Heaven Is a Long Way Off

by Win Blevins

Reina looked oddly at her sister, turned back to her guests, and said, “Is Sister Annunzio also a newcomer?”

  “I have seen the boys when they’ve been at the mission,” said Sumner, “but this is my first time at the rancho. It’s beautiful.”

  Julia’s hand was about to shatter the wineglass.

  “My child, perhaps it’s time for you to make your confession now.”

  “Of course, Father.”

  IN THE SMALL room Julia sat on the narrow bed, not pretending. Grumble drew a chair close. “Flat Dog is waiting for you,” he said softly. “Sam is with him.”

  Julia gasped. She clutched her hands around her belly as though to hold the child in.

  “We are going to take you out of here right now. If you want to go.”

  Julia looked like she was going to burst with emotions. She managed to nod yes.

  Grumble put his arms around her and held her. Her head thrashed wildly. Quietly, he told her what she was to do. From time to time she whispered, “Yes.” She seemed tongue-tied, but at the end she got out one thought. “Trust Reina. She’s on our side.” She leaned into him and wept, great, heaving sobs.

  Eventually, after Julia had cried long enough to recite the sins of a highwayman, Grumble softly told her the rest of the plan. She nodded yes several times. He said with a sincerity that surprised even him, “God bless you, my child.” He wished he could give her absolution.

  When Julia left the room to get her sister, her face was marbled red, white, and gold. Good, he thought, she will be convincing.

  Reina came in and knelt. She looked up at Grumble, looked down, and began the ritual words, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  Grumble interrupted. “Doña Reina,” he said, “I am not a priest and Sister Annunzio is not a nun.”

  Horror floated through Reina’s eyes.

  Grumble couldn’t help smiling as he said, “I am Grumble, she is Sumner.”

  Reina jumped. Grumble put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from running off.

  Julia glided into the room. “Let us explain…”

  HANNIBAL CURSED. DON Cesar and his son were walking their horses back. Just when I thought we might get off clean.

  He jumped down from the corral fence, trotted into the barn, and got the harness. Cigarillo gave him a peculiar look—like Who told you to get the carriage ready?—but the Mexican brought the two draft animals out of the corral. Together they started the harnessing.

  Don Cesar threw Cigarillo an imperious look. The stable hand walked toward the dons, his shoulders swaying sassily, took the reins of both horses, and led them away for water and oats.

  The front door of Don Cesar’s adobe scraped open. Out came a horrendous moan, a ululating cry of pain.

  Don’t overdo it, Hannibal thought.

  Two women came out, one of them Sumner in his nun’s getup. The other must be Doña Reina. They held the ends of a heavy blanket, which emerged in bright colors from the shadowed corridor.

  The moan soared upward again. It came from the shape half wrapped in the blanket, apparently Julia.

  Grumble staggered out, struggling to support his end of the blanket.

  “The baby!” exclaimed Doña Reina.

  The don’s face rearranged itself from arrogance to childlike horror.

  Hannibal ran to help. He grabbed Julia and lifted her out of the blanket. Reina took Esperanza from Julia. Hannibal hurried toward the carriage, bearing the stricken woman.

  “What the devil is going on?” demanded Don Cesar.

  “Papa, it’s a month early! The baby is coming a month early!”

  “Then why are you moving Julia?”

  Sumner minced forward in quick tiny steps and put his hand on the don’s forearm. “She needs help. It’s very dangerous. We must get her to the midwife.”

  “Who in hell are you?”

  “Sister Annunzio,” said Reina, sounding out of breath. “Papa, we’ve got to get her help.”

  Hannibal deposited Julia in the carriage.

  Again she issued a horrifying moan.

  Good woman, thought Hannibal. He climbed up and took the reins.

  “I’ll ride to the pueblo for the doctor.”

  “Not enough time,” said Grumble. “Quicker to the mission and the midwife, far quicker.”

  “Who in the hell are you?” snapped Don Cesar.

  “Father Lorenzo, who is trying to save your grandchild’s life. And your daughter’s.”

  Grumble hopped into the carriage behind Sumner, and Hannibal lashed the horses into motion.

  Don Cesar’s policy was, When uncertain, shout. “Alfredo, get the doctor! Bring him to the mission! Now!”

  The don himself snapped at Cigarillo to bring his horse. Mounted, he trotted to the carriage and fell in behind. “What in hell…?” he muttered. “What the devil…?”

  ABOUT A MILE along the dirt road the Indian driving the carriage stopped.

  “What are you doing, you idiot? My daughter’s life is at stake!”

  “No,” said the Indian, “yours is.” He cocked the pistol and held it straight at the don’s chest. “Dismount!”

  The don did.

  Two American beaver hunters ran out of the cluster of scrubby trees.

  “Grumble, get the reins.”

  The priest did.

  Grumble! The don recognized that name. He was beginning to understand…

  Reina got down from the carriage with Esperanza in her arms. Julia stepped out next to her sister.

  Don Cesar stared at Julia, uncomprehending.

  Now the beaver hunters trained their rifles on the don’s chest.

  Don Cesar recognized them. Sam Morgan, the American clown with the Indian wife. Flat Dog, the Indian who usurped his daughter. And Sam’s scraggly dog.

  “Julia!” the don snapped.

  The beaver hunters seized his arms.

  She walked directly in front of him, glaring. She was perfectly well. His lips slipped into a snarl.

  “Father,” she said, “I disinherit you.”

  She cocked her open hand well back and slapped him.

  The hands let him go, and he nearly fell.

  Julia glared, challenging him.

  Coy jumped forward and nipped at the don’s leg. Rubio kicked at the animal. He looked rage at his daughters.

  “Oh, Papa,” said Reina, “you deserve it.”

  Flat Dog stepped up to Julia, embraced her, and kissed her, a huge kiss. Julia kissed him back with passion.

  The don looked away.

  Hannibal looked at Grumble, holding the reins, and nodded. Then he put his pistol in his belt, turned, plucked his rifle off the seat, and looked down its barrel at the don.

  “Our friends will go on to…wherever they choose to go,” said Flat Dog. “I, Julia’s husband, the father of your grandchild, I will escort you home.”

  “And me,” said Hannibal, prodding the don with his cocked rifle.

  Flat Dog gave Julia one more kiss. He said softly, “I have to do this.”

  “I understand.”

  “Soon.”

  “Yes.”

  SAM MORGAN LOOKED into the carriage at Julia, Sumner, and Reina, who was holding his daughter. He reached for her and held her for the first time in half a year, almost her entire life. She yawned and closed her eyes. His mind went moony.

  “She is a gentle baby,” said Reina, “always peaceful.”

  Sam gawked at Esperanza.

  DON CESAR CURSED Flat Dog and Hannibal all the way back to the rancho. He walked, led his horse, and cursed them.

  Hannibal interrupted him. “You’re impressive. Only a man of education has such magnificent imprecations.”

  The huge rowels on the don’s spurs made his steps crooked and awkward. In a quarter mile his ankles were torturing him, and his creative energy waned.

  However, his tongue was relentless. He denounced his captors. He denounced Julia and his grandchild. And he cursed the priest and nun who helped t
o perpetrate this atrocity. “I will make them pay,” he said. “I am a loyal friend and supporter of that mission, and Father Antonio will stand by me. That priest and nun will pay.”

  Flat Dog and Hannibal smiled at each other and kept their guns on their prisoner.

  Soon Don Cesar and the two riders came on an elderly Mexican in a big sombrero who was pruning a grapevine. The mountain men put their rifles across their laps, looking idle. Sombrero looked questioningly at the don. “It is all right, Miguel,” the don said. “It is all right.”

  When they neared the house, Cigarillo came out of the barn, his unlit cigarillo an inch shorter but still jutting up to the sky. “It’s all right,” said the don. “I’m fine.”

  At the door of the adobe Flat Dog said, “Who is inside?”

  “Two women, a maid and a cook,” said the don.

  “If there are only two,” said Flat Dog, “fine. If there is a third or a fourth, you die.” He glared at the don.

  Don Cesar Rubio shrugged.

  Flat Dog kicked the door open.

  From the corral Cigarillo saw the American hunters pushing Don Cesar inside with their rifles. He decided that now would be a good time to relax somewhere else with a bottle of mescal.

  The captors and the don stepped into the entry hall. “Call them,” ordered Flat Dog.

  “Lupe. Juanita.”

  Two women crept from separate rooms into the corridor.

  “Is anyone else in the house?” said Hannibal.

  The women shook their heads no. They looked terrified. “Lead me to the parlor. We will sit like guests. Have you ever been privileged to sit in that room?”

  The women minced into the parlor, and Hannibal followed them.

  “Down the hall,” said Flat Dog, his rifle in the don’s back.

  He marched Don Cesar down the long corridor and into a special room at the end, where he kept his prized collection of weapons. The walls here were adorned with instruments of destruction—a conquistador’s sword and breastplate; a matchlock rifle; two fine dueling pistols; a cutlass from a pirate vessel; a jeweled dirk belonging to a Spanish grandee; several styles of whips and lashes, including a cat-o’-nine-tails.

  The don had displayed these marvels proudly to Flat Dog and Sam last winter. “The cat,” he said, “is preferred by the British. And this is the choice of the Russians. The knout.”

  He took it down to show them its nastiness. “Wire is interwoven with the rawhide, you see.” Then he tapped the handle into his hand with an air of satisfaction.

  Now Flat Dog took down the knout. Its memories crawled up and down the flesh of his back.

  The don’s eyes bugged and swelled. He remembered perfectly. He saw the eruptions of Flat Dog’s skin, the spewing blood. He heard once more the Indian’s screams, and remembered how he relished them.

  “Down on the floor,” said Flat Dog.

  Don Cesar went.

  “All the way. Flat on your belly.”

  Don Cesar obeyed.

  Flat Dog leaned his rifle in a corner. Then he tapped the handle of the knout in his hand.

  Eight

  THE RAINS CAME.

  That first night Sam, Grumble, Sumner, Julia, Reina, and the infant Esperanza drove to the pueblo of Los Angeles. They considered finding a place to stay there, but it would have been a hovel. As soon as they started on toward Mission San Gabriel Arcangel, rain started sluicing down. The road along Arroyo Seco turned to mud, and the dry creek bed trickled. Before Sam got the carriage to the mission, the horses were sliding around in the muck. Sam and Coy, in the open, were soaked and chattering.

  Father Sanchez got out of bed to make them welcome. He even brewed hot coffee and poured them brandy to go with it. Sam silently wished blessings on the good Father Jose.

  They all got into their beds quickly.

  Sam insisted on keeping Esperanza with him. The child had been cheerful as long as the light lasted, and after dark slept. Men went to one room, women another. Sam slept slouched in a chair, his arms around his daughter.

  The next morning rain still sluiced down.

  At midmorning Hannibal and Flat Dog came in. They’d slept a few hours and then ridden through the rain. They accepted bread, butter, and coffee. Hannibal took his food to bed. Flat Dog put an arm around Julia, and they headed for another bedroom.

  “He’s awful tired,” said Sam.

  “She’s eight months along,” said Grumble.

  “I wager they’ll have some fun,” said Sumner.

  Rain and gray, rain and gray. They napped and rested all day.

  At dinner Sam looked at the friars and asked his friends in English, “What are we going to do? Rubio will come for us.”

  “Not for a few days he won’t,” said Flat Dog. He told the story of the knout-lashing. It came out flat and hard. He showed them all the knout, and the dried blood still on the rawhide and the metal studs.

  “Father José is a good man,” said Grumble.

  “He married me and Julia.”

  “He knows what we’ve done, all of it,” said Hannibal.

  “But he can’t protect us long,” said the cherub.

  “My father will pursue us wherever we go,” said Julia. Reina nodded.

  “Gentlemen,” said Sumner, “the harbor. A ship.”

  They looked at each other. They nodded. “A ship,” two or three of them said.

  Not even a California don could attack an American or British sailing vessel on the high seas.

  THE NEXT MORNING Sam and Hannibal had lunch in town. They’d left the mission while Flat Dog and Julia were still in bed, and before Grumble and Sumner got up.

  A friend walked into the cantina.

  “Ike Galbraith!”

  Sam and Hannibal stood up at their table and shook hands with Galbraith.

  “Sit and eat!” said Hannibal.

  The big Mainer sat. Even seated, he was half a head taller than either of the two tall men. “Damn rain,” he said. On this second morning it was still pouring.

  “This un heard white men was at the mission.” He did a second take on Hannibal. “Sorry, you know what I mean.”

  Under the table Coy whined.

  “It’s all right, Ike.”

  They poured Galbraith coffee and handed him tortillas.

  “I hope everybody hasn’t heard we’re at the mission,” said Sam.

  “Damn silly hope,” said Galbraith.

  They told him how Flat Dog had gotten Julia back, and made Rubio pay.

  “That shines,” said Galbraith.

  “He’ll be coming after us,” said Sam.

  “After a few days,” said Hannibal.

  “Slow going in this rain anyway,” said Galbraith.

  “Hard even to ford the Los Angeles River,” said Sam.

  The road crossed the river just above the pueblo without benefit of bridge.

  “That dinky thing, she’s a-roaring,” said the Mainer, chuckling. “What you beavers doing in town?”

  “We sold some things,” said Hannibal.

  “One of the dons up near Monterey wanted to get me and Flat Dog hanged, or better yet bushwhacked,” said Sam. “We sold most of his men’s saddles, rifles, pistols, and knives.”

  Galbraith’s eyes flashed his understanding. “Sounds more profitable than plews.”

  Sam and Hannibal smiled and nodded. Good to have something to smile about. Sam thought happily of the coins in his shooting pouch, a lot of them.

  “We’re alchemists,” said Hannibal. “We turned our lead balls into gold.”

  “Think I’ll come back to the mission with you,” said Galbraith.

  “We could use another hand,” said Sam.

  ON THE MORNING of the third day the rain fell in sheets.

  They were putting their heads together, everyone at one big table. Father José had given them good news. “My American friends,” he said in Spanish. “Good tidings. An American ship leaves San Pedro for San Diego on the tide tomorrow even
ing.”

  Sam fed Coy under the table. He’d discovered that the coyote would snap up a crust of bread if it was smeared thickly with butter.

  “Right about now a ship would be a fine way to travel,” said Grumble. He and Sumner had decided that Los Angeles wasn’t safe for them either, not for a while.

  “Safe to get there?” asked Sam. The harbor at San Pedro was a long, hard day’s drive south.

  “Two and a half days since Flat Dog whipped Rubio,” said Hannibal.

  “He’s damn well not doing any riding yet,” said Flat Dog.

  Sumner said, “I want to take no chances.”

  “Let’s do it,” said Grumble.

  Sam and Hannibal, Flat Dog and Julia—everyone looked at each other. They were agreed.

  Julia squeezed Reina’s hand.

  “I’ll be all right,” she said. “Father rages, but he will never hurt me, and Alfredo would not let him.”

  A voice came from the outside. “Where are the Americans?”

  Sam jumped up. He thought maybe he recognized that voice.

  The heavy wooden door opened and Robert Dingley limped in.

  Sam and Flat Dog said at once, “Robber!”

  He looked like hell, face scratched and bruised, silver beard and hair matted and dirty, and one leg gimpy somehow.

  Coy squealed.

  “What happened to you?” said Sam.

  “What’s gonna happen to you, only worse. Rubio’s men beat me up.”

  Introductions and explanations were urgently made. Robber was an American seaman who had abandoned ship to live the carefree life in California.

  “What are you doing here?” said Sam.

  “Looking for you. Getting away from Rubio’s men. Either or both.”

  The story was that he had been enjoying life in his shack up Topanga Creek in his usual way yesterday morning. Rubio’s men showed up suddenly, demanding to know where Sam and Flat Dog went. “I couldn’t tell them nothing. Been nearly a year since I saw you.”

  Robber’s eyes asked where Meadowlark was. Sam wasn’t ready to talk about that.

  “So they beat me up.”

  “Don’t you love them Rubios?” said Flat Dog.

  “I’m through with this place,” Robber said. “It was only a matter of time before Rubio run me off anyway.”