“We don’t know if Padre Pedro is here or if someone stole his horse, Vicky. Wait here while I check.” The stubborn light in her eye forced him to change tactics. He softened his tone. “Please.”
“I stay and count ten, then I come and help. If not priest, Chris need more gun.”
“I want you to stay here until I tell you it’s safe, Vicky. I don’t want you hurt.” He fought the urge to caress her face.
“And the God you pray to, He not able to take care of me? Only you?” Her defiant eyes held his gaze.
“He’s able to take care of both of us, but he made me a man. I’m supposed to protect you and Nana Ruth. I need...”
Before he could finish the thought, he saw movement behind Vicky, and he pulled her behind him and backed up a space. Then he saw the priest and two young men, also dressed as priests, walking along the corral and talking. No guns, no strain. The breath he released purged him of his fear, and he straightened even as Vicky caught sight of the men and broke out of his grasp. Hurrying toward them, she called out in Spanish. The relief he felt seconds before fled once again.
What if they were headed to her hacienda? She’d said there was some sort of a ceremony for her birthday on March third and the priest was expected there. They could take her home and solve the problem he’d been puzzling over the last few weeks.
So if they were God’s answer to his prayers for provision of Vicky, why did he want to pull Vicky back and take off in the other direction as fast as his horse could carry them?
* * *
“Padre! Padre Pedro, how good to see you!” Vicky called out, barely keeping her strides from turning into a sprint. Even at the slower pace, she felt winded and had a twinge in her ribs at the abuse of the still-sore muscles, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to get to Padre Pedro as quickly as possible.
The astonished look on the faces of Padre Pedro and his two companions caused her to laugh. She’d forgotten what her appearance must look like to them, in her peasant clothing and big old sombrero. Every time the elderly priest had come to the hacienda, Mamá made sure that Vicky was suitably dressed for a young lady of her station. Vicky lifted the sombrero from her head and smiled. The old priest’s eyes lit with affection.
“Maria Victoria, my child, is that you?” The older man, with his kind eyes and his wrinkled face, had been one of her favorite visitors to the hacienda. Not only did everyone try to get along and eat together at the big dining table when he visited, but he would celebrate Mass every morning just as the sun rose and every evening at six for all who could attend. He loved to sit and tell stories from the Biblia—stories almost too amazing to be believed, such as Moses lifting his staff and God parting the sea that cut off the Israelite people from freedom, or Jesus raising a dead man from his grave. They were the same stories Chris read to her, and he believed every word that came out of the big black book.
“Yes, Padre. It is I.” She approached and bent down to kiss his hand as he extended it to her. Then, after he had raised his hand close to her forehead, lowered it to her middle, to the right and to the left shoulders and then kissed his own finger, lifting the kiss to the sky, all the while invoking the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, he took her in his arms and hugged her close.
“And so good to see you, too, my child, although I never expected to find you here with the Americano or dressed...” He stepped back and once again studied her clothing with concern. Then he turned to the other men. “These are new brothers who are helping me on this journey. They have been to seminary and are now becoming acquainted with the life they have been called to. Brother Sebastian and Brother Francisco.”
She nodded politely to each man, but their attention was focused on Chris, behind her. Padre Pedro continued the introductions.
“This is Maria Victoria Ruiz Torres, the daughter of Don Ruiz de la Hacienda Ruiz. It is her marriage and birthday that we were heading to officiate.” He glanced at Chris as he continued in Spanish. “And this is Señor Cristobal Samuels, formerly of the United States.”
Chris stretched out his right hand and grasped Padre Pedro’s in greeting, and then he shook hands with Brother Sebastian and Brother Francisco. “Welcome.”
“Thank you. I notified your slave woman that we were here. She didn’t invite us in, but I understand why.” Padre Pedro kept speaking, but Chris turned questioning eyes on her. She repeated in English to the best of her ability.
“Then they didn’t come looking for you?” Chris asked.
“I do not know.” Tesoro nudged her, ready to go back to the barn, and she realized that the men were still in their traveling clothes and the sun stood straight above them. “I think everyone needs to eat and rest. We go inside?” She pointed to the cabin to confirm her intentions to Chris.
“Of course. Please extend my apology for not seeing to their comfort already.”
Once she relayed the message, Brother Sebastian and Brother Francisco headed to the barn with Chris to see to the horses and store their belongings while Padre Pedro followed Vicky into the cabin, where Nana Ruth had already put a kettle on to boil and heated the tortillas.
As she helped Nana Ruth set the table, she explained to Padre Pedro what had happened to bring her out into the woods and away from the hacienda. His concern grew as he listened intently to her tale.
“But daughter, have you not sent word to your family? Do they know nothing of your disappearance? And what of your wedding? Are you planning to stay here for all of your life? You must know that God does not approve of living together outside the sacred bounds of matrimony.”
“No, Father.” She thought her cheeks must blaze like the fire from the heat they gave off at the priest’s assumption. “I was hurt and sick when I encountered Señor Samuels in the woods. He brought me here to help me heal and to protect me, but he has left my care to Nana Ruth and is living in the other cabin. He is planning on taking me back to my family but does not know how to do so with Nana Ruth. She is too disabled to make such a journey, but she is also too feeble to take care of the livestock or stay on her own here.” Pausing to take a breath, she straightened her shoulders and found the courage to say the words she had dared say only to Chris and God up until that moment.
“And as for my marriage. I would rather I had been lost in the woods and perish than to have to marry Don Joaquín de la Vega Gomez.”
“Child, do not even think like that, much less utter such words.” The kind old priest reprimanded her with an understanding light in his eye. “Don’t you know that all things work together for God’s children’s well-being?”
“I’m not sure, Father. I only know that every time I pray, God either isn’t listening or doesn’t care. Mamá says that the Indians have no soul, and I’m part Indian, so my prayers might not deserve the same attention as yours or those of others.”
“My child, your mother is misguided. What she said is not true. God listens to our prayers, and He loves each of us, no matter our skin color or language we speak. That is the whole purpose of my visiting so many villas. But often His plans are very different from ours. And while it may not all make sense now, you must have faith, my daughter. God’s ways are always better than ours.”
Before they could finish the conversation, Chris and the other two men entered, carrying extra chairs. “Vicky, you need to sit at the table so Nana Ruth will feel comfortable.” Chris motioned to the table.
“No, Master Chris,” exclaimed the older woman, her head shaking from side to side. “It ain’t fittin’.”
“It’s not fitting for you or Vicky to be standing while the men are all sitting, Nana. Now come and sit here at my table,” he insisted, ushering Nana Ruth to the chair. It left the chair directly to his right for Vicky. Chris sat at the foot of the table, giving the spot he normally occupied to Padre Pedro. Both of the other men sat across from Vicky and Nana Ruth. It
was a tight fit but they managed to get everyone around the table, and soon everyone was eating.
Everyone except Vicky. Not that she didn’t try, but being the only person who understood both languages, she would barely interpret what one person asked when someone else would respond and she would be called on to interpret again.
Finally, everyone else finished their food and Nana Ruth stood to collect their dishes when she noticed Vicky’s food still intact. “Well, honey child, are you feelin’ poorly?”
“No, Nana, everything good.”
Nana gave her a puzzled look and then turned to the men, giving them a glare. “You poor thing. You just take your time and don’t pay no bother to them men jawing till you finish up your food. Go on, now,” the older lady bossed, and Chris nodded his agreement, sitting back after having crossed his knife and fork across his plate. The Spaniards across the table may not have understood the conversation but must have picked up on the idea when they too fell silent until she had finished.
While everything might have been good, it tasted like sawdust in her distressed state. Padre Pedro would be able to escort her back to the hacienda. As early as the next day she would be leaving this perfect ranch and the wonderful rancher who had come to be so much more than just her rescuer. But there would be no reprieve for her. The priest believed that her marriage to Don Joaquín was what God wanted for her. Pushing back from the table, she began to collect the rest of the dirty dishes.
For today she could pretend to still belong in this home and family.
Chapter Twelve
An hour later, Vicky and Padre Pedro sat on the new bench Chris had built, watching as Chris put the horses through their paces with the help of the two young men accompanying the older priest.
“I don’t want to go back, Father. I know I should, but I am happy here. Señor Samuels respects me and would provide for my needs. He lets me ride the horses, and I can cook and keep the house. He needs me even more now that Nana Ruth has so much trouble with her arthritis. You know that Don Joaquín is not a good man.” She turned toward the older man and grasped his forearm with both hands in desperation.
“But my daughter, Señor Samuels does not understand your language or customs or beliefs. Has he offered to marry you?” The priest’s words dug deep into Vicky’s heart.
“No, he has not mentioned marrying me. But I don’t mind staying as his housekeeper. I could keep house, cook and help him with the horses... There is much to do here, and he needs someone young to help him.”
“No, my daughter, he needs a wife to meet those needs, and to give him sons and daughters. You were born to be a noblewoman, not a washer-woman.”
“But surely you see he would not consider me a wife because of my skin.”
“Now, what was this about your skin?” the kind man asked.
“I have dark skin from my grandmother. No man will want a dark-skinned woman who might give them dark-skinned children. Worse yet, someone so handsome and white as Señor Samuels. You know that no other woman would consider Don Joaquín, and that is why he is still interested.”
“My child, God sees the heart, not the skin, and loves you for being His handiwork. Any man who can’t see your skin as lovely and love you for your deeply caring heart is not worthy of you. But as for Don Joaquín, I fear he is primarily interested in your nice-sized dowry.”
“But his hacienda is almost the same size as ours.”
“But he is not the astute man your father is and your grandfather was, nor does he know how to barter well. His holdings are large, but he is a few days’ journey to the south, closer to Mejico and the powers that want to strip the haciendas away from the Californianos and give them to the peasants.” The priest pounded a fist against the bench. “I do not pretend to like Don Joaquín, but I also know it is your duty to your father to obey his will for your life. You must go home and let them know that you are alive and well and that you will follow whatever decision your father makes. I will be praying for you and for wisdom for your father. I will also go with you, my daughter, and speak to your father on your behalf. Your father has proved to be a very reasonable and often crafty man.”
When she opened her mouth to protest, he shook his head and squeezed her fingers. “Remember, child, God will always be with you. He loves you more than you can fathom.”
* * *
Chris leaned against the rough wood of the corral and watched Brother Sebastian ride a horse like it were about to eat him for dinner. As the priest-in-training took another turn around the corral, Chris grimaced at the stiff posture and chuckled at the way the man startled with every movement. Brother Francisco, however, showed talent and experience with handling the horses. Keeping half an eye on the two men in the corral, he snuck another glance at Vicky and the older priest sitting in the shade on Vicky’s bench.
It had been pure foolishness that had caused him to build it, all the while thinking that Vicky could sit on the bench with her mending or knitting and watch him working with the horses without having to sit out in the baking hot sun in the middle of the summer. This was foolish because he’d known she’d be gone well before the summer came. Once she left with the priests, the bench would be just one more reminder of her. Would she remember him and his ranch with the same affection he had for her? At least he knew she would be safe and protected as the wife of a powerful don.
Surely she exaggerated her dislike for her intended. After all, what father would knowingly let his daughter marry a fiend? No, her father must want what was best for her—certainly more than Chris could ever offer.
It was laughable that he’d even consider offering for her hand. Not that he wouldn’t cherish her for the rest of his days if she could be his, but what father would marry her off to a poor stranger when he had hacienda owners vying for her hand?
It was good that the priest had come and would be able to take her safely to the hacienda before he did anything truly foolish like believe he could keep her safe.
But the thought of letting her go with the older man and two young unknown men didn’t sit well, either. What if they were attacked on their way? Would the men even know how to defend themselves or her? Would killing another man in self-defense somehow go against the vows they had pledged to become priests?
Of the four, Vicky might be the only one to fight, and she would fight. He’d seen her take out the cougar and had no doubt she would do it again if called to do so. Could he sit in his own cabin wondering if they had made it safely back to her father? But what choice did he have? Nana Ruth couldn’t ride a horse, much less be bumped along on the path in an old wagon, even if they had one to use.
After all his years of working with horses, he knew he should be keeping his focus on Brother Sebastian because Chris’s horses could sense his unease. But by the time he’d had the thought, it was too late. One minute the horse was prancing around with Brother Sebastian finally looking like he had settled into the saddle, and then the next minute, Moonbeam bucked and threw the inexperienced rider to the ground. Chris rushed over, putting his own body between the young man and the upset horse. Moonbeam pranced away as if saying, “That’s what you get for putting a greenhorn on my back.”
Vicky and the elder priest must have heard the commotion because by the time Brother Francisco had corralled Moonbeam so he couldn’t do any more damage, Vicky deftly climbed over the fence. Chris started assessing Brother Sebastian for injury. Thankfully, he seemed to have only hurt his left ankle. No thanks to Chris. Once again, someone he should have been keeping safe was hurting. He shouldn’t have been pining over Vicky and not paying attention to what Moonbeam was doing.
The two younger men and Vicky spoke Spanish so quickly that Chris stood helplessly to one side, picking up only a word or so here and there. The way Vicky crouched next to the man, slipped off his boot and then gently prodded his ankle gave th
e impression she had done some doctoring in the past. Apparently the woman was going to continue to impress and amaze him at every turn.
Once Vicky finished with her examination of the swelling leg, Chris gave her a hand up.
“Hermano Sebastian no break leg. Only make big like coconut.” Her assessment matched his but was worded in a much more endearing way.
“You mean it is swelling.” He held his hands a few inches apart and then moved them further apart to demonstrate his meaning.
“Sí, swelling.” She nodded her approval of his description. “Need to put up and put cold.”
“We could bring water from the creek. It comes from the melting snow. It should be plenty cold.”
Her nod and look of gratitude made him feel ten feet tall. He turned to get away before he said something he shouldn’t.
“Chris? You help take back to cabin?” she questioned when he started to mount up on Moonbeam, ready to head out for cold water.
“Sure. Sorry.” He dismounted and retraced his steps, fighting to keep his attention firmly on helping the hurt young priest.
Vicky said something to Brother Francisco, and the other young man drew closer, as well. Between Chris and Brother Francisco, they were able to support Brother Sebastian so that he could limp on his good leg without putting any weight on the injured one. Once in the cabin, Chris explained what had happened to Nana Ruth, and she set to helping them with the man while Chris left to fetch the water. When he returned he found the older priest standing outside the cabin, deep in conversation with Brother Francisco. Had he and Vicky misdiagnosed the injury?
“Naw, he got a real bad sprain, but it ain’t broke,” Nana Ruth reassured him as they wrapped the man’s leg in cold, wet towels. “You know, your Vicky there is a good nurse. Yes, sir, that girl be a right smart one. She knew just what to do. Man could do a lot worse than jumpin’ the broom with someone smart and kind like your Miss Vicky.”
“She’s not my Vicky,” he declared. But he couldn’t deny that a part of him could suddenly see their lives intertwined. She would be a wonderful helpmate. And he knew without a doubt she’d make a wonderful mother someday. Gentle and kind, compassionate and affectionate.
Rescuing the Runaway Bride Page 11