by S. L. Hawke
“Father was from Glasgow.” Then I added in Gaelic: “I have been an enemy to his enemies.”
“Scotland is free,” McKenna answered in like tongue. He joined me on the boards.
“May I inquire as to whom are you looking so intently for?” It was worth asking. McKenna’s gaze returned to the street as an expensive barouche clattered by. The crest on its door was of an escutcheon, golden, with a black two-headed eagle. They wore imperial crowns, over which was a larger third crown, with two flying ends of the ribbon of the Order of Saint Andrew. This was the crest of the Czar. The buggy slowed deliberately as it went by with a clear view of a single elderly woman within. She waved the top of an eagle-headed cane at both of us.
McKenna’s gaze dropped to his feet as the woman turned to face us. I bowed slightly and took off my hat. When the carriage passed us, I put my hat back on. That buggy’s occupant was whom he was waiting for. McKenna faced me this time looking puzzled, but not unfriendly. My guess was that the princess Towne had mentioned did not make an appearance.
“Why did you return? Why not stay in the Sandwich Islands?” McKenna looked forward when he said this. “Your sisters, Mrs. Towne and Mrs. Guild, had informed me of your previous residence.” I told him the answer I hoped would answer a few of my questions. Andrew needed to know about this man.
“A venture needed my investment. My sister wrote to me.” Why I took this chance with this man I could not explain, but my political brother-in-law I simply did not, as did Cynthia, believe was capable of such a difficult operation as smuggling powder, opium, and rifles. This was our real target.
“This place has potential.” McKenna leaned against the gable, reached inside his vest pocket and fingered something, then seemed to change his mind. I pushed, trying hard not to look too obvious.
“The lime kilns’ expense ratio is too high. All that labor cost, even with the Chinese, still cuts into the bottom line. I’d thought about cattle, but the Californios know that business better, and well, its time is nearly done. I’m looking for something short term, but one that guarantees a specific type of return that I don’t think the government should share in.”
At that point, McKenna grinned. “Taxes are the death of us all.”
“Indeed.” I watched him and wondered if I had made a mistake.
“How much of an investment?” McKenna queried with an angle of his head.
“Enough to see it through to the end.” My gaze shifted to the beachhead. My thoughts were on Juan.
“That could be beyond many men.” McKenna’s voice sounded tense. My answer would determine much.
“Well, if that’s the case, then it’s not a viable investment.” I adjusted my hat. “I’m sure I’ll find something with a good return. As you said, this place has potential.” Here I tried to look aloof, like I misjudged him as a man of intelligence in these matters. “I should get up to the Supervisor’s house.”
I began to walk away until I heard a sharp, loud whistle.
It was McKenna who had whistled. His horse came on its own and he swung up into the saddle, almost knocking me out of the way if I had not been watching as the horse cantered by. As he passed, I saw the embellishment of a thistle was carved into the saddle, a saddle that sported a massive flat horn, covered in rawhide. It was a genuine Hope Saddle, preferred by Southerners. Maybe I wasn’t wrong after all. But would he be the one who could take me to the thieves? Or Faustino Lorenzana? All I knew was that I needed to use both. The former, I needed to be wary of, the latter, I just didn’t trust myself with to be level-headed. There was still the matter of Fergus’ death between us. Man and horse galloped away, maneuvering the crowded byways, making it look easy. The next few days would not be.
*******
Rancho Carbonera, mid-evening…
The beef was barbequing quite well. Faustino could smell that his special blend of oak wood and apple wood chips, along with soured beer, cinnamon from Mexico, and chile, helped the molasses-coated meat form a nice brown crust. Uncle Macedonia, who had taught him to cook, arrived with another set of young men (and cousins), allowing Faustino to leave, wash up, and prepare for the fandango. He snuck into Conception’s bedroom to hear more about the gringo she was pledging her life to. As she was placing the comb into her braided coiffure, a knock came on her door. A young cousin brought in a parcel wrapped with a bright pink ribbon.
“From Uncle Guillermo, Auntie,” the young boy said. Faustino let his eyebrows raise in surprise. This gringo must be a sight to behold. Conception opened the parcel. The brown paper wrapping had come from the mercantile downtown, Cahill’s. Inside were yards and yards of lace and silk. A note written in infantile script said in English: For our wedding day Faustino nodded his head to one side, expressing his respect.
Suddenly a fiddle erupted in a strange version of what could have been a Latina love song but was so delicately sad, Faustino loved it immediately. What a strange gringo this was. A voice, clear and as well-toned as the most delicate bell, erupted from the courtyard below.
“A group of young soldiers one night in a camp,
Were talking of sweethearts they had,
All would be glad but for one Irish lad,
Who looked very down hearted and sad.
I say won’t you join us said one of the boys,
Surely you love someone too,
He lifted his head and proudly he said,
Yes I'm in love with two.
One has hair of silvery grey, the other has hair of gold,
One is young and beautiful, the other is bent and old,
These are the two that are dear to me,
From them I never will part,
For one is my mother, God bless her I love her,
And the other is my sweetheart.
The sweetheart was only a poor country girl,
With whom he intended to wed,
His father said no this cannot be so,
You must marry a Lady instead.
One has hair of silvery grey, the other has hair of gold,
One is young and beautiful, the other is bent and old,
These are the two that are dear to me,
From them I never will part,
For one is my mother, God bless her I love her,
And the other is my sweetheart.”
Conception was weeping at this love song and went out onto the balcony to blow kisses. Faustino looked through the window seeking the Gringo of her heart. He was not prepared to find a short, yellow–haired, long-nosed man whose eyes, though as blue as the forget-me-not flower, were too close together and his teeth stuck out at strange angles.
Faustino tried hard not to laugh but it was clear Conception loved him and that love truly was blind.
After helping her into her fandango dress and painting his special charcoal eye makeup on her eyes, Faustino went downstairs to join the men and meet this “Guillermo”.
Antonio, another cousin whose last name was Villagrana, was helping Guillermo learn how to dance the bridegroom’s dance.
“You speak Castellano?” Faustino rudely interrupted, but the men scattered when he came near, like the chickens do when they know one of them will be sacrificed to feed the dog.
“I try,” Guillermo answered. They were about the same height; maybe Guillermo was a bit taller. “You are the one who cooks well.” Then Guillermo did something awkward and funny. He bowed, incorrectly, but as if mimicking the Spanish courtier. Faustino grimaced. Antonio snickered. Guillermo popped up like a ground squirrel. “What’s wrong? I saw this done to appease the Don!” Guillermo defended.
“Maybe he was so stunned by its inelegance he couldn’t decide whether or not to kill you!” Antonio laughed. Another cousin, Augustos, joined in the traditional bridegroom roughing up: “I was there. Another gringo did that. Spoke Castellano too.” Augustos was serious, though, and nodded for Faustino to have audience with Don Alejandro. Though Guillermo spooked like a colt when Faustino tried to touch him at
first, he finally let Faustino straighten the bolero jacket and the tie and pat the gringo on the shoulder. He leaned forward and said in English: “Remember to make her cry out in pleasure first before you let go of your own.” Guillermo did not look shocked or surprised. He simply answered in English as Faustino started to walk away, “I already do that!” Faustino straightened in surprise. Well that is reason enough, he thought, for Conception to marry him. ¡Good for you, gringo! Faustino nodded with a wink and left Guillermo to his cousins who made him work on his dancing skills.
Don Alejandro was seated at a long polished table with other Dons. They sat in a line like an inquisition. Don Sebastian, Don Jose, Don Juan Prado, and lastly his own father, Don Jesus. Faustino felt his palms start to sweat and put his arms behind him. His own father looked away but said nothing. Faustino held himself as still as possible. He knew his father would never mention Faustino and his ‘perversions’. The shame between them was punishment enough.
“Faustino.” Don Alejandro leaned forward, a gesture of respect. Faustino relaxed. His father’s face looked like stone. “Guillermo is not the first gringo to speak like us of the old Ranchos. Another gringo I met when chasing down my new son-in-law-to-be spoke very well. We want you to find out what you can about him.”
“Excuse me, Uncle, what do you mean by ‘speaking very well’? Guillermo speaks well.”
Here Don Alejandro wove a hand in front of his face in a dismissive manner. “No, no — this one spoke like only one man I have known, a Don Luis Antonio of the Southern Rancho Cordoba. He is very tall, would pass for us, eh…pass for Spaniard, that is.” Two of the Dons agreed with him. “But, what I want to know is why he came asking for you, to play cards.”
Don Alejandro was a powerful man for one a little bigger than Faustino. He had hair left only on the sides of his head, and though his teeth were uneven and some missing, his jaw was square and his manner authoritarian. Faustino started. How could my uncle have met Sloan?
“Uncle?” Faustino shook. And, how did Sloan know to find him here?
Don Alejandro shook his head angrily. “This man is the same one who saved your cousin from a mourning veil. He convinced me through his manner and associations that Guillermo would be a good match for Conception. If you have insulted this man, you will apologize IMMEDIATELY.”
Mi amor. He found me. Faustino felt a lump in his throat. He cleared it. “Uncle, I—”
“No ‘buts’. You will find this…Andres fils de Jaques, Sloan and apologize to him. Invite him to the wedding.” Don Alejandro turned away, a sign that the interview was finished.
Faustino could not breathe for a few moments. All he knew was that Sloan would kill him or try to when they next met, and that El Diablo had given him a reason to bring A.J. here. At least he had honor here, but the two of them could never be any more than friends to his family. There will never be a wedding for me, Faustino thought sadly. A bargain with El Diablo would claim his life. His only hope was that one day, A.J. would express his love for him in return.
“Si, Don Alejandro. I will do this thing.”
6
Harris House, Santa Cruz Township
The livery stable was in the middle of afternoon muck outs when I got there. Juan was seeing to my mare who nickered when she saw me. Her coat shone and her eyes were bright. Juan was feeding Andrew’s gelding, who was not so energetic because he had been ridden that day.
“Deputy Sweeney go out?” I inquired to the Chinese stable hand. He nodded and looked away, fearful it seemed.
“Go out, come back. Go to bed,” he said quickly.
“Juan,” I called. Juan looked up from her task and I grabbed the heavy oat bucket and helped her replace it on the hanger.
“Yes, Mr. Sloan,” she answered. We locked eyes again. Her lips were very pink and slightly dabbed with oil. From the smell, it was coconut. John’s words about a Hawaiian princess came back to me. Her face was like my son’s, she was half Asian, but the color of her skin betrayed something else. No, a woman bred in Royal Courts would not do such a thing as this. She wouldn’t need to.
Juan put her scarf over her face and went over to the outside of the stall to see to the blankets.
“Where is the street named after John Towne?” I patted my mare’s hocks and inspected her hooves. Finding the hoof knife, I gave her a good cleanout.
“It’s the street they’ve just cut up the hill, past the railroad depot,” she answered. I could hear her beating the blankets with a paddle.
“Take me up there, then come with my mare in two hours. I will make it worth your while.” This all sounded ridiculous, as she was a woman who clearly did not look hungry, just someone who dared not allow herself to be seen.
“Yes, sir.”
What was her story? She worked with my sister, the savior of fallen women. Perhaps a former prostitute. That comforted my curiosity a bit. Yes, she had to be. Then I remembered Cynthia’s request to look into the murderer of the prostitutes. Juan could be a target if I did not take care of this.
She might also know about McKenna and the beachhead. That increased her risk as well. If anyone found out what she knew, her life was forfeit. A certain resolve came over me. Washing my hands at the pump, I told myself that I had best check in with Andrew before acting on my hunches about Lorenzana, Towne, and McKenna. Juan handed me a flour sack cloth to wipe my hands.
The hotel was busy, guests checking in for the upcoming weekend. Sophia was telling them about the baths near the mouth of the San Lorenzo. She also gave them a map of the road up into the mountains to a place called Ben Lomond where they could walk among groves of redwoods that had stood since the time of Christ. I quickly found Andrew’s room and knocked on the door.
A female giggle could plainly be heard, so I opened the door right away.
The French maid was not in an indelicate position but was, in fact, laughing at Andrew’s pronunciation. She quickly got up as I entered the room and left us. Andrew was fully clothed but lying on top of his made bed. He got up and moved like I did early in the mornings.
“A bit young to be so stiff,” I noticed, as I took off my hat and placed it on his dresser top.
“Well, you get shot in two places, dragged for a hundred miles on horseback, and given noxious soups and see how you feel.” Andrew went to the window and closed it, then closed the furnace vent.
“Actually, it was about fourteen miles, and Lam’s soups aren’t that bad.” I found a chair and sprawled out in it.
“How was the rally?” Andrew opened up his journal and made a few notations in it.
“A bit like the Bible.” I leaned back and straightened out my legs.
“Fire and thunder and you will all go to hell if you don’t contribute to the Confederate cause?”
“No, more like Sodom and Gomorrah at the local hotel ballroom.”
“I should have gone! Sounds like a good time had by all. Any chance you sent that telegram?”
“No, never made it.” I wanted to close my eyes.
“I’ll do it. Less conspicuous.” Andrew suddenly was standing in front of me. “I took a ride out to Evergreen Cemetery. Found the two whore graves.”
Using that word for women irritated me. Still, he was young and Miles’ class obviously had not been part of his training.
“Any clues?”
“No, but I spent some time with the girls from the two brothels your sister works at.”
“You need to find a better way to say that,” I chided, but couldn’t help smiling. Andrew himself also grinned.
“At the Red Salon, Rufus Ingram is a client when he comes into town. He likes the young ones, has a thing for little girls. You know Jane?”
I straightened. Jane, Cynthia’s adopted daughter, I had heard rumors of mostly, of her rape and childbirth and the babe’s subsequent death.
“Talk to Jaime. Ingram is everything we thought he was.”
“I can feel a ‘but’ coming.”
“He’
s smart and careful. Doesn’t get off on torture, just control and domination.” Andrew rubbed his rib with a grimace. Now he’d know every rainy day before it came with that wound. “I talked to two of the girls at the second brothel, one of theirs was the last murder, and they said the victim was last seen out by the cemetery.”
“We need those guys that study bodies from The Belly of the Whale.” I watched my younger name sake. He nodded.
“If we do that, we will have the journalists, the public, the whole town will know we are on the trail of this guy.”
“So what’s your plan?”
“I think I’d like to take Lam and keep watch on the two houses. He knows enough servants to report back to me what happens.”
“Please tell me that you are hoping to catch the guy before he kills again.” Suddenly I had an idea. “Maybe we should set a trap.”
“That’s risky. Especially for you. We need you undercover.” Andrew frowned. He was not understanding my intent yet.
“Hardly. Everyone calls me Marshal.” Here I looked up at him. Suddenly he smiled.
“You’ve got bait!”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know if I can convince her to put her life at risk. She is already doing pretty much that. But on her own terms.”
“Okay, but remember we have a main mission.”
“Which is going to take a lot of time. Until then, let’s pay back these brothel spies of yours with some well-earned protection. It might increase some of the intelligence and speed up this whole campaign.”
Andrew laughed softly. “It would help. A bit of a distraction so that we can implement our main plan. Speaking of which, have you made any contact with that local, or Lorenzana, yet?”
“Well, I went to Branciforte. He was not at home. But I left a calling card they won’t forget.”
“You didn’t beat ‘em up, did you?” Andrew’s voice tightened.
“Nope, I just stunned them with my manners, into silence.”
“If anyone else had said that, I’d think they were being sarcastic.” I heard Andrew fingering his pocket watch.
“What?” I felt him there at my left, even with my eyes still closed.
