by Vella Munn
"Father Patricio informed me that he spoke to you," Sebastian said, his words clipped and cold. "He told you to look to your soul?"
"Yes."
"And have you?"
The question she needed to answer was not whether she had begun the effort of rescuing her soul from everlasting ruin, but whether she wanted to give her father the answer he demanded.
"I have prayed," she said.
"Praise the Lord."
Recognizing her mother's voice, Lucita peered past her father. Margarita had pulled her mantilla tightly over her head and was holding onto the knot under her chin with white-knuckled fingers. Margarita stared, not at her daughter, but down at the ground.
Grunting, Sebastian turned back toward Lucita. Now that she could see clearly, she took note of how pale and tight the flesh around his scarred lip looked and was puzzled by it.
"I will not suffer your disobedience ever again, do you understand," he said. It wasn't a question.
Teeth clenched, her cheeks and arm on fire, she returned his stare.
"Did you hear me!" His harsh voice echoed throughout the room she could barely wait to leave. "You will never stand in my way again, never."
"Yes," she whispered. "I hear you."
Striding forward, Sebastian grabbed her wrists and yanked her toward him. "You hear, but will you obey?"
Give him what he wants. But despite the yammering inside her, she remained silent, because what happened here and now might have a great deal to do with whether her father ever took a whip or other instrument of torture and death to a neophyte, whether he ever saw her as his equal, someone who held him accountable.
"For God's sake, Lucita. Answer him."
"I can't," she told her mother, because she wasn't ready to speak to her father yet. Her fingers were becoming numb, not because he was careless in his handling of her but because he was determined to exhibit his mastery over her; she knew that. "He's trying to force me to say he was right and I was wrong," she said. "But I won't."
"Damn you!"
Yanked off balance, she somehow managed to keep her eyes locked on her father's. She'd never noticed how incredibly hard they were; either that, or she hadn't allowed herself to see what lurked beneath the surface.
"Lucita!" Her mother sounded on the verge of hysteria. "That savage, he had to be sacrificed. Don't you see?"
"No, I don't see," she shot back.
Deliberately, cruelly, her father squeezed until she feared her wrists would snap under his grip. Pain slashed through her, and she had to bite back a scream, but in an insane way, she felt proud of her ability to deny him his pleasure.
"What would you rather I do?" Sebastian goaded. "Perhaps I should tell the viceroy that I did not do my duty because it displeased my daughter?"
"I know—"
"You know nothing!"
Dizzy, she straggled to remain on her feet. Because she was still determined not to let him know how much he was hurting her, she tried to look beyond him and her mother, but it was impossible to focus on anything except this room and what was taking place within it. Besides, otherwise she might be forced to stare at the dead man's body.
"She is worthless!" her father suddenly hissed. With a final twist of his fingers, he shoved her away from him and whirled on his wife. "I am done with her."
"My husband, no! Please."
"You heard me, woman. This daughter who is not a daughter shames me. I should have insisted she marry Senor De Leon. Perhaps he would have taught her obedience."
"She is overwrought, Sebastian," Margarita pleaded. "This wild land, the primitive accommodations and food, the need for God's hand here—"
"More like God's fist. Hear me, both of you. I will be rid of my daughter as soon as it can be arranged. There is a man, a wealthy merchant. When Senor Portola arrives, I intend to speak to him about a marriage contract. Neither of you will oppose me in this. Do you understand!"
"Yes, my husband."
"You do, but does she? Listen to me, Lucita. Today you shamed me before my men and the padres and stood in the way of my duty. That will never happen again. Never! Nothing—" He glared at her. "Nothing would please me more than to have you spend the-rest of your life on board some miserable ship. Anywhere as long as I'm rid of you."
* * *
Father Joseph would disapprove and it meant less wine for export, but Father Patricio handed Sebastian a full jug and then waited while the flush-faced corporal drank. They were standing a few feet from the body of the dead neophyte, and although the flies were already buzzing around it, he didn't say anything about their leaving.
"Perhaps he didn't know anything after all," he ventured, indicating the body. "Surely your lashes would have freed his tongue if he did."
"It doesn't matter," Sebastian spit.
"But you—"
"It doesn't matter," he repeated, his voice even more strident than it had been the first time. "The others saw. They won't forget the consequences of disobeying me."
Neither will your daughter, Father Patricio thought. "True," he said. "What do you intend to do now?"
He couldn't be sure, but it seemed that the corporal hesitated just a moment before answering. According to him, he'd had no time to do anything beyond ascertaining conditions at the mission, but as soon as he'd convinced himself that his men, both those who'd already been stationed here and the newcomers, were fit for extensive forays into the wilderness, he intended to expand his search for both Black Wolf and the rest of the savages.
Corporal Rodriguez seemed to be trying too hard to prove himself equal to the task at hand although he'd certainly handled the situation with the neophyte in a most aggressive way. Corporal Galvez had been easy to figure out since nothing mattered to him except getting through the days with as little effort as possible, that and making the most of his leisure. This new military man was a different creature, a fact Father Patricio had no intention of forgetting.
"I spoke to your daughter a few minutes ago," he said once the corporal had run down. "Tried to get her to see the error of her action."
"What? She is my responsibility, mine."
A responsibility the corporal was failing at. "As a man of God, it is my duty to serve the souls of all my parishioners," he pointed out.
"I forbid it!"
Anger blazed through him, but he refused to let it show He'd offered the wine in part because he'd wanted to tell the corporal that he suspected Lucita had had prior knowledge of Black Wolf but no longer had any intention of doing that.
In fact, there was precious little he wanted to share with the man.
Chapter 10
Willow worked her way into the crook of Much Rain's arm and trailed her fingers over his ribs, but although his body responded, the warrior kept his attention on Black Wolf. A total of six Chumash had left the mountains before dawn, and while their early conversation had been about what food and perhaps even weapons they might find at the mission and bring back with them, as they neared the valley much of the talk had died -away.
Much Rain had filled his time with thoughts of whether his first child would be a boy or a girl. Although he'd told Willow he wanted a girl so she could be taught to prepare tasty meals and massage his feet after a day of hunting, he'd long studied Black Wolf's sure-legged and quick-witted son. Nothing would make Much Rain prouder than to help guide his own son to manhood. What, he wondered, gave his friend the most pleasure about being a father?
Throughout the miles of walking, Black Wolf had led the way, and although Much Rain had occasionally joined him, his friend hadn't been much interested in conversation. They'd stopped near a small lake where neophytes were sometimes sent to fish and two of the warriors were now testing their skill in that regard, but although Much Rain would have liked to join them, the need to talk to Black Wolf was stronger.
"Remember last winter when you and I were following that elk," Much Rain said as he sat down near his friend. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Will
ow studying him with that small secret smile meant for just the two of them. "We kept praying it would snow so it would slow him and we could easily follow his tracks, but it didn't happen. Instead, my moccasin developed a hole and you lost an arrow trying to bring down a crow. I think it is not so wise that we tell our children of our failings."
"Perhaps," Black Wolf said, sounding distracted.
"What is it?" Much Rain insisted. "If you are concerned about our safety, do not keep it to yourself."
"It is not that."
"Then what?"
Finally he had Black Wolf's attention. "You and the others sleep all your nights in Chumash land and your bodies and thoughts have remained Chumash, but it is different with me."
"It cannot be helped. Someone must watch the leatherjackets, and who better than you, who understands their language?"
"I know." Black Wolf picked a blade of grass and began chewing on it.
"Still this bothers you?"
"Yes." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I feel unclean."
It was on the tip of Much Rain's tongue to tell Black Wolf to walk into the lake, but then he understood that his friend was talking about another kind of dirt.
"You purified yourself and the shaman blessed you," Much Rain pointed out.
"And after that I had dreams about the dead."
"No!"
Black Wolf said nothing, but it didn't matter because his eyes revealed the truth. "Does anyone know this?" Much Rain asked.
"Only you. My friend, my soul is heavy, and I fear it will stand between me and what we have come here to accomplish."
Much Rain's own soul now weighed more than it had a moment ago, but as silence stretched between them, he searched inside himself for answers. Finally he straightened, discovering that Black Wolf was looking at him.
"The others and I will wait here," he said firmly. "And when you return from Humqaq, we will take from the bounty of those who have taken from us. Our prayers for you will ride on your shoulders as you do what you must, and the gods will purify your heart and mind."
"Wait here? But the danger—"
"Do not concern yourself with us, old man." Forcing a smile, he patted Black Wolfs muscled arm. "Do you think we are so foolish as to loudly proclaim our presence?"
"Of course not, but..."
"But what?"
"Nothing." Black Wolf sighed.
"You think I do not know what you are thinking?" he asked. When Black Wolfs grandfather had brought him to the village, Much Rain had resented Black Wolf, not just because he was taller and stronger but because he was wise and questioning in a way he'd never seen in someone not of advanced age, but now he knew that wisdom increased a man's burden.
"You warn and caution because you fear your unclean state has placed us in danger; do not deny that," he insisted.
Black Wolf blinked but continued to hold his gaze. Again he sighed. "If it were you, you would carry the same fears."
"What Chumash would not? Listen to me, my friend. Go to Humqaq; purify yourself. We will be here when you return. There is none who would question what you are doing."
* * *
As a result of the three hours she'd been forced to spend in prayer for her soul, Lucita's knees protested her every movement. However, that had taken her thoughts off her injured arm and wrists, at least a little. Father Joseph had stood over her for at the better part of an hour, his gentle features pained. Neither of them had said anything, Lucita because shame and hate and confusion warred inside her and until she'd come to grips with what had happened between her and her father, she needed to keep her emotions to herself.
Father Joseph had been replaced by Father Patricio, who'd clamped his hand over her head and beseeched God over and over again to look kindly upon her, to forgive and enlighten. With his help and instruction, the priest maintained, she could again become one of God's children.
She'd tried to turn her soul over to his caretaking as she'd done so many times throughout her life, but the image of the dead Indian had remained, haunting her thoughts and closing her mind off from anything else.
Now, aching in both body and spirit, she slipped outside the small chapel next to the padres' quarters and drank in hot, clean air. Her mother, who'd been ordered to leave her side, might be waiting for her in their room, but she couldn't face her yet. A sense of apprehension touched Lucita's nerve endings, and looking around, she noticed that one of the soldiers was watching her. Of course. Her father must have insisted they not let her out of their sight.
Feeling half-wild and hungry for something she couldn't express, she started toward the too-silent graveyard but stopped because she knew she would find no solace or answers there today. The mission with its thick walls, ponderous arched columns, heavy tile roofs, and persistent, morose bells only added to her sense of being trapped. No matter what she might say, no matter how honestly she might express herself, no one would ever understand why she felt on the brink of exploding. No one except, maybe, Black Wolf.
* * *
She spent the evening working in the infirmary. When Father Joseph briefly joined her, they spoke, not about what had happened earlier, but about his hope that Senor Portola would be able to make good on his promise to consult with a doctor about treatment for blindness caused by eye injuries, since that had happened to three neophytes. Because she'd prepared a tea poultice under a physician's instruction for an orphan's infected eye, she told Father Joseph about that. Although the soft-spoken man was encouraged that there might be something he could try, he lamented that it would be months before Senor Portola could bring any tea leaves here.
"He is a good man," Father Joseph said. "Rich, as is expected for someone who has devoted himself to his business the way he has, but he knows how isolated we are and strives to bring us news of the outside world."
"My father told me about him," was all she could think to say.
When he was ready to leave. Father Joseph entreated her to come with him. However, although she would never feel comfortable in a building filled with unresponsive people, some beyond her help, she busied herself with changing Midnight's bandage. To her delight, all of the swelling was gone.
"Do you understand?" she asked, pointing at the still-red flesh. "Maybe the infection has been defeated."
The boy split his attention between her and his injury, and although he said nothing, his eyes carried their own message.
To her surprise, it was dark when she stepped outside. If a soldier was waiting for her to emerge, she couldn't see him, and because she hadn't thought to bring a candle with her, perhaps she'd escaped undetected. Her mother and Father Joseph knew where she'd been. So, she expected, did her father, if he cared.
Thoughts of her father flooded her mind, but this time she wasn't swamped by memories of the awful thing he'd done. Instead, she focused on the reason behind his action. He was determined to punish Black Wolf, and if it meant killing a neophyte to make the others fear his power, so be it. To him, all that mattered was that the Indians become so terrified that they reveal anything they might know about the warrior.
What if it had been Black Wolf today?
Unable to take herself beyond the horrible question, she made her way through the dark to the horse corral. Because she couldn't tell one shape from another, she whistled softly and then made a chirping sound until one of the creatures started toward her.
More chirping and clicking brought the big-headed, short-legged mare she'd ridden on her way here close enough that she was able to reach out and touch the animal. She couldn't keep her thoughts off how far the animal might carry her and, in truth, didn't try. Turning slowly, she took in the night.
Saddles and bridles were kept in a nearby lean-to, but how could she lift a saddle onto the animal's back when her wrists still throbbed? What was she thinking? She'd been forbidden to do anything without her father's permission and she'd never disobeyed him, never so much as thought about turning her back on her Church's teachings and d
ictates.
But she'd never seen death before either, death at her father's hands.
Never felt terror for a Chumash warrior.
As the mare nuzzled the side of her neck, her thoughts and emotions went to the hills beyond and to freedom. Silence and peace.
Her father had wounded her deliberately and cruelly, with no regard for her as a human being, his daughter. And yet he expected her to beg both God and him for forgiveness?
I cannot!
Not yet.
An icy cold gripping her, she stepped into the lean-to and began feeling around. Refusing to acknowledge the pain in her shoulder and wrists, she lifted the lightest saddle she could find and brought it and a bridle into the corral. If she was discovered—no, she couldn't think about that.
When the mare was ready, she climbed onto the saddle and again scanned her surroundings. Sudden light spilling out from the soldiers' quarters captured her attention, and she feared the figure illuminated by the just-lit candle was her father but then realized it was one of the men under his command. He stood with his legs far apart and his hands bracing his body against the wall. Because his pants were down around his ankles, at first she thought he was relieving himself and started to turn away. Then she realized he had someone pinned between him and the wall. Straining, she studied the other figure until she realized it was either a slightly built woman or a child.
Revulsion and horror slammed into her. The padres had informed her that unmarried Indian girls lived in their separate quarters so they would be protected from insult, but what she was seeing was insult; it had to be!
A cry of alarm pressed against her lips, but she didn't allow it freedom. Her father had done as he wanted to her; the same was now happening between the soldier and girl, and nothing Lucita said or did would change that.
The everlasting stench of tallow reached her on the wind, made up her mind for her.
Because of the way the buildings had been arranged, she could leave without having to get any closer to the quarterly. She took that route, afraid, not believing what she was doing, yet knowing she had no choice if she wanted to avoid madness.
