Howie was already concerned about Lorene, and the night to come. What kind of sleeping arrangements would they have at this High Sequoia place? The ship had worked out just fine, but that didn’t mean they’d get that lucky again. He hadn’t thought to talk it over with Lorene, and decided not to worry. She didn’t want to stop either, so maybe everything was all right.
There were three- and four-story buildings set close together near the center of town. Tall trees shaded the hotels, clean open markets, and shops. And there were parks with ponds and gardens, right in the middle of the city. Everyone the carriage passed was well dressed. Howie noticed that at once. No gaunt and hungry faces, no veterans of the war with missing arms or legs. People smiled, and hurried here and there with cloth bags full of goods. The men looked hearty, and there were more than a few pretty women.
And horses—there was certainly no scarcity of horses in California. The broad, graveled streets were full of carriages and wagons and riders.
Howie shook his head in wonder at the sights. A war might be raging in the rest of the country, but you sure couldn’t tell it here. Fighting and poverty seemed a million miles away. And the preacher was right—Howie didn’t see anyone wearing a gun. Maybe these laws Jones talked about worked. Only that didn’t account for everyone dressing nice, and clearly getting plenty to eat. There was some other reason for that.
Before the carriage left town and started up into the hills, Howie saw something he could hardly believe, even in California. There were Loyalist and Rebel officers in the streets, shopping, or simply walking around. Once the carriage passed a group of men from both sides, talking to one another on the steps of a hotel. Lord A’mighty, Howie thought, I guess I’ve seen everything now.
The foothills were comfortably cool, the streets shaded by tall, broad-leafed trees. Papa had taught him the name of every tree on the farm, but there were very few here that Howie recognized. The road, like the streets in town, was graded with white stone, and he had never seen that before, either.
Nearly an hour from the pier, the carriage came to a tall, white-painted gate. Two Brothers in robes were there to open the gate quickly, and the carriage passed through. Ahead, nearly lost among the trees, was the biggest house Howie had ever seen. It seemed to wander all about; one story would turn into two, and then the trees would reveal a high tower, or a wing that was three stories high, or a balcony or a porch. The house was white stucco, covered in places by vines, and the roof had curly orange tiles like the ones Howie had seen in Nueva Panama.
Richer Jones caught Howie’s expression. “Well, what do you think of California, Cory? Does it look like you imagined it would be?”
“I never imagined nothing like this,” Howie said.
The preacher’s smile turned thoughtful, and he leaned forward and gripped Howie’s knee. “I know what has to be going through your head, son. I’ve seen the rest of the country too, you’ll recall. We’re mightily blessed out here. Mightily blessed by the Lord.”
Howie didn’t need Jones to tell him that. “I knew High Sequoia would be something,” he said. “But I never thought it’d be as big as this. How many people you got livin’ in this place, if you don’t mind me asking?”
For an instant, Jones looked bewildered. Then he leaned close to Howie again. “This house is sort of a … place to stay when the Brothers and Sisters are in town. It’s a church, too, if you like. But it isn’t High Sequoia, Cory. That’s close to two hundred miles north and east.”
Howie stared. “You mean you got another house, too?
Jones shook his head. “High Sequoia’s not a house, it’s a sanctuary, so to speak. Lawrence likes to call it the Lord’s quiet haven on earth. You’ll see. There’s nothing like it anywhere.”
“I guess there’s a whole lot of stuff I don’t know ’bout California,” Howie said.
One of the Brothers laughed softly at that, and Ritcher Jones silenced him with a look. “There is time to learn, son. Plenty of time for that.”
Even after half a day in the big house. Howie was still completely lost. Jones had personally taken him on a quick tour, and Howie marveled at what he saw. The heavy, carved wooden furniture, the polished tile floors, and the plants everywhere—plants growing inside the house itself. There were living rooms and dining rooms and parlors, balconies and fountains, and even a room that was full of colorful birds. In the end, Howie managed to find his way from his room to the downstairs area and back again, and he was satisfied with that.
The room Jones gave him was bigger than the whole house where Howie had grown up. It had high glass doors leading to a balcony where you could sit and see way down the hill, and a patch of blue ocean beyond. He thought about his mother, and wished she could have seen something like this. The farmhouse had been fine enough for her, and Bluevale was likely the biggest town she’d ever seen. And Carolee and Papa, wouldn’t they have marveled at a ship, and New Los Angeles and all?
Howie set these thoughts quickly aside. It wouldn’t do any good to wonder what might have been. They were all three dead and he was here, in a place that likely cost more than Papa would have made if he’d lived a thousand years. The idea of that left a sour taste in his mouth, and the room and the fine glass windows and the view outside didn’t seem quite as grand anymore.
From what Howie could tell, there were maybe twelve or fifteen people in the house, not nearly enough to fill it up. He couldn’t imagine how many that would take. They didn’t all appear at supper, so he figured they were eating in one of the three or four dining rooms he’d seen.
There were five, including Howie himself, on the brick patio outside. Besides Jones and Lorene, and one of the Brothers Howie had never met before, there was a Sister named Camille. The patio was lit by candles, and the meal was served by young men and women Howie learned were aspiring to be Brothers and Sisters. They wore pale yellow robes with no piping on the sleeves, instead of regular white garments like the others.
At first, Howie was surprised to find Jones and Lorene had changed into robes too, but this seemed the thing to do. He had never seen Lorene so lovely. Just looking at her—or trying not to—made him want her all the more. The candlelight softened her features and her hair, and it excited him a lot to imagine those incredibly long legs, the supple curves and secret places beneath the modest churchly attire. His face heated at the thoughts in his head, and he hoped Ritcher Jones wasn’t looking his way.
The other girl, Camille, was pretty too, nearly as pretty as Lorene. She had hair black as night and olive skin, a thin, angular face, and enormous dark eyes. Howie made a point of not looking at her much; Lorene would sure notice if he did. He couldn’t tell what Camille was like, because she seldom said a word during the meal. Lorene kept silent too, most of the time. Wearing robes seemed to have some effect, and Howie hoped this solemn, spiritual behavior wouldn’t hamper the more earthly activities he and Lorene had come to share.
The other Brother at the table was called James, and he was somewhat older than the Brothers Howie had seen around the house. He was tall, and had very little flesh on his bones. He wasn’t as old as he seemed; he just acted that way and it showed. He kept his face screwed up tight and never laughed. Even when Jones said some-thing funny, James forced a smile, and looked as if it hurt to make the effort.
The talk was all of High Sequoia and what was going on there. James had just returned and had news about Lawrence and other people that Howie had no interest in at all. He perked up and listened when James discussed the upcoming peace talks between the Loyalists and the Rebels. James mentioned several names, but Harriver Mason wasn’t one of them. That didn’t mean he wasn’t coming, of course, but it made Howie uneasy not to hear his name.
After supper, Lorene and Camille disappeared, and Jones excused himself, stating that he had to speak further with James. Howie was left on his own, and for a while he sat and looked at the growing dark.
Everything had happened so quickly—meeting Ritcher Jo
nes and going to Alabama Port, then taking the ship to California. He had made up his mind what it was he had to do. Harriver Mason had run the horror of Silver Island. Mason would be at High Sequoia, so he, Howie, would be there, too. He would find Mason and kill him. He had no qualms about that, no more than squashing a mosquito on his arm. The man had done what he’d done. It was as simple as that.
Only now, with the prospect of High Sequoia very near, questions Howie had never thought about before began to worry at the edge of his mind. After he killed Mason— what would happen after that? Getting away was something he hadn’t considered at all. Until today, he’d had no real image of California—he had known where it was, and that was it. That afternoon, he had discovered a finely drawn map, framed on one of the parlor walls, and he was appalled at the sheer size of California.
Hell, killing Mason was one thing, but he had never intended to get himself killed, too. After he saw the map, he stood and cursed himself for a fool. He found High Sequoia, but the names of the rivers and the mountains and the deserts meant nothing to him at all. California was a vast hunk of land, stretching every way there was— mountains, deserts, and the ocean. The Canadas were at the top, and Mexico way on the other end. The Canadas might be best, he decided; there weren’t many settlements between High Sequoia and the border. And the deserts to the east looked deadly. Howie had seen enough of that kind of country in the north of Mexico, and wanted no part of it again.
Howie shook the troubling thoughts aside, stood, and looked out over the valley again. There were lights in the town, and farther out, a yellow glow upon the water. Were there other ports up to the north? He promised himself to study the map again. Of course, getting on a ship would be harder than taking off across the wild open country. In spite of the preacher’s talk about men at border stations and having to show your card, the map had shown him the fallacy of that: There weren’t enough people in California to watch even a small part of the state’s borders. If you were in, they could catch you without a card and toss you out. But leaving was something else. If you stayed away from ports, there wasn’t any way to stop a small army from leaving California.
“Well, a copper for your thoughts, Cory.”
Howie started, turned, and saw Ritcher Jones.
The preacher smiled. “Didn’t mean to sneak up like that. Guess you were off somewhere.”
“I guess I was,” Howie said. “Mostly I was thinking ’bout being out here. It’s a pretty big place. All the stuff you told me about California, I still can’t take it all in.’
Jones poured himself a glass of wine from the table. He offered Howie a glass, and Howie shook his head.
“I think I can sort of make a guess on what’s going through your head,” Jones said. “I don’t pretend to be a seer, you understand, but I’ve seen folks before when they first get a look at this place. They’ll say, ‘Now how can this be? How come it’s so different out here?’ ”
“That’s about what I was thinking,” Howie said. He heard a girl humming somewhere, and wondered if it might be Lorene. “California don’t seem to have a whole lot to do with the rest of the country. And what’s going on there.” Howie looked at Jones, trying to find the proper words. “I saw some government officers and some Rebels in town. They was talking to one another like they might be neighbors or something. You sure wouldn’t see that anywhere but here.”
“No, you certainly wouldn’t,” Jones agreed. “That’s a fact. And I’d say it’s a real fine thing.”
“Yeah, I guess so. But it don’t make any sense to me. It’s like there isn’t any war, and those fellas don’t care if there is. Maybe bein’ out here you just forget. California’s got plenty of everything—but it ain’t in the war. That’s the thing. It don’t seem right, and I can’t figure how it came about. I don’t guess you got an army, I don’t know. I kinda got the idea that you don’t.’
Howie paused and shook his head. “If I was Lathan, now, I might get the idea that California rightly belonged to me. Seeing as how it’s part of the West—’bout as west as you can get. Lathan says that part of the country belongs to him. And if he marched in here and took what California’s got, why, it wouldn’t be no problem at all to win the war. He’d turn right around and walk over the Loyalists in a month.”
Jones nodded in thought and set down his glass. “You’re thinking straight, Cory, and you’ve made a good point. We don’t have an army, or nothing that you’d call one, anyhow, and Lathan—or anyone else for that matter—could march right in if he liked. But he won’t. I’ll tell you straight out that he won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s easier to buy what you need than fight for it. It’s as simple as that. California trades with whoever’s got the price. Rebels and Loyalists alike. Asians, or anyone else.” Jones rubbed his chin. “And let’s say Lathan did decide to march on California. Even if we don’t have an army, it’s a mighty big state to have to cross, and it’d take every man that Lathan’s got. And what would the Loyalists be doing while Lathan left his rear end exposed?”
Jones shook his head. “California’s an island of plenty, son. The people here have worked long and hard to get what they’ve got. We’ve got everything everybody needs. And neither side in this war is fool enough to try and come and get it. They’ve got enough fight on their hands without starting something else.”
Howie considered what the preacher had said. It made sense, but it brought another question to mind. “If California would quit selling to anyone, the war would have to come to a stop. You wouldn’t need to have a peace talk, then.”
“No, now that’s not entirely true,” Jones said. “I’ve talked to a great many high officers on both sides of this war, and they are all stubborn and dedicated men. They believe their cause is right, and I fear they are determined to fight to the last poor hungry trooper in their commands.”
“I seen ’em do that, all right,” Howie said.
“Yes. And I fear it won’t stop, regardless of what California sells or doesn’t sell.” Jones filled his glass again. He looked suddenly weary, drained of his usual tireless drive.
“The thing is, Cory, you hit upon a sad bit of truth in this matter, I’m sorry to say. Merchants in California are getting rich off the war, there is no denying that. We abhor this in High Sequoia, but there’s little we can do. We are, after all, only a religious settlement, and California is run by men who see profit in this life, and care very little for the glory of the next. Oh, we have some friends in high places, but not enough to count.” Jones spread his hands. “And if we did convince California to cut off supplies to the two forces, what then? As I just mentioned, it would not solve a thing. The fighting will go on until the bitter end. I wish I didn’t believe this was so, but I do.
“No, cutting the armies off is not the answer,” Jones went on. “The answer lies in persuading both sides to stop, to settle their differences and bring the country together, save this nation before it crumbles into dust.”
“I don’t reckon the rich men here in California will like that,” Howie said.
Jones let out a long breath. “I cannot tell you, my boy, how many hours I myself—and others as well—have spent trying to convince these ‘rich men’ you speak about that there is more money to be made in revitalizing a peaceful nation than there is helping to destroy it. I fear the human creature is very shortsighted, Cory. He tends to believe in what is, and is wary of what might be. I am afraid that’s the way of the world. The Light of the Lord shines brightly in even the deepest corner, but a man has to open his eyes to see it.
Howie woke, and thought he was still dreaming. The glass doors to the balcony were open to the pleasant night air. Lorene stood just inside the room, bathed in the light of a half-moon.
“I’m sorry I took so long.” Lorene sighed, dropping wearily to a chair. “We had to do prayers, and then I had to climb all kinds of porches and balconies and stuff. Lord, Howie, I’m clear on the other side of
this place where the Sisters have to stay.
Howie sat up. “You couldn’t just come through the house, Lorene?”
“You wouldn’t say that if you tried to walk around this place at night,” she said crossly. “There’s always someone up and stompin’ about.”
Lorene patted a stray hair in place. “You know what I prayed about, Cory? What I asked for most of all?”
“I don’t guess I got any idea.”
“Us, Cory. I prayed about us. That the Lord would see fit to shine down on our union and bless us, and understand what we mean to each other, even if it looks like we’re sinning and all. And I asked Him not to let us get caught.”
“That’s a right good prayer,” Howie said.
“I feel like it was. I feel like it ought to do fine.”
Lorene stood then, and slipped the gown over her head, and Howie caught his breath, and wondered if he’d ever get used to the glorious sight of pale flesh and tender limbs, revealed like a brand-new wonder every night, and he was certain he never would.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ritcher Jones didn’t appear at breakfast, and neither did Brother James. Lorene and Camille were on hand, along with a Brother named Harmon, a dumpy young man built roughly in the shape of a gourd. Harmon’s nose was too big, a chunk of pink putty carelessly applied to a perfectly round face. His cheeks puffed out as if someone had stuffed him with cotton, a condition that compressed his fleshy lips into a rosy pink wad and made Harmon look as if he were continually searching for a kiss.
Howie disliked the man at once, a feeling that had little to do with his appearance, though that didn’t help. It was clear Harmon was taken with both Lorene and Camille. He grinned like a fool at the pair, found a reason to touch them when he could, and ate them up with his pallid blue eyes. This enraged Howie all the more because the girls didn’t seem to mind at all. They listened intently to whatever Harmon said, which was nothing anyone cared to hear.
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