The Forever Tree

by Rosanne Bittner

  The other men groaned and cussed as Will raked in his money and shouted for another drink. He looked around as he waited for the drink and for the man next to him to deal. The saloon was filled with men of all sorts—Spaniards, Americans, most of them sailors and fishermen, gamblers and traders. Prostitutes hung around the necks of some, offering themselves. Most of the women were Spanish, a few Chinese. All night he and Derek had been careful to watch their backs, staying away from alleys and dark places.

  Will picked up his new hand, seeing nothing worth betting on.

  “You Will Lassater?”

  Will looked up at a powerfully built, dark-haired man who appeared to be in his late thirties. “I am.”

  The man folded his arms, as though to display his muscles even more. “They say you made an announcement in here earlier that you’re looking for loggers, men who want to cut trees for you.”

  Will threw in his cards without even bothering to discard and get new ones. “I am. You looking for work?”

  The man put out his hand. “Name’s Noel Gray. I’ve got a wife and kids up north a ways. Came here to find work. I worked at a sawmill up there, but the owner didn’t really know what he was doing and he ran out of money and closed up, took off for the gold fields.”

  Will shook his hand, rising to meet him. “You sound like just the kind of man I’m looking for. I guarantee you I know how to run a sawmill that will stay in business.”

  “Well, I came to California with a dream of gold, like a lot of other men, but I soon figured out that for every hundred men who come here, maybe one finds gold. Even those that find it usually don’t have the means to mine it right and end up selling their claim for less than they’re worth. Back in Pennsylvania I worked at a sawmill, so I decided to get back to what I know best. Just my luck that mill up near Santa Rosa went under.”

  Will grinned with excitement. “You know about cutting redwoods?”

  “I know they’re brittle as hell and have to be handled just right or they break apart when they fall. I know you can’t cut them at the base like the hardwoods back home. The base is full of pitch and the wood is nothing but fiber from a couple hundred years of swaying. You don’t bring down one of those trees by yourself. It takes two fallers, and the men have to climb up to the best cutting height. Those trees take two cuts, an undercut and a back cut, and one tree can take two men a couple of days, sometimes a week, to bring it down.”

  “Damn!” Will turned and scooped up his money, begging out of the card game. “We have to find a place to talk. What was your name again?”

  “Noel Gray. I—”

  “Hey, mister, you can’t cut out of a game just because you’re ahead. It ain’t fair to the rest of us.” One of the other card players, a drunken sailor, stood up and glared at Will. “Sit your ass back down, greenhorn. You ain’t in some fancy saloon back east playin’ with your rich friends.”

  “I need to talk to this man. I’ll rejoin the game later.” Will started to turn away, but the sailor grabbed his arm. Will jerked it away. “Why don’t you go sleep it off somewhere?”

  The sailor was obviously looking for an excuse for a brawl. “I don’t take insults from strangers,” he said, and took a swing at Will. Will dodged him and came up with a hard right to the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling. One of the sailor’s friends sprang out of his chair and lunged at Will, and the fight was on. Derek grabbed his money and shoved it into his pockets as another man pounced on Will. Derek dived in and pulled him off, and in seconds the entire saloon was filled with men fighting over nothing. Someone landed a fist into Noel Gray, who had no choice but to fight back. Drinks went flying, tables sprawling, cards and money scattered everywhere. Those who were not fighting crawled around among scuffling feet to try to grab up the loose money, while the women screamed and dodged bodies and fists.

  Will knocked the first man flat, but he was quickly replaced by another. He was vaguely aware that Derek had pulled yet another man off his back. He picked up his opponent and literally hurled the man over the bar, his body smashing into the mirror behind it. The bartender began cussing and hitting men over the heads with whiskey bottles.

  So many men came at him then, Will hardly knew who to swing at next. He took several blows, but landed just as many with his own big fists.

  “Let’s get out of here!” he heard Derek yell. “Work your way to the door!”

  Will tried to do just that, noticing that Noel Gray was also caught in the melee. It seemed everyone in the saloon was against him, Derek, and Noel. They fought their way to the door amid fists and curses, and sent a couple of men sprawling outside.

  “Run!” Derek told Will. “This way!”

  Will was not a man to run from anything, but he figured in this situation, Derek knew best. He followed, and Noel Gray was right with him. Derek led them up the street, a few men on their heels. He charged into a house and slammed the door. “Save us, Rosy,” he said to a woman standing right in front of them.

  Will and Noel stood there panting, faces and knuckles bleeding, and it took a minute for Will to realize they were in a fancy whorehouse. He stared around at a roomful of buxom Spanish women who smiled seductively at him, one of them making a remark about the strong-looking gringo. The woman called Rosy opened the door again and ordered the men outside to go back to what they were doing. She threw a few choice curse words at them in Spanish, and they dispersed.

  Will stared at her in surprise. Apparently this prostitute had a lot of influence. Rosy closed the door and faced Derek, and Will wondered if there was a woman alive who had a bigger bosom than Rosy. He had never seen anything quite like hers, and she was not even fat, just a little stout. She was short and not very pretty, and she had a stern look to her that made him understand why men obeyed her. She put her hand to Derek’s crotch and rubbed it.

  “Well, you big Swede, I see you’ve got yourself in trouble again. It’s been a whole year since I’ve seen you. I wondered if you’d make it back.”

  “I didn’t start the trouble this time. My friend here did, Will Lassater.”

  Will stood there panting and speechless as Rosy turned her dark eyes on him to size him up. “Well, well,” she said, smiling. “You’re a handsome one.” She glanced at Noel Gray. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “I’m married,” Noel said. “I only came in here because my friends did.”

  Rosy studied his broad shoulders. “Too bad.”

  Will wiped at blood on his lip. “Look, ma’am, I appreciate your getting rid of those men. Is there a place where we can wash up?”

  Rosy nodded toward a curtained doorway. “In the kitchen. If either of you wants a warm bed for the night, I can fix you up.” She turned to Derek. “I know where Derek here will be sleeping.”

  Derek grinned. “Will, this is Rosy Hernandez. She runs a nice, clean place here.” He wiped at blood near his eye. “I’m staying here tonight. You’d better do the same. Wait till morning to go to the hotel. I can guarantee there will be men waiting for you to come out of here tonight, and some of them will have knives and guns. You’ll have to stay.”

  Will looked at Noel. “Sorry about this mess.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Noel turned to Rosy. “I’ll stay too. I’ll pay you for a room, but I have no interest in one of your girls. I have a wife.”

  Rosy shrugged. “Sure.” She looked at Will. “What about you? I’ve got lots of girls to choose from.”

  Will glanced at the several women who sat staring at him, most of them quite young. He thought about Santana Lopez, her satin skin and sweet smile. None of these prostitutes could compare, but he was beginning to understand how easily a man could get lost in the dark beauty of these Spanish women. It had been a long voyage here, months without a woman. He felt displaced, confused, and he was sure it was partly because of the whiskey he had drunk. Visions of Santana kept spinning in front of him.

  “I’ll take the girl over there,” he said, pointing to one who
reminded him most of the woman who had just that morning tasted his syrup with beautiful lips. “First I have to wash off this blood and talk to Noel.”

  He and Noel went into the kitchen, where Will pumped some water into a bowl and used it to rinse his face. He picked up a towel and dabbed at the cuts on his hands. “We need to talk more, Mr. Gray, but obviously this is not the time. Again, I’m sorry for this mess. I don’t usually hang around saloons and get into brawls and sleep with whores. I just arrived here this morning, and I figured the docks would be full of men out of work. I need to build a crew before I can start my sawmill.”

  Noel pumped some clean water for himself. “I understand,” he answered, washing his own hands and face. “I was only down here because I was about to give up finding decent work and was feeling sorry for myself. I couldn’t believe it when somebody in that saloon told me you were looking for men to cut timber for you. That’s what I do best.”

  Will sat down at the table. “You’ve already told me things I’ve never heard before, even though I’ve been in the logging business all my life. I need men who know a little something about these trees out here. I’m leaving day after tomorrow to go talk to a Spanish rancher north of here who might let me stump out his land. Will you come with me? I’d like you along when I get my first look at the big redwoods.”

  Noel nodded. “I’ll come. My family also lives north of here, so it will be on my way home.”

  “I won’t be able to get into logging right away,” Will said. “I’m waiting for more equipment to arrive, and then I have to build the mill. I can give you a job helping me do that, and you and I and Derek can continue looking for more men to build a crew. Derek is the man out there who helped us escape. I met him on the ship coming here from Maine. He’s really a sailor, but he agreed to stay in port this time and go to work for me. I figured with his size and all, he’d be perfect for the job, strong and unattached. I’ll need you to teach him and others what to do. Will you be my camp foreman?”

  Noel lowered the towel from his face, surprise in his eyes. “You hardly know me.”

  “I’m a pretty good judge of men.”

  Noel grinned. Will could see he had probably been a handsome man, but hard work and age were catching up with him, although neither seemed to have affected his strength. “Out here we call a camp foreman bull of the woods,” he told Will.

  “Will you do it?”

  Noel walked over and put out his hand again. “You know I will.”

  Will shook his hand and said, “Tomorrow I’m getting a room at the Golden Palace. Come there with me and I’ll get a room for you too. We can talk over supper tomorrow night.” He looked around the room. “I guess for tonight we’re relegated to this place. I promise never to tell your wife where you stayed.”

  Noel laughed. “I appreciate that. You’re a real godsend, Mr. Lassater.”

  “Call me Will.”

  “Then you call me Noel. I’ll do my best for you, Will.”

  “That’s all a man can ask.” Will looked toward the doorway. “I don’t usually spend a lot of time in places like this, but it’s been a long time, if you know what I mean.”

  Noel laughed again, a little blood still trickling from a cut on his lip. “Go do what you have to do. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Will walked through the curtained doorway to see the young Spanish girl waiting for him. She was nowhere near as pretty as Santana Lopez, but that did not matter at the moment. She smiled and opened her robe to show him her body, full breasts with dark nipples, shapely hips. As she led him up the stairs, Will could feel the long day catching up with him. The minute he saw the bed, he didn’t even care about sex. He just wanted to sleep.

  He woke in the wee hours of the morning to find he was completely naked, the Spanish girl sleeping beside him. He pulled the covers away and studied her voluptuous body. Running a big hand over her silken skin. He cupped a breast and leaned over to taste her nipple. She stirred awake.

  “Mi amante,” she whispered.

  He raised up to greet her lips with his own, quickly on fire for a woman. Her tongue snaked into his mouth, and he moved on top of her, sliding his throbbing shaft inside her. “Santana,” he whispered. He buried himself deep, and too soon the life spilled out of him in his great need. “Just lie still,” he told the girl. “We will do it again.” In moments the life throbbed into his loins once more, for all he had to do was close his eyes and imagine the woman beneath him was Santana Maria Chavez Lopez. He could hardly believe that he had actually remembered her full name.

  Santana watched from the balcony, her heartbeat quickening, as the gringo, Will Lassater, pulled up in front of Hugo’s mansion in a wagon loaded with baggage and a myriad of axes and saws and other tools. An older man, also a gringo, was with him, but it was not the tall, rather homely blond-haired man she had met on the cargo ship. She watched Hugo step out of the house to greet them, and she quickly turned away so he would not see she had been watching for the American. Hugo had told her he’d asked Senor Lassater to come here, rather than their meeting him at his hotel. Hugo wanted to show off his house to the American.

  Donning her hat and veil, Santana called to Louisa that she was ready. Her bags were already packed, and her happiest moments in life now were when it was time to leave San Francisco to go home again. She was even happier this time, knowing she did not have to travel the next three days with just Hugo. The handsome American would be along!

  Louisa came from an adjoining room, wearing a little flowered hat and a plain blue dress. “You are happy to go back to La Estancia de Alcala,” she said.

  “Five days is too long in this place,” Santana answered. “I long for the beauty and quiet of home, and I miss my father.” She rushed out of the room and down the wide marble stairs, anxious to leave this cold house and its echoing halls. She hurried to the front door, knowing Hugo’s carriage was already parked in front, packed and ready to go. She opened the door and walked into something broad and hard, realizing in a split second that it was a man’s body. She gasped, embarrassed, and backed away. It was Will Lassater whom she had run into.

  “I am so sorry, Senor Lassater!” she exclaimed. “I was coming outside—”

  “And in quite a hurry!” Will said, all of his senses awakened at the sight of her. She wore a lovely mint-green dress, again with hat and veil to match, as well as gloves. Her brown skin was beautiful against the green color, her arms slender, the cut of her bodice showing a hint of her full breasts.

  Hugo stepped between them, taking Santana’s arm and squeezing it just enough that it hurt. “Yes, what is your hurry, my dear?” he asked, his eyes blazing with anger. “You will make the American think you are anxious to leave the home of your intended. I did not even call for you yet.”

  Hugo had never before even hinted at hurting her, and Santana felt a sick fear. “I—I knew the carriage was packed and ready. When I heard Senor Lassater’s wagon pull up, I assumed you were ready to go. I did not want to keep you waiting, Hugo.”

  He smiled, but there was a wickedness behind it that reminded Santana how easily this man could be displeased. “I understand,” he said. “Go back to your room, Santana. I want to show Senor Lassater my home.”

  Will felt like yanking the man away from Santana. He could see Hugo was hurting her arm, and when he finally let go, deep white imprints showed where his fingers had squeezed too hard. He glimpsed tears of embarrassment and indignity in Santana’s eyes, and he suspected she was a proud lady who was only holding her tongue because there were strangers present. She glanced at Will once more before turning and rushing up the stairs.

  “The young ones are so impetuous,” Hugo said. “I will tame her once she is my wife.”

  Will firmly controlled the keen urge to land a fist into the man. He had to stay calm. This was none of his business, and this man was about to lead him to what he claimed was some of the finest timber in California. Will had a premonition that the day would
come when he could no longer bear the thought of the beautiful Santana being forced to marry such a hard, arrogant man as Hugo Bolivar, but he had not even met the woman’s family yet. Maybe he was wrong about it being a forced marriage. What made it all harder was the fantasizing he had been doing about Santana. Try as he might, he could not stop thinking about her, and now that he had seen her again, smelled her lovely scent, realized she was even more beautiful than he remembered, it would be even more difficult to stay out of her life.

  He followed Hugo around the mansion, thinking how it lacked warmth. It was designed similarly to some of the brick mansions back east, but it seemed out of place here in California. He thought how his parents’ home was just about as big, yet it had always been cheerful and warm, full of love. That was what he suspected was lacking in this house. He could already see that Hugo Bolivar was a man who loved only one thing…money.

  He glanced at Noel, who made the tour with him, and they both shook their heads. “Give me a little cabin in the woods any day,” Noel said quietly when Hugo walked into another room.

  “I agree,” Will answered. Both men grudgingly followed Hugo around, listening to his bragging, pretending to be interested. Finally Hugo announced they must get underway, as it was a long trip.

  “We will have plenty of time to talk business on the way,” he said.

  Will was relieved, for he was eager to see the trees at La Estancia de Alcala. He and Noel walked outside to their wagon to wait.

  “Who was that pretty woman?” Noel asked.

  “Bolivar’s fiancée,” Will answered.

  “She looks pretty damn young for him.”

  “She’s the daughter of the man who might let me timber out his land. She comes from a wealthy family, and I think it’s an arranged marriage. You probably know more about Spanish customs than I do. You’ve been out here longer. At any rate, I don’t think she’s very happy about the marriage.”

  Noel shrugged. “I don’t think they necessarily arrange marriages or force them. I only know they’re pretty strict in their ways, very protective of their daughters—at least the upper-class ones are. I imagine her father more or less expects her to marry a wealthy Spanish man, and this one might be a good friend of the family. Spanish daughters take great honor in pleasing their fathers.” Noel nudged Will in the ribs. “Then, of course, there are the loose, wild women, like the one you were with two nights ago.”