Four Winds (River of Time California, Book 2)

by Lisa T. Bergren

  Emilio gestured to the guard by the door. “Take the boy belowdecks and leave him in one of the storerooms. He can do his best to sleep through the storm.” He turned to me and pointed. “Stay here in this cabin, and only here, Señorita. ¿Comprende? The deck is no place for a woman in stormy seas. To come out would likely give you as much chance at a watery grave as an escape.”

  There was a measure of compassion in his steady gaze, a sincere warning.

  I nodded. “I understand.” Already the waves were bigger, making me lean more distinctly against them in one direction and then the other to keep my footing.

  He and the guard exited the cabin, Mateo firmly in hand, and I glimpsed rain beginning to spatter the deck. It was very dark outside, the sky roiling with ashen clouds, even though we had a good two hours of daylight left. The cook came in through the open door and followed my glance backward, even as the guard moved to close it. “We have just begun to round Point Ruina,” he said, moving to help the steward gather the remaining dishes. “Famed for her four winds.”

  “Four winds?” I said, automatically stepping toward the table to help before realizing that a lady and a guest in this time wouldn’t do such a thing.

  “Sailors carefully choose their timing rounding the point, for just as soon as a ship sets her sails for one wind, it switches. If the crew is not quick enough, sails set for one wind will allow a shifting wind to send us keel-to-sky. The storms are fierce here, and many have gone down on the rocks of her shores. It is only because we hasten to Monterey that the captain chooses to push through the storm.” He shook his head and muttered to the steward, “He tempts the fates by daring the four winds to take us down.”

  “Best we get there, collect our payment, and move on, or there will be greater forces than wind that threaten to take us down,” the cook grumbled back, glancing my way.

  Javier, he meant. And his friends. Or the Mexican troops? Perhaps they would aid Javier, now that pirates had dared to attack one of their own.

  “The winds can be a boon to sailors,” the cook went on, gathering the last plate, “or our doom. One must always pay attention to them.”

  The guard led the way to the door and let the cook out first, leaving one hand free to close the door behind him. “Best you remain seated, Señorita,” he told me, looking out upon the deck and then back to me. “It’s bound to get much worse before the night is over. You will be safe in here.”

  But as he shut the door, I couldn’t help but think over his words. I settled into a rocking chair and shifted it, trying to move with the waves rather than fight them. This was more than the four winds—this was the storm behind the one we’d seen last night.

  You owe me a kiss, Javier de la Ventura, I thought wistfully. I won our wager. And in that moment, he felt farther from me than ever.

  Hour upon hour later, dark was fully upon us and I was panting, trying to keep from throwing up every bite I’d taken at dinner. I rocked to the end of my chair legs with each wave—so far that after a while, I feared falling over—and then so far forward I had to stabilize the chair with my legs and use my arms to keep my seat. I finally lay down on the floor, feeling the waves wash beneath us like giant whales, pushing us over neck, hump, and tail.

  Somewhere in the middle of that terrible night, I heard a high-pitched, faint shout over the howling wind, then two, just before something crashed into the side of the ship.

  I rolled in a backward somersault, feet over head, and then again, hitting the far wall.

  The last candle on a side table sputtered out, drowning in its own wax, leaving just one tiny flame somehow flickering in the corner, an urn beneath glass that swung on a chain, back and forth like a hypnotist’s enchantment. Water seeped under the door and ran toward me. I scrambled up, trying to avoid it, but then another wave hit us. The ship leaned so far over that I slid across the wood floor, crashing against the table and then tumbling over it. I could hear a scream outside above the wind—a horrific, fading scream, as if a man fell from the rigging—and more shouts.

  Still another wave hit us, and we leaned even farther over. My eyes widened in terror. Were we going to capsize? We were practically on our side!

  The cook’s mention of keel-to-sky echoed in my head.

  But then the boat rocked back, and I tumbled in the other direction, so wrapped up in my stupid skirts that I could do little but roll. I hit the chest, and it was then that I realized that all the main furniture had been anchored to the floor. Even the three chests that contained the captain’s clothing—and apparently a spare gown—were set between brackets screwed to the floor so they could be moved but would not slide.

  The wind sounded like a living thing now, a haunting, terrifying screech of coming death. I could hear the roaring shouts of both the captain and the first mate, echoing him, but wondered how the sailors could hear them if they were farther away than I was from them. Another wave rammed us, and again I slid across the floor, yelping in terror. Again, we hovered almost sideways. I prayed that another wave wouldn’t send us over, that God would send another of his four winds.

  But he apparently didn’t hear me. Because at that moment, another wave struck the lower, exposed side of the ship, and with a creak and groan, we began a sickening roll.

  CHAPTER 9

  JAVIER

  Having heard the news in town, my friend, Rafael Vasquez, arrived late that afternoon, with twelve fresh horses in tow, as well as a dozen of his own men. “In case you elect to go overland,” he said in his elegant, offhand way. That was part of what I so appreciated in Rafael; he seemed ever-ready to be my aid, my guide, my help. A brother in every way.

  We gripped arms as he dismounted, and he gave me a hard look with his dark blue eyes. “We shall get them back, Javier.” He set his jaw and said again, “We shall get them back.”

  I knew he was thinking of his own sister as he considered the prospect of my losing Mateo as well as Zara, and my hand tightened above his elbow. “Yes. We shall,” I pledged.

  We were just heading inside the villa when a guard shouted, “Riders, Don Javier! From the harbor!”

  I turned and watched as Juan Diego, one of the new guards just assigned to the harbor storehouse, tore down the lane. Behind him, massive, dark thunderclouds rolled toward us. There was an eerie green light beneath the coal-gray…an odd distorting of the setting sun? Or something worse?

  The guard pulled up at last, his horse panting and prancing. I grabbed the mare’s bridle and looked up. “What is it? A ship?”

  “A ship, yes,” he said.

  “Will she agree to take us north?”

  A shadow crossed his face. “The captain refuses. He says that storm was building around Point Ruina, and his cargo demands he hasten south, as soon as it passes. He has taken shelter in our harbor only because he fears he cannot make Santa Barbara before it is upon us.”

  “Did he see the pirate ship?”

  “Sí, Don Ventura. They saw her this morning. But she was flying the Mexican flag.”

  “They did not hail her?”

  “No,” he said with a shake of his head. “As I said, the captain is in a hurry to sail south, and the storm was chasing them. They took note of the ship, though, because it did not appear as if the captain intended to weigh anchor, closer to shore, and wait out the storm. The Crescent Moon was heading directly toward it, as if they intended to round Point Ruina tonight.”

  “The fools,” I muttered, turning to Rafael and shaking my open palms. “Why would he take such a risk? Mendoza gets nothing if—” I couldn’t bear to finish the thought aloud. If they all go down. I swallowed hard. Zara! Mateo!

  “He likely wants to gain some distance from Rancho Ventura and any support you might rally,” Rafael said. “As well as sell your cargo long before you arrive.”

  “Or get to Monterey and plan his escape, once your gold is in his hands,” Mama said. Behind her, my sisters, Estrella and Francesca, interlocked hands with my youngest brother, Jac
into. All stared at me with wide, round, brown eyes, and I felt their collective trust as a weight, even as I felt Mateo’s and Zara’s from afar.

  I turned away from them, gazing at the fearsome, roiling cloudbank, perhaps thirty miles distant. And yet it was so close, in turn, that I felt like I could feel the rumble of its thunder in my chest, as if I should wince at the cracks of lightning.

  “They shall turn back,” I said, willing confidence into my voice for my beloved family behind me. “To head into what comes would be to tempt death. And Mendoza wishes to collect my debt when he delivers Mateo and Zara to me.”

  “Fear of death did not keep them from attacking Rancho de la Ventura,” Mama said, holding an embroidered handkerchief to her nose. Estrella wrapped her arm around her waist in comfort and laid her cheek on Mama’s shoulder.

  “If they are wise and make harbor as you suggest, and this storm persists,” Rafael said, “we might have a chance at catching up with them. If we ride now.”

  I eyed him. “Are you prepared for that? You’ve ridden all day to get here.”

  “As you saw, we each have a spare horse. Give us all a chance to rest a bit, let the horses take their share of grain and water, and we’ll be ready. Together, we can each have an extra horse, allowing us to ride hard.” He reached out and grasped my shoulder. “I stopped in Santa Barbara. There were no ships headed north. Craig’s Heron won’t be seaworthy for another few days, from what I hear. We must go overland, even if we don’t come across the pirates until we reach Monterey.”

  “And the soldiers of the garrison?” I asked, not feeling any real hope. But I had to know. “Did you speak to them? See them?”

  “I stopped there too,” Rafael said grimly.

  Doña Elena and Francesca edged closer, Estrella and Jacinto right behind them, hopeful for news of rescue or reinforcements.

  But Rafael shook his head, looking abashed. The soldiers of the presidio would not prove to be our deliverance.

  I bit back a curse and turned away, hands on hips. It was one thing to suspect, another to know. “What was their rationale?” I asked angrily, tossing a hand in the air. “What will it take for them to move to protect Mexico’s own?”

  “Lieutenant de la Cruz said it is the risk you assume,” Rafael reluctantly reported, using a careful, delicate tone, “residing so far from the outpost. There is no way that they can protect anyone ‘so distant, and since the danger has moved on,’ he sees no reason to make the journey. As he put it, he couldn’t ‘bring your dead men back to life.’”

  His tone turned reluctant, reporting the last of it, but his eyes told me that he shared my loathing of the soldiers. Despicable, no-account, untrustworthy….

  My mother let out a sound of disgust, and Francesca brought upturned fingers to cover her mouth, tears in her eyes. Despite my anger, I acknowledged that it was good that my mother heard this. She was so loyal to the Mother Country.

  And despite her obvious dismay, I saw hope flash across young Francesca’s pretty face. I knew Captain Craig had caught her eye; while I did not condone his suit—my sister was a good two or three years away from marriageable age—I knew that if Francesca became more receptive to the Unionist cause, it would still be a challenge to persuade our mother.

  But that was a problem for another day.

  “So we are on our own,” I said to Rafael.

  He shrugged. “I brought twelve of my best. Choose twelve of your own, as well as every dagger, sword, and pistol you have, and when we find these pirates, we’ll make them wish they died at sea.”

  “Rafael!” Mama said, aghast, pulling Jacinto slightly away, as if that would keep him from absorbing words already uttered.

  But little Jacinto squirmed away from her and squared his small shoulders. “No, Mama. I am with Señor Vasquez. I hope every last one of them suffers. Killing our men! Stealing away with Mateo and our goods. And Zara.”

  His tone and eyes softened as he glanced at me. For the first time, I could see he was a boy on the brink of manhood, just as my sisters were truly growing into womanhood, capable of marrying and seeing to their own households. I blinked. When had that happened?

  While I was dreaming about being anywhere but here, I acknowledged to myself. Perhaps if I’d spent as much time fortifying the harbor, the villa, as I had in dreaming about a return to university, I would have seen my brothers and sisters growing up before my very eyes, and protected everyone I loved from these travesties.

  Oh, my dear family. Oh, Zara. I am sorry, so sorry.

  I’d failed them all. Would they ever forgive me?

  Could I ever forgive myself?

  And what had I done, chaining Zara to this place, this time, with my love? If I really loved her, if I were truly willing to let her go—rather than praying with everything in me for her to remain—might she be back in her own time, safe and sound?

  The truth of it settled in my chest like a heavy weight, square and sure. She’d been ready to go, not at all certain that this time was to be her own. Yes, she’d confessed that she thought she’d made a mistake, trying to go. But that was after, after I made her stay.

  As much as she’d begged God for a return, I’d begged him to keep her here.

  It was my fault. All of this was my fault.

  And now I had to find her…to free her. Forever?

  CHAPTER 10

  ZARA

  The cabin door burst open as we crested such a massive wave of water, that a good ten feet of it must have washed over the deck. As I stood to the side of the door and watched as the room flooded to knee depth, I thought through what I must do to survive. It was almost as if this wasn’t happening to me, but rather some other person, so I could calmly figure out that other girl’s plan.

  But then another massive wave hit us and I was pitched forward, falling facedown in the shallow, cold water. I sat up, sputtering, coughing, and rubbed my head where I’d hit the table leg.

  For the moment we were upright but listing heavily. I had to get out of the cabin. To stay inside would mean certain death, and I had to get to Mateo, free him, if there was any way to do so. But how was I supposed to do that in a long dress? It’d be very bad to end up shipwrecked with a bunch of pirates naked, but neither could I swim in a full-length gown. The only light was the periodic flash of lightning out the cabin door. Stepping out of the water and onto a chest, I leaned down, gripped the back of my gown and brought it up between my legs like a diaper. Then I grabbed the two corners and tied it at my waist. I knew the men would gape at me if they caught sight of my legs, bare to the thigh, but for the moment, they had bigger concerns before them, as did I.

  Like how to stay alive…

  We remained listing to one side, and it made me distinctly uneasy. Because we’d taken on so much water as we rolled? Or because there was damage belowdecks?

  Mateo.

  I had to get to him. There was no way I could face Javier and tell him Mateo had…. Even the thought of it made a big ball form in the back of my throat and brought to mind the sad day when Javier’s sister-in-law, Adalia, holding her little son, Alvaro, left their family. The Venturas couldn’t lose another family member. Not after losing their dad and their brother Dante too…. They just couldn’t. Please, Lord. Please, please, please….

  I jumped into the water and made my way to the door, holding desperately to the frame as another wave washed over the deck. What I could see outside—as one bolt of lightning after another flashed—stunned me. Rain fell in sheets, pelting my face with icy bits—hail? Sails hung at awkward angles everywhere, making it seem like a ghost ship. The mainmast had cracked nearly in half and leaned ominously with every new gust of wind, threatening to pierce the deck.

  There were few men left that I could see. I could make out the wide form of the second mate, Gonzalo, scrambling up the mainmast—dagger between his teeth as if intent on cutting sails loose—but then I lost sight of him among the mass of sails and sheets of rain and intermittent darkness b
etween lightning flashes. A sailor moved past me, helping a friend who was clearly dazed and injured. Another moved in the opposite direction. Emilio, the first mate, appeared, shouting orders—at who?—but I grabbed his arm. “Please!” I cried. “Where did they take my friend? Where is Mateo?”

  He frowned and stared at me as if I were a ghost, but he glanced toward a dark doorway to our right before shaking his head. “He’s likely long dead, Señorita!” he yelled over the wind. “Leave him and spare yourself!”

  He moved to a water barrel, pulled a cork, and it began to drain from the bottom. He took my hand, put the cork in my palm, and then placed my other hand over the handle on top of the barrel as he locked down the lid. “We’re going down!” he shouted over the wind. “Once it’s drained, cork it, roll it to the edge, and send it overboard. Jump right in with it. Hold on to it. Do not lose it!” he cried. “With luck, it will carry you to shore!”

  He disappeared into the dark abyss of the windswept deck, crawling over a fallen mast and piles of sailcloth, obviously intent on helping how he could. My heart pounded as another big wave hit us, and five feet of white water crossed the rail and collided into me. I lost my footing and went under again, all too aware that I hadn’t taken a breath. I clung to a pile of thick rope and waited for the water to recede, then once it’d passed, turned onto my back and gasped for air. The ship listed to the other side now. The broken end of the mast looked even worse and teetered directly over me, like the blade of a guillotine threatening to impale the condemned.

  A little help, Lord? I prayed silently. Can you send us just three winds instead of four?

  Get out, came the reply to my heart. Quickly. Away! Away!

  For the first time, I considered my situation as a blessing rather than a curse. There was no one watching me. My captors were dead or distracted. Was this a divine path toward freedom? I glanced back at the water barrel, still draining at the bottom, and considered corking it, rolling it to the side, and doing as Emilio had told me to do—tossing it overboard and praying it would take me to shore. To remain on the ship meant certain death. That much was clear.