Date Published: October 16, 2021
Publisher: Sand Hill Review Press
In 1846 Alta California, Catalina Delgado daydreams about her future: roping cattle, marrying Angelo Ortega and raising children. But now, invaders from the United States-the Bear Flaggers-have declared war against Mexico, her country. Bear Flaggers have imprisoned one close friend of her family and murdered others. What fate might befall her parents, grandfather and younger brothers? And what about her best friend, a Costanoan servant girl? How can Catalina, only sixteen, help protect all those she loves?
An old vaquero once predicted a mysterious Spirit Man would someday ride off with Catalina. This has clouded her reputation as a chaste young woman, one reason why Angelo’s father doesn’t want her for a future daughter-in-law. Now Catalina learns another reason. Her mamá is not her natural mother. Catalina is a mestiza, the daughter of her papi and a former servant woman.
Catalina prays for guidance, then dares to leave her bedroom at night to seek a spiritual vision. She ends up riding into the sky with Spirit Man. They remove gold nuggets from a river to prevent Bear Flaggers or anyone else from discovering the treasure. Will this be Catalina’s duty for the rest of her life? And is Spirit Man good or evil?
For the sake of all she holds dear, Catalina risks what is left of her reputation, her future with Angelo, her life and her very soul. When hopes and dreams clash with cold reality, Catalina finds the fortitude to accomplish what only she can do.
For the sake of all she holds dear, Catalina risks what is left of her reputation, her future with Angelo, her life and her very soul. When hopes and dreams clash with cold reality, Catalina finds the fortitude to accomplish what only she can do.
EXCERPT
From Chapter Six:
A horse with a lofty gallop races beside mine, as if he charges into battle. This animal is larger than Fandango, over a full hand higher, and black as obsidian. I blink over and over. My eyes water. An abundant ebony mane flows over the horse’s arched neck. The forelock whips between well-placed ears. Madre de Dios. This horse is no common mustang, no Spanish barb. It is an Andalusian, like the one in the prophecy.
A man leans out of the Andalusian’s saddle, his arm stretched out. The wind billows his white sleeve. Fingers hidden by short, black leather gloves grab Fandango’s reins. His exposed wrists are as pale as those of the dead.
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