Destiny's Dawn

by Rosanne Bittner

  James met his eyes, then spontaneously hugged his father around the middle. Caleb hugged him back.

  “Good-bye, James,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “Write us as soon as possible.”

  “I will, Pa.”

  They embraced for several long seconds before James finally pulled away. “You better go,” he told Caleb, keeping his eyes to the ground.

  Caleb stood there awkwardly for a moment, breathing deeply to stay in control. There was no sense in making it harder on the boy. “When I see you again, I expect you’ll be a grown man, James. You do what you want in life. Just be the kind of man your mother and I would be proud of. Work hard, and don’t let anyone cheat you or use you.”

  “I won’t, Pa.” The boy sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his nose, finally looking up at Caleb. Caleb was struck by how little he had realized how much the boy had grown. James was approaching six feet in height, and with his blue eyes and sandy hair and broad shoulders, he was very handsome. This child was the result of the reawakening of the passionate love Caleb Sax had had for his Sarah. And somehow he had let this son slip through his fingers. “By, Pa.”

  Caleb touched the young man’s face for a moment, wondering if he would ever see James again. He could not speak. He squeezed James’s shoulder reassuringly, then turned and mounted his horse.

  “Nemehotatse.”

  James’s chest tightened. The word meant “I love you” in Cheyenne. He opened his mouth to answer in Cheyenne, but the words “I love you, too” came out instead, as though to accent his denial of his Indian blood.

  Caleb stared at him sadly a moment longer, then turned his horse.

  James felt a strong urge to run after the man, but his feet would not budge and a voice told him to let it be. He must leave. He must forget. He watched Caleb ride into the open plains. At a considerable distance the man turned once and waved, and James felt an odd chill move down his spine at Caleb’s almost ghostly appearance. He waved back. “By, Pa,” he whispered.

  * * *

  Juanita stood beside the man who in moments would be her husband. Father Juarez moved through the long ritual of a proper Catholic marriage, while Luisa watched, crying through the entire ceremony. Tom held Juanita’s hand tightly, feeling her trembling, keeping hold of her even in the moments when they were supposed to be apart for the ceremony. He refused to let go for fear she would change her mind and run away. He could never catch her. There would be no more running for Tom Sax. A slow, limping walk was all he would accomplish the rest of his life, most of the time with the support of a cane. He decided to be grateful that he could at least still ride a horse and that he could use his firearms as good as ever.

  For today he had left the cane aside. He would stand as Juanita’s husband without any support. Today she was the one who needed the support. He ached with the thought of consummating this marriage, yet knew he might have to wait for weeks, maybe months. He had given her his solemn vow that they would be no more than companions until she was ready to be a wife. At least she would finally belong to him and his loneliness would be erased.

  He heard himself repeating vows, heard her voice saying the same, and finally it was over. They were pronounced man and wife, and even Father Juarez had tears in his eyes. Tom turned to his new wife, carefully lifting the lace and veil from around her face, meeting her trusting eyes. “I love you,” he said quietly before bending close to meet her lips. He kissed her lightly, then straightened, smiling down at her. He could take her now if he wanted. She belonged to him. But she was actually more delicate now than she was when still a virgin and had not known the worst side of man.

  “I love you, too,” A tear slipped down her cheek.

  In the next moment Luisa was hugging the girl, then Tom; followed by a host of nuns and a few church members who liked to attend any wedding just for the beauty of it: Most of them didn’t even know the couple involved, but they supported the love such marriages represented. Tom and Juanita were led to the open court of the mission where roses bloomed profusely, filling the air with their perfumed scent. A cake and gifts awaited them. Tom found himself wishing his father could be with him now, and he decided he was finally ready to write to his family. He would send something off right away and hope he could find someone willing to travel over the Sierras with the letter. But it was unlikely the note would ever reach Caleb before the next spring.

  Juanita nervously opened gifts, and they ate cake and drank wine. She cried at the thought of what her wedding should have been—a grand celebration at her father’s estate, with a fiesta that would last for days afterward. But that life was gone now.

  Father Juarez took them aside, giving both of them an embrace. “Have you thought about where you will live, Tom, what you will do?”

  Tom sighed, shaking his head. “I only know I want to work with horses. With the money Juanita has left and some I had, and my ability to round up wild mustangs on my own, I think I can get a herd started. But I don’t know what to do about a place to live.” His eyes showed a little of the old hatred. “It might not be easy trying to buy land with so many Americans here now. They will make it difficult for people like Juanita and me.”

  The priest smiled, taking a piece of rolled and tied paper from a large pocket in his robe. He grasped Tom’s hand, turning it up and placing the rolled paper into it. “Not to worry. You now own some land, and no one can take it away from you.”

  Tom frowned, looking down at the paper, then back at Father Juarez. “What do you mean?”

  “I have put some land into your name. It is land that was willed to the mission by one of our own—a man who lost his entire family in a terrible fire many years ago. He was broken and no longer cared about his farm. He willed his land to the mission, and although I talked to him and tried to comfort him, he took his own life. Now there is this land—-about a thousand acres, I believe—for which the church really has no use. I am giving it to you. These papers are legal. No one can take this land away from you, Tom. It belongs to you and Juanita now.”

  Tom looked down at the rolled papers in astonishment, temporarily at a loss for words.

  “There is a map rolled up in there, explaining where the land is. It is somewhere in a nice valley—east of Sonoma, I believe. Is a thousand acres enough for raising horses?”

  Tom looked at Juanita, whose eyes were wet with tears. He looked back at Father Juarez. “Father, I can’t take it. It isn’t right—”

  “Why not? It is just sitting there, and it is land the Americans cannot touch. It belongs to the church, and the Americans have been careful not to offend the church. God wants the two of you to have a new start, to be together. It would not be easy for you to get land on your own. And it cost me nothing, or the church, so where is the loss to us? There is none, nor is there going to be any argument about it. Just promise me you will always be happy together, and that you will have many children and you will let me know when you do—and bring them here for their christening.”

  Tom looked down at the paper again. “A thousand acres,” he murmured. He looked at Father Juarez, smiling through tears. “Yes. It is enough.”

  “It will be up to you to get the horses. The land is all I can give.”

  Tom put an arm around Juanita. “Thank you, Father. Land is the best gift of all! My father would understand that. I think I will write him and tell him. Maybe he will even come here and help me. He would like that. And the climate would be good for my stepmother.”

  The priest touched his arm. “You miss your father very much, don’t you?”

  “Very much. We were very close.”

  The priest nodded. “You are free now, Tom. Go and settle this land and raise your horses. And may God grant you many children.”

  Juanita reddened as Tom hugged her tighter. “Thank you, Father. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “You do not need to say anything. I can see it in your eyes.” He touched Juanita’s arm then also. “Just t
ake good care of my Juanita. Be good to her. She will make a fine wife and mother. I know this in my heart.”

  “So do I, Father.” Tom’s voice was a near whisper from emotion. He turned to Juanita, fully embracing her. “Land, Juanita! We already have some land. Everything will be good now. You will see.”

  “There are many californios looking for work now, Tom,” Father Juarez said. “Hire some, and they will help you protect your land from the miners.”

  Tom frowned, releasing his hold on Juanita. “Miners?”

  “Yes, Tom. Gold has been discovered at the mill near Sutter’s Fort. Already San Francisco is growing from new people coming in—suppliers and the like. You have been quietly healing here at the mission and do not know what has been happening. But they are saying that next spring thousands will come from the East seeking the gold. But that land belongs to you. No one can touch it, and you have the right to defend it. Just be careful, my son, and get some men to help you with your new ranchero. Legal title has been registered in your name. Perhaps you can even supply the miners with horses, and food, if you farm some of the land. You could become a rich man from this.”

  Tom looked down at Juanita, already feeling protective of his woman and his land. “Gold,” he said aloud to her. He looked back at the priest. “Do you really think many will come?”

  The priest smiled sadly. “I am afraid California will never be the same, Tom. Think about the things your father has told you about the white men and their love of wealth. They will come. Believe me, they will come.”

  Tom sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off the boot from his good leg, then held out his left leg to Juanita, who sat stiffly in a chair nearby.

  “I’m afraid you’ll be helping me boot and unboot this foot for a long time, Mrs. Sax. I’m sorry.”

  She looked at him warily, feeling a damp perspiration rise on her skin as she reached over and helped pull off the boot. Tom winced with pain, holding his leg until the boot was off.

  “Are you all right?” Juanita asked softly.

  Tom slowly lowered his leg. “I will be in a minute.” He sat there breathing deeply, and the little room where Tom Sax had slept for months was suddenly too quiet for Juanita. There was only the bed, and a washstand and basin in one corner, as well as a dresser. Juanita’s own things were still in her own room, and she sat staring at her hands now, wondering if it might not be better to go there. She realized with sudden clarity that she was alone in a room with a man who was now her husband.

  “That land already feels like home, Juanita.” Tom stood up and gingerly walked on the game leg to a wall with pegs on it for clothes. He began unbuttoning his shirt. “I haven’t even seen it yet, but I know it is beautiful, just because it is ours.” He turned, smiling happily. “I thought a couple of times about going back to my father in Colorado, but I want to stay in California. It is so beautiful here. There are two things the Americans cannot spoil—the land and the climate. I will write my father, and he will come here. You’ll see. And you will like Caleb and Sarah very much.”

  She nodded, glancing at the door as though ready to dart through it. He pulled his shirt from his pants, then noticed her eyes widen as he bared his chest. She had seen him naked while he was sick, even helped wash him. But this was different. He was well now, and he was her husband. Tom frowned, keeping his shirt on.

  “What do I see in those eyes, Juanita? Fear?” He walked closer. “What happened to your promise to trust me?”

  She looked at her lap again. “I am sorry.”

  He knelt in front of her, wincing from the pain in his leg. “I will tell you something. My first wife and I were married under conditions much like this—spent our first couple of nights at a mission. She was afraid, too, and I did not touch her the first night; nor would I have touched her the second night if she had not been willing.”

  She studied the dark hands that he wrapped around her own small hands. “But she was afraid . . . for a different reason. You were . . .” Her voice choked. “You were her first.”

  His grip tightened almost painfully. “And I will be your first,” he said almost angrily. “Look at me, Juanita!”

  She met his eyes, surprised at their commanding fire.

  “Unless you have given yourself to a man willingly, you have not given yourself to him at all! Do you understand?”

  She swallowed, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Do you really believe that?” she whimpered.

  “You damned well know I do! I will be your first man, Juanita, because I will be the first one you desire—the first one you want to share your body with. When the time comes that I take you, you will know. You will know to whom you belong—one man. Tom Sax. And I will, by God, make it so you never again give a thought to those others. I am your husband now. You will listen to me and trust me. And I am telling you now to never again say that I was not your first man—the only man who has truly touched you.” He put a hand against his chest. “In here—in your heart. They touched only your body. I will go much deeper than that.”

  She stared at the fiery eyes and knew he meant every word. “Please, do not be angry with me on our wedding night,” she said quietly.

  Tom closed his eyes and sighed, bending down and kissing her hands. “Go to sleep, Juanita. Get into your gown and get some sleep.” He rose then. “I will go out while you change if you want me to. But I will sleep beside you tonight, and you will not be afraid of me.” He leaned down and kissed her hair.

  “When will we leave for our new home?” she asked as he headed for the door.

  He hesitated at the door. “I think we can be ready by the day after tomorrow.” He opened the door. “Tell Luisa to be ready. She will go with us. You need her.”

  “No.”

  He turned, surprised at the remark.

  “Luisa is like a mother to me, and I will regret saying good-bye to her. But it is best we are alone at first, don’t you think? All I really need is you, Tom. I must learn this.”

  The anger left his eyes and a smile passed across his lips. “Yes.”

  “And I think . . .” She swallowed, rising from the chair. “I think the trail there might be hard for us—and once we get there we will be living in a wagon until we build a house.”

  He frowned, confused by what she was trying to tell him. “Yes. That’s true.”

  “So . . . so if we are to be husband and wife—” She looked at the floor. “It would be easier to do that soon . . . before we leave . . . while we are here where it is peaceful and comfortable.”

  He walked closer. “Juanita, you’re confusing me.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She looked up at him. “If . . . if you keep your promise about tonight, then perhaps tomorrow night—”

  He put his fingers to her lips. “No, Juanita. It will not be planned. And you will not lie down for me out of some kind of duty. It will be because it is right for you. And I will know if you truly want me. I refuse to have you just lie there and bear it as though some kind of wifely submission. That would be little different from what you have already known. It will be as I said before—you will want me as you have never wanted a man, and you will know who is the only man in your life. It will be right, whether it’s before we leave or after we get settled. Now you get into bed. I will be back soon.”

  She raised her eyes to meet his. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then left, feeling the near pain of being unable to touch his beautiful young wife on their wedding night. His patience and willpower were going to be sorely tested for a while. He decided he would have to draw on that certain strength his father had always told him only those with Indian blood had. The thought made him grin.

  “I bet you never had to be this strong, Father,” he muttered. “I think I will outdo you on this one.”

  • Chapter Twenty-one •

  Tom studied the white stallion quietly from his hiding place, a huge rock upon which he had climbed and on
which he now lay flat, watching his prey. The animal was a prize catch indeed. He had been watching it for days, gauging the best time and place to try to rope it. The proud steed grazed now with its brood of mares in the lush, green valley below.

  The stallion reminded Tom very much of Valiente, and he often wondered what had ever happened to that grand animal that he had so faithfully trained just to make an impression on Juanita. Those days of the gentle life and the rich Spanish heritage that was California seemed to be fading. Not only had Americans filtered in steadily since the Mexican war, but the steady stream of newcomers had increased to amazing numbers. It seemed incomprehensible that thousands more might come the next spring, once the Sierras were again open to those who were hungry for gold.

  Father Juarez had been right. Finding help in protecting his land had been easy for Tom. He hired several men before he even left San Francisco, for many of those who once helped run the vast rancheros now divided up by the Americans were now jobless. Some had taken to the hills to look for gold themselves, but most preferred the kind of work they had always known, and the chance to help run a horse ranch was enticing, even though Tom could offer little in the way of wages for the time being.

  Tom had hired four men in San Francisco, men who had their own horses and guns but nothing to do but work sweeping floors in the stores of American merchants, or walk the dusty streets cleaning up horse dung. They jumped at the chance to head for the country and do the work they knew best; as well as being proud to protect the lovely Señora Juanita, the beautiful wife of the man called Tom Sax.

  As Tom moved toward his new home he picked up three more men, using his keen insight and knowledge of people as his only guide as to whether they could be trusted. There were no “Emanuel Hidalgos” in these men, no traitors.

  Tom had never quite gotten over his uneasiness about being back outside, away from the shelter of the mission. Would anyone recognize Juanita, perhaps add things up, and determine that Tom Sax was the mysteriously vanished Indian leader of Los Malos? The notorious painted Indian seemed all but forgotten now. The raids had stopped and the rest of The Bad Ones were dead. Most people seemed ready to look ahead and not behind. He had even heard a few people talk about the raids and the Indian leader right under his nose.