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island’s largest population of free blacks and free mulattos, escaped slaves flocked to the city’s narrow streets and alleys in droves. Their need for forged freedom papers and notes of passage made for a steady income. Now, with slavery on the wane, the demand for her skills had waned as well, and with her son Juan now breaking rocks, the money he’d once made working on the docks would be sorely missed. As Pilar had mused earlier—times were changing. What hadn’t changed was her commitment to the rebels, and with that in mind, she needed to prepare the Alanza for another run to Santo Domingo for guns.
    â€œI received a letter from my brother in Florida today.”
    Pilar and Doneta’s faces showed surprise. As far as Pilar knew, her mother hadn’t received a correspondence from her family in decades. Her Castilian parents pronounced her dead after she ran off on her wedding day to become the wife of Javier Banderas, and one didn’t commune with the dead.
    â€œHe’s invited us to the rumba he’s having for his birthday in a few weeks. And,” she added, “he says he’s anxious to renew his ties to me as his sister.”
    â€œIs he dying?” Pilar asked.
    Doneta snorted.
    Her mother laughed, “Not that I know of. No.”
    â€œThen why now, after so many years?”
    Desa shrugged. “I’m his only sister. With both our parents passed on, maybe he’s lonely. I don’t know.”
    Doneta asked, “Are you going?”
    â€œYes. We’re all going.”
    Pilar stilled.
    As if anticipating Pilar’s arguments, she stated, “I know you have obligations you deem more important, Pilar, but this is family.”
    â€œMama—”
    â€œPilar, your father and uncles gave their lives to Cuba, but nothing was more important to them than familia. I doubt Antonio Maceo will storm Havana anytime soon.”
    Pilar studied her and sensed she was holding something back. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
    â€œYes. It is my hope that you two will find husbands while we’re there.”
    Doneta’s eyes widened with delight.
    Pilar’s narrowed with suspicion. “I don’t want a husband.”
    â€œI understand, Pilar, but it is time you started considering it.”
    â€œMama, I’m twenty-five years old. No man will want me as a wife. All I wish is to do is help Cuba become a better place.”
    â€œWho’s to say a husband won’t want that, too?”
    â€œI doubt he’ll want a wife who smuggles guns.”
    Her mother smiled indulgently. “True, but you are so much more. Your heart, your great mind, compassion, and dedication are as much a part of you as your fervor for Cuba. A man will value that.”
    â€œNo, Mama.”
    â€œPilar, I have never put a bridle on you. When you were seven years old and wanted to ride your horse into the mountains alone, I let you go—even though my Javier and I argued about it for days afterwards. When he died, my heart was broken and the very last thing I wanted was for you to go off and fight with the Mambis, too, but again I let you go and prayed for your safe return every day. Do I want you smuggling guns? No. Do I worry each and every moment that you’re away?” She laid her hand tenderly against Pilar’s cheek. “Again, yes.”
    There was a seriousness in her mother’s eyes that made Pilar gently cover the hand with her own.
    â€œThe three of us will be going to the rumba .”
    Pilar knew that her mother’s mind was made up, and she’d broach no more argument, so after sighing softly in defeat, she leaned over and placed a kiss on her mother’s golden cheek. “Yes, Mama.”
    â€œGood.”
    â€œTomas and I are taking the ship out tonight. We’ll be back in the morning.”
    â€œThat’s fine. When you return we’ll make our plans to leave in a few