He watched her with subdued fire. “It added to the shame of my birth.”
“No doubt,” she repeated. She picked up another slice of tortilla and stared, startled, as he removed it from her.
Carrying her fingers to his lips, he kissed them. “An extraordinary woman.”
A choking sound turned them to the doorway. There stood Nacia, her hand pressed to her lips in unconscious imitation of Julio’s gesture.
Like the court jester who performed for an appreciative court, Julio gobbled up the line of Katherine’s fingers, up her palm, up her wrist. He stopped when she flicked his nose, hard. With outrageous panache, he waved Nacia to the spot beside Damian. “Isn’t this cozy? Two married couples, as friendly as they can be.”
Damian stood as Nacia scurried over to him. Between clenched teeth, he said, “Julio, you are a cad, and I can still beat you to a bloody pulp.”
Katherine heard Nacia’s inarticulate protest, and she insisted, “I can handle Julio and his stupid playacting.”
“You are not required to handle him. You have a husband now.” Damian’s dignity was a palpable presence.
His assumption of authority annoyed Katherine more than Julio’s nonsense. “I can handle him.”
With wicked glee, Julio said, “Of course she can handle me, Damian. I’ll help her in every way possible.”
Nacia tugged at Damian’s coat as he stepped forward, and Katherine eyed Julio with an unfavorable scowl.
Boyishly innocent, he shrugged. “Damian, where do you take this lovely creature in such a hurry?”
With one final hard look, Damian accepted the change of subject. “Don’t you know?”
“Should I?” Obeying the command of Damian’s gaze, Julio replaced Katherine’s hand to her plate.
Damian sat down and stretched back in a parody of relaxation. “Everyone else knows, I fear.”
“Who?” Katherine asked.
“Mi vida,” Damian mocked, “even the vaqueros know where we go and what we search for. Didn’t you hear what they said? It’s the curse of the treasure that broke Joaquin’s leg, the curse of the treasure that brought Americans camping on our river to shoot our people. From this moment forth, every tick in the vaqueros’ hair or rip in their clothes will be the fault of the treasure. They’ll have to be sent back to Rancho Donoso. They’re no good to us if they’re afraid to go on.”
Julio leaned over the table and took a tortilla. “You’re seeking the treasure of the padres? Such a honeymoon.”
“My wife insisted,” Damian answered.
Missing the humor, Nacia shook her head in reproof. “That’s not a wise idea, Katherina. As the vaqueros know, there are some frightening legends attached to that treasure.”
Damian ignored her as he would ignore a babbling child. “Katherine insisted on taking a relative along, too.”
Nacia looked shocked. “Oh, Katherina, taking a relative on your honeymoon will put a strain on your husband.”
Katherine pretended she didn’t hear either of them. Not Damian with his misplaced whimsy. Not Nacia with her serious counsel.
With a deft touch, Julio wrapped frijoles in the tortilla and nibbled at the corner. “That makes it a novel honeymoon, indeed. Where is this relative?”
Damian stroked his mustache. “He prefers to follow us at a distance, when he’s not running ahead like a scared rabbit. A paltry fellow, but he worries me.”
Katherine put her plate down, wiping her fingers, one by one, on her napkin. “My cousin worries you?”
“If these simple Indians deduced our plans, who else has? Is your Lawrence Cyril Chamberlain watching us for that reason? That makes more sense than an unending vigil of cousinly love.”
“He’s not my Lawrence Cyril Chamberlain,” she cried, stung.
“He’s not my cousin,” he retorted.
Julio stepped in with a smoothness that belied his previous mischief making. “No, some of Damian’s relatives are much more annoying.”
“That’s rude, Julio,” Nacia chided.
It seemed Julio knew his wife, for he asked, “Don’t you think Damian’s relatives are annoying?”
Katherine watched as Nacia struggled, torn between her manners and her honesty. “Well . . . yes. Damian’s relatives can be annoying.” She brightened. “But they mean well.”
“Come now, my wife, you know that’s not always true. When Damian’s aunt and uncle moved to San Diego to be close to their offspring, you told me you wanted to congratulate Damian and commiserate with the children.”
“Well, yes, but—” she stared at Julio in bright-eyed challenge “—they aren’t as awful as my parents.”
His smirk vanished; his wicked teasing halted. He stared at his wife as if she’d spouted horns and a tail, then he erupted with laughter. “My marvelous, marvelous wife.” He took her hand and dragged her toward him.
Her skirt bumped the table, rattling the dishes. She sputtered, “No, no,” but he paid no attention.
Seating her on his knee, he snuggled his cheek close to hers. “You’re a never-ending bundle of surprises.”
Her face flushed, but her resistance vanished beneath his admiration. “It’s true! They are awful.”
Rubbing her back, hugging her waist, he betrayed the way he felt about Nacia. “I’m not arguing, but why are you complaining now?”
Nacia’s gaze darted to Katherine and back to Julio. “Doña Katherina says what she wants to. Why not me?”
“Why not indeed?” Julio echoed.
Katherine’s gaze met Damian’s. This was the first time she’d seen the attraction that brought the unlikely pair together. The heiress and the bastard, as different as two people could be, yet they created a space around them that shimmered with amor. It made Katherine ashamed of the quarrel that divided Damian and her.
Damian, too, seemed to struggle with his emotions, for his eyes gleamed when he took her hand. As he leaned forward to speak, he glanced down the drive. Katherine followed his stare. Julio looked up from his contemplation of Nacia, and she turned last of all. Two identical palomino horses moved toward them, carrying a gentleman and a lady dressed in riding costumes made of identical material. The striking couple was followed by a black carriage, pulled by a horse of enormous size.
Julio spoke first. “Speak of the devil.”
“No, not now,” Nacia breathed.
Nose to nose with her, Julio said, “Does that mean you didn’t realize they were coming?”
“I didn’t know,” Nacia denied. “When has my mother ever believed she wouldn’t be welcome?”
Their brief accord over, she sought to rise from Julio’s lap, but he jerked her back down. To the mounted couple who had halted before the porch, he yelled, “Greetings. To what do we owe this honor?”
Katherine stared. His style was coarse, his manners nonexistent. His attitude would bring hostility from a saint, but the stately lady and the noble gentleman seemed to find it no more than they expected.
The lady looked them all over with calm disdain. “Maria Ygnacia,” she intoned. “Seating yourself on a man’s lap is the height of vulgarity.”
Desperation, immediate and complete, marred Nacia’s face and bled into her voice. “Mama, he’s my husband.”
“All the more reason to discourage such display.” The woman Nacia called “Mama” waved the hovering servant over. The stableboy jumped as if he’d had a needle stuck in him, stumbling in his haste to assist the lady. She frowned at him reprovingly. He dropped his head and scuffed his feet in the dirt before leading her mount to the step.
On her feet, she proved to be a tall, big-boned woman dressed in the height of fashion. Her husband matched her, in height, dress, and, Katherine suspected, disposition. Their expressions rivaled each other’s. They looked as if they smelled something sour, and they strode up the stairs as if they were determined to find it.
The lady glanced around the veranda. “I had these servants trained when I left this hacienda. Are they
all incapable of work, now?”
With an inward groan, Katherine remembered the dusty house. Trying to ease the tension, she said, “Nacia’s a tremendous hostess. Uninvited, we arrived on her doorstep, and she’s made us welcome.”
The lady’s hat had the tallest feather Katherine had ever seen. It bobbed in a maddening pattern as she examined every inch of Katherine in a scornful sweep. “Who are you?”
“This is Damian’s wife Katherine.” Nacia sounded so nervous Katherine could almost hear her teeth chatter.
Nacia’s mother looked Katherine over again; Katherine bridled her urge to check her buttons to see if they were fastened.
Trying to divert the comment that trembled on her mother’s lips, Nacia burst out, “Not really his wife. Damian and Katherine haven’t been married in the Church, but they were married by Alcalde Diaz in Monterey and they’ve come all this way—” she jumped as if Julio had pinched her “—so they can visit.” Guilt etched her face; guilt that she’d almost betrayed their errand to her parents. Julio let her get to her feet. “Isn’t that sweet?”
“Señora.” Gravely, Damian indicated the bench he had left. “Take my seat, por favor.”
The lady seated herself, Katherine noted, as if she were a queen gracing the rough wood with her royal body. She wouldn’t, or couldn’t, relax against the seat back, and that contributed to her haughty air. With no trace of motherly affection, she indicated the spot beside her and ordered Nacia, “Sit.”
“I have to go . . . tell the cook you are here,” Nacia said, and fled.
“In my home,” the lady said into the air, “the servants make the adjustment without being informed.”
“True, too true,” Nacia’s father grunted. He went to take his place behind his wife.
The lady addressed Katherine. “I am Señora Ygnacia Arcadia Roderiguez. My friends call me Doña Ygnacia. In your case it would be best to call me Señora Roderiguez, since I’m sure there has been some mistake.”
Astonished by such rudeness from one of the dignified matrons of California, Katherine observed Nacia’s mother. This intimidating woman stated the facts as she saw them, with a rare and total lack of consideration for her victim. Faced with such impervious righteousness, Katherine said the only sensible thing. “Si, Señora Roderiguez.”
Benevolence settled onto the lady’s face. “Very good. First, I must tell you that we do not call my daughter by that disgraceful nickname. Her name is Maria Ygnacia. She was named after José’s mother and my mother, and myself. All honorable women, honoring the child and heir of both families.”
Katherine wondered at the weight of so much honor on Nacia’s fragile shoulders, but Señora Roderiguez didn’t require an answer. Sailing on without interruption, she said, “Don Damian, this woman you claim to have married seems to be an American.”
“She was born in the United States,” Damian conceded.
“I am an American,” Katherine added.
Señora Roderiguez shook her head in solemn distaste. “This is not acceptable. The scion of the distinguished de la Sola family cannot wed a nobody from a heathen land. It is fortunate that you had the chance to discuss this with me before the two of you were locked together by the Holy Mother Church.”
“True, too true,” Senor Roderiguez said. “Listen to my wife, Don Damian. She knows best.”
Damian stood straight and spoke clearly. “There is no discussion. Katherine is mi esposa.“
Señora Roderiguez sat just as straight and spoke just as clearly.” A young man’s fantasy of love is nothing more than the trap of a willing female body in bed. This woman may be your wife now, but she’s more suited to the duties of mistress.” She pointed at Katherine, one well-manicured fingernail disapproving. “Look at her. She is blond, a magnet for our dark-complexioned men.” The finger lifted, and she pointed it towards the ceiling. “But that is no reason for a commitment. Why, I do not doubt that the bizarre coloring is the reason my daughter became enamored of such an unsuitable man, also.”
“Why did you allow her to marry him, if you feel so prejudiced against him?” Katherine snapped.
Taking a deep breath that raised her bosom and curled her lip, Señora Roderiguez answered, “Maria Ygnacia eloped with him.”
Julio leaned towards Katherine to whisper, “Close your mouth. It’s unattractive to imitate a fish when my mother-in-law is speaking.”
Snapping her jaw up, she whispered back, “Eloped?”
“There’s no stopping true love.” Julio sounded and looked sincere.
“See?” The magical finger waved at the two mutterers. “Their common background betrays them.”
Julio laughed. “Don’t compare Doña Katherina to me, I beg. She’s educated, polished, and the daughter of married parents.”
He didn’t know that was the truth, and Katherine appreciated his faith in her heritage. Before she could speak for herself, Damian added, “She has already become a Catholic, Señora Roderiguez.”
The lady didn’t understand. “That’s proper for any person who chooses to live in California.”
“Fray Pedro de Jesus will marry us on our return to the mission.”
Señora Roderiguez turned her whole body when she looked at Damian. The lady laced her corset so tight, held her neck so stiff, moved with such deliberation that she engendered an odd kind of sympathy in Katherine. How would the lady handle defeat at the hands of Damian? Defeat she would have, no matter how logical she was. Damian would never betray his wife, and in his way he was every bit as authoritarian and stubborn as Señora Roderiguez.
That was a truth Katherine had already realized.
His resolve shone in his stance and the forward jut of his chin. Something of his determination must have seeped into Señora Roderiguez’s mind, but she wouldn’t yield an inch. “I will speak to your father about this.”
At the threat to Don Lucian’s peace of mind, a half smile curved Damian’s lips. “I will inform him of your intentions, Señora.”
Like a sailing ship turning its prow with ponderous deliberation, she focused her attention on her son-in-law. “Julio. We came to curtail your conspicuous fornication.”
A gasp sounded from just inside the doorway, and Señor Roderiguez stepped around to see who it was. Harrumphing like a bullfrog with a cold, he said, “Maria Ygnacia, come out. Hiding from the truth is a damned poor way to live your life. Isn’t that right, my dear?” .
“Quit e right, my dear.” Señora Roderiguez peered at her daughter as Nacia stepped reluctantly onto the veranda. “We warned you against marrying this gorrón, this wastrel, and now you repent. It is my duty to tell you about his ways with women.”
Nacia exhibited a fine, tensile strength as she drew her tiny figure up with dignity. “I have no interest in his ways with women.”
“Nor I,” her mother said, “except as it affects us. Every man keeps his light women, and as long as he is discreet his wife should be grateful to be relieved of the burden of ardor. But it is the duty of every good Christian to interfere when a man spreads himself so thin that his wife fails to conceive.”
Nacia closed her eyes against the reminder.
Satisfied she had revealed the truth, Señora Roderiguez said, “You are our only daughter and the heir to everything we own.”
“A burden I never sought,” Nacia cried defiantly. Katherine felt Julio beside her, straining to remain still, trembling with some kind of anticipation.
“Maria Ygnacia,” Señor Roderiguez boomed, “you will never say such a thing again.”
“It’s true.” Nacia stomped her foot, a smack of silken slipper against the aging boards. Julio trembled in his seat, waiting, waiting, as she continued, “All my life, I’ve been carrying the lands and the houses like a gigantic stone. No one’s ever been able to see me.”
“Maria Ygnacia, you will not say another word.” Señora Roderiguez didn’t lift her voice, but she sounded clear and cold. “This is the most thankless bit of drivel I’ve
ever heard in my life. You will sit down, behave like a well-bred hostess and stop embarrassing your guests. I don’t know where you learned such behavior.” Looking hard at Katherine, she made it clear whom she suspected.
Beneath the lash of her imperious mother’s tongue, Nacia wilted like a rose plucked and mishandled. One look at Julio made Katherine want to cry out, for his face was etched with the painful failure of hope.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass. . . .” Nacia faded off.
Katherine wanted to shout. Nacia hadn’t embarrassed her; her parents had, but nothing could convince the two omnivores of their fault. Crisply, she said, “You didn’t embarrass me. I’m so ill-bred I was enjoying the scene.”
The sarcasm missed Nacia and her parents. She fumbled for a stool, nodded blindly at Katherine, settled herself and groped for poise.
“Señor Roderiguez, what news from Monterey?” Damian interrupted the sad little scene without finesse. “Has there been any more trouble?”
Julio leaned close to Katherine. “He changes the subject to protect us, and I accept his guardianship gratefully.” He winked, his disappointment gone as if it had never been. To his man-servant, stationed in the doorway, he called “Aguardiente for our guests.”
“Oh, Julio, I was going to serve champurrado.” Nacia wrung her hands. “Doña Katherina will enjoy my recipe, I’m sure.”
“Yes,” Katherine agreed, anxious to ease Nacia’s responsibility. “I love chocolate, and it will be a fitting end to the merienda. “
Julio accepted a bottle from his manservant. “Let her try it. Champurrado is a woman’s drink, and perhaps it will sweeten their dispositions. The men will have aguardiente.” He splashed the pungent liquor into the cups and waved the servant towards his father-in-law and Damian.
“I will drink.” Damian accepted the aguardiente. “But I won’t continue until my stomach heaves.”
“A wise policy.” Julio saluted him with the cup. “I’ll try to follow it, also. I wouldn’t want to shock our prim Doña Katherina.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” Katherine ordered. “If you want to spend the evening on your knees in the yard, killing Nacia’s roses, that’s your business.”
Treasure of the Sun Page 27