Until the Day Breaks (California Rising Book 1)

by Paula Scott

  Roman set her away from him. When she continued to weep, clutching at his shirtfront, he took her back into his arms. “Please, Sarita, stop all this weeping.”

  Rachel stood between Isabella and Maria, staring at him with wide, wounded eyes. He stared back at her as he held Sarita. He tried to reassure Rachel with his eyes, but she turned away, refusing to look at him. He realized in that moment that Sarita’s presence at Rancho de los Robles was the worst possible thing that could happen to them aside from war.

  “I will escort you to your father’s rancho,” he told Sarita. “We will leave at first light in the morning.”

  “But Tia Josefa has welcomed me here,” Sarita said tearfully. “I need you to take care of me. You know how cowardly my father is. He cannot protect me from the gringos when they come to conquer us.”

  “Did your husband give you permission to leave Rancho El Rio Lobo in his absence?” Roman set her away from him again.

  “What are you saying? You hate the Americanos! Surely, you do not expect me to remain married to my Yankee husband now that he has become an enemy to California?”

  “Calm down, Sarita. We are not at war with the United States yet. I talked to General Castro just days ago. The general is more concerned about his feud with Governor Pico than war with the Americanos.”

  “Didn’t Castro tell you he has ordered all Americanos not married to Californios to leave California at once? Why is she still here?” Sarita spun around to give Rachel an accusing glare.

  Steven and Dominic quietly made their way to Rachel’s side in a protective manner.

  “What are those Yanquios doing here?” Sarita glared at the men.

  “They are my amigos.” Roman had had enough. “Sarita, you are overwrought. Come, I will see you to your room so you can gather your composure and get some rest.”

  She clasped Roman’s elbow, rubbing her cleavage against his arm. “I knew you would take care of me, querido.”

  Isabella rushed up and squeezed herself between them. “I will see Sarita to her room!”

  Sarita glared at the girl. She wouldn’t let go of Roman’s arm.“I prefer Roman show me to my room.”

  “You’re coming with me!” Isabella gritted her little, white teeth and grabbed Sarita’s arm, attempting to yank her away from Roman’s side.

  Startled by Isabella’s strength, Sarita lost her balance. Both she and Isabella would have tumbled to the floor if Roman hadn’t wrapped his arms around the two of them.

  Maria stepped forward and inserted herself between her brother and the stunned Sarita. “We will take our cousin to her quarters.” With a determined hip, Maria shoved Roman away from Sarita.

  “I do not want to go with you!” Sarita tried to pull her arms from the girls’ grasp, but Maria and Isabella wouldn’t let go of her. “Roman, help me,” she demanded.

  Tia Josefa intervened. “Remember how sweetly you girls played together when you were young? Be good to each other mi hijas.”

  “I want Roman to take me to my quarters!” Sarita’s voice turned shrill as she struggled to escape Maria and Isabella.

  “Maria and I will see you to your room, won’t we, Mama?” Isabella demanded.

  “Come, chicas.” Tia Josefa motioned for Sarita, Isabella, and Maria to follow her from the sala. She also waved Rachel over to join them. “Let us leave the gentlemen to clean themselves up. I would say their bear hunt was successful judging by the smell of them.”

  In the tussle with Isabella and Maria, Sarita’s ample bosom had been liberated from its satin confinement. Roman stared at all that intriguing flesh hanging over her gown, and then his eyes collided with Rachel’s. She had followed Tia Josefa’s order to join the women and now stood beside Sarita, staring back at him. The hurt in her confused blue eyes pierced his heart. What did she expect of him? Wouldn’t any man look at Sarita’s dishevelment right now?

  He glanced at Steven and Dominic for reassurance, but both men stared at the floor as Isabella and Maria dragged Sarita from the room.

  I offer you an honorable wife, and you ogle a harlot instead.

  The voice wasn’t audible, but deep inside his soul, the rebuke pierced him. Where on earth had it come from? Was God speaking to him? Conviction that he was a sinful man tore through Roman.

  He looked to Rachel, but she was following the women from the sala.

  Utterly shaken, he walked over to Dominic and Steven. They looked up from the floor after the women departed the room.

  “I feel in need of a bath,” he told them, abandoning any attempt at small talk. “Would you join me in the creek, amigos?”

  “Now that sounds like what each of us needs right now,” Dominic agreed.

  “A bath would help us all.” Steven smiled reassuringly.

  Roman longed to ask Steven what it sounded like when God spoke to a man. He couldn’t get that thought out of his head: I offer you an honorable wife and you ogle a harlot instead. What he felt deep in his soul was fear. A sudden and very real fear of the Almighty had overtaken him.

  # # #

  Down at the creek, he got his chance alone with Steven when Dominic departed for the hacienda after they had all shaved and bathed. “See you amigos at the house,” said Dom as he finished dressing and strode quickly toward the hacienda.

  “How does a man hear from God?” Roman asked Steven as soon as Dominic was out of earshot.

  Sitting on a rock beside the water, drying his feet with a towel, Steven looked pleased by the question. “Reading the Bible is the best way I know to hear from God.”

  “Are there other ways to hear God speak to a man?” What had he heard in the sala after he’d stared at Sarita’s nakedness?

  “Well,” Steven said thoughtfully, “Joseph, the earthly father of Jesus, heard from God in a dream. So did Jacob and Daniel and other men from biblical times. They all had dreams where God spoke to them.”

  “Are the Bible and dreams the only ways God speaks?” Roman pressed.

  “No.” Steven grew even more thoughtful. “God can speak to a man in other ways. Through nature. Through suffering. And God gives all men a conscience. That little voice inside your head that makes you feel sorrow over your sins. It sounds like your own voice, but this is really the guidance of the Holy Spirit.”

  Roman leaned forward where he sat on his own rock, pulling on his boots. “That little voice is not so little sometimes.”

  Steven smiled that gentle smile of his. “God has sharpened your conscience to hear his voice. What has the Lord said to you, my friend?”

  Roman did not want to tell Steven what he’d heard. He recalled the wounded look in Rachel’s eyes and the feel of Sarita’s breasts pressed against his forearm. What surprised him was that he no longer desired Sarita with all her ample charms and her flashing black eyes that promised the fulfillment of a man’s dark desires. He far preferred his sweet, slender Rachel with her eyes full of light. But what surprised him most at the moment was his great longing to know God.

  “The Lord always confirms his commands. If you have heard from God, our Lord will make what he has said clear to you through other ways,” Steven counseled.

  Roman pondered this. “So the voice of God will come again?” he asked hopefully, strapping on his rusty spurs.

  “Maybe. Or God may speak to you differently. Perhaps through a person or a situation or the Bible.” Obviously, the Bible was very important to Steven, like it was to Rachel.

  “How will I know this is God speaking to me?”

  “May I say a prayer for you to be able to hear what God is saying to you before we return to the hacienda?” Steven finished putting on his own boots and looked at him expectantly.

  “I would appreciate that, thank you.” Roman bowed his head, awaiting Steven’s prayer.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The days passed in turmoil with Sarita at Rancho de los Robles. Each night after the evening meal, Don Pedro insisted on entertaining his guests with dancing. Sarita wore scandalous
gowns and danced provocatively in what appeared to be performances solely for Roman’s benefit. Don Pedro’s aguardiente, the brandy that inflamed him, never ran dry.

  Rachel did everything she could to avoid the evenings, often retiring right after dinner to her room. In a dark and brooding mood that would not lift, Roman spent grueling days with the vaqueros, gathering hides for Dominic to sell in Boston as May gave way to June. In the annual matanza, the slaughter of the herds, the men rounded up hundreds of cattle, killing and skinning the animals out in the fields. Only some of the meat was taken, most of the carcasses were left for the vultures, bears, coyotes, and wolves. The hides were packed to be transported to San Francisco Bay where Dominic’s ship waited in the harbor. This was California’s biggest income. Cattle hides known as California banknotes. Tallow from the slaughtered cattle was also collected and sold as well, but not to the ships bound for Boston. The tallow went to South America to make candles and soap, so it was saved at the rancho to be sold to ships in Monterey that would sail south.

  When all the cattle had been slaughtered for the season, Steven and Dominic finally departed for Yerba Buena, accompanied by a dozen Rancho de los Robles vaqueros transporting the cattle hides to add to The White Swallow’s cargo hold. Steven and Rachel had walked in the vineyard alone together before he left. Roman did not know what they’d shared, but when the two returned, Rachel’s face was tear-streaked and Steven looked very sad. Steven and Roman had discussed Rachel before this. Since The White Swallow wouldn’t be sailing away from California just yet, they decided Rachel was safest remaining at the hacienda for now.

  With his friends gone, Roman grew even more unhappy. No longer could he tolerate Tio Pedro’s drunken evenings and began to avoid all meals with the familia. Both Sarita and Rachel saw very little of him, though on two occasions, Roman had to forcefully remove Sarita from his room.

  When she refused to leave the second time at his curt request, attempting to seduce him by undressing before him, Roman picked her up and dumped her, half-clothed, in the hallway, bracing a chair against the door to keep her out of his chamber.

  Early one morning before dawn, after reading the Bible Steven left with him, Roman padded down the hall past his sister’s rooms, past Sarita’s room, around several corners of the big rectangular hacienda’s upstairs until he reached the last bedroom on the left, where Rachel now resided.

  Instead of knocking on the door, he quietly entered her room. It was still dark as he kneeled beside Rachel’s bed. Moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating her sleeping face. The covers were tucked up to her chin, her cheek resting on her folded hands. She looked so angelic; Roman didn’t want this moment alone with her to end.

  He bowed his head, attempting a prayer. Castro still wanted every American out of California. Rancho de los Robles wasn’t bothered by any of Castro’s troops because Castro considered Roman his friend. It probably never occurred to Castro that Roman would harbor Yankees under his roof. Everyone knew how he felt about Americanos when he joined the war in Texas.

  But with Rachel’s father now aligned with the rebels in the north and Sarita spreading her poison here, things were only growing more dangerous for Rachel. He should have sent her with Steven and Dom a few days ago, but the thought of putting her on a ship left him undone.

  When he raised his head, he was startled to find her eyes upon him.

  “Why are you here?” she whispered.

  “I came to pray for you.”

  She remained completely still, watching him with anxious eyes. “Were you praying?”

  “Trying to pray.”

  “What were you trying to pray about?”

  He cocked a half smile at her. “I was thinking about praying, if you really must know.”

  She finally returned his wry smile. “Thinking about praying is not praying.”

  Still kneeling, he rested his chin on his folded hands, his gaze intent on hers. “How are you feeling these days?”

  “Fine.”

  “Are you completely well and healthy? You are always hiding in your room when I’m around.”

  “Do I not look completely well and healthy?”

  “You look beautiful,” he said huskily.

  Her smile disappeared. “You should not be in my bedroom.”

  “Please don’t ask me to leave. I wanted to speak with you about the Bible.”

  She raised a disbelieving brow at him.

  “Who was the man riding the red horse in Zechariah?”

  “The Angel of the Lord in the book of Zechariah?”

  “Si. He is called the Angel of the Lord in the reading.”

  “I believe this Angel of the Lord is Jesus. Where did you get a Bible?”

  “Steven left his Bible with me. I told him upon our next meeting, I would return it to him.”

  “When is your next meeting?”

  “Do you miss the man of God already? He has only been gone a short while.” Roman’s heart began to thump in his chest. His throat grew tight. What was wrong with him? All he could think about was Rachel and God, and he was torn between casting both out of his life forever or embracing them with all his heart.

  “Do not be jealous of Steven. I am still here and Steven is gone.” Rachel sat up in the bed, holding tightly to the covers.

  He got off his knees. The moonlight pouring through the window made it easy to see her. “I miss the man of God. I do not know when we will see Steven again. This war is no good.” The longing in his own voice upset him. Every day, he was upset. What disturbed Roman the most was that his anger had given way to grief. A disturbing grief over the state of his own soul. His sins weighed heavily upon him each day now.

  “I’m glad you and Steven became friends.” Rachel smiled tenderly at him.

  “I have never had a friend like Steven. He has become a brother to me. So has Dom. I miss them,” he admitted.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I miss them too.”

  He didn’t know how he felt about her missing Steven. He tried not to think about it. “I thought you might like to accompany me on a ride today. I must go to the Indian rancheria to speak with Chief Anselmo about the sheep shearing. I thought you would enjoy seeing their jacals and the happy little Indian children who live in these huts.”

  “What is a jacal?”

  “Jacals are huts made from tule reeds that grow in the marshes. The Indians live in villages of these domed tule huts.”

  “How will we travel to see the Indians?”

  “We will ride together. A mount is being readied for you; you need only dress and accompany me to the stables.”

  “Will you give me your word that you will not molest me in any way today?”

  “You have my word,” he promised.

  Her small smile thrilled him. “Then wait in the hall while I dress.”

  # # #

  A short while later, the two rode east toward the mountains. Rachel was dressed very simply with her hair braided down her back. Both she and Roman wore silk-lined sombreros to protect their heads from the summer sun that would soon overtake the horizon. Roman had tied serapes to the backs of their saddles, and leather bags held a delicious-smelling lunch. A handful of vaqueros followed them at a distance. The Rancho de los Robles cowboys stayed within eyesight but gave Roman and Rachel plenty of room to ride alone on the trail.

  On the journey to the Indian rancheria, they spoke very little. Most of the way, they simply rode in companionable silence, enjoying the balmy June day and the abundance of wildlife, elk, antelope, deer, and coyotes, but it was the wild horse herds that delighted Rachel. The feral horses never allowed anyone too close, Roman told her. The shy animals burst into a stampede, the stallions furiously herding their mares and foals away as soon as Roman and Rachel rode near.

  Upon approaching the Indian village, Rachel stared in wonder as well as mortification at the numerous naked brown bodies of the indigenous people. It was late morning, and the sun shone warm and plea
sant on their backs. Some of the older men and women wore bits of cloth or fur to cover their genitals, but most of the younger Indians wore nothing but paint and beads. Rachel had never seen naked people before. She tried to keep her eyes averted from their bodies, especially the men.

  The Indian chief Anselmo came forward, smiling from ear to ear. He was a tall, dark, powerfully built man who wore the most fur, beads, and feathers. Rachel was vastly relieved the chief’s manhood was covered by rabbit skins sewn into a short skirt.

  The language he and Roman communicated in was a mixture of Spanish and Anselmo’s native Indian language, which Roman appeared to speak passably well.

  Roman had told her Chief Anselmo was born and raised at a mission, but when the missions closed, he became the chief of this group of Indians, which chose to return to their pagan ways and assimilated into living in these nearby mountains.

  Chief Anselmo’s father had been the leader of this band of Indians before converting to Christianity and moving his people to the mission. His son’s rise to leadership was easily accepted in the tribe. The band often hunted for hare and bear on Rancho de los Robles lands, and the Vasquezes allowed the Indians to take whatever they needed from the cattle and sheep herds as well.

  Roman said the Indians preferred grasshoppers and angle worms to beef, so very rarely did they kill cattle and sheep for food. He also explained that during sheep-shearing season, men from Chief Anselmo’s band would come and help shear the Vasquez herds. The Indians were paid for their work and happily returned every year to take part in the shearing, which was why they were here at the rancheria today. Roman needed to discuss the shearing with Chief Anselmo. Rachel suspected it was her confession to Isabella about wanting to see wild Indians that had driven Roman to bring her along with him.

  Chief Anselmo was fascinated by Rachel. After the chief had fondly greeted Roman, the two men launched into a rapt discussion, with the chief motioning repeatedly toward her, still seated on her horse. The chief eventually brought out a parade of naked Indian women, to which Roman shook his head and firmly said the same thing again and again, much to the chief’s obvious chagrin. Rachel was mortified.