by Paula Scott
“You will choose Californio husbands for them?”
“Of course.” He turned away from her and walked into the open to overlook the horse race on the plain below.
Amid the dark heads of his family and Indian cowboys, the Americans stood out, along with the red-haired Maria, blond and brown-haired men with sun streaks in their hair from long days at sea. Rachel moved up beside him. Her insides knotted with apprehension as she noted his clenched jaw, that hard look overtaking his battered countenance.
“A revolution is brewing.” He kept his gaze on the race. “I may ride to San Jaun Bautista tonight. General Castro has called a meeting at his home. All Americanos not married to Californios must leave California at once.”
Rachel’s stomach tightened with dread. “What will you do?”
He turned to her. “The gente de razón are in an uproar. California is on the brink of war. Things are growing dangerous for you. And for them.” He pointed to the Americans at the bottom of the hill.
“Does my father know about this order for us to leave?”
“Castro is allowing those married to Californios to stay. All others must leave immediately.”
“So what will you do with me?”
“I have not decided.” No emotion showed on his face. “The man of God appears eager for you to return to New England with him.”
“Steven?” The thought of never seeing Roman again caused a lump to form in her throat. He’d taken liberties with her she never imagined a man taking, but her feelings for him were complicated. On one hand, he infuriated her. But on the other hand, the excitement she felt with him was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. He overwhelmed her, but he protected her too. She considered the way he’d cared for her so diligently in her illness. And how he could be kind and tender and sensitive, like when they’d perused the paintings together.
“Do not look at me that way. You will have a husband. But I have not decided who that husband will be.”
“You think I am merely in need of a husband?”
“All women have need of a husband unless they go to the convent.” He raked a hand through his hair. She realized he always did this when he grew agitated.
“Did your grandfather choose the man of God for you in New England, or did you choose him yourself?”
“Stop calling him that. His name is Steven.”
“I think he is a man who truly knows God.”
“Many people know God.”
“I do not think so. I have never met a man who speaks for God—except perhaps the padres. And some of them do not speak for God. They speak for Spain or Mexico. Or their own greed. Perhaps they speak for the devil.”
“Knowing God is not difficult.”
He laughed derisively. “You are such an innocent. The world is so much darker than you can imagine, pequeña.”
“God is greater than any darkness. Jesus is the light of the world.”
“But men prefer the darkness,” he said.
“The Bible says they do.”
“I am tired of all your God talk. If you stay here with me, you will learn to speak Spanish. You will teach our children about Spain where all my grandparents were born and you will not bathe in the creek without me.”
She felt as if he’d slapped her. And he shamed her too by reminding her he’d seen her bathing. Here was the side of him that infuriated her. “I know nothing about Spain. I would teach our children about God.” Her voice shook with indignation.
“Then you should marry the man of God.” His face hardened.
“Don’t you see that casting the Americans out of California will only lead to war with the United States? Men will die. Perhaps you will die.”
“I would willingly die for California.”
“What good would that do?”
“The Americanos want my land. They want my sisters. They want you.” Without warning, he yanked her into his arms. “I could take you right now and make you my woman. My servants would scatter like chickens. Your precious man of God is but a scream away, but you wouldn’t scream. Right here under these oaks, I would make you moan, my little dove.”
“That’s not true!” Alarm swept through her. Angry heat filled her cheeks.
“It is true. I am not a boy when it comes to women. I can give you great pleasure, pequeña.”
“You are blind!”
“Maybe it is your pride blinding you.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. His face was so bruised it hurt to look at him.
“I am not prideful. You are the prideful one.” She tried to pull away from him.
He wouldn’t release her. “Oh, but you are prideful, little dove. You are so proud of your purity. Your holiness. You do not realize women are robbed of their purity all the time. Especially during war. You have no idea the danger you face here in California.”
“You are dangerous!” Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed as hard as she could.
He pulled her tightly against his body. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any woman,” he said huskily.
“Let me go,” she demanded.
He barked a command in Spanish to the servants. The Indians dropped what they were doing and scurried down the hill.
“Stop! Come back! Call them back.”
He used his leg to sweep her feet out from under her. They tumbled to the ground, him twisting his body to cushion her fall. His hands were everywhere at once. She opened her mouth to scream, but his mouth covered hers.
“Stop!” cried Isabella.
Roman sprang to his feet, leaving Rachel stunned on the ground.
Isabella raced over to kneel at her side. “What’s wrong with you, hermano?” Isabella cried in outrage. “You promised not to wake her up. You promised to watch over her. You said she’s been sick!”
Without a word, he spun away and strode down the hill in the wake of the departing servants.
Rachel hugged Isabella.
“My brother needs another flogging from Papa! Juan told us General Castro has ordered all the Americanos to leave California. I came to tell Roman this awful news, and I find him going crazy. Everyone is going crazy in California!” Isabella burst into tears.
Rachel put her hand on Isabella’s cheek. “Roman already knows the Americans must leave.”
“What is going to happen to you? You can’t leave.” Tears coursed down Isabella’s cheeks.
“I don’t know, but God knows.”
“I don’t want you to leave. You must marry Roman right now.”
“I cannot marry your brother. He is filled with the devil.”
“He loves you.” Isabella defended him.
“That is not love. Lust and anger and pride are driving him.” Rachel began to tremble, thinking about what might have happened had Isabella not rescued her.
“I have never seen Roman act this way. I think it is you.”
“Me? What have I done?”
“You are not giving him what he wants.”
“Isabella, what your brother wants is wrong. It is a sin against God to kiss me. To touch me the way he touches me. I am not his wife yet.”
“That is why you must marry him now!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Roman rode hard and fast to Castro’s village. He didn’t want to be away from Rancho de los Robles for very long, especially with the Americanos there. He hoped to make the meeting at General Castro’s hacienda in San Juan Bautista and return home before nightfall tomorrow. San Juan Bautista wasn’t far. Even if he missed the meeting, he could still speak with General Castro to find out what was really going on between the Californios and Americanos.
Revolutions in California were commonplace, but the revolutions had always been between Californios in the north and south. Or California and Mexico. Or California and Spain. Never between California and the United States. This order for all Americanos to leave California was explosive. A new decree. This revolution would certainly lead to war with America.
; The hours in the saddle passed swiftly. He’d left Oro at home and brought other horses, switching them out as he traveled to ride farther and faster. The vaqueros were famous for this practice. A man could move about California very quickly this way.
He found himself thinking more about Rachel than the war in California. He’d not spoken with her since the picnic. Why he lost all control with her confounded him. Watching her dance in front of the ship captain made him insane with jealousy. Seeing her in the vineyard with the man of God sent a lance through his heart. Never had he felt like this over Sarita or any other woman. Returning from Texas to find Sarita married to Tyler made him angry, but it hadn’t made him crazy.
Rachel made him crazy.
Not long ago, she lay in his arms burning with fever. His longing for her to live brought him to his knees before God. He hadn’t pleaded with God since he was a boy. He thought he could live without God, but during Rachel’s sickness, he discovered he would have given his very soul for God to spare her life.
Thoughts of her tormented him now. The silkiness of her skin so white under his dark hands as he washed her burning body. The firm curves of her young flesh. The softness of her long blond hair. The delicate beauty of her face. Her sweet, gentle way with people. The desire to touch her again made him tremble in the saddle. How could he let her go? But how could he marry her? She was an Americana. The daughter of his enemy, the man he held responsible for his father’s death.
He spurred his mount harder. He needed to let her go. Just give her to the man of God and be done with it. Perhaps he would die in this war. And there would be war. There had to be war. No longer did the Americanos simply come to California to trap and hunt and explore as they had in the past and then return to their own land. They now brought wives and children and built farms in the north, pushing the Indians off the land in the Sacramento Valley.
Roman suspected General Vallejo might not know of General Castro’s clandestine meeting. It was well known amongst the Californios that Vallejo favored an alliance with the United States. General Vallejo, it was rumored, went so far as to say California should become an American state, embracing the United States as their mother country.
The thought of this happening left Roman sick inside. Letting Rachel go sickened him even more. If General Castro himself came to Rancho de los Robles to escort Rachel and the rest of the Americanos out of California, a war would surely ensue. But Roman would not be fighting alongside the general. He would allow no man to take Rachel from his hacienda. Not General Castro. Not the Americano ship captain with his fists of stone. And not the man of God, even though he respected the man of God very much. The man of God unnerved him and intrigued him. In his life, Roman had only known a few people who truly knew God. Father Santiago, his mother, Rachel, and now the man of God. Knowing God was not a common thing. Knowing God frightened him.
# # #
Sarita knelt in the oak grove at Rancho El Rio Lobo chanting over a fire roasting a newborn lamb. Her hand clutched her womb, rubbing the blood of the lamb onto her naked abdomen. Tohic always demanded a sacrifice when she requested something from him. She wished she could offer the blood of her stepdaughter, but all she had was a few locks left of that hated blond hair.
She felt the cold of Tohic’s arrival, the hair stood up on the back of her neck and her arms, the cold wrapping around her like an embrace. Moaning on her knees before the burning lamb, Sarita clutched Rachel’s hair in her hand in the grip of a dark possession.
When she finally tossed the hair into the fire upon the lamb, an unearthly scream burst from her lips. Then her mouth twisted with demonic mirth as she laughed and laughed and laughed.
# # #
In her bed that night, Rachel whimpered in her sleep. That unearthly cold swirled around her room again. The hacienda creaked, though no wind pressed the tiles on the roof. The night was still but astir with something cold and sinister and dark. Oh, so very dark.
Rachel’s familiar nightmare unfolded. The man on the pale horse. She twisted in the sheets, trying to escape him. The cold made her shiver in her sleep, though sweat beaded her body. Terror filled her and she called out his name above all names. . . Jesus! She awoke calling for Jesus.
# # #
Down the hall, Steven kneeled beside his bed, beseeching the Lord for protection for Rachel, for Roman, and for Dominic. He felt the Lord’s great love for them, and that love filled him as well. The spiritual battle roared in his ears. Pounded in his heart. Rushed through his blood. There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for his friends. The scripture that came to his spirit, wrestling in prayer, strengthened Steven. He clung to it. Put his trust in it. Uttered it out loud into the darkness like a promise.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Something urgent has arisen,” Don Pedro told his guests and family the following evening. “Roman has been called away for government business, but that need not interrupt our festivities tonight.” He raised his goblet, downing the last of his wine. By the end of dinner, he was well on his way to drunkenness. Watching the wildness fill his eyes, and the sweat bead on his forehead, Rachel began to silently pray.
Though Don Pedro did his best to encourage the Americans to drink with him, Captain Mason and his sailors consumed very little wine at dinner. Unlike the first night when they’d let their guard down, the Americans appeared prepared for whatever battle might arise tonight and hardly touched their goblets. Steven never drank.
Maria had refused to come to dinner, but she was a dutiful daughter, and when Don Pedro sent for her to dance after dinner for the guests, she finally appeared, dressed in a daring red silk gown. Captain Mason couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
After Maria entertained them with her dexterity, Isabella charmed everyone with her playful dancing. Drowning himself in brandy, Don Pedro soon insisted Rachel sing for their guests. Isabella walked with Rachel to the middle of the sala to mollify her papa, who was growing unrulier by the hour.
After Rachel whispered in Isabella’s ear, the girl rushed over to the musicians to inform them of Rachel’s request. With head bowed, she waited for the music to unfurl. When it did, she began to sing for God and God alone.
One of the sailors wiped his eyes after a while. Steven wept too. In a daze, Don Pedro stumbled from the room. Rachel sang on, worshipping her God with all her heart there in the sala. The Spirit’s presence swept in and swirled about the room, taking control of lesser spirits causing trouble there.
When she finally finished singing, Tia Josefa was wiping tears from her eyes too. She approached the Americans and asked them to retire to their quarters for the night. Tia Josefa said a time of holiness had arisen in their home.
Steven offered to pray before everyone departed. Tia Josefa, dabbing her eyes with her shawl, bowed her head as Steven prayed a beautiful prayer of peace, protection, and God’s loving hand in all things.
When Don Pedro returned to the sala, after spending the past half hour in a frustrated search for his brandy, the long room stood empty except for the Indian musicians gathering up their instruments and Rachel and Tia Josefa straightening up the furniture.
“Who has ordered the end of the fandango?” Don Pedro demanded in outrage.
The Indians looked nervously at each other. Rachel kept setting the room in order, doing her best to stay out of Don Pedro’s way.
Tia Josefa approached him. “A time of repentance has arisen among us. Our guests have gone to their beds to pray.” She wrapped her shawl more firmly around her plump shoulders.
Don Pedro looked appalled. “It is not the Lenten season! No one has died. What is this you speak of, woman?”
“Something holy has descended upon our home. We cannot ignore the call of God.”
“She will not sing again under my roof!” Don Pedro’s voice trembled with indignation as he pointed his finger at Rachel. “She has caused this! I demand that our guests return to the sala at once. Go get Maria! She will dance for us.”
“I will not disturb our guests,” Tia Josefa replied softly but firmly. “Go to the barn. Find your vaqueros and share your brandy with them.”
“What has happened to my wife? Do not speak to me this way, woman!”
“You are drunk. Drunkenness is a sin.”
“Do you think you are my priest? You are not my priest, Josefa! I will not be condemned! Not in my own hacienda!”
Clutching their instruments, the wide-eyed Indians rushed from the room in the face of Don Pedro’s drunken tirade.
“You’re frightening the neophytes,” Tia Josefa said.
“Those neophytes belong to me!” Don Pedro shouted. “I am Pedro Ramon Guadalupe Vasquez! I am the patrόn of this household!”
“You are drunk. You are foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog.”
“I am the grandson of a conquistador! I will not stand for this in my house!”
“I am going to bed. I will pray for you.” Tia Josefa turned her back on him and motioned for Rachel to hurry from the room ahead of her.
“Do not turn your back on me, woman! Not in my hacienda! My father, a Spaniard of royal blood, built this hacienda with his own two hands!”
Tia Josefa motioned for Rachel to go quickly.
“Josefa!” Don Pedro roared after her.
# # #
In San Juan Bautista, General Castro told Roman all that had happened while he was in Texas. Roman had known some of the information, but he hadn’t been told about the Yankee battleship that had sailed into Monterey Bay and boldly raised the American flag, declaring California belonged to the United States. Then, strangely, the Americanos apologized for this outrageous act and returned to the sea.
That battleship was still out there cruising up and down the California coastline. It appeared war with the United States was now inevitable.
If the United States declared war on California today could the gente de razón really do anything about it? Mexico, with her inept governors and cholo troops, certainly wouldn’t be able to stop the United States. Roman doubted Mexico would even send soldiers to help them. The rabble of soldiers Mexico had already sent were known criminals and didn’t help California at all. They were a blight on California’s honor.