The Forever Tree

by Rosanne Bittner

  On the first night of the three-day journey to the city, they stayed at the home of a friend and fellow rancher. Because the entire family had to sleep in the rancher’s only guest bedroom, Santana and Will could not make love. They simply slept in each other’s arms, saying nothing. There was nothing left to say. The next night was the same, staying at the home of another friend. The third day they reached San Francisco, and went directly to the Wells Fargo depot. Stage runs had been increased to accommodate the almost-constant flow of men going back east. Santana thought how at one time she and her people would have been thrilled to see so many Americans leaving California, but not today.

  The stagecoach arrived. Will hugged each of his children, shook Dominic’s and Hernando’s hands, hugged Teresa, and then Agatha, who seemed stiff and aloof. Santana knew this was killing her, that Agatha would be even more lonely than she. Gerald made the same rounds, and each man ended up hugging his wife last.

  “Te quiero muchisimo, carina mia,” Will whispered. “Vaya con Dios, mi vida.”

  “Vaya con Dios,” Santana answered, hardly able to speak the words for the lump in her throat. “Te quiero. Te quiero, mi esposo amada. Remember me. Remember me, and come back to me. I am afraid you will go back there and remember how much you love your homeland, and you will not come back to California.” Her body jerked with a sob, and Will kissed her tears.

  “How can you even consider such a thing?” he asked. “The thought of you and the children are all that will give me courage and strength in the days ahead. We will win this war, and I will come home just as fast as I can get here. Surely you know that. Pray for me. Light a candle for me.”

  “Each week that you are gone I will light a new candle.” Santana could barely see him through her tears. She reached up and touched his face, gazed into his handsome blue eyes. “When the wind is right, I will hear the sounds of the mill, and I will picture you there, not so far away. I will pretend…that you will be home for supper. Every night…I will set a place for you at the table, and the children and I…will talk about their padre. I will not let them forget you, my beloved.”

  “All aboard!” the stagecoach driver shouted. The baggage man had already thrown Will’s and Gerald’s bags up top, and another man was securing the straps that would hold them. “We make a fast run, folks, take pride in reachin’ St. Louis in less than a month. Time’s a wastin’. Let’s go!”

  Reluctantly Will pulled away from Santana’s clinging hands. Agatha had turned away, weeping bitterly, unable to watch the stagecoach leave. Gerald had already climbed inside. Will took a last look at his family, his handsome son, Glenn, whose lips were puckered from a sudden realization that this was supposed to be a sad moment. His mother was crying. Even his father was crying. What was this terrible thing that was happening?

  How proud Will was of his first-born child. And then there was Ruth, two and a half now, prettier every day. She stood beside her blue-eyed brother, looking up at her father with a bewildered look in her big brown eyes. Dominic held his namesake grandson, too young to realize the gravity of the situation. The boy smiled at his father, his dark eyes dancing as he waved to him.

  Will forced himself to turn away as the driver once again yelled that it was time to get on board. He climbed into the coach, his legs feeling like lead. He squeezed into a seat with two other men, facing Gerald, whose eyes showed his own agony. Will looked out the window at his beautiful wife, his children, his in-laws…back to his wife, thinking how he’d never dreamed when he came to California that he would find such a woman.

  The driver snapped the reins, and the coach lurched and clattered away. Will watched his family until he could no longer see them for distance and dust. Then he looked up into the surrounding hills, where the magnificent redwoods had stood for thousands of years, through innumerable changes in this beautiful land. Up there somewhere were his mills, his dream…his home. He would come back.

  September 1862…

  Santana thought what a lovely autumn this would be if only Will would come home unharmed, but it was possible that this new baby would be all she had left of him, this precious symbol of their night of passion before he left. How fitting that God had allowed Will’s seed of life to take hold and bring her their fourth child. Will would not be present for the birth, though. He did not even know he had left her with child.

  In her pain she wondered if he, too, might be in pain, perhaps wounded. She had not heard from him in so long, nor had Aggie heard from Gerald. She reminded herself that as Will had explained, they were always on the move, and it was not easy to get letters sent off. She had to believe that was the only reason she’d gone so long without one. The only letter she had received so far had told her Will had been given the rank of major and would be sent to battle sites in Virginia and Maryland, where the South continued advancing in an effort to invade and take over the United States capitol.

  Another contraction gripped her, and she gritted her teeth, trying not to push, since Dr. Enders had told her not to. It was not easy. The pains were deep, and her muscles seemed to be working on their own without her willing them. Oh, how she prayed this baby would be healthy! Always the pain was terrible, yet always she forgot it minutes after it was over, and she knew the baby was worth the agony. She had already decided that when she finally got another letter from Will and knew where to write him, she would not tell him about this baby. It would only worry and upset him that she’d had the child alone. She didn’t want him handling any more distractions than necessary. In war, distractions and daydreaming could cost a man his life.

  The pain subsided again, and she relaxed against the pillow as Louisa bathed her face with a cool cloth. Throughout her pregnancy, Santana had tried to stay happy and excited about a fourth child, but all she could think about were the reports that had been filtering back to California about how the war was going. The stories they were hearing were horrifying, the casualties horrendously high. Had Will been at the battle at a place called Bull Run in Virginia? Hernando had made it a point to go to San Francisco every ten days to pick up newspapers so they could read about what was happening, and she knew that Union forces had been defeated there. So far it seemed the South was winning more battles than the North.

  Will was involved with artillery troops under the command of a General George McClellan, and according to two letters Agatha had received, Gerald was a captain, assigned to a cavalry regiment under a Colonel Burnside. That was all either she or Agatha knew. Aggie, too, was consumed with worry. She seemed to have fallen into a deep depression, hardly leaving the house since Gerald had left. If Santana wanted to see her, she had to go there, and she went often, concerned for Agatha’s state of mind. She was thankful the birth of this child was getting the woman out of her house for the first time in weeks. Aggie was with her now, and preoccupation with helping with the birth had revitalized the woman somewhat.

  “Just let it come now,” Enders told Santana, as another pain consumed her. “You can push this time.”

  She breathed again in deep pants, grasping Agatha’s hand. “This is going to be a…good one,” she said between breaths. “A healthy son for Will…I just know it.”

  Agatha smiled, but there was a terrible sadness in her eyes. “I hope so, Santana.”

  Santana felt herself falling into the deep concentration of delivery, sinking into a world far removed from those around her. For the next several minutes she was hardly aware of anything but the pain and the fact that her baby was making its way into the world. Somewhere in the background she could hear the housemaid, Ester, scolding little Dominic, telling him he could not go into the room. Her new Chinese servant, Won Lee, added to the chastisement in her own tongue.

  Another contraction forced her to push, screaming with the pain of it. She tried to think of things that would help…of Will coming home healthy, holding her, the feel of his strong arms around her bringing her joy and comfort and the wonderful feeling that everything was all right. The u
rge to push swept through her again, and suddenly there came the final release. The pain subsided to mild cramps. She heard people fussing about, heard a smack and a cry.

  “You were right, Santana,” she heard Agatha say. “You have a fine son. I’ll clean him up for you.”

  A son. Juan Santos. She had already picked out the name, the name of her maternal grandfather. Will did not mind giving his children Spanish names, and so far they all looked Spanish, except for Glenn’s blue eyes. Will had become Spanish at heart, although the war had reawakened his gringo pride and had taken him back to that other world. Surely he would not forget this world, would he? He would come home to California.

  She groaned and pushed as Enders massaged her stomach to help rid her of the afterbirth. She could hear little Juan crying, and came more awake as Louisa and the doctor cleaned her up.

  “Will will be surprised and happy when he finds out about this,” Enders told her as he washed his hands at the washstand near the bed.

  “Thank you, Dr. Enders. You have been a help to my family for many years. You are wasting your talents here. You should go to the city and set up a practice.”

  Enders’s smile faded. “I lost the desire for that many years ago, Santana.” He picked up a towel to dry his hands. “This is as far as I go. Besides, I love my whiskey. Nobody wants a drunken physician taking care of them.” He smiled fleetingly. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to have a drink right now. You’re fine and so is the baby.”

  Santana smiled. “You’ve done a wonderful job delivering my babies. Did your wife have any children?”

  He looked away. “No. She died while giving birth, and the child died with her.” He picked up his bag. “Well, I guess with Will gone, we won’t be doing this again for quite some time.”

  Santana could see he did not want to talk about his wife. Actually, she had never heard him talk about her. This was the first she knew of the woman dying in childbirth. She was sorry she had even asked about children. Pushing aside the fear that she, too, could die in childbirth, she thought about Enders’s last remark. She felt a quick pain in her chest at the realization he was right. Until Will returned, she would not be making love. There would be no more babies.

  “Si,” she replied. “But when he comes back…”

  Enders grinned. “When he comes back, ten to one we’ll be doing this again nine months later.” He put on his hat and gave her a nod. “Congratulations, Santana. Your father and brother are outside. I’ll go tell them the good news.”

  The doctor left, and Agatha came over with Santana’s new son, placing the bundled baby in her arms. “I’ll let the children come in and see their new baby brother, and mine would like to meet their new cousin.”

  Santana studied the boy, as dark as the rest of her children. She kissed his velvety-soft cheek. “He is healthy? All his parts are there?”

  “He is very healthy.”

  Santana looked up at Agatha and saw the deep agony in her eyes in spite of her smile. “I hope you’re better, Aggie. You must get out more. Perhaps we could arrange a trip to San Francisco, take the children. We could stay at the house there for a few days. It would be a nice change. Would you like to do that?”

  Agatha’s eyes teared. “Yes, that might be nice…except…what if they come home while we’re gone?”

  Santana sighed. “We cannot sit here going crazy. If they come, they come. Besides, they would probably arrive in San Francisco first. Either way, I do not think it will be soon. From the news we are getting, the war will not end nearly as soon as Will and Gerald thought it might. We must be prepared for many more months apart, Aggie.”

  Agatha turned away, asking Louisa to leave the room for a moment. Louisa obeyed, and Agatha faced Santana again. If possible, the sorrow in her eyes had deepened. “You’re so strong, Santana. This baby has made you even stronger. I wish…Part of the reason this has been so hard on me isn’t just that I miss home and family and feel out of place here. Gerald’s leaving…” Her voice choked, and she wrapped her arms across her breasts, blinking back tears. “It’s been harder on me than I ever imagined and it’s because I…because I refused him that last week after he said he would go. Even the night before we left to go to San Francisco…I wouldn’t let him touch me. If he doesn’t come back…I’ll never forgive myself for that.” She broke into sobs, covering her face with her hands.

  Santana felt her own tears of pity rising. Thank God she had overcome her own stubborn pride that last night and had gone to Will. Now she had another beautiful son, a symbol of their final night together that she would have forever.

  “I am sorry, Aggie. But I am sure Gerald understood and that he loves you very much and thinks of you every minute of every day. He will come home, and you can make it up to him then. It will be all right. God will protect them. You must have faith.”

  Agatha sniffled, taking a handkerchief from a pocket in her skirt. “I try. I pray day and night for him, begging God to forgive me for shunning him at a time when he needed me so. I wrote him a letter, telling him how much I love him and how sorry I am. I can only hope that he received it.” She wiped at her eyes and blew her nose.

  “I worry, too, wondering if Will ever receives my letters.” Santana reached out to take Agatha’s hand. “Do not blame yourself, Agatha. God understands, and I am sure Gerald also understands. Come to San Francisco with me. We will take the children to the parks, and you and I will go shopping, perhaps go to the theater and the opera house. It will be good to get away from here. We will go as soon as I am strong enough. Promise me you will do it.”

  Agatha smiled through her tears and nodded. “All right. I’ll go.”

  “Good.” Santana managed a smile too. She felt the same awful fears that Agatha did, but with Agatha’s delicate mental state, she dared not show a loss of faith, dared not talk about her own fears and her aching need to see Will again. That made the waiting all the harder, for not being able to share her concerns with Agatha fully made her feel that much more alone. This trip was not just for Agatha, but for herself. She needed to get away, had been waiting only because she was carrying a baby and did not want to do anything to jeopardize her pregnancy. Now the baby had arrived, and within a month she would be strong enough to make the trip.

  Yes, they would go to San Francisco. It would be good for all of them, take their minds off the terrible things they had been picturing about Will and Gerald. It would help pass a few extra days, and that was the only way to survive this…one day at a time.

  Eighteen

  Will could not help thinking how Santana had been right about this war in many ways. It seemed ridiculous that men should fight each other this way. Many of them were there just for the battle, not even sure of the reason. He hadn’t lost his own conviction that this was important, but he had seen such ineptness on both sides, such huge numbers of lives lost, such agony at the medical tents, that he wondered if this all shouldn’t stop. Why couldn’t the leaders of both sides just get together and settle this, avoid all this bloodshed?

  He was in it now, in charge of Battery E of the Pennsylvania Light Artillery. He had made a commitment, and he was a man of his word. With each battle he hoped the war would be ended, but each time that hope was dashed. The Rebels were fierce, stubborn fighters, and ending this war quickly had not been the easy task the Federals had thought it would be. Troops on both sides were made up mostly of inexperienced volunteers, which led to grave mistakes and innumerable deaths. In many cases, sheer stubbornness had given the Confederates a victory over the Federals, many of whom had not taken this war seriously in the beginning, while the South considered it very serious.

  Another battle was about to be joined, and Will stood waiting for orders to begin firing his cannon. It was only six A.M. and over eighty thousand Federals already stood on the eastern side of Antietam Creek near a place called Sharpsburg, Maryland, ready to surge against Confederate troops led by General Robert E. Lee. The Confederates numbered only about t
wenty thousand, but Will still wondered if this battle would be won. As far as he was concerned, there was no reason to be here, no reason that Lee had managed to push forward into Maryland. General McClellan had had the chance to take Richmond, victorious over General Lee in four of five attacks. Yet throughout the week-long fighting, McClellan had continually ordered his troops to withdraw. Whether he was afraid to go in and actually take the city, perhaps thinking many more Confederates than anticipated lay waiting there, Will would never know. The fact remained that they could and should have taken Richmond, and that might have ended this war.

  Now here they were poised for another bloody melee. If he’d been fighting under anyone but McClellan, he would feel more confident; but he worried that even if they were victorious, McClellan would again withdraw. They had already waited too long, as far as Will was concerned. McClellan, fearful again that there were many more Rebels poised in Sharpsburg than estimated, had taken nearly two days to draw up his plan of attack, thereby losing the element of surprise and giving the Confederates time to do their own planning and to bring in more troops. If anything was going to draw this war into years rather than months, Will thought, it was hesitancy on the part of men like McClellan. Will looked at it in the same way as he would fighting one man. No hesitation in flinging the hatchet. Just get the job done.

  He would like to do that now. End this war and go home…home to California and its gracious lifestyle, its beautiful mountains and lush valleys. Home to the giant redwoods, to his mills, San Francisco. Home to his lovely house on the hill overlooking the valley where La Estancia de Alcala lay in serenity. Home to his precious sons and daughter, and to Santana. His babies and his wife were all that kept him going, all that kept him determined to stay alive and see this through. He had been gone nine months, and it seemed like ten years. He had lost track of Gerald, and he could only pray his brother was all right.