Dreams Beneath Your Feet

by Win Blevins

  “I’m not going courting,” said Sam. He slapped Gideon on the back, and he and Isabella headed for the homes of a substantial list of single men who might want to meet an attractive and eligible woman from Sicily.

  Fifty

  SAM, FLAT DOG, Julia, and Esperanza sat in the old mission cemetery. The wooden marker at the head of the grave said:

  MEADOWLARK MORGAN

  1810?–1827

  R.I.P.

  “She was sick with you,” Julia said to Esperanza.

  “Convulsions,” said Flat Dog.

  Sam found himself unable to speak.

  “We brought her in from the trapper camp to Monterey, where the best doctor might be.”

  Esperanza barely knew what a doctor was.

  “There was no doctor,” said Flat Dog, “but there was a good midwife, Rosalita. She helped your mother.”

  “In the end the convulsions were so intense that Rosalita had to cut your mother’s belly open with a knife and take you out. This is not uncommon in childbirth. It is a very old practice.”

  “But the wound may fester,” said Flat Dog. “That’s what happened. It festered, she got a high fever, and she died.”

  “I woke up with her cold in my arms,” said Sam. He couldn’t recognize his own voice, it sounded so pinched.

  They all sat and looked at the rich, green grass on Esperanza’s mother’s grave.

  “I was very . . . ,” Sam tried to go on. “I went into a kind of black hole.”

  “Finally we made Papa Sam go away,” Julia said, “do something—do anything to jolt him out of his grief.”

  “I left you with Papa Flat Dog and Julia and went to rendezvous. Damn near died getting there.”

  “Several months later he came back for you and us,” Julia said, “intending to go back to the village to live. But my father had abducted us, both you and me, and taken us to his rancho. Papa Flat Dog and Papa Sam rescued us from him. You know that story.”

  Actually, she hadn’t, not until Grumble told her a couple of days ago.

  They all looked at one another across the low mound. Esperanza finally found her voice. “But what was she like?”

  “She was the best wife a man could have,” said Sam.

  “She was a devil,” said Flat Dog. “She tortured her little brothers, mainly me.”

  “She was beautiful and graceful and considerate,” said Julia.

  Esperanza looked directly at Sam. “Tell me the best thing she ever did for you.”

  “Love me,” said Sam, “and marry me.”

  “I mean some particular thing she did,” said Esperanza.

  Sam took a deep breath. He knew the story he had to tell and dreaded it. “Papa Flat Dog and her older brother”—Esperanza knew this meant Blue Medicine Horse and the name of the dead could not be spoken—“her brothers asked me for eight horses for her hand in marriage. I wanted her bad enough to steal a hundred. I took her older brother and Papa Flat Dog on a raid against the Headcutters. At first we got the horses, but some Headcutters caught us and your uncle got killed.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” said Flat Dog, in the tone of a sentence uttered a hundred times.

  “I gave a sun dance, Papa Flat Dog and I took revenge on the Headcutters, but that wasn’t enough. Your grandparents wouldn’t have a thing to do with me.

  “So your mother and I ran away together. And while we were there, we talked, for the first time, about me getting her older brother killed. I said some words from the white man’s Bible that I remembered: ‘Give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, and the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.’ Then she gave me an amazing gift. She forgave me.”

  The tears flowed openly down Sam’s face. He didn’t wipe them. “I didn’t know . . . about forgiveness.”

  No one spoke for a while.

  “That was the best thing she ever did for me.”

  “Did she like California?” asked Esperanza.

  “She loved it,” Sam said. “We came on the expedition because she wanted to see the big-water-everywhere. We camped a few days on a beach near the rancho where Julia lived. All day every day we played in the surf and explored the tide pools.”

  “I saw some tide pools yesterday.”

  “She loved the creatures that lived in them, the anemones especially. She would poke the squishy things with her finger and make them squirt. One day we even saw a sea horse.”

  Then he had to explain what that was.

  “I want to see one,” said Esperanza.

  “We will,” said Sam.

  Esperanza heaved a big sigh. “If my mother liked California,” she said, “maybe I will, too.”

  FLAT DOG AND Julia stood at the baptismal font with Rojo and Paloma, the toddler holding Julia’s hand. Sam and Abby stood beside them, with Azul, Grumble, and Anthony Strong in the rear flank.

  “Flat Dog,” said Father Enrique, “this is a great moment for me. I have often thought of the days when I instructed you. Those recollections give me great pleasure, like fingering the beads of my rosary. You were an excellent student, and especially keen to read. How has your reading come along?”

  “Well enough, Father.”

  Actually, Sam had carried children’s books in Spanish from Taos to the family, but Flat Dog could only read well enough to make out the signs advertising food and drink on the streets.

  “God took your soul to his bosom at that time, and all our hearts soar to see your return with these fine children.”

  Flat Dog smiled and nodded gently. Thirteen years ago, when Julia’s father abducted her and the infant Azul, Flat Dog was thrown into the Monterey jail. Father Enrique got him transferred to the mission prison in order to give him the baptism and instruction that would save his soul. They became friends, and when the time came, the good padre helped Flat Dog escape from jail and head south to rescue his wife and child.

  Flat Dog thought Catholicism was a little funny, but his heart was big for the priest.

  “Señora Strong, Señor Morgan, you are willing to be the godparents of these children, that is to say, in case of need you pledge yourself to overseeing their spiritual upbringing.”

  “Yes,” said Abby and Sam in chorus. The priest had asked them earlier if they had been baptized Catholics, and Sam had lied. He suspected the priest knew that.

  “Then let us proceed.” The padre put his hand into the holy water.

  “Ego te baptismo in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.” As the priest spoke, he sprinkled the water three times on Rojo’s head and three times on Paloma’s—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Paloma wiped it off her forehead.

  The priest said a good many more words, and at last the ceremony ended.

  “You well know your duty to these children, Señora Flat Dog.”

  “Yes, Father. I am so glad to be back in the arms of Mother Church.”

  “In that case I will hear your confession now, and then Flat Dog’s.” He reached back and tousled Azul’s hair. “And you, young man, I will expect you at catechism class starting Monday.”

  Azul made a face.

  Outside, Grumble said, “I feel smothered by religion. Do you think I might borrow the boys for an hour or two and teach them sleight-of-hand tricks?”

  “I’m afraid of what that means,” said Julia.

  “Picking pockets,” said Grumble.

  “Grumble!” Julia exclaimed.

  Flat Dog laughed and said, “Sure, go to it.”

  “Every young man needs a way to make a living,” said Grumble.

  THEY REINED IN the horses at a rise with a spectacular panoramic view of the sea. As they dismounted, Flat Dog took his wife’s hand and said to everyone, “I have to tell you something.”

  He had the attention of Sam and Isabella, Abby and Strong, Esperanza and Hannibal immediately. Even of Lei and Carlotta, who waited in the carriage beside them.

  “Yesterday I apprenticed myself to Alano Lopez.”

&nb
sp; “The saddle maker!” Strong exclaimed.

  “Yes,” said Flat Dog. “I’m going to learn to make saddles, and all the other gear, for the horses Sam, Hannibal, and Esperanza will train.”

  Sam said, “That shines.”

  “Lopez does superb work,” said Strong, “the stamping especially.”

  “I intend to become the best,” said Flat Dog.

  “This way,” said Abby, and the walkers took a score of steps onto a knoll. “This is what we want you to see. This is the spot we recommend.”

  They looked out across the land of their proposed horse ranch, once part of the Carmel mission and no more than five miles from town.

  “It’s about what you Americans call two sections of land,” said Strong. It was rolling hills, with a good creek angling across the oceanside corner. The grass was summer tawny now, but there was plenty of it and the winter rains would bring it green. In three directions the Pacific swept away toward China, or Japan, or Australia, or whatever was over there. Sam turned and saw Lei looking west out the carriage window, her eyes dreamy. No doubt about what she was dreaming of.

  “Come over this way,” said Strong. “There are two good building sites together.”

  The sites were fine, level, pleasant, less than fifty paces from the ocean.

  “I love it,” Esperanza said.

  “We picture the site on this side of the lane for the Flat Dog family, and Mr. Morgan and Mr. MacKye on the other. . . .” The Brit could not bring himself to drop formality.

  “And if Hannibal decides to marry,” said Abby, “why not a third house over there?”

  “Lots of logs to haul,” said Sam.

  “We’ve arranged for that,” said Strong. “The logs for two dwellings are on the way down from the hills at this moment, and will be on the site in a couple of days.”

  “We can’t afford this,” said Sam.

  “Oh, but you can,” said Abby.

  “It’s ours,” said Strong. “We have more land than we’ll ever need. Besides, I intend to make a profit.”

  “How?” said Sam.

  “As your rancho grows, you’ll need much more land. And I own the adjoining pieces as well.”

  “Anthony, don’t belittle this. Sam, Anthony and I want to make this land a gift to you, Flat Dog, and Hannibal,” Abby said.

  She turned to Sam and took both his hands.

  “It’s a gift of love,” she said. “Please accept it.”

  Sam looked at his partners.

  Julia said, “Of course we’ll accept it. Thank you, thank you.”

  “In that case,” said Strong, “we’ll leave you to look it over at your leisure.”

  Everyone walked back to the carriage.

  Isabella spoke firmly in her language, and her sister translated. “Are you going to put in grapevines? I know you want horses—just like men—but these lands are a natural for grapes.”

  Sam suppressed a smile.

  “Enough talk,” said Strong.

  As the carriage rolled away, Hannibal said, “I have to tell you, I think this horse ranch will be a rousing success. But I’m not going to be part of it.”

  “What?” Sam was jolted.

  “Lei wants to go to the Sandwich Islands. Hawaii, as she calls them. I’m going to take her.”

  “And then?” Sam had been afraid of this.

  “Probably I’ll be back here in a year. But who knows?”

  “Maybe succumb to Lei’s charms?”

  “Maybe. But I am a wanderer.”

  “Before you go, why don’t you give the ranch a name?”

  “Easy,” said Hannibal. “Vita Luna.” Crazy Life.

  Fifty-one

  CARLOTTA AND GRUMBLE’S wedding ceremony at the mission church was beautiful. The bride and groom created more suppressed smiles than tears, but still it was lovely, and the church was full. Sam dropped the golden band as he tried to hand it to Grumble, and got a good laugh.

  Fortunately, The Sailor’s Berth was twice as big as the church, and still some of the reception guests had to do their eating and drinking outside. Grumble had laid a feast to satisfy the greediest gourmand and the thirstiest drunk.

  Carlotta commandeered the services of her six ladies of the evening to make the rounds with trays and food and drinks, and flirt with the male guests occasionally. They were dressed to the nines. (“But no tricks on my wedding day,” she had ordered.)

  Monterey turned itself out splendidly. The comandante of the presidio was in full uniform, as were all his officers, and Mexicans had a feel for the maximum show of color, brass buttons, epaulets, and braid. Considering himself the representative of his government, the merchant Larkin came in his swallow-tailed coat. The captains of all three ships in port turned up, worthy rivals in their finery to the land-bound military men of the presidio. The merchants of the town, mostly Mexicans but a few Americans, Brits, and Irishmen, outdid themselves. Gideon wore a handsome frock coat and a bejeweled gold earring that drew the envy of the ladies.

  Even Father Enrique turned up in his brown robe. Grumble had been afraid the presence of the soiled doves might scare him off. Perhaps the over-sized pectoral cross he wore was a form of protection.

  Abby was resplendent and her husband dashing, but that was to be expected.

  A half-dozen musicians congregated around the piano, two guitars, a guitarrón, two trumpets, an accordion, and Grumble himself at the piano. Over the years his fingers had apostasized from Mozart to mariachi. For the moment the band sent out a quiet background music, an accompaniment to conversation.

  One group of guests was not showy, the Morgan–Flat Dog outfit. Grumble had instructed them strictly not to waste the capital they needed to buy horseflesh on clothes. “Carlotta and I,” he insisted, “will have a grand time cavorting among the buckskins.”

  Against one wall Julia and Flat Dog chatted with Hannibal and Lei. Julia wondered how many days or weeks would pass before she saw these two friends no more. A strange man, Hannibal, in her opinion, ever drifting, a kind of Wandering Jew.

  She led her husband toward the bride and groom to say their formal congratulations. Flat Dog looked as out of place, Julia thought, as a sunflower among petunias. He was out of place here, but to her more splendid than any other man. She thought how lucky she was to know he would stay here. She would not wake up some morning to find him fled back to the Yellowstone country. That was because, from the first moment, they had been utterly in love with each other.

  Her eyes searched out the three children. Rojo, the most devilish, hung around Abby and Anthony Strong. He made a show of conducting an adult conversation with them, which tickled Abby. After a few minutes the boy reached under his hide shirt and offered the rich Brit his wallet back. Abby laughed, and Strong pretended to.

  Azul, the smartest, played poker with men several times his age and consistently lost. Grumble had taught him how to use the deck of marked cards and was bankrolling his losses, the cherub’s wedding-day gift to his former victims.

  Esperanza talked casually with the young son of one of the rancheros, but her behavior was not at all flirtatious. Kanaka Boy’s hideous assault and two heartbreaks in one year—Julia wondered how long it would take her daughter to recover.

  Catty-corner across the huge room Sam Morgan and Isabella Grazia stood together and didn’t talk. They tried a few phrases in the smidgeon of Spanish she’d picked up, but essentially they only waited for the first dance—which was now.

  At Grumble’s command the trumpets sounded a fanfare.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he cried, “my new bride and I invite you to join us in a dance.”

  It was a Ranchero Valseada, as Grumble had requested, a waltz in a moderate tempo. The newlyweds led off, as was only proper. When they saw how nimble a plump man and fat woman could be on their dancing feet, the crowd applauded.

  “Everyone dance!” cried Grumble.

  Sam held his arm out to Isabella, and she took it.

  Fr
om many bailes in Taos and Santa Fe, Sam had a flair for this dance. He felt like he was tossing in a raging river, but he didn’t let that show.

  He looked down at Isabella. Her face seemed to glow. All women like to dance, he told himself.

  He liked to dance. A fun-loving partner in Taos had taught how truly to lead a woman in a valseada. “It is not done with the hands, or even the feet,” she explained. “My hand is on your shoulder. Lead with your chest, and my whole body will move with you.”

  He did his best leading now and felt how well they flowed together. Then, because she couldn’t understand a word, he spoke to her.

  “I like spending time with you,” he said in English.

  She cocked her head a little sideways and the corner of her mouth turned up. “Che sciocco! Perché non mi tiene vicina?” Which meant, had Sam been able to understand,“He holds me at a distance, the fool.”

  This game tickled Sam.

  “I make up excuses every day to go to Grumble and Carlotta’s house,” he said, “just to be near you.”

  “Scommetto che nemmeno mi bacia. I bet he doesn’t even kiss me.”

  He introduced a tricky new step, flinging her an arm’s length.

  “You are so much alive.”

  He used her hand to lead her in a circle and draw her back into his arms.

  “Non si rende conto che vuol baciarmi. He doesn’t even know he wants to kiss me.”

  Now the band picked up the tempo, and all the couples whirled faster.

  “It’s such fun to be around you.”

  He spun her so that her back was to him.

  “Mi sembra di ballare con una verginella. You’d think I was being courted by a virgin.”

  “I haven’t felt this way in a long, long time.”

  “Carlotta dice che é bravo a letto. Carlotta says he’s fun in bed.”

  “I’m a fool to even let myself dream about you.”

  “Bravo a letto, un inizio interessante. Fun in bed, that’s a good start.”

  “But I do dream about you.”

  The music swirled to a climactic ending. Each gentleman (of the ones that were gentlemen) lifted one of his partner’s hands high and bowed his head to her.