Chapter 1 — Santa Vitória Ranch
The first light of morning had barely touched the horizon when Santa Vitória Ranch began to stir.
A low mist covered the fields like a white cloak, half hiding the coxilhas and the herds resting scattered across the vast property. The silence of dawn was broken only by the distant call of a few birds and the occasional whinny of horses in the corral.
Bento Fagundes was already on his feet.
As he had since adolescence, he woke before the sun.
He pulled on his work-worn bombachas, tightened the guaiaca belt at his waist, tied the kerchief around his neck, and stepped out of the small rancho he shared with his widowed mother.
The cold morning air struck his face.
He breathed deep.
He loved that moment.
There was something sacred about dawn on the pampa.
Walking toward the main shed, he watched the horizon begin to take on shades of orange.
This land was all he had ever known.
He had been born here.
Raised here.
Learned to ride, to rope, and to work cattle here.
Santa Vitória Ranch stretched across a vast expanse of fields. It belonged to Colonel Anselmo de Albuquerque, one of the wealthiest men in the province.
It was said that not even the colonel himself knew exactly how many head of cattle he owned.
Some said twenty thousand.
Others claimed it was more than thirty thousand.
What was certain was that his fortune grew larger every year, thanks to the dried-beef trade.
Anselmo’s salting houses supplied distant markets and secured him influence with the authorities of the province.
In those days, wealth meant land.
And the colonel owned more land than most men could cross in several days on horseback.
Reaching the shed, Bento found a few of the other hands already gathered around the ground fire.
The kettle was steaming.
The smell of yerba mate mixed with the scent of burning wood.
“You’re here early today,” remarked Ant?nio Maciel, a veteran hand with a graying beard.
“The cattle don’t wait for anyone,” Bento answered with a smile.
The men laughed.
They welcomed him into the mate circle.
As the gourd passed from hand to hand, they talked about the day’s work.
A herd needed to be driven down to the southern fields.
Some animals had to be culled for sale.
And there was news of a fence knocked down by last week’s storm.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Life on the ranch followed the rhythm of the seasons.
The rhythm of the land.
The rhythm of the cattle.
By the time the sun finally rose over the coxilhas, the hands were already in the saddle.
The horses seemed to know the routine as well as their riders did.
Bento rode out toward the northern fields.
He liked that work.
He spent hours riding among the herds.
Watching the animals.
Checking brands.
Looking for anything out of place.
That day, though, something kept pulling his attention away.
Or rather.
Someone.
The image of Isabel Albuquerque.
He only had to think of her for his heart to race.
He had known her since childhood.
When they were small, the gap between a rancher’s daughter and the son of a poor widow had seemed narrower.
They used to play around the great house.
Run through the gardens.
Talk without a hint of fear.
But the years had changed everything.
Isabel was a young woman now.
And a young woman of rare beauty.
She had long chestnut hair that caught the sunlight, and dark eyes that seemed to hold more feeling than they ever let show.
She was well mannered.
Intelligent.
Kind to every worker on the ranch.
And precisely because of that, Bento tried to keep his distance.
He knew who he was.
He knew his place.
He knew the colonel would never so much as tolerate the idea of anything between them.
And still, there was no controlling what he felt.
Love had crept in quietly.
Like a fine rain that reaches the fields without warning.
Earlier that morning, while rounding up a few stray cattle, Bento had caught movement near the great house.
In the distance, he’d spotted Isabel walking through the gardens.
She was carrying a small book.
Probably one of the novels she liked to read.
For a few seconds their eyes had met.
The distance between them was great.
But they had both smiled, quietly.
A quick gesture.
Almost imperceptible.
Enough to transform Bento’s entire day.
He went back to work trying to hide his joy.
The great house at Santa Vitória Ranch was one of the most imposing in the region.
Built of stone and fine hardwood, it had wide verandas and countless rooms.
Its interior displayed furniture brought from Rio de Janeiro and pieces imported from Europe.
In the main parlor, Colonel Anselmo Albuquerque was going over his production reports.
The numbers were excellent.
Dried-beef sales kept climbing.
The future looked promising.
But something troubled him.
The talk of politics.
More and more ranchers were voicing dissatisfaction with the imperial government.
The complaints kept mounting.
Taxes.
Trade difficulties.
Decisions made in Rio de Janeiro with no regard for the province’s interests.
Anselmo often took part in those discussions.
He was respected.
Influential.
And he counted among his friends men who were beginning to call for far more radical change.
At that moment, though, his attention was on another matter.
His daughter.
Isabel was approaching twenty.
It was time to think about marriage.
Several suitors had already shown interest.
The sons of ranchers.
Military officers.
Prosperous merchants.
Men capable of adding still more to the family’s standing.
The colonel intended to choose carefully.
The Albuquerque name could not be handed to just anyone.
By late afternoon, the hands returned to the shed.
The work had been hard.
The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon.
Shadows stretched long across the fields.
Bento dismounted.
Tended to his horse.
Put away his gear.
Then walked alone to a small rise nearby.
From there, he could see much of the ranch.
The wind blew gently.
The clouds turned shades of gold and red.
He loved that spot.
It was where he liked to think.
To dream.
To reflect on the future.
Sometimes he imagined owning a small piece of land of his own.
Building a family.
Having children.
A simple life.
But a happy one.
Whenever those thoughts came, Isabel’s image inevitably followed.
And with it came the weight of reality.
She belonged to a different world.
A world of wealth.
Of influence.
Of opportunities that had never been within a ranch hand’s reach.
And still, something inside him refused to let go.
Maybe it was hope.
Maybe it was stubbornness.
Or maybe it was simply love.
As he watched the sunset, he heard footsteps approaching.
He turned.
It was Isabel.
Alone.
Bento’s heart lurched.
She stopped a few steps away.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
They simply took in the sky.
“The sunset is beautiful today,” she said.
“It is.”
“My father says we’ll have rain in two days.”
“I think he’s right.”
She smiled.
So did Bento.
A simple exchange.
Harmless.
But it meant far more than the words let on.
“I like coming up here,” Isabel said.
“So do I.”
“From here it feels like the world goes on forever.”
“Maybe it does.”
She turned her eyes to him.
For one brief moment, Bento had the feeling she wanted to say something more.
But she didn’t.
In the distance, a voice called her name.
A maid from the great house.
Isabel sighed.
“I have to go back.”
“Yes.”
She took a few steps.
Then looked back at him once more.
“Good night, Bento.”
“Good night, Miss Isabel.”
She smiled at the formal address.
As though she wished he would simply call her by her name.
Then she was gone.
Bento stood still.
Watching her disappear toward the great house.
The sky grew darker by the minute.
The first stars appeared above the pampa.
Without either of them noticing, a new chapter of their lives had begun.
And though that night everything at Santa Vitória Ranch seemed peaceful, winds of change were already sweeping across the province.
Winds that would soon bring war.
And put to the test everything Bento and Isabel believed would last forever.