by Gordon Ryan
“As you wish.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the door. “I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast,” he said, trying to have his morning bathroom ritual in private.
“The lord of the castle’s wish, is my command,” she laughed. “Twenty minutes, then breakfast and off into the countryside,” she said as she left the room.
Cantering over the hilly terrain, Harold watched with pride as Teresa maintained her position ahead of his mount, riding as well as any man Harold knew, leading the way toward the surprise she had continued to tease him about through breakfast. His love for this woman had quickly become all consuming and he wondered how she would react when it came time to explain the marriage practices he and his father believed in. He did love Katrina, he thought to himself, but Teresa brought another dimension of excitement to his life and would be able to provide the social status in the community, which his father had determined to retain as the family left three generations of history behind in Utah. Marriage into the Cardenas line assured a continuation of that respect.
After about a thirty-minute ride, Teresa reined in her horse, looking back as Harold joined her on a small knoll that overlooked a lush, grass-filled valley. Below them, a small stream ran west toward the ocean, which was now in magnificent view from the position at which Teresa had chosen to stop. A large frame and stucco building was under construction off to their right, slightly higher up the knoll, and workmen were busily moving around the site. In front of Harold and Teresa, perhaps three miles farther on, but blocked from their view by the low, rolling hills, was the town site for Harold’s new community, where the residents were also busy, building their new homes. The boundary of the land that Magnus Stromberg had purchased from Don Sebastian was just over the rise, marked by a small copse of Mesquite trees.
“You do give a body a workout when riding,” Harold exclaimed, catching his breath.
“I love to ride. Father took me riding before I could sit a saddle. My equestrian instructor in Spain told me I should have entered competition, were I not returning to Mexico,” she proudly exclaimed. Discovering this side of Teresa had initially startled Harold, for during their brief courtship, she had displayed no sense of accomplishment or outward pride, other than that engendered by her breeding. But soon after their marriage, it was as if Teresa wanted her new husband to know of her abilities and accomplishments, so that he might enjoy a greater sense of her worth.
“Is someone building here?” he asked.
“My father,” she said, smiling.
“What will it be, another country home?”
“Yes.”
Harold was puzzled and rose in his stirrups to look back over his horse in the direction they had come. “But the hacienda is only about five miles away. Why would he need another home so near our colony?” he asked, retaking his seat and looking at Teresa.
“For his daughter,” she replied.
“His daughter?” Harold repeated, not fully comprehending.
“It is our home, Harold. The start of our hacienda,” she explained, reaching across the space between their horses to lay her hand on his arm. “It is father’s wedding present to us. In addition to the eighteen thousand acres your father purchased, Father has given us another fifteen hundred acres and eight hundred head of Longhorn cattle to start our herd.”
Harold sat speechless in his saddle for several moments, watching the workmen scurrying about the building, now taking shape in his mind as a residence. “I had thought that we would live in your father’s home for a while,” he murmured.
“Father thought it best we have our own home, and that perhaps your father would stay with us, when he arrives, at least until he builds his own home. The homes your people are building are quite small. Only beginning homes actually. And when Miguel told me about your sister, I thought she should also move in with us, until her husband arrives and they can complete their home.
“Oh, Harold, it is magnificent,” she beamed. “We will have our own home for our child to be born in. Let me show you what Father has done,” she exclaimed, spurring her horse and leaving Harold alone on the crest of the knoll. He watched as she rode up the slope, dismounted in front of the house, and handed her reins to one of the workmen. Looking back once at Harold and waving excitedly, she entered the house.
From his vantage point, he could tell the home was exceptionally well situated to view the ocean and surrounding valley, yet close enough to the new Mormon community to enable Harold to be accessible to his people. Teresa had reasoned, that as the patron of his fledgling group, Harold should immediately command the respect due such a position by the establishment of a stately residence, located somewhat apart from the others.
Were it not for the presence of Katrina, Harold would have immediately agreed. As it was, the noose was closing around Harold’s throat more quickly than he had planned, and the time was rapidly approaching when he would have to face the dilemma of how to introduce his wives to each other.
On a morning when Harold and Miguel rode into Mazatlán to order additional building materials for New Hope, the name the colonists had begun calling their settlement, Teresa set out with a buggy in the opposite direction for the colony. Harold had been silent on the subject of his sister coming to live in their new home, but had suggested that perhaps her assistance was still needed by the Olsens. Teresa rode past the house construction, spending a few minutes to observe changes since her last visit. Within three weeks, the foreman had said, the main part of the house would be livable and they would be able to move in. Certainly well before Christmas, he had promised.
Twice since Harold’s return, Teresa had viewed the budding colony from a distance, but had not gone into the town, content to remain on horseback with Harold on the hillside overlooking New Hope. Twice Harold had gone alone to visit his sister, but had remained overnight only once, although he had held daytime meetings with the settlers of the colony on a more frequent basis.
Riding slowly into the area and guiding her horse and buggy around depressions in the rough road, Teresa was greeted with smiles and waves from those working on the new homes. One heavy-set woman preparing food for the workers, paused to wipe her hands on her apron, shading her eyes from the glare of the sun, and inviting Teresa to “light down and sit a spell.”
“Thank you. It is becoming hot this morning,” Teresa said as she wrapped the reins around the brake handle and stepped down from the buggy.
“Well, we’ve been at it since before sunup, but it’s nearly time for lunch for the crew, bless their hearts. How does a nice cup of lemonade sound?” she asked.
“Wonderful. You’ve made a lot of progress,” Teresa commented, looking around the yard. “Do you think you’ll be in your house before Christmas?”
“That’s the plan, ’cept it’ll only be a one-room cabin. That is ’til my husband gets ’em all built. Then he’ll start on making each one a bit larger, as time and money permit.”
“I see,” Teresa said, perplexed. “How many cabins is your husband building? Is he helping another family?”
“We’re all helping each other,” the lady said, beginning to exercise caution. “Did you come to see someone in particular?”
“Yes,” Teresa said, brightening. “I’d hoped to find Katrina Stromberg, Harold’s sister.”
“Harold’s sister?” the lady asked, also confused. “Oh, yes, his sister,” the lady repeated, covering her confusion. “Well, she’d be down to the large barn where all the children are. She’s kind of looking after the kids.”
“Excellent,” Teresa responded, finishing her drink. “Well, I’d best be off. Thank you for the refreshment. It’s just what I needed.”
“Glad to help. Come again when you can.”
“Thank you,” Teresa replied, climbing back into the buggy. Slapping the reins softly, she nudged the horse along, picking her way through the budding community toward the large barn that had already been built and which was in use as a
storage facility for building materials. She stopped outside, climbed down again, and hobbled the horse before entering the building.
Several men were removing lumber, and at the far end of the structure, Teresa could see about a dozen children arranged in a semicircle, seated around a young woman. Teresa approached quietly, without disturbing the lesson and listened as the young woman read to the small gathering of youngsters.
Katrina looked up, and noticing Teresa, offered a smile. After a few minutes, she came to the end of the story and closed the book.
“Now,” she said, standing, “who’s ready for some fresh air and sunshine?”
All the hands went up together and Katrina laughed at the children. “Jenny, will you take charge please, and see that the younger children are allowed to have a turn on the swings?”
“Yes, Sister Stromberg,” Jenny replied, starting outside.
Katrina walked over to where Teresa stood, both women smiling as the children quickly ran outside, leaving the barn empty except for the two of them.
“Good morning,” Katrina said.
“Yes. And good morning to you. I’m Teresa, and you must be Katrina Stromberg, Harold’s sister.”
Katrina bristled slightly at the use of the term “sister” in reference to her relationship to Harold. “Yes, I am. Can I show you something or be of some help?”
“Well, I was hoping that you might have time to come for a short ride with me this morning. There’s something I’d like to show you.”
“Oh?” Katrina queried.
“It’s not far, really. Just about a twenty-minute ride. Will the children be all right?”
Katrina looked toward the large barn door where the children had exited. “Sister Olsen will be back shortly. Eight of the twelve are hers,” Katrina laughed. “I guess they’ll be all right.” Katrina looked carefully at Teresa, admiring her Latin features, olive skin, and black hair, not certain what the Spanish woman had to do with her. She seemed friendly enough, but who was she?
“I’m not sure I know who you are. Did you say Teresa was your name?”
Teresa laughed out loud. “That Harold. It’s just like a man, isn’t it? I’m Teresa Cardenas Stromberg. Harold’s wife.”
Teresa watched as Katrina’s face dissolved from an inquisitive smile to a look of unbelief, her eyes growing wide, then rolling back slightly in her head as she collapsed on the floor.
Quickly, Teresa moved to a water pail near where the children had been sitting, and removing a kerchief from her sleeve, dipped it in the water and returned to gently wipe Katrina’s brow. As Katrina opened her eyes, she found herself lying on the sawdust covered floor, her head in Teresa’s lap, and the dark stranger continuing to mop her forehead with the damp cloth.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Teresa said. “I must have startled you.”
Katrina didn’t speak, attempting to gain some sense of this event and the woman who had introduced herself as Harold’s wife. Sitting up slowly, Katrina placed her hand to her head, pushing back the strands of hair that had fallen over her eyes. “Please excuse me,” she offered. “The heat perhaps. I’m not used to the temperatures.”
Teresa laughed. “You’ll have to get used to it. It’s November now. Wait until next July and August.”
Katrina smiled weakly, and tried to stand. “I guess the heat,” she paused, “the baby and all, was just too much.”
“Baby?” Teresa brightened. “Are you with child?”
“Uh, yes, I am.”
“How wonderful. So am I. Does Harold know of your child yet? Is your husband with the colony or perhaps coming later?”
“Well, I’m not sure if, uh . . .”
“Oh, I have forgotten my manners,” Teresa said. “Too many questions. Let’s just go for a short ride and see if we can’t get some breeze flowing over you. That will help your circulation.”
“Yes, perhaps it will,” Katrina responded.
As they climbed into the buggy, Katrina sat quietly as Teresa urged the horse to retrace the path she had taken into town, directing him toward the far hillside and the short ride toward the new home under construction.
By the time the buggy reached the edge of town, it had all become too clear to Katrina—the other families who were with the group, some with multiple wives from before the Manifesto, Harold’s excommunication, his request that she introduce herself as his sister—all of it suddenly made sense. But the realization brought with it a wave of nausea. Raising her hand to Teresa, signaling her to stop the buggy, Katrina leaned over the side of the wagon and retched. Several moments passed while Teresa worked to still the horse and Katrina took deep breaths, trying to regain both her dignity and her faculties, determined not to let this woman receive any further advantage through her own childish behavior.
“Are you all right, Katrina?” Teresa asked.
“Yes, thank you. I’ll be fine. Let’s press on.”
“Good. You’ll be excited, I hope. I want to show you the house Harold and I are building for our home. We’ll want you to come live with us, of course, until your own home is finished and your husband is . . .”
“I’m not married,” Katrina said flatly, allowing herself for a moment to actually believe the statement.
They rode along quietly for a few moments. The only sounds were those of the horse wheezing slightly and its hooves thudding in the soft dirt of the road, as it picked its way up the rising hillside, beyond which lay the new Stromberg house, now nearing completion.
“Well, then,” Teresa finally said, “we’ll just have to see that you are well taken care of during your pregnancy.” She reached over and took Katrina’s hand as they drove. “I would like to be your friend, Katrina. Will you allow me to help? With my baby coming too, we’ll go through this together.”
Katrina looked over at this woman who had so recently entered her life, just as Teresa turned to look at her. Their eyes met, and Teresa smiled warmly. She reached again for Katrina’s hand, and continuing to look into her eyes, asked, “Friends?”
Katrina allowed a wry smile to play at the corners of her mouth, and she shook her head in disbelief. What she was hearing didn’t seem possible. In the space of a few minutes, she had discovered her husband to be a bigamist, and now his other wife, who also was pregnant, was offering to be her friend. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or what to say. And she had no idea how this would work out, or if it would.
Her mind flashed to Harold’s behavior—the dirty business of leading Thomas into believing he was wanted for murder; his perfidy in secretly getting married on his initial trip to Mexico; his request that Katrina represent herself as his sister, instead of his wife. She wondered if he had ever told her the truth—about anything! And he must have lied in similar ways to this woman sitting beside her, who apparently didn’t have the slightest suspicion that Harold might have another wife.
The small joy she would derive from watching Harold squirm as he returned to find the two of them together had not yet crossed Katrina’s mind, as it would later in the day. But for the moment, she found it hard not to accept and even to like this woman who had only just met her, and who, within moments, had accepted Katrina as a sister—an unmarried and pregnant one at that. Teresa’s immediate offer had been, “How can I help?” Harold Stromberg had two wives, one of whom knew of the situation, one of whom thought of the other as Harold’s sister, and both of whom were going to have his baby. An eventful day, all in all.
Seeing Katrina and Teresa sitting calmly together on the verandah of the hacienda, filled Harold with consternation. He could see that they were engaged in amiable conversation, but as he closed the distance from the doorway to their table, overlooking the quadrangle inside the hacienda compound, his mind was racing. What they might have discovered about each other flashed through his mind, and he searched desperately for something he might say or do. Clearly, he had been caught, or was in danger of it.
“Harold,” Teresa said pleasantly, look
ing up from her chair to greet him. “Look what a surprise I have for you!”
“I . . . I . . . I see,” he stammered.
“Well, aren’t you going to give your wife a kiss, and one for your sister as well?” Teresa asked.
“Ah, yes, of course,” he mumbled, bending to kiss Teresa on the cheek and then stepping over to Katrina to kiss the top of her head as she remained seated in her chair, silently watching and trying to understand how the man she thought she had loved could be guilty of so much deceit.
“I told you that Katrina should stay with us. It was good that Mrs. Olsen no longer needed her assistance, don’t you think?” Teresa asked.
“Yes, ah, yes, of course,” Harold repeated, taking a chair from the wall and placing it between the two women, assuming his seat. “And how did this all come about?” he asked, beginning to regain some control of his thoughts.
“I went to New Hope and found Katrina. We’ve had a lovely day. I showed her the new house, and she’s agreed to live with us until . . .” Teresa also hesitated, unsure how to phrase her thoughts—“. . . until the baby comes. She needs family to look after her, Harold, and we can both look after each other. Won’t that be wonderful?”
“Yes, of course.”
Throughout the evening, Harold stumbled his way through introductions and most discussions. Don Sebastian returned from a trip down the coast to check on his holdings, and introducing Katrina as his sister, created in Harold an acute sense of embarrassment. He avoided looking at Katrina, but it was painful to imagine the loathing she must be feeling for him. Dinner was the longest ordeal of Harold’s life as Don Sebastian, Miguel, and Teresa all extended themselves to get to know this new person in Harold’s family, who was often at a loss to answer their questions about her and Harold’s early lives.
But Katrina stood the test well. She retained her composure and carried off the pretense that she was Harold’s sister very well. If Harold had not been worrying so much about how he was going to explain himself to her, he would have been proud of his young wife for her pluck.
