The Soul Survivors Series Boxed Set

by Vella Munn

  "He said there was a grizzly," Lucita replied warily.

  "So it appears. It took two days before we captured the last of those miserable nags, and by then they were in no mood for a lengthy trip."

  "You forced them?"

  "Only to the extent that was wise and prudent, Lucita. I sorely wanted to lay a whip to them, but to what purpose?" He stopped while he rubbed the scar at his mouth. "I am accustomed to fighting an enemy willing to do battle, but the savages are animals hiding in caves."

  Black Wolf had said nothing about the Chumash living in caves—not that she would tell her father that. In the time he'd been gone, Sebastian's usually clean-shaven cheeks had taken on a dusky hue that gave him a sinister quality. Dirt had caked around his neck; more dirt covered his uniform.

  Father Patricio, who had been standing slightly behind Father Joseph, cleared his throat. Not all of the savages had been in hiding, he said. Black Wolf himself had been here just after the soldiers left, his presence a mockery to the king's army.

  "Black Wolf!" Sebastian reached for his sword. "That animal—that murdering animal! I swear, I'll—"

  A shout drew Lucita's attention from her father's reaction. One of the soldiers had emerged from their quarters and was yelling that it had been broken into.

  She started to follow her father and the padres, who were trying to keep up with him, but her mother, who had said not so much as a word to acknowledge her husband's return, stopped her.

  "This is men's concern, Lucita," she said as Sebastian stepped inside. "It has nothing to do with us."

  * * *

  Hours later, Lucita looked up from her task of making sure the children ate at least a bite of peach as protection against rickets to see her mother gesturing for her.

  "It is your father." Margarita's mouth looked strained. "He wants to talk to you. Please, whatever he says, agree with him."

  Not all chains are visible, are they? Lucita silently asked her mother as she walked with her to the padres' chapel. When they entered it, Lucita saw that the candles were lit. The soft glow spreading over the crudely drawn religious pictures took her back to her childhood, when simply being in a room like this gave her a sense of peace.

  Her father was sitting on one of the wooden bench while the two padres, also seated, faced him. One of the soldiers stood slightly behind Sebastian, looking as if he wasn't part of whatever was going on.

  She received no more than a quick glance from her father, but it was enough; he considered her no more important than the waiting soldier.

  "I want all of you to know that I have made my decision," Sebastian said. He was still dirty and unshaven, but bread crumbs and a stain covered the front of his uniform—proof that he'd eaten. "The savages defy us. My God, they murdered one of my men and tried to kill another."

  Father Joseph crossed himself at her father's profane use of the Lord's name, but Father Patricio gave no indication of his reaction.

  After wiping spit from the ruined side of his mouth, Sebastian continued. "The Crown in its ignorance believes a skeleton troop can maintain control and quell any uprising, but I am not so deluded. It is impossible for so few to prevent a bloodbath."

  "Sebastian!" Lucita's mother gasped. "Do you really believe—"

  "What are you doing here?"

  "You said—"

  "I said I wanted her." He jerked a finger at Lucita. "I have no need for you."

  Her chin quivering, hands moving nervously, Margarita backed out of the chapel. Lucita felt torn between the need to run after her mother and comfort her and the even stronger need to insist her father not treat his wife like a beast of burden. But she had begged Lucita not to incur Sebastian's wrath, and no matter how much effort it took, she would remain silent. Besides, it was vital she hear her father.

  "I have no choice in this," Sebastian said, his words clipped as if they were the last thing he wanted to say "I must request more troops."

  "Amen," Father Joseph responded.

  Ignoring the padre, her father went on. Because he dared not leave the mission unprotected, he had decided to go alone to the presidio, where he would commission for additional manpower. He expected to be gone the better part of a week. In the meantime, the soldiers were to separate the adult male neophytes from the others and do whatever it took to assure they not forget who was in charge.

  "If you must make an example of one or more of them, fine. No one will be allowed about at night, and I want at least two soldiers on duty at all times. Any neophyte shirking or leaving their work will be shot—no exceptions."

  A sense of horror at the image conjured up left Lucita weak and shaking. If only she knew how to make the neophytes understand her, maybe she could warn them.

  When the soldier asked for verification of his rights and responsibilities, Lucita noticed that both padres were paying close attention. That made sense, since they were responsible for the neophytes' souls and assuring the mission's work continue to be done and were perhaps concerned that the corporal's orders would put that work in jeopardy. But why had she been ordered here?

  With an abrupt wave of his hand, her father dismissed the others. To her surprise, the padres said nothing about the fact that they were being ordered to leave a place of worship. She started to follow them, but Sebastian told her to remain.

  "You will go with me," he said after the door closed behind the slow-walking Father Joseph. "It is foolish to keep you isolated from eligible men."

  "To the presidio? What can I—"

  "Silence! I swear, you are more trouble than the savages." Glowering, he indicated that he wanted her to sit across from him. She did as he ordered but didn't try to break the silence.

  "You spoke with Senor Portola?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "And?"

  "He wasn't here long, Father." Uncomfortable saying anything of a personal nature, she wanted to keep it to a minimum. "We had only a short time to talk."

  "What about?"

  "Many things." A glare was all it took for her to understand that he wouldn't be satisfied with that. "He has traveled so many places and had so many experiences. They fascinated me."

  "You did not irritate him, did you?"

  She almost snapped that she had enough social graces to know when to stop pressing an issue but thought better of it. "No, I did not. I showed him what I've been doing in the infirmary because he seemed most interested."

  "Did he? What do you think of him as a man?"

  The question didn't surprise her; somehow she'd known they would come to this point.

  "I was most favorably impressed," she admitted. "He is worldly and yet there is a gentleness to him I found most appealing."

  Sebastian nodded and then frowned. "And yet he didn't spend more than a few hours in your company."

  "This time. But he will return."

  "Of course he will. He has business here."

  She paused, then gave him what he wanted. "Not just business, Father. He wants to see me again."

  The proprietary look she hated and feared took hold of his features. "Does he," Sebastian muttered. "Does he indeed. And when will that be? The next time the padres have sufficient trade goods?"

  "No. He... he'll be back as soon as he can arrange it."

  "Then he was taken with you?"

  "Yes."

  "Yes. Is that all you can say? Why is he in such a hurry to return?"

  "Because..." When he leaned forward, invading her space, she finished. "He spoke of courtship."

  "Indeed! Hm." Getting to his feet, he began pacing. "He reached the presidio several days ago. Perhaps his business there is already finished and he is on his way back. And if he has been delayed and you show up with me, he may take it as a sign that we are too eager for a union. No, no, I do not want you with me after all."

  Unable to silence a sigh of relief, she started to stand, but he stepped toward her and she sank back down.

  "You will conduct yourself in a manner which meets
with my approval," he said. "And if Senor Portola arrives before my return, you will be as gracious and accommodating as possible. Do you understand?"

  She nodded.

  "I hope you do." His mouth thinned. "Because if I find fault, any fault, with your behavior, you will regret the day you were born. And so will your mother."

  * * *

  Long after her father left, Lucita finally emerged from the chapel and closed the door behind her, but instead of looking for something to satisfy her hunger, she pressed her cheek against the door and let the night sounds surround her.

  She had prayed and then prayed again, asking God to help guide her through what lay ahead and assist her in making decisions that could dictate the course of her life forever, but if God had listened, if he cared, he hadn't made himself known to her.

  Her father would make her life miserable if she remained at La Purisima in an unmarried state, that misery spilling over to her mother. The world Lucita had once known in Mexico City had become a distant memory—not that it mattered, because she couldn't go back there by herself. Pablo was little more than a stranger; despite her favorable impression of him, how could she imagine them as husband and wife, being part of his world?

  I feel so lost. Her prayer, if that's what it was, brought her to the brink of tears. As if I don't belong anywhere. Is that what you want for me, Lord? Will I best serve you by becoming some man's wife? But what about the neophytes? If I leave, what will happen to them?

  What will happen to my mother?

  An owl hooted, pulling her away from the thoughts that had been overwhelming her. A sudden chill caused her to rub her arms, but although a faint breeze was blowing, it had nothing to do with how she felt.

  Spotting her mother, she stopped and nearly turned away, then walked over to her. Margarita's face was etched with unease, but she didn't say anything.

  "It's all right," Lucita said reassuringly. "He wanted to know about my impression of Senor Portola."

  "And?"

  "I'm certain he sees Pablo as a suitable husband."

  "I'm certain he does." Fists clenched, Margarita stared into her beautiful daughter's eyes. Lucita hadn't said everything about what she and her father had discussed; her mother was certain of that. She could only pray that in time her daughter would unburden herself. In the meantime, Margarita would be there for her, encouraging and lending what support she could.

  "What about you?" she asked. "Do you see Pablo as a suitable husband?"

  "I don't know. I've just met him."

  "A wise answer." Taking Lucita's capable hand, she squeezed it. For a moment she nearly convinced herself not to say more, but she'd spent so many years silent and no longer could remain so.

  "I am not one to give advice about matters of the heart, Lucita," she said. "What I hope you will heed, what I pray will carry you through this decision, is my counsel to listen to your heart."

  „ "My heart doesn't know what it wants."

  "I think it does, Lucita, if you open yourself up to it."

  "How?"

  "Only you can decide that."

  * * *

  Fog drifted up from the surf to cover the cliff with a damp, lacy layer. From where she sat on the tired mare, Lucita tried to determine where the sand left off and the ocean began, but the water was in constant movement, swallowing and then releasing the beach.

  A thousand times during the ride here, she'd come within a heartbeat of convincing herself to return to the mission, but whenever she started to turn her horse's head, reality slammed into her.

  If her father couldn't arrange a marriage with Pablo, he'd find someone else. Whatever her fate, she would never again see this wild and intriguing country. Never again speak to the savage, the killer, who maybe was the only human being who understood her.

  Her mother had been the one with the wisdom to tell her to seek solitude, and although Margarita had been shocked when, an hour after her father left, she'd announced that she needed to be away from the mission for a while, her mother hadn't tried to stop her. Margarita had brought up the danger from savages and wild animals, but Lucita had pointed out that she'd been alone in the wilderness before and had been safe.

  "The land calls to me, Mother," she'd said. "I feel at peace out there, more content than I've been in years. God—surely God won't desert me."

  "You aren't afraid?"

  "Of the wilderness, no. Never."

  Her mother hadn't looked convinced, but all she'd said was that she'd pray for her.

  After securing the mare's front legs with loose-fitting ropes so there wouldn't be a repeat of what had happened the first time, Lucita sank to the ground and pressed her hands over her hot, tired eyes.

  She must be insane! What other explanation was there for what she'd done?

  Most women had no quarrel with marriage. She'd seen the excitement in her friends' eyes when they announced their betrothal and later, after they were married, they giggled about their "wifely duties," some of them hinting that what happened in bed was the best part of being wed.

  But her mother had never spoken of "wifely duties," only pursed her lips and clenched her fists before walking slowly toward her husband.

  Since coming to La Purisima, Lucita had seen a soldier forcing himself on a woman and at least three couplings between neophytes. Although her mother had been horrified and begged the padres to insist the neophytes do "such things" in private, gentle Father Joseph had muttered that the Indians were carrying out God's command to be fruitful and were incapable of comprehending that their mating might offend anyone.

  Fruitful. Wifely duties. All Lucita knew was that the act was carried out by the neophytes with great enthusiasm and sounds that sent shivers down her spine.

  Opening her eyes, she waited for the world to come back into focus. Black Wolf had called it Humqaq. That was his church, where he went to pray to his gods or spirits or whatever they were.

  It couldn't be! There was only one God, the deity she'd worshiped her entire life. How could Black Wolf believe what he did?

  And yet she'd heard a wolf howl the last time she'd seen Black Wolf—not him making that sound, but a real wolf. She was convinced of it.

  Once again the pounding in her head made thinking all but impossible and her father's orders, her future, none of that mattered.

  Her legs, sore from the long ride, resisted her effort to stand, but she insisted, because the unanswered questions only became worse when she wasn't doing anything. She'd brought along some atole and dried fruit and ate at least half of it. When the rest was gone, she would have to return, but, for now at least, facing her future seemed nothing compared to the need that had brought her here.

  Seagulls floated on unseen currents, and she tried to imagine herself up there with them. If she had the keen sight of birds, she might be able to see across the ocean. The thought of what lay on the other side of the ocean briefly distracted her, but because she would never be able to fly, she forced herself to return to the present and reality.

  Humqaq.

  A place of beliefs beyond her comprehension.

  Maybe.

  Chapter 17

  The wind increased in strength, and when Lucita stood looking down and out at the ocean she was forced to brace herself so she wouldn't be knocked off her feet.

  There was something about the wind, energy maybe, that stripped away her weariness and made her feel as if she could run and climb forever. Was this bold creature really her?

  No, she admitted, as she began walking again, it wasn't that simple. Her sanity, her need to claim some control over her future, some understanding of the world and her role in it, was at issue, and if she couldn't make her parents understand that, maybe she didn't belong in this world.

  Stopping again, she clamped her hand around her wildly blowing hair. Only God knew when one's time to leave this earth had come. Hell waited for those who attempted to alter that timetable, and she loved being alive—yet it would take so little to
step to the edge, lean forward, and fling herself into space.

  Licking her lips, she discovered that they were salty Touching her fingers to her cheek, she found it sticky from the moist air. Her hair fought her. Her legs, although tired, felt ready for whatever she required of them.

  After releasing her hair, she scrambled to the top of the nearest cliff. Then, once she was sure of her balance, she spread her arms, lifted her head, and let go with something between a cry and laughter.

  "Freedom. I feel so free here!"

  The wind took her voice and tore it apart before throwing the tiny pieces into the heavens. Still, she felt calmer now and more in control of her emotions. Wondering how her mother would react if she brought her here, Lucita again began her aimless walk. Margarita would be fascinated by the awe-inspiring view, but because she believed God had created everything, she wouldn't question why the-cliffs existed or why they'd taken the form they had. If Margarita heard that the Chumash called it Humqaq and considered it sacred, she would pray they would see the light of truth, not listen to another belief.

  Certainly not believe.

  The wind began a low screaming sound as if trying to break free of some unseen prison, and Lucita tried to remember everything Black Wolf had told her about Humqaq, but he hadn't said that much.

  "Are you here?" she whispered. Although the wind immediately captured the question, she lost nothing of her words and the deep-felt emotions behind them. "When you come, is it because you feel the same need I did?"

  It would be dark before much longer. If she was going to learn anything about this place before then, she would have to hurry her exploration. Putting her mind to this task she'd given herself and refusing to think beyond that, she lifted her skirts enough to keep from tripping on them and headed north.

  It didn't take long to discover that she hadn't reached the highest point of land after all, but with the closely bunched peaks and valleys it was nearly impossible to gain a true perspective of what the area looked like. She couldn't imagine any animals living around the barren cliffs, and yet the occasional faint yapping of coyotes was proof that she wasn't alone.