Don Lucian’s arms enveloped her in a startled hug. “Papa? Papa? You call me ‘Papa?’ Damian!” he yelled at his son who stood on the ground below them. “Did you marry this girl?”
“Aren’t you pleased?” Damian asked with mock innocence.
“Of course I’m pleased. But the wedding! We didn’t get to have a wedding. Your mother would spank you.” Don Lucian kept his arm around Katherine as he moved to the bench on the porch. With his hand on her shoulder, he urged her to sit, then sat beside her. “Married. Ah, my highest hopes have been fulfilled. My son Damian finally had enough sense to hook the proud Doña Katherina.” He slapped his hands on his knees. “I had despaired of the day.”
“Nonsense.” Katherine was brisk. “It wasn’t despair that led you to bribe the ship’s captain to stay in Monterey.”
Don Lucian looked reproachfully down at Damian. “You didn’t have to tell her that.”
“I have no need to take responsibility for your sins. Mine are plentiful enough.” Damian patted his pockets as though looking for something.
“Need a cigar, Don Damian?” Katherine’s voice was sharp.
Ignoring her, Damian leaned against the porch rail with an expression of disdain.
Don Lucian almost grinned. He recognized a first fight when he saw it. “Best to get it out of the way,” he remarked into the atmosphere. He turned to Katherine. “You aren’t going to hold a message to the captain against me, are you?”
“No,” she admitted with reluctance.
He exuded jocularity. “I’m your father-in-law now, soon to be the grandfather of your children.”
She leaped to her feet. “So I hear.”
Fleeing into the house, she left an astonished Don Lucian staring after her. “What was that about?”
Damian mounted the steps, his boots ringing out. “We stopped at the Cardonas’ last night.”
“So?”
“Katherine was tired, and not for the reasons you think.” His father laughed softly.
Damian stiffened. “Madre de Dios, Papa, don’t let her hear you.”
“Already you’re under her thumb.” Don Lucian put his hand over his mouth to stifle the sound of his mirth.
“To release her from our social obligations, I told the Cordonas we would have to leave early, that Katherine was so delicate she’d have to have frequent rests to arrive here by sunset. I forgot that they’d seen her working at the fiesta and wouldn’t accept that. By the time we left this morning, it was clear they believed Katherine to be in the family way.”
The sounds from behind Don Lucian’s hand grew louder, and Damian eyed him with disgust.
“I tried to tell them the truth, but it just made it worse. They stopped short of sending their congratulations to the new grandfather, but only just. Katherine was furious with them.”
“Did she show it?”
“Of course not.”
“So she takes it out on you. Such are the tribulations of a husband.”
“She’s furious with me for not considering such a thing, but I never thought of it.”
“Men don’t, but new husbands might begin to.” Don Lucian eyed him warningly. “Anyway, it’s nothing but what everyone else will think, with a hasty courting and hurried wedding.”
“Would you have done any different?”
“Not at all,” Don Lucian denied. “Still, I think we must immediately plan a reception to introduce your bride formally to society.”
“Not yet, Papa. Let me tell you all that has happened.”
Surrounded by shrieking maids, Katherine stood in her attic room with her palms over her ears. When the tumult died down, she cautiously removed one hand and then the other. “If I had known you would shout at me—”
Leocadia patted her on her back. “You’ll have to allow us our excitement. This is the best news we’ve had for many a long
“I’m glad you’re glad. May you never have reason to regret it.”
“Oh, no, Doña Katherina,” one of the maids piped up, stroking a swollen stomach. “This hacienda needs a mistress to organize parties, and a woman to bring babies.”
Entering the room, Damian flinched, but Katherine answered steadily, “I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations. Leocadia, do you know where Tobias’s trunk is stored?”
Shooing the maids out, Leocadia nodded at the door leading from Katherine’s room to the storage area. “It’s in the attic next to you.”
“Thank you,” Katherine said.
“Gracias,” Damian echoed.
Unable to restrain herself, Leocadia pinched his cheeks. “It’s such a joy to see that little snot-nosed boy who followed me around the kitchen take a wife. Your mother would be so proud.”
“Ouch.” Shaking her off, he then hugged her. “You approve, Tia?”
“Si.”
“How many children do you foresee?”
Leocadia eyed Katherine. “She’s older and has lost many good childbearing years. Probably not more than a dozen.” She pinched his face once more. “All healthy.”
“Good heavens,” Katherine whispered.
Leocadia shut the door behind her, and Damian shrugged sheepishly, a red mark on either cheek. “Some would say she’s presumptuous, but she was my nurse, you understand, and my mother’s companion.”
“You don’t have to explain to me,” Katherine said without heat. She took a turn about the room. “But does she predict the number and health of the children correctly?”
“I hope so.” As a distraction, he asked, “Shall we go see this trunk?”
“Yes, but it seems s o . . . so strange to think that Tobias would have left me a message I haven’t seen yet. Almost a word from beyond the grave. I never used to be so superstitious.” She squared her shoulders. “Of course, it’s only a temporary aberration.”
“That’s my sensible girl.” He opened the door to the attic which lay at right angles to hers, across a different part of the hacienda. The sun came in full through the clean, uncurtained windows. This was Leocadia’s attic in Leocadia’s house, and not a speck of dust dared rest on any surface.
“There it is.” Katherine indicated the battered metal trunk against the wall. “It came all the way from Switzerland, then all the way around the Horn. After Tobias’s death—” she took a breath “—a while after Tobias’s death, I cleaned out his clothes. As I recall, that trunk contains nothing but some junk I didn’t have the heart to throw away.”
He set the paraphernalia that topped the trunk on the floor. “No letters?”
She helped him pull it out from the wall, noting there was no weight, only a rattling as the contents rolled around. “None.” He stepped back as she knelt before it, ceding her the right to open it as she pleased. She loosened the straps that bound it together and flipped the corroded metal latch. A tightness in her chest held her rigid, held her in suspense. Lifting the lid as if she half expected an explosion, she gazed down at the contents for a long moment.
“There.” She tossed back the cover and pointed. “See. There’s his toolbox. There’s the ribbon headdress, some old newspapers, a couple of rocks.”
Stepping to her side, Damian suggested, “Why don’t we look in Tobias’s toolbox?”
“I looked in there after his death. There’s nothing I didn’t see or touch a hundred times.”
He lifted an inquiring brow, and she said with serenity, “They were his most precious possessions, handled with loving care as he created a watch or fixed a clock. After his death, they made me feel close to him.”
“Of course.” He opened the metal box and peered inside, his finger mixing the tools. Setting it down, he lifted the neatly folded newspapers. “What language is this?”
“German . I’ve read them all. Leave them out. I’ll read them again, but it’s two-year-old news.”
“What this?” He pointed to crude drawings of a clock face that rimmed the headline. Tobias had created human features for each one, and each clock seemed to
be the embodiment of a mood. Some had smiling mouths; some had frowns and wrinkled brows. All were simple, but effective.
“I’ve wondered what those were for.” Katherine peered at them. “I suppose he was just doodling.”
“Hmm.” He studied them. “Yes, I suppose.”
He set the newspapers down beside the toolbox. She handed him the circular headdress, its colorful ribbons trailing over her hands. “It was his mother’s. I wore it at our wedding. I mean, not our wedding. At my marriage to Tobias, remember?” Her words rang in her ears, and she wondered what she could say that would dispel this awkwardness between them. Damian had been Tobias’s friend; she had been his wife. They both held memories of him unshared by the other; now they were making memories together, excluding him.
Regret and yearning mixed together. Damian watched her hands as she fondled the band. “Yes, I remember. You should pack it in a cedar chest. I’ll order a chest made for you.”
“Yes. It would be best if we pack it away,” she reflected.
Briefly, he touched her hand with his fingertips. “Put it in the bedroom. We’ll deal with it later.”
On her return, she found him lifting the rough stones from inside the trunk. Balancing them, he looked at her in disgust, then took her two hands and placed the stones in them, wrapping her fingers around. “Hold them,” he urged.
She took the weight and grunted with surprise. “This one’s heavy.” He nodded significantly, and she felt foolish. What had she overlooked? Lifting it to her face, she said, “That pink crystal’s pretty. Is it valuable?”
“Hardly.” He took her elbow and urged her to the window. “It’s just quartz, but any conquistador could tell you—”
“Yes?” she prompted, when he broke off and took the stone from her. He turned it over, watching the way it caught the light.
“Any conquistador could tell you—hand me that hammer from the toolbox, would you?”
Puzzled, she did as he asked. He tapped the crystals away with the hammer. “Are you mad?” she asked, not convinced of its worthlessness. “That’s not what you do with something that could be valuable.”
“No? Come and see.”
In the sunlight by the window, the yellow glint of ore glittered in veins between the quartz trigons, like an ornamental leaf that gilded a picture frame.
She knew what it was. She knew by the slight tremble in Damian’s hand as he fingered the crystals. She knew by his smile, half appalled, half joyful. She knew because Tobias had relished a puzzle, and now he’d left her one.
Damian’s thoughts ran a parallel course. “When Tobias realized what he’d found, he took precautions to ensure no enemy could discover his secret.”
Her knees weakened, and she sat down on the floor in an untidy sprawl. She took the measure of his amazement when he offered her no assistance, but sat down, Indian style, beside her. Tucking her knees under her, she leaned over to stare at the stone cradled in his hand. “Are you sure that’s what it is?”
“Gold?”
The word splashed over her like freezing water, shocking her with its impact. The glow in his eyes frightened her, reminding her of the morning in Monterey and his self-confessed fascination with the metal.
“Yes. It’s gold. The fever of it runs in my veins as surely as in any Spaniard’s blood.” His fervency convinced her of its worth, and its danger.
She shuddered, caught between the fear of the gold, her terror of the murderer, and a very human rejection of Tobias’s intent. “It’s the padres’,” she whispered.
She watched the avarice fade from Damian’s face like a fire dying, leaving it wise and a little wistful. “So it is.” He glanced away from her, as if he were ashamed to have her see him affected by something he could cup in his hand.
“Can’t we just fling it out the window?” she asked desperately.
“You know we can’t.” He leaned into her, brushing the top of her nose with his lips. “I won’t rest until I know you’re safe, and you’ll never be safe while someone believes you know the padres’ secret.” Taking her hand, he raised her to her feet. “Come.”
“Where are we going now?”
“We have unfinished business in that bedroom.” He pointed the way with a flick of his finger.
“What unfinished business?”
An indulgent smile was his only answer.
She stopped, jerking on his fingers with the weight of her body. “How can you think of something like that at a time like this?”
“We’re alone. We’re close to a bed.” He cuffed her chin with one finger. “You’re no longer angry at me. Those are not circumstances likely to occur again soon. I’m a man who takes advantage of my opportunities.”
“Why, we need to . . .” She couldn’t think of what they needed to do. Those damned eyebrows were tilted her way, reminding her of things she thought safely stowed. “There must be something we need to do.”
“Everything can wait a few hours,” he assured her.
What had happened? How had he advanced from scientific scrutiny to passionate intent so quickly?
“It’s daylight,” she objected without force. How could that look of his change her from bleak desperation to melting obsession?
“So it is.” He unpinned her collar, taking care not to brush her neck or the scarf that bound it. Pocketing the collar, he pushed her out of the attic and shut the door on their memories.
“Someone will come in.”
“Spaniards have too many manners to open a closed bedroom door.” He unbuttoned the front of her new dress. “This flowered print is very attractive on you.”
“Someone with good taste picked it out for me,” she said.
He grinned. “I taste good, too.”
“Don Damian!” She gasped, although she wasn’t sure if it was because of his risqué comment, or the caress of his hands as he slid the material off her shoulders and down her arms. It caught on her breasts, on her nipples, then the bodice and chemise released in a whispery slither. It dropped to her waist. He turned her and she walked towards the bed.
And stopped.
He bumped into her, stepped on her heels, apologized, and fell silent.
There in the middle of the quilt where she had tossed it lay the ribbon headdress, the headdress that Tobias’s mother had worn to her wedding, the headdress she had worn to her own wedding.
That feeling she’d experienced in the attic returned, redoubled. She couldn’t name it, but it made her stiff with self-consciousness.
From over her shoulder, he asked, “Don’t you think I feel guilty about you?”
He said it as if he was picking up a conversation that they’d dropped moments before. She understood him as if he replied to her stated concerns, yet they’d never spoken of this. She didn’t turn. She thought it would be easier for her, for them both, if she didn’t look at him. “What do you mean?”
“When Tobias was killed, I did the right thing. I helped you, I arranged your affairs, I brought you to my home and gave you the work you craved. I was glad to do it for Tobias. Yet when I got you here, all the realities eroded my sense of honor. Had I rescued you for Tobias? Or for me?”
“For you?” Appalled, afraid of what he would say, she let her gaze roam the chamber.
“Of course. My nobility didn’t bear examining. When I saw you standing on the dock with your trunk beside you, I cried inside. You were for me, for me, and you didn’t realize it.”
He spoke with an eloquence that told her he’d fought this battle long before she’d had to deal with it, and that brought her some comfort. Surely if he could come to terms with it, so could she.
“You married Tobias, and I got roaring drunk on your wedding night, so I couldn’t think of what was going on in my bedroom. I couldn’t stand to think of you in bed with my best friend.”
Horrified, she said, “So when he was killed, you were glad?”
Enfolding her in a loose embrace, he laid his cheek against her hair.
“No, you know that’s not true. I loved him, God knows why. It wasn’t his death or my reaction that filled me with guilt, but the pleasure I felt the first night I saw you here. It was as if you’d come home. I was so happy I wanted to cry. That was the real reason I left Rancho Donoso. My land at the edge of the Sierra Nevada is beautiful, but this home is close to my family. But when you were here, I couldn’t be. Not and trust myself. So I ran away.”
“That’s what frightens me, I think.” She looked at the gaily colored headdress. “In some corner of my mind, I think I came to realize what you felt, but I didn’t leave.”
“How could you leave? You were as helpless as a babe stripped of its parents.”
“But I made it hard for both of us. I precipitated this whole thing.”
“Well, good for you.”
“It’s all my fault.”
“Only you would have the audacity to think that.”
She whipped around in indignation, but he shook his head. “Only you could expect so much of yourself.”
She liked the way his face looked: he seemed at peace with himself and his decision. With her gaze fixed on his face, she groped for the headdress on the bed. Placing it on the end table, she smoothed the ribbons. “Tobias wouldn’t object, would he?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Tobias was a practical man. He wouldn’t begrudge you a life apart from him. Indeed, I suspect he would have bequeathed you to me.”
She frowned. “That’s a dreadful thing to say. I’m not an object.”
“Long before you even arrived, he told me I should cherish you, should anything ever happen to him.”
“Did he know—?”
“That he would die? He knew very well the danger associated with the treasure, but he couldn’t have identified my affection for a woman I’d never met. It was simply Tobias’s way of securing your well-being.” He held her face in his hands. “He was a good man.”
“I miss him,” she admitted.
“So do I.” He tucked her head onto his chest. “You were the only one in all of California who refused to see that I wanted you. If you hadn’t made me angry, you still might not know. But when Cabeza Medina cold me you’d been saving money to leave —to go back to Boston, he told me—”
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