Three Wishes (River of Time California Book 1)

by Lisa T. Bergren

  I was just thinking, as she circled the last hooks, that it wasn’t all that bad, when she went back to the bottom of the stays, obviously intent on tightening the laces, pressing the breath right out of my lungs. I swallowed hard, trying not to squeak out my protest. I was supposed to ride a horse in this thing? But in a minute she was done and reaching for the blouse, crisply ironed with lace at the neck that plunged low over my cleavage. The jacket made it less scandalous, covering more of my chest, but not much. She urged me to my small dressing table stool and set to combing my hair out, then pulled it into a thick braid down my back. At the end, she tied it with twine, knotted it securely, and then produced a beautiful ribbon that matched the habit, tying it over the twine to conceal it.

  “The mistress has a hat to match,” she said. “We will put that on you tomorrow. For today, we just wanted to make certain you could wear this. It is good?”

  Well, good was a debatable term. Good would’ve been sweatpants or my old jeans or PJ pants. A sweatshirt and no bra. This was pretty much the exact opposite. An old SpongeBob episode leapt into my mind, “Opposite Day.” It’s Opposite Day, I told myself. “It is good, Maria,” I said, trying to assure her.

  “Very good, Señorita,” she said, her face melting with relief. “You are ready. Don Ventura wishes to ride with you after your meal. He has a new gelding for you to try.”

  Riding? How did women ride horses in such a thing? The split skirt was wide, ample in fabric to allow for me to ride sidesaddle without exposing any skin, presumably. But that assumed that one didn’t need to breathe while she rode.

  I paused at the door, and Maria looked at me. “I don’t know, Maria. Perhaps the corset is too tight.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “You are simply unused to it. You did not wear one where you came from. You have none of the markings the other women do that I have seen as I dress them.”

  Clearly the girls in this household bore some sort of bruises or scars from years in such contraptions. Only thoughts about foot-bindings in the Far East comforted me. At least my boots were big enough… “No,” I said. “Not often.”

  Maria handed me a pair of black gloves and then gestured toward the hall and stairs. “They’re likely already at table,” she said, urging me forward. “Go on, Señorita.”

  I nodded and hurried along the hall and down the stairs, admitting to myself that I did have better posture in the corset. Stomach in, back straight, my shoulders naturally pulled back too, and my chin high. I felt like a doll in a new outfit and wondered just how many times Doña Elena had worn this “old habit,” since it appeared none the worse for wear.

  When I entered the dining room, Javier looked my way. His eyes widened, and he stood, as did his little brothers. “Zara, you look…quite…prepared for a ride,” he finished awkwardly, moving to help me take my seat. But I could easily imagine the word he’d almost spoken before hesitating, as he lingered behind me a moment as if he wanted to say more. Beautiful had been the word in his wonder-filled eyes. I imagined that I at last looked the part of a fine Latina settled in this frontier villa, rather than an interloper. Scrubbed clean and in the impeccable riding habit, I felt more like I fit the part.

  I accepted a bowl of soup from Francesca, who was serving from a big bowl at the center, and caught Doña Elena’s gaze from the end of the table. She looked dotingly at me. “The habit fits you well,” she said approvingly. “It never was quite right for me. Perhaps it was always meant for you.”

  “Oh,” I said, not quite sure how to respond to that. “Yes. Thank you so much.” I had the crazy thought that maybe she hadn’t ever worn the habit—had had it made for me—but they would have had to begin that process the day I arrived. I was just lucky they had something for me, tight as it felt. Hopefully it would hold together over a couple of days of riding to Santa Barbara and a couple more when we returned.

  I took hold of my goblet and swallowed some water. Water was about all I was going to ingest. Eating and drinking in the cursed corset were going to make it all the more miserable, I thought. But I was hungry, both breakfast and the stolen tortilla from the kitchen long since burned away. It had been a busy morning. So I ate, at least half my normal portions, and felt better for it. Also, the corset seemed to be easing a bit; perhaps it was why they laced them up so tightly from the start.

  A manservant appeared in the doorway as we finished, hat in hand, waiting for Javier to notice him. Javier waved him forward, and the man bent to whisper something in his ear and then hurried out. Wiping his face with his napkin, Javier looked again to me. “I would ask you the favor of your company, Señorita,” he said, rising and coming around my chair to help me up.

  “Oh…yes, of course,” I said, glancing at the others. They all looked our way expectantly. Estrella was grinning as widely as the kitchen maids had after he’d left me there, eyes practically big, pulsing heart-shapes like a cartoon character.

  Javier offered me his arm. “I fear I’m not quite dressed to match your finery today, Señorita.”

  I glanced at him as I wrapped my fingers around his forearm, noting the fine muscles beneath his own crisp shirt. “I don’t know,” I said quietly. “I think you look quite fine.”

  He grinned at this as he opened the door for me, grandly gesturing me forward, and my heart skipped a beat. He was handsome, so handsome. But when he smiled…Santos y ángeles…every girl I knew would practically die to see a smile like that from him. He was…glorious. Almost too gorgeous. I thought I deserved an award or something for just being able to put two or three words together in his presence, let alone hold my own the way I had. But I had to keep a firm lid on things. No more flirting, Zara. He did not need me to lead him on. That wouldn’t be cool, what with me thinking about getting home every time I had a chance to consider it.

  Outside the villa, Javier offered me his arm again and led me around to the hitching posts that stood just beyond the library windows. It was here that I saw the horse, a gorgeous chestnut gelding with a white star-shape on his forehead. I hadn’t seen him before. “Well, where did you come from, boy?” I asked, extending a hand to let him sniff me and then running my fingers up and down his nose.

  Maria was there, then, beside me, quietly handing me my gloves with wide eyes. “Oh, yes,” I said, catching her hint that it wasn’t cool to go for a ride without them. “Thank you.”

  She bobbed a curtsey and left me, scurrying into the house as if holding her breath. I had the odd sensation that every window was filled with servants or family members watching us, and I glanced to them but saw nothing.

  “This gelding is one of Rancho Castillo’s finest,” Javier said, running his hand along the horse’s jaw and neck and watching me as I awkwardly pulled on my gloves. “When I saw him among a brood that Rafael is taking to Santa Barbara tomorrow, I…negotiated a deal with him.”

  “You mean you won him?” I guessed.

  Javier’s melty-chocolate-beautiful-eyes widened. Was that a bit of a blush at his jaw and neck?

  I smiled. “I don’t think that Rafael would willingly let a horse like this go without exacting a pretty penny from you. Unless you beat him at cards last night?”

  Javier huffed through his nose, lips curling upward, and he inclined his head. “You gather much in only a little time, Señorita.”

  “I’d like to think so,” I said, taking the reins from him.

  “But I’ll have you know I paid my friend. I didn’t win the horse outright. I just won him at a very good price.”

  I smiled. That felt better. I didn’t want to be riding a horse stolen out from under Rafael’s fingertips.

  Doña Elena and Mateo strode out then to admire Javier’s new purchase, oohing and ahhing. “Oh, he’s the perfect size for Señorita Ruiz,” Doña Elena said. “You did very well, my son.”

  I gaped at her. “Wait,” I said, looking to Javier. “You bought him for me?”

  “And the saddle,” she said, with knowing, doting eyes. “He
had the saddle remade for you too.”

  My eyes widened as I took in the fine leather, the tooling, the flashes of silver. It was far more modest than his own, but it was beautiful. “You did this for me?” I asked, embarrassed at the squeak in my voice.

  “Well, you needed a mount of your own for the trip tomorrow,” he said, one brow arching saucily. “And I didn’t want you to think again of taking mine. Come, let’s ride, and you can decide for yourself whether you wish to keep him.” With a swift, agile move, he was up and astride his mare, waiting on me. Flustered, I looked to my mount, wondering how I was supposed to get up on top of him without aid.

  Thankfully a stable boy had brought a box made into stairs, which he gestured toward. I handed my reins to Mateo, who had come closer to stroke the horse’s nose, and climbed the stairs, taking hold of the horn, studying the oddly shaped saddle, with a bump in front and a partial U above it. For my front leg, I figured, breathing a sigh of relief. It would make it much more stable, this whole riding-sidesaddle business, with that U helping to hold me in place.

  I sat down on the central part, then lifted my left leg into the groove in front, grimacing a bit at how much that leather piece came over my leg. I supposed I’d appreciate it if I was going fast, but it was so tight, I wondered if my leg would be asleep before we reached the sea. Apparently girls in 1840 had skinnier thighs than the saddler thought I might. The stable boy hurriedly flicked my skirt down when it lifted to calf-height, as if embarrassed that I hadn’t seen it myself. Mateo handed the reins up to me, and I took them in hand. I shifted, trying to find just the right placement for my rear, and then adjusted the reins as the gelding tugged downward to munch on some grass.

  I saw Doña Elena studying me, missing nothing. She somehow knew I was a faker, that I didn’t completely belong here. That I’d never sat on a saddle such as this. But what would she think if she found out I was a time-traveler? Yeah, that’d put her in her place, I thought. At least it’d end her matchmaking intentions…

  “Have a lovely ride, children,” she said.

  “Thank you, Mamá,” Javier said, dismissing her, and she turned and grandly returned to the house. Mateo retreated as far as the posts, but shyly waited around, as if he wished he was going too.

  I pulled back on the reins, forcing my horse’s head up, and the gelding flicked his tail and whinnied. Javier urged his mount to take a slow circle around me, eyes lit with admiration. “Ahh, sí, he is a fine mount,” he said, grinning at me. But he wasn’t looking at the horse at all. “And you are a vision, Señorita,” he said, loud enough for Mateo to hear, but he didn’t seem to care. “Come. Follow me.”

  He set off at a trot around the house, heading toward the mountains. I swallowed back my frustration, realizing that I’d hoped we would be heading to the beach. But my mind was occupied with figuring out how to stay in my saddle and yet keep up with him. He pulled up before long and circled back, matching my gelding’s gait. “Do you not wish to give him more rein, Señorita? See what he has in him?”

  “I do not,” I said, swallowing hard. “I’m concentrating on getting used to…this new saddle,” I finished.

  “Does it not…fit you well?” he asked.

  “Well, this front hook is a bit tight,” I said, moving my leg with a wince.

  “It has to be, in case you jump,” he said, frowning. “But perhaps the saddler can ease its grip a bit.” He was all adorable concern and worry, which would have normally melted my heart, but I was still thinking about his belief that I might want to jump.

  On a horse. Riding sidesaddle.

  “Yes,” I said faintly. “Right.”

  But after a while, I realized I was getting the hang of it, as well as the finely trained horse and beautifully crafted saddle that seemed to cradle my hiney in an oddly comforting manner. The gelding was perfectly responsive, seeming to grasp what I wanted to do, when I wanted to do it. Sometimes he got distracted, but he seemed interested in pleasing me most of the time. He was so much better than the weary horses at camp, and Javier’s skittish, high-spirited mare, that I was a bit lost in amazement. When we trotted, the gelding fairly floated. Was this the kind of thing that made a girl fall in love with horseback riding? Or was it everything…being alone with Javier? Climbing up into the hills, the mountains towering closer, on a pretty new horse in an outfit that made me feel like a character in a novel? Even the corset wasn’t chafing me as much as it had earlier.

  We crossed over a low point among the hills, and I gaped at what was ahead of us. Huge, cream-colored rocks rose above us, rounded as if waves had pounded them for centuries. Javier led me forward along the edge of them, allowing me to take in the wonder of their height and width, and pulled up when we were halfway down their block-long length. He dismounted and came over to me to stroke my horse’s nose and then reached up to help me down. “Javier, I’ve never seen anything like this,” I breathed, still looking up at the towering rocks, while I put my hands on his shoulders and leaned forward. He lowered me to the ground.

  “Neither have I,” he said intently, hands still on my hips as he gazed down at me.

  My eyes moved from the rocks to him, and I smiled at the compliment, but then eased away as he hobbled the horses. I strode along the formation and felt him soon follow behind, the hairs on the back of my neck standing in rapt attention. Was there any part of me that didn’t feel more awake with him around? I shook my head and forced myself to focus on where we were. The hills, the mountains…these were my hills, my mountains. Or at least they hadn’t been far from my house. Why had I never come up here? It was what? Maybe ten, fifteen miles away? I’d seen the mountains, of course. But from the freeways. Never up close. I think we’d taken a field trip somewhere near here in second grade. But not here…

  “I believe these hills and much of the mountains were once deep underwater,” Javier said.

  “Yes,” I said, thinking this was common knowledge. But he’d looked at me with such surprise, that I realized that it was only common knowledge later in history. “I mean, that’s an interesting thought. What makes you believe so?”

  “Because of this,” he said, taking my hand and leading me up a steep incline, until we were below one of the broad, leaning boulders. He seemed not to notice that he’d taken hold of my hand, so intent was he on his mission. But I could barely make myself put one foot in front of the other—all I could think about was the feel of his hand on mine. How my fingers fit with his. How it was sending all sorts of weird shocks up my arm, to my neck, down between my shoulder blades. How it felt so good that I never wanted him to let go.

  But then he did let go, shocking me back to attention. “See? Here?” he asked, kneeling down.

  He offered me his hand, but I didn’t dare take it. Instead I pretended to be so distracted by his discovery that I hadn’t noticed, crouching down. I ran my fingers along the imprinted remains of a massive fish’s skeleton and then along the curve of a shell, as big as a melon. “Wow, that is so cool!” I said.

  He smiled at me, but his eyes were confused.

  “I mean…What I meant to say is that this is…completely…glorious!” I mumbled, rising and moving on, running my fingertips along lines in the rock, hoping he’d forget I’d used very odd words and phrasing for the time. “It’s as if I can imagine being underwater right now.” I turned to him and discovered he was right behind me. “I mean…can’t you?” I asked, my voice a little strangled in the face of his sudden nearness.

  “Yes,” he said. But again, his eyes weren’t on the rocks. They were on me. “Zara,” he whispered, his voice low and full of wanting.

  “Do you swim?” I asked brightly, edging away as if to explore further.

  But he caught my hand and pulled me back around. He lifted his other hand and gently traced the line of my face, from temple to chin, eyes hovering over my lips. “Zara,” he whispered, clearly thinking more about kissing me than swimming. This time I knew it for sure.

  “Do yo
u? Swim?” I repeated.

  He gave me a little smile, clearly well aware that I was stalling. “I do swim. Do you?” he asked, lifting his eyes to stare into mine.

  “I do,” I said, a second later, turning away from him and continuing my trek along the rocks. “I love to swim!” I said brightly. “I swam every night after work, back home.”

  I felt him abruptly pause and realized my mistake, in the midst of trying to avoid something both of us would regret in time. There was already enough of a pull between us. Kissing would just make our parting all the harder.

  I turned back to him, thinking I’d say we should head back, but he was staring at me hard. “You…worked? You remember? What kind of employment was it?”

  I swallowed. “My abuela had a restaurant. I remember that well enough,” I said with a laugh. “That’s why it felt good to me today, to help the maids in the kitchen. Rolling tortillas? Chopping onions? I could do that in my sleep.”

  He swallowed hard, as if trying to digest this fact. “Where was her restaurant? In what city?”

  “I…I don’t remember,” I said, rubbing my head, hoping he’d think his questions were giving me a headache.

  But his eyes narrowed. “You went swimming every night after work, you said. So you must have been near the ocean. A town by the beach. You remember waves? Or was it fresh water? A lake or pond, perhaps?”

  “No, there were waves,” I said, suddenly wishing I could tell him, tell him everything. “I remember that for sure.” I licked my lips, now wondering if it’d be better to just kiss him and distract him from this line of questioning. Before I told him and he decided he wasn’t taking me to Santa Barbara for a rodeo—he’d be taking me straight to the nearest mental hospital. Even if that was in Louisiana.

  “So you worked in your grandmother’s restaurant,” he said slowly, hands on hips, beginning to pace. “In the kitchen. An odd occupation for ladies of your caliber. Where were your menfolk?”