Tiongson

The weight of the day's exhaustion crashed down on me as I finally stepped out of the convent. The liveliness I had seen earlier had faded with the dimming afternoon, leaving the plaza empty except for the Kawit soldiers standing at their posts. The streets were nearly deserted, allowing the sounds of the surrounding countryside to take over.

A cold wind carried the scent of damp earth from the rice fields. Overhead, a formation of birds squawked as they glided across the orange-streaked sky. The world was telling men to go to sleep.

There was another weariness aside from the physical. My mind kept circling back to what I had just done. I had deliberately involved myself in the war that loomed ahead. And in doing so, I had made a choice not just for myself but for the province and the people under my care. It wasn't until now that I realized I hadn't thought of Isabela until this moment.

My accusations of Vicente being ideological came back to haunt me. It was emotion that had driven me here. Fact over feelings—that had been my motto in my wiser years, in my past life.

But could I have lived with myself if I had done nothing? If I had tried to forget the memory of that poor Igorot girl and simply moved on?

It might be a different body, but it was the same mind. I had been a proud soldier before, and I could not bring myself so low as to become a terrible coward.

"Don Lardizabal, have you arranged where you'll be staying for the night?" Colonel Ola asked as we stopped right outside the convent's doors.

I turned to Triviño, cutting into his conversation with Dimalanta. "I was hoping to be introduced to Teniente Triviño's family tonight."

Vicente blinked in surprise. "Gobernador… I'm sure my parents would love to meet you, but I live in Calumpit. That's another station away."

"And what's the problem? The train ride is no more than thirty minutes," I said with a yawn, then let out a tired chuckle. "Don't tell me you have no intention of repaying the hospitality I showed you in Marinduque?"

Vicente sighed and scratched his head. "That's not the issue. There are no trains running this late and the road would be too dark and rough for the carriage. We could borrow horses, but…"

I groaned, rubbing my face. "Yeah… I'm too tired to be riding on horseback."

As if I didn't have enough on my mind, now I had to figure out where to sleep.

Colonel Ola patted me on the shoulder. "No need to worry, Gobernador. Plenty of families here would be honored to host you. I'll have it arranged immediately."

---

The carriage didn't take us far. We stopped in front of a beautiful home facing the barracks of one General Torres. One of the many Tiongson families in Bulacan had graciously offered us a place for the night.

I soon learned that Vicente Triviño was more well-regarded than I had expected. Over dinner, Don Antonio Tiongson, the family's patriarch, spoke highly of him. Vicente had been known as a brilliant student since his days in the escuela municipal and had continued to excel at Colegio de San Juan de Letrán. He would have been in his fourth year by now had he not left to join the revolution.

"So, how did you end up in Marinduque?" Don Antonio asked after an hour of conversation. Our plates were empty, and my full stomach only deepened my exhaustion. I listened in a half-dazed state.

Vicente smiled. "One thing led to another, Don Antonio. I followed my classmates when they decided to join Señor Presidente. I stayed in his entourage for a few months until he met Heneral Ananias Diokno. The President assigned a few of us junior officers to assist in the general's recruitment drive."

"I went with the general to Mindoro, but when he had business elsewhere, he sent me alone to Marinduque to contact Capitán Abad." He shook his head, chuckling. "I'm still not sure why he never came back for me."

Don Antonio laughed heartily, slapping his thigh. I could only manage a weak chuckle.

"No matter, kid. Everything worked out in the end. Now the governor himself has brought you back," he said, turning to me. "I trust he didn't give you too much trouble, Don Lardizabal?"

I would have had plenty to say under normal circumstances. I had always enjoyed conversations with people my age. But right now, I was too tired to enjoy anything.

"He… he was alright, Don Antonio," I croaked, my voice hoarse. My eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment.

Agapita Tiongson, the eldest daughter and the one responsible for the excellent dinner, was clearing the plates when I spoke. She must have noticed my exhaustion.

"Papa, I think the governor is tired. Don't keep him up any longer," she chided as she reached for Vicente's empty plate.

Don Antonio looked at me, his expression turning apologetic. "Ah… forgive me, Don Lardizabal. Once I start talking, it's hard to stop."

"It's alright, Señor," I said.

He glanced around at his daughters. All five of them were busy—except for one. Paz Tiongson, the same woman I had met at the convent earlier, was also his daughter. Aside from being shy, she was also a slow eater and had just finished her meal.

"Paz, are you done?"

"Yes, Papa," she answered in a soft voice, dabbing at her lips with a napkin.

Now that I got a closer look at her, she did seem frail. Her skin was too pale, and she was thinner than her sisters. But whatever illness she had recovered from had not taken away the beauty she shared with them.

"Take the gobernador to his room," Don Antonio instructed.

She hesitated, stealing a nervous glance at me before quickly lowering her gaze. Don Antonio gave her an encouraging nod, and after a brief pause, she rose to her feet.

"Thank you, Señorita," I stood up and gave her a weak smile.