This kitchen crew put onions in everything, it seemed. Jalama scooped them into a big pot and began sautéing them, filling the kitchen with a heavenly smell as I turned to knead tortilla dough beside another Indian maid. She smiled at me shyly but didn’t seem apt to chatter, which was fine by me.
After that was done, I settled into the rhythm of kneading bread, working the dough over and over again, losing myself in the task. I thought about the hundreds of times I’d done just this in Abuela’s kitchen, how she pinched my cheek or swatted my butt as she walked by, yelling at the dishwashing boy who was always falling behind, while putting up four platters for a server and ringing a bell. I kept kneading as I thought about following her up the stairs each night, her gait a little slower at the end, her exhaustion increasing. And yet she always had the energy for a kind word, an encouraging word.
I missed her, oh, how I missed her. But I had to remind myself that going back—if I could go back—would not bring her back to me. I’d be returning to sell her restaurant and apartment, to go to school and start a new life.
And if I was going to start a new life anyway, why would I leave this? This kitchen, this house, this family, these people? Yes, it’d been a rough time lately, and I wasn’t ready to meet a pirate ever again. But thinking back to the mission, the city of Monterey and the party, the road home—the butterflies at the mission, more stars than I’d ever glimpsed, the unspoiled beaches and turquoise-green sea, the swooping swallows—and Javier, with his preference for pelicans, but looking at me with pure adoration. Oh, Javier. How could I ever, ever leave him behind?
Jalama came over and gently laid a hand on mine, stilling me. “I think this dough was done some time ago,” she said quietly. “Perhaps you can think now, Señorita, outside as you walk? Or you might ruin all my bread.” Her words were chiding, but her eyes shone with understanding. She lifted a hand to the back door. “Go. It is a pretty afternoon.”
Casting her a rueful look and mumbling an apology, I did what she asked, pulling my abuela’s shawl tight around me, and picking up my other things. It was true. I needed to think, and it was easy to be so distracted that I couldn’t really do anything right. I’d walk, maybe go down to the stables.
The stables. Where there were horses that could help me obey this ringing in my mind to go, while my heart told me to stay. I’d pray, pray with everything in me, that God would direct my next steps.
But as I walked down the hill to the stables, I saw a carriage pull through the front gate in the distance, and all thoughts about prayer left my mind. I felt the sense of urgency, the potential for intrusion that might block what was right. I walked quickly to the stables, even as I watched the carriage come down our road, the dust rising in a plume behind it. It was a beautifully crafted thing—as fine as some I’d seen in Monterey—and pulled by a matched set of black horses.
I paused at the stable doors, and a servant, spying the visitors too now, met me there, opening them wide. The kid was maybe fourteen, dressed in a breechcloth and a jacket that was too big for him. He wore nothing underneath, as did so many servants who weren’t in the house. But all he seemed to care about was the visiting coach. He practically thrummed with excitement.
It was only as the driver pulled up that I saw little Alvaro peek his head out, waving to me and the stable boy. Then I saw Adalia, Javier’s sister-in-law, with her lovely almond-shaped eyes. The driver climbed down, brushed the road dust from his sleeves, and then opened the small door, offering his hand to Adalia. She climbed out, Alvaro over her shoulder.
“Adalia!” I said, hugging her. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, you know how wily Doña Elena can be. She ordered something special for you, and suggested I bring it and stay for a little visit. How could I resist?” She looked around, her round face sweeping left and right, a bit wistful. “I’ve missed this place. And all of you,” she added, leaning forward a little. “And Alvaro will delight in seeing his cousins!”
She turned to watch the driver unfasten a trunk from the back and lower it to the ground. Two servants appeared and wordlessly carried it toward the house. But when a second trunk was placed beside us, she urged the remaining servants to wait.
“This one is for Señorita Zara,” she said, black eyes twinkling, staring up at me.
I frowned in confusion, wondering what Doña Elena could have possibly ordered for me that would require an entire trunk. More clothes?
“Go on with you,” Adalia said. “Open it. I can hardly wait to see what you think!”
I set my box to the left of the trunk and leaned down to unlatch it. In the distance, I could hear Francesca and Estrella shrieking, so excited were they by the news that their sister-in-law and nephew had arrived, and now clearly heading our way. I lifted the heavy lid as the driver pulled the carriage through into the stables, leaving us alone.
Adalia turned and set Alvaro down, and the little boy began toddling toward his cousins, giggling as they raced toward him. In my peripheral vision, I knew they were picking him up, swinging him around, laughing, but my eyes were on the gown inside the trunk.
Swallowing hard, I brushed off what I could of the dust that always seemed to follow me here and fingered the fine damask. The abundant fabric was thick and a gorgeous ivory. I only had to lift it a little to know that the skirts were wide. The bodice was tight, the sleeves full up top and then tapering. I glanced up at Adalia. “But this…this is a—”
“A wedding dress,” she said, her cheeks dimpling with glee.
She turned to welcome her sisters-in-law, hugging each of them, and now the boys, and Javier and Doña Elena were coming down the hill, faces all alight. I closed the trunk and backed away.
Adalia grimaced, bending toward Alvaro in Francesca’s arms to smell his diaper. “Would you…?” she asked the girls, and immediately, they were off to do as she asked. She turned back to me. “Doña Elena sent orders for it to be made in Santa Barbara,” she said under her breath as the others approached, “just as soon as you returned with Javier from Monterey. I know you haven’t yet set the date, but Zara,” she said, reaching for my hand, “why wait? Life is so fleeting, at times. And love? Love is rare. You love Javier and he loves you, no?”
“Well, yes,” I said. Stay, clanged my heart.
“Then?” Her almond-shaped eyes held mine, wondering over my hesitation.
I glanced at the rest of the family, just fifteen steps away. “Go to them, now. I’ll consider your words.”
She grinned and squeezed my hands, looking up into my eyes. In that moment, I felt another deep clang of connection, despite our differences. It was like a bell within, tolling constantly. “Hurry to the house, will you?” she said. “We have so much to discuss!”
I watched her go, feeling confusion strangle me for the thousandth time. I wanted to trail after her. To hold sweet little Alvaro—once he was changed—and watch as his aunties and uncles greeted him. To hear about their last month in town, with her family. Oh, how they’d been missed in ours! Ours….
But she’d brought me a wedding dress. A beautiful, tastefully made gown.
Part of me chafed at the idea—didn’t every girl want to “say yes to their own dress”? Most girls I knew, back home, had had a Pinterest wedding board since they were fourteen years old. But what did I know of wedding fashion in 1840? And how hard was it to get one? By the time Javier and I got around to it—if we ever got to that point—it would likely have been too late to do anything but slip on my gold gown and call it good enough.
Go. Run, said my mind. You’ll never have choices here.
No, Doña Elena had ordered the gown as an act of love and generosity and forethought, I fought back. Not domination or meddling. Okay, a little meddling.
My eyes returned to the trunk.
I couldn’t help myself. Fairly alone for a moment, I squatted beside the trunk and opened it, peeking at the luscious fabric between the layers of parchment paper. It was a doll’s dress.
A princess dress.
But then I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. I suddenly knew that not all of the Venturas has gone back to the house—that I wasn’t alone.
Javier hovered in the shadows at the edge of the stables, leaning against the wall, watching me. “You found it,” he said simply. “Is it to your liking?”
I hurriedly dropped it and slammed the lid down. “It is…it is beautiful. But your mother was ahead of herself in ordering it. We’re…well, we’re not really in the right spot to even be thinking about such things as wedding gowns, right?” I grabbed my box, turned, and walked toward the stalls, aiming for the one that held my gelding. I cradled the box with the three things it held—the lamp and my two fossils—and tucked my shawl tighter around my shoulders.
Javier followed right behind. “Zara, you are right. I have been a fool. I hesitated over your news of what is to come, when I should have fully come your way. I should not have let my mother speak to you that way.”
“It’s a lot,” I said, even though my rage and hurt were building now. “A lot for you to consider.” But in my heart, I was wondering why he hadn’t immediately accepted my predictions, understood, thrown everything he was behind what I’d said would happen—trusted me completely.
Doubt and fear and frustration stung my eyes. I moved to the saddle, barely managed to lift it off the post, and ambled down to the gelding’s stall. Javier made no move to help me but only followed behind.
“What are you doing, Zara?” The first note of fear entered his tone with my name.
“I need to go to Tainter Cove.”
“Not like this. Not now. Let us talk about it.”
I ignored him, just kept moving.
“Zara.”
“So you wish to talk. About what, specifically?” I dropped the saddle to the ground, suddenly more than weary of holding it. Saddling my own horse, when I was this tired, was a tall order, especially for a short girl. Either I’d have to fetch a stable hand to help me, or I’d have to ride bareback.
Bareback, I thought. The way I’d arrived at Rancho de la Ventura. It seemed right to leave that way too. I reached for a saddlebag, though, tossed it over the gelding’s neck, and shoved my treasured things inside—the fossils, the shawl, the lamp—leaving the small box behind.
He stood there, face taut, a vein pulsing at his neck, watching one item after another slide into the bag. My cheeks burned, knowing he’d recognize the fossils and understand that, in taking them, I proved they were important to me. That he was important. That they all were important. And yet it was obvious that I was preparing to leave.
Go, my mind screamed. Run.
Stay, my heart tolled.
I straightened, facing him, thinking, Dear God, this is it. I’m getting ready to go. I don’t want to go. But I don’t want to stay. I think…I’m scared. But pride made me square my shoulders, lift my chin, and look him in the eye. The shadows were long, casting half his face in eerie darkness.
I wanted him to say something, to stop me, to convince me.
But he wouldn’t. And if he wouldn’t, well then, I wouldn’t. Anger surged through me. Wasn’t I the one that was giving up so much? Okay, I’d clearly found love here. But what was I giving up? A chance for a career. Equal opportunity. Maybe I’d even find love, there, then.
I paused. Like this?
It struck me, then, what he was doing, standing there, saying nothing, as he swallowed so hard that I saw his Adam’s apple bob. He was doing as he’d promised he would: letting me choose, once and for all.
I paused, staring up at him, now in the corner of my gelding’s stable, arms crossed, chin down, big, dark eyes upon me. I hadn’t seen it going like this. Not at odds. Not silent. I’d wanted us to at least kiss, hug. I’d expected tears of anguish, not tears of rage and hurt and frustration, like those running down my face now.
He took a deep breath and came over to me. He lifted a finger to slowly raise my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “This is not how I wished us to part,” he said softly.
“Me either,” I whispered, sniffling.
He swallowed hard, as if fighting tears himself. “Looking back, if I were in charge of time, I’d never allow a minute to be spent in anger, frustration, or fear. But that is a part of life, no?” he said with a slight shrug. “I love you, Zara Ruiz. I will forever love you. Would you, could you…possibly…forever love me?”
He dared to wrap a hand around my waist and pull me closer then. I gazed up into his handsome face. Forever? That was so long. My rational mind kicked in, thinking about weather patterns. How one seemed solid for a time and then….
I didn’t know. Didn’t know.
He let out a gasp and cough that made me pause, hard—those sounds told me he wept, even as he bent, grabbed hold of my waist, and gently lifted me to the gelding’s back, even as my mind thought, Wait! I don’t know! I don’t know!
My hesitation had evidently been answer enough for him. He put a hand on my thigh, staring up at me, tears running down his cheeks, waiting for a long moment for me to say something.
But my mouth was full of cotton. I might as well have been gagged again. I could only cry. How many tears would I spend on this man and our love? And yet, how could I possibly choose between this crazy past and all that might await me in my true future? But where was my true future? Here, now? Or my own time?
Moving slowly, shoulders slightly slumped in defeat, he slipped a bit into the gelding’s mouth—the unnamed gelding—that was what dominated my scattered thoughts at that moment—then lifted the reins to me.
I paused. Took one breath, then two.
Then I grabbed them, and as if on autopilot, urged my gelding to walk out of the stables and down the road. When I passed the gates, I moved to sit astride and kicked him into a full gallop, headed toward Tainter Cove. It felt like an act of defiance, sitting on a horse like a modern woman. And with each stride, I felt stronger, but also…emptier.
Still, it was the wind that dried the tears on my cheeks as I rode. I wasn’t going to bend beneath the pressures of my heart’s call. I’d been subjected to abuse, crisis, like I’d never seen before. And I might have a way out…and no matter what I left behind, wasn’t that safe place—a safe place that even Javier silently urged me toward—the one I should go to?
CHAPTER 34
JAVIER
What had I done? What had I done? I couldn’t believe that I’d lifted her to the gelding’s back, that I’d handed her the reins. Almost encouraged it. Let her go, without another word. And yet I knew I couldn’t have done anything else. I’d ruined it, ruined everything. She’d finally told me what was to come, and it was exactly what I wanted, in a way. But then it had unfolded in the worst possible manner.
And somehow she’d been caught in the middle, making her feel like an outsider. Other. Reminding her that she might better fit in a different time. She’d come to the stables and discovered my mother had presumed to buy a wedding gown for her, even before I’d proposed. I’d been such a fool to tell Mama that it was a good idea. I’d simply been so sure, after our ride home, after the fossils, after everything, that she would decide to stay. But I knew that for all I wanted her to feel free, she had to have felt trapped. Her future decided for her. Frantically, I paced back and forth in the stables, rubbing my face, wiping away furious tears. Again and again I caught myself praying, praying exactly what I had once promised her I wouldn’t…for the Lord to keep her here, with me, until we could work it out.
I had to stay at the rancho.
Not interfere. Not again.
All I could do was wait.
“Javier?” Mateo said, from the front of the stables, reaching out to grasp the top of the doorframe. He had the guitar strapped to his back. He’d been strumming at it, trying to learn some of the chords, ever since I’d returned and she’d played. “Mama sent me to come and get you and Zara for supper.”
“Tell Mama that we cannot come,” I said, still pacing,
fists clenching and unclenching.
“What?” He came farther into the relatively dark stable and looked around. “Where…? Was that her I saw riding down the road?” he asked in confusion.
“Sí, sí,” I muttered.
“Did you two have an argument?”
“Something like that,” I said, laughing but feeling nothing but bitterness.
“But she will return…” he said, glancing to the open doorway.
“I am not certain of that.”
He gaped at me. “Then go after her!” he said, coming closer to me, and for the first time, I recognized he’d grown a couple of inches since I last took stock. “You two love each other! You can’t just let her go! Not after all we went through.”
I shook my head and looked up to the stable rafters, willing confidence and patience into my bones. “Sometimes, Mateo, it isn’t that clear.”
“Isn’t it?” he said, reaching out to grab my arm, drawing me to a standstill.
I turned toward him, surprised by his intensity, his daring to touch me like that.
“Isn’t it?” he demanded again, clenching down harder, shaking my arm.
I searched his eyes, and all it once, it was clear. Like that beautiful, star-filled night, with meteors cascading above us.
I’d promised that I’d let her go, if that’s what she chose. That I wouldn’t pray against God taking her home to her own time. And I wouldn’t. But I wanted her to see me, waiting for her, up on the dunes. For her to know I still wanted her and would fight for her, as much as I could, until the bitter end. That was all I could do. The least I could do, really.
I turned at once and saddled my mare. I’d be faster with a saddle. And with luck, I’d reach Tainter Cove in time.
Four Winds (River of Time California, Book 2) Page 19