by Vella Munn
No, not the only thing, he acknowledged. His people now knew how to grow those crops, the worth of horses and muskets, ways of turning clay and straw into walls and ceilings that would protect them from the elements.
His muscles began to cramp, and, thinking to stretch them, he left his hiding place. He was a predator; his spirit had made him one. And yet he was more than the powerful animal whose name he carried. A man, he had been given the ability to reason and plan, to learn from the past and look into the future.
What he saw made him howl.
* * *
Father Patricio jerked upright, his hands pressing against the air as if trying to ward off an unseen enemy. From where she sat Lucita couldn't see anything of the world beyond the sanctuary, but she knew.
"Damn him! Damn him to hell!"
The padre's oath rolled off her, and she didn't bother to acknowledge it. Instead, she got to her feet, picked up one of the candles, and hurried over to the door. Opening it, she stepped outside. Although it was now the middle of the night, the air remained hot and dry, the breeze so faint that maybe she only imagined it against her flesh.
The howl had died away. She waited, not breathing, willing its return, but it wasn't repeated. Still, she continued to stare at the darkness as if by force of will she could push it away. Black Wolf was out there somewhere, maybe so far away that he couldn't see her. She hoped so, because his safety meant everything to her. And yet...
"He is not human. Sometimes I think he is not human."
Surprised by the note of awe in the padre's voice, she turned toward him, but it wasn't until she brought the candle near him that she was able to make out his expression. Something between hatred and awe lived there, aging him and yet giving him an ageless look.
"Maybe he isn't," she said, not because she believed that but because she wanted to see the padre's reaction.
"You think so? How well do you know him, Lucita? How well?"
She didn't answer.
"You were alone with him, maybe more times than anyone will ever know. He is a man, Lucita. At least, I tell myself he is. And you are a beautiful young woman."
Something had ignited between her and Black Wolf that made her heart beat faster and her body hum with restlessness, but that was all she knew, and she wasn't going to tell Father Patricio that.
"Are you still a virgin?"
"What?" she gasped, shocked.
"Answer me! Senor Portola has asked me to speak in his behalf, but he will not want you if you are no longer pure. If you have given yourself to that savage."
He made it sound so dirty. Even though she had only a vague idea of what he meant by "giving" herself, she wanted to demand he not say such things in her presence.
"Answer me, Lucita! Did you lay down with him?"
"No."
"No?" He blinked. "You are not lying to me, are you? Because if you are—"
"I do not lie."
Relief, along with something else, washed over his features. "Still valuable," he muttered. "Good. Good." She thought he would say more and wondered how she would react this time. Instead, he slipped past her and stood just outside the sanctuary, his back touching the adobe wall, eyes scanning, as hers had done, the night.
* * *
Mindful that the corporal hated being disturbed when he was with his men, Father Patricio nevertheless opened the door to the soldiers' quarters and asked Sebastian to step outside with him. Only when the well-armed man was beside him did he relax.
He'd tried to organize what he was going to say but, swayed by Sebastian's quick temper, hadn't been able to come up with anything that wouldn't lead to an explosion. Feeling his way, he brought the corporal up-to-date about his attempts to speak in Senor Portola's behalf.
"Good!" Sebastian exclaimed before he'd finished. "Thank you, Padre. You have done an admirable job of executing your duties." He glanced over his shoulder at the building he'd just left.
"Some of my duties, yes, but I would be remiss if I didn't tell you what I observed tonight."
Even in the dark, he easily imagined Sebastian's impatient glower. For a moment the priest debated letting it go at that, but the corporal had bullied his way around the mission from the day of his arrival, and it was time for him to be brought down to earth.
"Yes?" Sebastian prompted.
"I was just thinking." Feeling in control for the first time in what seemed like hours, he relished the mood. "With the additional military presence here, I would assume La Purisima to be as safe as an infant's nursery."
As he expected, Sebastian didn't say anything.
"It is a shame that that is not the case."
"What are you talking about?"
"Black Wolf," he said, wishing he could see the corporal's expression.
"What about him?"
Before he could think to duck, Sebastian had grabbed his robes and was pulling him off balance.
"He was here tonight," he said.
"Damnation!"
"With your daughter."
* * *
Sleep came after a battle Lucita feared she wouldn't win, but although she didn't sit up until she felt morning light against her eyelids, her body told her she'd only got a few hours of rest. Not sure what she was doing or why, she slipped out of bed and dressed. As she was putting on her shoes, the door opened and her mother peered in.
"You're up," Margarita said with a sigh. "And getting ready for mass?"
"Yes," Lucita said, realizing how much she needed ritual this morning.
"I was afraid—where were you last night?"
"I can't tell you, yet. Please be patient with me."
"Patient?"
Lucita nodded by way of answer, and although Margarita continued to give her unfathomable glances, neither of them spoke as they made their way to the church. Inside, the heat was even greater than outside, the result of several hundred bodies packed close together. Both padres were already there, as was Pablo, who nodded but said nothing as Lucita sat beside him.
This place, she thought, had served as her introduction to life at the mission. She'd changed a great deal since that first day, and yet the rhythm here remained the same. Maybe it would help if she could take comfort from prayer and song, but she would have to stop thinking, stop feeling, for that to happen.
"Your father wants to see you after mass," her mother whispered in a choked tone.
"And so do I," Pablo whispered from where he sat.
* * *
After mass, a hand on her forearm prevented her from falling in line behind her mother and Pablo. Looking up, she found herself staring into Father Patricio's eyes. Red-rimmed, they told her that he, too, had got little sleep.
"Now," the padre said. "Your father does not want to wait."
If only her legs felt steadier, she thought as she entered the soldiers' quarters, her mother and Pablo behind her. Father Joseph was already there, along with her father, who stood in the middle of the room, his arms folded over his chest. No one sat.
Incapable of breathing, Lucita struggled to steel herself against the padre's next words. She stared fixedly at him as if her desperate glare could keep him silent.
"Perhaps," Father Patricio said, "it is because I have not known Lucita long and do not know her the way you do, but I cannot convince myself that she is capable of deception."
Was this the way Black Wolf had felt when he had to live here? Was this why he'd risked everything by seeking freedom? Trapped, she could only wait.
Chapter 25
Hunger gnawed at Black Wolf, but the call wasn't strong enough to pull him from his thoughts. He'd remained on the slope above the mission throughout the night, dozing yet always alert. The breeze had carried the sound of bells announcing morning mass. Now that was over and the neophytes were eating before starting on their assigned tasks.
When he began digging in the dirt, at first he paid no attention to what he was doing, but bit by bit what seemed to be random designs turned into a h
uman figure draped in a heavy gown.
"Do you feel my presence, Padre?" he asked. "Did you hear my final howl last night?"
Once again silent, he filled in the details of eyes, nose, and mouth. When what to him represented the padre was finished, he placed his hand over it because this way Father Patricio might sense him.
"You saw," he said. "Do not deny it! You called me a liar when I sought to speak about Wolf, but you followed me and saw."
It had been a spring morning several years ago when he'd spotted the padre on his way to the upper canal. Instead of fading into the wilderness, he'd approached Father Patricio, even calling out so the man would have no doubt of who he was. The padre had pulled back in alarm, but Black Wolf had said he meant him no harm and then handed over his spear as proof. The padre's eyes had said what he wanted to do with that spear, but Black Wolf had challenged him to see him as a man, an equal.
Aware that their time alone together might be short, he'd first caressed the marking on the back of his wrist and then clutched his charm stone. The padre's reaction had been to insist that those things served as proof of Black Wolf's godless state. That was when he had scrambled onto a nearby boulder and, ignoring the now inconsequential figure below him, sent out a prayer. Wolf had answered, first by announcing his presence on the wind and then by revealing himself at the edge of the trees.
Wolf had stood tall and proud, tail erect, head lifted, eyes intense. He had walked out to meet his spirit, not stopping until Wolf was close enough to touch and be touched. Then, his thoughts on the constant wonder of what existed between them, he'd placed his hand in the beast's mouth. Wolf had closed his teeth around his fingers as he'd done in Lucita's presence, the pressure increasing until Black Wolf couldn't have freed himself without causing damage to his flesh; there'd been no pain.
They'd remained like that through countless heartbeats, united and sharing what needed no words, before Wolf raised his muzzle to the sky and howled his mastery of the world.
And Father Patricio had seen.
"Do you make a lie of that day?" Black Wolf asked the dirt figure. "Do you tell yourself that your eyes deceived you, that you can deny what happened, or does your soul know the truth?"
* * *
Her father seldom sat, and Lucita suspected he wouldn't today as long as he had things to say and orders to give. In contrast to his piercing glare, her mother stared at the ground, somehow less substantial than she'd been a few minutes ago.
No matter what he says, I will not let you be blamed. What I do must not reflect on you. You are not responsible, only I, only...
Wrenching herself free of the silent chant, she noted that Father Patricio stood near Father Joseph, but if the two had communicated in any way, she was unaware of it. Only Pablo acknowledged her presence.
"This feels like an inquisition." Pablo directed his observation at her father. "I did not intend anything like that."
"You do not know my daughter."
There was an angry-looking scratch on her father's wrist and, despite everything, she wished she could take care of it for him, but that necessitated touching him and she couldn't do that.
"We are here to discuss two things." Sebastian squared around so he faced her full on. "If the decision was mine alone, there would only be one issue. However, life is never simple."
Her father wasn't a philosopher. He saw or heard; he reacted.
"I must say I am pleased to learn that Senor Portola is kindly disposed toward you. Given the little time the two of you have had to get to know each other, I was not sure he would approach me so soon."
Pablo had asked for her hand in marriage; she had no doubt of that. Why, then, were the others here? Except for her mother, it shouldn't be anyone else's concern.
"Senior Portola is an intelligent man," she came up with.
"He would not have become so successful in his business if he wasn't." Her father sounded impatient. "He has much to offer a woman—wealth and position."
"Yes, he does."
Sebastian's quick frown was the only warning she needed that she'd spoken out of turn. "What two men discuss between themselves is not the concern of women," he continued after a glance at his wife. "Women's interests are those of home and hearth, children and religion, although with your mother, the Church has always come first. No." He held up his hand. "Don't try to deny the truth."
When Lucita said nothing, he briefly rubbed the scar at the corner of his mouth. "Because of women's natural limits, it is up to men to provide for them."
Knowing the futility of argument, she waited.
"Senor Portola, I offer you my daughter. She has a remarkable degree of intellect for one of her sex and has learned a number of skills which you may find useful. I cannot pretend she does not have shortcomings, not the least of which is her refusal to accept her role in life."
"They aren't shortcomings to me," Pablo assured Sebastian. "I find everything about her utterly charming."
Scarcely believing this conversation was about her, Lucita risked looking at Pablo. His dark eyes seemed so soft and gentle, nothing like Black Wolfs glittering strength.
Her father was far from finished. He told Pablo about her violent opposition to marrying Ermano and how she'd begged her parents to allow her to accompany them here.
"I would have been surprised if there had not been other men in your daughter's life, Corporal," Pablo said. "Tell me, Lucita, do you have any opposition to what is being proposed here?"
"Opposition?"
"I am concerned you have not yet had time to determine whether you are capable of falling in love with me or, if not love, at least sufficient affection. In truth, I have just begun to learn what makes you unique and fascinating. I must ask—the reasons you turned your back on Senor De Leon, do they hold true for me?"
"Oh, no! You... you have always shown yourself to be most kind."
"And he was not?"
"No," she whispered.
"Then"—he smiled his ready smile—"perhaps I have passed the first hurdle."
"Indeed you have," she admitted, which garnered a faint nod from her mother, even a grunt she took to be approval from her father. "I appreciate your honesty."
"I have been told that one of my greatest faults is my insistence on being blunt." Despite his words, he sounded not the slightest bit embarrassed. "Lucita, I would rather we were having this conversation in private, but your father has just informed me that he is embarking on a major strategy designed to ensure the mission's safety. I would be remiss if I remained silent today."
"A major strategy?" She couldn't keep alarm out of her voice. "Father, what is he talking about?"
Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "What I plan is none of your concern."
But it was and nothing either of them said or did would change that. Just the same, she fought to keep her emotions under control.
"I... I would never pretend to possess the necessary knowledge for leading troops," she amended. "But if you believe our safety is at risk, Mother and I need to know that."
Whether her father believed her interest went no further than that or not didn't matter. What did was learning, somehow, what he had in mind.
The good side of her father's, mouth twitched, and he pressed against the offending muscle. "Haven't I always protected you? I would trust you have no doubt of my ability to continue to do so. You have received a marriage proposal, Lucita. We await your response."
A marriage proposal. "I..."
"Sebastian." Her mother spoke for the first time. "How can she respond while surrounded by an audience? Such matters should be conducted in private."
Ignoring his wife, Sebastian leveled his gaze first on Pablo and then on Lucita again. Feeling as if she was unraveling, she struggled to imagine herself traveling to the presidio with this gentle and yet worldly man. The trip would be a long one, but with each mile they traveled she'd put more of the mission behind her. Never again would she have to stand in a crude cemetery while a sm
all boy was buried. Never again would she force herself to enter an infirmary and spend her days in futile attempts to save the lives of those who had no defense against the illnesses her people had brought with them.
With Pablo she could explore the world. She would think for herself, make her own choices and decisions. Free from her father's harsh criticism, she might gain a sense of self-respect she could barely imagine. No longer would she be forced to sleep within thick adobe walls.
"Senor Portola," she began, not at all sure of what she was going to say, "I don't believe myself worthy of you."
"But you are; you are."
She'd known he was going to say that and silently thanked him, then prayed she was doing the right thing. Thinking to place her hand in his and by the silent gesture put her future, her life, in his keeping, she started toward him. As she did, her attention was drawn to the faint light coming in the small window to her left. She could see little, just a portion of the livestock corral and beyond that the gently rolling hills that Black Wolf called home.
Humqaq.
"Lucita!"
Startled, she pulled her attention, if not her emotions, from the wilderness and faced her father. Until this moment she'd held the small belief that beneath his soldier's exterior some part of him loved her. She no longer did.
"I don't have an answer for you, Pablo." Her voice refused to reach beyond a whisper. "Not yet."
* * *
The call of a wild turkey settled over Black Wolf, but although he knew who was responsible for the sound, he didn't respond until he'd finished a handful of the blackberries he'd picked a short while ago. His answering wolf cry swirled around him; then the breeze caught it and threw it into the sky.
A few minutes later, Much Rain came into view. His friend acknowledged him with a welcoming nod, but no hint of a smile touched his lips.