Four Winds (River of Time California, Book 2)

by Lisa T. Bergren

  “With all that’s transpired, you were thinking about a wolf-dog?”

  “Yes, at least a little,” I said. “I worry about everyone. Not just the dog, but your mama, the girls, Mateo, Jacinto—they’ll be so relieved to have you back.”

  “And doubly relieved to see that you are with me,” he returned.

  The next morning, his words still warmed me. Thinking of his family—Mateo and the adorable little Jacinto with his gap-toothed grin, sensible Francesca, trying to be an adult, and Estie with her round cheeks and dimples—I couldn’t wait to be surrounded by them again. Almost from the start, they’d welcomed me as their own.

  Their mother, Doña Elena, was a little more confusing. Eighty percent of her wanted me there…she’d basically thrown the lamp in the water, hoping someone like me would pick it up; twenty percent was held in reserve. It was as if she protected her heart…and Javier’s, in case I left them. But as I stared at his back, his beautiful profile as he said something under his breath that made Hector laugh, I couldn’t imagine leaving his side. But deep down, I acknowledged to myself that I wanted the lamp back. God had refused to send me back to my own time once, but if I wanted to go back—if I ever really and truly wanted it—and tried again…and God granted me that wish, wouldn’t I be glad for it?

  Javier glanced over his shoulder, smiling at me, eyes all crinkly at the corners, and joy was what I felt from him most. As he turned back around, riding on, I wondered if I’d ever find someone like him in my own time—and then felt guilty for even wondering. As if I were connecting with someone else online, while I dated him. Only that, you know, that was impossible. There was no “online” here. No “dating” here—only this headlong dive into forever-1840.

  I mused over that, as the sun beat down upon my shoulders, making sweat run down my back and gather beneath my breasts. Making me pit-out in my pretty new riding habit jacket…because razors and deodorant weren’t a thing. There was no pretending, no posturing, no protecting yourself in this era. You were who you were, sweaty and stinky, just like the rest. And men and women seemed to approach one another more on the basis of “You like me? I like you. Let’s just go for it.”

  It was a little overwhelming. But mostly it was just a relief. There weren’t as many games here. It was as if people knew that life was precious, and they wanted to make the most of it. It was as if they never forgot that a flu bug could take them out tomorrow. So today? They did whatever they were led to do.

  I glanced out to the wide, sprawling valley to our left and the sea to our right. Felt the cadence of my horse, the restful rocking in the saddle. And I wondered if we, in our own time, had too much time. To consider. To question.

  When God spoke, moved…weren’t we simply supposed to respond?

  CHAPTER 31

  ZARA

  The closer we got to home, the less Javier looked over his shoulder, as if his concerns that Mendoza or other bad guys were going to try and capture us again faded. I wanted to tell him to relax, that it would be okay—not because I thought he was overly cautious but because it set off my own PTSD alarms. So the less that went on, the more we could laugh and smile together. He’d been riding ahead with the two guys in front for a while, when one took off at a gallop down the road.

  Javier pulled up and waited for me to come alongside him.

  “Where is he going?” I asked, looking ahead to the man growing smaller in the distance.

  “I sent him ahead to tell the family that we are on our way. Mama would want to know. They’ll be glad to have us home.” He smiled and reached out for my hand, and for a moment, all I could take in was his big, warm hand holding mine. It felt ridiculously good to be touched by him. I wished there was a reason for him to hold my hand all day long.

  We had to ride east for a bit to cross a river, where it widened and grew shallow. The road wound through a small canyon then, where the swallows were building their mud nests among the nooks and overhangs. They swept past us, hunting for bugs, and chirped their high-pitched greetings. “I’ve always loved swallows,” I said. “I think it’s amazing that those little wings can carry them all the way to South America for the winter and back again come spring.”

  He stared at me as if he’d never thought about it before, and smiled.

  “What is your favorite kind of bird?” I asked.

  He thought about that a moment, one of his brows lowering in the most charming manner as he contemplated. “The pelican,” he said at last.

  I felt my own brows lift in surprise, since I’d expected him to choose a falcon or eagle. Basically something more…manly. “Why pelicans?”

  “On the water, they look rather slow and ungainly, don’t you think? All lumpy flesh and bulbous beak. But when they fly—especially when a group of them are together—they’re rather elegant.”

  “It’s true,” I said, thinking on it. “And they have such an amazing wingspan.” I considered him, covertly, as we rode on. I’d never really figured I’d be a pelican girl. But this guy had me rethinking everything.

  We continued along our trek, hour after hour, and by early afternoon we were again on Rancho de la Ventura land. Soon we could see two ships anchored in the harbor, but as expected, Craig’s Heron was gone, apparently seaworthy once more.

  I heard the music before we reached the top of the hills closest to the house, and when we emerged on top, a cheer went up from all those outside the villa. We could smell roasting meat, and it looked like every one of the Indian workers, every guard, every family member, and about ten visiting sailors were outside, waving at us. When we got closer, they cheered and threw flower petals over us, and I saw they’d plucked every purple bougainvillea blossom from the thick vines that lined the front entrance in order to do so.

  It was a trio of sailors playing on fiddles and a guitar that we heard, a jaunty tune that was clearly more old-time country than the Spanish-influenced songs I’d mostly heard since I arrived. Crewmen from one of the ships, I guessed.

  It was Mateo—Mateo!—who helped me dismount, and impulsively I hugged him. He hesitated and drew back, but then he relaxed, kissed either side of my face, and took my hand. “It is good to have you home, Zara,” he said quietly.

  “I am so very glad to see you, Mateo. I was so worried.” He was still a bit pale, maybe even a little unsteady on his feet. Then I wondered if my hug had hurt him. If he’d had internal injuries, broken ribs…

  But then my attention was taken by Javier’s sisters, Francesca and Estrella, hugging me, all while his little brother, Jacinto, stared at me, smiling shyly while he nibbled on a lip. Their mother, Doña Elena, bustled through the throngs, gently patted Jacinto’s cheek, and then took my hands in hers and looked me up and down. “So here you are, my dear, back again.” Then she tentatively pulled me into her arms for a hug. “I am so relieved, dear Zara. So relieved.”

  “Me too,” I said, deciding that it felt good to be hugged by the matronly woman. We’d had our differences, and she’d made me angrier than I’d ever been in my life, but in that hug, I felt the promise of peace on the horizon. Hope. If I chose to stay…

  The girls each took one of my hands and led me inside the villa. I looked over my shoulder, wondering where Javier was, and found him shaking hands and hugging everyone he could. I thought about how different he was now, about how it felt to be here on the ranch, compared to when I first arrived. When I’d first come, it was as if he were trying to find the fastest escape route he could; now he looked like there was no place he’d rather be. Could that be? Could I really be seeing that difference in just a few weeks?

  Inside, the cook and maids were depositing dish after dish of food on the long table, and after washing our hands in a basin, Javier and I were pushed to the front of the line. But there he paused and raised his arms to quiet everyone. “Friends and family,” he said, loud enough that even those in the throngs outside could hear, “I want to pause and give God thanks for bringing us back together—and to remembe
r those we lost.”

  Together, we bowed our heads. I put my hand through the crook of his elbow, feeling a surge of pride. In response he shifted, widened his stance, straightened his shoulders.

  “Father, we pause to remember our friends who gave their lives to protect us at the harbor and ask you to comfort those who lost their husbands or brothers or sons. Thank you that you have made all of us family, so that we might help bear one another’s burdens. Thank you also for the safe return of Mateo and for my Zara. Protect and keep us from this day forward. Amen.”

  “Amen,” echoed everyone in the room. But of course, all I could hear were the echoes of “my Zara” in my head. My Zara. It had sounded like a claim. A source of pride. Of hope and glory…and above all, love.

  I was picking up my plate when I happened to see the Indian workers streaming around the side of the house, back toward the kitchen, where I knew they would be fed. I knew that a couple of the guards who had died at the harbor were not Mexican but Native American. And they had died to try and protect us, and Javier’s storehouse. We can’t treat them as second-class citizens. Not today.

  I put a hand on Javier’s arm and nodded toward the window, where a couple young men cast furtive glances inside. “Do they not belong with us as much as all these others?” I dared. I knew it wasn’t the way of his people or the times—after all, we hadn’t even hit the Civil War yet—but Javier had just prayed for all of us…all of us…as family. “Many of them lost people they loved.”

  He paused and frowned, with a hesitant glance at his mother, but I stood where I was, still waiting on him. I knew there was no way he could invite a hundred workers into the villa. It just wouldn’t fly. His dark eyes moved to me, but it seemed as if the Indian cook bringing in another steaming pot solidified his decision.

  “Wait, Jalama,” he said. “It’s such a beautiful evening, I think we need to take this feast outside, where all can join us. Hector, Mateo, Rodrigo, help me with this table. We’ll move it to the front. Jalama, tell the people to come and join us there.”

  Doña Elena gaped at him, so surprised that she couldn’t seem to think of a word to say. Jacinto hopped around, clapping excitedly and exclaiming over the chance to eat outside, and the girls turned those in the villa around, spreading the news that we were all going to head outdoors. Blankets emerged and were spread around the clumpy soil. The workers held back, let everyone else be served first, and definitely kept to their own threadbare blankets, but I decided it was at least a step in the right direction. It seemed like a teeny step to me, but watching Doña Elena, who was clearly out of sorts with how things had evolved, I knew it was a big step for all of them. And their willingness to see it through opened a hug of welcome to me, whether they knew it or not.

  My ideas were way different. But they were willing to go with the flow with me…try it out. See how it might fit. And so far, I thought, as I looked around with a grin, it was fitting fine.

  We had traditional Mexican dishes like tamales and menudo. But there were also ribs and roast. When the piles of meat came out, after we’d already eaten so much, I thought no one would agree to take some. But when I looked fifteen minutes later, the platters were empty, except all that remained of the roast was the bone.

  A bit overwhelmed by all the people and activity, with my belly so full that I was feeling pretty miserable, I rose, went to retrieve the massive bone, and then walked around the house and to the top of a hill, where I’d seen Centinela sitting, watching.

  “Everybody is a part of this feast,” I said and tossed the bone to her. She shied away, as if she thought I was throwing a mud-ball at her, but then she returned to it, head low, nose twitching. Then she gently mouthed it, bit down, and loped away, as if afraid someone might steal it from her. I lost sight of her in the longer shadows of twilight and turned to see that Javier was leaning against the back of the villa, arms crossed, smiling, watching me. I paused there, looking back. He had one boot perched behind him, against the adobe, and looked like a still in some fantastic, epic movie scene.

  And yet it wasn’t a movie scene; it was real life.

  I walked down the hill and he stayed where he was, waiting. He opened his arms to me and I gladly leaned against him. He hugged me tightly, smelling of leather and smoke, and kissed the top of my hair. He said nothing for a long while, just rubbed my back and seemed to appreciate holding me close. Then, “You have given me many gifts, Zara, but the greatest gift is contentment,” he said, lifting my chin so I would look into his eyes. He stared into mine, intensely, as if he willed me to feel what he was saying. “You have taught me how to appreciate everything in my life—even a wolf-dog—while I have it.”

  I knew what he was getting at. He didn’t yet know if I’d always be a part of his life. I dropped my chin and hugged him again, listening to the warm, steady beat of his heart and thinking I couldn’t quite imagine myself anywhere else. But then I heard my name, and Javier abruptly encouraged me to stand beside him—rather than firmly in his embrace—as many of his family members found us.

  Mateo had a guitar in his hands, and he offered it to me. “Come, Zara. Gift us with a song. Then we will know that you are truly home.”

  Others clapped in agreement and anticipation, and I laughed and moved forward to accept the instrument. They moved around me, and Mateo gestured to a stump of a log, where I took a seat. Looking to the skies, the first stars just peeking out—and remembering my starlit night with Javier—I said to him, “This is in memory of our road home. It is called ‘Una Noche Estrellada.’” One Starlit Night.

  The song began slowly, with syncopated breaks, reminding me of when you first see stars emerging in the sky. But then it built, moving faster and faster, until my fingers were flying across the strings, the notes first high and light—like stars distant—then to low and heavier, denser chords. It was the perfect song to remember that beautiful night with Javier, and as I finished and everyone applauded, crying, “Brava! Brava!” I found I was wistfully wishing for another such night with him, and another, and another.

  They begged for a second song, but it hit me then—if I didn’t get to bed as soon as possible, I was liable to pass out right then and there. Javier saw it too and whispered in Francesca’s ear, and she and Estie each took one of my arms and led me away from the sweet crowd, all murmuring “Buenas noches,” and up to my room. Estie fetched a pail of steaming hot water, and Maria brought me a cup of tea, while Francesca slipped my riding jacket from my shoulders and hung it on a peg. There were new things in my room, as if they had been preparing for, even hoping for my return—a dressing screen, a nightshift, new underthings.

  I took a quick sponge bath and slipped into bed, where Estie covered me, tucking me in like she was fifty-two, not twelve, and kissed me on the cheek. Francesca smiled at me and turned out my lamp, then left the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

  And as I stared out my window, I realized what it meant when people talked about how good it felt to be home. Stars began to sparkle in a cobalt sky, but I couldn’t watch them for long. I closed my eyes and in one breath, maybe two, gave in to sleep.

  CHAPTER 32

  JAVIER

  As I tried to work on some accounting, Zara paced around the den. She’d go to the bookshelves, pull out a volume, page through it as if not able to make out the words, then slap it closed and put it back on the shelf. Then she would walk to the window, gaze outside a moment, and pace back to the shelf.

  I knew what was bothering her. It was the young gambler’s last day to deliver what he’d promised, and she kept hoping he’d ride down our road or send a messenger.

  I set down my quill. “Zara.” I rose and went to her, taking her hand in mine and leaning against the desk. “I cannot replace the lamp or your dear Abuela’s shawl, and we might never find out what drove Mendoza to such a despicable act, but we can do something about the third thing.”

  Her pretty eyes searched mine, then narrowed. “The fossil?”<
br />
  “Yes. My brother and I didn’t find the only fossils up there. You remember. There are tons. Let’s go find a new pair—a pair just for us. We can take my sisters and brothers. They’re bickering anyway, driving my mother mad. Getting them out would lift the whole household’s spirits.”

  She hesitated. Wrung her hands. “What if…”

  “What if he comes while we’re gone?” I guessed.

  She nodded.

  “There is nowhere else for miles for him to rest and water his horse, take a meal himself. And if he came all this way, all the way from Monterey, would he simply leave if he found out we wouldn’t return for a few hours?”

  She frowned and then shook her head. “I suppose not.”

  I took her hands in mine and said gently, “And if he doesn’t come and you spend all day pacing, won’t you be all the more frustrated that we didn’t take a little ride to find our own new set of fossils?” Behind her, I could hear Estie and Francesca bickering now, and lifted my brows.

  Her face settled into a smile, and she nodded as she squeezed my hands. “It’s a grand idea, Javier.”

  “Good. Go and get ready. I’ll fetch my siblings.”

  ZARA

  We rode out an hour later, the youngest children—Jacinto and Estie—back to bickering, this time about who got to ride in front of the other until Javier told them to take turns riding in front of him. Maybe they’d all picked up my tension in the last few days of the gambler’s countdown. I think Doña Elena partly wanted to come with us and partly was happy to see us all go and leave her to enjoy a few hours in a quiet house. I thought about inviting her, but then I thought this was a perfect opportunity for the Ventura “kids” and me to be alone.

  We cantered for a while through the hills, then slowed to a walk when Estie started whining that her legs were getting tired. And within the hour, we entered the small canyon that opened up to the sandy, pink-colored remains that had been so clearly underwater thousands of years before.