Golden Paradise (Vincente 1)

by Constance O'Banyon

  Valentina's eyes dulled with hurt. "I. . . my mother will be waking soon, and I haven't seen her yet. I will just clean this away," she said, reaching for the pan.

  Marquis grabbed her wrist, causing the pan to crash to the floor, splashing Valentina's lovely gown. She was bending to retrieve the pan when Marquis shouted at her, "Just leave it alone. My mother will clean it up. Do not come back to this room unless I send for you."

  Valentina backed toward the door, not daring to look at Don Alonso, knowing she would see pity in his eyes. Turning, she ran from the room. Marquis had completely humiliated her. She would never again make the mistake of trying to be a wife to him. Salamar had been wrong. There were some things one could not fight against—and Marquis's coldness was one of those things.

  When she reached her bedroom, Valentina found Salamar waiting for her. When she saw the wet streak down the front of Valentina's gown and the stricken look on her face, she did not ask what happened. She just nodded. "To lose the first battle means one must plan for the next, Valentina."

  "I lost this one, Salamar. I do not want to fight anymore."

  "You do not need to think about it today. It is time to see your mother. Let me help you change your gown."

  Evonne, propped up against pink lace pillows, clasped her daughter's hands. "Are you happy, my love?" she inquired brightly. "I want your happiness more than anything."

  Valentina tried to avoid answering her mother's question. "I am married to the man I love," she explained. Valentina noticed the faint shadows under her mother's eyes and knew she was exhausted. "You are to rest for the next few days, Mother. I want you to recover from the journey."

  "All I do is rest," Evonne pouted. "I am so weary of staying in bed."

  "There is a lovely courtyard garden here. Perhaps you can spend some time there when you are feeling stronger," Valentina suggested.

  "Yes, that would be nice," Evonne said in a tired voice. "I want to hear all about your wedding, and why you were so impatient to become Mrs. Vincente that you couldn't wait for me to be with you."

  "Rest now, Mother. We will talk tomorrow, when you have recovered from your long journey."

  Valentina watched her mother's eyes close, then waited quietly until she had fallen asleep. What a tangled mess she had made of her life. How would she ever be able to tell her mother about the baby? She hoped with all her heart that she would not have to. Her mother would never understand.

  Salamar motioned Valentina into the hallway. "I will stay with your mother now. Go out into the garden and take in the fresh air."

  Valentina nodded, needing to get out of the house. She felt the walls closing in around her, and she could not breathe. Many generations of Vincentes were probably turning over in their graves because one of their sons had married an English woman, she thought bitterly.

  Stopping in her tracks, she remembered something Salamar had told her when they were still living in Cornwall. She had said that Valentina would be worshiped by many men. That had actually happened. As Jordanna, she had received adoration. She also remembered Salamar telling her she would love only one man. He would love her as two women and reject her as both! How could Salamar have known that Marquis would reject her as Valentina and Jordanna?

  She tried to clear her mind of Salamar's predictions. They were too troubling to think about now when she was so weary.

  As she walked alone in the lovely garden, drinking in its beauty, it came to her that this lovely old house should be a house filled with happiness. She was struck by the thought that California was a land that seemed to abound with food, plants, and wild life. This was an old world that should embrace new thoughts and ideas. As a shadow moved away from the sun, she raised her face to bask in the warmth. If this land would accept her, she would embrace it with open arms.

  25

  The days passed in a similar pattern. Valentina stayed close by her mother, making sure she was comfortable, reading to her each afternoon. Since the day Marquis had ordered Valentina out of his bedroom, she had not attempted to go near him. Sometimes Valentina would go into the garden and sit by the fountain, daydreaming about how happy she could have been in this house.

  Valentina knew Marquis's mother was still trying to ignore her. Three times a day meals were delivered to Evonne Barrett's room for the three of them. They were never asked to the main dining room, and Dona Anna had not come to see them.

  The only Vincente family member Valentina ever saw was Don Alonso. Twice he had sent for her, and she had gone to his study to play chess. He was always kind to her, but the two of them never spoke about Marquis's or Dona Anna's treatment of Valentina and her mother.

  In addition to Valentina's other worries, her concern for her mother was growing. Evonne Barrett had no desire to get out of bed. No matter how many times Valentina and Salamar tried to interest her in going into the lovely garden, she kept putting them off.

  This particular day was warm, and high, fluffy clouds floated in a lazy blue sky. As Valentina walked in the garden, she paused at the huge birdcage and watched a colorful parrot flex its wings. "He can talk. Did you know that?"

  Hearing Don Alonso's voice, Valentina turned to him and smiled, glad he was well enough to walk about. She had been worried about his health. "Who talks, the parrot?" she asked, looking into his laughing eyes.

  "Of course, the parrot. His name is Beau—named after your long dead Beau Brummell, because they both strut like peacocks."

  Valentina laughed at the old grandee. "What can he say?”

  Don Alonso tapped on the cage with his cane, and multicolored birds scattered everywhere—all except Beau. Perched on one leg, he blinked his eyes and preened his feathers. "I cannot make him talk, though I have tried on numerous occasions," Don Alonso said. "Beau will only talk to Rosalia."

  Valentina had not seen Rosalia in days. She had thought the young girl might be avoiding her so she had not sought her out. "I will have to ask her to make Beau talk for me sometime, Don Alonso."

  "Why do you not ask her now?" He scanned her face as if looking for something. "Rosalia would be glad to see you.

  A sad smile touched Valentina's lips. "Your granddaughter seems to be avoiding me."

  Don Alonso's shaggy white brows met across his nose in a frown. "Is that what you think?"

  "Yes."

  "You could not be more mistaken. Rosalia spends her days down on her knees in the chapel praying for you and her brother. You see, she loves her brother very dearly, and she has come to love you too. She thinks if she fasts and prays, perhaps God will reward her by bringing happiness to you and Marquis. Rosalia has always been very devout."

  Valentina shook her head, realizing she had been mistaken about her young sister-in-law. "Where is the chapel?"

  The old grandee nodded to a small archway all but hidden by climbing vines. "If you will go through there, then follow that path, you will find the chapel."

  "Thank you, Don Alonso. I will go to Rosalia right away."

  "How are you, Valentina?" he asked suddenly, his tired old eyes registering concern.

  "I am well."

  His gaze was probing. "Are you?"

  "Yes."

  He leaned heavily on his cane. "I want to say to you that I am aware of the insult you and your mother have suffered since coming to my home."

  "No," he interrupted, "allow me to finish. I may be confined to my bed most of the time, but I still know what is going on in my own house." He smiled slightly, reminding Valentina of Marquis. "I suppose what I am trying to say is, as far as I am concerned, you are like a breath of spring in this old house. I am glad you have come."

  She smiled brightly, and the old man was touched by her delicate beauty. "I think you are special," she said, standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek.

  Don Alonso took her hand and raised it to his lips. "You flatter an old man. But I like you too."

  Valentina would have moved away, but his hand stayed her movement. "I do not see you in
my grandson's room anymore. Are you not his wife?"

  "Yes, but that is a fact he chooses to overlook. He prefers his mother's company to mine."

  Don Alonso shook his head. "You are mistaken. He only allows his mother in his room for a short time each day. He lays there in the dark, day after day, brooding—about what, God only knows. You see, Agustin Anza told Marquis three days ago that he will never be able to walk."

  Valentina shook her head in disbelief. Tears tipped her lashes and her throat tightened in grief. "No, it cannot be!" Never to see him walk again, she thought frantically. Never to see the graceful movement of that whipcord body. Never to hear the jingle of his silver spurs.

  "Agustin says he cannot walk," the old man continued. "I say he will not, and do you know why? Because he feels like a cripple. Nothing anyone says can make him believe otherwise." His old eyes misted over. "My grandson will never walk because he does not believe he can.

  "I will not accept that," Valentina declared. "I will make him walk!"

  Hope flared in the old man's eyes. "Do that, Valentina. Only you can bring him back to his family." He paused and looked her over. ". . . If you dare to try."

  She wiped the tears away and raised her head. "If daring would make it so, he would already be walking. I am going to the chapel right now. I hope when I come out, I will be better able to face Marquis."

  His eyes narrowed. "He will fight you," he warned.

  She tossed her golden hair and raised her chin. "I never ran from a fight until I came here. I believe I am ready to take on your grandson in battle."

  "There may be battle scars."

  "I'm sure there will be. I expect Marquis to fight me every step of the way. I am weary of acting the scared rabbit—I am his wife, and it's time I acted the part."

  "Brava!" Don Alonso declared encouragingly. "I applaud you and stand ready to lend you my support."

  Her smile showed a hint of doubt, as if she were looking ahead to a battle she might lose. "I am going to find Rosalia now, Don Alonso. I may very well call for your support later."

  The grandee watched Valentina walk quickly beneath the archway. When she was out of sight, he called out without turning, "You can come out now, Dona Anna. I know you are there because I saw your shadow."

  "She cannot make him walk," Marquis's mother said spitefully, stepping from behind a thick hedge and wiping her eyes on a delicate lace handkerchief.

  "Perhaps you want to keep your son a cripple. Perhaps you think to keep him dependent on you. Senora, do you want a whining son who clings to his mother's skirts—or do you want the man Marquis once was and could be again (

  "If the English woman could help my son, I would give her my blessing," Dona Anna sobbed. "Doctor Anza has said Marquis will never regain his strength in the one leg, and the other leg is useless."

  "It may be that he will never walk because he has given up. That does not mean he has to live his life in darkness. This woman can bring him back into the light."

  Dona Anna moved away, calling on the saints to punish her for interfering in her son's life. She had pushed Marquis too far, and now he believed he was a cripple. She could no longer reach him; he had become bitter and brooding.

  The chapel was almost in darkness, with three candles as the only light. Valentina walked down the aisle, serenely aware of the feeling of peace that settled over her. This was the place where generations of Vincentes had been christened and later buried. When she saw Rosalia on her knees with her head bowed, she moved to her side and dropped to her knees.

  Rosalia glanced up, staring at Valentina in amazement. Her hand trembled as she reached out to her. "You will be the one to help my brother walk," she whispered. "I should have known it would be you." Tears washed down the young girl's face as she clasped Valentina's hand.

  "No one can help Marquis walk, Rosalia. He has to do that for himself. We have to face the fact that he may never have the will to get out of bed."

  "No, you do not understand," Rosalia declared. "I have prayed here in the chapel for days and nights on end. Only moments ago I had a vision. An angel came to me and told me that the next person to kneel beside me would save my brother!"

  Valentina stared in disbelief at the angelic face of Marquis's sister. A halo of light seemed to surround her head. She appeared more spiritual than human. Valentina was not Catholic, but at that moment she and Rosalia shared the same faith—the same God. "When you say it, you make me believe it, Rosalia. Let us pray together that even if Marquis never walks again, he will find peace in his torment, and his spirit will not be crippled."

  Rosalia smiled joyfully, jumping to her feet. "No, let us raise our voices and rejoice. God has answered my prayers!"

  Under the shadow of night, Valentina stood on the balcony that connected her bedroom with Marquis's. As usual, his curtains were drawn. She wondered if he were awake or asleep. Did he ever think of her? Tomorrow she would gather all her courage and enter his room. She had stood in church and exchanged wedding vows with him; that made her his wife, whether he acknowledged the fact or not.

  Salamar moved onto the balcony. Placing her hands on the railing, she peered down at the garden, which was awash with silvery light. "This reminds me of the garden of my childhood. There are many similarities."

  "Salamar, do you ever miss your home—your family?"

  "Where you are is my home. Your family is my family."

  "But you had a mother. Surely you miss her."

  "My mother loved only the sultan, my father. She paid little attention to me. She died when I was very young."

  Valentina placed her hand on Salamar's. "Have we been selfish with you? Have we depended too heavily on you and demanded too much of you?"

  "Is this the night for searching the soul?" She smiled. "I am where I always wanted to be. You and your mother are all that matters to me."

  Valentina sighed inwardly. "I have a task ahead of me that I am not looking forward to."

  "Let me guess . . . you are going back into the lion's den."

  "Yes. Marquis is wasting away, and I can't allow that to happen. He was injured trying to help me. The least I can do is see him through this ordeal."

  "Are you ready to go all the way? Can you stand up to him when he throws abuse at you and orders you out of his room?"

  ". . . Yes," she answered slowly. Valentina had lost some of the confidence she had felt earlier in the day.

  "This is what I have been waiting to hear from you," Salamar declared. "How would you like to make your husband walk?"

  Valentina clasped her hands together. "If only that were possible."

  "It is possible . . . but not if you are fainthearted. You will rue the day you took on this task. Your back will ache, you will drop from weariness, you will have to close your ears to Marquis's pain. He will abuse you with words and order you from his room. Many times you will want to give up, but once you have started there is no turning back."

  "Do you know how to cure Marquis?" Valentina asked hopefully. Salamar had many strange and wonderful powers, but could she make Marquis walk when the doctor had given up hope?

  "There is no certainty, but I know a way that may help him. It will not be easy."

  "When do we start?"

  "In the morning before sunup."

  Valentina nodded. "I will do anything to help Marquis. If there is the slightest chance that he can walk, I will take it."

  That night Valentina's sleep was deeper and her dreams were a little sweeter. She had a purpose—a goal to reach for.

  Marquis stared angrily at the servants who marched into his room uninvited, wondering what they were doing and whose orders they were following. He knew they would never take it upon themselves to come to his room.

  His curiosity was piqued when two men placed a large hip tub by the window and several women began filling it with hot water. "What in the hell is going on in here?" he yelled.

  His anger grew when the servants ignored his ravings, placidly goin
g about their appointed tasks. Some were moving furniture, while others placed folded sheets beside the tub. Marquis was fuming by the time Valentina entered, wearing a simple brown gown and with her hair tied away from her face. "Good morning, Marquis. It's a glorious day, isn't it?" she remarked cheerfully.

  His brows arched in a frown. "I might have known you would be behind this." He waved at the tub. "Are you out of your mind?"

  "Perhaps I am. You may not like what is about to happen, but Salamar and I are going to make you walk."

  Marquis glared at Valentina, wishing he could get out of bed and physically shove her out the door. "Get out of my room, Valentina!" he demanded.

  "When you are able to get up and throw me out, I'll leave, and not a moment before," she declared, hands on hips, eyes spitting fire.

  He struggled up on his pillows. "Damn you, I'll have the servants throw you out. I told you before I do not want you here."

  "You can't have the servants throw me out," she said, moving over to the window and pushing the curtains open. "Your grandfather is still in command here, and he has told the servants to obey me in all things." Valentina remembered the talk she had had with Don Alonso just moments ago. He had been delighted with her plan and had given her his full support. "You see, Marquis, if anyone is going to evict me from your room, it will have to be you."

  "What are you going to do?" he asked suspiciously. "You are not going to get me into that tub."

  Valentina pushed her sleeves up past her elbows. "Yes, you will be put in that tub. If it is at all possible, you are soon going to stand on your own two feet. When that day comes, I will walk out of this room on my own—you won't have to throw me out."

  His eyes were dark storm centers. "Damn you to hell, Valentina. You cannot come into my room and order me about. No woman can order my life for me."

  "You can get mad at me—you can yell until they hear you all the way to San Francisco—but as God is my judge, if it is at all possible, you are going to walk!"