfortable position of rest. But for him no rest ever came.

Though to glance at him, one might see the image of serenity; restful and carefree, (we might envy him, were envy not a sin) Padre was not a carefree man. Rest belongs to those who have survived a battle and won; those whose labors are now done. But Padre's face was one of constant worry. His struggles were never over.

The translation of mass and catechism instructions into the native language was never quite perfectly correct, and it was his obligation that the neophyte's knowledge of Christ must be perfect. Words and their definitions rolled about in his mind; ceaseless. Land had to be cleared. Water had to be kept safe from contamination by the ever-growing livestock population. The building itself had to be redesigned; lessons learned from the earthquake that destroyed the previous mission. The low pay of the soldiers drove them to thievery; neglect; and anger and abuses against the Indians; causing him to at any time be judge and arbitrator between them. And except for his prayers he was without help, for the Hidalgo Rebellion of 1811 had shut off the annual stipends and monies. Everything had to be bartered for or bought with favors. His smile itself was a struggle.

A dog barked off in the distance. Miguel's dog. Miguel was five years old, the son of one of the soldiers and a Chumash. He tended the dog and the dog tended him, and thus they were both gainfully employed with duties, as every one of God's creatures should be.

Padre Payéras turned to look, for certainly a stranger was passing by. But he saw no one.

Regardless; dogs have special sight, and a barking dog is always an alert that someone is walking by. Padre clasped his hands in prayer, bowed his head while uttering muted pleas for assistance, and nodded with reverent acknowledgment of perhaps an invisible saint making visitations.

Margarita was the prettiest Indian girl at the mission and now that she was coming of age, she was next to be married off to one of the soldiers. "I'm going to tell you a story," Margarita said while walking down the path through the grasses towards the river. Her younger brother, Tomás, was nine years old and not fully capable of doing anything that required attention longer than a moment, but he nodded while she spoke so she continued talking.
 

"It's a secret story," she warned quietly, her eyes looking right and left to make sure they were alone. The meadow was soon behind them. The path beneath her disappeared as they were now in the grove of trees; and fallen leaves covered any possible trail. But they knew the way for this was a favorite pastime (after his morning frivolities and antics would put him to a sweat) to go to the bend in the river, at the oxbow, for a cool swim.

"It's about a sweet woman who was sentenced to die," she continued, and then she let out a long, weary sigh. She looked to the hills for a moment. The new soldier would be arriving any day now. "She loved her little brother very much," she explained. She patted Tomás on the head and made him smile. "But Death arrived hungry, she was offered as payment so that others might live. And she saw her brother no more."

Tomás reached out and grabbed her hand. "I will ask Padre to pray for that girl. What is her name?" He leapt and jumped over a fallen log, and then he looked at his sister for the customary applause. When she praised him, he parted some of his long black locks of hair. He showed her the feathers of a hawk were woven in there, out of sight. "It's a secret!" he said with a wide grin of mischief.

"I saw those feathers already," she said. "They're behind your head. Everyone sees them but you."

 He insisted it was still a secret and that she must not tell the other boys or he would lose power.

"Her name is Not Important." Margarita groaned and her heart went very heavy.

"Whose name?" Tomás asked.

"The girl's name," replied his sister with a stomp of her foot against the ground. "Have you forgotten her already?"

Tomás played with his feathers and stared at them best he could with his eyes so far to the side they were almost touching his ears. "I will not forget to ask Padre Payéras pray for that girl," Tomás promised.

"Padre is the one who offered her to Death," she groaned. She twisted a low limb out of her way, swung her hips to one side as she walked past it, and let it snap back into place while she continued on through the thicket. "That is why she had to go." She squatted beneath a low limb, crab-walked under it and continued walking; her eyes falling to the ground while lost in thought.

Eventually they came to the river. It was a gentle, quiet river: shallow at some places and deep at others. Margarita told Tomás to stand still and be patient. "Stay here and wait for me to return," she instructed with another loving pat on his head. "I will be right back." She walked away from him and disappeared behind a manzanita shrub.

Tomás sat on the dirt and waited like he was told.

"Do you need me to help you cross the river?" a man's voice asked.

Tomás looked over his shoulder. A very tall man was standing there. Most Indian men were only about five feet tall. The Spanish soldiers were taller; close to six feet. This man was white; he had brown instead of black Spanish hair; and he was more than seven feet tall.

He looked at the river though he was very familiar with it. "No," answered Tomás, who was having trouble talking for how the sight of this giant man made his jaw fall straight down in awe. “I can swim it in this much.” He puffed his cheeks with air and made motions of paddling him arms for six or seven vigorous pumps. “And if I run fast I can even jump over it.” He pointed to the west where the banks are closer together. He studied the man's brown leather hunting clothes. The Franciscan monks wore gray habits. "What is your name?" Tomás asked. He continued staring at the odd-looking man while waiting for the answer.

"Don't be so nervous," the man urged politely. His smile was charming, and so Tomás smiled back at him. "Perhaps you have heard of me. My name is Saint Christopher."

Tomás nodded hello. "Hello San Cristóbal. Why are you here?" He showed the man his feathers in confession. "Does the hawk need these back?"

The big man laughed quietly. "No, you may keep them. You'll do well with their power as your life goes on. But I am here because I heard a girl crying."

Tomás looked right and left and all around himself. "I did not see anyone. But perhaps I can take you to the mission. There are many girls there." He stood to his feet to guide the man to the site, but the saint declined the kind gesture. Then the big man nodded and gazed towards the manzanita. Tomás looked that way and saw Margarita returning quickly, almost running.

"Hello," she said and she curtsied, but she kept her head up and her eyes stayed on the strange man. "Who is this?" she whispered imperatively towards Tomás, while watching how the man's tender eyes examined her from head to toe. She adjusted her white mission gown more correctly on her shoulders while examining him in return. On the ground behind him, near the coastal shrub were a traveling blanket and a pack. She knew immediately that whatever sort of person he might turn out to be, she would only have to endure him for a moment and then he would be moving on.

"It's San Cristóbal," her little brother implored impatiently as if she should know.

"Welcome to La Misión de La Purísima Concepción de la Santísima Virgen María, Saint Christopher," she stated boldly to the English-looking man. She shoved Tomás away and told him to go find their guest some berries to eat.

"Amúu," the man stated in return.

She was amazed and delighted to see a white man know the Chumash name for the area, and she smiled brilliantly though she fought to keep a straight face. Her heart was trying to leap out of her chest, as if having come across distant family: very distant for how his appearance differed so. By the time her brother had wandered safely away, Margarita regained control of her emotions and so she took the foreigner to a challenge. "Who are you really?" She folded her arms and waited for an answer.

The visitor studied her. His face was that of a man of peace and assurance, but his eyes seemed to be pulling layers off her, as if he was gazing into her very heart. "And then you will tell me about you," he warned.

Not shy, she stepped forward and sat on the great root of the oak that hung in the air over the river. The water flowed only slightly, slowly. It was most deep here at the oxbow. She studied his eyes for they were even deeper than the water. "You are due some congratulations," she explained calmly. She lifted her chin. "Most people do not see me at all. You wish to know me?"

She studied the man and considered him to be on a journey. She felt she could talk freely, for he was not a man of the camp and whatever troubles might come would stay here and never be mentioned among her family.

She lowered her feet to the water and let the ankles break the current. Ribbons of glistening waters flared out and danced upon the surface of the river and then fanned out and disappeared into the flow. "Then know this. I am invisible to most." She kicked a spray of water towards the other bank, splashing the dirt and making fresh mud. "There. I told you, kind Señor. Now tell me." She turned a hard glance at him. "If you have thought of a better name now that you've stalled for time." She narrowed her eyes on him and shot the would-be saint a stare of suspicion. Free from the obligations of society at the mission; in the company of a nomad, she felt more and more free to be a troublesome brat if she so chose. Consequences would not be any.

"Castor Pollux," he answered with a smile of confession. He hung his head and sighed deeply.

"I have heard of that name," she insisted. She lifted her gown from herself, draped it onto the log upon which she sat, and her feet drew circles in the water as she balanced herself from falling. "But I don't remember where." She lowered herself into the cool waters. "Are you coming in?" she asked, glancing at him while treading water and floating.

"Yes!" Tomás answered from behind her. He tossed the berries to the visitor, pulled his gown over his head, and jumped up. He flapped his arms like the hawk, and then he landed into the river with a splash that wet the smiling man's face. Berries fell into the water like rain.

Margarita shook her long, black hair, flicking water off it. Then she dipped under, disappeared from view, and came back up for air. "He got me wet anyway," she said with a laugh and a shrug. She climbed back up onto the huge root and wrung water from her hair with a squeeze. "It is very refreshing," she begged. She nodded, urging the man to take a swim. At the other bank, Tomás was on the muddy shore and doing hand-stands and cartwheels.

"So you are not visible?" the big man asked. He unfastened the wooden buttons of his shirt while seeking more information.

"I do not mean that," she explained. She stood up, raised her hands up high overhead, and teetered this way and that while trying to balance for a dive. She felt too sorrowful, so she lowered her arms to her side and felt the urge to simply fall in and drown herself and be done with her anguish.

She stared at the man. He was now unfixing his trousers. "What I mean is that there is a girl at the mission who is smart and when she talks, everyone thinks she is special. I know, I know: she is very intelligent and she is worthy. I am not envious. But I cannot be smart like that. And so no one notices me. It is all about her. Lucia said this. Lucia said that. Everyone remarks Lucia, Lucia, Lucia. That her wisdom is a holy gift and beyond our own understanding. And then they talk about it for hours and I am no longer seen. My good deeds and hard labors are my gift to them but they do not see!"

Castor Pollux lowered himself into the water. He swam this way and that while listening. He kept quiet, allowing her to continue speaking even though it sounded like she was done.

She was not done. She spun to one side and ran full force along the length of the enormous root. When she reached the end of it, she jumped as if letting out all her anger through her speed. She splashed down into the water and stayed below in such a way that Castor became concerned for her possible injury.

He found her and pulled her up. "Margarita!" he admonished when helping her get her air. His eyes were loving and genuine.

"What did you think?" she asked. She splashed water at him.

"I think that your good deeds are not unnoticed!" he reprimanded.

"And now!" she stated loudly as if letting out more anger. "Now I must marry someone I have not even met! My good deeds have won me that prize." She spun in circles and splashed water in all directions. "And why? Do you know why?"

Castor Pollux kept himself low in the water. Only his face was above the ringlets of waters encircling his neck.

Margarita stared hard at him and cared not that she was being a brat with such a rude show of disrespect. "So he can be a man of great accomplishments! So he can go win many battles and win everyone's praise while I quietly stay at his house and make his meals and wash his dishes and his laundry; and when he comes home I get to tell him how wonderful he is! And then I get to have his children. And the children will ask me about their father and I will say I do not know for I myself only met him a short while ago!"

The enigmatic visitor reached forward. She felt safe with him so she allowed his touch. He rested his palm on her forehead. She treaded water and stayed still so that if he truly were Saint Christopher, he might freely anoint her head. "Your good deeds are not unnoticed by God," he assured her while making the sign of the cross upon her forehead.

Try as she would, she could not stop herself from crying at the sound of those kind words. Her lungs fluttered mildly while she inhaled deeply and contemplated those words. "My life is over," she groaned when successfully regaining her sorrowful mood. She released herself from his touch. She fell backwards as if to sink into the depths of a watery grave. "I am not done taking joy in my brother!" she pleaded. "How is it I am to be given to a man of Padre’s choosing and carried away?"

 
The big man stood up. Suddenly his shoulders were above water. He'd been squatting, not treading; he was so tall. Margarita gasped once more in awe of such a man. "I have carried many women away," he explained with a casual shrug. The alert girl figured that to be finally some truth from this charming man. "It started when I myself was young..."

Margarita interrupted him. "You are not old!" She felt a sudden blush overtake her. Imaginations overtook her, but she forced her fancy thoughts away. She was destined to be married soon and had no need to make trouble for the mission by being impulsively amorous over a man of goodly appearance.

The gentle man smiled and then continued. "I helped someone across the river once. And someone thought that was my gift, because I am so tall and strong. And then someone else asked me to carry them across the river. And that became my life. Out of all the very important jobs upon the earth, done by men who are smart and greatly admired for their skills in leadership; other people decided my gifts were obvious; that I was born to be the laboring mule upon which others sat until the river was safely crossed. I said hello to someone, and no sooner than that my job was done; we were at the other shore and they were saying goodbye." He held his peace and said no more. He examined Margarita for her response.

She was biting her lip. Her face was lost in contemplation.

"There you have it. The story of my life. Do you believe in the obligation of a whole life time; and filled with a river of short term friendships?" he asked.

She turned her back on him quickly. Her mind was affright with sudden apprehension. She did not want to marry that soldier. But her assignment to him was to be her calling in life; that was certain. A person must make herself useful to others and especially to be of service to God, even in lowly state. She knew she would have to accept her role in the mission life to be given to an unknown man even if his heart might be cold as the grave.

But she was young and wanted tender words a few times more before dying. Though the man was up till now as innocent as a saint, she was impulsively curious as to whether she was beautiful to him. She inched her way backwards, step by step until her back bumped into the man's chest. She could not look him in the eye; she was so ashamed of her harlotry. But he saw her. He found her. The invisible girl was at last noticed by someone; and he cared about her. She knew he’d be leaving soon. She had to act quickly and without invitation back to camp. Whatever other tenderness he might possess needed to be discovered now.

She released herself from her final restraints and fell backwards completely into his embrace. Weightless in the water, she floated while the big man stood there and held her in his strong caress. He crossed his arms over her belly while holding her; tenderly resting his hands on her hips. She could feel his power. She’d successfully surprised him. His body reacted in ways that pleased her. His heart was beating so loudly, she could feel it striking within her own body.

"Your brother?" he asked. His whisper was soft upon her ear. His lips tickled the skin when the warm breath whisked past her hair.

"He could be tortured to the point of his own death and he will not confess a word against me ever," she whispered out the side of her mouth. Having said that; she knew now that she'd given the man permission to express the arousal she’d provoked.

Castor Pollux inhaled deeply; quickly: his sentient energies now ignited. He pulled her into a tighter embrace and gasped with awe. “How can I help but see you?” he mumbled while breathing warmth down onto her ear. She flushed to full embarrassment, for not only did he see her but he was actually in awe of her. She laughed with sudden flight of delighted spirit.

She quickly corrected herself and put herself back into her more proper sorrows. “Soon I will be like Padre Payéras," she groaned. "A life of constant worry even when at rest from my labors." She sighed with remorse. Confused and caught between emotions of obedience to Padre and her own self-will, she spun about quickly to face the one whose embrace was both soft and strong. Just one kiss. She decided she would just kiss him. Once. A quick kiss and then run away; far, far away and repent of that sin forever. He was a traveler. He was not a man of the camp who would tattle or brag among the other men, she repeated to herself over and over. No one would ever know. She would do her deed and then run back to the mission and blend in with all the other girls and insist it was someone else if the story ever came about.

Having spun around, she thrust her mouth at him, but he was turning his head to the other side as if to whisper more words into her ears. Her face fell instead against his neck. Finding her act complete though incomplete, the selfish thoughts were now done, and she wept instead. She sobbed heavily into his flesh while clamping her legs about him. He let her carry on without interrupting her or correcting her or admonishing her.

"I know, I know," she muttered when finally pulling back and looking him in the face. Her shame was very great. "Be of good courage, child," she said for him.

He smiled and he kissed her on the forehead. Looking past her hair, he could see Tomás playing at the other side of the oxbow, drawing circles in the water with a stick. Occasionally Tomás would glance at the man; at his sister; again at the man. The brother, protective of her, would assure himself she was content and not being held against her will. Her crying seemed to concern him. But there was little to no privacy in the mission, and his eyes were not unaccustomed to seeing a male and a female together in their way: be they beasts or people. He was perfectly experienced at witnessing the coupling act of two bodies merging together. The big man seemed nice enough and his face was one of perfect peace, so Tomás went back to his games and let his sister mate with the man of her choice.

Margarita was of the same mind as her little brother; the man seemed as good as any. But she did not know how to get the man to take her, for although she was offering herself in response to the arousal she felt emerging from him, he was not being forceful nor was he acting driven by imperative need for self-fulfillment. He seemed content to only hug her and take his urges no further. Panic about being married off to an unknown devil drove her to call the man she was straddling an angel in comparison. She did not have time to be choosy. She urged her hips down upon him all the more invitingly.

But she also calculated in her mind, the possibility of a sudden pregnancy. It seemed just then the perfect excuse to withdraw from marrying the soldier, for who would want to marry a girl already pregnant with another man's child? She laughed and once more encouraged the man with her movements below the water and thus change her destiny. But her mind, fully confused, became a dissonant blur of nightmares. She remembered hearing talk among the women about Inés when she married a soldier; how her new husband lifted the gown from her and lay it down as a bed sheet, and when they were done, he hung it in front of the house for all the people passing by to see her blood spilled upon it; how proud he was to show the world the truth; and how she was a woman of virtue.
Margarita pulled away. She did not wish to endure having a scandalously-white gown hung up.

She shoved herself off the stranger despite herself. "I will not enter into holy matrimony disgraced," she sobbed quietly; ashamed of herself. She apologized for leading the man on. She apologized profusely and kept repeating herself for she was not content with any of her words.

He smiled. "Be of good courage, Niña." He winked when she laughed. He watched her heft herself back up onto the giant root.

She dropped her gown over herself and then bowed to the man. Tomás did the same and they started to leave. Her feet on the dry earth of the forest floor, she turned back to face him. She thanked him but her words went nowhere. She saw him no more.

There was a ripple in the water, but the pack and traveling blanket were gone. Then the ripple disappeared as well. Confused, she quickly glanced in all directions, certain he was hiding in the thickets somewhere.

She narrowed her eyes when seeing movement. She heard twigs snapping under feet. Someone south of her and following the coastline northwards. Her brother pointed to a second figure concealed within the coastal scrub. A smaller shadow. And then suddenly, they saw it was a young mother, and her son walking beside her.

"Hello!" Margarita called out, and she waved anxiously.

The mother tossed her burden basket over the river. Tomás reached to catch it but sudden fright overtook him and he purposefully dodged the falling object instead. The woman laughed quietly to herself. Standing with an air of confidence, she extracted a bull-whip from her belt. She grabbed her son into one arm, and with the other she commanded the whip to swing forward and grab hold of the overhead limb. And with a swift crack of the whip, the mother and child flew forward over the river and onto the bank. She landed, and dropping the boy back onto the earth, she retrieved the whip from its assignment and responded, "Hello."

Margarita turned her head down to her little brother and whispered, "My, this new mission site is going to see a lot of travelers. We seem to be on a trail of some sort." Then she turned back to the mother and child. "Welcome to La Misión de La Purísima Concepción de la Santísima Virgen María," she announced with a proud smile. "I am Margarita. This is my brother, Tomás." She curtsied. Tomás bowed, and then he ran to get some berries for their guests.

"I am Siobhan," the mother announced, but she made no curtsy. She stayed erect and at full alert as if always on guard against danger. "And this is my son, Where the River Shines."