Chapter Twenty
Following as Magda led Vicky to her room, Chris forced his hands to his sides and stayed a few paces behind only by sheer willpower. Everything in him wanted to take her back into his arms and see to her comfort. She had stilled in his arms, and there had never been a moment in his life when he felt more confident of what he wanted and who he had been created to be—Vicky’s husband and protector. But he’d also never felt more frustrated and out of his element than he had tonight. Out of the whole meal, he’d picked out only a handful of words, and they didn’t even begin to explain to him what happened.
Before he let the women enter the room, he went in and searched, making sure no danger lurked there. “Keep the door locked, Vicky. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He stood at the doorway, torn between the need to find her father and the need to stay with her. For the sake of their future, he needed to speak with her father as soon as possible.
Vicky’s eyes were still full of worry. Surely after what had happened at the table, Don Ruiz had sent the awful man packing, but then why did Vicky still look so scared?
“Stay with Magda, she’ll keep you safe.” Again he forced his hands to his sides instead of reaching out and clutching her to him. She looked so forlorn he almost gave in to his impulses, but he needed to find her father before he withdrew into his own chamber.
“I need to speak with your father. If you need anything, please have someone find me, Vicky. Please?” She nodded and Magda closed the door. “Lock it,” he insisted. He didn’t move until he heard the dead bolt slide into place.
* * *
The downstairs hallway was eerily quiet. Chris retraced their steps back to the dining room where a woman who looked similar to Magda but younger cleared the table. As he paused at the threshold of the room, she looked up from her work, and he recognized her as one of the two who had exited Vicky’s room earlier all giggles. A knowing look and a half smile lit her eyes when she saw him. “More food?” she asked slowly, watching his eyes for understanding.
“No, no more food. Want talk Don Ruiz.” Chris put the words together and smiled his appreciation when she bit her lip to keep from laughing at his mispronunciations.
“In the office.” She set her tray down and led him down the hallway to the room they had gathered in upon their arrival. The door was partially closed, and as they approached, Padre Pedro’s voice carried out to them, his tone somber.
“Gracias.” He nodded to her and half bowed, not sure what was customary, then turned and knocked on the door.
“Pasa.” The voice was Don Ruiz’s. Praying that God would help him to understand and communicate in Spanish because his future depended on it, he pulled open the door and found himself back in the study. Leather-bound books filled the shelves along one wall, and two large fainting couches and overstuffed horsehair chairs sat at angles by the two long windows at the far side of the room. A fire roared in the fireplace under a large portrait of a man resembling Don Ruiz but who had lighter skin and startling blue eyes. He took a moment to take in the room as he gathered his thoughts and prayed silently once more.
“Mi papá.” Don Ruiz stood and gestured to the portrait. “King of España sent him here,” he continued in slow, clear Spanish. Of course, Vicky had already told Chris that much, but to see the man, or at least his likeness, and then to see how closely his son resembled him in stature and build was interesting. He assumed Don Ruiz resembled his mother in coloring. Chris stood and studied the likeness and then his prodigy.
They both had given Vicky the small furrow in her brow when she concentrated. Both men also shared the same oval-shaped eyes and long, thin nose, but Vicky’s nose was much flatter and her eyes were more almond in shape. She had a unique beauty, a beauty all her own.
“Please, have a seat.” Don Ruiz indicated a chair next to Padre Pedro. None of the other guests from dinner were present. At least he wouldn’t have to endure an hour or two of small talk he didn’t understand before he could corner Don Ruiz about his proposal.
Don Ruiz sized him up with a calculating look as he settled on the chair opposite Chris and next to Padre Pedro. Chris sat staring at his hands for a moment, the silence heavy, before he cleared his throat and lifted his gaze. If Chris hadn’t known better, he’d believe those were tears that glazed Don Ruiz’s eyes.
“Thank you, thank you, Señor Crestofer Samuels, for returning our princesa to us.” The man cleared his throat again and sniffed. “We expected to have a misa for her with Padre Pedro because we thought she...”
The words came too fast. Even after the older man tried twice more, Chris felt the frustration building. If they couldn’t get even simple things ironed out, how could he ever convince her father he was the man to take care of her forever? How could he find out what was expected of a suitor and begin to try to fulfill those requirements?
Don Ruiz must have had the same thoughts as he sat back in his chair and ran his hand through his curly jet-black hair. At forty something, only a few gray hairs stood out in his sideburns, and his stature hinted of a strength hidden under the extravagantly embroidered suit. He fingered the mustache that covered his upper lip.
After a moment of concentration, he conferred in low tones to Padre Pedro. “Mi Inglés, no muy good. Many years and no practice.” His words were halting and heavily accented but English. Chris smiled.
“Don Joaquín de la Vega no es good man. He want fight Mejico and say no more Mejico. Alta California new country. I not want Vicky marry him, but he say he marry her at wedding last year. Her mamá say words that hurt Vicky and send letter in my name to him to marry Vicky. Vicky need family and home for Vicky away from her mamá.”
His words were hard to piece together. Did Don Ruiz also want to revolt against Mexico’s rule? Was that why the noblemen of the area had met? Had Chris somehow fallen into a conspiracy and, if so, what side was he on? Would he even get a chance to decide, or had his presence already sealed his fate?
“We no like Mejico tell us land no more ours. But we no want fight. We want send delegados—how say man who speak for others?”
“Delegates?” Chris offered, smiling slightly at playing the same game of deciphering words with Don Ruiz as he had often done with Vicky.
“Sí, delegates. Don Joaquín no want delegates. Want to rule Alta California. We—Don Gonzalez, Don Castillo y Don Hernandez—made plan. Send letter to Mejico General for come and get Don Joaquín. He no come on time.” Don Ruiz paused.
So they had been setting a trap for Don de la Vega but the Mexican General had been late. From what Chris had gathered, it was a pattern throughout Mexican history.
“We want no fight. We want live in peace,” Don Ruiz stated.
“All men should live in peace and enjoy freedom.”
“Even esclavos?”
“Slaves?” Chris clarified.
“Sí, even slaves?” The man watched him closely. Somehow he knew the question was some sort of test. The only response he could give was the truth.
“I believe that slavery is bad, it’s a blight to mankind and we will be paying the price for the sin of putting one man in bondage to another for a very long time, even if someday it ceases to be practiced.”
Don Ruiz nodded his head even as Chris realized that half his words would have been unfamiliar to the man. “Why you come to Alta California, Señor Samuels?” The change in topic caught Chris off guard.
“My father had a large plantation, or hacienda if you will. When he died, I inherited it.” At the frown across Don Ruiz’s forehead, Chris reworded his explanation. “When my father died, no longer live, the hacienda in South Carolina now mine.” He tapped his chest and received a nod to continue. “My father have many slaves. I no want slaves.” He paused, grimacing inwardly at the way he was starting to mistreat the English language. “I let them go free. I
offered to pay them to stay and work as free men and women. But other haciendas did not like my people to be free. They were worried that their slaves would revolt.”
“So you let you men go?” The man’s dark brown eyes seemed to look into his heart and see more than he wanted anyone to see.
“Yes. But most stayed. Then the other plantations started to hurt my men while they work. They kill one when he went to town. I told my people to go to Canada, no more slaves in England and Canada. Only Nana Ruth and Jeb, her husband, stayed with me and made the voyage to Alta California.”
“Who Jeb and Nana Ruth?”
“They were slaves for my father. Jeb was killed last year. Nana Ruth is at ranchito with student of Padre Pedro.”
At the mention of the priest’s name, Don Ruiz turned and asked him a few questions. The priest regarded Chris with speculation for a moment and then answered quickly, a nod of his head ending their dialogue. He sent Chris a smile.
“What you want here? Do you have family? Will you go back to South Carolina?”
“I will not be going back. I sold the plantation and have come here to stay.”
“Will you take wife?” Don Ruiz focused his attention on Chris, and it was all he could do to sit still. He had been praying for a way to introduce the topic, and here Don Ruiz brought it up on his own.
“I would like to now. God has changed my heart in recent days, and I would like to marry and have a family of my own.”
“Can you give wife a house that safe and warm? Give her and children food and clothes?”
“Yes. I can provide all those things for my wife and children. I have planted crops of corn, wheat and had a large garden. There is an abundance of wild game in the woods around our home, and we would never want for meat. I work hard and would protect...” He stopped. He needed to be honest, even if it cost him Vicky’s hand. Her father would know just how unsafe the wilds of Alta California were without the protection of a community like the one the Ruiz family had created.
“Don Joaquín say he think you dead. You say Jeb dead. When did Jeb dead?”
“Last summer three men came and attacked while Jeb and I were in the fields. They shot him before we could even react. I got back to the cabin and defended it from them, hitting one, killing another, and the third one ran away.” He could still see the blood on the ground when he went back to help Jeb.
“The men speak Indian or Spanish?” Don Ruiz’s question brought him back from his dire thoughts and into the present only to have to return to the memories again. He had been so focused on protecting Nana and himself he hadn’t paid much attention to what they might have said. Then an image came into focus in his mind. The third man, mounted on a strong, fast horse with a Spanish saddle, had raised his fist in the air and shouted in Spanish, “Go home, Americano dog.”
“Spanish.” The memory collided with the more recent one of Don Joaquín saying nearly the same thing at the dinner table.
“Sí, you are inteligente. You now know Don Joaquín send men to kill you. He will do the same now Vicky no marry him.”
Dread washed over him with Don Ruiz’s words, and his body went numb. An image sprang to mind of being attacked at the cabin again, this time Vicky and a baby cuddled in her arms being shot at as they sat on the bench by the cabin while he worked in the fields. He couldn’t take that risk. He would never be able to live with himself if something happened to her. Her father had to know it, too. As any good father would, he was making his position clear as to why he could not accept Chris’s proposal. He couldn’t blame the man.
“You have no villa close to you?” Don Ruiz questioned as if he could read Chris’s racing thoughts.
“No.” He had wanted to be alone, isolated from the horrors of humanity, but what about those who helped? The isolation he had so longed for became the very reason he would miss out on the most important things in life. A wife, a family. To show love and kindness to someone and have it shown to him in return. To belong.
“Why no make one now?” Don Ruiz’s question was simple and yet profound. Could he build a village close by? Could he give up his solitude for a chance at a family? Or maybe it was time to move. If Don Ruiz would let him lease some land on his hacienda, he could move his horses and ranchito. He’d miss the valley and the woods he’d worked so hard to tame, and he’d need a few months to get everything together. He’d have to talk Nana Ruth into the move, but she’d come along. He’d find a way to convince her.
But whether he built a village close by or moved to one, it was the answer he’d been looking for, the way to have the life he’d come to want.
Straightening, he sat up and looked Don Ruiz in the eyes. The man’s gaze was solemn. “Don Ruiz, you said Don Joaquín is not going to marry Vicky. Is there someone else who has spoken for her?”
“You ask if someone want marry Vicky?”
“Yes, sir. Has someone else asked for Vicky’s hand?” Chris reworded the question and waited. “Does she love someone else?”
“No. No other man ask for Vicky.” Chris felt his breath rush out with the answer. Did Don Ruiz notice his nerves? The man sat completely still, as if waiting for Chris’s next move. Did he know what Chris was going to say? Did Don Ruiz know that Chris was in love with his daughter?
Chris took a deep breath and spoke the words he’d been turning over in his mind for a long time now. Probably longer than he even realized.
“I do not know the way Spanish or Californianos ask for a woman’s hand. What must I do to ask for Vicky?”
“You would ask to marry Vicky?” Don Ruiz shot a glance at Padre Pedro, who nodded in return.
“Yes, sir. I want to marry Vicky.” His voice caught at the end with the emotion of it all.
“I will make arrangements. You will make viha?” Don Ruiz looked excited, as well.
Astounding! He closed his eyes for a second and thanked God for having given him grace and granting him the desire of his heart.
Now, for the arrangements. “I must build a bigger house, and yes, I will need to find men and families who are willing to build their homes close to mine so we can create a village.” He’d pondered and prayed about asking for her hand, but now that her father approved, he had so many other things to plan.
“I send men. I have many vaqueros, they not all need to work here,” Don Ruiz stated. “I send them to make viha and live on your land. You give them work in field and with horses and watch for no attack. Marry on Vicky’s cumpliaños.”
Don Ruiz held out his hand as if to conclude the deal, but Chris hesitated. He needed to understand what was expected of him. Was there a bride’s price to pay? Would they take American dollars, or would he need to find a way to exchange his money and gold for pesos or pesetas?
“What must I give you?” he asked, prepared to give everything he had after calculating the cost of building a large home and paying the workers. Much of the materials would be found nearby, the trees and rocks and such, but glass for the windows was a specialty item that he’d have to go to the coast to order and wait for months if not over a year.
He still couldn’t quite believe this was all happening, that he was worrying about glass windows for the house he was going to build Vicky.
Don Ruiz quirked his eyebrow almost exactly like Vicky did when she was puzzled by something.
“You not want for wife? You buy like slave?” The man’s countenance grew stormy like a thunderhead over the sea.
Quickly Chris waved his hands as if to dispel the words from the room. “No, not buy like slave. Some countries make the man pay father to marry the daughter. Do you have this custom?”
“No, I give you money for marry my daughter.”
“That’s not necessary. All I want is to marry Vicky,” he answered, this time stretching out his hand toward his future father-in-law. But when
their hands clamped together, he realized one very important thing: she had not been involved in the process. What if she would not have him? He would not force her to marry him as Joaquín had tried to. Maybe it was good that he had so much work to do. The time would afford him opportunities to get to know her family and visit her at her home. Bring her flowers and take her on picnics, woo her in ways he hadn’t considered before because she had been his charge and promised to another.
She had told him she did not want to marry and move away from her beloved hacienda. Would he need to relocate? He’d do it in a heartbeat if it ensured her sharing his life and becoming his wife. But what if she felt for him the same sisterly interest that she felt for José Luis?
“Don Ruiz, before we make any more plans, we need to ask Vicky if she will have me. I do not speak Spanish or know your customs and ways. She might not want to live with me. She may love someone else.”
“She will marry you, Señor Samuels. She cannot hide the way her heart love you when she at table today. She never let man carry her on horse. She not want Papá to carry. She want you.” Don Ruiz shook his head once more. “She want marry Americano.” The older man stood, and Chris followed his example. Don Ruiz clapped Chris on both shoulders and then pulled him into a hug. “You will marry day after tomorrow,” he stated jovially as he let him go. The shock of the announcement left Chris speechless.
“Que vive mi yerno!” Don Ruiz called out in a loud voice.
Padre Pedro rose to his feet and answered, “Que vive!” He also held out his hand to Chris. As their palms met, someone slammed the front door and started shouting. Chris caught only the words Don Joaquín and José Luis. It was enough to turn his heart to lead. He followed the others out of the office and down the hallway, trying to keep from running them over in his hurry. Where was Vicky? Was she safe? Had he been a fool to think a dead bolt could keep Don Joaquín from doing her harm?
Rescuing the Runaway Bride Page 18
