In the Shadow of the Mountains

by Rosanne Bittner

  Bea looked around the table. “I want all of you to realize that I need you now,” she said. “You’re all getting old enough to start taking a more active role in the family businesses. And since you will some day inherit what your father and I have worked to build, it is important that you cooperate now, not just with me and your father, but with each other. Is that clear?”

  They all nodded. Dessert was served, but Irene could not eat hers. She excused herself early, giving her apologies to Chad and saying she didn’t feel well. “I think it’s just the worry over Father,” she said. Bea allowed her to go, and Irene fled upstairs. Elly smiled, sure Irene had gone to her room to have a good cry over her precious Ramon.

  Once they had all finished their meal, Chad left. Bea retired to her sewing room, where she often went to be alone. She had few domestic gifts anymore, but she still liked to sew and embroider. One domestic chore she had long ago decided she would never do again was wash and iron clothes, even if she had to wear her clothes until they rotted and fell off. Now she had servants who did those things, and she intended to keep it that way, which meant guarding the Kirkland fortune with her life.

  She turned up an oil lamp and sat down in front of a large wooden frame on which a linen dresser cloth was stretched. She was embroidering flowers onto the cloth. She took up needle and thread and continued the design where she had left off last, which had been several days ago. She looked up in surprise then when Elly walked into the room.

  “There is something I think you should know, Mother,” the girl spoke up hesitantly.

  Bea finished a couple of stitches. “Close the door and come and tell me.”

  Elly obeyed, her heart pounding with glee. She kept a sober face, coming to sit down across from her mother.

  “Well,” the woman said. “I’m waiting. And don’t be telling me something just to be a tattletale. And don’t be making anything up.”

  “I’m not making it up, Mother, I swear on the Bible. And it’s…it’s kind of like being a tattletale, but it’s for the good of the family, and so I have to tell you. You would want me to tell you.”

  “Then tell me,” Bea said, sounding irritated.

  “It’s about Irene…and that Mexican man, Ramon Vallejo.”

  In spite of her dark complexion, Bea paled visibly. The woman moved the embroidery frame aside so that she could see Elly better, and her dark eyes drilled into her daughter’s. “What about them?” she asked, her voice husky with anger. “And don’t you be making this up, Eleanor May Kirkland! You’re my daughter, and I love you dearly, but I know you are jealous of your sister. You shouldn’t be, you know. Irene loves you.”

  “I love her, too, Mother,” Elly lied. “I know I don’t show it, but that’s just the way sisters are. If I didn’t love her, I wouldn’t be telling you this. Besides, it’s partly for the whole family. You wouldn’t want a Mexican man sharing our fortune, would you? And think of the humiliation to the Kirkland name if one of us took up with a greaser?”

  “I speak against them, Elly, but I don’t use those names. I’ll not have you using them either. And what makes you think Irene has ‘taken up,’ as you put it, with Ramon Vallejo?”

  Elly sighed, looking at her lap and pretending to feel bad about having to tell her mother the story. “Irene rode up to the new house today. She knew he would be there alone. I didn’t realize it myself until I walked up there to tell her it was time to get ready for the parade. She wasn’t anywhere about.”

  She looked over at her mother then. “Then I heard horses. I saw them coming—Irene and Ramon. They had been riding together.”

  Bea closed her eyes, looking as if she might faint.

  “I couldn’t believe it myself,” Elly went on. “I waited just inside the door to see for sure. They had been riding hard. I think there had been trouble. Irene said something to him about how he had risked his life for her, and how brave he was. Then he helped her down from Sierra, and then…then he kissed her.”

  Bea’s eyes flashed open. “What!”

  “He kissed her…full on the mouth…a real long kiss. He held her real close, and she let him. And he didn’t kiss her just once, but twice. She put her arms around his neck, and they said they loved each other and that somehow they would figure out how they could be together.”

  Bea grasped Elly’s hands so tightly that Elly grimaced with pain. “Don’t you be lying about this, Elly!”

  “I’m not, Mother, I swear. Talk to Ramon, or Irene. You’ll know by the look in their eyes that I’m telling the truth.”

  Bea let go of Elly’s hands and covered her face. “This is what comes from me being so busy. I have neglected you children, left you in the care of others too long.” She seemed to sob, but Elly couldn’t see her eyes because her hands were still over her face.

  “What are you going to do, Mother?”

  Bea breathed deeply, throwing back her head and quickly wiping tears away. “I don’t know. I have to think about this.” She rested her red, swollen eyes on Elly. “This is just between the two of us, do you understand?” Elly nodded. “You are not to tell your father, or John, or any of your friends, and certainly not Chad Jacobs. If you do, you will be severely punished.”

  Elly knew how far she could push her mother. This was one time she would not disobey the woman’s wishes. “I won’t say a word. And please, Mother, if you go to Irene with it, don’t tell her I’m the one who told. She wouldn’t understand that I did it for her own good.”

  Inside she wanted to shout with glee. She knew it was hopeless to think Chad Jacobs would ever look at her with love and desire. She would have to live with this terrible longing for him that made her stomach hurt most of the time. She wanted Irene to suffer the pain, to know how it felt not to be able to have the man she loved. Even pretty Irene could not always have what she wanted.

  “I won’t let on who told me,” Bea answered. “You go up to bed now. I have to decide what to do about this.”

  Elly gave her a kiss on the cheek and left, and Bea leaned back in her rocker, closing her eyes. Irene! Her beautiful, precious Irene. It was the Indian in her, that must be what it was! Indian women were loose and too open with their affection. Irene was too generous and loving for her own good, and Bea had to nip this in the bud. One thing was certain. There would be no more horseback riding. She would put a stop to that once and for all.

  And as for Ramon…she shuddered at the thought of Irene allowing a Mexican man to kiss her. This had to end immediately, but she was wise enough to realize the worst way to discourage Irene was to face her with it and order her never to see the young man again. She might rebel and run off with him. Sometimes young women in love did foolish things. She had seen it happen all around her, although she had never felt that kind of insane passion. Her reasons for running off with Kirk had been entirely different.

  There had to be a better way to end this ridiculous romance, a way to get Ramon out of Irene’s system without her daughter ever knowing her mother had anything to do with it. It had to be Ramon himself who discouraged her.

  Yes, that was it. She would take care of this through Ramon, not through Irene. She would go and have a talk with the young man, tomorrow, and Irene would learn the cruel truth about men like Ramon. It would hurt for a while, but Chad Jacobs would help her get over it.

  Chapter Ten

  Ramon carefully finished the last leaf in the woodwork that would frame the fireplace in one of the guest bedrooms. He stood back to study it, satisfied that it was perfect. He took a deep breath, looking around the room and thinking what a grand house this was going to be, wondering if and how he would ever manage to be accepted by the kind of people who owned places like this.

  He walked to a window, staring out across the open land where he and Irene had ridden yesterday, wishing now that they had just kept going. Maybe they should have just run away right then and there, gotten married and consummated that marriage quickly so that nothing could be done about it.


  The thought of making love with Irene made him shiver with desire. He would be so good to her, so gentle with her. He knew when he held her yesterday and tasted her mouth that they belonged together. It had felt so right, and he believed they could be happy. He loved her for the sweet and loving woman she was, and he knew without asking that if she had to give up her family’s money to be with him, she would do it.

  Had he been wrong not to run off with her? Wrong to think this could be done the right way? He still had his grandfather to face, and then the Kirklands. How was he going to convince them that he was the right man for Irene, that he was not marrying her for her money? He intended to be as wealthy as any man someday. He would work himself to death to provide for his beautiful Irene, to show her family that he could do it.

  He had hoped Irene would find a way to come and see him today. There was still time. It was not noon yet. But he feared she would be unable to come. One of the workers had said he heard her father had been wounded at Glorietta Pass. It was possible Irene intended to stay with her father today, and he could not blame her; but he longed to see her again, hold her again, breathe in her lovely scent, feel her breasts crushed against his chest.

  He sighed, turning to pick up a broom and sweep up wood shavings from the floor. He heard a woman’s voice below then, heard one of the workers greet “Mrs. Kirkland.” His heart rushed. Mrs.? Maybe he had heard wrong. Maybe it was Miss. He smiled, setting the broom aside and hurrying out the door and to the top of the stairway. His smile faded when he saw Beatrice Kirkland coming up the stairs, skirts hitched, a definite purpose to her steps.

  Somehow he knew without asking that she was coming to see him, and his mind immediately went back to yesterday, and Elly. Had she seen more than she let on? He scrambled to think straight. He was not prepared for this. He had intended to give it some time, to approach the Kirklands on his own terms.

  He quickly reentered the room where he had been working, picking up a carving tool and hoping the Kirkland matriarch would pass his room. Perhaps she had only come for another inspection on the progress of the house.

  His whole body tingled with alarm and self-defense when he heard the skirts of her brown taffeta dress rustle into the room. He turned to face her, trying to look casual, determined that whatever happened, she would not make him grovel. He sensed Beatrice Kirkland enjoyed flaunting her power, and she glared at him now with those penetrating dark eyes, looking ready to fly into a tirade.

  “Buenos días, Señora Kirkland,” he spoke up calmly, squarely meeting her eyes.

  She looked him over with the same scathing look he had seen in Elly’s eyes yesterday. She turned and closed the door to the room, and he was certain then why she had come. He stood waiting for her to speak first, as she flounced across the room to inspect the fireplace frame. She touched the carving with hands almost too muscular to belong to a woman, then turned to face Ramon. She stood nearly as tall as he did.

  “You do fine work, Mr. Vallejo,” she said coolly. “And you apparently have taught John well, although I totally disapprove of him coming here so often. Since there is so little left, I believe I’ll let John finish what needs finishing. If it isn’t quite the same quality, that will be my problem. You’re finished with your work here, Mr. Vallejo.”

  He held her eyes, his own smoldering. “I know why you are here, Señora Kirkland. Apparently your daughter Elly—”

  “Leave Elly out of this! This is between you and me now.”

  “I love Irene,” he said boldly. “I would die for her. I would never bring her harm or—”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Mr. Vallejo. If you truly love Irene, then you should want what is best for her. Perhaps she thinks she loves you, but she is only sixteen, and in time, she will understand what a foolish thing she has done. I am doing everything in my power to be sure that you and I and Irene are the only ones who know about this, Mr. Vallejo. I want it to go no further, for Irene’s sake.”

  “Irene’s sake? Perhaps you are only thinking of yourself and the precious Kirkland name,” he answered, keeping his voice low and calm, but there was fire in his eyes. “Perhaps that name and your money mean more to you than your daughter’s happiness!”

  “And perhaps the name and the money mean a great deal to you, too.”

  “They mean nothing to me! I have a name, too, señora, and there is royal blood in my family. My grandfather owns the biggest hacienda north of Mexico, and he would be much wealthier even than you if not for the Mexican Revolution. My family lost much, but we retain our dignity and our royal bloodlines. As for me, I intend to be a wealthy man in my own right some day. I am working hard toward this goal. I have lined up enough customers on my own to go into business for myself.”

  “Fine. I hope you do well, Mr. Vallejo. But none of it has anything to do with my daughter. You cannot convince me you aren’t attracted to the Kirkland money, and even if you aren’t, I will not have her cavorting with a Mexican. She will marry properly.”

  He drew in his breath, imagining how pleasant it would be to plant his hands around her throat. “It might interest you to know, Señora Kirkland, that my love for Irene will bring the same reaction from my grandfather as it has from you. He would think I was marrying below my station if I took a gringa for a wife. He would think Irene was not good enough for me!”

  This time it was Bea who stiffened. The audacity of his statement was beyond her belief. Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer. “Let me make you understand, Mr. Vallejo. To begin with, if you really love Irene, you will end this, here and now. Do you want to see her suffer humiliation and gossip? Do you want her to have to go without until you’re able to give her all the things she is used to having? I’ve been through that, Mr. Vallejo. My husband couldn’t properly provide for me either, in the beginning. The hardships I suffered left a permanent wall between us, left a bitterness inside me that has never died. Is that what you want for Irene?”

  “It would not be that way for us.”

  “Wouldn’t it? Think about what you are doing! Why put her through all of that when you could quickly end it, while she is still young? Why not end it now, before the commitment becomes so deep that neither of you can back out? If it is a white woman you’re panting after, Mr. Vallejo, there are others out there who might be willing to take the risks of marrying a poor Mexican. Go and find yourself another!”

  Bea thought for a moment that the man was going to hit her. She almost wished that he would. It would give her plenty of reasons to have him kicked out of Denver. She saw a certain pride in his eyes she had not expected. He was not afraid to face her and admit his love, and he was indeed handsome. It was too bad he was a poor carpenter, but even that was not as bad as the fact that he was Mexican.

  “Is that what you think, that I just love her white skin?” His jaw flexed in anger. “There are others with skin much whiter, Señora Kirkland. And there are plenty of white girls who look at me with lust in their eyes. My love for your daughter has nothing to do with her race or her money or her beauty. It has to do with the kind of person she is. Irene is much more beautiful on the inside even than the outside. And when I look at you and listen to your cruel words of hate and prejudice, I wonder how in the world you produced such a sweet, loving daughter. I can hardly believe your blood runs in her veins!”

  She started to slap him, but he caught her wrist. He barely squeezed, but Bea felt his power. “You can hit me with your words, Señora Kirkland, but I am a man, and you will not humiliate me by physically touching me.” He let go of her wrist, giving her arm a light shove as he did so. Their eyes held in challenge for several seconds, until finally Bea sighed and turned away, rubbing at her wrist. She walked to a window, realizing that Kirk would probably like this man’s spunk and pride. She had to get rid of Ramon before Kirk knew what was happening and had a say in it.

  “I came here to try to reason with you, Mr. Vallejo,” she told him, looking out a window. “But I can see you are n
ot about to listen to the logical reasons why this thing with Irene must end.” She faced him then. “So, I must resort to methods I did not want to use. You leave me no choice.”

  He frowned, waiting for her to continue.

  “You say you have customers lined up, that you intend to get rich through your own carpentry business. I think you are aware that I could put an end to that business before you even get started. I have the power, Mr. Vallejo. People in this town listen to me, and if I ask them not to do business with you, they won’t.”

  How he hated her! He planted his hands on his hips, glaring at her. “Denver is not the only city in this country, Señora Kirkland. I can take Irene and go someplace else.”

  “Yes, I suppose you could. But you have already built a reputation here, so going someplace new would slow you down considerably, and you’re talking about dragging Irene around while you look for work like a beggar. Perhaps you could still make it work, but in the meantime, you would have the burden of guilt on your shoulders for knowing you were responsible for displacing your family and reducing them to wandering nomads. Since they lost so much in Mexico, I doubt they have the money to buy up enough land to run the kind of ranch they are running down around Colorado City. Am I right?”

  Ramon frowned. “I do not understand.”

  A sly smile made one side of Bea’s mouth curve. “Your grandfather, and whoever else in your family lives south of here on the grand hacienda you brag about, are nothing more than squatters, Mr. Vallejo. They do not legally own that land. They came up here from Mexico and picked out a place to settle—land that has since come into the hands of the United States. Have you heard of the Homestead Act, Mr. Vallejo?”