by Vella Munn
As he waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, he made a vow. No matter what the danger, he would no longer delay taking Fox Running to Humqaq. Although the boy was young, his father would speak and then speak again of the sacred place and it would become part of Fox Running's soul.
The hut was empty; at least it seemed that way until he heard someone breathing from within his family's room, not just breathing but fighting to bring enough air into the lungs. Not Fox Running! Please, not my son!
The prone figure behind the hide covering lay on its side, knees drawn up, one arm outstretched while the other was buried somewhere in a mass of hair—graying hair.
"Rabbit Dancing!"
"Black Wolf? Is that you?"
The last time he'd been here, his wife had been tending a warrior racked by the enemy's illness, but this time it was horribly different.
"Rabbit Dancing," he repeated as he knelt beside her. "They did not tell me you were sick."
"You... mean Talks with Frogs?"
He started to nod but stopped as a wracking cough tore through her. "The shaman..." She wiped her mouth. "Talks with Frogs has turned his back on me; he resents my healing ways and believes it takes from his power. He would like to hear that I have already died."
"No! I will summon him. He will—"
"Black Wolf, please. There is nothing he can do for me."
She sounded so weak that he wanted to order her to be silent so she could rest, but he'd seen too much death not to know when it threatened.
"I should not have left. My place is by your side."
"Hush, my husband. It is all right. I would not want it otherwise, I will not think only of myself when the lives of all of our people may depend on what your eyes and ears tell you about the enemy."
It wasn't just the enemy. He'd also spent time with Lucita, Lucita who walked and ran and climbed and wasn't hot with fever.
"I told the others to' leave me alone," Rabbit Dancing whispered around her labored breathing. "It is the white man's sickness, my husband. My time of dying has come."
"No!"
"Black Wolf, please."
She was asking him not to waste their time together in anger and denial, and although those emotions continued to war within him, he heeded her wisdom.
"That is why our son is with the older children, is it not?" he said as he took her hand and began gently massaging it. He waited for her to warn him not to endanger his own health by touching her, but she didn't. "So he will not see you like this."
"And so, I pray, he will be spared."
Cold dread coursed through him at the thought. A warrior, he would never allow another of the tribe's warriors or the enemy to know of his fear, but this was the woman who had given their son life.
"Listen to me," he said. "I have been to Humqaq; that is why I did not return earlier and why I believe your illness cannot touch me today. While there, I made a vow both to our gods and to Wolf that the day would soon come when Fox Running would join me. They listened and I found peace."
Rabbit Dancing started to sigh, but the sound quickly turned into a sob. "When my time here is gone, my spirit will go to Humqaq so I will always be able to see you and our son, so I will be waiting when your times to leave this earth come."
"I want you with us now."
"I will be." Straightening her legs, she rolled onto her back, hands picking at her neckline as if she found it too tight. "But not in ways we have always known." Her eyes closed and it seemed to take every bit of strength in her simply to breathe. "Keep me in your heart, my husband. Do not... do not forget that I loved you."
"As I love you."
Eyes open once again, she smiled. "Your grandfather was a wise man. He saw two people with loneliness inside them and brought them together. When I go to where his spirit dwells, I will thank him for the time I had with you."
"Do not speak as if you were dead. The shaman—"
"Black Wolf, please."
Her eyes seemed on fire, but although he wanted to give her something to drink, he couldn't make himself leave her side long enough to get it. Angry, at what he couldn't say, he asked if the others had deliberately left her alone.
"No. No." Mouth open, she panted. "They only did as I asked. Black Wolf, the enemy's disease rages within me. Whether I eat or drink today makes no difference."
His own eyes burned, but although he wasn't ashamed of crying in front of his wife, the pent-up tears wouldn't come. He couldn't tell whether she was crying or what he saw came from the fever.
"Your son needs you!" he wanted to scream, but reminding her of their child wouldn't hold her back from the coming darkness, would only make what she faced harder to accept and prepare herself for.
"I prayed—" Another coughing spell stopped her, and he waited with her, hurt with her. "I prayed you would return before I died. Black Wolf, our son is too young to understand what is happening to me. I have asked my sister to fill his days with laughter and his nights with warmth to sleep beside. He... the day will come when he will call her his mother."
Silent, Black Wolf crouched beside his wife and lifted her in his arms.
"Listen to me, my wife." He spoke with his mouth close to her ear. "Fox Running needs to hear a woman's voice and feel a woman's arms. Your sister is a good mother whose arms will willingly accept yet another Child and I am grateful to her for that, but I make a vow to both of us now: our son will not know the pain I did."
"I... you—"
"Hush. It is my time to speak." Maybe it will never be yours again. "Fox Running holds my heart in his hands. I look at him and know a joy nothing else will ever bring me." A lump clogged his throat, and he waited until he felt enough in control to continue. "I spent too many years without my father's wisdom guiding me. Fox Running needs me, and I need him."
"I know."
Of course she did. "He will be at my side, always."
"A-ways?" She made a feeble attempt to look into his eyes, then collapsed against him.
"Rest your heart, Rabbit Dancing. A wise father does not take his son into battle, and if the time for defending our people comes I vow to keep him safe, but all other times we will be together."
"Battle? War? No."
She should be conserving her strength so she could see and speak to their son one last time, but, Black Wolf was forced to admit, if she did, she might jeopardize Fox Running's life. That was why he was holding her, not just so she wouldn't be alone, but because, maybe, the pain of never again seeing her child wouldn't cut so deep.
"We are safe here," he told her. "For now. Do not think otherwise."
"No." She shook her head, then panted as if that small effort had exhausted her. "Do not tell me half-truths. I have never been a fool, Black Wolf. Dying does not change that."
Knowing she was right, he told her everything—or almost everything—about his trip to Humqaq, what he'd learned about the plan to have more leatherjackets brought to the mission, the question of whether the Chumash dared remain here.
By the time he'd finished, he'd laid her back on her bed and repeatedly wiped her forehead. She looked so hot and withered that he desperately wanted to bring her some water, but because he respected her wish to have the effort of dying over, he didn't.
She took a deep breath, the sound rattling in her chest. "You are sure the leatherjacket is going to the presidio?" she asked.
"Yes."
"How do you know that?"
He wanted to tell her not to concern herself with that, but it would be the same as a lie, and he would not, could not, do that to her. His hand resting along the side of her neck, he at long last told her both who Lucita was and her role in his knowledge.
"She is not afraid of you?" Rabbit Dancing asked.
"At first, yes, but no longer."
"Because she knows you are not a savage."
He hadn't said much about his private conversations with Lucita, just the ways in which their paths had crossed, but he should have known his
wife would look behind his words.
Now, partly to save her the effort of having to ask and partly because he couldn't keep what he felt about Lucita to himself, he told Rabbit Dancing about the young woman who had come to the mission to minister to the needs of neophytes and was learning a great deal about herself.
"She... she does not belong there." Rabbit Dancing's eyes had closed long moments ago; she didn't try to change that.
"How can you say that? You do not know her."
"I know—I am so tired.... Black Wolf, I have never questioned what it is to be Chumash, never thought such a thing could be, but the woman questions her life. Staying at the mission will only make it harder."
"It does not matter," he told his wife. "Her concerns are not mine."
"Yes," she whispered. "They are."
He waited for her to say more, prepared himself to accept her instinct about people, but although her lips were slightly open, trembling a little, she remained silent.
Leaning over his wife's body as if trying to give her some of his strength, he concentrated on her every breath. Finally the harsh effort became less painful and he told himself she was asleep.
* * *
"Black Wolf."
Instantly awake, Black Wolf turned toward whoever had just spoken and found himself looking up at his wot. "Yes?"
"I have called together our warriors," the older man said. "It is time to talk."
"My wife is sick." He trailed his fingers over Rabbit Dancing's forehead and cheek but received no response. Time was like a dense mist; he couldn't see through it and had no way of knowing how long he'd been in here with her.
"I know, and I mourn for you. But what you told me about the leatherjackets must become known to everyone."
Black Wolf's legs had gone to sleep under the weight of Rabbit Dancing's body. Placing her on her bed, he rubbed his legs back to life. Only then did he lay his hand on her chest.
"She lives?" Walks at Night asked.
"Yes."
After clearing his throat, Walks at Night went on. "Talks with Frogs has completed his magic making," he explained. "The ceremonial ground is ready for us."
"What do you want of me?"
"Do you need to ask? Black Wolf, we must speak of war."
"War?"
"You think I want to say this? But the time of our ancestors is finished, and we can no longer walk in their footsteps. If we are attacked, we must defend ourselves; none will argue with that. But my thoughts are also that perhaps we must strike the first blow."
"My wot, this would not be a battle between the Chumash and another tribe. Next to the leatherjackets' weapons our bows and arrows are nothing."
Walks at Night sagged against the nearest wall, and despite the gloom, Black Wolf was convinced that his features had aged. "If we do nothing, will we become what our captured brothers and mothers and children are: slaves? Or perhaps the leatherjackets will hunt us down and kill us."
Black Wolf's throat constricted. Feeling old and tired himself, he placed his lips on his wife's hot forehead and then got to his feet.
* * *
"Sit down, Corporal; sit down," Commander Bardoniano Herrera encouraged as Sebastian entered the cramped and dark room that served as military headquarters.
Sebastian did so, not because he was allowing himself to be ordered around but because the puffy-faced commander had already returned to his chair and was leaning back in it, his hands folded over his ample belly. Sebastian sucked in what little existed of his own stomach and remained upright.
"First," Commander Herrera began, "please accept my apology for not being able to see you sooner. As undoubtedly you've heard, we are in the process of establishing a convict colony in Santa Cruz; that has taken up a great deal of my time."
It was on the tip of Sebastian's tongue to point out that a colony so far north should be beyond the responsibility of those stationed here, but the truth was he didn't know that much about the deployment of various troops throughout Alta California. It would have been different if he hadn't been isolated at La Purisima. "I'm certain it has," he said mildly.
"Yes, indeed. The viceroy in his wisdom has decided that Santa Cruz is the ideal location for Branciforte, and I would not argue that, since a number of convicts can be shipped there directly. However, others come by land and must be escorted." He shook his head, loose jowls flapping as he did. "And since they do not all come at once—tell me, Corporal, how may I assist you?"
In the two days he'd been here, he'd already sent three messages detailing his reasons for wanting this meeting and had to conclude that they'd either fallen on deaf ears or not been received. Struggling to keep his temper under control, he explained as concisely as possible what had been happening at La Purisima.
"When I first accepted the post, I argued for more manpower," he replied. "However, at the time the viceroy did not believe it was necessary. I believe recent events have proven me right."
"Perhaps."
He wanted to be outside among the soldiers and stock handlers, the various merchants, including Senor Pablo, whom he'd located on board his docked ship, and the camp whores, not in this room that smelled of cigar smoke and sweat. However, until he'd completed his task, he didn't dare allow himself to be distracted.
"Perhaps?" he challenged. "You aren't alarmed by the brazen murder of one of my men?"
"Corporal, you are concerned with a single mission while I must assume responsibility for the security of the entire region."
A responsibility you could better manage if you ever stepped outside this room. "That's why I'm here," he said through clenched teeth. "To apprise you of conditions within your region. Commander, I will not be responsible for the consequences should other Indians hear of what has been taking place at La Purisima." He made a move as if to get to his feet, then settled himself again. "I've seen the manpower you have here. There simply aren't enough troops should the Chumash and other tribes go to war against us."
"War?" The word seemed to rumble in Commander Herrera's throat. "You really think—"
"I wouldn't be here if the possibility didn't exist. It has been my experience in over twenty years with the military that gelding the bull while it remains penned takes much less effort than trying to control it once it has broken free."
The beefy man stood, grunting with the effort. "Thank you, Corporal. I appreciate your concern, and your observations." He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
"My concern? Is that all you have to say?"
"For now." Herrera's mouth had thinned. "You will receive my decision shortly."
Fists clenched, Sebastian stood but refused to head for the door, yet. "I trust that will be within a few hours," he said. "My time is much better spent at my post than waiting here."
"I understand your concern, Corporal; believe me, I do. However, I intend to consult my advisers first."
"How long will that take?"
Once again Commander Herrera waved his fat hand. "Do not be so impatient. After all, patience as well as the skill to geld a bull is part of what it means to be a military man."
Chapter 20
Lucita had seen it before and been mildly curious about its origin, but this time the violin, although dry and not particularly well made, captured her attention when she entered the sacristy the morning after returning to La Purisima. The instrument hung on a wall to the left and slightly above a particularly dark and somber painting of the crucifixion. In the past, she'd avoided looking at that wall, but her defenses were down this time because she'd come in here for a few minutes of private meditation, as a way of, maybe, coming to grips with what she'd experienced at Humqaq.
Removing the violin from its hook, she looked around for the bow, but if there was one, it wasn't nearby. She plucked the strings, surprised to find the tone much clearer than she'd expected. She could make the instrument sing. Hadn't she learned how to play the violin, harp, and flute when her hands were still too small to comfortably hold t
he instruments?
Stepping outside with her new, if temporary, possession, she looked around for the padres but didn't see either of them. Despite his slight frame, Father Joseph enjoyed experimenting with ways of making the meals more flavorful, and he might be in the kitchen overseeing supper, but she was loath to search for him there because the heat and smoke of the kitchen made her lungs and eyes burn. She considered going to their quarters, only Father Joseph almost never made use of his apartment except at night and Father Patricio kept his door locked and the shutters closed over his small window at all times.
In the end, the smell of baking bread made her decision for her, and she headed toward the blackened adobe oven adjacent to the kitchen. As she suspected, Father Joseph was there, cutting steaming loaves of freshly baked bread into thin slices.
Spotting her, he handed her a piece and explained that he'd experimented with perhaps a little too much garlic. She took it in her free hand, sniffed, smiled, then indicated the violin. "Who plays?" she asked.
"I confess—I am responsible for torturing the poor instrument. It was a gift from Senor Portola. I had mentioned once that I would love to have something to play so I could teach the neophytes a few simple chants, and the next time he came here, he presented it to me."
"What a lovely gesture."
"Yes, it was. I tried to repay him, but he assured me that he'd gained a great deal of pleasure out of his search. He is like that, thinking beyond himself to the needs and wishes of others."
"Yes, he is," she agreed, her heart warming at her memories of the man. She'd barely had a moment to think about him lately and now regretted that.
"I must confess," Father Joseph went on, "I find one excuse after another to delay subjecting my ears and the ears of those around me to what little I'm able to accomplish. It interests you?"
"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed and told him about her years of practice. To her delight, he said he would fetch the bow from his room, where he kept it for safekeeping.
"Nothing would please me more than to teach these children the joys of worshiping God with music, not just with the handful of songs we have been able to pass onto them, but in every way imaginable. In truth, I commissioned Senor Portola to buy three flutes, which are stored with the bow, but my attempts to train the neophytes in their use have met with no little resistance."