Turner's Woman

by Jenna Kernan

  “Yes, yes, the lure of the sea. Just a little north, we have the port of San Francisco and also ships come to Monterey, though the harbor is not protected by a bay.”

  A few hours later, the brothers at Santa Cruz welcomed them warmly, but had no private quarters for Emma and had instead arranged for them to stay in a private home with the owner of a local mercantile, Señor John Price.

  “Is he English?” asked Jake.

  “No, once an American, like yourself. He married into the family of Peralta. A very good match, as they own two thousand head. He brings the business savvy and they the cattle. He is now a member of the true faith and a citizen of Mexico. I think Señora Martin would appreciate a woman’s company after being so long in the wilderness.”

  Jake considered if this might be true. Emma had lived in a fort full of soldiers and these last two months he had been her only companion—a poor one at that. Guilt sparked again at his lack of control. Why had he taken her?

  And why did he want her again?

  Martinez turned his attention to the town. By the time they arrived, Jake knew the names of all the prominent families. He filed this away and wondered why the Mexicans thought nothing of showing him the bounty they possessed. He had yet to see a single soldier or fortification anywhere in California. He was most interested to hear about their forts, which the Mexicans called presidios. According to his host, there was one in Monterey.

  He turned his attention to the power structure.

  “Is the governor in command of all of California?”

  “No, Señor. The territory is broken into two territories, southern and the northern. We are in the northernmost section. Beyond the San Francisco Mission along the coast is Russian territory.”

  “How do you get on with your neighbors?”

  “They tried to take the bay, but our missions deterred them. They grow nothing. They raise nothing. They are only interested in otter and seal pelts.”

  “I’ve done some trapping in my time.”

  “Perhaps you would like to speak with them. Here in California the only hides we deal with are cattle. The sailors call them Mexican banknotes.” Martinez laughed. “It is true, for hides and tallow keep us well supplied. There is nothing the ships do not bring us.”

  “From Mexico?”

  “No, from rest of the world—England, France and America. We welcome all.”

  Jake knew this, but did not understand it. Any vessel with commodities to trade was allowed ashore. The authorities set arbitrary taxes and lined their pockets. But they did not defend their ports. One American man-of-war could take any harbor on the coast. Such rich land warranted protecting. The Mexicans either could not or would not take the steps to populate and protect what was theirs.

  It was their weakness, that, and their hospitality.

  They reached the two-story adobe structure with a wide front porch and upper balcony of wood. Standing in the shade, dressed as a Mexican in dark trousers, white shirt and a short coat, stood their host. Jake smiled to see he had even adopted the wide mustache of his new countrymen. Beside him, his wife, Francisca, stood like an exotic bird. One glance and he saw why Price was willing to leave his home and faith. The woman radiated lush beauty. Dark eyes flashed beneath raven eyebrows. It was a moment before he noticed she was heavy with child. A toddler, barely able to stand, clung to the red fabric of her ankle-length skirt.

  “Mr. Turner.” Price stepped down from the shade to greet him as Jake dismounted and gave him a firm handshake. “I am so happy to meet you, astonished, really. Welcome to my home. Let me present my wife, Francisca.”

  The woman moved gracefully for one so burdened. She raised her hand, palm down and Jake accepted it, dropping a kiss on the fine skin.

  “Thank you for extending your hospitality to us, señora.” He spoke in Spanish, but she answered in English, heavy with accent.

  “I welcome you both to our home. I am so happy to practice English with Señora Martin.” She turned to Emma and kissed her on both cheeks.

  Emma beamed and blushed, before Francisca led her into her home. Price motioned with his hand and Jake followed the women. The missionaries trailed behind leaving the servants to look after their horses. Jake glanced back at Duchess and his saddle, containing his precious journal. Jake patted his bag, assuring himself that he had the map painted on the leather.

  In the main room he found the table already set with a white linen cloth and silver candlesticks. Francisca waved a hand at the bees drawn to the sweet juice of the ripe fruit upon her table and they droned into the air.

  “Please be sit,” said Francisca.

  “Thank you.” Emma took the chair her hostess indicated.

  An Indian with short hair, wearing a clean white shirt and gray trousers approached holding a ceramic mug of red wine, laden with slices of fruit.

  Emma accepted a mug. “Oh, more wine.” She glanced at Jake as if for rescue. “How lovely.”

  “This wine is from Spain.”

  Jake took his place. “Spain? When you have vineyards all about you?”

  “Most of the mission wine never reaches town. Also, this is better.”

  Jake noted that everything in the room seemed to have come from a ship. Even the table looked to be of white oak, possibly from France. With all the wood in the forest, these Mexicans did not even make their own furnishings.

  Emma sipped her wine and when the servant refilled her cup, she gave him another meaningful glance.

  Francisca noted Emma’s distress. “Perhaps you would prefer chocolate?”

  A quick order to a servant and a mug of coffee laced with chocolate was set before Emma. She sipped and smiled. Jake found himself smiling, as well.

  After the meal, the missionaries departed and Jake took a tour of the port with Mr. Price, leaving Emma with the effervescent Francisca.

  He smelled the tannery a mile off from upwind. The reek of rotting flesh permeated the very clay of the adobe warehouse. He found that Price traded hides and bags of tallow with the captains, filling his mercantile with goods. The trade regulations once imposed by Spain seemed permanently suspended since Mexico took over the territory. The arm of the authorities in Acapulco was not long enough to effectively manage this outlying territory and these settlers seemed greedy for the goods the ships supplied.

  From Price’s warehouse, Jake could see the presidio. The fort was well situated on the highest ground on the north edge of the harbor on the wooded hill. To the south the harbor was sandy with gentle hills. In the center stood Price’s warehouse along with the houses of the residents. Jake estimated there to be about one hundred structures including the tannery and warehouses upon the beach.

  The harbor offered sheltered ports and deep water. One ship, the Loriotte, lay at anchor. According to his host, the brig sailed from the Sandwich Islands to the coast of Peru and then back to California again.

  “The captain is an American, Charles Billings, but his crew is a mix of Spaniards, Spanish Indians, Sandwich Islanders and a few English sailors,” said Price.

  An American captain. Jake’s lips curled. “I’d like to meet him.”

  Price nodded. “I assumed so. He’ll attend the banquet tomorrow.”

  “What banquet?”

  “The one my wife is holding in your honor. And in her condition, I indulge her. The entire town is invited.”

  Jake eyed the fort, seeing no evidence of heavy artillery. “What about General Vallejo?”

  “Oh, the general never misses a horse race. I’m sure you will meet him tomorrow.”

  As it happened, Francisca invited the sea captain for supper. He was climbing the hill from the port as Jake and John Price returned from their ride about town. They dismounted to walk beside the man.

  “A pleasure, sir,” said Billings, shaking his hand with vigor. “It isn’t often I have a chance to speak English here.”

  Jake judged Billings to be over thirty and bursting with strength and good health. His blue
eyes shone clear and bright. He wore bushy sideburns and the thick black mustache of a New England captain as his accent made Jake believe him to be.

  “Boston?” asked Jake.

  “Aye, that’s a fact.”

  “I’d like to see your ship, Captain. Would that be possible?” Jake prayed it would, as he needed time alone with the captain in order to make his proposal.

  “Wednesday evening?”

  “Wonderful.”

  “I’ll send in a boat before dark on the second tide.”

  Jake considered that everything was going wonderfully. He’d need this evening to make final additions to the second map.

  Price’s voice drew his attention.

  “Ah, I’m afraid we will have to switch to Spanish. I see General Vallejo could not contain his curiosity until tomorrow.”

  Jake glanced to the wide shaded porch, which Price had furnished like a living room, with benches, tables and chairs. A slender man of some considerable height, dressed in the blue-and-red uniform of a Mexican officer sat beside Emma deep in conversation. Upon her lap lay her sketchbook. Jake felt the pit of his stomach drop. How long had he been questioning her?

  Standing in the sun four more soldiers stood, bearing arms. Jake moved to full alert.

  His step quickened, but then he forced himself to maintain the easy pace of his fellows, pushing down the dread. He should have known the authorities would find her first. Had she held to the story? His chest pained from the accelerated beating of his heart.

  Francisca Price rose, beaming a great smile, which looked brighter for her red lips. Her thick black hair, now swept up in elaborate combs, lay partially covered by a veil of white lace.

  “At last you come. General Vallejo growing tired of the company of women, I thinking.”

  Price kissed his wife, resting a proprietary hand on the swell of her belly for just an instant, then switched to Spanish.

  “Nonsense, no other hostess compares to you, my dear.”

  Francisca flushed at the compliment. “Señora Martin has been sharing the story of your terrible ordeals. My goodness, what you suffered. I think you better both stay here. Certainly life in California is preferable to facing that desert again.” She slipped her arm into the crook of her husband’s elbow and led him to a seat. “Did you know that Señora Martin is a crack shot? She killed a pouncing mountain lion.”

  Jake found the general’s eyes fixed on him as if taking his measure. Vallejo extended his hand, but his expression remained too serious for a friendly greeting and they exchanged only the slightest brushing of palms.

  “Señor Turner, the missionaries sent word of your arrival in our territory.”

  Jake thought he overemphasized the word our.

  “Do you have the proper papers to enter California?”

  Price stepped in. “Señor Turner had no intention of ever entering California, so why would he have papers?”

  Vallejo nodded, but kept his eyes focused on Jake. His smile was not friendly. “So Señora Martin has been telling me. Still there must be papers. To travel without them is not permitted.”

  “I’m sure we can write to Acapulco and obtain the blasted things,” said Price.

  “What about some proof that you are who you say?”

  Francisca inhaled sharply, clearly insulted on Jake’s behalf. “General Vallejo—”

  “This is the least that is expected. I am executing my duties, Doña Price.” He bowed to her.

  She lifted her chin in a way that made Jake think she was not accustomed to being overruled in her home.

  “I have already sent word to Santa Barbara of our visitors’ arrival. I am confident that Governor-General Echeandia will be most curious to meet you both. As you might know, you are not the first Americans to appear from the East. Captain Smith left our company only three years ago.” The general turned to Jake. “He violated the terms of our agreement, fleeing to the mountains when I sent men to apprehend him.”

  “I hope you do not judge us all on the behavior of one man.”

  “There were rather more than one. But you Americans have to learn that proper protocol must be maintained, papers among them.”

  Jake nodded. “I will do whatever you deem necessary to see that protocol is followed.”

  “I should like to ask you a few questions, if I may. I have a good picture of your experience from Señora Martin already.”

  Jake turned to Emma and saw concern reflected in the swirling smoke of her eyes. He needed to speak with her, but how to do it?

  The general turned to their host. “May we just borrow your study for a few moments?”

  Price led the way and Jake trailed behind, pausing to drop his satchel beside Emma’s chair. He watched her hand move so slowly it was barely perceptible until she held the strap firmly in her hand.

  He turned to see if the general was out of earshot and noted he stood just inside the door, waiting like a cat for a mouse.

  “Sergeant, bring me that bag,” said Vallejo. He then motioned to another man to follow. Finally, he pinned Jake with a confident smile. “Señor?”

  Jake followed him with leaden steps. Emma did what he had asked of her. He knew it in his heart. But had she embellished? Had she inadvertently set a trap for him to step into? The general was a fox and he the hare. He would ask for minute details, the kind two people could never match when questioned separately.

  The general motioned to a doorway that Price held open off the main living area. His host waited for Jake to pass, his expression serious. The general entered first, then Jake, followed by Vallejo’s two men. Jake turned to find Price withdrawing.

  Jake would face this challenge alone.

  Vallejo motioned to a chair, but as he did not sit, so Jake declined. The sergeant still clutched his possibles bag. Jake thought of the map secreted on the inner lining of his creation and forced himself to breath evenly.

  The questioning began with the Indian attack, asking details about the Mojave which Jake readily supplied. He wanted specifics about the desert crossing and how they managed to break the barrier of the mountains.

  “Until Captain Smith arrived in Santa Barbara, we thought the mountains invulnerable,” said Vallejo. “You Americans must understand that this territory belongs to Mexico. We will defend it from invasion.”

  “I assure you, General, I am no invader. Only an unfortunate traveler asking for the hospitality of Christians in the wilderness.”

  “So you say, but I wonder if you are instead a scout.”

  “Strong words,” said Jake. “You accuse me of subterfuge when I am only guilty of volunteering to help Señora Martin across a river. Nothing more sinister than chance brought us to you.”

  The general tugged at his mustache. “Perhaps. But what proof do you offer?”

  “I have none, except the lion skin that Señora Martin shot, oh, and a sketchbook she kept of our journey.”

  “Yes, I have seen this. She has a talent. It does document your journey very well, too well, perhaps. It does not, however, document your purpose.”

  “As I said, we seek refuge from the wilderness.”

  “You look like a man who seeks refuge in the wilderness.”

  “Ah, but I have a woman in my care. I owe it to her husband to see she reaches civilization and returns to her people.”

  Vallejo laughed. “I believe her people are somewhat east of this position. Where have you been this afternoon?”

  “Price showed me his warehouse and took me to the harbor.”

  “So you have seen three missions, counted our cattle, toured our vineyards and scouted our defenses. Not bad work for the ten days since your arrival.”

  Jake said nothing, fearing he would sound defensive.

  “We will continue this conversation again soon. I am certain the governor-general will wish to meet with you.”

  “I await your pleasure.” Jake thought his bow somewhat rusty.

  Vallejo motioned to his sergeant who hand
ed his commander Jake’s bag. The General dumped the contents on the desk and then glanced into the empty pocket. Jake could not keep his breath from catching. If he cut the seams, he’d reveal the map and his deception. In a moment Vallejo tossed the sack aside. He inspected the contents of his smaller fire-starting kit, seeming disgusted by the birch fungus and considering the flint, steel and tinder.

  Next he fingered the telescope and compass.

  Jake waited as he palmed his compass, feeling sweat dribble down his spine. Vallejo turned and lifted the item.

  “Yours?”

  “Common enough in the mountains.”

  “Also common in the military. Standard, in fact. Have you ever served, Señor Turner?”

  “I’ve spent the last eight years trapping in the Rocky Mountains.”

  “And before that?”

  “Trapped as a clerk for my father.”

  The general chuckled. “Why is your Spanish so good? This is not common, I think. Smith needed a translator for our meetings.”

  The men stared at each other a moment as Jake searched his mind.

  “I went to an academy where French and Spanish were required, along with Latin. Do you speak Latin, General?”

  Jake knew the man from Smith’s stories. He had been educated here in California, with only what books could be borrowed.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  He turned back to the items before him and carefully checked the contents of each pouch. When he finished, his expression held clear disappointment.

  “Señor Turner, please remove your shirt.”

  “Is this how you treat all your guests?” asked Jake, letting his ire seep into his voice.

  “Your arrival is very suspicious. You admit you are a scout. But for whom are you scouting?”

  “I told you, I worked for Emma Martin’s husband. Let me ask you a question. If I planned to come here, why would I drag a woman over those mountains?”

  Vallejo dropped to the chair. “This disturbs me. It is the question to which I find no easy answer. If you are what I think you to be then burdening yourself with a woman would be very foolish indeed.”