The Forever Tree

by Rosanne Bittner

  Will touched her face. “Santana, we’ve been so far apart all these months—”

  “Do not talk about it. It will not be that way anymore. Te quiero mucho, carino mio.” Yes, she loved him, more than ever. She had been prepared to hate this child, but the fact remained that she had carried him for nine months, and half of him belonged only to her. Her own body had given him life for nine months, and now Valioso would depend on her totally for support and love. She could not deny him those things because of his despicable father. Hugo would never know that this child was his. Everyone believed it was Will’s baby, and she would love it as Will’s.

  Weariness set in both her and Will, for all the emotional strain they had been through over the nine months since he’d come home. They lay with their arms wrapped around each other, the baby between them making no sound. He kicked his little feet and his tiny arms flailed, one fist grabbing his father’s shirt, the other a ruffle on his mother’s gown.

  Part Three

  Twenty-Five

  May 1869…

  Santana took hold of Will’s hand as she disembarked their elegant Victoria carriage. One of several servants hired by Governor Henry Haight for this grand occasion directed Will’s driver where to park the carriage, informing him that there was food and drink for the drivers in another area of the grounds, where they’d wait for the governor’s party to end.

  Santana breathed deeply against nervousness in attending this gala. All of San Francisco’s high society would be there. Will was among those who’d been invited to join Governor Haight at the new capitol building in Sacramento to celebrate the completion of both the building and the transcontinental railroad. Santana was pleased and proud that Will had been included among the guests, but for the past three years she had not done much socializing. She had concentrated on devoting her time and attention to little Valioso. He could even speak a few words now, something no one, not even Will, had believed he would ever do.

  The son she was so sure she would hate before he was born had turned out to be a great pleasure, loving and sweet, always smiling and wanting to please. He almost never cried, and the whole family doted on him, all the other children working hard at trying to teach him things. Realizing how her precious angel had brought the family close again after Will’s return made her love him all the more. She had even managed to push the memory of the boy’s conception into the deep recesses of her mind, and allowed Will his sexual needs. She had learned to feign desire to such an extent that she was convinced she was healed emotionally from her rape. A year and a half ago she’d given birth to another child, a daughter named Julia Louisa.

  Valioso’s special needs, combined with tending another baby and Will spending so much time rebuilding his business, had provided enough distractions that the opportunity for making love did not arise as often as in those first years. Will did not complain, and Santana was satisfied that she had kept her terrible secret. She was glad to have managed a normal family life in spite of it, and even worked around Valioso’s problems.

  Yes, she had done a very good job of overcoming her inner turmoil and horror all by herself. She had much to be proud of. Six children for Will Lassater! Yes, Valioso was Will’s son, just as much as if Will had fathered him. The two of them were close, and whenever Will was home Valioso was in his arms or on his lap. People knew better than to stare at or make fun of Will Lassater’s boy, or they would answer to Will.

  “Are you sure I look all right?” she asked her husband.

  Will had taken her arm and was leading her toward the white pillars of the new capitol building. At her question, he stopped and turned, studying her a moment. “Santana, you have never looked more beautiful, and I honestly mean that.”

  “And you have never looked more handsome, mi esposo.”

  Will had regained his powerful build, and his face was tanned, the lines of aging only making him more handsome in her eyes. Those lines had been put there by the war, and his brother’s death, and years of hard work and long hours in rebuilding Lassater Mills to one of the most successful and wealthy businesses in California. She had married well when she’d wed this gringo with the blue eyes that still stirred her soul. She loved him for the way he had accepted her decision to keep Valioso. He had never complained about the time she spent with the boy, and he spent many hours with him himself, teaching, loving, guiding.

  “I do not often see you this way,” she continued, “wearing a handsome black silk suit and top hat.” She put out her arm again. “I am honored to attend this party with the handsome, wealthy Will Lassater, esteemed guest of the governor.”

  Will grinned, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I am the honored one, coming here with a true Californio, my beautiful Spanish wife. The other wives will be jealous at how trim you still are after six children. And that dress…”

  He stopped and looked her over once more. She had had her ball gown specially made for the occasion. It was a soft peach color, Will’s favorite, and the off-the-shoulder bodice came just low enough to reveal an enticing bit of her full bosom. White ruffles of Spanish lace bordered the bodice, and the dress fit her waist tightly before flaring into a cascade of ruffles in an overskirt that was fashionably looped up at the sides, revealing a long underskirt with a train at the back. The lace-frilled sleeves were short and puffed, and she wore white-silk evening gloves and carried a white-lace fan. A diamond necklace, a gift from Will on her last birthday, graced her throat, and matching diamond earrings dangled from her lobes. She wore more diamonds on her wrist, and her hair was twisted into a pile of dark curls that were decorated with diamond-studded combs.

  “You’ll be the most beautiful woman here,” Will told her.

  “I am so nervous, Will. It has been a long time since I’ve done anything socially, and now to have it be such a grand occasion, an invitation from the governor himself…” Would Hugo be there? That was her biggest fear. She had spent these years forcing back the loathsome memories, almost convincing herself that the rape had never happened. She could live with all of it as long as she never had to see Hugo Bolivar again.

  “You’ll be fine,” Will said. “Relax and enjoy yourself, Santana. It will be good for you. You’ve buried yourself at home with Valioso and little Julia for three years now. You deserve some time away to enjoy yourself. We both do.”

  “Do you think Valioso will be all right away from us? Did you see how he looked when we left, as though he thought we were never coming back?”

  Will squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Santana, he has all his brothers and sisters around him, and you know Louisa loves him like her own. He’s home and safe and loved, and we’ll head right back tomorrow after a well-deserved night alone together. It’s been a long time since you and I were truly alone, away from that brood of kids.”

  He led her up the marble steps and to the entrance to the main area of the capitol building, which was being used that evening for the governor’s celebration ball. Lovely violin music filled the room, where many people already milled about with drinks in their hands, their voices and the music echoing against the marble floor and walls.

  A young man stopped them to ask for their invitation, then turned and called out their names as they entered.

  “Mr. William Lassater of Lassater Mills, and his wife, Senora Santana Maria Chavez de Lassater.”

  Santana felt heat rush to her cheeks as everyone turned to watch them enter. For some reason the ugliness of what Hugo had done hit her hard as these people stared at her. Did they know? Was it written on her face? No! No, she must stop thinking such things. Of course they didn’t know. She was simply the daughter of the wealthy Dominic Chavez Alcala, wife of the successful lumber baron, William Lassater. She had buried the past, and no one would ever know.

  They moved through a line of greeters that included Governor Haight and his wife. Servants milled about with trays of tiny sandwiches and glasses of champagne. Prominent citizens of both San Francisco and Sacramento received
Will and Santana warmly, but all the while Santana struggled with a growing panic, feelings she could not explain to Will or share with anyone.

  It was easy when she was home, far removed from the public eye. At home she was surrounded by her loving, innocent children, her devoted husband, her loyal servants who were also her friends. At home she could withdraw from reality and pretend the rape had never happened. Here, though, with everyone staring…Why did she feel they all knew her secret? She fought an urge to run, and for Will’s sake alone she smiled and pretended to be calm.

  “Will!” A distinguished gray-haired man wearing a gray silk suit came up and shook Will’s hand. “We did it, didn’t we? A damn good investment, the railroad. You’ll see that investment pay off royally from here on.”

  Will shook the man’s hand and turned to Santana. “Dear, this is Harold Maddigan, a partner in Maddigan Investments in San Francisco. This is the man who encouraged me to throw in on the Central Pacific. Harold, this is my wife, Santana.”

  Maddigan took hold of Santana’s hand and squeezed lightly, his brown eyes showing obvious pleasure at the sight of her. “I am very happy to finally meet you, Senora Lassater,” he said, smiling. He glanced at Will. “I’ve always heard you had a beautiful wife, Will, and now I see everyone was telling me the truth. Why have you been hiding her away?”

  Will slipped an arm around Santana’s waist. “Oh, I haven’t been hiding her. I’ve just been busy since the war rebuilding the mills, and Santana has been busy tending to six children. The youngest is only a year and a half.”

  “Six!” Maddigan’s gaze moved over Santana once more. “Who would ever know!” He gave Will a nudge. “You’re a lucky man, Will Lassater. A successful business and a beautiful wife.” He spotted another guest he needed to talk to and excused himself. Will finished his champagne and turned to set the glass on a table.

  “He’s right, you know,” he said to Santana. “I am a lucky man.” He looked around the roomful of dignitaries and their wives. “And it’s just like I said. You’re the most beautiful woman here.” He leaned closer. “And probably the youngest.”

  Santana’s tension eased as Will led her around, introducing her to other businessmen, who in turn introduced her to their wives. Most were friendly, but some were cool to her, and she knew it was because of her Spanish heritage. It irritated her that it had come to the point when it was her own people who felt like foreigners in California. The Americans behaved as though it had always belonged to them, and as she met the guests, her deep Spanish pride began to emerge. She felt more and more confident, not just as the wife of Will Lassater, but as an original Californio. It was men like her father to whom these people owed their success.

  Talk turned to the railroad and the prosperity it would bring to California, especially to those who had invested in the Central Pacific line. There was great concern, however, over the fact that so many Chinese had been imported to the state to help build the railroad. Now that it was finished, what was to be done with them? Some business owners claimed they would get even richer off the Chinese laborers, because they could hire them for much lower wages than American workers demanded. The trouble was, that would leave many American citizens unemployed.

  Santana enjoyed listening to the men talk, but Wilma Maddigan, a plump, silver-haired woman whose dress looked painfully tight around her waist, came over and took her arm, insisting Santana join her and several other women at a table where tea and coffee were being served.

  Santana left her husband’s side reluctantly, deciding she must put on a good appearance for him. She noticed that all of the women at the table were American, and a few looked at her as though she didn’t belong there. She held herself proudly as Mrs. Maddigan introduced her to all the women, this one the wife of a banker, another the wife of the biggest merchant in San Francisco; here the wife of the owner of several mining investments, there the wife of another banker; the wife of a druggist, a doctor’s wife. All were the wives of men who had come to California to get rich.

  The women did not seem concerned with business or the problems San Francisco might have with the Chinese. Their conversation consisted of gossip, discussions about social functions, clothes, jewelry, the opera, and children.

  “Is it true you have six children?” Mrs. Maddigan asked Santana.

  “Yes,” she answered with obvious pride. “My oldest son is twelve now, and my baby daughter is a year and a half. I have another daughter who is nine, and three other sons. Dominic is eight, Juan is six, and our Valioso is three.”

  “Valioso?” Rebecca Andrews, the druggist’s wife, sipped some tea. “Is that the retarded boy?”

  The question struck hard, asked so pointedly and rudely. The other women seemed embarrassed, and Wilma Maddigan chided Mrs. Andrews. “Rebecca! You don’t know that the rumor is even true about the Lassater boy, and even if it is—”

  “It is all right, Mrs. Maddigan,” Santana interrupted. The remark about her son had quickly erased her apprehension and uneasiness about joining these women. The insulting way Rebecca Andrews had asked about Valioso stirred all her feelings of motherly protection, to the point that it did not matter what anyone thought of her. It only mattered what they thought about her little boy. She turned her gaze from Rebecca to the other women.

  “Valioso is simply a slow learner, but he can learn. We have taught him many things. He is a very loving little boy who tries hard to please his mother and father. We love him very much, and he takes special attention. That is why I have not been coming to San Francisco or here to Sacramento when Will makes his business trips. I have a special son who needs extra teaching and guidance, and when he was born I decided I would devote all of my spare time to him.”

  “Well, I—I didn’t mean…”

  “I know exactly what you meant, Mrs. Andrews,” Santana told the woman, who had reddened with embarrassment. “You meant to imply that it is a terrible thing to have a retarded child, that we should have put him in an institution. I knew the moment my husband laid the boy in my arms that I could never do such a thing. He is my son, and he needs his mother and father much more than the average child. I have never regretted for one moment keeping him home with us. He has taught all of us about the true meaning of love and patience.”

  She looked pointedly at Rebecca Andrews, a woman of perhaps thirty-five. “You do not look much older than I. Do you have children?”

  Mrs. Andrews raised her own chin proudly. “Yes. I have two daughters.”

  Santana nodded. “I would suggest, then, that it is easy to think a child like my Valioso should be put away, but unless that child is your own, a baby you nourished for nine months and who turns to his mother for protection and love after he is born, you do not know for certain what you would do in the same situation.”

  “Well, I suppose not,” Mrs. Andrews answered. “I’m sorry if I upset you, Senora Lassater.”

  Santana realized she had probably overreacted to the woman’s remark. She had grown to love Valioso so much more than she ever thought she could, and she felt a great responsibility to protect him from the outside world, from ridicule and scorn. Perhaps it was because she knew how evil his real father was that she wanted to shield him so thoroughly. And perhaps it was her fear that people would find out the truth that made her constantly feel she had to prove to herself and others how much she loved the boy. She told herself not to be so quick to defend in the future. These women were simply curious, as anyone would be. And as the wife of the man who ran the biggest logging business in California, she must be gracious and fit in with these women. She nodded to Rebecca Andrews. “I accept your apology, and please accept mine for perhaps being too short with you. A mother is always quick to defend her young.”

  The other women smiled and seemed to relax. Conversation turned to talk of all their children, their names, ages. As several couples began to dance to a lovely waltz tune, Santana noticed Will was talking to the governor. She watched proudly. He had kept eve
ry promise he had ever made to her, had worked hard to revitalize his business after returning from the war. He was building a new home for their family on another hillside, a huge two-story stucco mansion with many bedrooms for many children; and already he was talking of building a bigger home in San Francisco too. Smiling, she excused herself from the women and started toward Will. She stopped when another couple was announced.

  “Don Hugo Eduardo Martinez Bolivar.” The caller’s voice seemed to echo too loudly against the marble floor and walls. “And his wife, Carmelita Rosanna Calderone de Bolivar.”

  Santana felt the blood draining from her face. Not once since that awful day had she seen Hugo again, and as long as she did not have to look at him, she felt she could live with the secret. Now here he was, one of the governor’s guests. All the hatred and bitterness returned to her soul as she watched him enter, the same pompous look on his face as always. He moved through the line of greeters, and Santana told herself to be strong. She must not give a hint in front of Will just how much Hugo’s presence upset her. Nor would she let Hugo see a look of horror and defeat on her face. Yes, he would love that, wouldn’t he?

  There! Already he had spotted her. His dark gaze lingered on her, and she met the look defiantly. She would remind him with her own eyes that she could ruin him just as easily as he could ruin her. If Will were ever to learn the truth, Hugo was a dead man. She watched Will greet Hugo with a cool nod, and she knew he was being congenial only for the governor’s sake. He would not want to cause a stir at this special event. Hugo held out his hand, but Will did not take it. Hugo glanced at Santana again, and she looked right back at him, determined he would know he had not broken her or her marriage.

  Other men greeted Hugo with smiles and handshakes. Oh, if only she could tell everyone in this room the truth. But she had to carry this load alone, and seeing Hugo again reawakened old resentments against Will for going away and not being there when she had needed him most.