Hope Redeemed--A Spanish Novella

by Jenny Wheeler

  Caleb laughed. “Oh, Santiago, I’m going to miss you. I’ve come to rely on you like a brar, you know that?”

  Santiago grinned at him over his cup. “So where do you want me to start?”

  Caleb’s face was suddenly serious. “Wherever you can. Right away. Just one thing, Santiago. For goodness sake don’t let on to Josefa what you’re doing. She’d skin us both alive if she thought we were spying on her future husband.”

  8

  The warm breath from a couple of dozen quietly chatting women had steamed up the coffee house windows, giving Josefa an unfamiliar sense of safety. A crazy, darting thought came to her. Nothing bad would happen while she was here enjoying a coffee with her mother. She smiled at Doña Valentina over her cup.

  “You don’t have to marry him, you know. There will be other opportunities.” Josefa was struck by how much gray hair showed at her mother’s temples. Sometime in the last little while, when she hadn’t been looking, her mother had aged. And softened. A gentle smile washed across her lips. Her mother was being kind. That was unusual for the normally austere matriarch.

  “Mother, are you all right? You’re not sick?”

  Her mother chuckled. “I’m fine, daughter. Why do you ask?”

  “You just seem . . . Well, more understanding than I expected. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted me married at any cost. I mean, you have the right to be furious with me. You’ve ‘made your bed’ etcetera.”

  Valentina smiled, her full face lighting up. “Josefa, don’t talk like that. The most important thing now is your future. I don’t want you to do something that will leave you unhappy for years to come.”

  She put up her hand in an arresting moment. “And I am not saying marrying Leo is right or wrong. I’m just saying he is not your only option. You don’t need to feel you’re being backed into a corner.”

  Josefa nodded and sat back from the table. She glanced around the coffee house. Almost every table was filled with ladies like her mother and her, genteel women who filled the air with the sedate hum of shared feminine confidences.

  “I think I know what you’re getting at, Mother. I can imagine having a very good life in San Francisco with Leo. Mixing with the wives of his friends, meeting in places like this. And then he says or does something that makes me wonder if it’s all wishful thinking.”

  Her mother’s face sobered. “The thing I am most concerned about is your inheritance, girl. His attitude there — well, it’s unconscionable. If it’s so important to him to be the protective husband, then surely he’d be delighted to take on that task, rather than making such a ruckus about getting his hands on your endowment.

  “It really goes against the grain. You know that before the Americans took over, lots of our women were given land grants — with or without their husband’s name on the title. Some of them ran the whole business and no one thought anything of it. He’s way out of touch with what we’re capable of. Of what you’re capable of. And that’s a worry.”

  Josefa folded her hands into her lap and sighed. “I know, Mother. It’s just . . . Well, I would like to be married before the baby comes. I don’t know, it’d just feel better somehow.”

  “And are you sure Leo will treat this baby as his own, truly accept him or her? Have you discussed that side of it?”

  Josefa screwed up her face. “Not really. And from what he said about Rory the other day — well, you know he doesn’t rate men who haven’t ‘made it’ in the world, who aren’t wealthy or in the professions. He’s horrible about Santiago as well. Truth is, he probably underestimates Caleb for exactly the same reason. And that would be a big mistake.”

  Valentina tested the weight of the coffee pot. “More coffee, darling? It’s lovely to have this time together to talk without the house getting in the way. Let’s hope we can do this more in the future.”

  She leaned over and refilled Josefa’s cup. “Speaking of Santiago, you know he’s given notice? He’s going to work for Antal.”

  “Notice? No! When did this happen?”

  “It’s not official yet, so don’t say anything. He’s finishing up a few things for Caleb before he goes. I think they discussed it at the christening. He feels he’s got to move on. Take steps to secure his future.” She reached out her hand to take Josefa’s wrist. “Are you all right dear? You look rather pale.”

  Josefa peered down at her cup, but her vision was blurred. Her eyes were wet. She felt for the handle. Santiago was leaving? He couldn’t leave. He was always there . . . Just like Caleb’s deerhounds, Venus and Jupiter, were always there. For whenever you needed a friend.

  She felt a tiny fluttery kick in her stomach. Was that? Yes. Yes. Her baby. When her baby was born, Santiago wouldn’t be there to hold it. To be a kind uncle. The baby had chosen this moment to remind her that he or she would be there, but Santiago wouldn’t.

  She jerked down her cup and rested her hand on her rounding belly. “I’m feeling strange. I think the baby just kicked for the first time.”

  She raised her eyes to Valentina’s expectant face. “Santiago can’t leave! He’s part of the family. Oh, this is all so wrong.”

  9

  Josefa slept badly and rose early, planning on taking an early morning ride. She figured if she took it gently, she could ride for a few more weeks before she became too rotund. As she strode to the stables to saddle up, she tried to banish the wisps of dream that hung in her head from last night.

  She’d been standing on an open plain, gazing at her mare Esmeralda. The horse was normally so biddable, but in her dream, she shied and wheeled and refused to come to her for the sugary treat she held in her hand. A feeling of loss washed over her. Esmeralda wasn’t letting her get near.

  She stepped into the dimness of the stalls, and her eyes prickled with the hay dust that always danced in the air in here, filling her nostrils with its green, promising smell. She halted to rub her lids clear, and when she opened her eyes again her heart jumped. Santiago was already here, saddling up his own horse ready to ride, his back to her, seemingly unaware of her presence.

  The dim light caught the sheen of his long brown hair, tied off his face at the back of his neck. He was crooning softly to the black gelding, his strong deft movements as he checked the tightness of the girth, the tension of the bridle, showing him as the consummate horseman he was.

  The hay dust reached her nostrils and she sneezed. Santiago was startled by the sound. He stiffened his body, and the muscles in his jaw tightened. His hazel eyes were stony, their expression unreadable. He turned back to the horse without speaking.

  “Santiago!” Her voice sounded unnaturally high and pleading. This wasn’t at all like their normal casual banter, idle chat about the ranch, the horses.

  He still did not speak.

  “Are you going riding?”

  Well, that’s a clever thing to say when he’s saddling up a horse.

  She tried again. “Of course you are, you’re saddling up Apollo. Can I come with you?”

  They often rode the range together. She’d learned a lot from him as they did, random information she loved hearing. When the bulls were ready for round-up, when the nurse cows would be calving, why Caleb had chosen to breed Angus stock. Stuff Caleb never talked about with her.

  But clearly Santiago wasn’t in a chatty mood. His shoulders stiffened as she stepped closer.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea this morning.” His eyes flicked to the stall where Esmeralda stood, already expectantly hanging her chestnut head over the rail, looking to Josefa. “I’m in a hurry.”

  He patted Apollo’s saddle, as if confirming the final check that he was ready to mount.

  He raised a foot to the stirrup, and hesitated. “Besides, Leo wouldn’t like it.”

  “Leo?” Her echo of his words was tinged with a faint helplessness, and then fresh confidence surged through her. “Oh, he doesn’t like to ride, so it shouldn’t bother him.”

  “Not today, Josefa. I’m in a
hurry. I’ve got a lot to do. Get Mariano to go with you if you want company.”

  He brusquely led Apollo out of the stable past her and, without another word, mounted and rode away.

  10

  “That’s it, Mariano.” Santiago looked on approvingly as the orphaned twin calves he’d brought in earlier in the day bunted the nurse cow’s soft udder, their back legs splayed, heads tucked under her flank, as they happily fed. The loamy cream smell of warm milk pervaded the air.

  Mariano grinned, showing his gapping front teeth. “She’s taken to them like she’s their real mother. She’s a reliable old cow, is Daisy. It wasn’t hard to mother them up.”

  The young calves, both female, had the glossy black coats and deep chests of their sturdy Angus bloodline. As part of the farm’s valuable breeding program to improve Del Oro’s beef quality, they represented another win.

  Santiago clapped the ranch hand on the shoulder. “The boss will be pleased. Now go and get your dinner. We’re done for the day.”

  He was turning to wash up and then join the rest of the men in the cook house when he heard a quiet feminine voice from a few feet away. “Santiago. Can we please talk?”

  Josefa stood, one foot up on the railing penning in the calves, looking at him.

  He reluctantly stepped back to the grassed lot, keeping his silence. His heart quickened, fluttering in his rib cavity like a caged bird, a warning sign if ever he knew one.

  Don’t get drawn in here. She’s only trouble.

  She gestured towards the calves. “Looks like you’ve done a nice job here. Did you have to trick her to take them on?”

  He shrugged. “We brought in some of the placenta, yes. The mother was already dead. Didn’t look like they’d any chance to feed before she gave up the ghost.” He took in the rousing sight of the pair of wiggling tails. “Looks like they’re making up for it now.”

  “You’re so good at this, you know, Santiago. Do you enjoy it?”

  He shrugged. “You know I do. I don’t know anything else.”

  There was an expectant pause. “Then why are you leaving?”

  She almost whispered the inquiry, speaking so quietly that for half a minute he was unsure he’d heard her right.

  “Leaving? Who said I’m leaving?” It was his first bluffing response, and as soon as the words were out, he regretted them.

  Her voice rose. “Come on, Santiago. I didn’t think you’d lie to me.”

  She gazed at him, a self-possessed set to her mouth, as if she was fully entitled to an answer, and he felt a surge of anger.

  He stepped back from the pen. “I don’t know what makes you think you have a right to pry into my personal life, Josefa. As of now, I am still one of your brother’s employees, and I guess, by default, one of yours. When that situation changes, you’ll hear about it at the same time as everyone else.”

  His feet were fixed to the ground as he glared.

  Her face paled, her hands fell uncertainly to her sides. She took a deep breath. “Oh Santiago, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to presume—”

  “Then don’t,” he snapped. He turned to go and wash up.

  She leapt forward and grabbed him by the forearm. “Please,” she said. “Don’t go. Not like this. I didn’t mean . . .”

  He stopped, but remained facing away from the pen, intent on getting to the wash house.

  “Look, I’m sorry. Mother told me. She also told me not to say anything, but of course I couldn’t mind my own business.” She gave a shaky little laugh. “It’s all so confusing.”

  He turned to her then, as a tide of warmth washed over him that he knew he would never be able to give voice to.

  “Josefa, you’ll be fine. You’ve got your mother and Caleb and Rancho Del Oro behind you. You couldn’t wish for better support. Antal just helped me to see I can’t be a vaquero for the rest of my life. That’s all.”

  She removed her hand from his arm. “Yes, yes. I understand.” Her eyes dropped to the ground. “I just wish everything could be different.”

  Not as much as I do, Josefa. Not as much as I do.

  11

  “You were always my favorite boy. You know that, don’t you Santiago?” Benecio Valaquez Carver dashed away a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “And that’s a terrible thing to say about my own son.”

  Santiago had come to see his aunt in her Sonoma home because she was the first person who might be able to give him information about Leo. Who his friends were, how he liked to spend his time, that kind of stuff. Whether he was kind to his horses. Come to think of it, does he have any horses? Benecio should know. Leo was, after all, her son. And the sooner Santiago could satisfy Caleb’s last request to him, the sooner he’d be gone from Rancho Del Oro.

  He’d caught her in a mellow, reflective mood, and it was proving hard to keep her on the topic. She’d been his mother — the only one he’d known, until he left her home at the age of fifteen. He had a vague memory of happy times when he was very young, when she’d been a single maid, taking care of her younger sister’s child in an extended family with wealth and resources.

  It was a common occurrence in big Californio families — an out-of-wedlock child gathered up by their kin, often with support from a wet nurse, and raised in mystery, his or her origins never referred to except within a tight inner circle.

  It was a very Spanish division of public and private life that he knew only too well. Within the walls of home, secrets might be whispered. But outside its walls, nothing that impugned family honor was to be divulged. It wasn’t just Luisa’s reputation that would be shamed, it would have been the whole family.

  There were a couple of other children of around his age — Niko and Ana, orphans from the wider family who were also being fostered within the tribal bosom — so his presence wasn’t remarked upon. There were los huerfanos, the orphan kids. And then there was him. Benecio’s favorite.

  It was only when Benecio married the Scotsman Gerald Carver and gave birth to their son Leo that things changed.

  “I couldn’t help what happened, Santiago. It was beyond my control.” Benecio mopped her eyes with a white handkerchief, the skin on her cheeks bright pink and shining damp from the continued dabbing. “Gerald was within his rights. Leo was his legitimate first-born son, his heir. And you were adulterino, the fruit of adulterous parents. When Luisa died, that could never be remedied by her making a legitimate marriage. We were stuck with it for life.”

  She blew her nose and peered over the soggy linen with mournful eyes.

  “You’re so like your mother, Santiago. Luisa was beautiful, clever, talented. And my word, could she sing. She could have had the pick of any man she wanted. But she was a babe in the woods where men were concerned. She let herself be seduced by a man who was already promised to someone else — not that she knew that.”

  Santiago’s senses sharpened. It had never been a secret that his mother had been an innocent, taken advantage of by an older man, but that man’s name had never been spoken in his presence. As far as he knew, his birth certificate was marked “padres no conocidos” — “parents unknown”, the statement made when neither wanted their name known publicly. That was all part of the secret pact to protect the family name.

  “And now you’re asking about Leo. From what I saw at Francine’s christening the other day Leo’s making a bee line for Fergus Stewart’s girl, Josefa. Is that right?” She gave a wan smile. “He never tells me anything, but you’d have to be blind not to see what he’s up to — and I’m not blind yet.”

  Santiago leaned forward and put his hand on her sinewy arm. Benecio was trembling. “Mama, you’ll be with us for many years yet, God willing. Don’t get despondent.”

  He caught himself. Mama. He still called her that in intimate, private moments like this. It was one of the things Leo had particularly detested when they were younger. For him to call his Aunt Bene “Mother”.

  She gave him a grateful smile and patted his hand. “
But I have to acknowledge it, Santiago. Finally, I have to admit. Gerald’s son is not the man I’d hoped to raise.” She sighed. “All those years ago, he had to be the father. That’s how it worked.”

  Santiago patted the back of her hand soothing. “I know, Mother, I know. Don’t get yourself upset.”

  Santiago was coming up to three when Benecio and Gerald wed, a time when children of Spanish heritage traditionally passed from the mother’s to the father’s domain and control.

  Gerald Carver did not share the expansive family view of his Spanish relations. He made it very clear — first in subtle, and then not-so-subtle ways — that the shame of Santiago’s birth was not going to be hidden under a blanket forever. Better to distance the family from him now than be embarrassed later.

  Santiago had remained in the house but was banished to the farthest wing where the niño de acogida, the taken-in children, were housed. It was more like being at boarding school than being with his mother Benecio.

  He wouldn’t have minded so much if Leo hadn’t taken every opportunity he could to bait and tease and humiliate him. As he grew older, he could never fathom why Leo, who had everything, still seemed to resent him, be threatened by him. It was no contest, after all. Leo was the son and heir and he was a bastard Gerald begrudged feeding and housing.

  When he was fifteen, he’d more or less run away to become a vaquero.

  “Don’t let’s talk about this now, Benecio. It’s ancient history. It’s no good raking it all up again. I’ve been making my own way for twelve years now.” He squeezed her hand. “Let me order in some more coffee. And then you’ve got to fill me in. I admit it. I’m here with ulterior motives. Caleb wants to know what sort of man is offering for his sister. And you’re the best one to tell me that.”

  Benecio shook her head, her eyes glittering with untold secrets. “Oh, Santiago, if you only knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “I’ve got some surprises in store for you. Because if Leo really is going to marry Josefa Stewart, I think it’s time you learned a lot more about this family.”