Owen Family Saga Box Set: Books 1-3

by Ward, Marsha

  ~~~

  They stayed the night, and the next day too, as the blizzard roared on for nearly twenty-four hours. Don Pedro had made sure everyone was comfortable in snug rooms of both the house and a guesthouse. The animals were housed in tight adobe barns and suffered no ill effects of the cold. The dog, after making the acquaintance of Don Pedro’s dog pack, spent most of its time lying in front of the warm hearth.

  When the storm blew itself out, James ventured from the house to look around. Where was the road? All signs of the trail they had traveled yesterday lay under deep snow. He went back into the house, stamping his boots on the tile floor.

  Don Pedro met him in the great room and took him into his office, where a desk with a pile of ledgers stacked on a leather blotter sat comfortably close to a potbelly stove. He ushered James to an armchair in front of the desk and went to a sideboard where stood a decanter of brandy and several glasses, one with an inch of liquid already in the bottom. “Such a storm we had, no? You will stay again this night.” He offered James a drink.

  Declining the liquor, James said, “We don’t want to put you out, sir.”

  Don Pedro picked up his glass and took it to the desk, where he sat in a swivel chair. “¡Ay, señor! We enjoy our guests. You are no trouble. None whatsoever.” He smiled and twitched his moustache. “You can help me improve my English.”

  James laughed at that. “I’m no great shakes as a scholar, sir.”

  Don Pedro chuckled. “You learned English at the knee of your mamá, joven. It makes a difference.”

  James nodded at that thought. “I reckon it does, at that. My ma tried her best to raise us up as good, Christian citizens, with a lot of country wisdom mixed into the ABC’s.”

  “I think, mi jovencito, that your mamá is a very great lady.” He lifted his glass. “Cheers, my friend James. That is what they say, no?”

  “No. I mean yes. In polite company, that is.”

  Don Pedro sipped his drink and smiled again. “My language is somewhat confusing, no? When I say no at the end of a sentence, I ask you to agree with me.”

  James smiled. “Confusing, yes, but awful purty. Sometimes, when Amparo got goin’ speaking your tongue, the sound was musical, like bells tinkling.” He rubbed his chin. “I miss her. I miss her a lot, sir.”

  “I can see that, joven. If it helps to know it, when you lose a loved one, as the years go by, the pain is less. You begin to remember only the good times, to cherish the sweet memories.” He stopped and gazed into his tumbler. “My youngest son died many years ago.”

  “I didn’t know that, sir. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “He was a good son, very obedient, very kind. Since that time, I have tried to live a worthy life to enable him to enter heaven.” Don Pedro moved his hand through the air. “That is what the priest counseled me to do, along with giving liberally to the church, of course. Surely my sacrifices have made that difference to my son.”

  James held silence, wondering if Don Pedro’s religious penance bore any relationship to the circumstances leading to his own marriage.

  Don Pedro smiled. “My memories of my son are now sweet, as I said, joven, but it has been many years. I wish that you may find peace sooner than that.”

  “Thank you, sir. I have a question for you. Is it a common practice in your religion to pledge to do something to get your loved ones to heaven?”

  “It is. Why do you ask?”

  “I reckon that’s what my wife took on her. Her pa was recently dead, and when we met in Colorado, she was mighty insistent that she had to marry someone, anyone. The blacksmith said she’d made a vow. Do you reckon she was worried about gettin’ her pa to heaven?”

  Don Pedro pursed his lips. After a long moment he spoke. “You have made clear some of those words you had me translate at La Fonda, joven. You married the young lady to fulfill her vow?”

  “That seems to be the case, sir.”

  “So, you made a convenient marriage.”

  James tucked his chin into his chest, then looked up at Don Pedro and squared his shoulders. “I reckon. At first.”

  “You grew to cherish your wife?”

  “That’s so.”

  “Were her last days happy ones?”

  “I—I reckon so, sir. They were for me.”

  “Bien. Muy bien. That is good. I renew my wish that you may find peace and comfort as time passes.” Don Pedro stirred in his seat. “Will you remain alone? It is not good for a man to be alone.”

  “I’m thinking on that problem, sir. Turning so soon to someone new seems like bein’ unfaithful to all Amparo meant to me.”

  “You must take your time to grieve, joven, but not too long. Find a good woman to marry.”

  “I’m workin’ along those lines.”

  “There is someone in your company? The bold señorita, perhaps?”

  “She’s spoken for.”

  “Ah! But is she married? May not a woman dance with anyone she chooses until she is at last wed?”

  James felt his body tighten at the thought of Jessie’s marrying Ned. “Perhaps, sir. I’d purely hate to see her end up with the man who claims her hand.”

  “You know her well?”

  A memory of Jessie’s sweet lips under his swept over James. “She’s a friend from long ago,” he said, knowing he was blushing. He hoped his beard hid his reddened face.

  “Ah.” Don Pedro let his breath out in a long sigh. “More than a friend, I believe. Or so your face tells me.”

  James leaned over to hide it, clasping his hands between his knees.

  “You have good words, my young friend. Use them. Convince her you are the better man.”

  James looked up. “I reckon I need to try.” He rolled a shoulder. “My feelings are tied in knots, sir.”

  Don Pedro nodded, and suddenly he chuckled. “They will be forever, joven. Remember, women are incomprehensible. We cannot know their minds. We can only strive to bring them happiness.”

  James quirked his eyebrow. “Is that meant to cheer me, sir?”

  Don Pedro laughed, picked up his glass, and drained it. “At the root of all, your heart is happy, my friend. You should not stay in misery.” He got to his feet and James joined him. “I have enjoyed our conversation, but I must get back to work. Please, tell the others of my invitation to stay another night. If you cannot tell which way to travel, you must remain here a little while longer, yes?” Don Pedro’s eyes twinkled. “We also say yes at the end.”

  James chuckled. “I’ll tell them of your offer. Thank you, sir. Your heart is very large.”

  Chapter 37

  The weather warmed during the night, and the travelers left the following morning, after expressing their gratitude to Don Pedro for his kind hospitality. The wagons jolted along the snow-covered path that led to the main trail. With the snow melting, fence posts marked the way to the main gate. Don Pedro had sent a rider ahead to greet them when they reached the portal, and he guided them along the track toward the road and saw them on their way.

  The party spent two days pushing through windswept plains and snow-clogged passes. On the third day, James rode ahead of the wagons, checking the trail for any remaining drifts. He turned in his saddle to look at the wagons trundling along a half-mile behind him. The snow had held off, and they were making good time along the road. Glorieta Pass was ahead of them. Soon enough, they would be in Santa Fe.

  As he settled straight in the saddle once more, James clucked to the sorrel horse, and it sprang forward at his urging. He wanted to see what was along the road. If he found water, their night camp would be much more pleasant. His thoughts drifted over his many camps, both in the South and here in the West. The night camp before the fight at the courthouse, waiting for the Yankees to come up to battle. The camp on the prairie where he watched his fiancée Ellen leave the fire with his brother Carl. The camp at Fort Union with Amparo in his arms and joy in his heart. His cheeks reddened at the memory of their lovemaking, sweet and t
ender. Oh God! he groaned to the heavens. How can she be gone? How can I bear being in Santa Fe without her?

  He closed his eyes, letting the feeling of desolation sweep over him. When it had reached his toes, he lifted his head and squared his shoulders. God had a promise of joy for him. Someday…someday Amparo would be his again, for all time! As his heart lifted, he stood in his stirrups and gave a shout of exultation, punching the sky with his fist.

  The sorrel shied, and James sat in the saddle again, chuckling at his exuberance. Ain’t I the silly one! Robert is goin’ to come see what I’m yellin’ about, for sure. He patted the animal’s neck. “Sorry, boy. I didn’t aim to startle you.”

  Several miles on, James found an inviting location for their night camp. Water flowed from a crack in the side of a wall of rock, creating a pool that invited travelers to stop and refresh themselves. A stand of oak trees offered shelter and wood. If he remembered correctly, Santa Fe was but ten miles or so along the trail, and they would be able to reach it tomorrow.

  When he rode back among the wagons to let Robert know he’d found a campsite, James noticed Jessie walking along the trail, heedless of the mud, braid-crowned head bent down, a serious expression on her face. She carried a book and glanced at it from time to time. Her arm dropped to her side, and she bit her lip in concentration. Ned Heizer was nowhere in sight.

  He remembered Don Pedro’s advice, and his stomach flipped over. A short time ago he’d been thinking of Amparo. In a few minutes he’d have to turn his whole attention to Jessie while Ned was elsewhere. He gulped and went to find Robert.

  When James had finished giving his report, he rode up beside Jessie. Dismounting, he walked beside her for a few paces, holding the sorrel’s headstall in his right hand so the fractious horse was a good distance from the girl.

  “Something worryin’ you?” he asked.

  She jumped and said, “Ah!” and he realized that she had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn’t known he was present.

  “I didn’t mean to alarm you,” he said, putting out his hand to steady her. His fingers shook as he touched her back.

  “James,” she said. They no longer walked. He no longer touched her.

  “Were you woolgathering?”

  She looked at her feet. “Hannah loaned me the book Miss Becky gave her. I been reading in it about a young man named Nephi.” She stopped talking, lifted her head, and looked sideways toward James.

  He said, “Robert told me about him. He was a prophet.”

  “Robert told Hannah about your prophet, Brother Joseph, and the new one, Brother Brigham.” She looked at her feet again. “She told me about them. I reckon it’s a good thing to have a prophet.”

  “Are you studying on the Mormon religion, Jessie?” James’s chest felt tight with anticipation.

  She looked him square in the face. “Maybe.”

  “Is Ned going to permit that?”

  Jessie’s eyes went wide. “Ned’s not my keeper! I can decide for myself what religion I’ll follow.”

  James felt like dancing a little jig at her gumption, but restrained himself. Instead, he dropped his chin and looked at his boots. He thought maybe a smile was in order, to go with the “good words” he’d selected to say, and when he lifted his head, his lips curved upward.

  “I’d show respect for your choices, if I was your man.”

  Jessie inhaled sharply.

  He knew he’d surprised her. He could only hope she wasn’t put off by his daring words. She began to walk again, and he strolled along beside her, matching his stride to her shorter one.

  She stopped abruptly, and he turned to face her.

  “You know I told Ned—”

  “I know,” he said, cutting her off. “You haven’t married him. Not yet.” He let the bald fact hang in the air, and watched as she digested it.

  Jessie lifted her chin.

  James suppressed a groan. She intended to be contrary.

  “You have other concerns on your mind,” she said. “You love your wife.”

  “I do,” he agreed, and instantly knew he’d stepped in a deep hole. Hush! That was the wrong thing to say.

  Jessie’s face went pale. She turned away and raised the book in front of her eyes. After a moment, she said in a voice as cold as the wind, “Good day, James,” and walked away.

  James almost felt icicles forming on his eyebrows. He mounted his horse and took his post at the front of the wagons again.

  ~~~

  Ned rode up from the rear as soon as he noticed James Owen talking to Jessie. Before he reached the two, Jessie walked away, her face in a book, and Owen got on the sorrel and left. Much as he’d like to pound Owen’s face into the mud, Ned felt relief at not having to confront him. The day’s weather was ideal for traveling, cold and crisp, the only detriment being the muddy condition of the road. The sooner they got to Albuquerque, the sooner he and Jessie would be wed, and Owen would be out of the picture.

  The thought of marrying Jessie made Ned grin, and with that expression on his face, he caught up to her.

  “Afternoon, Jessie,” he said. “Was Mr. Owen bothering you?”

  She lowered her book and shrugged. “No. Not so much a body should take notice.”

  Her words, though spoken in a mild tone of voice, seemed like a reproof, and Ned felt his grin stiffen.

  “Just you call out for me if he vexes you again,” Ned said. “I don’t want him hassling you.”

  Jessie looked at him. “He wasn’t hassling me, Ned. Only conversing a bit.”

  “Well, don’t let him become a problem.” He rode along beside her as she put the book in front of her face again. “What’s that you’re reading?”

  “A book Hannah lent me.”

  A guarded note in her voice made him crane his neck in an attempt to see the title.

  “When did Hannah come by a new book? It’s not from those Mormons, is it?”

  Jessie closed the book and put it in her pocket. “What if it is?” She walked forward, not looking at him.

  “You want to be cautious of those Mormons, honeybunch. They’ve got some strange ways.”

  “What are you sayin’, Ned? They seemed like normal folk.”

  “Well, for one thing, I count baptizing a body entirely down in the water on a mighty cold day powerful strange.”

  “Hannah wanted that, washing away her sins.”

  “I’m glad you have more sense.”

  “Don’t make light of Hannah.”

  She spoke sharply, and Ned drew back, regretting his choice of words.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to slight your sister. I misspoke.”

  They moved on in silence for a time. Finally Ned said, “Jessie, honeybunch, we’re drawing nigh to Santa Fe. Don’t you think we could get married there?”

  The furious face she turned on him took him by surprise. Her words shook him no less.

  “I told you we’d wait until we got to the end of the trail, Ned. You agreed. Let’s not be hasty in changing things around.”

  “Albuquerque’s not that far distant, Jessie. You wouldn’t run much risk of, well, gettin’ in a family way and bein’ all discommoded.”

  Jessie’s face flushed. “Don’t linger here, Ned. I don’t want a disagreement between us.”

  He nodded, and turned his horse aside, flustered at her show of temper. Whatever was making her irritable? I’ll wager Maggie Julander is more tractable, he thought. She would heed my cautions about odd folk. Ned let his thoughts dwell on Maggie for a moment, then clapped his hand against his cheek. Maggie was already one of those “odd” folks. Maggie was a Mormon.

  He rubbed his jaw. The stubble of his beard felt like sandpaper on his flesh. Jessie had spoken the truth: the Mormons had seemed to be normal, not according to the tales he’d heard of them having horns and tails and the like. He’d seen no horns coming from Maggie’s head, no tail proceeding from her shapely— He stopped himself from following that notion, but his wayw
ard body was already warm from thinking about the dark-haired girl.

  What ails you? he castigated himself. Jessie’s going to be your wife, not Maggie Julander. After all the work it took you to win her over, you’d best fix your fancies on the prize.

  ~~~

  He called me honeybunch again! Jessie thought as she walked away from Ned. She repressed her desire to scream into a slight “Ahhh!” Won’t he ever learn?

  At once she felt ashamed. She wasn’t being fair. She hadn’t mentioned to Ned how much she disliked the pet name. She would tell him tonight. She reflected a moment, whether she’d also treated James a bit too sharply, and decided she had, although with good reason. I did trick him into saying so, but he still cares for that dead Mexican girl. She took a deep breath. His wife. What business does he have making up to me, anyway, telling me how he’d respect my selections in life? I’ll stick with Ned, thank you very much, James Owen. Ned loves me!

  Jessie spent the rest of the afternoon walking along with her nose in Hannah’s book, fascinated by the account of ancient people taking a journey of their own. Once, she stumbled and fell, scraping a knee, but the burn of the abrasion seemed small compared to the trials she read about.

  That evening, Ned came around and joined her where she sat beside the fire, mending a tear in her skirt. She didn’t look up as she said, “I’m sorry I snapped at you today.”

  Ned patted her hand. “That’s fine, honeybunch. I reckon we can wait to get married.”

  Jessie sighed and bit her lip. “I simply cannot abide you calling me honeybunch, Ned.” She gave a shiver. “Can you please refrain from sayin’ it?”

  Ned must have seen her slight convulsion, for he put his arm around her, saying, “Are you taking a chill? Can I bring you a blanket or the like?”

  “Ned,” she persisted. “Stick to the point. Will you stop using that pet name?”

  “Of course, honey—” He stopped himself abruptly. “I reckon I can if I’ll put my mind to it.” He grimaced. “Anythin’ else about me you’ve taken a dislike to?”

  Finished with the mending task, Jessie bit through the thread, wove the needle into the cloth and flexed her fingers. “Well now, you do seem a mite prickly when James Owen is around. I’d favor seeing you two on a more affable footing. He is your old friend.”