Neal Barrett Jr. (20 page)

Jones said the vessels came from Asia, and that mechanical devices inside produced steam, which turned ingenious paddles on the side.

“Why?” Howie asked, and Jones said they would discuss this matter another time. The question seemed to irritate the preacher, and Howie decided that he didn’t know the answer himself.

It was close to noon when the ship found a berth and all the lines were secured. Two men came aboard to greet Jones, and it was clear at once they’d come from High Sequoia. They treated Ritcher Jones with great respect, gathering up his baggage, and Lorene’s, and listening to every word that Jones said.

Both men wore white robes that came down to their knees; the robes had light green piping around the edges and on the sleeves. And on each breast was sewn the symbol of High Sequoia Howie had seen on the preacher’s gun—a thick-boled tree, growing right out of a heart.

Jones introduced him to the men, who were named Brother this, and Brother something else. Howie couldn’t keep them straight. Captain Finley and Adams shook hands with everyone as they left, and Howie didn’t much like the way Adams held Lorene in his grip too long, or the sweet smile Lorene gave in return. He didn’t see the Garveys anywhere, and didn’t care if he ever did again.

I
t seemed strange to be standing on solid ground again. Nothing moved beneath his feet, but Howie found himself walking as he had on board, waiting for a pitch of the deck that never came.

Lorene glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and grinned at his awkward walk, though Howie saw she was doing the same.

The dock was alive with activity; the air was thick with harbor smells, and there was the usual noise and clamor. Howie noticed many of the men had peculiar tilted eyes, blunt features, and skin a shade he’d never seen before.

“They’re
Asians
,” Lorene whispered, shaking her head in a frown. “Don’t stare. It’s not nice.

“I ain’t staring,” Howie said.

“You are so.”

Well, he’d learned something new already. He knew what an Asian was now. They were short, and had coal- black hair, and chattered in a tongue no one could possibly understand.

“Anyway, I already know what they are,” Howie said. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“You didn’t know any such thing,” Lorene said. “You never even saw one before.”

Ritcher Jones walked ahead with the two Brothers. He turned and raised a brow at Howie and Lorene.

“You two coming or not? I’m half starved, and deter-mined to find a meal that doesn’t slide off the table ’fore I get a chance to eat it.”

The Brothers from High Sequoia glanced at each other and grinned. Howie decided this pair would be getting on his nerves before long. They thought everything Ritcher Jones said was either wise, inspiring, downright hilarious, or maybe all three.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

P
ast the docking area, an open carriage was waiting for Ritcher Jones and his party. The carriage stood beyond an open gate and a high wooden fence, and it was clear the fence was there for a reason—no one entered or left the pier without permission. At a small wooden shed by the gate, a sober-faced official gave Howie a blue card. His name and a number were carefully penned on the card with ink, and also noted on a list maintained by the official. The card was stamped with an ornate seal of California. This whole procedure went quickly, but Howie sensed this was due to the presence of Ritcher Jones.

All the others in the party showed their cards at the gate, though the other cards were green, indicating that Jones and his friends were residents of the state. Howie asked the preacher what the cards were for, and Jones explained that California simply liked to keep track of its citizens and quests.

“If we had come by land,” Jones said, “we would have stopped at one of numerous stations like this on our eastern borders. The laws of California are quite generous and fair, but they are strict as well, Cory, and any crime or misdeed is dealt with swiftly and severely.” He smiled broadly at Howie. “Only officers of the law carry weapons here. You simply don’t
need
one, you see. There is very little crime, and it’s quite safe to walk the streets.”

Howie was astonished. “They don’t let you carry a
gun
?”

“As I said, you don’t need it. There’s no reason for it. A person carries a weapon to either defend himself or commit some sort of offense. The police here are well suited to handle the latter. Thus there is nothing for the citizen to defend himself against.”

It sounded like a real good law, the way Jones put it, but Howie wasn’t sure he’d grow to like it. He had been without a weapon since they’d tossed him in jail in Alabama Port, and he still felt naked without something in his belt. What if somebody had a gun, and didn’t
care
about the law? Why, he could walk up and laugh in your face, and put a bullet in your belly.

Howie didn’t bother to ask Jones about that—or if he’d tossed his own long-barreled silver weapon overboard before they’d sailed into port. Howie had a picture of the preacher doing that.

T
he road twisted up a gentle slope from the pier. New Los Angeles sprawled among the foothills of the high green mountains at its back. Looking down the hills, Howie could see the docks, the unbelievably blue water, and more ships than he’d ever imagined in the bay. Only one thing marred this pleasant sight. To the south of the docks, a mile or so away, he could see the vast pens of stock. It was the largest operation he’d ever seen, acres and acres of meat. Howie felt something turn heavy in his belly, and he thought of the boy Tom, and the others sitting there on the bench, and the sadness in Elena’s lovely eyes. He turned away at once, but the pens, and the image of Elena, refused to go away.

As he had noticed from the ship, the buildings and houses here were white and sparkling clean. Lush growth and clusters of bright flowers were everywhere. Howie sat on the edge of his seat, taking in everything they passed. He sat between the two Brothers, facing Jones and Lorene. Jones carried on a running conversation with the Brothers; Lorene sat primly at his side, hands folded in her lap, taking care to look at anything but Howie.

Howie was already concerned about Lorene, and the night to come. What kind of sleeping arrangements would they have at this High Sequoia place? The ship had worked out just fine, but that didn’t mean they’d get that lucky again. He hadn’t thought to talk it over with Lorene, and decided not to worry.
She
didn’t want to stop either, so maybe everything was all right.

T
here were three- and four-story buildings set close together near the center of town. Tall trees shaded the hotels, clean open markets, and shops. And there were parks with ponds and gardens, right in the middle of the city. Everyone the carriage passed was well dressed. Howie noticed that at once. No gaunt and hungry faces, no veterans of the war with missing arms or legs. People
smiled
, and hurried here and there with cloth bags full of goods. The men looked hearty, and there were more than a few pretty women.

And horses—there was certainly no scarcity of horses in California. The broad, graveled streets were full of carriages and wagons and riders.

Howie shook his head in wonder at the sights. A war might be raging in the rest of the country, but you sure couldn’t tell it here. Fighting and poverty seemed a million miles away. And the preacher was right—Howie didn’t see anyone wearing a gun. Maybe these
laws
Jones talked about worked. Only that didn’t account for everyone dressing nice, and clearly getting plenty to eat. There was some other reason for that.

Before the carriage left town and started up into the hills, Howie saw something he could hardly believe, even in California. There were Loyalist and Rebel officers in the streets, shopping, or simply walking around. Once the carriage passed a group of men from both sides, talking to one another on the steps of a hotel. Lord A’mighty, Howie thought, I guess I’ve seen everything now.

T
he foothills were comfortably cool, the streets shaded by tall, broad-leafed trees. Papa had taught him the name of every tree on the farm, but there were very few here that Howie recognized. The road, like the streets in town, was graded with white stone, and he had never seen that before, either.

Nearly an hour from the pier, the carriage came to a tall, white-painted gate. Two Brothers in robes were there to open the gate quickly, and the carriage passed through. Ahead, nearly lost among the trees, was the biggest house Howie had ever seen. It seemed to wander all about; one story would turn into two, and then the trees would reveal a high tower, or a wing that was three stories high, or a balcony or a porch. The house was white stucco, covered in places by vines, and the roof had curly orange tiles like the ones Howie had seen in Nueva Panama.

Richer Jones caught Howie’s expression. “Well, what do you think of California, Cory? Does it look like you imagined it would be?”

“I never imagined nothing like this,” Howie said.

The preacher’s smile turned thoughtful, and he leaned forward and gripped Howie’s knee. “I know what has to be going through your head, son. I’ve seen the rest of the country too, you’ll recall. We’re mightily blessed out here. Mightily blessed by the Lord.”

Howie didn’t need Jones to tell him that. “I knew High Sequoia would be something,” he said. “But I never thought it’d be as big as this. How many people you got livin’ in this place, if you don’t mind me asking?”

For an instant, Jones looked bewildered. Then he leaned close to Howie again. “This house is sort of a … place to stay when the Brothers and Sisters are in town. It’s a church, too, if you like. But it isn’t High Sequoia, Cory. That’s close to two hundred miles north and east.”

Howie stared. “You mean you got another house, too?

Jones shook his head. “High Sequoia’s not a house, it’s a
sanctuary
, so to speak. Lawrence likes to call it the Lord’s quiet haven on earth. You’ll see. There’s nothing like it anywhere.”

“I guess there’s a whole lot of stuff I don’t know ’bout California,” Howie said.

One of the Brothers laughed softly at that, and Ritcher Jones silenced him with a look. “There is time to learn, son. Plenty of time for that.”

E
ven after half a day in the big house. Howie was still completely lost. Jones had personally taken him on a quick tour, and Howie marveled at what he saw. The heavy, carved wooden furniture, the polished tile floors, and the plants everywhere—plants growing
inside
the house itself. There were living rooms and dining rooms and parlors, balconies and fountains, and even a room that was full of colorful birds. In the end, Howie managed to find his way from his room to the downstairs area and back again, and he was satisfied with that.

The room Jones gave him was bigger than the whole house where Howie had grown up. It had high glass doors leading to a balcony where you could sit and see way down the hill, and a patch of blue ocean beyond. He thought about his mother, and wished she could have seen something like this. The farmhouse had been fine enough for her, and Bluevale was likely the biggest town she’d ever seen. And Carolee and Papa, wouldn’t they have marveled at a ship, and New Los Angeles and all?

Howie set these thoughts quickly aside. It wouldn’t do any good to wonder what might have been. They were all three dead and he was here, in a place that likely cost more than Papa would have made if he’d lived a thousand years. The idea of that left a sour taste in his mouth, and the room and the fine glass windows and the view outside didn’t seem quite as grand anymore.

From what Howie could tell, there were maybe twelve or fifteen people in the house, not nearly enough to fill it up. He couldn’t imagine how many that would take. They didn’t all appear at supper, so he figured they were eating in one of the three or four dining rooms he’d seen.

There were five, including Howie himself, on the brick patio outside. Besides Jones and Lorene, and one of the Brothers Howie had never met before, there was a Sister named Camille. The patio was lit by candles, and the meal was served by young men and women Howie learned were aspiring to be Brothers and Sisters. They wore pale yellow robes with no piping on the sleeves, instead of regular white garments like the others.

At first, Howie was surprised to find Jones and Lorene had changed into robes too, but this seemed the thing to do. He had never seen Lorene so lovely. Just looking at her—or trying
not
to—made him want her all the more. The candlelight softened her features and her hair, and it excited him a lot to imagine those incredibly long legs, the supple curves and secret places beneath the modest churchly attire. His face heated at the thoughts in his head, and he hoped Ritcher Jones wasn’t looking his way.

The other girl, Camille, was pretty too, nearly as pretty as Lorene. She had hair black as night and olive skin, a thin, angular face, and enormous dark eyes. Howie made a point of not looking at her much; Lorene would sure notice if he did. He couldn’t tell what Camille was like, because she seldom said a word during the meal. Lorene kept silent too, most of the time. Wearing robes seemed to have some effect, and Howie hoped this solemn, spiritual behavior wouldn’t hamper the more earthly activities he and Lorene had come to share.

The other Brother at the table was called James, and he was somewhat older than the Brothers Howie had seen around the house. He was tall, and had very little flesh on his bones. He wasn’t as old as he seemed; he just acted that way and it showed. He kept his face screwed up tight and never laughed. Even when Jones said some-thing funny, James forced a smile, and looked as if it hurt to make the effort.

The talk was all of High Sequoia and what was going on there. James had just returned and had news about Lawrence and other people that Howie had no interest in at all. He perked up and listened when James discussed the upcoming peace talks between the Loyalists and the Rebels. James mentioned several names, but Harriver Mason wasn’t one of them. That didn’t mean he wasn’t coming, of course, but it made Howie uneasy not to hear his name.