Bride of the Baja (16 page)

"They've eloped," she said, smiling wistfully.

Esteban stared out over the empty sea. "If he brings her to harm," he said, "I will kill him."

Looking at his grim face and hearing the intensity in his voice, Alitha shivered. She would never want to be the enemy of this man, she thought.

As they left the hills to ride through green fields, she saw a two-story adobe ranch ahead of them. Dogs ran out to bark at the horse's hooves, women waved a greeting from a balcony and one of the vaqueros began to sing a spirited Spanish song. In a few minutes the others had joined in the chorus, and they entered the courtyard singing.

As they dismounted, a boy, shouting excitedly, ran up to Esteban. The men gathered around and, although Alitha couldn't make out the sense of what was being said, she heard the word oso repeated several times.

Esteban nodded and the boy ran from the courtyard. The men remounted their horses and followed him toward the rear of the buildings. Alitha, unnoticed, hurried after them on foot past a corral to the base of a rocky, wooded hill. When she caught up to the
vaqueros,
their horses were snorting and skittishly milling about near a brush-choked gully. Seeing Alitha, Esteban rode to her and dismounted.

"The bear we captured to fight the bull has escaped and taken refuge in the arroyo," he said. "He's dangerous. He was wounded by a shot from one of the stable boys. We must kill him.

She nodded and watched Esteban start up the gully toward the brush. When two
vaqueros
followed, he stopped them with a wave of his hand, said a few words to them, then walked on alone.

As he reached the brush, Esteban pulled a hunting knife from a sheath on his belt. Alitha drew in her breath, realizing that, except for the knife, he was unarmed. Was he mad? Pushing the branches aside, he advanced cautiously into the undergrowth, the brush closing behind him so that all she could see was an occasional flash of silver when the sunlight struck an ornament on his jacket.

She heard a low growl followed by a sudden thrashing in the brush, as though the bear was plunging down the hill at Esteban. The horses around her reared, the
vaqueros
fighting to control them. The branches swayed and she heard an animal-like cry of pain. A few minutes later Esteban emerged from the gully, backing away, his left sleeve torn and long, bloody slashes on his arm. In his right hand he still held the knife.

The bear crashed out of the brush toward him, loping on all fours, a brown bear larger than Alitha had imagined any bear could be. Was this a California grizzly? She looked quickly at the two men with muskets. Both were holding their weapons at their sides. Why didn't they fire? Could Esteban have told them not to shoot the bear, to leave the killing to him? But why?

Esteban stopped and the bear lunged at him. Alitha cried out as Esteban darted to one side, thrusting his knife into the bear and pulling it out again. With a roar of pain the animal clawed at him, one paw striking his shoulder and sending him sprawling to the ground. The bear rose on his hind legs above Esteban.

"Shoot him, shoot him," Alitha cried. "He'll kill Esteban if you don't." The
vaqueros
raised their muskets to their shoulders but held their fire.

The bear hurled himself down at Esteban, but the don rolled away. The bear's claws snagged
his boot and held it pinned to the ground as Esteban struggled to free himself. Yanking his boot away, Esteban closed on the bear, plunging his knife into the animal's side, darting away, returning to plunge the knife in again.

The bear, roaring with pain, struck out blindly. Esteban retreated and the bear lumbered after him, his blood darkening the ground. All at once the bear stopped and lurched to one side, looking around him as though puzzled. Slowly the bear turned and shambled up the hill toward the shelter of the rocks.

Esteban motioned with his hand and the two guns cracked simultaneously. The bear slumped to the ground and lay still.

Esteban walked down the slope, his shirt dark from sweat and blood, his face smeared with dirt, his clothing torn. Alitha saw bloody claw marks on his arm and shoulder. He embraced the two men who had shot the bear, then walked on toward her. When he was a few feet away, he hurled his knife to the ground, where the blade
embedded itself between her feet. She stared down at the blood-smeared knife, her breath coming quickly, feeling the wild beating of her heart.

Esteban spoke so only she could hear. "Do you still believe me to be a coward?" he

                                          CHAPTER ELEVEN

Alitha awoke in a dark, curtained room. She sat up and saw she was wearing a thin white nightgown. Whose? Her head whirled but she rose to her feet and made her way to the window, pulled the curtain aside and looked out at trees shrouded in a swirling white mist. Still lightheaded, she returned to the bed, where she lay on top of the coverlet, intending to rest for a few minutes, but she quickly fell into a fevered sleep.

She lay ill for a week, a time of strange dreams she couldn't remember in her infrequent moments of wakefulness. She was dimly aware of the comings and goings of Indian servants, of opening her fever-lidded eyes to see a heavyset middle-aged woman bending over her bed, of calling out for her father.

Esteban brought her a single red rose. She held it in both hands, smelling the heady fragrance as she looked from the flower to the don. Did she dream he knelt at her bedside, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips as he kissed her fingers? Did she dream that before he left he leaned over and tenderly kissed her forehead?

When she awoke, clear-headed at last, she saw the plump woman reading in a chair near the window. The curtains had been looped back, but she could see only a gauzy mist outside. When Alitha lifted her head, the woman by the window closed her book and came to stand beside her.

"I am Maria Mendoza," she said in precise English. "The widow of the brother of Don Esteban."

Alitha looked at the black silk dress, its style ten years out of date, and realized that Maria Mendoza was still in mourning. She smiled at the woman.

"I'm sorry to be so much trouble," Alitha said. "Imposing on you, then getting sick."

"
De nada
, it is nothing—our house is your house. What can one expect but illness after having to live among savages?"

"No, it wasn't like that at all," Alitha said. "They never harmed me--they saved our lives, mine and Chia's." She rose on one elbow. "How is he? How is Chia? The boy with the broken leg."

"He is at the mission. The Indians there care for him."

Alitha sank back. Chia was safe. She gazed up at Senora Mendoza. "And Don Esteban?" she asked. "He is well?"

“Don Esteban is not at the rancho. He journeys north to the capital at Monterey to search for his sister and—"she paused—"for other reasons." Maria reached down and took Alitha's hand. "Don Esteban is not for you," she said.

"I don't understand what you mean." Alitha felt her face redden. She pulled her hand away.

Maria slid her fingers under the pillow and brought out a somewhat bedraggled red rose. Alitha reached for the flower and Maria gave it to her.

"You wouldn't rest until the rose was with you," Maria said.

Alitha thrust the rose back under her pillow, out of sight. "I—the scent ..." she began, then fell silent under the other woman's gaze. She pushed herself up in bed. "I left Boston to sail to the Sandwich Islands," she said. "I am betrothed to the Reverend Thomas Heath, a missionary there."

Maria watched her, waiting.

Alitha took a deep breath. "Reverend Heath and I planned to marry last year, but my mother fell ill and I took care of her until she died. Thomas—Reverend Heath—had to sail before we could be married." It was all true, and yet, Alitha thought, she couldn't bring Thomas's face to mind.

"I am happy to hear of your betrothal," Maria said. "All young women should marry. For ten years I was the wife of Don Tomas Mendoza, the brother of Don Esteban, until he was mortally wounded in the war against the tyrant Napolean. I loved Don Tomas." Maria lowered her face into her hands and began to sob.

Alitha threw aside the coverlet and sat up, reaching out to her.

"
Madre de Dios
," Maria Mendoza murmured. Removing the black lace handkerchief from her sleeve, she dabbed at her eyes. "I beg your pardon," she said to Alitha. "I am such a worthless woman. The only man I could ever love is dead, a man I was not able to honor with children. All I have left is Don Esteban. Am I to be a Jonah followed by ill fortune the rest of my life?

My husband was killed. As if that wasn't enough, Don Esteban's father fell ill of a fever and, on the ship bringing us to this barbarous country, he died, Now my beloved sister-in-law, the sister of Don Esteban, has sailed away with an Americano, a man not yet her husband. What will become of us?"

"I find California even more strange than you do," Alitha said.

Maria returned the handkerchief to her sleeve. "A journey to one's beloved interrupted by shipwreck and savages—such misfortune! I am ashamed that I think only of myself and forget my duty. Before he left Don Esteban said, “Care for the senorita as though she were your own while I am in Monterey. If I did not know she was almost well,” he said, 'I would not leave her.''

Alitha smiled involuntarily, quickly raising her hand to her face to mask her pleasure. Esteban did care, she thought.

"Don Esteban and the others return in ten days' time," Maria went on, "and a feast is planned to celebrate their homecoming."

"Let me help you. I'll do whatever I can to repay you for your hospitality."

Maria shook her head. "We have many Indian servants to do the work. You are a guest, and we will treat you as a guest until your ship arrives."

"My ship? The
Flying Yankee
was wrecked."

"No, no, I meant the next ship bound for the Sandwich Islands. Many come here to Santa Barbara to be loaded with hides. There will be one soon, and you will be united with the one you love."

"Yes, of course," Alitha said.

"But, first, we must make you well again, find clothes for you. I want to show you our rancho, the mission, the village and something of this part of California. This is a beautiful country, though it is wild and uncivilized."

"You're very kind."

"Any Californio would do the same for a guest. Now, is there anything you want?"

"I'd like to read. Have you a book?"

"A book? The Mendozas have the largest library in all of California," Maria said, "but we have only one book written in English. I will bring it to you."

When she returned a short time later, Maria handed Alitha a thin, leather-bound volume with the title embossed in gold—Pilgrim's Progress.

Alitha leafed through the page--at home she had read and reread the tale of Christian's adventures in the Slough of Despond, Doubting Castle and the Valley of Humiliation as he journeyed in search of salvation.

When Maria left, Alitha reached beneath her pillow, bringing the rose from its hiding place and pressing the flower between the pages of the book. She sighed as she held the book in her hands. She herself, Alitha thought, was as much a pilgrim as Christian, traveling to foreign lands in search of--what? Happiness? Love? What did she seek?

Alitha recovered quickly, and Maria was as good as her word—Don Esteban's house became Alitha's house as well. Dresses were lengthened for her, petticoats displayed for her selection. Maria led her through the kitchen garden, naming the herbs, and into the vegetable garden with its tomatoes, green and red peppers, cabbages, white onions, peas, watermelons and beans on high poles. They strolled in the orchards among the fig trees, oranges, limes and olives.

As they climbed hillsides painted a springtime yellow and gold by poppies, Alitha watched cottontails dart through patches of wild oats, listened to the cries of jays, the coo of turtledoves, and the echoing calls of the mockingbirds.

Wherever she went she heard the tolling mission bells calling the Indians to work or to prayer.

They walked along the beach collecting shells, sat on the sand looking out over the Pacific.

"Soon," Maria told her "the ship bound for the islands will come for you."

At the Mendoza
casa
, the preparations for the banquet quickened. Bread was baked in the huge ovens, grain was pounded, coffee beans roasted and ground in the kitchen courtyard, chickens plucked and dressed. The Indian women scoured bathtubs, scrubbed floors, made soap and tallow candles.

Despite the preparations for the coming feast, the day-to-day chores of the
casa
went on. The cleaning and cooking seemed never ending. The meals were elaborate. For breakfast Alitha might be served stewed beef and beans, tongue cooked with hot peppers and garlic, rice, pumpkin, cabbage, chicken and eggs, oranges and tortillas.

She was constantly reminded of Esteban's expected return. "When Don Esteban comes," Maria said five or six times each day.