by Toombs, Jane
Diego bowed Selena through the door to a small bedroom. “I know you must be wearied,” he said, nodding to the one large bed. “This is the room of my sister Esperanza.” He smiled. “She will be your chaperone until the wedding tomorrow.”
He might at least have asked her! When she began to protest, he took her in his arms.
“Ah, Selena,” he said. He repeated her name, “Selena, Selena, Selena,” punctuating each utterance of it with a kiss, first on her closed eyes, then the tip of her nose, finally her mouth. She returned his kiss as his hands traveled from her back to the curve of her hips and up beneath the cloak to her breasts, the touch of his fingers cold through her nightgown. He held her breasts, cradling and caressing them until she moaned, clinging to him, his hands warming, his body hard against hers. Now, she thought. Now he will . . .
Diego stepped away, leaving her arms still extended toward him. Disappointed, still with a feeling of feverish longing, she dropped them to her sides. She had to take a deep breath to steady herself.
“We will go to the padre tomorrow morning,” Diego said earnestly. “You’re not of the Roman faith, are you?”
“We belong to the Church of England,” Selena replied.
“Father Hidalgo will explain what you must do. Do not worry. The Mexican priests are more sympathetic to converts than the Spanish ones were.”
He kissed her once more, tenderly on the forehead, then left. “Diego,” she called after him, not wanting him to leave, wanting his arms about her, his lips on hers. But when she threw open the door he was gone.
She lay on the bed with the cloak over her, expecting to toss for hours. She fell asleep at once, however, not waking until early in the afternoon.
The rest of Selena’s day passed in a blur of initial impressions of the rancho. She tried on dresses with the sisters helping, heard them laughing as they pinned here and tucked there. She had supper with women who ignored her, whispering among themselves as they ate—though she liked the food itself, which was spiced and tasty.
She met Diego’s father, was awed by this tall, solemn-faced man who spoke so little English. She met the rest of Diego’s sisters—he had seven in all—and his one brother, a ten-year-old who looked very much like him. She learned from the boy that their mother had died of influenza when he was seven. Diego had made no mention of his mother during their few passionate meetings in Santa Clara a month before.
When at last she was alone in the bedroom she shared with Esperanza, a panic swept over Selena. What am I doing here? she asked herself. Am I actually going to marry this man tomorrow, this man I hardly know? Even though I’m not a frequent churchgoer, am I ready to give up my faith for him? Become a Roman Catholic? Will I have to live out my life here on this isolated ranch, seeing little of California and nothing of the rest of the world? If only, she thought desperately, I had someone to talk to! If only her mother were with her.
She turned, with that feeling of desperation, to Esperanza, who lay on her own bed with the blankets pulled to her neck. She was so young, no more than fifteen, but she did at least speak English well. Perhaps talking to Diego’s sister would help assuage her fears. And yet, Selena hardly knew where to begin.
“Esperanza,” she tried, “your brother mentioned contests and dances at the wedding fiesta. The dancing I understood, I love to dance and sing, but the games are new to me. Bull and bear baiting, drawing the cock. What are they?”
“The men go to the woods,” Esperanza said, “where they capture a bear and tie him to a tree. When he tires they cart him to the rancho and tie his leg with a long rope to the leg of the bull. Then the men goad them until they fight. Diego says you should always wager on the bear.”
“And drawing the cock?”
“Oh, it’s very exciting, Selena! Diego is always the best. The vaqueros bury a live cock in the ground up to its neck. Then one at a time they spur their horses toward it. When they near it they hold to their horse’s mane with one hand and hang almost to the ground to grasp its head. If the vaquero can draw the cock from the ground that way, he wins a prize. And he keeps the cock as well.”
Shuddering, Selena massaged her throat with her fingers. What strange customs! Could she ever become used to them? Her hands went from her throat to fleetingly touch her breasts. She remembered how she felt when Diego caressed them. What did strange customs matter? The ways of the English might seem strange to him.
“We are most pleased to have you for our new sister,” Esperanza said shyly. “You are muy bonita, very pretty.” She sat up in bed, her dark eyes animated now. “And now we will not have to leave the rancho and make our home in the great valley beyond Monterey.”
Selena said curiously, “You were going to move to Monterey?”
“Si, to the house of our uncle, Senor Garner. He was an Americano who married the sister of our father.”
“I’ve lived in Monterey. I would think you’d rather stay here. This land is so beautiful.”
“We would stay if we could but we have many leagues of land and many cattle and not enough men to do the work. We are a family of daughters, not sons. Diego, you see, is busy with his journeys to places like Monterey and San Francisco to sell hides and tallow to the ships. So he has no time to do the work that must be done here. I should not say this to you but it is the truth.”
“I don’t understand, Esperanza,” Selena said uncertainly. “How will my marrying Diego change your plans to move to Monterey?”
“Ah, we know of your lands across the sea in England and of your wealth there. Your mother spoke of these things to Diego while she lay ill at the Mission of Santa Clara.”
What could her mother have said? Selena wondered. She loved to reminisce about their onetime estate in England, but how was it that she chose Diego to tell her stories to? And did Diego actually think they still owned the estate? Believe they were still wealthy? Selena smiled to herself. Diego had a surprise in store! It served him right too—the way he’d assumed she would marry him without even asking!
“In years gone by,” Esperanza went on, “the Indians worked the land. They have become untrustworthy, my father says, for they are always running away to the mountains of the Tulares.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t pay them enough,” Selena suggested.
“Pay? I do not know pay.”
“The money your father gives the Indians in return for their work.”
“Oh, he doesn’t give them money. If they have money they buy wine and drink and cannot work for many days. My father gives them food and a place to sleep and the padres teach them the ways of Christians. Yet they are ungrateful, most of them. In the spring when the rains stop they run away to the mountains, many times stealing our horses to eat on the way. If they can, they steal our cattle as well. I don’t understand the ways of the Indians, I only know what they look like. Some of the young men are beautiful to the eye, so strong and lean and dark. The women are ugly. Don’t you think so?”
Selena nodded. She too had found many of the Indians she’d seen attractive. Not the Indians of the towns—they were slack with large bellies and were often drunk. But on the plains and in the mountains the braves had been lithe and sinewy.
“When the Indians run away,” Esperanza continued, “the vaqueros must ride to the great valley to the east and into the mountains beyond to bring them back. Or to bring others back in their stead. And when the vaqueros are gone the cattle roam wild because there are neither Indians nor vaqueros to tend them. Many times the women must do the work of the men as well as their own.”
“And what is woman’s work?”
“All that cannot be done from astride a horse,” Esperanza said, shrugging with resignation. “Of course, when one is with child, the women do not work as hard.”
Selena pondered this information. “You have such a large family. I have no brothers or sisters. I’ve always wondered if I’d like to have some.”
“My mother bore nine girls and three boys. Seven of the
girls lived and two of the boys. My mother, may her soul be with God, died two months after giving birth to Juanita, who was born dead.”
“Twelve children. So many.”
Esperanza raised her hands in another shrug. “Our women are strong and able to have many babies. Senora Estella Castro of Monterey bore twenty-six children, of whom twenty lived. Senora Maria de la Guerra bore twenty-four children. My uncle, Senor Garner of Monterey, who is a scholar, told Diego that women of California have a baby every fifteen months for twenty and more years. Diego said this is as it should be. But I think that it is not good to have so many babies. Often the babies of a woman’s old age are weak and grow sick and die. I only wish to have twelve children, like my mother, nine girls and three boys.”
Twelve children! Did Diego intend her to bear him twelve children? What did Diego expect? Involuntarily, Selena looked down at her slim body. She shuddered. No! She wanted no babies.
Selena took a deep breath. After a moment she blew out the lamp. “May all your wishes come true,” she said.
Esperanza yawned. “Each night I pray to God they will,” she said.
Selena lay in bed a long time listening to Esperanza’s steady breathing. Then when the noises of the rancho had quieted and the night was still, she went to the window and looked out at the tendrils of fog reaching toward the ranch buildings from the fields and woods. Her body still tingled at the thought of Diego’s kisses. She had thought no further than the pleasure. If they married, children would inevitably follow.
Suddenly she felt as if she were suffocating, as though the fog had encircled her with its cold dampness.
Quickly changing into the dress she had been given earlier in the day, she slipped from the door and made her way on bare feet to the stables. She took a bridle and saddle and carried them to the corral. There she saddled a horse and quietly led him away on foot until she’d walked through patches of fog, to a point at least a mile from the rancho. She hiked up her skirt, mounted and rode at a gallop toward the trail to San Francisco.
CHAPTER THREE
Selena tapped on the door. She waited, then tapped again. She heard muffled sounds from inside.
“Who is it?” Lady Pamela called.
“Selena.”
The bolt slid back and the door opened. Her mother was in her blue dressing gown, holding a candle. With a cry of relief Selena threw herself into her arms, sobbing and laughing simultaneously.
“Selena, Selena, are you all right? Your hands are so cold.”
Selena nodded. “I’m all right, mother,” she said.
Pamela hugged her. She put the candle on the table and, after rebolting the door, opened the wardrobe. “Put this on,” she said, coming back with one of her pink flannel nightgowns, “you’re going to sleep here with me.”
When Selena stepped from her dress, Pamela picked it up. “This skirt is so muddy,” she said.
“I fell from the horse. I was riding along a trail to the south of here when the fog began pouring over the hills like a great wave. I ran into a branch of a tree and fell.” She raised her nightgown to show her mother the bruise on her thigh.
“I’ll get some arnica liniment.”
Selena sat on the edge of the bed watching her mother rummage in the trunk. “Didn’t Diego tell you? He said he would.”
“Here, I’ll rub this on.” When her mother rubbed the lotion in with her palm, Selena winced. “Yes, he sent someone here with a letter. He said it was what you wanted, Selena. He said he’d come for me tomorrow—that’s today now—and bring me to the wedding fiesta. The way you behaved with him in Santa Clara convinced me that it was what you wanted, Selena. Now tell me what happened.”
Something in her mother’s tone made Selena suspect she wasn’t telling her the full truth. Pamela, though, kept her head bowed and Selena couldn’t see into her eyes.
“Oh, mother,” Selena said. “I didn’t know what I wanted. I still don’t know what I want. I thought I loved Diego. I felt so good when he kissed me.” She saw Pamela stiffen and went on hurriedly. “When he kissed me, I did want to marry him, to be with him always, but do you know what he asked me to do?”
“Are you certain you want to tell me?”
“Oh yes. He said I had to become a Papist. I might have too, I think, for him. But do you know what else he wanted?”
“Selena, I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“He expected me to watch while they buried cocks in the ground and rode past and pulled their heads off. Can you imagine? Ugh! Yet Diego is a wonderful horseman, the best I’ve ever seen, better than any of the men on the trail. Better even than Barry Fitzpatrick.”
“Californios are known for their riding,” Pamela said, trying to hide a smile over her daughter’s expressed concern. “Now lie down, Selena, and let me cover you over.”
“Leave the light on, mother.”
Sliding into bed, Pamela put her arm around her. Selena, feeling warm and protected, like a child again, snuggled close.
“He called me a child,” Selena said, “and I was so angry.” She pulled up her legs and clasped her knees in her hands. “But he was right,” she said brooding. “I must still be a child. When you’re a woman you know what you want. I don’t know what I want. I think I do and then I change my mind.”
“Oh, Selena, even women don’t always know what they want. Many go their entire lives without knowing.”
Selena frowned, not completely believing her. “Imagine,” she said, “he wanted me to have twelve children.”
“Twelve!” Her mother stroked Selena’s hair.
“‘A proper wife of a Spanish ranchero has twelve children, six boys and six girls.’ When I heard that, I knew I couldn’t marry Diego no matter how he made me feel. So I took one of his horses and rode home.”
“You still have his horse?”
“I woke the boy at the livery stable and left the horse there.”
“I’ll see he’s returned tomorrow.”
“Diego will come for me, I know he will. He’ll be simply furious when he finds me gone.”
“He won’t come here, Selena. His pride won’t let him.”
“I didn’t care so much about changing my religion or seeing the bear fight the bull or watching him pull the heads off the cocks. I guess I wasn’t telling the truth about that. I didn’t care if he had lost all his money, either. It was the idea of those twelve babies. Having them. I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.”
Pamela frowned. “Diego lost his money? I assumed the de la Torres were wealthy.”
“They were once but Diego’s sister Esperanza told me they had to sell the ranch and move to Monterey to live with their uncle. She said if Diego married me, though, they wouldn’t have to leave because we had money and a great estate in England. Now what could have led them to believe that?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Pamela said absently. “If you think for one minute I misled him, you’re mistaken.” She settled back with her arm nestling Selena’s head. “Now go to sleep,” she said. “Everything will be all right in the morning.”
Pamela rose early, dressing quietly so as not to rouse the sleeping Selena. Nevertheless she chose her costume with care. Black, of course. The traditional year of mourning for Lord Lester Buttle-Jones was up long ago but considering what Pamela had to do it was well to emphasize the fact she was a widow. Even if Robert Gowdy had been on the wagon train he couldn’t actually know how she’d really felt about Lester’s death in the avalanche.
The French silk, then, with its form-fitting bodice and full skirt thrust out by a small crinoline. Before Pamela drew the black veil over her face she hesitated. Perhaps just one spoonful of medicine? She reached into her bag, then shook her head. It would make her feel better, of course, but she needed every ounce of wit she possessed and the medicine had the tendency to relax her so there was the danger she might be caught off guard.
Afterwards, she promised herself. I’ll wait until after my interview with M
r. Gowdy. Now that it was clear Diego de la Torre was penniless, she must set her other plan in motion.
“Never forget a back-up load,” her father had reiterated when teaching her to shoot in those long-ago days in the English countryside. “A careful marksman remembers the need for a second shot.” The Americans put it somewhat differently, borrowing a phrase from the red Indians—a second string for one’s bow. But the idea was the same. Perhaps even Robin Hood had it. Pamela shook her head. Her wits were wandering. She had no time to waste on vagaries.
Later that morning, she was shooting her arrow in Robert Gowdy’s office.
“Impossible, Lady Pamela!” Gowdy leaned across his desk toward her. “What you suggest is absolute madness.”
Pamela smiled. “Not ‘lady.’ Pamela will do. Do you remember Barry Fitzpatrick pointing out that the United States constitution forbids the use of titles? I thought him quite eloquent.”
Gowdy scowled. “The constitution applies only to Americans. We’re English, you and I. Or do you intend to become a citizen?”
“Certainly not. England’s my home and always will be. When I have enough money to return, I shall. But I’ll never go home with . . . how do the Americans say it?”
“With one’s tail between one’s legs, I suppose you mean.”
“Most inelegant, yet highly accurate. I promise you I shan’t go back to England with—well, in that condition.”
“Lady Pamela, you’re employing diversionary tactics again. Believe me, I’m fully aware of our common bond of country. But to give you five thousand dollars . . .”
“Not give. I asked you to advance me five thousand dollars, using my diamond earrings as collateral.”
“And with that money,” Gowdy went on, “you propose to travel to Sutter’s Fort and on to the gold camps where you intend to establish a commercial enterprise of some sort.”
