“Well,” he answered, “a man can’t live that way forever. It’s time for me to be taking on some responsibilities myself. Just be glad you didn’t wait till my age just to get started. A forty-year-old man ought to have a family and be all settled in, not still roaming around like an Indian.”
“I’ll help all I can, Red. Come on. Let’s walk outside. I need some fresh air.”
The two men rose, and Red helped Kirk walk out of the room, wondering how Bea Kirkland would feel about his staying for dinner. He had no doubts that the woman wished he had never shown up at all.
Ramon knelt in the small Catholic chapel nestled in the foothills of Pikes Peak. In the sweeping valley below the chapel lay Hacienda del Sur. It had felt good to come home, had brought him at least a little comfort to see the beautiful ranch land he had preserved for his grandfather by giving up the only woman he would ever truly love.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” he prayed, “help my heart to heal. Help me get over the pain of it, and to love Elena as a man should love his wife. Tomorrow Elena will be mine, but my heart cries out for another.”
A tear slipped down his cheek, and he could not continue. He heard footsteps behind him, turning to see his grandfather standing in the aisle. The chapel was empty except for them, and its double doors of rich, dark wood of Spanish design stood open because of the pleasantly warm day. Ramon quickly wiped at the tear. “Abuelo! What are you doing here?”
Miguel Vallejo walked closer, always standing straight and tall. He was still a handsome man, in spite of the wrinkles in his aging face. His hair was still thick and dark, except for a blaze of white at the temples. His dark eyes showed life and energy, but for the moment they also expressed concern as the old man approached Ramon.
He held out a hand that displayed two gold rings, remnants of his past wealth. He touched Ramon’s arm. “Come and sit down, mi nieto. I wish to talk to you.”
Ramon followed the man to a pew, where they sat down on the cool, polished wooden seat. Always dressed immaculately, Miguel today wore black cotton pants with a white shirt that sported bloused sleeves and was decorated with colorful embroidered designs. The old man turned to his grandson, putting one arm on the back of the pew.
“I want the truth, Ramon,” the old man told him. “You said in your last letter that you would not be back from Denver until the end of the summer—that you had a lot of business there with your carving and that you might even go into business on your own. Suddenly you show up here, and I see a terrible unhappiness in your eyes. Suddenly you want to marry Elena right now and not wait a moment longer, but I do not see love and desire in your eyes when you tell me this. I see a troubled man. I followed you today, and I saw you come here to pray. Why, mi nieto? What happened in Denver to send you home unexpectedly, and to put such sorrow in your eyes?”
Ramon looked away. “I cannot tell you, abuelo. It would only make you ashamed of me.”
Miguel smiled sorrowfully, aching for his grandson’s unhappiness. “Nothing you could ever do would make me ashamed of you, Ramon.”
Ramon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and hanging his head. “This would.”
Miguel put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me tell you what I think it is. I think you found another woman.”
Ramon looked at him in surprise, and Miguel knew he was right. Ramon turned away again, and Miguel rubbed at his shoulders. “There is only one thing that puts the kind of pain in a young man’s eyes that I see in yours, mi nieto. I am not so old that I have forgotten such feelings. You only made it more obvious by being so anxious to marry Elena, as though marrying her would make you forget.”
“It will help.”
“Perhaps. But you must not take it out on Elena and be unkind to her. You must remember that she truly does love you, and that she has not been with a man. Do not release your frustrations on her and frighten her, Ramon.”
Ramon sighed, resting his head in his hands, feeling insane with the want of Irene. “I won’t,” he answered quietly.
“There is something else I am thinking,” Miguel spoke up. “I am thinking that because you did not tell me about this other woman, that perhaps she was a gringa. Am I right?”
Ramon kept his head in his hands. After a long silence he answered. “Her name is Irene Kirkland. She is the daughter of the people who were building a new home where I worked.” He sighed deeply. “I know this upsets you, abuelo, but she was unlike any gringa I have known. She was…sweet and good…generous and loving. She loved me just for me. She had no prejudice against a Mexican man. She is practically incapable of unkindness and bad thoughts.”
“If she was so good, and you loved her so much, why are you here without her? Why did you not bring her here and insist the family accept her? Did you give all this up just because you are promised to Elena, a woman you apparently do not love the same?”
Ramon straightened, rising and walking a few feet away. “I had no choice. Her family is very wealthy. Her mother found out about us.” He faced his grandfather. “She threatened to take away our land, to destroy Hacienda del Sur. She can do it, abuelo, and she will, if I don’t stay away from Irene.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, waiting for his grandfather’s tirade.
The old man sighed. “I am sorry for you, Ramon. I know how love hurts at your age. I was afraid such a thing would happen if you went to that big town. What about the girl? What does she say about all of it?”
Ramon shook his head. “I don’t know. I never got to see her again. I don’t think she even knows her mother talked to me. By now she”—the ache returned to his throat—“she probably thinks I abandoned her, that I was just toying with her…a dirty Mexican out to grab a kiss from a pretty white girl. That is how her mother will make her see it.”
Miguel sighed deeply, rising and standing close to his grandson, reaching out and grasping his arms. “Ramon, you should have known it could not work. It is a difficult thing you have had to do, and I love and respect you for giving away a piece of your heart for the sake of the family. I am proud of you, mi nieto. I must assure you that after a time, the hurt will ease, and you will realize it was all for the best. I have told you many times you should marry a good Catholic girl of your own race, a girl who understands a man like yourself, believes the same as you. This saves much heartache over the years, Ramon. And I think that once you marry Elena and share her bed, you will discover what a good wife she can be, and you will be loved just as much as the gringa would have loved you—perhaps more, because the white woman comes from a different world, Ramon. The difference between you would one day have caused problems.”
Ramon shook his head and turned away. “Not with Irene. If you knew her, you would know what I mean.” He put his head back, looking up at a crucifix. “It does not matter now. I will not shame the family and cause you again to be sent running and wandering. Now that I am here, it is a little easier. I know I must forget Irene, or at least set her aside in my heart and make room for Elena.”
Miguel touched his arm. “You are not the first Vallejo to marry on a promise, mi nieto. My marriage to your grandmother was arranged, and we had fifty happy years together. I learned to love her more than my own life, especially when she gave me sons and daughters. It will be this way for you and Elena.”
Ramon turned to face him. “You are not angry with me?”
Miguel smiled. “No. A little disappointed, perhaps; but you have learned a good lesson, Ramon, and you have proven your family pride and loyalty, proven what a strong man you are to be able to turn away from this great desire for the sake of the family, and for Elena’s sake. She would be heartbroken if she knew, Ramon, as heartbroken as you feel right now. You must never tell her about this other woman.”
The old man reached out and embraced his grandson. “I will not tell her,” Ramon said quietly. They remained in an embrace for several seconds, Miguel patting Ramon’s back.
Finally Ramon pulled away, his eyes wet with tears
of determination and hurt pride. “I am going back to Denver after we are married, abuelo.”
Miguel looked alarmed. “Why, Ramon? It will only make this harder for you.”
Ramon shook his head, turning to pace. “I am going back. I have something to prove now, to myself and to Irene’s mother. I have seen and felt the power of wealth, and I will never again let someone threaten me the way Beatrice Kirkland threatened me.” He faced his grandfather again. “I am going back to finish what I started, abuelo. I am going to build my own business, and one day I will be as wealthy as the Kirklands! No gringa will look down on me again and think of me as a ‘poor Mexican.’” He spoke the words with bitter resolve, and Miguel saw a new fire in his grandson’s eyes.
“Be careful, mi nieto. Un gringo rico can be dangerous. To try to move into their world will not be easy.”
“Nothing could be more difficult than giving up Irene Kirkland. Her mother thinks she has discouraged me, but she has only made me more determined!”
Miguel searched his grandson’s dark, proud eyes. “Do it the right way, Ramon, with honor. Do not stoop to the ways of the gringo, cheating and lying to get what you want.”
Ramon breathed deeply. “Do not worry, abuelo. I do not need to resort to such things to prove the worth of a Vallejo.”
Miguel smiled. “Of course you don’t. Come back to Hacienda del Sur with me now. We have wedding plans to make. Tonight you will drink much wine and think only about Elena and the fact that tomorrow she will become your wife. We will have a grand fiesta! She is so beautiful, Ramon. She will help you forget. Soon you will desire only Elena.”
They both turned, kneeling and making the sign of the cross. “Good-bye, mi querida,” Ramon said silently, feeling as though someone was squeezing his heart in a vise. “Yo te amo. Para siempre.” He would be saying these words tomorrow to Elena, vowing to love her forever; but only he and his grandfather would know he had already said them to someone else, and even his grandfather did not understand that Irene Kirkland would always remain first in his heart. He left the chapel, wondering if he had made a decision he would regret for the rest of his life.
Irene walked to a window, looking to the higher bluffs where the new house sat. Now that Ramon was gone, the house meant nothing to her. She didn’t even want to move into it, because every time she looked at the beautifully carved beams and fireplace frames and mantels, she would think of Ramon.
Someone knocked at the door, and she pulled her robe closer and retied it before opening the door to see her father standing there. Ever since his friend Red McKinley had come to visit two days ago, Kirk had improved with astounding rapidity.
“How are you feeling, honey?” Kirk asked, coming into the room. It tore at his heart to see the circles under her eyes and to notice she had lost weight.
“Better,” she answered. “I…don’t know what happened. I must have had some kind of influenza. It’s just taking time for me to get over it.”
“Well, I have an idea,” Kirk told her, taking her hands. His blue eyes sparkled as they always did when he was preparing to go back into the mountains. Irene knew he and his friend were leaving the next day, against Bea’s wishes. “I’m thinking maybe that mountain air would be good for you like it is for me. You’ve begged me for years to take you with me to the mines. So what do you think? You want to come along?”
He saw a light in her eyes that he had not seen since she was younger and went riding with him. “Father! Do you mean it?”
He winked. “You bet I do. With Red coming along, you’ll have all the protection you need.”
She smiled, and it felt good. “What about Mother? Won’t she be angry?”
“Since when do I let that bother me?”
Irene laughed and hugged him. “Actually, for some strange reason, your mother didn’t object,” Kirk told her. “I guess she’s getting tired of arguing with me, and she’s a little worried about you. She knows how much you’ve wanted to do this, so I guess she agreed it might be a good way to get you back to your old self.”
“Oh, I have to go and thank her,” Irene said, little realizing her mother was allowing the trip only to soothe her own guilty conscience. She had secretly but deliberately hurt Irene, and she had not liked doing it. But it was done now, and she could hardly bear the girl’s obvious and utter sorrow.
“Just this one time,” she had told Kirk. “Chad is anxious to begin calling on her more often, and in a few weeks I’ll be having her party.”
Bea appeared at the doorway then, feeling a secret relief at Irene’s joy. Irene embraced her. “Thank you for letting me go, Mother.”
Bea felt a lump in her throat as she managed to hug the girl in return. “Well, I don’t totally approve, but then again one other person in the family ought to become familiar with the mines and how they’re operated. If it makes you happier, then that’s all that matters.”
Elly listened outside the door, seething with a new jealousy. John and Irene were both getting more involved in the family businesses, but because she was still considered too young, she once more felt left out. It was bad enough that she was being slighted, but again her father was showing everyone that Irene was his favorite. She stomped off to her room while Irene turned to hug her father again. “Oh, I have to get ready!”
“Myra and I will get everything packed that you need, and your father will see to packing the right gear on Sierra,” Bea told her. “You, child, will rest one more day. This will not be an easy trip for you after being so sick.”
“Oh, I feel much better already,” Irene answered as her mother herded her back to bed. She climbed in, and Bea leaned down to kiss her cheek, a rare affectionate gesture that made Irene wonder again at the strange looks Bea often gave her, as though she felt almost guilty about something. “I’ll have Elsa bring up some lunch,” she told Irene.
“Thank you,” her daughter answered, blowing a kiss to her father as Kirk left the room. Bea went out behind him, and Irene closed her eyes, breathing deeply with joy. Nothing anyone did could have helped ease her sorrow the way this news had. She realized she must try to get over Ramon, and it would help to get out of the house and do something new and exciting. To ride Sierra into the mountains alongside her father was to her the most wonderful adventure she could ever imagine.
She turned on her side, thinking about Ramon, wondering if he had truly gone back to Hacienda del Sur. Would he marry Elena? The ache of it was getting only slightly easier to bear. She could not hate him, for she was sure it was just as John had said. Ramon must have thought he was doing the right thing. It was her only consolation.
She had no idea Ramon was also lying in bed at the same moment, studying the bare shoulders of his new wife. She had given herself to him with such utter abandon, had allowed him to bring her pain when he took her virgin body the night before, all the while not realizing that in his heart and mind he was kissing another woman, cupping another woman’s breasts in his hands, invading another woman’s body. He wondered if God would forgive him for his adulterous thoughts, and he decided he had better go to confession.
Elena awakened and turned, meeting his eyes with love and trust in her own. She smiled, touching his hair. “My handsome Ramon. It is hard to believe you are my husband. Yo te amo, querido.”
Ramon smiled, leaning to kiss her mouth tenderly. “Mi querida Elena.” He moved on top of her, loving her for her innocent trust and utter devotion. He would make love to her again, and this time, for Elena, he would think only of her, see only her, be one only with Elena. A good Catholic husband did not cheat on his wife. He had not done so physically, but in his mind and heart he had, and he vowed it would not happen again. Elena was his wife now. It was done.
Part Three
The mountains rise to protect me,
To hold me fast.
They surround me like a fortress;
Their valleys and canyon floors cradle me.
Their bright colors comfort me, and
I belong here.
My soul comes from these mountains;
And someday, when death claims me,
I will become a part of their glory—
Howling with the wolves,
Singing with the birds,
Smiling with the wildflowers.
I belong here.
Chapter Twelve
Irene had never felt more alive, more at home. Here in these mountains she found a new strength. It was easier now to understand why her father preferred to be here rather than in the increasingly congested city, with all its constant movement and business and pressures, the litter and the noise.
There was a kind of peace here, perhaps because one felt closer to God when at elevations so high they sometimes rode through clouds. This was different from traveling through the Sierras and northern Rockies to get to Denver from California. Because of her mother’s fussing and Elly’s eternal complaining, let alone the worry over accidents and the noise involved in hauling the huge freight wagons, there had been little time to truly enjoy the mountains, to sit quietly beside a campfire and listen to the night sounds that would frighten her if her father and Red McKinley were not beside her.
Irene enjoyed nothing more than sitting beside those nightly fires listening to Kirk and Red talk about the old days, rehashing some of their adventures. Irene developed a new respect for her father when she realized just how skilled and brave a man he must have been back then, especially when Red told her about how Kirk had fought off Crow Indians to save his life.
Irene had heard many of the stories before, but Red, who liked to brag much more than Kirk, revealed details that Kirk had left out. Where Kirk had simply said he once fought several Crow Indians at once to save a friend, Red offered the exciting details, describing how Kirk had landed a rifle butt into one brave, turned it and fired into the next man’s “brisket,” which she now knew meant his belly, and rammed a hunting knife into another. Kirk would just sit quietly shaking his head, embarrassed, begging Red not to go into the gory details. But Irene wanted to hear those details, and she sat enraptured, for Red McKinley was indeed a good storyteller.
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