Savage Enchantment

by Parris Afton Bonds

  Ignoring Simon's frown, she bypassed the matrons clucking like hens in the sala -- a rude but necessary gesture, she knew, if she were to catch Larkin alone. But just short of her destination DImitri Karamazan moved into her path. His olive skin was flushed and the black eyes glittered angrily. "So life is not so blissful for the bride?"

  "I'm not sure I understand you," Kathleen said, trying to edge past Dimitry.

  The Russian officer took another gulp from the champagne glass in his hand. "Oh, you don't have to pretend with me, Señor Reyes. Your secret is safe -- I'm leaving tomorrow. Returning to Sitka."

  "Leaving California? But why? I had thought --"

  "That I'd marry Francesca? I assumed the same, señora. But her father turned my offer down today. Didn't you know that I'm a penniless opportunist?"

  "But surely if Francesca loves you, something can be arranged, Dimitri."

  "Ha! Francesca -- like all the other women about -- is charmed beyond reason by that snake you've married!"

  Kathleen drew up her skirts to move around the young man. "I won't hear of such talk in del Bravo, Dimitri! Now if you'll excuse me."

  Leaving the Russian with his mouth open in surprise, she reached Larkin just as he came to the end of the buffet table, his hands ladened with food and drink.

  "Let me help you, sir," she said, taking the plate from one hand and setting it on the mahogany drop-leaf table that stood in one corner.

  "Ah, Mrs. Reyes," Larkin said, looking over his veined and bulbous nose at her. "You can't imagine what good it does me to see an American woman gracing a Mexican household. Have a seat with me, madam. As I was saying, it just goes to prove that your race is a hardy breed."

  He stuffed his napkin over the knot of his mulberry-colored cravat while Kathleen seated herself opposite him. "Yes," he said, taking up a fork and knife, "the American woman can make a life under the worst of conditions. Why, look at my wife, coming here, not knowing a soul -- not knowing a word of Spanish. And do you realize, madam, she'll soon give California the first child of American parents? Marvelous opportunity here in --"

  "That's what I wanted to talk with you about, Mr. Larkin," Kathleen said. She cleared her throat and hurried on before the consul could launch into another tirade about the grandeur of California.

  "I-I don't think I'm the pioneer type. I've found it hard to adjust to the life here." She lowered her voice. "You see, Mr. Larkin, I'd like to return to the United States. But my husband -- being so much like the Mexicans -- is extremely jealous."

  What lies, she thought, even as she lowered her black forest of lashes in coy distress. "He wouldn't think of letting me return -- even for a brief visit. So you see, I was hoping perhaps you can give me asylum -- the protection of the American Consul?"

  Kathleen raised pleading eyes, and Larkin jabbed agitatedly with his fork in the mound of tender spiced cabbage. "A man should never refuse a lady's request, but surely, madam, it's just a passing pang of homesickness, isn't it? Why, I know my wife cried often those first --"

  "But you will refuse me," Kathleen said, not trying to keep the dejection from her voice.

  "You must see, madam, with your husband being a Mexican citizen --"

  "But he's not! At least I don't hink he is. He may even be an American -- a Texas scout, I think Farther Marcos said."

  "What he was is neither here nor there, madam. To own land in California, he would have been required to have either embraced Catholicism, Mexican nationality, or one of the local ladies -- which he did not. And you must understand, in this dispute between the Californios and Mexico, the United States can not afford to get involved. Not openly at least. Not until the Californios have asserted and maintained their independence."

  "And then?"

  "Why, then," he blustered, "we shall render them all the kind offices in our power, as a sister republic."

  "Of course," she said icily and rose from the table. But as she turned, Simon said at her side, "I hope my wife has been entertaining you, Thomas."

  How much had Simon overheard? she wondered wildly as his arm encircled her waist, pulling her against him as if to flaunt his possession of her.

  "Oh, yes, yes. She most certainly has, Simon," Larkin said, rising hastily and dropping his napkin in his plate. "A most charming hostess."

  "You've got to be careful with Kathleen, or she'll turn your head."

  Both Kathleen and Larkin looked guiltily up into the hard emerald eyes.

  * * * * *

  Kathleen eased into the sun-warmed spot on the bench. "Diego?" she asked softly.

  Beneath the thatch of bone-white hair one eye cocked open. Sí, hija?"

  "You once advised me not to judge Simon too harshly. But this marriage of ours -- this farce between Simon and myself -- I can't stand it any longer. I thought I was a calm, steady person. But my hands tremble now, tears fill my eyes at the slightest irritation. And Simon -- I think he's nerveless. Diego, it's asking too much of any woman. I'm his wife -- and he humiliates me before the servants by avoiding my bed." And, Kathleen thought, by sleeping with another woman under the same roof, for she had seen from her bedroom window Gemma leving early that morning in her black buggy. With Amelia watching, it had been all Kathleen could do to keep from slamming the shutters.

  "And would you share your bed with him, hija?" the old man asked, with a candor that matched Kathleen's.

  "Why -- no. Of course, not! I can't stand him! It's just that --"

  "You can't stand him -- because you wont' understand him."

  "What's there to understand in him? He's a common cowboy that somehow wrangled his way into possession of del Bravo. A selfish, inconsiderate outlaw with illusions of ruling California. Escandón called Dimitri an opportunist last night. But Simon makes Dimitri look like a philanthropist."

  "Then Simon is not the child I knew."

  Kathleen sat forward. Her hands, which had been clenched in a tight ball, now cupped over the edge of the smoothly worn bench in expectation. "And who is the Simon you know."

  "He couldn't have been more than ten when I first saw him. But it was his mother I remember more clearly."

  Diego paused and reached for the half-starved stick of wood and razor-edged knife that lay at his side. "The Indians were herded daily out into the mission grounds," he said, resuming his whittling. "I was a soldier then -- a good Sapnish soldier, hija. And I stood guard that day they brought the Mariposa Indian woman in. A beautiful woman, tall and slim and stately, with black hair that fell below her waist -- like a cascade of India ink. She didn't struggle between the soldiers who held her; nor did her son. It was probably their scornful attitudes that made our captain order the harsher punishment for her -- flogging."

  "Why? What had she done?"

  "She was the mistress of a ranchero."

  "And for that they flogged her?"

  "I'm sure her dignity -- which the padre mistook for haughtiness -- irritated them. But you have to understand the times then, hija. The Indians had no rights. They were slaves. No sooner had the ranchero died than his wife sent word to the soldados at the presidio that there were Indians in the valley who needed converting. And she pointed a finger at Tocha, Simon's mother, accusing the Indian woman of adultery."

  Diego broke off and spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the sun-baked earth. "So SImon was forced to watch while the soldados cut away Tocha's long black hair and shaved her head. To this day I can remember the awful way her head glistened as she stood under the broiling sun -- proud and disdainful.

  "Then the padre who stood at the top of the mission steps begged Simon's mother to realize and confess her sins. His voice droned on so long that we -- and the mission Indians, who couldn't completely follow the Spanish words anyway -- shifted from one foot to the other. We were anxious for the ordeal to be over.

  "But Simon remained as impassive as his mother -- except for the narrowed eyes. I would've sworn, hija, they were as dark and fiery as the flames of Hell.

&n
bsp; "When Tocha refused to speak, or captain ordered the flogging to begin." Diego's rheumy eyes clouded over with memory, and he said, "It was the hardest thing I think I ever had to do ... to lay the lash on the proudly held back ... to strip away the threads of flesh.

  "When she collapsed on the stone steps, the captain realized Simon had disappeared. A platoon found Simon in the mountains a day later. That's when they pierced his ear with a copper earring -- to mark him as a runaway -- a huldo!"

  "Dear God!"

  "It didn't stop Simon, though. He began to disappear regularly after that. And each time he ran away, he'd be brought back and flogged. The last time he ran away, it was I who found him. He carried a knife, and I think the boy would've killed me if he could have. But I wrestled with the cub and got the knife away. He looked real surprised when I returned it along with a dozen or so reals. 'Hightail it out of California,' I told him."

  "And he went to Texas," Kathleen said softly. "What happened to his mother -- Tocha?"

  "She wsn't the same after the flogging. One night, when I was off duty, I helped her escape. Took her to that cabin of hers in the mountains. She died that same year."

  "You were in love with her, weren't you?"

  "I've talked to much. Must be getting soft in my old age."

  Kathleen rose and laid a hand on the old soldier's still-straight back. "What you've told me, Diego ... it helps me to understand Simon a little better. But there's too much between Simon and myself to change our feelings about one another."

  "Time has a funny way of changing things, hija."

  "There are some things, Diego, that time will never change."

  Chapter 29

  The afternoon sun slanted across Kathleen's closed lids as she dozed in the rickety rocker outside her veranda door. Visions of Simon as he must have been as a boy drifted lazily through her half-thoughts, visions that Diego had conjured up earlier that morning.

  Being half Indian, Simon would have been able to track a deer as well as any of the other Indian youths, she decided. And would have known the secret mountain recesses where the angry gods lived. But he was also half white. Who had his father been, who had given Simon the cactus-colored eyes and the white man's education? And what must it have been like to be an outcast of both the Indian and the Anglo societies?

  Caught up in her speculation on Simon's past, Kathleen erringly assumed that the lone rider who thundered up the road, bringing her out of her reverie, was Simon himself. But when the dust settled and the rider dismounted, she recognized Dimitri. With the back of his hand he brushed the dust from his short, black beard before starting up the steps. Kathleen rose from the rocker and met him midway across the veranda.

  "I'm surprised to see you here, Dimitri. I'd have thought you'd be well on your way."

  "I would have been, Señora Reyes -- Kathleen," he amended, catching her hand. "But I felt I owed you an apology for my ill remarks last night. I couldn't go without asking your pardon."

  Confused, Kathleen drew back her hand, smoothing out her crumpled skirts, and said, "I've already forgotten the incident."

  "I never should have said what I did, but my thoughts are still the same, Kathleen. I see the bitterness in your eyes. I know you're not happy here." He stepped closer so that his knee-high Wellington boots were lost in the folds of her crinoline skirt. "Come away with me."

  Startled, she looked up into the handsome face, but saw instead another. One with a nose that had been broken, a brow that had been slashed, eyes that looked as bitter as hers must. Why not? she thought. THis was the opportunity she had been searching for.

  She looked now more intently at Dimitri. He didn't deceive her. She had met many of his kind in Boston. Francesca's father had labeled the Russian rightly. An opportunist.

  The thought suddenly came to her that Dimitri was here just for that reason. Perhaps he had learned of the wealth that would be here -- if Edmund didn't arrange to get his hands on it first.

  But here was a way to shake Edmund from her trail and escape Simon at the same time. Who would ever think to look for her at a Russian settlement in far-off Alaska? Surely she could somehow manage to rid herself of Dimitri once there, and make her way back through Canada to New England. How uproarious it would be to be sitting comfortably in Boston while Edmund continued to traipse through the California wilderness looking for her!

  "You're right, Dimitri. I'm not happy here. I'll go with you -- but only on the condition that you understand there's nothing between us -- and there will be nothing. If you deliver me safely to Sitka, I'll see to it you receive a draft for six hundred American dollars within six months."

  By then, she reasoned, she would be past twenty-one and entitled to the small savings her mother had set aside for her. And her father, if still alive ... Well, she would worry about that then.

  Dimitri hesitated, then said, "Readily agreed to, Kathleen. Shall I wait for you while you get your things together, or is Simon likely to return soon?"

  "Better you wait for me down the road -- where the mustard fields overgrow one side. I'll be there within the hour."

  An hour. So short a time to change into her riding habit, to pack a few things -- and her pistol that Simon had insisted she keep with her. So short a time to say good-bye to the people she had come to care for -- Diego, Maria Jesus, and Amelia. It was better that she couldn't anyway. Still, they would wonder at her leaving with her things in hand.

  She found Maria Jesus in the kitchen, stringing bunches of white onions on a line with ristras of scarlet chiles. "Hola, Señora Catalina," she called as Kathleen crossed the flagstoned tiles to the tables covered with baskets of brown beans.

  "Maria Jesus, Señor Karamazan has brought me word that Francesca would like me to spend a few days with her while her parents are away."

  "Then I'll need to go with you, patrona. It would be unseemly to go alone."

  "No, no. I'll be all right." Kathleen fidgeted, toying with the beans. She hated herself for deceiving the old cook. "I'd rather you stay and take care of Señor Simon while I'm away."

  At last Maria Jesus accepted Kathleen's lie, and Kathleen hurried to the stables. Estrellita was back, brought there undoubtedly by one of Simon's men, Kathleen thought. Who? Renaldo? Armand?

  And, thinking of Armand, she remembered Chela. WOuld she ever see the child again? And Temcal? And the others? Kathleen shook her head, as if to shake the memories from her.

  "This will be our last ride together," she whispered against the horse's mane. For she could not take what had not been hers to begin with. Somehow she would make sure Estrellita was returned to Simon.

  And with the realization that Simon might any moment ride in, she hastily buckled the saddle straps and mounted the mare. When she reined in some minutes later beneath the shadows of overhanging mustard vines, Dimitri stepped out of the tangled undergrowth, leading his roan.

  "You took so long," he said, "that I was worried Simon had returned. I don't trust your husband. I've the feeling that, whether you two love each other or not, he'd kill me anyway for taking you away."

  Kathleen had the same feeling. And even though she and Dimitri covered more than twenty-five miles, riding hard, by the time the sun deserted the sky, she still felt anxious. She had not forgotten the last time he had tracked her. Several times that evening she had a strong urge to look back over her shoulder but repressed it and spurred Estrellita faster through the narrow valleys and along the rocky paths of the Topotopo Mountains.

  When Dimitri called a halt at the wooded crest of a red-streaked gorge of porphyry, the pale moon was already attended by its entourage of twinkling stars. "A fire'll be a welcome comfort tonight," he said, dismounting and tying the Appaloosa's reins to a scrubby thicket.

  "No," Kathleen said. She ignored his offer of assistance and slid from Estrellita's back on her own. "A fire might draw someone's attention."

  "You still fear your husband? He probably hasn't even had time to check out that tale you told
your cook -- about visiting with Francesca. You're a quick and resourceful person, Kathleen."

  "I've learned to be. As you obviously are." It was a pity, she thought, that DImitri was so corruptible when it came to money, because she basically liked the fickle young man.

  Briskly she moved about, tying her horse next to Dimitri's and unstrapping her saddle, forestalling the nagging worries that would come with inactivity. But she began to be aware of DImitri's Eurasian eyes hungrily watching her.

  "Tell me," she said, hoping to set his mind on other things,"how do you plan to get us to Sitka?"

  "By the day after tomorrow -- if we push it -- we should reach Monterey. From there it's only a matter of finding a brig bound for the North. There's enough whaling ships in the bay that we shouldn't have too much trouble."

  Kathleen was busy spreading her saddle blanket in a spot where the grass grew more profusely between the rocky crevices when she felt Dimitri's arms encircle her from behind. She twisted from him, but he lunged and they both felt headlong on the blanket.

  "I told you no, Dimitri!"

  His mouth found her cheek instead, when she turned her head away. She pressed uselessly against the greater weight of his chest. Panting with the exertion, she said, "I swear -- if you don't release me -- you'll not get a cent from me, Dimitri!"

  Above her the handsome face pouted. "I can't help it, Kathleen. It's your fault you're so desirable. The way your purple eyes shine so invitingly, the way you move, and your mouth -- my God, Kathleen, a man's only human!"

  He slipped into his native Slavic language, mumbling words of passion that Kathleen could only guess at. Handling the young man was going to be more difficult than she thought. Frantic, she tried rolling from him as his hands groped at her skirts, yanking them up about her thighs. Then suddenly his heavy weight was shifted from her.