Treasure of the Sun

by Christina Dodd

  If she wanted to.

  That was what frightened her. She didn’t want to. An emotion held her in its grip, an emotion she didn’t dare define. It urged her to make adjustments, to make Damian happy. It urged compromise.

  If she weren’t careful, this emotion would flatten her into a doormat where Damian could wipe his feet.

  That thought made her set her jaw.

  Very well. She’d compromise on this one issue. With her whole heart, she’d become a Catholic, because it was important to Damian, because he was her husband and because she should make the best of it.

  But she would not compromise any further. She was a proud American and a modern woman. Damian had better learn to accept that unpalatable fact. She nodded firmly. Yes, he’d better accept it.

  Emotion would never triumph over logic. Not in Miss Katherine Anne .

  She was not changing because of these stirrings in her heart.

  4 June, in the year of our Lord, 1777

  The Indians press us. We are lost. These mountains are rugged and unfamiliar. Fray Lucio urges that we abandon the gold. The women look hopelessly at us as we quarrel.

  Why can’t the fools see what I can see? That this is a gift of heaven?

  —from the diary of Fray Juan Estévan de Bautista

  Chapter 16

  The morning light found Katherine in the study, reciting the quickly learned passages of Catholic belief for Fray Pedro. Damian looked disgruntled, combing hay from his hair with his fingers and sighing loudly as Fray Pedro de Jesus questioned her on her catechism. She wanted to smack the bad-tempered little boy, for this unfamiliar creed required all her concentration. It would be so much easier if conversion required only a working knowledge of the law.

  Besides, she reminded herself righteously, she was doing all this for Damian and their marriage. The least he could do was show some gratitude.

  At last Fray Pedro was satisfied. Pulling his shawl around his shoulders, he examined Damian from top to toe over steepled fingers. Under his teacher’s eye, Damian squirmed like an altar boy in church. Clicking his tongue, Fray Pedro reproached, “Always so impatient. That should be part of your confession this morning.”

  “Yes, Padre.”

  “What was it you wanted to know?”

  Crossing his arms across his chest, Damian slid down in the chair until his spine rested on the seat, and glared.

  Fray Pedro’s dry cackle sounded in the cool air. “I can’t resist teasing you, little Damian.” All business, he leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Now, God dwelt here last night, and I spoke with Him. He has passed His decision on to me. I will tell you what I know and show you what I have.”

  Katherine shivered as she remembered the night, heavy with silence.

  With callous heartiness, Damian asked, “What did you receive from this Fray Lucio?”

  “A map and a diary.”

  “Did you show them to Tobias Maxwell?”

  “I showed him the map.”

  “Not the diary?” Damian insisted.

  “I gave him the diary.”

  Katherine gasped, detesting the unbridled reaction, but she couldn’t help it. Damian seemed speechless, and she stammered, “You gave it to him? Did he return it?”

  Fray Pedro shook his head.

  “Why did you give it to him?”

  “He fixed our bell. The rope pull had broken off and we couldn’t put it back together. And our clock. He fixed our clock. He stayed with us while he worked and I grew to know him.” The old man tapped his fingers together. “I had a feeling about him.”

  She took a deep breath. “All right. What kind of feeling?”

  “You know I’ve been the guardian of this secret for over sixty-five years. Yes, more than sixty-five years.” His voice trailed off, and he moved his lips in silent computation. Triumphantly, he said, “Sixty-nine years. That’s it. Sixty-nine years.” The wrinkles of his face slipped and sagged. “So long. Don’t you think that’s a long time?”

  “A very long time,” she concurred.

  Damian shifted, but he seemed to be familiar with Fray Pedro’s quirks. “What kind of feeling did you have about Tobias?”

  Fray Pedro smiled wistfully at Damian. “He was your friend. He told me about you. That gave me my first clue, the first suggestion of his purpose in my life, for I’ve always known your fate was somehow intertwined with the gold. I thought you were the one who would receive the map and the diary when the time was right.”

  “Why did you change your mind?” Damian asked. “And when was the right time?”

  “Patience, my child,” Fray Pedro chided. “I’ve been the guardian of this secret for sixty-nine years—isn’t that what I said?”

  Katherine nodded agreement.

  “Sixty-nine years. If I died and left the information unattended, it would fall into the wrong hands. I don’t know what would happen. Perhaps the treasure seekers would use the gold for ungodly pursuits. Perhaps they’d be killed. It happened once before, you know.” He peeked over the top of his glasses. “Damian, you remember.”

  Recalling the old vaquero’s story told so long ago around the campfire, Damian concurred, “Oh, yes.”

  “I hid that map as best I could, and still it was stolen that time. Many men died for their thievery and greed. No doubt their souls still burn in hell. The one man who survived returned the map to me, and I’ve been clever with it.” Delighted, he rubbed his hands together. “So clever. The others who found the place did it following the trail of the first thieves. When too many men had died for the gold, the attempts lessened and stopped. So when Tobias came to me, it was the first time in many years someone had asked me about the treasure. Perhaps my thoughts wandered and I told him more than I should . . . do you think I wander, Doña Katherina?”

  “Not at all,” she assured him.

  “You’re a lovely young woman and a credit to the de la Sola family.” He shifted his attention to Damian. “I had been waiting for little Damian to grow up to give him the information.”

  “Waiting for me to grow up?” Damian exploded. “I’m thirty-two.”

  “How long has it been since I’ve seen you?” Fray Pedro exploded in return. “How long did I wait for that avaricious part of your soul to mature? You’ve stayed away for no better reason than a handful of weeds.”

  Damian’s boots hit the floor with a thud as he stood, and Katherine wondered if he would storm out. But she reassessed the measure of her husband when he strode around the table and pulled the old Franciscan up into his arms. “You’re right, Padre. Forgive me.”

  Fray Pedro lifted his hands to Damian’s face, held him and stared at him. Satisfied with what he saw there, he said, “You have matured. So. Let me show you.” Tossing his shawl onto the table, he shuffled to the wall, and lifted a framed print off its nail. He handed it casually to Damian. “Here it is.”

  Damian stared first at the map in his hand, then at Fray Pedro. “Do you mean this is it? But this has been on your wall for as long as I remember.”

  “Yes. A clever hiding place, was it not?”

  He shuffled back to his chair and Katherine rose from hers to peer around Damian’s shoulder. Damian looked at her helplessly. She agreed,” A very clever hiding place, indeed.”

  Taking it into the sunlight, they examined it. “The lettering says, ‘Majorca,’” Damian pointed out.

  “Look closely at the landmarks and see if you recognize them,” Fray Pedro instructed. He closed his eyes as if he were weary.

  With his finger, Damian traced the prominent water course. “The San Benito River?” Katherine followed Damian’s pointing finger as he named the mountains, the creeks, the valleys. Excitement colored his voice as he said, “I think I could get there, Padre. I really think I could.”

  “No doubt you could, but what will you do when you’re there?” Fray Pedro opened his eyes. “The diary, with its instructions, is gone with your Tobias.”

  Katherine and
Damian stared at one another in consternation. “Where could he have put it?” she wondered. “What did the diary look like, Padre?”

  “A narrow book bound with brown leather.”

  “I would have noticed if Tobias had a book,” she said with conviction. “Do you remember what it said, Padre?”

  “I never read it. I couldn’t. I tried to when I toiled at Mission San Antonio, but—” He shuddered, and Katherine went to him at once with the shawl he’d tossed on his table.

  “You’re cold.”

  “Yes.”

  The shadow in the friar’s face gave her the courage to ask, “When did you come to San Juan Bautista?”

  “I came in the year it was founded, in 1797. Previously, I had been a resident brother at Mission San Antonio de Padua, and in the halls of Mission San Antonio, I would see a ghost.”

  “A ghost?” She glanced at Damian, amazed.

  “My tall Franciscan brother, with gleaming eyes.” Fray Pedro lifted his hands to show the size. “Determination and forcefulness marked this apparition. I was young enough to be frightened. The ghost tried to lure me away from the mission. He wanted me to follow him into the hills.”

  Unable to help herself, Katherine stepped back from his chair.

  He looked up at her and adjusted his glasses. “There’s no need for alarm, my daughter. He can’t come here, for he doesn’t know this place.”

  She demanded, “Are you telling me we’re dealing with a ghost?”

  “He won’t hurt you,” Fray Pedro reassured her. “He was, after all, a Franciscan brother and one of our best curanderos. In the secular world, he could have been a doctor. No, for all his misplaced arrogance, he never deliberately harmed anyone. Only . . . people died because of him. He can’t rest in peace until I, or my messenger, have settled the issue of the gold.”

  Damian sank down on a chair. “Then I had better study this.”

  “Take it with you,” Fray Pedro urged. “Study it at your leisure. In all fairness, I must tell you—when I was ill last year, I did send for you. I wished to give you the map and the diary. That good woman Leocadia sent a message back to say you were visiting.”

  Damian frowned. “Why didn’t she tell me you wanted me?”

  “It was on my request. My sickness passed, leaving me only a little weaker. Yet when Tobias came to me, he seemed to be a messenger from God.” Fray Pedro puckered his already wrinkled mouth. “We must perform our sacraments soon, before Doña Katherina faints of hunger.”

  Turning the map over, Damian released it from the frame and folded it along ancient creases. “Where shall I put it?”

  “Use Fray Pedro’s idea,” Katherine advised. “Put it in your pocket.”

  He smiled at her, a quick flash of approval. With dismayed delight, she realized she’d missed his smiles and his pleasure in her.

  “Good.” Fray Pedro led them to the large, empty church.

  Feeling like an interloper, Katherine stopped in the doorway. The pews along the wall gleamed with a beeswax shine. The primitive frescoes, the statue of the Virgin Mary, the flickering candles on the altar, all combined to emphasize how foreign she was. Uneasy, afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing, she stared at Damian in confusion when he lifted a mantilla from the variety of head coverings on a table and draped it over her head.

  He knelt and crossed himself. She imitated him, then he urged her down the aisle. The hardwood floor amplified their footsteps, and she caught herself tiptoing to minimize the noise.

  At the altar, Fray Pedro kissed each item as he dressed himself in the vestments of a priest. Turning to them, he looked different. Taller, perhaps, or happier. Infusing his every word with significance, he said, “Now it’s time to concentrate on more important issues.”

  From the back of the chapel came a shuffle of boots, a clink of spurs. Slowly, Katherine and Damian turned. One of the vaqueros stood, his feet just outside the door, his head in the chapel. He stared and gestured; Damian looked and glared. Joaquin gestured so vigorously Fray Pedro instructed, “Find out what he wants, while I attend to our Doña Katherina’s confession and her first communion.” He beckoned Katherine through the arches into the confessional.

  She came with dragging feet, wondering what to tell him. The candor he requested was beyond her. How could she tell another person how she feared these emotions that twisted in her? How could she confess her reluctance to release the restraints that defined her? She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Despite Fray Pedro’s urgings, she kept her feelings to herself and told him of the actions he considered sins.

  He knew, of course. He ordered her back to the altar, never saying a word. Only his eyes were so kind and understanding that she felt like a miscreant. He performed her first communion as calmly as if they couldn’t hear the neigh of horses and the rattle of tack.

  The vaqueros were saddling up, preparing to ride.

  She wanted to leap up, to tell the friar he must wait while she found out what was happening. Instead, she focused on the sacraments, hoping her concentration would hurry the ceremony.

  As they finished and he traced a cross on her forehead, he said, “This at least will bring grace to your soul as you go on your great adventure.”

  Feeling like a traitor, she whispered, “Padre, I have something I must say.”

  Taking her hand, he helped her to her feet. “Tell me.”

  “You said Don Damian had matured, that you weren’t afraid to send him after the gold. But when we first found the gold-veined rock, he frightened me.”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist and took her to a pew. “Why?”

  “He looked so . . . exultant, as if he’d discovered a panacea for war or a cure for old age.”

  Sitting, he laced his hands in his lap. “Or discovered the lost land of El Dorado?”

  Confused, she asked, “What’s that?”

  “It’s a legend, I suppose. El Dorado is the land of the Golden Man, a place of gold and plenty. El Dorado is what all the conquistadors sought.”

  Struck by his description, she agreed, “That’s what he looked like. A conqueror.”

  “My daughter, if I thought Damian would do the wrong thing, I would never have given him the map. Never. It’s you who have made the difference to him. You’ve given a good man his final tempering, and he’ll not bend to temptation. He’ll never gamble with your life or your soul.”

  “He looked so greedy,” she said urgently.

  He patted her hand. “You must remember, he is a Spaniard.”

  Damian’s boots sounded loud in the church. “Are you done, Padre?”

  “With the communion.” Fray Pedro adjusted his glasses. “However, I can’t perform the wedding ceremony without a groom.”

  “It will have to wait. I must go.” Damian turned to Katherine. “The vaqueros spotted a redheaded Americano watching the mission, and when they gave chase, they found a camp.”

  “It couldn’t be Lawrence,” she protested. “He’s too much of a dandy to live outdoors simply for the pleasure of spying on us.”

  “No?” He held up what looked like a scalp.

  She recognized Lawrence’s hairpiece, red and plastered with glue, looking much the worst for wear.

  “He can’t get far. Not as poorly as he rides.” Damian’s sneer proclaimed his opinion of her cousin. “The vaqueros and I will find him. When we’ve finished with him, he’ll never dare to follow us again.”

  She didn’t know this Damian. Ruthless, scornful, wicked in his anger. Again, the wave of unreality swept over her. Faintly, then with more strength, she said, “I will go with you.”

  Damian looked down his noble nose at her. “No, you won’t.”

  “I will.”

  He sighed with sharp impatience. “You’ll hold us up. I’ll return this evening, or tomorrow morning at the latest.”

  A wave of claustrophobia crashed over her as she looked around. She wouldn’t spend another night here. She had to get out. “I’m going.”


  Fray Pedro argued, “Doña Katherina, you can’t go with this man. You aren’t married to him. It’s a sin. You can’t go do a man’s job. It’s a sin. There are too many sins in the making.”

  She turned on him, furious with his interference, with everyone’s interference in her affairs. “That’s my cousin they’re chasing. If anyone’s going to catch the little skunk, I am.” The elderly man looked so shocked and hurt, she offered conciliation. “We’ll be back as soon as I can arrange it to be married. You not only have Don Damian’s word, but my own.”

  Lips puckered, the Franciscan peered at her, weighing her sincerity, while Damian complained, “No. You don’t understand the weight of such sin.”

  Perhaps it was her panic, perhaps it was her determination, but something about her convinced the friar, for he interrupted to say, “Very well, Katherine. You shall go.”

  Damian stood, turned to stone by surprise. “What?”

  “Let her go.”

  Looking wounded by the betrayal, Damian turned on Fray Pedro. “She’s a woman. Her place isn’t in the hunt. She could hurt herself or be shot.”

  “She’s an American,” Fray Pedro retorted. “Her ways aren’t our ways, and you’d be wise to remember that.”

  He smiled at Katherine with compassion.

  “I thought you wouldn’t allow her to go with me until we were wed,” Damian said in triumph.

  “You’ll come back as soon as you can. Tonight, if possible.” Fray Pedro grasped Damian’s arm with earnest concern. “It’s better if you and Doña Katherina stay close.”

  Damian paced away, paced back. “I can’t promise we won’t break the Seventh Commandment if we’re left alone.”

  “She wishes to go, she shall go.”

  Flushed with an outrage he couldn’t express, Damian stared at the Franciscan brother. “Is that the Word of God?”

  “No, only the word of Fray Pedro.” He folded his hands inside his sleeves, waiting for Damian’s decision.