“The Rio de Sangre Colorado?”
“That is the only one available at present, though I hear there are nice ones in the Canadas and back in the Fifteen Colonies, too.”
“I have a nice house in Philadelphia, though sadly it does not possess a river. It has an airfield and an orchard, however.”
“I am partial to apples. What kind?”
“Spartan, and one Golden Delicious. And a couple of small ones that I believe will be Pippins in time.”
“Can you make pie?”
“I can.” She smiled, the cotton of his shirt soft and warm beneath her cheek. “Do you know, the Viceroy said the oddest thing. He said that he didn’t want a wife from the rancho families because none of the girls had any conversation, and they knew so little of arithmetic that they could not double a recipe—which I find hard to believe, since most of them will be running ranchos of their own some day, and a fiesta must involve tremendous amounts of arithmetic. But why would a prince know anything of recipes, I wonder?”
“Perhaps, with a father like that, and a mother who had passed away, he spent some time in the kitchens with women who knew their way around a bag of flour.”
“Perhaps. Women who were kind to him.” She sighed. “Stanford, I must give him my answer in the morning.”
He laid his cheek upon her hair, and she could have wept at the sweetness of it. “I suppose now is not the time to suggest taking up our original plan for this evening?”
Her eyes welled up again as the avalanche of understanding crashed in and told her exactly what price she would be required to pay if she agreed to the Viceroy’s mad plan. She had had every intention of becoming a wife to her husband in every way, beginning this very evening. But now …
“Now that I am about to lose it, I realize how very much I wanted it,” she whispered.
“You need not lose it,” he said tenderly. “We could leave on the dawn train and return to Philadelphia. Everyone here can simply fend for themselves as they have done for centuries.”
“But I cannot leave the witches—my sisters, to whom I owe my very life.” How comforting his arm was about her shoulders. How little she wanted to leave his side. “I cannot let them be drowned or flooded out of their homes knowing that I might have been able to prevent it.”
“They have resources of which outsiders know nothing,” he reminded her. “They will survive.”
But there was a difference between merely surviving … and living a life full of purpose, and joy, and productive work. All of which the witches enjoyed now.
“And what of you?” she asked him. “If I were to agree, what would you do?”
“I have hardly had time to wonder, to be honest. I suppose I could hang about the palace gardens, waiting for him to lose interest so that you could take me as your lover.”
“Ah, but he has already promised me he will not take a mistress. I can do no less than promise the same, can I?”
“Dear me. These principles of yours are more troublesome than even I suspected.”
“They are, aren’t they?” She sighed. “It is at times like this that I wish I were a different woman.”
He laughed. “If you were a different woman, you would never have come out to the Wild West, and we would never have met. And somehow, troublesome as you are, I could never wish that.”
Gloria could not speak. Instead, she turned her face into his shoulder and to her horror, left his shirt wet with her tears.
Chapter 3
Evan and Joe were walking in the garden after breakfast, enjoying the sunshine and keeping an eye on the windows of the guest wing into which Gloria had gone. Joe nudged him. “Ain’t we going to have a word with Captain Stan?”
“You may. I have nothing to say to him—he is a stranger to me.” But not to Gloria. And therein lay the rub.
For it was the captain’s privilege to escort Gloria here, to protect her, to enjoy her company at any time. She might waltz with prince or peasant, but she would leave the ball with her husband, and the thought of it irritated Evan beyond endurance. But endure he must. She had made her choice, no matter the reasons behind it, and he must respect her enough to let her go, and live with it.
With a shrug, Joe ambled over into the central quadrangle, where it was clear the good captain was having a difficult time concentrating on his conversation. His gaze kept turning toward the house. Finally Joe took pity on him and left him in solitude, pacing circles around the generous circumference of the fountain.
“Take a walk down the avenue?” he suggested when he rejoined Evan. “Put our freedom to the test?”
“Certainly.”
Evan couldn’t help a little uneasiness as they strolled away from the hacienda, the gravel crunching under their feet and the sun warming their shoulders. The air was scented with oranges and lavender, and the soft hum of bees provided a gentle counterpoint to the chirrup of small birds in the box hedges. He expected to be hailed at any moment by soldiers jogging in pursuit, but heard only the cries of gulls wheeling over the harbor, and the occasional conversation in the Californio tongue as parties and couples passed them on their way from mission to rancho.
“Maybe it’s really true,” he mused aloud as they entered the mission grounds. “The Viceroy has commanded it, and so it must be.”
“Until we attempt to go to the harbor,” Joe pointed out. “Want to try it?”
“Why not? Though I am anxious to hear whether Gloria’s goal is accomplished. Perhaps we should wait and meet them in the avenue.”
“Whichever way it goes, I have no doubt everyone within a mile will hear about it within seconds.”
“That is not the same as hearing it from her own lips.”
“Her lips, my friend, are no longer any of your business—if they ever were.”
“Thank you for that reminder,” Evan said sourly.
“Just trying to be helpful.”
The trouble was, he was perfectly right. Which didn’t improve Evan’s temper.
They were just progressing down the mission’s colonnade toward the great set of gates that would set them on the public road, when a door opened and Commander de Sola emerged carrying a leather folder.
“Senor Douglas—Senor San Gregorio. I was just coming to the hacienda to look for you. This was just put into my hands moments ago.” With a bow just a shade more shallow than it would have been had Joe’s parentage been without fault, de Sola presented the leather folder to him. “The document of citizenship. Blessings upon you, sir.”
Evan could see Joe struggle to keep the amused astonishment from his expression. Apparently he had as little faith in the promises of military commanders as Evan had in the promises of kings. And so far, they had both been wrong.
With a murmur of thanks and an absent bow, Joe took the folder, unfastened its leather strings, and opened it up. A heavily embossed, creamy document lay inside, with a blue-and-gold seal from which a gold ribbon depended.
“What does it say?” he asked, looking over Joe’s shoulder.
After a moment, Joe began to translate.
“Know all men in the sight of God that our right loyal subject and liege man, José San Gregorio, does on this seventh day of the month of March in the year 1895, receive all the rights and benefits accruing to a citizen of the Royal Kingdom of Spain and the Californias. Let it be known that no man shall detail, imprison, or otherwise hinder him save if he shall break the laws of the kingdom. Let it be known in addition that he enjoys my personal regard; therefore hinder him at your peril. Signed, Carlos Felipe, Viceroy et cetera.”
Evan was quite impressed. “His personal regard, is it? That and a piece of eight will buy you a night at the inn. Congratulations, my friend.”
De Sola looked mildly affronted. “Indeed not, sir. The personal regard of the Viceroy attached to one’s citizenship entitles a man to certain privileges. For instance, in a court of law, he may call upon the attorney of his choosing, and that individual must defend him. Sh
ould he wish to open a business, the state bank may not turn him away. I would say that Senor San Gregorio is a very fortunate man, considering his situation as little as a week ago.”
“So I may not be returned to that situation?” Joe asked.
“Certainly not. I told you so, on our journey here.”
“Then I am free to leave as soon as I please?”
“I hope you will stay to assist your friend, should you be needed.” The commander nodded in Evan’s direction. “But yes, you are free to return to San Gregorio … or not. For that is the third benefit of the sovereign’s regard. Though you are mestizo, you are no longer tied to the rancho of your birth. You may travel within the kingdom as though you enjoyed the full rights of birth. Sadly, however, if you were to marry, your children would not bear the same benefits. Not unless you married a woman of the gente de razón.”
“Not likely,” Joe said.
“Still, the benefits are not to be scoffed at. You are for all intents and purposes a citizen just as I.”
Joe regarded him for a moment. “I hope I may be as fair and compassionate as you, sir. You have treated us with nothing but consideration and goodness, and I for one appreciate it.”
This was one of the longest speeches Evan had ever heard out of Joe’s mouth. “As do I,” he hastened to add. “My own circumstances are not as clear-cut, but I wish to assure you that I will be returning with you to the dam.”
“You will?” De Sola’s eyebrows rose. “Despite His Serene Highness’s having given you your freedom?” From within his jacket, he withdrew a second, much smaller packet. “Your traveling papers, sir, freshly signed.”
Evan took the thick paper and unfolded it slowly. Joe translated in a swift murmur. “Thank you, Commander. I must at least train one of your men to operate el Gigante,” Evan said, hoping his face was not flushing and giving him away as he tucked the paper into the inside pocket of his short jacket. “And a fair wage would not go amiss, either, for I am afraid I am quite penniless, and freedom is a costly thing.”
Under his military moustache, the commander’s lips softened into a smile. “You speak the truth, Senor Douglas. Very well. I will give you a wage of one piece of eight per day for your assistance. That is the same wage one of my corporals is paid—which I think is more than fair.”
Evan nodded, and offered his hand. “Agreed, sir.”
His fingers were cold, but they did not shake. The commander took his leave and went about his business, leaving Joe and Evan to pass through the mission gates in something of a daze.
“Free men,” Evan breathed, gazing out to the sea, heaving and glittering below. “At least, as free as one can be on this side of the mountains.”
“And north of the dam,” Joe added in his practical way. “So you’re going back, for true?”
“I must. Barnaby is still there, and Dutch, and our plans.”
“Whether or not Gloria succeeds, it’s the dam, then? Good.” Joe’s mouth settled into a grim line. “No one takes the witches into account, except—” He stopped. “Thank you. You are risking your life again, and without hope of an attorney who is obliged to represent you at your trial.”
“If I am alive to undergo a trial. This will be, of course, an act of war.”
“You must simply use your ingenuity to make it look like an accident.” He clapped Evan on the back, and steered him toward the road down the hill into the town. “Come. I want to tell Ella the good news.”
Though he made himself smile, Evan’s heart seemed to contract in his chest with loneliness. Joe had inexplicably found Ella, with whom he had a history and apparently enjoyed the kind of relationship that Evan could only wish for.
Would there ever be such happiness for him?
But the gulls only cried, and wheeled, and offered him no comfort.
At the inn, Joe found Ella pacing in the taproom, waiting for Gloria and the captain to return, and suggested that they walk back up to the mission in hopes of meeting them. Evan considered staying and ordering a drink rather than being a third to their happy pair, but the danger in his faculties being addled even a little in this strange and unpredictable country made his stomach plunge with unease. Traveling papers could be stolen, and he would not risk being imprisoned again.
But they had barely emerged from the inn door when Joe’s gaze sharpened and he pointed down the waterfront. “There they are. They must have passed the inn altogether. Why, I wonder?”
Gloria waved as they approached, but under her outdated bonnet her face was pale and bore the tracks of tears.
Ella drew in a soft breath. “What has happened? Come up to our rooms, quickly. It is plain that we must have privacy.”
Evan did his best not to look about him once the door to the Fremonts’ room closed and they could no longer be heard. It was not that the small room was untidy, for it was not—a trunk sat near the window, no discarded clothes lay about, and the bed was neatly made. But he had never been in a lady’s room before, and that this one was Gloria’s, and shared with her husband …
Miserably, Evan sat on the sill in the deeply recessed window. Joe leaned on the wall along with the captain, while Ella took Gloria’s hands and drew her down next to her on the counterpane. “Tell us, sister. I cannot bear the suspense.”
Gloria glanced at her husband, who nodded encouragingly. “I do not know if I can say it. Stanford, you must help me if I—”
“Of course, dear.”
Evan’s lips thinned. Did he realize the privilege he enjoyed, calling her by such an endearment? Did he take it for granted?
“He will not command that the war be stopped, then?” Joe asked, his voice clearly showing his tension. “Our journey has been fruitless?”
“Oh, he will give the command,” Gloria said dully. “For a price.”
“And what is that?” Ella asked, her hands tightening.
The captain removed his bowler hat with its driving goggles and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “The price is the annulment of our marriage and the subsequent nuptials of my wife and the Viceroy.”
Three mouths dropped open. All the breath seemed to rush from Ella’s lungs in a sharp hiss as she released Gloria’s hands and gripped the edge of the bed, as though the world were rocking and she might fall off.
Evan could not have heard him correctly. He struggled to speak, and could not.
Joe got out a single word. “Impossible.”
“So one might have thought,” the captain said, “had not His Serene Highness been in possession of intimate knowledge that made the entire preposterous proposal quite straightforward.”
“I don’t understand,” Ella said. “He does not know you well enough for intimacy.”
“Someone does,” Gloria said bluntly. “For how else could he know that the captain and I have not— That is, we—”
“Our marriage has not yet been consummated,” Fremont finished as though his wife were not in a paroxysm of embarrassment. “And this leaves the door open for an annulment. Which, I am told, can be in his hands in no more than three days.”
Slowly, cold horror poured through his veins. Evan’s gaze found that of Ella. The blood was draining from her face in exactly the same manner as they silently acknowledged their mutual guilt.
“What I would like to know is, what spies does he have about the place that he could know such a thing?” the captain asked no one in particular.
He must tell the truth.
I cannot. Gloria will never forgive me.
This was all his fault. He must make amends.
There are no amends for a betrayal of this magnitude. For consequences so appalling.
He could give her nothing, for she had asked nothing of him. But she deserved to know the truth, though that meant never seeing her again, never hearing her soft voice or her delighted laughter.
“I told him,” Evan said, his voice leached of all sound into a hoarse whisper. He swallowed. “I interpreted his dream, and he spoke
of you and the captain, and—and somehow it came out.”
“You?” Gloria stared at him in confusion. “But we only met last night for the first time in weeks. You have known nothing of me since we were parted in Resolution.”
Again, he found Ella’s stricken gaze, and Gloria pressed a hand to her own pale cheek. “Oh, Ella. Not you.”
Ella seized her hand and covered it with kisses. “I am so sorry, sister! I meant no harm. He is your friend, and cares for you, and I thought—”
“You thought you would share intimate details that only you would know with someone who is a stranger to you?” Gloria rose abruptly from where she had been seated on the bed. “I see I shall have to keep more secrets from now on. If I have any left, that is.”
Ella’s eyes welled with tears, and Evan felt rather like breaking down, too. Perhaps he ought to try flinging himself to his knees and begging her forgiveness.
Joe’s hands had bunched into fists, and he relaxed them with an effort. “Seems to me the question is no longer how the Viceroy came by this knowledge, but how you are going to answer his proposal, Senora Fremont.”
She gazed at him as though she had only just realized he was in the room. “Ah. Another witness to my difficulties.”
“Witness. Friend. Help.” Joe crossed the room and sat next to Ella, drawing her sobbing form against his side with one arm. “The thing is done, and we’re in no position to turn each other into enemies. If there’s one thing me and Evan have learned, it’s that our friends are the only thing of value either of us possesses, whether they make mistakes or not.”
“Well said,” the captain said. “To the main point—she has asked for a night to consider his proposal.”
“Do you believe him to be serious?” If Joe was going to take a practical tack, then Evan would postpone flinging himself to his knees—or out of the window—and do the same. “I must say it sounds ludicrous—proposing to a woman he knows to be married already. Rumors of his madness may not be exaggerated after all.”
If her marriage is annulled, then perhaps you have a chance.
Fields of Gold: A steampunk adventure novel (Magnificent Devices Book 12) Page 3
