Chapter 165: A Christmas In Antioquia

Antioquia, Christmas 1792

On the other side of the world, in the green mountains of Antioquia, Christmas unfolded in a way that would have seemed strange to any European traveler. There were no fir trees brought indoors, no glass ornaments, no candles hanging from branches. Instead, faith took shape through ritual, community, and shared warmth—expressed not through decoration, but through presence.

Carlos Gómez had decided that this year, despite the growing tension with the authorities and the uneasy silence surrounding Antioquia, Christmas would not pass quietly. If uncertainty had settled over the land like a gathering storm, then all the more reason, he believed, to remind people of what they still possessed.

He ordered barrels of aguardiente drawn from the most recent batch—clear, strong, and fragrant with sugarcane—and prepared to give it freely to the people of Medellín. Not as payment. Not as a display of power. But as a gift, meant to celebrate the birth of Christ, a moment the Catholic Church taught was shared equally by all souls, rich or poor.

Still, the day began not with music or drink, but with devotion.

The afternoon was dedicated to the Novena. Family and servants alike gathered solemnly inside the main hall, standing close together beside the Nativity scene. Even the guards, off duty for the hour, removed their hats and bowed their heads.

The Nativity was a work of careful reverence. The figures of Mary and Joseph were finely carved from wood, their faces serene, their glass eyes catching the candlelight with unsettling realism. They had been brought years earlier from the renowned workshops of Quito, wrapped in cloth and transported across mountains like sacred relics.

Instead of painted backdrops or artificial ornaments, the scene was built with living materials. Fresh moss, still damp and cool to the touch, covered the base. Rough stones from the nearby creek formed hills and paths. Small fragments of polished mirror were arranged carefully to resemble ponds and streams, reflecting the candle flames like trembling water.

Dozens of wax candles surrounded the manger, their flames flickering softly. Shadows danced across the whitewashed walls, stretching and bending with every breath of air. The scent of incense and myrrh filled the room, thick and sweet, mingling with another smell drifting in from the kitchen—the rich aroma of chocolate simmering slowly with cinnamon and cloves, prepared for later that evening.

The prayers were long, as tradition demanded. Too long for children.

From time to time, small hands were discreetly pinched by mothers and fathers, a gentle but firm reminder to stand still and behave. Isabella was among the restless ones, her dark eyes fixed on the tiny carved animals and the delicate figure of the Christ child. She swayed slightly, entranced, until a sharp pinch brought her back to reality.

It was not her father who corrected her. Carlos did not have it in himself to cause her pain, however small. Instead, it was Grandma María who delivered the discipline, her fingers quick and precise, her expression never changing.

At last, the final prayer ended. Voices softened. Smiles returned. Quiet wishes for health, prosperity, and protection were murmured between bowed heads.

Carlos stepped forward.

“Now that the Novena is over,” he said, his voice warm and clear, “it is time to go to Medellín. I have prepared a celebration for the people.”

A murmur of approval rippled through the room.

“As for the guards,” he continued, “here is how we will proceed. One group will come with us now and remain until midnight. I advise those of you with families to choose this shift—your children can return home early to sleep. When the first group comes back, the second group will take their place and celebrate the rest of the night.”

A few men laughed quietly.

“And do not drink too much if you are in the first group,” Carlos added with a faint smile. “The last thing we need is a drunk guard reporting for duty.”

The servants chuckled openly now, nodding in agreement.

“As compensation,” Carlos went on, “you will be paid double for tonight. Consider it a Christmas gift. Now go—there are carriages and horses outside. Decide among yourselves who rides with whom.”

The mood lifted immediately.

Carlos stepped aside and wrapped an arm around Isabella’s shoulders. Both of them were dressed simply—light shirts, modest layers. December in Antioquia was cool, but gentle. There was no need for heavy cloaks or fur-lined coats.

Outside, the late afternoon air carried the scent of grass and earth. Isabella spotted a group of children—sons and daughters of servants—and ran toward them without hesitation.

“Be careful,” Carlos called after her. “Don’t hurt each other.”

She waved him off without turning around.”Don’t worry, Father! We’re just playing!”

Carlos shook his head, then turned to his butler.

“This season feels strangely calm,” he said quietly. “Ever since we cut our ties with the viceroy, everything has been tense. If not for Francisco being abroad, that man would have seized our industries—and probably our lives—by now. I truly wonder why he cannot leave us in peace.”

The butler smiled gently.”This year, sir, the troops are with us. You should spend this time with your daughter. Look—she’s already bullying the other children.”

Carlos glanced back just in time to see Isabella scolding another girl.

“You were supposed to capture me later,” she said indignantly. “You’re on my team, remember? Come—we need a plan to catch the others now that we’re together.”

The other girl nodded, and from behind them Carlos chuckled.

“Then it’s my turn to capture everyone.”

At the sound of his voice, the girl beside Isabella immediately ran off, laughing as she fled. Isabella, however, remained still for a heartbeat, absentmindedly trying to think of a strategy to catch the others. Her father’s words reached her ears a moment too late.

“Got you.”

Carlos scooped her up before she could react.

Isabella pouted, crossing her arms dramatically.”You traitor,” she said, glaring at her friend, who was already giggling with the other girls.

Then she turned back to her father, her expression changing instantly.”Alright, Father. Let’s make a plan to capture the rest.”

They played like that for nearly twenty minutes, taking turns, laughing, running across the grass until the game finally ended with Carlos bent over, breathing heavily, sweat forming on his brow, while Isabella stood proudly with her hands on her hips.

“I won,” she declared triumphantly.

Carlos shook his head, smiling despite his exhaustion.”You are far too powerful. Even some of my servants don’t have half your energy.”

As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, they mounted their horses and rode toward Medellín. The sky was painted in deep shades of orange and gold, bathing the countryside in warm light. The pastures glowed softly, and in the distance a few lazy cows continued grazing, unconcerned with the approaching night. A lone farmer could be seen guiding them slowly toward his house.

Carlos watched the man for a moment, then asked curiously,”Isn’t he going to celebrate in town? Why wait until now to bring the cows back?”

The butler followed his gaze.”He is one of the German immigrants, sir. They don’t celebrate Christmas the way we do. They prefer a quieter, more solemn night.”

Carlos murmured thoughtfully,”German, hmm… I wonder how that boy is doing right now. He must be missing the celebrations here.”

He paused, then added,”Send fruit and vegetables to all the German households—and to those who do not celebrate Christmas. Even if they choose silence, let us share a little of our spirit with them.”

The butler nodded with a warm smile.”Of course, sir. Though I must say, there is something they do at Christmas that I find fascinating. They decorate a large tree.”

Isabella’s eyes lit up instantly.”Really? Is it pretty? Can I see it? Can we do it too, please, Dad?”

Her words poured out without pause. Carlos blinked, momentarily speechless, then laughed softly. It seemed she still had more than enough energy for the night.

“Perhaps next year,” he said at last. “But you’ll have to ask them how it’s done, so we can learn properly.”

“Yay! We’re going to have a tree next year!” Isabella cheered.

Everyone chuckled at her excitement.

Before long, they reached Medellín. People were already stepping out of their homes, the streets filling with voices and movement. Musicians began to play, their instruments echoing through the plaza, while couples danced openly beneath the open sky. Even the guards appeared relaxed, their posture looser, their faces lighter.

When they arrived at the plaza, the celebration truly began. Food was brought out, and the aguardiente Carlos had brought from the factory was shared freely. Older folk took their seats along the edges of the square, whispering stories and memories, while children ran and played among themselves.

Under the moonlight, people drank and danced—and then suddenly, boom.

A firecracker exploded, followed by laughter from a group of teenagers.

“Come on, light this one!” someone shouted.

Pum.

Another crack echoed across the plaza. Cheers followed as small rockets were launched into the sky, bursting into brief flashes of light and leaving trails of smoke behind them.

Carlos sat beside Grandma María, both of them watching the explosions bloom above the town. Most of the light below came from torches and lanterns clustered around the plaza, making the fireworks seem even brighter as they shattered the darkness overhead.

Carlos sighed quietly.”I can’t stop thinking about them.”

Grandma María turned toward him, her expression gentle.”I understand that feeling, my boy. I remember when that little girl used to hide inside my coat to escape the cold, before you found us. Or how she always gave me the last potato or tomato, pretending she had found another one. She was only four years old, and already so thoughtful.”

She sighed softly.”This world treated her unfairly. But God, in His mercy, brought you to us when we were begging for food. Because of that, not only did we survive—but that little girl found someone who could protect her.”

She looked at Carlos steadily.”I trust your son. And you should trust him too.”

Carlos nodded slowly.”I do. It’s just… when Anna died, she made me promise to look after our children. And with him so far away, if something were to go wrong, I fear I wouldn’t be able to protect them. Sometimes I wonder if she looks down on me and feels disappointed—seeing a father who cannot protect his son.”

Grandma María laughed softly and waved a hand dismissively.”Just for tonight, forget such thoughts. Come—help this old woman move her body. I want to dance.”

Carlos stared at her for a moment, then laughed and stood up, offering his hand. Soon enough, he was dancing as well, the music carrying him along with the crowd.

beneath the pale moonlight, another soul was also being accompanied—one who felt the quiet loneliness left by a departed son. Two different countries, yet the same moon watched over them both, a silent reminder of how small the world truly was.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep