"Thank you for helping them," she murmured, her sense of fairness demanding that she thank him, even if she was furious at him.
"No thanks are needed," he said freezingly, escorting her swiftly across the plaza to the place he had spotted her mother. "They were my men, after all, and are my responsibility, not yours. Enjoy the fiesta."
Before she could say anything, he was gone.
While Leonor nursed her wrath at his behavior, Dimitri took his men home, wondering at himself. Why, in the name of God, had he torn into her with such fury? Certainly she had been behaving unwisely, even dangerously, but it was no affair of his! Both her mother and her stepfather were there to keep her under control and yet he had taken it on himself to act as her duenna. He remembered her melting looks and that damned flirtatious fan and ground his teeth. She had been asking for trouble and it would have served her right if he had let it come to her, full tilt, without making any effort to stave it off for her! Yes, if Leonor needed anything, it was a husband to keep her in line. He would do well to consider the matter and decide who was capable, besides himself, of course, of doing just that! By the time he reached the hacienda, his temper had not cooled a whit and he still had not thought of a single young man in the district who was a match for the wretched girl! Since he had no intention of getting married himself, he would have to think of someone who would do!
Chapter Thirteen
The uneasy summer faded into fall and the tensions grew. Everyone knew that more agents had come from Iturbide, who had declared Mexico independent under a document known as the Plan of Iguala. This plan called for an independent monarchy for all of New Spain, which included both Mexico and her province of Alta California. News trickled in that the new Emperor Iturbide had submitted the plan to the Spanish Viceroy and rumor and speculation were rife. More and more heated discussions marked the meetings, both social and business, of the dons.
Some, like Don Gilberto and Don Carlos were staunchly loyal to Spain and her continued ownership of Alta California.
Dimitri, listening to all the discussions, thought it was no more than he'd expected to find those two in the Royalist camp. Both felt that they would prosper more quickly and to greater limits under the absentee authority of Spain. And as long as the Spanish held California and restricted her trade to Spanish ships, they could profiteer mightily through their dealings with smugglers. By now, he had no doubt of that side of their activities. Cesar, discreetly inquiring, had learned that they were producing and selling goods at a rate none of their neighbors could possibly match through sales to the Missions. Everyone's trade was being hurt except for those two dons, so it didn't surprise Dimitri that they preferred to maintain the status quo. What did surprise him was the changing sides of some of the older dons, those whose loyalty to Spain had never before been in doubt. Now he listened to them arguing for independence with Mexico. Spain, they maintained, was strangling this colony and would continue to do so. Mexico, cut off through her history from the mother land, understood their problems. She, too, had experienced them and they had led directly to the revolution that was still raging in the south. In spite of his intention to remain aloof from these internal problems, Dimitri found himself involved. He had come to claim his estates and deal with the problems plaguing them. Once that was done, he would return home. This colony was not his home, nor was her future his problem, other than considering how any changes would affect his ownership and the continued smooth management of his inherited estates. Yet, more and more he was being drawn in, finding himself personally involved in California's fate. He was coming to love this land, he admitted to himself. the heritage of pride from his mother was beginning to flower and he felt an affinity with these people and this land that he had never dreamed of feeling. As this grew in intensity, he was torn by conflicting loyalties. He was Russian. His place, surely, was there in the service of his Czar. But as he listened to the dons arguing, trying to settle California's destiny, he accepted the fact that this land might have a greater need for him than Russia had.
And he wondered, as the summer faded into autumn, what was he going to say in his report to the Czar? The more he thought of the things Captain Pokovich had implied, the more disturbed about it he became. He loved Russia and he knew that such a move as trying to annex California would seriously harm Russia's position with the rest of the world. The young Czar was bold, certainly, and as clever as they came; yet, if he was beguiled into believing that such an action would be accepted both in California and by the other nations watching this struggle, he was due for a disappointment. This problem weighed heavily on Dimitri's mind and he had yet to resolve it.
Leonor was also becoming more involved in the growing struggle. It was impossible to avoid it or pretend it was not happening. As the workers on her estate grew more dissatisfied and vocal about it, her concern for the continued peace on her lands increased. Don Gilberto had clamped an iron hand on the workers. He enforced a curfew, and had given orders that would prevent their gathering to discuss the situation. He patrolled and policed the estate to the point that no one moved, spoke or thought without fearing it would be reported directly and promptly to their master. His punishment was swift and ferocious and Leonor knew, from Paquita, that at least two men were so savagely whipped that they were permanently crippled. The peasants were aware that their young mistress shared their concern and was in sympathy with them and they clung blindly to the promise of a new order of things once she inherited. If they could just endure, they felt, she would make it right.
Leonor rode into Los Angeles on a crisp autumn day, wondering what would happen next. Paquita was reporting near riots on neighboring estates and growing trouble here at home. Leonor had not seen Dimitri in several weeks and had not really talked to him since the fiesta. The few times she had seen him had been when he called on her mother and they had done no more than make polite conversation under her mother's benevolent eye. Leonor's manner had been both cool and distant and Dimitri's had scarcely been warmer. She was regretful over their growing estrangement because his friendship had meant a lot to her but she felt powerless to change it. She left her horse at the village stables and strolled across the plaza. She saw the stocky figure of Friar Bartolomé coming towards her and greeted him in delight.
''I have not seen you, my daughter, since the fiesta. How do you do these days?"
She drew him over to a bench in the shade of a poplar and admitted that she did very well but had been busy.
He looked at her from under bushy white brows. "I know. Even at the Mission, we have heard of your activities. It worries Friar Ignacio very much. He says," Friar Bartolomé said with a twinkle, "that you would do better to confine your energy to the kitchen! Friar Ignacio does not hold with such independence, you know."
"And do you agree with him, padre?" she asked with a smile, for she was sure she knew his answer.
Friar Bartolomé chuckled. "No, I don't but I'm aware that many of the men hereabouts, particularly Don Gilberto, do agree with him. You are doing what you feel is right, child, and it is a reflection of your courage and honesty that you concern yourself with those who are less fortunate. God," he said with reassuring sympathy, "understands that."
"But Friar Ignacio doesn't!"
"What do monks know of the ways of the world, Leonor, and the depths of a woman's heart? You do not have to explain yourself to Friar Ignacio; you will only be judged, at the end, by God, so let that weight more heavily with you than anything a stubborn, old-fashioned priest says!"
Leonor laughed. "I will. As usual, you ease my spirit, padre. I am doing what I think is right and it is reassuring to know that you, at least, understand."
"I understand but that is not to say that I approve. Yet, even I must admit that my disapproval stems not from consideration of your motives and purpose, but from common sense. I am an old man and I have known you since you were born. I, myself, baptised you. I have, I admit, a fondness for you, Leonor, and I fear that the
path you take may lead you to disaster. If it does, I will stand with you, child, but do try to exercise a little prudence! Your stepfather is one who guards jealously what he holds and he will not continue to have patience with you if you persist in challenging him. Your time will come, soon enough, so pray for a little patience!"
She grinned, not at all abashed by the reproof. "I fear that is one of my sins, padre! I have never been strong in patience!"
He surveyed her lovely, laughing face and nodded. "I know that only too well. Just take heed of my warning and pray for God to grant you more than you've ever displayed in your life! The situation these days is tense enough; we do not need you to be muddying already troubled waters."
"The peasants on my lands grow more and more rebellious. It worries me. If my stepfather continues the rigid restrictions he has laid on them, the waters may well run red with blood, instead of mud, as you suggest."
"That is the case everywhere. Friar Ignacio is night distracted with worry. Our Indians are even more rebellious, you see, than your peasants. They, having been treated much worse, grow more anxious for redress. We have not treated our flock well, Leonor. The Church has a lot to answer for here. Friar Ignacio will not admit that. He cannot admit that the Church has ever erred. But they have used and exploited those natives to the point that they long for freedom. I would be tried for heresy," he admitted, "if any but you heard me say that but it is true. I deplore it and do what I can to ease their lot but who am I to deny them true independence of spirit? Our self-righteousness and arrogance will be our downfall. We cannot tread on our flock with such abandon for so long without disaster. Already much of the power of the Missions is gone, removed to secular hands. We asked for that, too. We were too rigid, too dogmatic. We could not accept a spirit of toleration for those whose customs are different. We had to force them into a mold that suited us, conformed to our ways. Both the Church and Spain are at fault and both will pay the price. But, in the long run, I think California will gain. We will breathe free air, child, and that is worth some sacrifice."
"Friar Ignacio is a royalist," Leonor stated, looking at him quizzically.
"Of course he is. He sees no further than his nose. I, however, try to be a realist and one can't be a realist without acknowledging the truth, no matter how unpleasant. My vows keep me from actively fighting for that truth but my heart is free to feel what it feels. You, child, must listen to your heart and do what you know is right. It may not be popular but truth often isn't." He rose, shaking his robe into orderly folds and rested his hand lightly on her head. "Go in peace, child, and hold to your truths. You have God on your side and He's the most powerful ally you could have. If you have need of me, send for me and I will come. Vaya con Dios, Leonor."
Leonor watched him cross the plaza and her spirits felt lighter, her soul refreshed. She would do as he advised and fight for her own truths. Freedom. That was a heady word, she admitted. Like Friar Bartolomé, she could not find it in her heart to blame the peasants and the Indians for savoring the taste of it.
Chapter Fourteen
Leonor put her hairbrush on the top of her dresser and walked to the window. It had finally stopped raining. The autumn had been particularly wet, turning gray and chilly early in October and continuing the dismal pattern of weather throughout the rest of the year. Now, in the first week of January, 1822, it was gloomy but the rain had stopped. Leonor had done her best to ignore the dismal weather and see it as a good omen. The chill, wet days had seemed to dampen the workers' enthusiasm for rebellion. The incidents had slowly died down to a mere handful, during these last three months, but no one but the most optimistic of souls believed that would last. There was a sense of growing tension, of a pot nearing explosion, that pervaded the days and nights. A stretch of clear weather could be all that was needed to light the fuse.
There had been little news from the south these last months and everyone waited to see what was going to happen there to Emperor Iturbide's plan. Would the Spanish Viceroy accept it or reject it? Would the war rage on or would it finally be settled and normal trade and shipping resume? The air itself seemed brooding and waiting and Leonor tried to make herself hopeful over the prospects of the new year. Between the gloomy weather that kept everyone indoors and the oppression that hung over the land, Christmas had been the least cheerful and happy she could remember. The unease had invaded the household and everyone went around quietly, looking over their shoulder at the invisible, but almost tangible cloud behind them.
The door to her bedchamber crashed open, startling her, and Paquita rushed in. "Senorita! There is trouble!"
Now what, Leonor wondered, pulling the draperies shut before turning to face Paquita. "What sort of trouble?"
"Men have gathered at the tax collector's house. A lot of men," she added, her usually cheerful face tight with worry. "They are threatening him. Someone sent word to the master and he is gathering men to go and stop it. And you know how he 'stops' what does not please him! I sent Paco to Andres, senorita. He may be able to persuade the men to go home."
She didn't sound very hopeful of that and Leonor, her heart sinking, couldn't help but agree. This was exactly what she had feared and waited for. All had known it would come and now it had. "Get out my riding habit."
"Senorita, you cannot go! It would be dangerous! It will soon be dark! I implore you, let Andres deal with it!"
"Get my habit! I may be able to stop it before Don Gilberto uses force on them! Paquita, for the love of God, do it! Do you want any of our people to be hurt or killed?"
Reluctantly Paquita helped her dress and followed her down to the side door, still protesting. "It is too big a risk, senorita. Let Andres do it. They know him and trust him—"
"They know and trust me, too. Besides, these are my people, not his. It is my responsibility."
The tax collector's little house lay on the front side of the estate, near the high road that led to the pueblo. Leonor, accompanied by Pedro, who refused to let her go alone, rode furiously over the paths. Don Gilberto, according to Pedro, had sent Jorge to find as many men as he could and had sent a messenger to Don Carlos, asking for aid. Leonor bit her lip in fear at that news. Don Carlos would bring the soldiers and there would be shooting There were more men there than she'd expected to find and she fought her way through the crowd with some difficulty. They had surrounded the tax collector's house, angry, muttering men, brandishing clubs, pitchforks and torches. And what little defense those would be against the soldiers' guns, Leonor thought with a lump in her throat. She recognized Benito, old Tobias' son, and reined in.
"Benito! What started this?" she shouted over the noise of the mob.
"Guido, the tax collector, tried to impound the Molina's farm this afternoon. Senorita, why are you here? It is far too dangerous. Let me take you home at once."
"I must stop this! Who is the leader here, do you know?"
"I don't know. I mean, two men led the others here but I don't know either of them."
"Tell me exactly what happened!"
"Well, senorita, when Guido came to impound the farm, news of it spread and half a dozen men hurried over there and stopped him from forcing the Molinas out. He didn't have enough men with him so he left but everyone knew that he would come back. It was done on Don Gilberto's order so he had to do it. More men arrived, angry about it. Then these two men came and started talking to them and they all became more angry and . . . I don't know. It seemed to grow and someone, one of those two men, I think, said 'let's teach him a lesson and burn him out', and they all agreed and came here. I tried to stop them but they didn't listen to me! They won't listen to you, either, senorita, and you are in danger here. Their mood is ugly!"
That their mood was ugly was clear. Andres, receiving Paquita's message, told Cesar what was afoot before he left. Cesar, mindful of his orders to report anything he heard about Leonor or her estates, went to Dimitri with the news and saw his master, accompanied by Sergei, leave immediately. He wo
uld probably overtake Andres on the road, Cesar thought, wondering how long it would be before he would hear any news. But, in case the violence spread, he posted guards at the entrance to the estate and doubled the guards already patrolling the lands. This was what he had feared would happen and had prayed would not. Dimitri, arriving on the scene with Andres and Sergei, saw at a glance that it would be difficult to persuade these men to go quietly home and said as much to Andres.
"Si, I know, but I must try. They will end by hurting themselves."
"Violence breed violence, Andres, and Don Gilberto will not allow this for a minute. I would bet soldiers are already on the way here. Do what you can but I am afraid it will not be successful."
Andres and Dimitri began to fight their way through the milling mob of men, some on horseback but many on foot. They desperately tried to get the attention of the angry, shouting men. Just then the crowd parted and both Andres and Dimitri saw Leonor's large chestnut horse dancing uneasily in the press of men, and the girl mounted on the skittish horse.
Surrender by Moonlight Page 18