Howie looked quickly away to hide the disgust he was certain Brother Jonas would see. That’s what a merchant would do, all right, protect every copper he could. It was likely, too, that the Asians were smart enough to build herds of their own. There were other ports besides those in California state, and ranchers who would gladly sell the Asians a whole fertile herd for a price.
And there was the other way, too, Howie thought grimly. He felt a slight chill at the picture in his head. The Silver Island way. There was likely someone in Asia greedy enough for that, too….
The caravan stopped early in the evening at an inn on the outskirts of a town with the peculiar name of Rust. Jonas said Howie might like to walk over and see it. The old name of the place was Santa Maria, and there were some interesting ruins to see, some buildings nearly intact from before the Great War. Howie thanked Jonas for the offer and begged off, saying the ride had tired him out.
That was mostly true, as he hadn’t slept more than an hour the night before. And he was a lot more concerned about finding Lorene than seeing ruins. She had hardly glanced at him at breakfast, and the few looks he got weren’t good. Which meant she was mad about some-thing, and it likely had to do with the night before. Maybe she did come to his room, and found he wasn’t there. Or worse than that, she’d decided to up and quit. Howie didn’t want to think about that.
At supper, he saw Lorene across the room with Camille. Harmon was there too, mooning at the girls and stuffing meat down his throat. Howie ate quickly and walked outside, trying to appear as if he was taking in the sights. The inn was built in the shell of a ruin, and there were arches and columns standing about, and gray stone paths that no longer went anywhere at all.
Lorene finally appeared. Howie was relieved to see Camille wasn’t tagging along. He stepped into the shadow of a column and called out her name when she passed.
Lorene nearly jumped out of her skin. “My Lord, Cory—you tryin’ to give me a heart attack or what?” She glanced warily over her shoulder. “We can’t stand talking like this, you know that. Someone’ll see.”
“There isn’t anyone around,” Howie assured her. “Listen, I just want to know ’bout last night.”
“What about it?” Lorene absently studied the arched stone ceiling, as if Howie weren’t there. “You apparently had some other … engagement.”
Howie felt relieved. “You did come, then.”
“Yes, Cory, I did.” She turned on him so quickly long hair flew into her eyes. “Only you weren’t there. I—felt like a perfect fool!–
“I’m real sorry. I went down into town for a while. I figure maybe Jones has already told you that.–
“No, no one told me anything, Cory. And don’t give me that look of yours, either. We can’t see each other on the road, so don’t ask. Besides, I’m not too sure I even want to anymore. Not if you—”
Lorene froze, and her eyes went wide. Howie heard the sound too, like something scraping hard on stone. Lorene turned and disappeared into the dark. Howie ran in the direction of the sound, and caught a glimpse of something round and repulsive as it vanished through a door.
Harmon, Howie thought, and clenched his fists at his sides. Looking back at where he and Lorene had been standing, he tried to guess where Harmon might have been. Close enough to see, but not nearly close enough to hear, he decided. And anyway, they were both whispering low and standing close. And of course, he realized at once, that was all Harmon needed. Whispering and standing close. He didn’t have to hear a thing.
The trip was long and tiring, with nothing much to see that he hadn’t seen before. There were hills, valleys, stretches of empty country, and farms. The farms were green and lush, and Howie wondered if they ever had a drought out here. Apparently even the weather did what it was supposed to do in California.
The second day out on the road from New Los Angeles, Howie noticed with interest that the caravan’s outriders were carrying arms—brand-new rifles, and cartridge belts full of brass shells. So much for the ironclad rule against weapons the preacher had lectured him about. Evidently the rule didn’t apply here, or the Brothers chose to break it. And why carry guns at all—unless you thought you might need them?
“Bandits,” Jonas said. “They hit travelers now and then this far from a big settlement.” He gave Howie a reassuring grin. “Don’t be concerned. We’re too large a party, too well armed. They like to hit poor farmers, folks that can’t fight back.”
“You ever see any of these bandits?” Howie asked. “Just the dead ones,” Jonas said. “Hanging from a tree.”
The third night out was the last night they stopped at an inn. Ahead, there were no settlements at all of any size, only open country and the ruins of century-old towns. As Jonas had predicted, the good highway disappeared; the road turned abruptly into a dusty, rutted path that frequently vanished in the weeds. The land looked fertile everywhere, but there was no one here in the wilderness to till the soil. Jonas said folks simply didn’t need the land; there was plenty closer in toward the coast, all the farmers could handle at the moment.
Howie tried to keep his mind on the scenery, but there was nothing real interesting to see. He didn’t want to think about the girl in the tavern or the song, or the kids with black patches on their eyes. He didn’t want to brood on Brother James, and how he might change his mind and tell the preacher what he knew. Or Harmon—what Harmon might have seen. It was a wonder he hadn’t run straight to Ritcher Jones with his tale. It was clear that he hadn’t, and Howie couldn’t guess why. Or maybe he had. And the preacher was simply waiting till High Sequoia to give him hell. There was Lorene, of course. He was more than a little worried about her. Lord, he hoped she didn’t mean what she said.
He tried to toss these worrisome thoughts aside and replace them with something more pleasant. For nearly half a day, he replayed every moment he and Lorene had shared in bed. That first hot and sultry afternoon in Alabama Port, the happy days at sea. After that, he made up things he’d like to do but hadn’t. There wasn’t much left on the list. Lorene was real good at putting aside yesterday’s sins, and trying out something new.
Early on the fourth morning out, as they crossed a narrow valley, bandits hit the caravan hard. It was over almost before it began. Shots rang through the hills on either side, sounding like the cracks of a whip in the morning air. Howie reached for his weapon and remembered it wasn’t there.
The riders came in from both sides, their mounts trailing red plumes of dust down the hills. Howie thought there were six or eight; there might have been more or less. Before the Brothers on horseback could get their wits together, the riders were in their midst. Two Brothers dropped from their saddles. Howie saw Ritcher Jones leap from a carriage ahead. Grabbing a riderless mount, he rode among the Brothers shouting orders, waving his silver pistol in the air. The Brothers quickly dismounted; one man held the reins of several horses, freeing the others to fight. When the bandits regrouped and came again, Ritcher Jones was ready. The Brothers held their fire till the last moment, then laid down a withering volley. Four bandits flew from their horses. The others turned and fled.
The encounter had lasted nearly eight minutes. Four bandits were dead, and two badly hurt. Jones hung the two wounded men at once. Three of the Brothers were dead. One, driving a carriage, had caught a bullet in the leg.
When the attack began, Jones had left his carriage to take command, and Lorene, Camille, and Harmon had dropped to the /Safety of the floor. A bullet had whined through the front of the carriage, missed the driver by half an inch, struck a metal bracing in the roof, turned at a perfect right angle, ignored Brother Harmon—who was screaming and trying to burrow under the girls—and buried itself deep in the back of Camille’s head.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
For a good two days after the tragic event on the road, Howie watched the mountains rise up in the east. The pale lavender peaks were capped with snow, and when the afternoon sun touched the heights, the whole range seem
ed afire.
“It’s the Sierra Nevadas,” Jonas said. “That’s the old name for them. Lawrence calls ’em the Pillows of God.”
“Looks kinda like the Rockies,” Howie said. “I seen some of those. But not up real close.”
“You’ll get to see plenty of these.”
Howie blinked at that. “We gotta cross ’em?”
Jonas grinned and shook his head. “No, thank the Lord. We’re stopping just this side. You’ll see.”
The caravan had been traveling through heavy stands of pine, spruce, and fir for some time, the forests growing thicker as the carriages and riders reached the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. On the morning of the sixth day out from New Los Angeles, Ritcher Jones called a halt. Brother Jonas and the others in Howie’s carriage scrambled eagerly to the ground. Howie joined them, wondering what the fuss was all about. There was forest on every side, and clusters of light green fern against the trees. He knew Jones liked to keep moving and stopped the caravan only for meals.
“What are we doing?” Howie asked. “We ain’t been riding for three hours.”
Jonas looked surprised. “Why, we’re here, Cory. This is High Sequoia.”
Howie didn’t like to seem a fool, but he couldn’t see anything but trees. Jonas caught his expression, took his arm, and led him a few steps to the right.
“Look,” Jonas said. “Over there.”
At first, Howie saw nothing but dense woods, and that was nothing new. His eye caught something, but rejected it at once. It was clearly a trick of the light; there weren’t any trees that big, not anywhere. There were six or eight together, and his one eye couldn’t sort them out. Then he saw another, and another after that, great, enormous shapes nearly lost in the dusty green light that filtered down from above.
“Great God A’mighty,” Howie cried, staring at the sight. “They’re real, aren’t they? They’re really there!”
“Oh, they’re there,” Jonas said. “Giant sequoias, Cory, the Lord’s finest creation. This is hallowed ground you’re standing on right now. Don’t forget that. There’s nowhere like this in the world. Nowhere but here.”
“I reckon I’ll agree on that,” Howie said.
The party walked from the point where the caravan had stopped. Carriages and horses weren’t allowed within the compound of High Sequoia. Howie didn’t ask why; religious folk had reasons for everything they did, but those reasons didn’t always make a lot of sense.
The closer he got, the more he was astonished by the size of the great trees. A few stretched nearly three hundred feet toward the sky, and had to be a hundred feet around. Jonas said they were three or four thousand years old. Howie nodded politely at that, and didn’t believe it for a minute. The whole world couldn’t be a lot older than that, much less a tree. Still, they were likely pretty old, there was no arguing that.
Past a small clearing, he caught his first glimpse of High Sequoia itself. A gate opened wide in a redwood fence nearly ten feet high. Once the party was through, Brothers with rifles over their shoulders closed the gate again. Low wood-and-stucco buildings in muted shades of yellow-green were scattered like children’s toys among the giant trees. The structures were well planned, set among fern and twisting vines, vegetation that had clearly been left undisturbed. Everything man-made seemed a natural part of the scene, as if it might have grown up with the trees.
It was the most tranquil, peaceful setting Howie had ever seen. Still, the farther he got into the compound, the more obvious it became that within the free and open plan of High Sequoia was a more subtle, nearly invisible network of inner boundaries, unobtrusive gates and vine- covered fences that wound like a floral maze through the grounds, forming a number of different areas and enclosures. Now and then, Howie spotted armed Brothers wandering about. They seemed to be paying no attention to their tasks, but Howie knew better than that.
The party thinned as it neared the heart of the compound. Howie saw Ritcher Jones and Lorene disappear through a stand of green leaves. Jonas led him to a gate where a Brother stood guard, and Howie was issued a yellow wooden button. The button had a number on its face, and Jonas told him to wear it at all times.
“While you’re here,” the Brother explained, “you can go into any area you like that has a yellow circle on the gate. Some gates will have all the different colors—yellow, green, red, blue, and white. Others will have only two, and a very few just one. Roam freely about, anywhere you see your color.”
Howie tried not to grin. “For a church, you got rules a whole lot like the army.”
Jonas shook his head. He wasn’t offended at all by Howie’s remark. “Visitors get that idea at first sometimes, but High Sequoia isn’t like that at all. We are a religious community, Cory, and there’s a reason for our needs. In some areas—red, for instance—Brothers and Sisters remain in solitude as a part of their training. Novices have their own compound and work areas, though you’ll encounter them nearly everywhere. Initiates, those who wear the white robes, have their areas, too. Jonas spread his hands. “Of course, everyone comes together for services and other occasions. In spite of all the rules, Cory, we are a very open society here.” Jonas smiled and looked up at the majestic tree overhead. “Prayer and devotion is the order of the day, our whole reason for being. The privacy and peace of the individual is our major concern.”
It sounded like a speech Brother Jonas had given before, but Howie could see it made sense. He didn’t ask about the Brothers who were armed—as far as Howie was concerned, that made a lot more sense than anything he’d seen in the place. The settlement was a hundred or more miles from any help, and no one had to tell him there were groups of lawless men running free in California.
He thought about Camille then, and wondered why God hadn’t shifted Brother Harmon just two or three inches to the right to catch the piece of lead that had found its way into the girl’s skull. Two or three inches wasn’t any big problem for God, but you never could tell what He’d do.
The room was small, comfortable and clean. A window looked out upon a fence covered with tangled green vines. Jonas got him settled, pointed the way to the visitor’s dining room, and left Howie on his own.
Howie tried out his bed. It was softer than he’d expected, and he wondered if the Churchers got to sleep on a soft bed, too. The redwood building was long, built with a narrow hall facing eight or ten rooms. There was an outside door at each end of the hall.
How the hell was Lorene supposed to get in here, with all those gates to pass through, and guards every-where? Howie wondered what color badge she might have. Probably a good one, seeing as how she hung around with Jones. Maybe she couldn’t get here at all. Maybe everything was over, whether she wanted it that way or not.
Howie heard steps in the hail, and looked up to see a thin, dark-haired man with olive skin and funny eyes.
“Hello,” the man said with a smile. “I am Chan. All right if I come in?”
“Sure, make yourself at home,” Howie said. He stood and shook Chan’s hand. “I’m Cory. Just visiting the place.”
“Ah. I am a visitor as well,” Chan said. He spoke English in a precise, studied manner. Howie couldn’t guess his age, but he seemed in his thirties somewhere.
“I am with the trade delegation,” Chan announced. From the way he spoke, it was clear Howie was supposed to understand. “There are several of us here.”
“I guess you’re an Asian,” Howie said. “I seen some in New Los Angeles, but never met one before.”
Chan laughed aloud. “Well, you have met one now. What do you think?”
“I don’t guess anything at all.”
“Good.” Chan nodded as if he had checked some-thing off in his head. –Then that is out of the way. I will explain about Asians so you will clearly understand. Asia is a very large place across the Pacific. Several large places, to be exact. I am from a country called China. You may think of me as Chinese. There are other countries as well, but we are the biggest.” Cha
n grinned again. “And the best.”
Howie found the explanation helpful. In his mind, Asia had loomed as a gray, indistinct mass far away.
“That’s like being from California or Alabama,” he said. “Only they’re both part of America, too.”
“Yes. Exactly.” Chan sat down in the room’s only chair. “And what is it you do, Cory? May I ask this question?”
“I don’t do a whole lot right now. I used to be in the army.”
“Of course.” Chan bowed his head for an instant. “And you have been injured. I am sorry.–
“I sort of got acquainted with Ritcher Jones back East. He invited me out here for a while.”
“Brother Jones.” Chan was clearly impressed. “He is a most high official of the Church.–
“I guess so. I don’t know much about that.”
Chan smoothed the collar of his shirt. “As I have said, I am a part of the Chinese trade delegation. I am a cultural representative, which means I do very little. Like you, at the present. We should get along fine.” Chan gave Howie a broad wink. “Actually, what I am is a spy. It is my job to see everything I can in California and write it down. I am quite good at it, too.”
Howie was taken aback. “If you’re a—what you said you was, how come you’re tellin’ me?”
Chan shrugged. “Oh, it is no great secret. Everybody knows. There is no delegation from China that does not include a spy. Someone is assigned to tell me lies. I listen quite carefully to these lies, and in this way I learn what it is they wish to hide. It is most interesting work.”
Howie was somewhat bewildered. “What kinda stuff does a spy want to know? I mean, there isn’t no army in California. All the fighting’s back East, over the Rockies.”
“Oh, nothing like that.” Chan waved Howie’s words away. “I am interested in matters of trade. Shipping tonnage. The price of stock. What sort of goods people in California will find desirable.”
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