Until the Day Breaks (California Rising Book 1)

by Paula Scott

  Tio Pedro’s serape was pulled over his head, the empty skin of brandy tossed aside near where he slept.

  Roman longed to kick his uncle awake so Tio could see for himself the terrible things being done to the Americanos. Instead, he rounded up the palominos and saddled two of the strongest looking animals. He then went to Padilla and told the lieutenant his uncle was in no condition to continue with this quest to free General Vallejo. Roman reassured Padilla that after returning his uncle to Rancho de los Robles, he would ride in search of General Castro to inform him of the capture of the two Americanos.

  Padilla said the prisoners were Osos. The two had confessed to taking part in the Sonoma siege. One of the prisoners had even helped make that audacious bear flag. Roman knew they’d be dead by morning.

  Returning to where Tio Pedro slept, Roman shook his uncle awake. “Mount up. We are leaving.”

  Tio Pedro protested, his words slurred from the brandy, but Roman informed him Padilla expected the two of them to find General Castro and tell the general Americano rebels had been captured near Santa Rosa and to relay the information taken from these prisoners.

  Stumbling to his feet, Tio Pedro struggled into his serape. “How far must we ride to reach General Castro?”

  “Not far.” Roman held the palomino so Tio Pedro could mount the horse. The lie came easy. Roman would say anything to get his uncle on the back of that horse so they could get away from these evil men.

  “Viva California!” Tio Pedro shouted upon sinking into the saddle, causing the horse to shy sideways.

  Pedro pitched out of the saddle, hitting the ground with a terrible thud. The horse would have bolted away had Roman not restrained it with the lead rope.

  “Viva California!” Shouts came from the campfires.

  Swearing in Spanish, Roman said, “Get up, Tio, before they see you on the ground.”

  Tio Pedro stumbled to his feet, untangling himself from his serape. “Viva California,” he repeated, this time in an absolute daze.

  Roman grabbed Tio Pedro’s elbow and propelled his uncle toward the stirrup. “Mount like a man,” he commanded. “Padilla and Carrillo are on their way over to speak to us.”

  With Roman’s help, Tio Pedro managed to get back on the horse.

  Roman then mounted his own horse while still holding Tio Pedro’s horse’s rope. He also held another rope with the other palominos tied pack train-fashion for travel.

  Padilla and his lieutenant, Ramon Carrillo, walked faster to reach them as they departed.

  “What are you doing with those horses?” Padilla demanded.

  “Taking them to General Castro,” Roman answered.

  Carrillo and Padilla looked at each other. Both men had their hands on pistols tucked into their pantaloons.

  “I heard your men talking about Lieutenants Francisco Arce and Jose Maria Alviso bringing horses to General Castro from General Vallejo. The men said buckskin-clad Americanos took the horses from Arce and Alviso before the Osos overtook Sonoma. Vallejo’s horses never reached Castro,” Roman explained.

  “This is true,” Padilla agreed.

  Unwilling to conceal his anger now over the horses destroyed on the ride, Roman continued, “Your men shoot good horses after riding them into the ground. Castro is in need of horses. Your men obviously are not.”

  Tio Pedro hastily joined in. “If you want the horses . . . they are . . . yours,” he slurred drunkenly.

  “I told you, my uncle is ill. He has suffered some kind of head injury. You can see he is sick.” Roman motioned for them to look at Tio Pedro, a sad sight in the saddle.

  “Tell the general we have gotten all the information we need from the prisoners. They are dead, and we have moved on to Sonoma,” Padilla said.

  “The prisoners are dead?” Remorse swept over Roman.

  “Not yet. But soon they will be. We will rest in camp another day or so, killing these Osos slowly.”

  Roman nodded stiffly to Padilla and then spurred his horse forward, leading Tio Pedro and the rest of the palominos to the road, where they turned for home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  At Rancho de los Robles, Sarita paced her room, chanting in a fierce, unintelligible language for Tohic to avenge her. Roman had rejected her even after she’d told him she carried his child. He seemed blind to her now; all he did was watch the skinny gringa with hungry eyes.

  How could Roman lust for that pale slip of a girl? Sarita saw no beauty in her stepdaughter. Her hate for Rachel intensified as each day passed. Tohic was doing nothing to help. Sarita danced her heart out, and Roman hardly noticed. She undressed for him, and he picked her up and carried her from his room, dumping her in the hall like a sack of grain. Then he locked her out of his bedchamber.

  What was the matter with him? He was so different these days. Where was all that passion and rage she used to see in him? The violence that delighted her? The lust she’d used to control him?

  Tohic was doing nothing to make Roman return to her. The sacrifice of the newborn lamb must not have pleased him.

  This battle for Roman was bigger than Sarita ever imagined. She knew she was losing him as surely as the sun rose in the east. She realized another sacrifice must be presented to Tohic. Something special that would please him enough that he would unleash all his power on her behalf so that she would gain Roman back.

  She began to search for blood. Blood that was special. Greatly loved blood, for this is what she wanted Tohic to give her. Roman’s love in return for this sacrifice.

  That night, she searched the barns and the servants’ quarters for a sacrifice worthy of this love. She even considered snatching an Indian baby to burn in the fire under the sacred oaks, but she could find no infants amongst the Rancho de los Robles servants. A small boy of about two years old captured her eye, but after watching him with his mother for a while, she felt the boy wasn’t valued enough to merit Tohic’s favor.

  In the stables, she hoped to find a treasured pet, a dog favored by one of the vaqueros or a young goat or lamb a shepherd showered with affection, but she saw no man attached to an animal.

  Discouraged, she returned to the hacienda to gather the charms and idols she always carried with her. She had to worship Tohic, perhaps cutting herself to release her own blood for him if no other sacrificial blood could be found.

  On her way to her room, Sarita passed Isabella’s quarters. Behind the closed door, she heard the girl singing sweetly to someone and wondered who was in the room with the child.

  A pet, perhaps.

  Sarita burst into the room without knocking. A smile lit her face when she saw Isabella in her nightgown, sitting on the bed holding a chicken in her lap. A little red hen. Sarita momentarily felt disappointment. Only a chicken.

  “Is this chicken your pet?” She walked over for a better look at the little hen.

  “You do not know how to knock?” Isabella petted the chicken to settle her down. Sarita’s harsh entrance had startled the bird.

  “Your singing was so pretty I just had to see who you sang the lullaby to.” Sarita eyed the hen with growing interest. Isabella held it so tenderly.

  “Señora Poppycock does not like strangers.” Isabella tucked the hen’s head under her wing so she wouldn’t see Sarita. The chicken obediently remained this way in the girl’s lap. Sarita was charmed.

  “Such a lovely little hen. Have you had her very long?”

  “For two years. She is a wonderful chicken. The smartest ever.”

  “You must love her a great deal.”

  “Señora Poppycock is my best friend.”

  “Do you sing to your little chicken every night?” Sarita gazed intently at the girl and her chicken.

  “Every night,” Isabella answered. “Señora Poppycock is afraid of the dark. My singing helps her go to sleep.”

  “That is lovely. Does Señora Poppycock sleep in your room with you?”

  “Yes. We take care of each other at night.”

 
“So where does your little hen go during the day?”

  “She goes to the kitchen, where Lupe takes care of her while I do my chores and sew with Mama. Then I go fetch her, and we take walks together looking for flies.”

  “Well, I better let you continue with your singing. We don’t want your dear little hen to be frightened tonight.”

  “After I sing, I pray for Señora Poppycock, and then she is not frightened any longer.”

  “I will pray for you and your little hen too. Tohic cares about you. He can make your nights oh so sweet, little cousin. Tohic is the king of the darkness. With him as your lord, you will never be afraid.”

  “Is Tohic real?” Isabella’s blue eyes grew wide with fear and wonder.

  “Of course he is real. Tohic can do great things. He rules the earth. All you must do is worship Tohic, and he will give you whatever your heart desires.”

  Isabella wrinkled her nose. “Do you have to be a witch to worship Tohic?”

  Sarita laughed. “You think I am a witch?”

  Isabella shrugged her shoulders, continuing to stroke Señora Poppycock.

  “I use the power Tohic gives me to gather the souls of men. These souls I bring to Tohic. I am not a witch. I am a gatherer.”

  Isabella’s eyes widened even more. “What does Tohic do with these souls of men?”

  Sarita smiled. “That is Tohic’s business.”

  “Tohic sounds like the devil to me.”

  Sarita laughed. “The devil is not who the padres teach he is. He is not bad. He is prince of this earth. He can make you powerful. The greatest weakness of men is women. A beautiful woman can rule over men. If she is beautiful and a gatherer, she can have any man she wants.”

  “How do you gather a man?” Isabella asked.

  Sarita smiled. “I must spend some time teaching you Tohic’s ways. You have everything it takes to become a gatherer. Your face is pretty, and your eyes, they are like running water. Pray to Tohic that your breasts grow. Men love the soft flesh of a woman.”

  Isabella sat up straighter, squaring her petite shoulders, thrusting out her budding bosom. “Can Tohic bring me true love?” she asked in excitement.

  “Yes.” Sarita’s smile disappeared. “But Tohic always requires a sacrifice worthy of the gift.”

  “What kind of sacrifice?” Isabella’s face fell. She held Señora Poppycock more closely against her.

  “That is between you and Tohic. He will speak to you through your thoughts. It takes time to understand how to hear Tohic, but once you learn his voice, you will know what he requires of you.”

  Sarita walked to the door, giving the little red hen a final triumphant glance. Tohic spoke to her at that very moment. He not only requested the chicken, he wanted Isabella too. The chicken for the fire. Isabella for his use.

  She is a gatherer, said Tohic. I will make the girl irresistible, and men will break themselves apart over her. She will have their hearts, and I will have their souls.

  A fierce jealousy sprang up in Sarita as Tohic spoke this prophecy over her cousin. After leaving Isabella’s room, Sarita stood in the hall listening to Isabella sing once more. The girl had a siren’s voice. Jealousy was fierce in Sarita. The little half-breed didn’t deserve such favor from Tohic. She was a dirty little Indian harlot’s daughter. Why was she special to Tohic?

  She has the crystal eyes of her father. He belonged to me. He was from a long line of those who have served me. The padres took her mother from me. They put the shadow of the cross on the mother so I could no longer touch her, but this girl is mine. Claim her for me, Sarita.

  “You promised me Roman,” Sarita whispered to Tohic as she stood in the hall while Isabella sang to her stupid little chicken inside the room.

  After you bring me the red hen, set aside some of its blood to be mixed with the blood of the girl with the crystal eyes, and I will give you Roman.

  “How do I get her blood?” Sarita asked.

  I will present the opportunity to you. Ask a servant to steal the chicken from the kitchen in the morning. Do not let the girl know it is you who has killed her precious hen. I want you to befriend Isabella. Teach her my ways.

  “Promise Roman will love me again,” Sarita pleaded.

  You must kill the gringa first. When Rachel Tyler is dead, Roman will be yours again.

  “You hate my stepdaughter as much as I do,” Sarita whispered in delight, struck with this knowledge that Tohic despised Rachel even more than she did.

  She hurried down the hall to gather what she would need to sacrifice the little red hen tomorrow. All night, she planned and worshiped and the next morning found an Indian who took the chicken from the kitchen when the old cook was distracted by another servant Sarita paid for the service.

  After killing the little hen and draining blood from its neck into a small leather bota out in the oak grove on the hill, Sarita burned every last feather, chanting a wicked song that sounded nothing like Isabella’s pretty lullaby the night before.

  When Sarita returned to the hacienda hours later, she came upon Isabella crying and bleeding at the bottom of the stairs on the backside of the hacienda.

  Rachel was with the girl, trying to comfort her while pressing her skirt to the girl’s forehead in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

  “What has happened?” Sarita rushed to her cousin’s side, thrilled at the sight of Isabella’s blood.

  “Señora Poppycock is gone. I cannot find her,” Isabella sobbed.

  “She fell down the stairs while running in search of her hen,” Rachel explained. “She needs Lupe’s help.”

  “You fetch Lupe. I’ll stay here with Isabella.” Sarita hid her smile. Tohic made this so easy.

  “You must hold tightly to the wound to stop the flow,” Rachel instructed, her hands and skirt covered with Isabella’s blood.

  “I will.” Sarita lifted her skirt to cover Isabella’s wound when Rachel pulled her own skirt away from the girl’s forehead.

  As soon as Rachel rushed away, Sarita took the small leather bag from her dress pocket. “Blood is precious to Tohic. Give me some of your blood so we can make you a gatherer.”

  “Will becoming a gatherer help me find Señora Poppycock?” Isabella asked tearfully.

  “I don’t know. But being a gatherer is certain to bring you true love. No man will be able to resist you once you belong to Tohic.”

  Isabella allowed Sarita to collect the blood flowing from a small gash near her temple. “I have to find Señora Poppycock. I think maybe one of those terrible men who were here the other night came back and took her. Do you think one of the bandoleros could have returned and taken her?”

  “I did see them after the chickens,” Sarita said sympathetically. She corked the bota with Isabella’s blood and hastily returned it to her dress pocket. Then she used her skirt once more to stanch the flow spurting from the gash.

  Isabella sobbed harder. “I’ve even prayed to God . . . asking him . . . begging him to bring . . . Señora Poppycock . . . back to me.” Isabella cried so brokenly she could hardly speak.

  “This is why years ago I pledged my life to Tohic,” Sarita told the distraught girl. “This God of the black-robed padres did not get off his cross to help me. But Tohic has helped me. He will help you too, little cousin. I will give him your blood, and you will belong to him forever.”

  “Why is my daughter bleeding!” Tia Josefa rushed over to where Isabella and Sarita sat on the bloodstained stairs.

  Rachel and Lupe came too, Lupe carrying her bag of herbs and fresh cloths to bind the wound.

  “Señora Poppycock is missing. Isabella fell down the stairs while searching for her.”

  “I told Pedro those men came here with evil intent. Most of our chickens are missing from the yard,” Tia Josefa said.

  Isabella collapsed against Sarita in a burst of heart-wrenching sobs.

  Rachel rushed to her side. “Let me pray for you.” She got on her knees beside Sarita and Isabella, her skirt
stained with Isabella’s bright red blood.

  “I have already prayed for her.” Sarita tightened her hold on Isabella.

  Rachel rose to her feet, stepping out of the way so Lupe could care for Isabella.

  “I will keep looking for Señora Poppycock,” Rachel promised Isabella.

  “Yes, do keep looking, my dear.” A smile curved Sarita’s lips.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Roman found Rachel with a tear-streaked face, walking up the road that led to Rancho de los Robles. “Go on without us,” he told Tio Pedro, dismounting there beside her on the road.

  “What has happened?” Tio Pedro asked. “Have the Americanos attacked the hacienda?”

  “No. Isabella has lost Señora Poppycock.”

  “You cry over a chicken?” Tio Pedro asked incredulously.

  Roman turned his horse loose, along with the string of palominos he led. When the horses trotted toward the rancho’s buildings, Tio Pedro’s horse reared up on hind legs, straining to go with them.

  Tio Pedro nearly lost his seat in the saddle. “You are a foolish woman to act this way over a chicken,” he said, surprising both Rachel and Roman with his harshness. “We are at war with the Americanos. War is worthy of tears. Not chickens!” He spurred his horse after the palominos, kicking up dust on the road as he rode off.

  “You know a Californio never walks where he can ride a horse,” Roman told Rachel.

  “Then why are you walking?” She wiped tears from her cheeks.

  “Because you are walking.” He pulled out a handkerchief and used the cloth to dry her face. “I don’t think you will find Señora Poppycock out here, pequeña.”

  “I know, but I cannot bear to be at the hacienda any longer. Sarita hates me, and she will not leave Isabella’s side. She is turning Isabella against me.”

  “Isabella wants Sarita over you? I cannot believe this.”

  “I’m not sure what is happening. Isabella won’t let me pray with her. She says God isn’t good. That God allowed a bad thing to happen to Señora Poppycock and she will never pray to God again.”