The Forever Tree

by Rosanne Bittner

  Nine

  “Watch yourself,” Will called back to Santana. “I hope Estrella is surefooted. Sometimes there’s a boulder hidden under the brush in places like this. Stay right behind me.”

  “I happen to be a very good rider, Will Lassater,” Santana answered as they made their way on horseback up a steep bank, “and Estrella is as surefooted as any horse in California. She loves me. She would never let me fall.”

  Will grinned. He didn’t have to turn around to know Santana had a pout on her beautiful face at his suggestion that she couldn’t ride as well as he. He was glad Dominic had given in to her begging to let her come and see the cutting, and even gladder that Dominic himself had been too tired to come. The man had entrusted Santana to him, had even let her ride alone with him, which made Will realize how much Dominic Alcala had come to trust him. He might not have been so willing if he had known Will’s true feelings for Santana.

  They made it to the top of the bank, and the ground leveled off for several hundred yards. Not far away was a clearing, where several men stood atop a gigantic redwood log, scraping at the bark.

  “Those are peelers,” Will told Santana. “The bark on redwoods is so hard and thick, it’s easier to transport the logs if you peel it off first. This is the tree you heard come down earlier today. It will be several days before another one is felled. It takes that long to cut through one and for these men to get this one out of here.

  “When the peelers are done, the buckers come in with two-man bucking saws and cut the trunk into sections of various lengths, from sixteen to forty feet, before they’re hauled by oxen down to the mill pond. The next tree will be cut into shorter sections for shingle bolts. Those will go down to the finishing mill to be shaved into roofing shingles.

  “Overall, the most important men I have are the bull whackers. They handle the oxen, sometimes ten yokes of them. Between the weight of the logs and sometimes the orneriness of the oxen, it can be a dangerous job.” He stopped his horse to watch the peelers for a minute, telling one of the men to inform the buckers he wanted this one cut into twenty-four-foot segments.

  “I will never remember all of this,” Santana said. She rode up beside him and looked at trees that towered overhead. “But it is fascinating.”

  Will smiled, appreciating her interest. “Well, there are some jobs you won’t get to observe. There are flume herders, men who keep the boards moving through the flumes between the mill up here and the finishing mill below. Then there are the men who keep the logs from jamming up in the pond and keep them floating in the river farther below. They’re called river pigs, or sometimes rollers. If you had more time, I’d take you and your father to the finishing mill, but it’s over half a day’s ride on horseback, through some pretty rugged country.”

  “You must have many men working for you.”

  “About fifty so far.” As they talked Will noticed how his men eyed Santana. Any man would appreciate her beauty, but some of these men came from the meanest quarters of San Francisco, and he had little doubt that the only women they were used to were the rough whores there. He hoped they knew they had better show some respect to the daughter of the man whose land they were using.

  One thing Santana would not want to visit, he thought, was the bigger bunkhouses where the single men were housed together. She would probably faint dead away at the mixture of odors, damp wool shirts and socks hanging up to dry, smoke from wood-burning stoves, kerosene, spittoons, sweat. Plenty of these men didn’t know the meaning of the word clean, but they were a hardy lot, most of them dependable. He was glad that so far no whores had followed them there. He wouldn’t want Santana to see just how wicked a logging camp could get, and he had no doubt that eventually the inevitable would happen. As his little settlement grew, the whores and whiskey peddlers would follow. He had made it very clear to all the men, though, that anyone caught drinking on the job would be fired.

  “We’ve all been learning together,” he continued. “I don’t know what I’d do without Noel. There are a few others here who’ve logged before, so I’ve had good help. Until coming here, I thought I knew all there was to know about logging, but it’s a whole different undertaking out here. I’ve never seen trees like this. I’ve had to learn things I never needed to know or do back home.”

  “So, you still think of Maine as home?”

  He turned to meet her eyes. “Wherever you’re born and raised, it’s always going to be home. But it’s becoming dimmer in my mind. I love it here now. I don’t think I could ever go back.” I don’t think I could ever leave you, or this beautiful land. “It would be dangerous to bring you here once we really get rolling. We try to cut new trees well away from where the buckers are working, but there’s always the danger of a new fall coming too close and injuring someone. At any rate, we aren’t at the pace of bringing down more than one tree every few days, so there’s no worry about another fall nearby. My goal is to have crews working at different areas around the clock, start on a new tree every day so that eventually we fell a tree a day. That will take a lot of men, not just up here, but also down at the mills. More bull whackers, more everything, including money.”

  “And you will be a very busy man.” Too busy to think about her, Santana thought.

  He nodded. “Come on. I’ll show you how the men do a back cut standing on springboards. Noel is my foreman up here. He’s probably working on a cut himself. He likes the physical labor.” Will rode on ahead of her again.

  “You should tell Noel that his wife and children miss him. Let him go and see them more often, Will. I saw Mrs. Gray at her cabin at the ranch before we left. She said to tell you to unchain her husband for a while and let him come home.”

  Will laughed, glancing back at her. “I don’t stop him from going to her. He’s up here because he loves it. He’s building a cabin for her. Should be done soon. Then she can come here and be with him. I’m even going to hire a schoolteacher for Noel’s children and the children of other families up here.” He led her on into a dense section of forest, where the sounds of men shouting and hatchets echoing through the trees seemed to disappear.

  Santana could no longer hear the distant sound of the huge band saw below them, and she saw no one about. Will turned his horse and faced her. “It’s pretty here,” he said. “I found this place not long after I decided to start cutting in this area. I don’t know why, but this particular spot seems special, the way the sun filters through the trees, the way all other sounds are shut out. I think I’ll leave this spot just like it is.”

  “Like the special place where I go to be alone?”

  He nodded. “Something like that.”

  Santana suddenly felt as though she had been brought here for a purpose. “I thought we were going to watch Noel chop down a tree.”

  Will smiled. “Believe me, the tree will still be there hours from now, days from now. There’s no hurry.”

  She blushed, unable to think of anything to say. There was a strange look in Will’s eyes, one that made her feel undressed, yet she did not mind the sensation. Why did she find that same look unbearable when she was with Hugo? “There is something you want to say?” She never thought she would find a gringo so appealing, but Will looked wonderful. He had bathed and shaved, and was wearing a clean plaid shirt and cotton pants that fit his hips in a way that stirred something in her she had never felt before. He was studying her intently, as though deciding if he should say anything at all. Finally he spoke up.

  “Be honest with me, Santana. You’re getting married in three months, but you still can’t stand Hugo Bolivar. Am I right?”

  She closed her eyes, part of her wishing he had not gotten into the subject again, yet another part of her glad that he had. Still, the situation was so hopeless…

  “All these months I have not seen you, and so quickly when we meet again you bring up my marriage to Hugo.” She met his gaze again. “It is not your concern, Will Lassater. I only came here to see your logging camp, not
to talk alone with you like this, not to discuss something so personal, something we have no right—”

  “I think you damn well did hope we’d get another chance to talk alone,” he interrupted. He dismounted, holding the reins of his horse as he walked closer to her. “I think the only reason you pestered your father to bring you this time is because the wedding is getting so close, and you’re more frightened about it every day. You came to see if I still cared, if maybe I had come up with a way to get you out of it.”

  Santana’s eyes widened in feigned disgust. She slid down from her horse and faced him. “That is ridiculous! Why on earth would I turn to a gringo to get me out of anything? And in this case, it would be hard enough for even the most honorable Californio to try to stop this, let alone an American!” She folded her arms defiantly. “I am destined to marry Hugo Bolivar, and I simply must accept it. I will get used to him.” She stood her ground, although she felt like running at the strange look that came into Will’s eyes. He seemed almost angry with her, and as he stepped closer, his powerful frame made her feel like a child.

  “Get used to him?” he almost growled. “You’ve had two years to get used to him! Tell me, Santana, has he kissed you yet?”

  She held her chin high, refusing to show that the question embarrassed her. “Of course not! It would not be proper!”

  His smile was hard, without humor or warmth. “So, you don’t even know if you could stand the man’s thin, probably cold, lips touching your mouth.” He glared at her. “The thought is almost revolting to you, isn’t it?”

  “Stop it!” She turned away, blinking back tears.

  Will grasped her shoulders and spun her back around. “Santana, once he’s your husband he’ll do a lot more than kiss you on the mouth with those lips. He’s a cruel man. I can see it in his eyes. He won’t be kind to you!”

  She jerked away, folding her arms again, rubbing them nervously with her hands. “It is you who are the cruel one, talking to me this way when you have no right!” Her shoulders shook with a sob. “There is nothing…that can be done…and you hardly know me. To interfere could cost your life, and it could most certainly cost you the right to harvest my father’s trees.”

  “We have a contract. He can’t break that.”

  Santana frowned. “You say that as though…as though you are thinking about doing something that might anger my father.”

  “It might.”

  A thousand thoughts swept through Santana’s mind. What on earth could he do? Other than get himself in terrible trouble. “I do not understand…”

  He stepped closer, grasping her arms gently. “Understand this.” He leaned down, and in spite of the warning voice that told her to run away, Santana stood still and watched his handsome face come near. His full lips met hers in a hungry but tender kiss unlike anything she had ever experienced. Until now she had only known the quick kisses of a father and brother, usually on the cheek. She had not been able to bear the thought of a kiss from Hugo, and thank God he had not tried. Yet here she was letting Will Lassater, an American, a gringo, kiss her lips, draw her close, enclose her in his arms and crush her breasts against his hard chest! She felt her own arms lift, wrap themselves around his neck as though they had a mind of their own, for surely she had not embraced him willingly. This was all wrong!

  He finally released her mouth, and she wondered where her next breath would come from when he moved his warm lips down over her throat. “Crazy as it sounds,” he murmured, “I think I love you, Santana Maria Chavez Lopez. See? I even remembered your full name, after all this time.”

  He put a hand to the back of her neck and pressed her head against his shoulder. “I know you have no idea how you feel about me yet. I only know I cannot let you marry Hugo. I want you to be free to choose, Santana. I kissed you to awaken the woman in you, the woman who should be allowed to give herself willingly to a man she truly wants and loves, not forced into a man’s bed because of some long-ago promise or because of pride.”

  What comfort she felt in his arms! Santana marveled. So strong, yet so gentle. This man would never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. He understood how afraid she was. “There is nothing else I can do,” she answered, feeling new tears fill her eyes.

  “No, there isn’t,” he said. “But there is something I can do. I have given it a lot of thought.”

  She pulled away, wiping at the tears on her cheeks with her fingertips. “I do not understand.”

  Will stood a little straighter. “I am going to challenge Hugo for your hand.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “What! You—you cannot do that! You would be risking your life! Hugo is very good with the pistol!”

  “Don’t worry about that. I have my own plans.”

  “But…” Her mind raced with uncertainty and fear. “I…well, I…if you win…it will mean that I must marry you. Father would never approve of me marrying a gringo! And I hardly know you!”

  He smiled softly. “You know me well enough by that kiss.” He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “But it doesn’t matter. If I win, I have the right to free you from your obligation to Hugo in an honorable way. I promise to do that, Santana. I want very much to marry you, but I would never force it. You would be free of Hugo, and free to do what you please and marry whomever you want.”

  She turned away, taken aback by his generous gesture. “I do not know what to say. I…I never thought that an American would care to become so involved.” She shook her head. “I cannot let you do this.”

  “You have no control over the matter. The only choice you’ll have to make is whether you want to marry me when it’s over.”

  She looked back at him, astounded that she could have feelings of love for this man who was still like a stranger. He had apparently been thinking about this for the past year, even though he had not seen her. What an unusually honorable man he was, for an American. “If you lost, my agony at having to marry Hugo would be made worse by knowing you died trying to stop the marriage. I could not live with that.”

  “You won’t have to. I happen to think I can win a match with Hugo Bolivar. I am a firm believer in fate, Santana. I think God brought me here with more in mind than helping me find his beautiful trees. He wanted me to find you, and to save you from a living death. That is what life would be like for you with Hugo. I also promise that someday I will be as rich or even richer than Hugo. I will be able to offer you all the things he offers you now, and more, because I will offer you love and gentleness, honor and respect. He won’t offer those things.”

  Santana swallowed back a lump in her throat. “You are a good man, Will Lassater.”

  He stepped closer again. “And I happen to think you are a good woman, a young lady with a good heart, and with much love to give, to the right man. The few times I have talked with you, I have seen a love for life, a generous heart, and a youthful excitement that makes me all but worship you. Most well-bred women would never dream of coming here, but you have graced this place with your beauty, and you haven’t once turned your nose up at anything noisy or dirty or unpleasant. You love the trees as much as I, and I think this is something we could share, Santana. I want to settle, have children. I almost married someone, three years ago, but she was drowned at sea.”

  Santana gasped, putting a hand to her chest. “Oh, how terrible! I am sorry, Will.”

  He stepped closer again. “It’s in the past. Now I’m here in California. It’s like stepping into another world, and if I can marry the most beautiful Spanish woman in this state, then California will truly be home for me. I will never go back to Maine.”

  As they gazed at each other, Santana knew what her choice would be if Will won a duel with Hugo. He said she would have her freedom, but would she want it? No. She already knew she was falling in love with him. Perhaps it had started that first day she saw him standing on the deck of the Dutchess Dianna. His kiss had awakened something in her, something wonderful and stirring, something that
made her feel warm and happy and more alive than ever before. She wanted to feel it again, and she did not resist when he took her into his arms once more, pressed her close, and met her mouth with another kiss, this one hotter, deeper, more searching.

  She flung her arms around his neck, feeling desperate at the thought of Hugo shooting this man down in a duel. Surely God would not let such a thing happen. Fear and anxiety raced through her at the thought of it, yet she also felt an exhilarating pride that Will thought so much of her to do such a daring thing. Will Lassater truly was her hero.

  Santana’s heart beat so hard that it hurt. Just as Will had instructed her to do, she had secretly sent one of her father’s men to the logging camp to tell Will that Hugo had come to visit again. Will did not know it yet, but Hugo had not come just to see her this time. He was enraged that Will had left him out of all business dealings. When he had arrived three days ago, he had gone directly to Dominic’s study to tell Dominic what Will had done. Santana knew Hugo and her father had gotten into an argument, for she had listened at the door, having heard the shouting and wondering what it was about. What she heard had frightened her, for Hugo was already furious with Will. What would he do if Will came to tell the man he intended to challenge him for her hand?

  Hugo’s words still rang in her ears. “Then break the contract!” he had shouted. “This man betrayed me! I helped him find the land for logging, and he turns around and refuses to do business with me! I will not tolerate it!”

  Dominic had managed to keep things relatively calm, answering Hugo in his usual steady voice. Her father was not one to yell. “Will says that he never promised you anything. You were willing to introduce us, and we struck a deal, Hugo. The man has been very fair with me, and he has spent everything he has building his mills. I cannot turn around and tell him he cannot cut the trees.”

  “It is your land! Your land! You can do whatever you want!” Hugo had practically screamed in reply.