The Forever Tree

by Rosanne Bittner

  The service ended, and Santana, her brother, and the others made the sign of the cross, taking one last moment for a final farewell. Santana then hustled the children into a covered carriage that would take them back to the main house, where Hernando and Teresa now lived. She could bear going there as long as she stayed away from her old bedroom. The room had been completely redecorated, with frills and a canopy bed. It belonged to Hernando’s oldest daughter, seventeen-year-old Rosa Maria. She was a beautiful young woman, and she reminded Santana of the enthusiasm and love for life she’d had at that age.

  The carriage bounced over the pathway that led from the graveyard to the house. Thirty-three. She was thirty-three years old now. Will was forty-two. Maybe it was too late for both of them, after all. Still, Will was as virile and strong and solid as when she’d first met him, even more handsome with a touch of gray at the temples, set against a deeply tanned face, lines of wisdom around his blue eyes. She had managed to stay trim, but there was a little gray in her own hair, and her face was not perfect and free of age lines, as it had been at sixteen.

  She noticed Noel Gray’s horse tied in front of the house and wondered what he was doing there, but there was no time to give it much thought. She hurried the children into the house out of the rain. Teresa had planned to serve food and drink to all the ranch help who had attended the funeral, and the huge dining table was covered with an assortment of edibles. As the children stared hungrily at all the food, Santana took their shawls and cloaks.

  “You must behave,” she reminded them, wishing Glenn were there. She had grown accustomed to her oldest son helping her with the rest of the children, but Will thought it was time for Glenn to learn logging. It worried her, having her son in that kind of danger, but she knew Will would watch out for him, and she knew how important it was to him to have his sons come into the business. She missed Glenn, who had grown into a dashing young man. His blue eyes, set against the dark skin of his face, evoked a masculine sensuality that had all the girls talking. He was the perfect blending of her Spanish blood and Will’s American looks.

  Valioso grabbed her skirt. “Pick up, Mommy,” he said.

  “Not right now, Valioso. Mommy has to help Aunt Teresa serve the guests. You stay with Ruth. She will get you something to eat, and you must be very careful not to spill your food or lose it out of your mouth.” She paid no heed to the stares of some of the help as they came inside. She had grown accustomed to people staring at Valioso. Most of these men and women knew he was retarded and accepted it, yet still they could not help gawking. She knew they did not mean to be rude.

  “Senora Santana.” Santana turned to see Hilda, Hernando’s housekeeper, standing beside her. “Senor Gray is here to speak with you. He says it is very urgent. It is about your husband.”

  Santana gently pushed Valioso toward Ruth. “Where is he?”

  “He is in the study.”

  Santana frowned, her heart beginning to pound with dread. There were so many deaths and accidents at the mills, but she had grown accustomed to the dangers, and Will was seldom around the actual work anymore. Surely this had nothing to do with such a problem. Besides, Will knew how to watch out for himself. Perhaps it was something else. He had gone to Oregon by ship. Dear God! Had the ship sunk? But that would also involve Glenn. She would not want to go on living if something happened to her son. No! It couldn’t be that. Perhaps Will had simply sent a messenger to tell her he would be in Oregon longer than he thought. It had already been a month. He was supposed to come home soon.

  She put a hand to her stomach and took a deep breath before entering the study. The look in Noel’s eyes brought a knot of pain to her insides. “Noel! What is wrong?”

  The man rose from a chair to face her, tragedy in his eyes. “It’s Will. A messenger arrived at camp this morning. We have a ship waiting to take you to Oregon as soon as you can get to it. I’ll accompany you to camp and on down to the shore where you can board.”

  Santana’s eyes widened with horror. “What has happened? What about Glenn?”

  “Glenn is fine. Will saved his life, but apparently in doing so he might lose his own. There was an accident up at one of the new mills. They were trying out a new chute they’d built to get the logs down from high country. A log flew off and headed right for Will and Glenn. Will managed to push Glenn out of the way, but the log tumbled right into Will, broke a lot of bones. He’s in a hospital up in Eugene. Your son is with him, but all Will does is groan your name. If you want to see him before he…Well, I just hope he lives long enough that you can talk to him.” There were tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Santana.”

  Santana shivered, turning away in shock. Was this how her prayers would be answered, for her husband to die before she could make amends? Will! Not Will! Not her strong, handsome husband! God could not be doing this to her!

  “Go and get my brother, please. Send him in here. I have to make plans for the children, especially Valioso.”

  “Sure.”

  Noel left, and Santana sank into a chair. All the hurt she had caused the man she loved so dearly welled up in her soul and burst forth in deep sobs of regret. He had to live. She must be given the chance to make up for the lost years. Surely God would allow her that. “Will,” she sobbed. “Please do not die. I cannot live without you!”

  Twenty-Eight

  Santana clung to her hat with one hand and held on to a leather grip with the other as the coach that carried her from the coast to Eugene bounced and swayed over the rough dirt road. She looked at the man and woman in the seat across from her, who were also hanging on for their lives.

  “Don’t worry. It isn’t too much farther,” the man told her. “We’ve made this trip many times. The wife’s got relatives in San Francisco.”

  Santana nodded. She didn’t like making small talk. All she wanted was to get to Will, and she had prayed all the way there that he would not die before she could see him again. That he would not die at all. So many things to make up for. So much time lost.

  This was the only route people could take from the coast to Eugene, and the thought of Will being carted over this road in his injured condition gave her the shivers. At least, according to what the man who’d brought her to Oregon had told her, Will had already been about halfway inland when the accident happened. He didn’t have to ride as far as she was.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet since we boarded,” the woman said to her. “What is your name? What’s your reason for coming to Oregon? We’re Mr. and Mrs. Webster. My husband owns a feed supply in Eugene.”

  Santana answered only to be polite. “I am Dona Santana Chavez de Lassater. My husband is Will Lassater. He owns Lassater Mills. Perhaps you have heard of him.”

  Mrs. Webster’s eyebrows arched, and she quickly scanned Santana, as though she were surprised that someone like Will Lassater would marry a Spanish woman. Or perhaps the woman was simply impressed that Santana was married to someone of such wealth. Santana was in no mood to care what the woman was thinking.

  “Oh, yes!” Mrs. Webster said. “Your husband has opened several mills in Oregon. Are you here to meet him at one of them?”

  Santana glanced out the window, but saw nothing except thick forest. It was no wonder Will had wanted to start new mills here. He could log several varieties of trees that could not be found in California, and thus expand on the types of wood he sold, meeting all the different lumber needs worldwide. She felt the old excitement she’d once felt when Will used to talk about logging, remembering the day she and her father went to visit the mill to see how it all worked, remembering the screaming saw, remembering Will taking her off alone to tell her she shouldn’t marry Hugo…remembering a kiss.

  “No,” she finally answered. “He was badly hurt in an accident at one of the mills not far from Eugene. He is in a hospital there.” Oh, Will, please do not die! Please forgive me for everything!

  “I’m terribly sorry. We didn’t know,” Mr. Webster said. “I hope he’l
l be all right.”

  “Thank you,” Santana replied. She should never have let what Hugo had done destroy all those things she and Will used to share. What if she was too late? What if Will was already dead? How could she bear the guilt of making him so unhappy these last two years? Actually, it had been five. He had sensed the change in her soon after he had come home from the war, and he’d blamed it all on himself these last five years.

  Finally she could see signs of civilization. The trees were thinning, and she glimpsed buildings and homes in a valley below. “I see a river,” she said.

  “That’s the Willamette,” Mr. Webster told her. “Runs all the way down from the Columbia up at our northern border.”

  “I see.” It struck Santana how little she knew about places other than California. In spite of all of Will’s traveling, this was the first time in her thirty-three years that she had ever left her homeland. She’d been too wrapped up in the children to travel with Will to the new logging sites; and she had never cared to travel east to that mysterious United States from which her husband came. Will had been to so many places, coming to California first by ship, traveling back east in the war, moving through the southern states during the war, coming all the way back to California again. He’d been all up and down the coast, and she had remained on her father’s ranch, devoting all her time and attention to her children, never leaving the land that was in her blood.

  “We’re almost to the stage station,” Mr. Webster said as they entered Eugene. He pointed out various streets, told her where his feed store was, but she did not pay much attention. All she could think about was how she was going to tell the children if their father died. She had tried not to alarm them too deeply, but even Valioso had sensed something was terribly wrong. He’d lost his smile, something very rare for him, and he had clung to her as though terrified. It had not been easy to leave him. He had come to depend on her totally, almost never letting her out of his sight except when he slept. He knew that if his mother was going away, it was something very important, maybe something bad.

  She felt sorry for James, too. Up at the mill he had embraced her before she left, tears in his eyes. If Will died, it would be so very hard on James, after losing his own father. Will had become Gerald’s replacement, and James loved him just as much. He had told her to tell Will he would put off his marriage to Juanita Hidalgo until Will was well and able to come to the wedding. She prayed that day would come.

  The coach finally halted in front of the stage station, and Santana waited impatiently for the driver to hand down her carpetbag. She had not brought much, caring only about getting packed quickly so she could get there as fast as possible. She asked for directions to the hospital, then removed her shawl before heading up the street. Along the coast it had been cool and foggy, but it was almost July, and inland it was much warmer. Still, perhaps she just felt too warm because she was so nervous over what she would find. Poor Glenn. If his father died while he was up here alone with him, the boy would be devastated. Oh, please, God, let him still be alive! She half ran to the small white wooden building three blocks away. She hurried inside, stopping at a desk where a young woman in a plain black dress with a stiff white collar sat looking at some papers.

  “I am the wife of Will Lassater,” she said. “Please, is my husband still here? Is he still alive?”

  The woman looked up at her, sympathy in her eyes, and for a moment Santana felt as though someone had plunged a knife into her stomach. “I’m so sorry about what happened, Mrs. Lassater, and so glad you finally made it here. I think the thought of needing to see you again is all that kept him going at first, and it was long enough that it’s quite possible he will live. He seems to be starting to mend.”

  Santana dropped her carpetbag, feeling almost faint with relief. She closed her eyes and grabbed hold of the edge of the desk. She’d been so sure the woman was going to tell her Will had died. “Thank God,” she said, a sudden sob making her gasp. The woman hurried out from behind the desk and put an arm around her.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Lassater?”

  Santana nodded. “Yes. I just need a moment to compose myself before—”

  “Mother!” Glenn came out of one of the rooms. “I thought I heard your voice!” For the last two years her oldest son had seldom hugged her, saying he was getting too old for such things; but now he ran to her and embraced her. “I’m so glad you’re finally here. Dad’s been asking and asking for you.” The boy began to cry. “It was so terrible, Mother. I didn’t know…what to do except just stay with him. The log rolled over him…broke so many bones. One arm bone came right through the skin and he got a bad infection from it, but that’s better now.” He pulled away. “He’s been in so much pain I can hardly stand to watch, but I’ve stayed right with him.” He wiped at his tears. “He asks for you constantly.”

  Santana looked him over. So thin and tired he looked! “I am proud of how you have stayed by his side and looked after him.” She kissed his cheek. “Take me to him, Glenn. He will be all right now. I am sure of it.”

  “He saved my life. He pushed me out of the way.”

  Oh, how she loved Will Lassater! Of course he would do something like that. She suddenly felt free of all the horror she had lived with these past six years. None of it mattered now. All that mattered was that Will was still alive, and God was going to give them a chance to recapture all that they had lost. “Your father would give his life for any of his children,” she answered. She looked Glenn over again. “You were not hurt at all?”

  “Just my leg a little. The log glanced off it, but not enough to break anything. Just a bruise. Come on. Dad will be so happy to see you. The doctor isn’t here right now, but he’ll be back soon. He can tell you about his injuries.”

  Santana told herself to be strong as she followed her son into the room where Will lay. “I’ll leave you and Dad alone for a while,” Glenn said. He left the room and closed the door, and Santana forced back an urge to run when she finally saw Will—splints, casts, bandages everywhere, even a bandage around his head. “Will!” She hurried to his bedside and leaned close, gently taking hold of one hand. “Will, carino mio!”

  It had been a long time since Will had heard his wife address him that way. Was she really there? He opened his eyes to see Santana bending close. He studied her dark eyes, still so beautiful, and he could imagine that if she took her hair out of the tight bun she wore it in, let it fall loose and long, she would look hardly any different from the young Santana who had stolen his heart. What was that in her eyes? Something different. Something he had not seen in such a long, long time. Love. More than that. Passion, forgiveness. “Santana,” he muttered. “Don’t…leave…”

  “I am not leaving until you can leave with me, my love.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Oh, Will, you must live…for me…for the children. They want their father to come home, and I want my husband to come home, home to California and La Estancia de Alcala and the big redwoods and the Palominos, and…” She stopped when a sob caught in her throat, and she knelt beside the bed, resting her elbows on the edge of it. “Come home to me, Will. I love you so! I need you. I want you home. I am so sorry for all the heartache I have caused you. I was wrong, so wrong! Please believe me when I tell you that none of it was your fault. I never should have blamed you for going off to war. It was something in your heart that you had to do. Please get well and come home to us, Will.”

  Will continued to study her eyes. Yes, there was something different there. “I had to see you once more…tell you I’m sorry…I stayed away like I did…tell you I love you, Santana. You’re still my beautiful Santana…my wife…the only woman I want. I never turned to any other woman. I needed to tell you that before I—”

  “Do not talk of dying!” Santana felt the old fiesty stubbornness that had given her the courage years ago to defy her father’s and Hugo’s wishes and fall in love with her handsome gringo. It rose again in her soul, this time for a different reason
. She leaned closer, fire in her eyes. “You are not going to die, Will Lassater! You have six children who need their father. You have not finished teaching Glenn and James all that they need to know, and one day it will be Dominic and Juan who will need your guidance. You are an important man who is needed to run a logging empire. It is much too soon for you to die. You are only forty-two years old, and you are one of the strongest men among those who run your mills. Would any of them give up so easily? I think not! Would Gerald want you to give up?”

  She stood up, folding her arms and looking down at her husband with authority. “You are going to get well, and I am going to stay right here until you are healed enough that we can take you home. While you recover there, you will have time with the children. You have hardly seen them these last two years. They miss their father. Valioso asks about you all the time.” She could not help the tears that trickled down her cheeks, and her voice grew softer. “And your wife needs you…in every way. Te quiero mucho, mi esposo. I had decided before you were hurt that I want you back in every way, if you still want your wife in the way you once wanted her.”

  For the first time since the accident, Will felt a desire to hang on, not just long enough to see his wife again, but for good. He had no idea what had changed, or why. It didn’t matter. The woman he saw now was the Santana he had married, full of fire and pride…and desire.

  “If I had to go through all this…to get you back…then it was worth it,” he mumbled.

  Santana shook her head. “No, my beloved, you did not have to go through this. I had made up my mind when you first left for Oregon.” She knelt beside the bed again, grasping his hand. “I love you so, Will. All the way here…I was so afraid I would be too late. You must get well. You must come home.”

  Will managed enough strength to squeeze her hand lightly. “All these years I managed to keep from getting hurt. Now when all I’m doing is going around inspecting sites…this happens.” Tears formed in his own eyes. “Te quiero, Santana. Now that you’re here…I feel better. It’s going to take months…but I want to mend at home. As soon as the doctor says I can be moved…I want to go home…to La Estancia de Alcala. I miss the children. But most of all…I’ve missed you…the Santana I married.”