Three Wishes (River of Time California Book 1)

by Lisa T. Bergren

  I nodded. “Do you think I might have a turn in the wagon?”

  “Of course,” he said, rising. “Frani can ride your gelding for a time.” He offered his hand, and I took it, grateful that the strength was returning to my lower extremities at last. But it felt oddly intimate, both of us standing there thinking about my legs, and I hurriedly dropped his hand. I moved away from him, hesitant at first, then striding faster. “If you’ll excuse me,” I said, when he moved to follow, as if worried that I’d fall, “I need a bit of privacy.”

  That brought him up short, and he nodded quickly. “Of course, of course,” he said, gesturing me forward. I found my place behind some brush, warily looking in all directions before squatting. But no one came near.

  The trail was long and dusty, and I soon wondered why I’d bothered with a bath at all this week. At this rate, we’d all arrive covered in dust and stinking in our sweaty clothes. I bounced along in the back of the wagon beside Adalia, who absently patted her sleeping child’s body. I had no idea how the toddler could sleep, tossed about as we were, and I soon wondered if it was simply a different sort of torture than the saddle, the only consolation being that I felt the pain in my backside rather than the dulling paralysis that I’d experienced earlier. Still, the others seemed well used to it, and I was determined not to complain, especially with Doña Elena riding alongside.

  When the grand old lady finally edged away, I had a moment alone with Adalia at last. “So…you are returning to your own family.”

  “Yes,” she said, a wave of sorrow crossing her face as her dark, almond-shaped eyes flicked over Jacinto and Estrella, on the seat in the front of the wagon. She repositioned herself on her sack of dried beans. “It was no easy decision for me. But I think it for the best. Ever since Dante died…” She paused, swallowed hard, and blinked before beginning again. “Ever since, I’ve felt so adrift. And I wonder…I’m hoping that in going home, I might find my anchor again. Not in another man,” she said, leaning toward me, as if sharing a secret. “Something that can never be taken from me,” she added, patting her chest. “Here.”

  I nodded, remembering our conversation. “I understand,” I said. “Sometimes we have to do the thing that no one else wants us to do, in order to do what we feel led to do. And you know what else?” I said, leaning toward her, offering my hands when little Álvaro stirred irritably in his mother’s arms, agitated by the sweat and dust and bouncing. “You can always return,” I said in her ear. “There will be an open door for you at Rancho Ventura, no matter how sad and angry they seem.” All morning I had watched them all, and no one but the servants and Estrella had spoken to Adalia. No one had reached for the baby—a child they’d all doted upon. “They’re just trying to prepare their hearts for your farewell,” I said, gesturing at the children and at Doña Elena, all carefully avoiding our gaze. “No one willingly welcomes pain. They’re simply trying to steel themselves so they can get through it.”

  Adalia nodded and blinked back tears as she handed me her son. “Thank you, Zara. That helps me.”

  “I’m glad.”

  I held Álvaro until he pooped his pants, then watched in some amazement as Adalia managed to change him, cleaning him up the best she could, in the back of the bouncing wagon. By nightfall, we’d covered more than half the distance to Santa Barbara, and I was just wondering how I would sleep, in the middle of so many people, when I drifted off under stars I recognized as my own, even if they were in a different century. And somehow that gave me just the comfort I needed.

  CHAPTER 13

  The next afternoon, we arrived on the edge of Santa Barbara weary and more than a little trail-sore. My body screamed for an Advil—or ten—but the best I was going to get was a change of clothes, a hot meal, and some tea. Happily, we paused on the edge of town, and the men and women divided up. I was wondering why when we came to a glen with a small pond at the center. It took everything in me not to shriek and tear off the wretched riding habit, but I managed to keep myself together as servants brought our trunks and offered us towels and soap. The women and girls all went to the mossy-edged pond, undressing behind prickly bushes that did a neat job of holding our clothes, like we were in some sort of early-California locker room. Then we slipped into the sun-warmed, murky waters, and I honestly thought I’d never felt anything as good in my entire life. It was almost as if the wear and tear of the trail had been worth it in order for me to feel this…this…glory.

  Estrella moved behind me, soap suds on her hands, and passed me the bar. We ran the soap through our hair and over our skin and played and dunked until Doña Elena announced it was time to get dressed again, leaving the pool for the men. Apparently this was the routine—the way to reach the gathering not looking like filthy cast members on the set of Mad Max.

  Maria, her own straight hair dripping, offered me a fresh petticoat and corset and the brown day dress—a blessed break from the tight riding habit. I slipped the dress on, and then after she’d combed out my hair, I crunched it with my fingers, encouraging the curls to form. I stopped her when she came at me, armed with pins and hairnet. “Please,” I said, “would it be all right to leave it down?”

  She frowned in confusion but then shrugged and moved on to Estrella. We ate a bit of dried beef and tortillas, waiting at a distance as the men bathed, and once they were finished and had a bit to eat, we set off again.

  When we arrived at the gathering place, just north of town, I stared in bewilderment. Before us were thousands of cattle—and our vaqueros drove the cattle we’d brought into the mix. Beside us, lines of tents formed a virtual town, and people from Rancho Ventura began pulling bundles from the backs of mules and the wagons to add our own section. Visions of a cozy frontier hotel vanished from my head as I realized that this was it. This was no trip to a charming, historical version of the Santa Barbara I had known in the future; this was a camping expedition on her outskirts.

  I sighed and accepted a servant’s help in dismounting, Javier having gone somewhere with his men. I handed my reins to the man, gripped my skirts, and ascended a nearby knoll to check out the scene. After a short hike, I arrived and looked down to the gathering herd, watching as men moved through them on horses, pointing at one or another. To sell? To purchase? I had no idea. They’d erected ten corrals, perhaps for sorting or bronco riding or whatever they did at rodeos in this era.

  There were a good fifty tents pitched already, with about fifteen campfires already sending up smoke. The smell of roasting meat blended with the sea air. In the distance, I could see the curve of the coastline and the bright white of a few buildings in the town proper, as well as the warm adobe and cross of the mission.

  Around the edge of the tents, I spied six men in black and white uniform, with white Xs across their chests, following a leader with gold epaulets on his shoulders and a sharp, black hat. They approached a cluster of six men—with younger men hovering about—and I saw Javier at the center. Perhaps they were the rancheros, all gathered together. I thought I’d made out Mateo hovering close by them.

  They stood there stiffly, listening to whatever the head X-man dude had to say. I stifled a giggle at my own internal joke, but managed to keep my composure. Then Javier gestured to the right, clearly inviting them to stay but with no enthusiasm. Mr. Blackcoat nodded once, and the men set out, riding directly beneath where I stood, where Mr. Blackcoat caught sight of me and smiled, touching his hat as he nodded in my direction. I pretended to smile back. He was about thirty, a big man with big features—nose, chin, eyes—and he and his men appeared to be the remaining Mexican military contingent from the presidio…the ones Javier seemed to so thoroughly resent.

  We’d eaten our supper around the campfire, alongside Rafael Vasquez, his sister, Patricio, and a friend, when Javier rose, went to the wagon, opened the lid of a trunk, and brought back his father’s guitar. He handed it to me as the group around us fell silent. His mother began with stiff agitation, “Javier, this is not the place—”<
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  But he shushed her with a wave of his hand, only looking at me. “The charreada is a time of celebration. I would like it very much if you might gift all of us with a song, Zara.”

  I hesitated, glancing at Doña Elena and Adalia, who both bore warning expressions, but the rest were all encouragement and curiosity. And what was the harm, truly? Vanity won out; I felt the need to show them all just what I could do with the strings of a guitar, even if I was a lousy horsewoman. I shifted on my rock-seat to better balance the instrument and considered what I might play. I settled on “El Pomponderano,” the first song I’d learned via YouTube, with its intriguing blend of plucked notes along the strings, with the tapping the body of the guitar as a sort of mild drumbeat, and then building in tempo and complexity.

  It began slowly, and I felt sweat beginning to bead on my forehead, aware that every single person was staring at me. I could hear others at neighboring campfires still talking and laughing, the occasional shout and the lowing of the cattle, but gradually centered in on only my song. My fingers, connecting lightly with the strings, were poised for the speed of the piece ahead. I closed my eyes and felt the rhythm, smiling as I heard someone begin to clap expertly—almost like another instrument, and then a second, picking up additional beats, at once making the song familiar to me but also giving it new life. My smile grew, but I kept my eyes closed, hearing the song build from the old guitar into something I knew I’d remember the rest of my life. Being here, in such a pretty place, on the edge of one of California’s earliest rodeos, and playing in a mariachi version of jazz? I had to admit, it was pretty cool, and I was going to relish every minute of it.

  But when the song came to a close and I opened my eyes, I was aware that neighboring sounds had stopped—other than from the animals—and that our group had grown. People stood three-deep all around us, and children squatted in a posse all around me, staring up in rapt attention. Javier rose, grinning from ear to ear and applauding. “Brava!” he cried, urging the others to similar accolades. “Brava!”

  I smiled with him, offering the guitar back to him, when I saw his face fall and followed his gaze. “Señor de la Ventura.” It was the lead X-man, coming closer, followed by his squad. But his eyes were only on me. “So this new rose is your guest? Why was I not introduced the last time I came to your rancho?”

  “She had not yet arrived,” Javier said, the muscles at his cheek tightening.

  I stood, now grateful I was still holding the guitar. I could sense the danger in this one—the entire group around me reflected it—and the guitar gave my hands something to do.

  Javier edged in beside me. “Lieutenant de Leon, this is our guest, Señorita Zara Ruiz. Señorita Ruiz, Lieutenant de Leon.”

  He took off his tall hat and tucked it under his arm, then bowed over my hand, low enough that his long, greasy black curls brushed the top of my wrist. But he did not kiss it. “I am your servant, Señorita Ruiz,” he said, his eyes lingering on my face and down to my chest and back up again. My servant. Right. He did not release my hand but covered it with his other. “Now you must tell me,” he said with a smile, tearing his eyes from me to Javier a moment, “where did your lovely guest come from, Ventura? A musician of such caliber?”

  “I was actually hoping you might be of some assistance to her, Lieutenant,” Javier said flatly. “Señorita Ruiz survived a most harrowing blow to her head, resulting in a fall from a ship along my shore. She made land along Pirata Cove. Have you heard of any ships passing southward, with tales of a woman lost?”

  I could hear the murmurs of other newcomers in the crowd around us. It wouldn’t take long for everyone encamped here to know my story.

  “Indeed not,” the soldier said. I slipped my hand from his at last, and he frowned as if a fish had just spit out his hook. He turned to a man behind him. “Gutierrez, have you gotten wind of any such story at the harbor house?”

  The man shook his head too, staring at me, mouth agape.

  “But you have sent word to her family?” the lieutenant asked.

  “No. I fear Señorita Ruiz remembers precious little, other than her name.”

  “Well, thank God she remembers how to play that guitar!” the man said, with a bark of a laugh. Uneasy, forced laughter followed him.

  “Yes,” Javier said. “Well, we—Señorita Ruiz and my family would greatly appreciate your sending word if you hear anything relevant at the presidio.”

  “Of course, of course,” said the man, looking down at me as if I’d just become a hundred times more intriguing. “Perhaps with a rose such as this in my midst, I can ignore the rather thorny issue that we have yet to receive your quarterly taxes, Ventura.” His dark eyes moved to meet Javier’s, who stiffened. “I assume you brought it with you? Surely it was only an oversight, you not sending it by messenger last month.”

  “I have it with me,” Javier said, measuring each word. He didn’t promise to give it to him.

  Doña Elena rose to her feet and, spying an ally, Lieutenant de Leon turned to her, fawning over her and the girls. Francesca smiled shyly, but Estrella didn’t seem too pleased with his attention. I supposed it was the age…I remembered just starting to notice at about Francesca’s age that I was capturing attention of the male sort and the strange power that accompanied it.

  Javier stood there as if enduring the scene. Clearly, he did not have a lot of love for these dudes. I remembered his comments about their tax demands and the lack of return for that investment. But was it any different here and now than it was in my own day? Back home, the old people talked about a lack of medical care; delivery drivers bellowed about the potholes in the streets; teachers and students griped about the constantly broken air conditioner at school. But here, there was an obvious threat in the soldiers’ body language that I’d never seen among the police or politicians of my day. Plainly, they were nothing more than bullies.

  Adalia gestured toward me, and we went to the tent we were to share. “We’re to dress for the dance,” she said quietly, setting little Álvaro down on a makeshift cot. “You’ve already drawn the lieutenant’s attention. He’ll surely require a turn around the floor.”

  I hesitated, noticing the distinctly pinched look around her lips. She didn’t like this. Because she was jealous? Surely she didn’t think that guy was cute…

  “I…uh, I won’t be dancing tonight,” I said, forcing a smile. “Too saddle-sore to do more than turn in, I’m afraid.” That was true. I didn’t know if I could walk a mile, let alone dance this night.

  “Nonsense,” she said softly. “You must come. Everyone will be there. Including Javier.” Her eyes slid to me.

  “Maybe that’s the best reason of all to stay away.” I sighed as I sat down on my cot and shrugged. “I’m like you. Leaving soon. The closer Javier and I get, the harder that will be.”

  She sat down across from me, looking impossibly fresh and beautiful in her shift. Suddenly younger. Like maybe she was only a year or two older than I was. But she was frowning. “Where will you go, if you cannot remember where you came from?”

  “I…I don’t know. I just know I have to be ready when the time comes. And Javier…” I gazed over at her, feeling helpless to describe it.

  She gave me an understanding smile. “Javier and Dante…” She looked to her son, as if to distract herself, holding on to his hand as he struggled to his feet, wavering on the lumpy cot and falling into her arms. “They have always been wonderful. I was the envy of every girl from here to the border when Dante professed his love to me. And then it was…gone.”

  “How did he die, Adalia?” I asked quietly.

  “Steer-wrestling,” she said bitterly, shaking her head. “Here at the rodeo, last year.”

  “Oh,” I said, startled. Maybe this was what pushed her over the edge. Returning to where her future with her husband had abruptly ended. “I’m so sorry.”

  She stared at me, obviously confused by my phrase, but she understood the look of compassion on my
face and softened, looking for a moment as if she might cry, but then carefully regaining control. “You will see Javier wrestle tomorrow. He and his brother had no rival other than each other. But last year, as Dante brought his steer down, one horn pierced his belly.”

  I swallowed hard, feeling a bit sick. I imagined what that must have been like—the horrible pain for Dante, the lack of medical care, what had to be a long, drawn-out death.

  “I had always liked Javier, but it was Dante who held my heart,” she went on, unbuttoning her son’s small shirt, even amid his squirming. “I awaited his return, thinking he might do his duty and take his brother’s place.”

  “But Javier did,” I said, puzzled. “Didn’t he?”

  Her dark eyes met mine. “I mean, in taking me as his bride.”

  “Oh,” I breathed, for the second time. Apparently this was A Thing. Stepping in for Big Bro. In all ways. “Oh,” I repeated, feeling totally lame, but lost for something to say. “So, uh…So then…you and Javier…”

  “Javier and I have always been friends,” she said. “It simply became clear that it would never be more, even before you arrived.” She set down her son and watched a moment as he maneuvered along the edge of the cot to the end. “And honestly, Zara, I don’t know how I might have…adjusted.” She reached out and took my hand. “Once a Ventura captures your heart, I doubt another can ever compare. Even if it is his brother.”

  I swallowed hard. I’d been thinking about that a lot on the ride down here. About Javier’s note. And wondering if I’d ever find a guy like him in my own time. “So were you disappointed? Or relieved? When things didn’t work out between you and Javier?”