by S. L. Hawke
Uriah, it would seem, did not appear to share his family’s love of the Union. She told Cynthia about it, but Cynthia refused to believe that Uriah could do such a thing. Cynthia’s right cheek twitched when Emma related the drunken behavior Uriah had shown the evening before, and of his involvement with the Knights.
The cake and tea had remained untouched between them.
“This is my fault. I should have never encouraged him to look after Beth.”
“He’s young and confused. Unless he is trying to help in his own way — perhaps as someone who can tell you what is going on.”
“I can’t involve him in all this. He’s too young!”
“Maybe Jack can help him understand.”
“I hope so. Let’s truly hope so. Uriah was a babe when Jack went away. If you find out anything more, please let me know, Emma.”
Both men began unloading the supplies from the back of the wagon. Emma stole into the house and found Eliza sleeping in her chair. Carefully she placed a vial of opium next to Eliza’s tea cup. She would tell Jack that she did so as soon as there was a moment to speak in privacy.
She heard a door slam. Jack had left. He climbed up into the wagon and took hold of the reins. Emma quickly clambered on the back of the slap board and crouched carefully between the horse tack as Jack slapped the reins and hurried out of the farm’s gate.
*******
The Opal Cliffs of Capitola
Juan’s eyes on me forced words I didn’t know were inside of me.
“I should have let him beat at me.” The route was dryer and more open as we followed the shore back to town. We took a drive that went through the harbor of Camp Capitola. I stopped the wagon and set the wheel brake. Then I got out and walked over to the cliff edge.
Juan was suddenly behind me. My mind was so befuddled, her sneaking behind me startled me more than my younger brother’s spewing of hate-filled words. There was no mending some wounds.
“It’s near noon, sir. Shall I lay out your meal?”
Juan held an enormous basket in an awkward manner suggesting it was heavy. I took it from her immediately, embarrassed to have a woman work like this so closely, but the words of Lam and the vow I took to not press the matter made me feel even more anger at my situation and the job I had to do. I placed the basket roughly on the ground then kicked it, spilling contents across the grassy field. Then, as only Juan was around, I squatted Japanese style, trying to remember my training.
Juan ran immediately to pick up the battered contents of the basket. I collapsed on the ground and lay prone, recalling every moment of what had transpired only an hour previous.
Mother was in an opium stupor. Her face sallow, waxen, and thin. Near her tea cup was the new vial of tincture Juan had brought.
“She’s no better than the sots that lay in the dens downtown,” Uriah growled.
“Would you rather see her in pain?” I said, and didn’t care how it was taken.
“You have a lot of nerve to come here. Why? You had money; you had a life! Why couldn’t you just leave us alone?” Uriah was shifting back and forth on either foot, the sign that a man was itching for a fight.
“Uriah, listen to me—”
“WHY? SO that you can tell me some story that says you were doing ‘GOD”S WORK’??? Your place was with us. YOUR PLACE WAS HERE. HOW COULD YOU BE SO GODDAMNED SELFISH?”
I checked Mother but she looked peaceful despite Uriah’s yelling.
“Calm down, son,” I said, immediately regretting my choice of words.
“SON??? I’M NOT YOUR SON!!!YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Uriah roared and charged. I caught him, evaded the punches, but he would not slacken. Finally, angry and hurt that we could not communicate as men, I twisted his arm up and pinned him face down to the floor.
“SETTLE DOWN!” I shouted and slammed him into the floor board for emphasis. “Do it.”
Uriah continued to squirm but tears leaked from his eyes. From frustration, grief, I tried not to care. “We needed your help. You abandoned us,” he cried, resisting me at every turn.
“I know you resent me. But I had no choices. I’m sorry things haven’t gone the right way. I’m here to make right. Let me help.” I spat out these words, hating every moment of holding my younger brother to floor like some petty thief I had to teach a lesson to. Tears came from my eyes as well.
“You had a choice. You didn’t have to leave us!” Uriah tried hard to not sob, and instead he began to unwind beneath my hold. I could either dislocate his shoulder or break the wrist that I bent back in order to control his entire arm. I did neither and let him loose.
And took the punch that followed. Uriah saw that I let him hit me. That knowledge was the final hammer strike to the wedge that was already threatening to split us asunder.
“Andhra?” A weak voice turned my attention to Mother. When I turned around again, Uriah was gone.
“Boy!” I yelled at Juan. It felt good. I didn’t care.
“Sir!” she answered but stayed out of my vision. I half smiled. The rage left me a bit, as I crossed my legs and sat up to look out onto the ocean. The point across the bay looked like Lanai from the shores of Kauai. If I had not known that marsh and slough lay between Watsonville Township and Monterey, I would have thought the land out in front of me was an island. Unexpected homesickness hit me. I turned away from this painful sight.
“What the hell is in that basket?” I shouted. Juan placed the basket behind me and returned to the wagon. She spent all of her time out of my immediate study, seeing to the horse’s needs. I reached inside my vest pocket for my hand clock and saw that I should save the visit to the telegraph office and the general store for after the rally. I pawed through the basket finding a lot inedible. I took the fruit preserves, the ham, and the pickles, made a mess with the half loaf trying to eat them together, then looked over at the extra pair of legs I could see between the horses.
“Juan!” I called. “Help me eat some of this or Mrs. Guild will have my hide.” I stood, picked up the basket and walked over to where she stood. Part of me wanted to challenge her now, yell at her for the foolhardiness she was displaying, but something held me back. Then an idea came.
“Take me to the Rancho where this Jose Rodríguez lives. I have a proposition for him.” I placed the basket in the back of the wagon. “I’ll take the cart. You eat a bit, and tell me which track I need to take to get there.”
2
New Almaden to Corralitos Mountains
Faustino was set free after his conversation with El Diablo. The rest of his time there at the mines seemed simple, a quick trial, with Faustino translating poorly and making sure his cousin didn’t incriminate himself during the course of the questioning. The young Marshal who had seen Tiburcio shoot the army officer was gone, along with Sloan, to Santa Cruz. There was no army, just a trial about a butcher being murdered, and a poker game that angered him. No one recalled any army officer being murdered or even ill. Faustino translated with fogginess, marveling at his good luck, the powers that were not divine, and wondering when he would see Sloan again.
Then Poole’s telegram had come. Faustino was to meet him in the mountains, at a place he chose, where the rocks looked like the Blessed Virgin. Tiburcio, puffing like a peacock at his amazingly good luck at not being hanged, punched Faustino in the arm in an affectionate way. But he was scared into hiding out, not wanting to push his luck too far.
Tiburcio wanted a home and fire and good hot chocolate made the way of his mother’s grandmother. Tiburcio and Faustino parted ways then, Tiburcio needing to go to Hollister and see his abuela, and Faustino needing to put Poole in touch with Sloan.
As Faustino was loading his saddlebags, he found a note inside one of them with words written in blood: “Remember our agreement.” Something else was within the note, a collar. Faustino smelled it. It was Sloan, that aroma he couldn’t quite fathom that also made him different, one of soap and Chinese tea. He tightly bundled the note and the collar
into a small square. He took his grandmother’s medicine bag out of his pocket and placed the small square within, then tied the bag around his neck, letting it hang over his heart.
The saddle bag also contained gold bars stamped with the Wells Fargo mint. El Diablo had given him these, to secure his trust with Poole. All Faustino had to do was meet up with Sloan and lead him to the new hiding place and then Faustino would be free. Sloan would owe him his life. But for now, Faustino needed to meet Poole and hand over the gold bars and Sloan’s name as the new Yankee to “do business with”.
They saddled up and Faustino rode out to the ledge of the Madonna, surprising Poole’s guards. He embraced Sally when he saw her come out of the makeshift outhouse.
“Did you bring me some?” Sally said eagerly, as Faustino handed over his last cake of lavender scented crème, his sister’s recipe. She then showed Faustino to Tom Poole’s meeting tent.
Faustino lifted the flap of the fetid tent aside to face Poole. Poole stood, impeccably dressed and clean. Faustino knew this was Sally’s doing. He embraced Faustino as the savior to them all.
“Keep in mind that God has an order of things. The Spanish are the foundation of Rome and therefore are closest to God. It is only fitting that the Spanish help us attain our victory in this war. Tell me you have good news, my friend.”
“A Yankee trader, he can get you the goods you require. I have gold as a gesture of his belief in your cause.” Faustino kept his English as formal as he could. “But he is careful and requires much discretion. He moves at the pace best suited for those who are marked by the law. We must only do as he says, when he says, where he says.” Faustino steeled himself for anger, possibly death, at such an outrageous request. It brought a harsh gasp from the tall man behind him.
Poole’s eyes narrowed ever so briefly until Faustino gave him the gold bars. Then he grinned.
“What is our deliverer’s name?” Poole liked to reference the Bible. Like El Diablo, also using scripture and its distortions for his own purposes.
“I will bring him to you, but he must see this camp to believe the truth you speak. And to best serve the cause by seeing how truly you will need your supplies.” Faustino added this quickly but feared it would be taken as a threat.
Poole studied him with a coldness that Faustino felt was evil itself. Not even El Diablo felt this way.
“And why would I risk all for this paltry amount?”
“Because he knows when the stages come and how much they carry. He can stop them or tell them which way to go, right into your lap. He is very knowledgeable and powerful and wants nothing but to restore the Grey to its rightful place.” The lie came easily, Faustino felt. It was bad when it came easily because often payment would be very high. But Sloan was worth it. Every moment. A woman’s voice inquired outside if food or drink were needed. It shook Poole out of his cunning thoughts and the traveling of his hand to his large knife.
“Ah, but I forget my hospitality.” Here Poole pushed aside the canvas tent flap. Sally entered with a plate of food. They sat and ate. Faustino entertained Sally with a few songs, while Poole hummed along, tunelessly.
“Find our friend a tent, and make him comfortable. Tomorrow we will discuss the terms under which our new benefactor wishes to visit us at our humble rebel camp.” And with this he bowed and left.
“Tino, have you done as I have asked? The strongbox of John’s?”
“Yes. I put it in Rosa’s room at the Red Salon.” Faustino tolerated her embrace. Then he remembered Emma’s request of him after her son had died.
“Sarafina—” Faustino used the Spanish name Sally was so fond of, “—the whores your brother likes, what happens to them? I heard one of them died? Too much whip?”
Like young girls sharing a secret, Sally opened Tino’s present of a box of chocolates and began to eat them. “Sometimes. But I pay their madam to give the girls a proper burial, with flowers, and a fake priest. In fact,” Sally giggled, “John tells me he’s even called the Reverend.”
“Does he have a name, mi amore?”
“I wouldn’t know. The Knights keep their ledger in the bank vault.” Sally groaned as she savored the small, delicate French candies.
“The bank in town? Or the secret bank, the one that looks like a house of the dead at the Chinese Cemetery?”
Sally started to giggle. “You are a bad boy! Give me wine and chocolate to steal my secrets!” She kissed Faustino on the lips. He tried hard not to wipe them free of wine and chocolate but her silence told Faustino all he needed to know. There was a ledger and gold beneath the Chinese Oven at Evergreen Cemetery.
With Sally smiling on his arm, he walked her back to her tent then went to seek out his own.
As Faustino bent down to enter the tent, he was suddenly pushed from behind.
A guard pressed on top of him, trembling and fumbling with the front of Faustino’s pants. His breath was hot, and he had chewed mint leaves. Faustino closed his eyes, let the man pull his breaches down. They did this every visit, Sally’s payment for Faustino’s friendship and secrecy. But this time Faustino enjoyed it. He imagined it was Sloan, clumsy as a first time.
They fumbled as Faustino pulled the sheepskin over such a magnificent organ, but Faustino wanted to be clean, always, and let the guard relieve himself inside the sheepskin just as he imagined Sloan might do.
“Mi amor…”Faustino groaned, feeling the sheep’s intestine tear a bit because this one was so well endowed. Then in a few minutes, the guard was ready again and stroked Faustino as he opened himself to this wretched, eager soldier. Deep, satisfying, yet painful, just as he had told himself a time with Sloan would be. When the soldier plunged deep and rhythmically, Faustino felt himself also release, with a guttural cry that was silenced by the lover’s hand, just as Faustino imagined Sloan would do. Mi amor…he whispered. The soldier left him there. Faustino fell into an exhausted and blissful sleep.
Faustino persuaded Poole to trust him as a guide, and to bring him what he needed. He departed the camp without a look at the guard who pleased him so much each time he visited. Instead, Faustino sang on his way home of cactus blooms.
*******
The Soquel Road towards Rodriguez Gulch
The cart road going up the gulch was narrow and deeply rutted. I pulled the brake on the wagon and got down off the bench. Then I began to unhitch the horse.
“Juan, stay here with the wagon. I’m going up to the villa on horseback.”
Juan brought the saddle towards the back of the wagon. As she squatted down to hand me the folded saddle blankets, we regarded one another closely. I could smell a faint scent of musk and soap. It took all my control not to reach up and grab her, perhaps hold her in some way.
I had sudden second thoughts. Again, those lava-lit eyes, those pink perfectly formed lips. “Will you be safe here?” I said the words quietly, but their effect was quite the opposite. Juan backed away, jumped off the side of the wagon farthest away from me.
I went around the other side to intercept her, but she had moved away in the opposite direction.
“If you have no more need of me, I will go home from here, sir.”
The words came from behind me, with the wagon between us. Crafty, fast, and smart she was, and had to have been, to keep herself safe. A number of emotions went through me then as I looked around us. Any admission on my part if seen by others would have a dangerous and unpredictable effect on Juan.
“I need you to stay by the wagon. But if anything happens to it, run home.” I closed the back of the wagon up and began walking up the narrowing path. “I’ll walk. Have need to stretch my legs. Shouldn’t be too long, I suspect.” Juan came out from behind the wagon. The horse nickered and I heard her cinch the reins to the brace. I didn’t expect her to challenge me on this.
“Sir, you must attend the rally. Mrs. Guild will be quite beside herself.”
Interesting choice of words. Some things this little one could not hide, and a fema
le way of speaking, or I should say, an elegant way of speaking, was one of them. My mind was made up. Sometimes you had to force a hand to be able to hold it.
“Nothing I can’t handle, little one,” I murmured, affectionately, because I truly felt it. Adjusting my hat, I saw her standing by the horse in her floppy felt hat, her Spanish boy’s blouse and her baggy trousers. The sooner Andrew was feeling better, the better off I would be having him with me. I had no time for romance as yet. But soon.
The canyon was delicate in its beauty. A few small oaks struggling to become great dotted the edges of the gulch. Beyond I saw another adobe amidst the golden field of orange poppies, purple and yellow lupine, and what looked like blue shooting stars. There were rose vines across the way, marking what looked like the edge of a property. A gentle low of cows and their heavy bells tinkled in the distance.
A rushing stream ran through the middle of this place. On the highest part of the ridge before me, the redwoods began and a few buildings, in an American style of wooden boards, crowned the top of the ridge. My eyes played tricks on me, sometimes imagining a great adobe at the top with gum trees at their full height; other times, I heard a great rushing from the stream, though I could see no water flow.
The place seemed to shift about, as if it were another world fighting desperately to displace this one. Other times it was simply a canyon, growing dry in this rainless spring. I came upon the Rodríguez adobe quickly and hailed the woman hanging out her wash. Several children had ceased their playing and regarded me with wariness and three ran inside crying ¡Gringo!
A huge man blocked the doorway wearing only an undershirt that was dirty with soot. So too was his face. In his left hand was a broom, in his right, a metal scoop.
I hailed them with a smile and spoke the traditional greeting. For several minutes it seemed everyone regarded me with no less than shock.
“What do you want with us?” The mother of the children spoke. I bowed to her but she regarded my manners as mocking. “Be off. We have nothing. You’ve taken it all.”
