by Jane Toombs
"Senorita?" the Indian asked.
Alitha knew the meaning of this but she didn't want the woman to misunderstand and think she was Spanish so she shrugged, holding out her hands, palms up.
The squaw turned her head to call to others who were, Alitha now saw, near the domed lodges. Four women hurried toward her. Joining the first squaw, they surrounded Alitha, reaching with curious fingers to touch her hair and the material of her bedraggled chemise.
Alitha tried to control her alarm. She patted her stomach and pointed to her mouth. Chia had been quick to understand gestures, maybe the women would be, too. One of the women took her hand to lead her toward the lodges. When she saw Alitha followed her willingly, she dropped her hand and went ahead. The three others acted as escorts.
Am I to be a captive. Alitha wondered? She glanced at them, recalling the tales she’d heard or read of white women captured by savages. She was almost past caring, if only they would feed her and let her rest.
No! She mustn’t forget that Chia was waiting for her to send help. Surely this village was the rancheria he came from.
“Chia,” she said, “Chia.”
One of the women smiled and hurried away as though she’d understood. Was she going to get Chia’s mother? His father? Alitha looked about. She stood among the large lodges—she counted ten of them—all made of some kind of vegetation, each with two doors.
More women came to stare at her but nowhere did she see a man, although small naked boys mingled with equally naked girls. When everybody wanted to touch her air, she finally realized a blond woman must be unknown to these Indians.
Still, they spoke a little Spanish, so there must be some form of civilization nearby. A mission?
One of the women handed her a chunk of cooked food she couldn’t identify. It made no difference to her, hungry as she was, and she wolfed it down. A vegetable of some kind, she decided, sweetish and with a flavor rather like wine.
The women smiled and nodded at her appetite. Another brought out a shell filled with a kind of flour paste. Shamelessly, Alitha lowered her head and licked the shell clean. One of the women giggled. She was handed what was unmistakably a dried fish, and she ate that, too.
At last, her hunger satisfied, she shook her head at more offerings. "Chia," she said once more.
The woman who had apparently understood the word the first time handed her a small, beautifully woven basket. She removed the lid and the pungent smell of sage entered her nostrils.
"Chia," the woman said, smiling.
Alitha stared from the basket in her hand to the woman. Had she misunderstood?
"Chia," Alitha said and the woman nodded happily.
Alitha had never considered that Chia's name might mean something in another language. How was she to get these women to understand?
She reached out and caught the arm of a small boy hiding behind one of the women. Pointing to the boy with her free hand, she repeated, "Chia." She raised her hand a foot above the boy's head, hoping they'd understand she meant a larger child. "Chia," she said again. The boy began to squirm in her grasp and she let him go.
Looking about the circle of staring faces, Alitha knew they didn't have any idea what she meant. She picked up the discarded shell she'd licked clean and drew a jagged circle in the dirt. The island. She drew shallow wavy lines, then a definite deep line to show the coast. Taking two twigs from the ground, she moved them from the island to the coast, then broke one of the twigs and moved the other until it touched her breast.
The women murmured among themselves, frowning. "Oh, please," Alitha cried. "You must understand me. Chia is hurt. He needs help."
But no matter what she did, they didn’t know what she wanted.
/At last, exhausted, she allowed a woman to lead her to one of the round lodges. Inside, the woman shyly proferred hide skirt, the two pieces strung on a fiber band. Gratefully, Alitha put it over her chemise, tying the band firmly about her waist.
"Tapextle," the woman said, pushing aside hanging reed curtains to urge Alitha toward a raised platform. Reed mats lay on the platform, and she saw that it served as a bedstead with the reed curtains shielding it from the rest of the lodge. She climbed onto the mats, stretched out and was almost instantly asleep.
Alitha woke to daylight and the sound of a man's heavy, rumbling voice. She opened her eyes and lay for a moment orienting herself. She was in a rancheria. The man's voice rose and fell, speaking words she didn't understand. She sat up, brushed back her hair as well as she could with her hands and slid to the floor. She stood a moment to arrange the sections of the two-piece skirt so she was decently covered and then parted the curtains and stepped through.
In what she thought of as the front doorway, a naked Indian man squatted on his heels. Alitha gathered her courage and stepped forward, all too aware of her bare legs and feet and the fragments of material barely covering her breasts.
The man looked up at her.
"Chia," she said.
She pointed to her left leg, then picked up a small stick from the ground and broke it in two, pointing to her leg again, then to the man.
"Chia," she repeated.
He stared at her, and she could tell that Chia must belong to this man's tribe—the man's dark eyes were set into his face in the same manner, his black hair was arranged so his knife was held fast, he had the same rather heavy features. What could she do to make him understand? Already Chia had been almost two days without water.
Crouching down, she used the broken stick to draw still another diagram. This time she started with a boat sketched atop wavy lines. "Tomolo," she told the Indian, remembering that Chia had used that word for his boat. She drew another boat, broken in pieces, and showed a stick figure on the irregular circle she'd used for the island. Pointing to the stick figure, she again said his name, "Chia."
Suddenly conscious of a noise behind her, she looked up and saw that she was completely surrounded by naked men. Hastily she returned her attention to her drawing, sketching in a larger boat, a ship with sails, on the opposite side of the island. Step by step she tried to show them what had happened—the shipwreck, the raft Chia had made, arriving on the mainland, Chia's broken leg, her journey here. When she was done, she pointed southward at herself, and at them.
"Chia," she said, pointing south again.
One of the men, the only one wearing a garment of skin folded about his hips, said something, and all the men turned away from her. The man squatting beside her got up to join them.
"Wait," she cried. "No, you must understand!" She rose to hurry after them, but the last man turned and made the negative gesture she'd learned from Chia.
She stopped. Someone touched her arm, and she whirled to face the woman who'd befriended her yesterday. The squaw smiled broadly and made signs of eating. When Alitha persisted in looking after the men, the Indian woman tugged at her arm, pulling her toward the house. A horse whinnied, another echoed the sound she stared all around but couldn't see the horses. She certainly hadn't been aware of horses yesterday.
Alitha followed the squaw, crouching down near the lodge to eat more dried fish. I've got to take one of the horses, she told herself. With a horse I can get back to Chia, and then he'll have a way to return to the right rancheria—this can't be his village or someone would have recognized his name.
When they'd finished eating, the woman pointed to the interior of the lodge. Alitha made the negative motion of the Indians but the woman caught her hand and she went with her without struggling. Another smile flashed across the brown face, a finger pointed to the bedstead and the squaw rotated her hips several times, formed the fingers of one hand into a circle and thrust the forefinger of her other hand through it. Alitha didn't understand, but still the sign seemed menacingly familiar.
Alitha swallowed. She chopped her hand negatively but the woman only smiled and tried to push her through the reed curtain toward the nearest bedstead. There were three other similar curtains in the house,
Alitha saw. She heard a man call out nearby and her eyes widened in fright. No! She wouldn't get onto the bed.
The squaw said something, and another woman appeared. Together they forced Alitha up onto the reed mats of the tapextle, then hurried away. Alitha immediately started to slide down again but a man spoke nearby. She heard another answer, and she realized the men were in the lodge. She drew back her legs and huddled on the mats.
She heard laughter, grunts and throaty cries, but no one came near her. At last she jumped down from the bedstead and peered out between the mat curtains. Sounds came from the curtained tapextles, and near the front door of the lodge she saw a moving mound which, as she stared, she understood was a man and woman who were—they were . . .
Alitha put her hand to her mouth, then turned away. She couldn't bring herself to go near the couple on the ground, so she hurried past the hanging reeds curtaining the bedsteads.
Once she was out of the lodge, she skirted around the other domes, trying to find the horses. Some of the children saw her and stared after her, but there was no adults visible. At last she heard a horse nicker, and she followed the sound to a crude corral where five horses skitted sideways as she approached.
As she looked at the horses, her heart sank. There were no saddles. She'd never ridden any way but side saddle, and while she might have managed to ride astride a man's saddle, she didn't see how she could stay on the bare back of a horse. Still, what choice did she have? The chestnut near her did have a rope bridle. If she could manage to stay on his back, at least there'd be a way to guide him.
The Indian children who'd followed her watched as she let down the poles penning the horses among the rocks. One of the bigger boys called to her. Ignoring him, Alitha climbed to the top of a rock and held out her hand coaxingly to the horse. The chestnut flung his head up and down, eyeing her warily until his curiosity became too great for him to resist. When he came near enough, she grasped the guide rope looped under the bridle and pulled him toward her. She threw herself from the rock onto his back.
Leaning forward and hanging onto the horse's mane, she dug her heels into his sides to urge him forward. As he burst from the corral, she saw the boy running back toward the lodges and heard him raising an alarm. The other horses followed the chestnut from the corral. She hoped they'd scatter before the men realized what she'd done.
As they left the clearing, the chestnut slowed and began to pick his way among the trees. Alitha was torn between her desire to hurry and her fear that if the horse went too fast, she'd slip off. She looked over her shoulder for signs of pursuit but saw no one. Nor did she see any of the other horses. She tried to guide the chestnut south but he fought her, choosing his own route. She was seated too precariously to struggle with him so was forced to give him his head. Wherever they were going, it was away from the rancheria.
A man shouted from behind her. Looking back, she saw a mounted Indian in pursuit, with several others following him. She kicked the chestnut's sides, and the horse changed gait so suddenly that she almost slid off. Grasping desperately to his mane and clenching her knees to his sides, she hung on, wondering how long it would be before she fell.
The chestnut skidded down an embankment with the Indians crashing through the brush in pursuit. Alitha heard the rhythmic roar of the surf, topped a rise and saw the blue of the Pacific ahead of her. She cried out in relief. The chestnut pounded onto the sand and she managed to turn him away from the surf to the east, urging him on.
There! Wasn't that the jumble of rocks she'd memorized, the rocks that marked where she'd left Chia? She'd been closer to him than she'd thought possible. She must have wandered in circles the day before.
How was she to stop the racing horse? When her repeated cries of "Whoa!" had no effect, she reached out to grab the bridle, slipped sideways and fell onto the sand, rolling over twice. The horse galloped on, oblivious.
When she had her breath back, Alitha rose to her feet and limped toward the rocks, reaching them just as the pursuing Indians came up behind her. She stumbled around to the lee side and saw a motionless figure.
"Chia!" she cried. "Chia, are you all right?" She dropped to her knees beside him as the first of the Indian men jumped from his horse.
Chia's dark eyes seemed sunken in his face, but he pulled himself up to a sitting position and tried to smile. "Leeta," he said. His eyes went past her to the men. He said one word to them, repeating it over and over.
One of the Indians came forward, lifting a hide pouch from his carrying net to hand to Chia. After drinking the water from the pouch, the boy returned it. He began to talk. Once or twice Alitha caught a word she knew—tomolo, boat. The men watched him intently, occasionally nodding.
Alitha looked from the men to Chia. He was safe--they'd look after him. They might not be of his clan but they spoke the same language and must be part of the same tribe. But what about her? Chia might be grateful to her, but these men certainly had no reason to be. She'd stolen one of their horses and lost him, besides.
Chia suddenly reached out and put something in her hand, saying her name to the men with other words she didn't understand. The Indians looked at one another, muttering. She looked at what he'd given her and saw that it was his reddish charm stone. She smiled at Chia, knowing he'd given her his most prized possession. Quickly she hung the cord about her neck so the stone fish nestled between her breasts.
At last the men stopped arguing, and the one who'd given Chia the water nodded. Chia nodded back. They all looked at her and she knew she'd been accepted, at least temporarily. Did savages have a sense of obligation, then? Perhaps, now, she could make them understand that she wanted to be taken to the nearest mission.
The man who'd nodded touched her arm, pointing to the boy. "Chia," he said. He looked back at the others and they all laughed. Friendly laughter.
Then the man raised his head and said one curt word. The others instantly fell silent and all seemed to listen. With a quick movement, the first man swept Alitha up onto his horse and leaped on in front of her. One of the others picked up Chia and did the same. Mounted once again, they turned their four horses toward the hills.
Alitha clung to the Indian's waist, at the same time trying to look behind her to see what had alarmed them. She caught a quick glimpse of mounted men and heard the unmistakable crack of gunfire. The man she rode with grunted, flung his hands up and pitched off the horse, carrying Alitha with him. The last thing she was aware of was her own scream. Then she hit the ground and the world was snuffed out.
CHAPTER TEN
Horses galloping, the crackle of flames a volley of gunfire. Shouts in Spanish. The odor of dust and horses and burning wood. The creak of saddles, the jangle of spurs. A scream of pain. Then a cry of triumph.
Another horse, approaching at a walk.
Alitha opened her eyes. Through a haze of dizziness she saw a black-garbed rider come toward her. Her vision gradually cleared as she watched him. When he was a few feet away, he swung effortlessly to the ground, swept off his broad-brimmed hat and knelt at her side. She had an impression of silver and black—silver buttons on a black jacket, silver ornaments, black breeches, black boots with silver spurs.
His eyes met and held hers. Brown eyes. He had black hair and a small black mustache. He was by far the handsomest man she had ever seen.
He spoke to her in unfamiliar words, and she stared at him blankly. "Give praise to God," he then said in accented English, "for your safekeeping."
Alitha managed a yes, her voice barely a whisper.
"You are fortunate those savages didn't harm you," the man went on. He glanced down, appearing to examine the white trim on his hat. "They did not, did they?"
"No," she said, sitting up. With the tips of her fingers she touched a swelling on the side of her head. She felt bruised and sore but her vertigo was gone and no bones seemed to be broken.
"I will light a hundred candles to Saint Christopher to offer my thanks for your deliverance." He s
tood up and bowed. "Allow me, senorita," he said. "I am Don Esteban Mendoza of the Rancho Mendoza of the pueblo of Santa Barbara. A humble servant of Ferdinand VII, Catholic King of Spain and ruler of all her colonies beyond the seas."
Despite her pain Alitha smiled at his grandiloquence. "Miss Alitha Bradford," she told him, "late of Boston, Massachusetts, a free citizen of the United States of America." It crossed her mind fleetingly that she might be expected to add, James Monroe, President.
"I never expected to find a beautiful woman lost in the wilds of Alta California. A delicate and exotic flower blooming amidst our rough native reeds."
Delicate? She glanced down at her torn chemise and her hide skirt. How terrible she must look! She crossed her hands over her breasts, looking away from Esteban in embarrassment. His hands touched her and she jumped; his fingers had seemed like an electric spark on her bare arm. Glancing up, she saw that he was draping his jacket over her shoulders. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and drew the jacket close around her.
"You were most fortunate that we arrived when we did," Esteban told her. "These wild Indians are unpredictable. They appear quiet and peace-loving until they lull you into complacency, arid then they steal and pillage."
The Indians, the rancheria, Chia. Alitha's hand slipped inside the jacket and touched the stone charm that hung between her breasts. How could she have forgotten Chia even for a moment?
"Chia," she said, "where's Chia?"
"Chia?"
"An Indian boy with a broken leg. He built the raft we sailed from the island to the mainland. When we came ashore, he broke his leg."
"A raft. Of course, how stupid I must seem. The shipwreck from which seven men were saved. You are the senorita from the ship they call the Flying Yankee, the ship that was wrecked in the great storm. Is that not true?"
"Yes, our ship broke up on the rocks in a storm. Seven men were saved? I'm so thankful, I was afraid I was the only survivor." She decided not to mention Malloy. That would only lead to more questions she might not want to answer. "But Chia. Where is he?"