The Forever Tree

by Bittner, Rosanne

  Will figured that probably made Hugo Bolivar very happy. So far on his business trips to the city, he had managed to avoid running into the man. They had no business connections, but some of the men Will dealt with also did business with Bolivar. Will was glad he’d been able to avoid him.

  “I will be happy to get home again,” Santana said, interrupting his thoughts. “I miss the quiet of the forest, and our home there reminds me that most of this land still belongs to people like my father, the true Californios.”

  Will grinned, moving a hand between her legs. “Oh? Would you like all us gringos to leave?”

  She met his eyes boldly, opening herself to him and taking a deep breath as his fingers toyed with secret parts that only Will Lassater knew intimately. She had never quite gotten over the thrill of his magical touch. Sometimes he stirred her to a pulsating climax this way, and sometimes it happened while his magnificent manhood was buried inside of her, filling her, taking her on another journey into ecstasy.

  Each time was a little different, and she never grew tired of pleasing her man and taking her own pleasure in return. She closed her eyes now, relishing the circular movements he made with his fingers that brought out a wicked wantonness in her soul. “The children could wake at any time,” she whispered.

  He leaned down and kissed her throat. “They’ll keep.” His mouth slid down to kiss her breasts, and she pulled away the thin straps of her satin gown, pushing it away from her breasts to bare them for him. Will wondered why it was so pleasant for a grown man to suckle like his baby daughter still did. He could taste Santana’s milk, for her breasts were full, ready to nourish little Ruth when she awakened. But first they would share this sweet moment in the quiet of early morning.

  “There is much to do, mi vida,” Santana said. “Do we have time for this?”

  “When have we not had time for making love?” He nuzzled at her neck and moved on top of her, not bothering to remove her gown. He slept naked himself, and was already swollen hard with need. He thought how that need would not even be there if not for sharing a bed with his beautiful Santana. It was Santana he needed, not the sex. He needed to give her pleasure, to show his love in the ultimate demonstration of devotion. Making love with Santana was almost like an act of worship. She brought forth feelings he’d never known he was capable of experiencing. He loved her more than his own life, and he had not regretted one day of his marriage to her.

  All good sense told him they should not do this so often. He hated the thought of getting her pregnant again, hated the fear of what could happen to her every time she gave birth. Little Ruth had been easy enough, but he didn’t think he would ever get used to Santana’s cries of pain or the realization that many women died in childbirth. Yet here he was again, unable to control the need to feel her hot wetness caressing his shaft in welcoming pulsations.

  She never refused him, and she did not fear having more children. “Whatever children we have will be God’s will,” she would always say. “They are his gift to us. If he thinks it is time for another baby, he will see that we get one, so it does not matter how often or how few times we do this. We could do it once a month, and if God says it is time for another child, that will be when he is conceived.”

  Will wasn’t so sure that made sense. Prostitutes had ways of preventing pregnancy, but Santana would have none of it. Her religion did not allow prevention methods, and he had taken that religion for himself. Besides, his better sense never prevailed when her firm, curved body was fitted against his own on a quiet morning like this, especially when he was in a mood of celebration for how well things were going.

  “Te amo como jamas he amado,” he groaned, moving in sweet rhythm, glad to know that after two children he could still give her such pleasure. Her only reply to his words of love was to arch against him in a climax that pulled at him in rhythmic spasms, driving him wild with ecstasy, so that he thrust hard, holding back for as long as possible so she could get maximum pleasure before he finally was unable to control his own release. His life spilled into her, and as Santana would say, he would let God’s will be.

  He kissed her several times, then lay down beside her. After a few minutes of content silence, he said, “You were right. We have a big day ahead of us. Reporters from a couple of different newspapers will be there. Having our own fleet of ships has brought us up in status among the elite of San Francisco.”

  Santana stroked the stubble on his chin. “I do not care about being a part of San Francisco’s elite, except that it will show Hugo Bolivar that my gringo husband is indeed becoming as rich and important as he. I prefer to be back at our home on La Estancia de Alcala.”

  “We’ll go back in a couple of days.” He raised up on one elbow. “As for today, my beautiful wife, I want you to wear your finest. I’ve invited many prominent men and their wives to the christening. I want them all to envy me my Spanish beauty. Today we announce to all of California that Lassater Mills is an established lumbering business that is here to stay.” He stroked some damp strands of hair away from her face. “I’ll have some extra men there to keep an eye on you and Aggie. There are a lot of scurvy characters down at the docks, but we picked a place at the northern end of the bay area. It’s not so bad there.”

  He recalled when he’d first arrived in San Francisco, how wild and unruly the dock area was then, how he had nearly lost his life that first night. It was much worse now in many places, but it would be relatively safe where they were going, especially if he had armed men along. He had promised his guests there would be no problem.

  Little Ruth, who slept in a bassinet near the bed, began to fuss.

  “Time to get back to reality,” he told Santana. “I’ll wash up and tell Louisa to start preparing a bath for you. I’ll bathe myself when you’re finished.”

  He kissed her nose and got up, and Santana thought how happy he was that day. She was glad for her beloved. He had worked so hard for this, he and Gerald both. Even Noel and Derek would be there. Everything was perfect—except for all the talk about the strong possibility that the Southern states back in the eastern part of the country might declare war against the Union. That troubled Will deeply.

  Santana still felt no particular allegiance to the United States. She just hoped the troubles in the East would not lead to war, for she was not sure she could keep her precious husband from getting involved.

  Will shook hands with Captain David Eastman, thanking him for his long association with Lassater Mills back in Maine, an association that would continue now with Eastman as captain of one of the new cargo ships, as well as master of the entire fleet of six ships. Eastman had worked independently for years, his Dutchess Dianna hauling products for other businesses as well as Lassater Mills. But the Dianna was getting old and beginning to leak, and Eastman was ready to hand over the responsibility of actual ownership to someone else.

  “We’ve come a long way,” Will told him. “My father trusted you, and I know Gerald and I can also trust you to ship our lumber and come back with the profits. And I know you will hire men to captain the rest of these ships who are as trustworthy as you have been, my friend.”

  “I’ll do my best, Will.”

  Flash powder exploded as they shook hands again. Business associates who had been invited watched the proceedings with interest, all of them seeing in Will a man capable of immense success, one whose friendship could be valuable in the future.

  A small crowd of riffraff had also gathered to watch. The men Will and Gerald had hired to stave off trouble mingled at the back of the crowd of invited guests, keeping others from getting too close.

  Santana watched proudly as Will and Gerald took turns telling those present about the progress of Lassater Mills, and the fact that their new ships were also available for hauling other trade goods for anyone interested in using them. Gerald then asked Agatha to come and stand beside him on the dock platform, and Will did the same with Santana, reaching for her to join him. The children all sat
in the two open carriages that had brought them there, three-month-old Ruth in Louisa’s arms. Santana hoped the ceremony would be done in time for her to get Ruth back to the house for her three-o’clock feeding. Agatha had the same concern for six-month-old William, who sat in the lap of his nanny.

  Santana glanced at the carriage, and she smiled at her sweet and handsome son, Glenn, nearly two and a half years old now. He grinned the warm smile that reminded her of Will, and even from this distance she could see his marvelous blue eyes. He was a stocky, robust boy who was going to be built like his father.

  Gerald’s other three children sat watching quietly, eleven-year-old James, who was eager to start learning the logging business; nine-year-old Suellen; and little Dora, now five. All but Dora had Gerald’s sandy hair and blue eyes. Dora was a natural blond like her mother, with hazel eyes.

  Santana moved to stand beside Agatha, feeling sorry again that this quiet woman still had not acclimated herself to California. The two of them had become friends, but there were innate differences in their backgrounds that made it difficult for them to become close. Agatha had little tolerance for and no desire to understand the Catholic religion. She was quite concerned that Will had converted to Catholicism, but she respected his decision and his love for Santana. Santana, for her part, could see that Agatha would never get used to the very different way of life and customs California had to offer. The woman surrounded herself with things that reminded her of home, and “home” for her would never be California. Still, she was kind and friendly toward Santana. They shared many things, particularly a deep love for their husbands, and pride in what they had accomplished.

  Will interrupted Santana’s musings as he announced the names of each ship—the Annabelle Lee, the Geraldine, the California Maiden, the Pacific Queen, the Agatha Christina, named for his brother’s wife, and the Santana Bello, for Santana. He handed Santana a bottle of champagne, and Gerald handed one to Agatha. Only two of the six ships were docked close enough for a formal christening. The other four were anchored offshore.

  Gerald led Agatha to the right, where she stood near the ship’s bow. “I christen thee the Agatha Christina,” she announced. She hit the bottle against the point of the bow, but the bottle did not break. She tried twice more, and finally champagne and glass flew in all directions, the liquid spilling down the bow. The crowd cheered, then turned their attention to Santana.

  Will handed her a champagne bottle, and their eyes held for a moment in love. Santana was still amazed sometimes at how much she loved this man who had been a stranger when she married him. She took the bottle from him.

  “Hit it hard,” he told her.

  She turned, holding out the bottle. “I christen thee Santana Bello,” she said. She slammed the bottle as hard as she could, and champagne sprayed over her. She let out a little scream as the onlookers cheered. She smiled at Will, but the smile faded when she saw a black carriage approaching, pulled by two white horses that were driven by a man she remembered well…Jesus, Hugo’s driver. Armed men rode behind the carriage, and she heard the familiar and hated voice when Hugo shouted arrogantly at a couple of ragged-looking men who were in his way.

  His arrival created a bit of a commotion, interrupting the final speech Will was about to give. People turned to look, and Santana felt Will’s hand tighten on her arm. Both watched the carriage halt near the dock.

  “What the hell…” Will muttered. He had not invited Bolivar, but the article he’d put in the paper about the company’s expansion and this event could have been taken as an open invitation to the business community. A man like Bolivar would use that open invitation, as an excuse to come here and make trouble.

  A woman rode in the carriage. When Bolivar disembarked, he helped her down, then led her through the crowd.

  “Why is he here?” Santana asked quietly.

  Will could feel her tenseness. “To irritate us. Don’t let it get to you. We have a great day ahead of us, and he won’t be in it. We’ll be through here soon.”

  Gerald moved closer to Will and Santana. “Who is that?” he asked.

  “The man who shot me in the back,” Will answered. “Hugo Bolivar.”

  “Well, well…” Gerald murmured.

  Hugo escorted the woman closer, and Santana could see she was perhaps a little older than Santana herself. She was rather plain, short and thin and looking very shy at the moment. She dressed as any wealthy Spanish woman would, all in lace, from the lovely green satin-and-lace dress she wore, with long sleeves of lace, to the matching lace on her satin hat. Santana guessed she came from a rich family, for what other kind of woman would Hugo marry, and for what other reason? She wondered if this poor woman had already discovered her husband’s real reason for marrying her. She looked lost and unsure of herself as Hugo began introducing her to some of the businessmen present as his new wife from Los Angeles, the daughter of a very wealthy landowner there.

  “That son of a bitch is using our event to draw attention to himself,” Will said quietly to Gerald. “Act like it doesn’t bother you, because that’s exactly what he wants.”

  Hugo approached, his gaze raking over Santana, resting for a moment on her breasts. Then he glanced at Will and grinned. “I have come to congratulate you,” he said. “And to introduce you to my new wife, Carmelita Rosanna Calderone de Bolivar. Carmelita is from Los Angeles. I was there on business when I met her.”

  Santana nodded to Carmelita, greeting her in Spanish and wondering how she could possibly be happy with a man like Hugo. Santana supposed Hugo had done a good job of impressing Carmelita and her family down in Los Angeles, where few people knew him; and perhaps Carmelita was just old enough that she felt she should marry before she was too old. Santana herself was almost twenty-two, and if Carmelita was her age or older, it was certainly time she married. The woman did not look happy, though, and Santana wondered if she missed her home and family, or if the real reason for the sorrow in her eyes was from knowing she had made a mistake in marrying Hugo. Santana hoped Hugo was not being as cruel to this woman as Santana suspected he could be.

  “We had a grand wedding in Los Angeles,” Hugo was saying to Will, keeping a hand at Carmelita’s waist. “I have been there for the past month, enjoying my new wife and getting to know her family. Their gift to us was a great deal of land, so my land holdings in California are even greater now.” He looked past Will to the Santana, then glanced at Gerald. “Ah, this must be your brother.” He put out his hand, smiling and affable, as though he were some long-lost friend of Will’s.

  Gerald folded his arms. “Pardon me if I don’t care to shake the hand of a man who shot my brother in the back.”

  Santana noticed the surprised look on Carmelita’s face, and she wondered what lie Hugo had told his new wife about how he had gotten the scar on the side of his head. He had probably told her he’d been doing something quite valiant at the time. Then again, perhaps he didn’t even care that she learned the truth. She was his wife now, and she would have to take him with all his faults.

  “That is your brother’s version of the story,” Hugo answered.

  “It is the truth!” Will said. “And everyone in San Francisco knows it, you bastard. Did you really think you could come here without your wife learning what a coward you are?”

  “My wife knows that she married a man of wealth and honor,” Hugo answered stiffly. “It is not her place to question anything her husband tells her.”

  “What possible reason could you have for coming here?” Gerald asked him. “Get the hell off this dock.”

  “He’s here only to make Santana uncomfortable,” Will said.

  Hugo just grinned. “On the contrary.” He met Will’s piercing glare. “I came here as an honored businessman of San Francisco, to congratulate you on your new enterprise. You have done well, Will Lassater.”

  He held out his right hand, and Will knew he was putting on a show for the others present. Bolivar was trying to prove all was forgotten a
nd forgiven between himself and Will Lassater, hoping it would improve his damaged relations with the business community. Will was fast becoming a power to contend with, and Bolivar knew it. He had deliberately waited until they were in the middle of things to make his grand entrance, and he had brought his new wife as a shield, knowing full well that Will would not make a scene in front of her or the other onlookers.

  Still, Will refused to shake his hand, and he could see Bolivar’s dark eyes film over with awakened hatred.

  “Is this how you treat someone who has come here to congratulate you?” Bolivar said. “Do not insult my good intentions again, as you did when you returned the gift I sent for your first-born son.”

  “I will insult you anywhere, anytime, no matter who you are with,” Will answered.

  Their eyes held challengingly, then Bolivar said, “You are truly a vengeful, unforgiving man, Will Lassater.”

  Will leaned closer. “We both know who’s really the vengeful one here, don’t we? I’m not fooled by your act, Bolivar, and I don’t think you want me to make a public announcement here that you tried to burn me out once.”

  “That is a lie! You have no proof that I had anything to do with the fires at your mills!”

  “I don’t need proof. I just trust my gut feelings when it comes to you.”

  Santana, fearing the two men would come to blows, was relieved when she saw Hugo take a deep breath and put on his smile again for the sake of appearances. He glanced at her, his dark eyes boring into her with a silent threat, and she realized the man still held a deep resentment toward her. The look in his eyes frightened her, and she struggled to appear unruffled, holding her chin proudly.