The Forever Tree

by Rosanne Bittner

  He watched Santana climb down and greet each child—Glenn, Ruth, Dominic, Juan, little Julia, who was held by Ruth. Then came Valioso, drooling slightly, his slanted eyes full of joy at seeing his mother again. Will’s own heart ached as he watched the boy, and guilt tore at his insides. He climbed down, and all six children attacked him with hugs and smiles. He picked Valioso up and carried him inside.

  Santana watched her children follow their father into the house, watched Valioso hug Will around the neck. She knew that if losing Will personally would save the love he felt for Valioso, then that was how it would have to be. Seeing the light in the boy’s eyes whenever he was with the man he believed to be his father made her able to bear the burden of her loneliness.

  Twenty-Seven

  May 1871…

  Will raised a bottle of bourbon and shouted with the other men who were rooting for James. “You can do it, James! Your father was never beat!”

  James’s face was beet-red. He strained and grunted, lips curled, teeth clenched, his brawny arm glowing with sweat. Sven Erickson was considered the strongest man of the woods, able to lift logs no other man would consider trying to lift. He could saw faster, chop faster, climb faster than any other logger, and this day, at the annual loggers’ picnic Will held for his men, the big Swede, who was seven years older than James, had won nearly every contest Will had devised.

  The wrist wrestling had been going on all day, with eliminations bringing it down to this final duel between twenty-three-year-old James Lassater, the boss’s nephew, and Sven Erickson, the pride of the woods. The original Lassater mill was still the biggest of the seven lumber mills Will now owned, with eighty men working round the clock to keep the lumber flowing out to the rest of the world seven days a week. A small city now existed at the site, with saloons, stores, a barbershop, a school, a livery, even a church. It was a noisy place, with some families living in small homes and cabins, but populated mostly by rough single men who took pride in their virility.

  This contest was important. Although Noel now managed the entire operation there at the original mill, Will intended to put James in charge of the cutting crews. Defeating Sven would earn him a great deal of respect from the other men, most of whom were older and did not always take orders easily from someone as young as James.

  Will felt emotion stab him as he watched the boy, who was a replica of Gerald, including Gerald’s powerful build. Will preferred to remember his brother that way. He had managed to bury the memory of how Gerald had looked when he’d arrived at the prison camp, even more emaciated the day he’d killed himself. That was not the Gerald he’d known and loved. He was glad James had stayed behind when Agatha returned to Maine. The way he’d turned out, it was like having Gerald with him again.

  “Now! Now!” he shouted. The crowd of men was going wild, all of them holding up fists full of money they had bet on either James or Sven. James had Sven’s arm headed downward, but the boy was literally screaming with the effort. “You can do it, James! You can do it!”

  Will had won many such contests himself, and he knew that wrist wrestling was as much technique as it was strength. He had taught James some of that technique, and combined with the Lassater stubbornness he’d inherited, James could beat a man like Sven if he set his mind to it.

  At last it was done. James pushed Sven’s hand far enough to touch the pine table that had been set up outside for the contest. Those who had bet on James roared and cheered, then began collecting money from others. James sat exhausted, still panting, his head down on the table. Sven slapped him on the shoulder.

  “We’ll do it again, boy, when I haven’t already been chopping and sawing all day in other contests. You caught me when I was already tired out from competing all day.”

  “Come on, no excuses, Sven!” one of the men shouted. “The boy beat you fair and square.”

  Will watched carefully, knowing how quickly a good-natured game could turn into an ugly brawl among such men. Sven was an easygoing man, though, who was not conceited about his strength as some of the others were.

  “All right. All right. He beat me fair and square.” Sven put out his hand. “Come on, boy, let’s shake on it. We’ll do it again next year.”

  James raised his head, then slowly rose, rubbing his arm. “I don’t know if I want to try you again,” he answered. “You just about killed me, Sven.”

  The big Swede laughed as they shook hands, and Sven looked at Will, giving him a wink. “Them boys up at the logging site will show him some respect now, won’t they, boss?” he said.

  Will raised his bottle to the man, suspecting Sven might have decided to let up a little at the end, knowing how important this was to James. “That they will,” he answered.

  The rest of the men surrounded James, congratulating him, pounding him on the back. Will felt lucky to have the kind of crew he had. They were mostly rough and uneducated, but they respected him. He had worked hard to earn that respect, paying his men well, providing the best food and facilities possible. He tried to be fair in how each man was treated, allowed drinking and gambling and even allowed prostitutes at the mill sites, as long as none of those things interfered with the men’s work.

  He wished he could do more to make their jobs safe, but that was all but impossible. On average, a man was lost to death every month, more to injuries. But these men knew the dangers of this work, and they did it anyway. It was something that got into a man’s blood. No matter how big he got and how much he traveled, Will needed this, to come to the logging sites and mingle with the men, visit the cutting crews, even do a little cutting himself once in a while.

  He shook hands with some of the men, drank down some bourbon, even kissed a few of the prostitutes who mingled with the crowd. The bawdy women were a mixture of American, Mexican, and Chinese, most of them not very pretty, but their eagerness made Will long for the time when Santana had been that way toward him. For two years he had been gone more than he’d been home, and when he was home, he and Santana slept apart. They were like strangers more than ever, even more than when he’d first returned from the war, and he could hardly stand to think of it. How could he love someone so much and find it so hard to tell her anymore?

  He had been tempted to find some pleasure, to ease his needs, with Elaine Ramirez, a young prostitute who was the talk of the camp. She was beautiful and Spanish, and she reminded him of Santana in so many ways. She was not Santana, though, and Santana was the only woman he really wanted. He slugged down more bourbon, hoping to dull the pain of wanting her. Until Santana Maria Chavez de Lassater came to him in true desire again, he would not bed her.

  “I am proud of you, James,” he said aloud, putting an arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Let’s go over to Higby’s saloon and celebrate. I’m leaving tomorrow for the mill up at Oregon. Time to make the rounds, so to speak. They’re having their annual celebration next week.”

  “I wish I could go with you, Uncle Will.” James walked to the saloon with him across a muddy, open area. “But you’ve given me a lot of responsibility now. I’ll do a good job for you.”

  “I know you will. Someday you’ll be a full partner, James, just like your father was. He sure would have been proud of you today.”

  “Do you really think so? Sometimes I miss him so much, Uncle Will.”

  “I know. So do I.”

  James stopped walking before they went into the saloon. “I need to ask if you care if I get married.”

  Will’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Well, I’d say it’s about time. You’ve been seeing the Hidalgo girl for five or six years now.”

  James grinned. “Juanita was only fourteen when I started seeing her. Her parents have been very firm about her waiting until she had all her schooling. She’ll be twenty in two months. We will marry then. I finally have her parents’ permission.”

  Will smiled. “I know how stubborn the Spanish can be about allowing their daughters to marry, even ordinary folk, like Juanita’
s father and mother. It was even worse for me, with Santana being so high-born and promised to another Spaniard. Her father was not thrilled that an American wanted to marry his daughter.”

  James laughed. “I remember Father reading us letters about it. I wish I could have seen you in that duel with Hugo Bolivar. It’s become a real romantic tale over the years.”

  Will felt new pain at the words. Romantic. Yes, that was how it had been once for him and Santana…passion, romance, a fiery need for each other. “And probably exaggerated,” he said aloud.

  “I don’t think so. I just hope Juanita and I can have as good a marriage and as fine a brood of children as you and Santana have.”

  And I hope you are much happier over the years, Will thought. “Just don’t ever leave your wife and go off to war, James,” he told the boy. “It can hurt you in many ways, even if you come back alive.”

  “I’ll never leave Juanita,” James said. “I saw what Father’s leaving did to my mother.”

  Will nodded, wishing he could share his own heartache, but he kept it to himself. “Don’t get married until I get back, will you?”

  James laughed again. “Then don’t take too long.”

  Will studied the boy’s blue eyes, seeing Gerald before him. He pressed his shoulder. “I’ll be back within a month. I’m taking Glenn with me. He’s fourteen now. Time for him to start learning the ropes.”

  They entered the saloon, which was packed with men who grabbed James and began congratulating him. There was no more chance for them to talk. Will decided to try to find Noel and go over some business with him, but when he turned, Elaine was standing before him, her sultry beauty almost startling him.

  “Stay and drink with me, Senor Lassater.” Her eyes moved over him hungrily, and her full breasts swelled above her low-cut dress. “Here in the camp, you are like the other men, only more handsome than most. Sometimes a man needs something more than his wife, no? I would be proud to please el jefe.”

  Will allowed himself the pleasure of drinking in the sight of her full breasts, so exposed that he was sure the only thing her dress covered was the nipples. “I may be el jefe for these men, but not of you women,” he answered with a grin, meeting her eyes. He saw the desire there, the fierce passion he used to see in Santana’s eyes. Yes, it would be so easy, but in spite of the distance between him and Santana, he knew there would be even less hope of their finding each other again if she learned he was up there sleeping with the whores.

  He took a few bills out of his pants pocket and stuck them into the bodice of Elaine’s dress, enjoying the feel of her breasts against his hand. He let it linger there while he spoke. “Maybe another time.”

  She took a deep breath, so that his hand was squeezed between her breasts and the front of her dress. “I will be here.”

  Will slowly removed his hand, wondering if he was a fool to continue this loyalty to Santana when she seemed not to want him anymore. He left the saloon, knowing he had to get away from Elaine quickly or do something he would always regret.

  Outside, he breathed in the pine-scented air, fighting manly urges buried too long, needs the bourbon had aroused. He headed for a building used by Noel for business and paperwork, knowing that in spite of everyone having the day off, his faithful friend would be there working. He would talk with Noel for a while, then go home and see the children before leaving for Oregon. That was the only way he could handle the wreck his personal life had become, by continuing this conquest of the business world.

  No other mill owner, and few businessmen of other professions, came close to what he had achieved, and he was still growing, in spite of the recession San Francisco was currently suffering. With the railroad completed and few new gold discoveries being made, unemployment was a major problem. A general unrest could be felt in the city, and officials worried there could be riots against the Chinese. The mansion he was building there was nearly completed, but because of the unrest in San Francisco, only servants lived there. He had advised Santana to keep the children away from the city until things had settled.

  At least the financial problems of the area had not affected his own business. Demand for his lumber came from other parts of the country and all over the world, and Lassater Mills continued to thrive. He had even heard that Bolivar was having financial difficulties, which pleased him greatly. He decided that when he got home from Oregon, he would have to do some investigating. Perhaps he could secretly buy out some of Bolivar’s holdings.

  Thoughts of Hugo Bolivar always brought back memories of those early years, when he’d won Santana, and held Bolivar’s life in his hands. Maybe he should have killed him, but he had taken much more pleasure in defeating the man in other ways. After the fire at the mill, Bolivar hadn’t caused any trouble. He’d apparently taken seriously Will’s threat to kill him all those years ago. It pleased Will to see the look of envy in the man’s eyes whenever Bolivar saw him with Santana, and now it was possible he could ruin him financially. Revenge was indeed sweet.

  Now, if only he could recapture the Santana he had married, everything would be perfect. Elaine’s offer burned at his insides, but the memory of how it once had been with another Spanish woman burned much hotter. Elaine was not Santana. There was no other Santana.

  Santana stood with five of her six children at the grave of Father Lorenzo, wishing Will and Glenn were there too. They were in Oregon, though, unaware that the faithful priest of the Alcala family had died. Hernando and Teresa and their five children were there, as well as most of the hired help of La Estancia de Alcala. Hernando had sent for a priest from Sacramento for the funeral, and Father Lorenzo had been buried in the family plot, alongside Dominic and Rosa.

  A canvas canopy had been erected over the grave site to protect the mourners from a steady rain, and thunder rolled in the distant hills. Santana had never felt more alone. Father Lorenzo had been her friend since childhood, and his death seemed to represent the death of her innocent youth. She should have gone to him after Hugo’s attack. Maybe if she had at least told Father Lorenzo, he could have helped her pray about it and find a way to overcome the emotional damage the man had done to her. Perhaps she could have found a way to remain close to Will.

  Now it was too late. Father Lorenzo was the only person she would have considered telling about her ordeal, but she had never found the courage. Now, there was no one left to turn to. She must find a way out of the mess she had made of her marriage on her own. She could not let the gap between her and Will continue to widen. It was hurting not only them, but the children. She knew in her heart that Will still loved her, that he was suffering his own loneliness, and it was not his fault. How could she blame him for something he knew nothing about? How could she keep turning him away without any explanation, making him feel it was his fault, making him believe she could not forgive him for leaving her, allowing him to blame himself for Valioso?

  Valioso, five years old now, clung to her hand and stared at the grave, his face contorted into a constant grin, his stunted intellect making it impossible for him to comprehend death and agony. He lived in a world of his own, where there was nothing but Mother and Father, love and peace, a joy for life that the average person, even a child, did not experience. He saw only good, understood only laughter and happiness, thrived on love. He could not in a million years understand a man like the one who had fathered him, nor comprehend that there were any problems between his mother and father.

  More and more Santana missed Will. More and more she was coming to believe that he’d been right. It had been better for her to distance herself from him, to refrain from sex for these two years. Will had inadvertently given her time to heal, something she had not had a chance to do.

  As she had healed, she’d begun wondering if her husband had turned to someone else, the prostitutes at the camps, or perhaps had found some other woman, a respectable one, with whom he had fallen in love. It was such thoughts that stirred something deep inside that she had left buried fo
r five years, since the day of her father’s funeral. The woman in her that only Will had touched was trying to wake up, longing for her husband, feeling a searing jealousy at the thought of some other woman in her husband’s life…in his bed. She vowed that when Will returned from Oregon, she would try to talk to him, find a way to get close to him again. They could not go on like this, but she knew she would have to make the first move. She had hurt him deeply the night of the governor’s ball. He would never seek her out again. She would have to go to him. She had to let go of the ugly recent past and resurrect memories of those first years with Will, remember the passion and desire her handsome gringo had stirred in her soul.

  It was all still there somewhere, waiting to be reawakened. She closed her eyes when the presiding priest asked everyone to join him in prayer, but she did not hear his words. Instead, she prayed inwardly to Father Lorenzo, to the Mother Mary, asking for help in finding her way back to her husband. Surely God had brought them together, had meant for her to love and marry Will Lassater. If so, he would also find a way for her to overcome this one stumbling block. Surely their love was stronger than anything that came against it. That love had produced five beautiful children they would share forever…and it was strong enough that Will loved a sixth child he thought was his. Will was a good man with a big heart, and if he could accept and love Valioso, surely he could forgive her for hurting him as she had.

  She hoped she had not waited too long, that she had not lost his love forever. She had almost gone to him the night before he left for Oregon, but she had decided to wait, only because he would be leaving the next morning, and they had so much to talk about. There had not been enough time. She was still determined not to tell him the truth about Valioso, but she would find a way around it. Perhaps through prayer, God would bring her an answer.