“So?”
“The one who began it all was a peasant. You have nothing, so why not do something yourself? Many of those whom you respect are the sons and daughters of leather-jacketed soldiers.”
He did not respond, and she said, “You tried to kill Alfredo on the ship.”
“A pity I did not succeed. Nobody wanted him. You cannot tell me that you did. Consuelo made a fuss over him just to show off.”
“She loved him. We all did.”
He shrugged. “So you say. You all wished to be rid of him, and now he is gone. I see no tears.”
She hoped he would go, but he lingered….Why? Her fingers closed on the small pistol butt. He was arrogant, greedy, and completely selfish. For such a one there were no limits, and she was alone but for the girl in the kitchen. Yet she was not afraid. He hated her, and she despised him for all that he had become.
“Take my advice,” she suggested, “and leave Johannes alone. You do not know him. He is stronger than his father was, and infinitely more dangerous.”
“Bah!”
“You are being foolish, Federico. Don Isidro would give you more land. You have some. Today all is changing, and it is a time to become rich.
“Drop all these foolish thoughts of revenge and hatred. There is money to be made in a growing land. Many of the Californios are already prospering. They have found their place in business, in politics—”
He snorted his disgust. “What do you think I am? A tradesman?”
She leaned back in her chair and looked at him. Her fingers held the pistol in the folds of her dress. “I think you are a very conceited, vain man, with empty hands and an empty head. You are not a tradesman. Perhaps you could not be.
“You dress very prettily. You strut. You ride well, so perhaps you could become a vaquero, but if you have other talents, I have not seen them. You are, despite what you seem to believe, no longer a young man by present-day standards. From childhood you seem to have had no other idea than to inherit the wealth of Don Isidro.”
“And I shall. I shall have it all. Now that you have shown what you are, and what you think of me, you shall have nothing. Nothing at all!”
For a moment she held the pistol. Suppose she killed him now, here? Would it save Johannes? Or would she simply drag them all through the disgrace of a public trial? For a moment she looked at him, weighing the possibilities. He needed killing, he deserved to be killed. Yet slowly, reluctantly, her fingers relaxed.
“You may go,” she said.
He turned sharply around. “What?”
“You may go. I will not kill you now.”
“What?” He stared at her. “Kill me?”
She lifted the pistol. “I have been considering it, but you are not worth the trouble. But go…please go before I change my mind.”
He was shocked, yet as his eyes went from her to the pistol and back, he became suddenly aware of how vulnerable he had been.
But Aunt Elena? Kill him? He looked at her suddenly with a realization that this quiet, strange old woman was not known to him at all. She had seemed a frail shadow hovering somewhere near Don Isidro, someone you passed by, someone you acknowledged, something dim and ghostlike. Now suddenly her voice had changed. There was iron beneath those rustling garments. She could have, might have, killed him.
Abruptly he turned and walked away, and he did not look back. Out on the patio he stopped. Suddenly he shivered. She could have done it. She might have done it.
His mouth was dry with shock. There had been a tone in her voice he had not heard before, and he shivered again. She could have killed him, she might have; the idea appalled him.
He went to his horse, and stopped after gathering up the reins. For a moment he stood there; then he swung into the saddle and turned away. He must be careful. There were enemies everywhere.
But Aunt Elena! It was impossible!
* * *
Tía Elena finished her tea and then went to her room. Now, more than ever, she was sure she was doing the right thing, but she should consult the alcalde, or perhaps one of those American attorneys. Miss Nesselrode had showed her what a woman could do, and other Californio women were in business and doing well.
Coolly, carefully, she considered what she was doing and its consequences. She had watched Federico for many years and knew the kind of man he was. She also knew their conversation would not deter him in any way and might even act as a spur.
With the desertion of Don Isidro’s loyal workers and the subsequent weakening of Don Isidro’s position, Federico had become more assertive, more confident, and he had, to all intents and purposes, taken command. Her brother had withdrawn more and more, eaten by his hatred.
She must move a little faster now, even at the risk of being discovered. Of the properties in Spain, she knew little, although when the time came she must learn more of them. They were her brother’s concern, and when she had left Spain she had no reason to interest herself in them. Of the house in town and the ranch, whatever other property there was—these were the focus of her attention.
“Somehow,” she whispered to herself, “I must save them. I must protect the young ones.”
Federico had stated his intentions clearly. Of his intentions there was no doubt. For Consuelo she could do nothing. Consuelo was gone, but for…She would see.
At the same time, she must be careful. Now she had presented herself as an antagonist. Federico recognized her as an enemy, and he would not hesitate to do what he felt needed to be done; only now he would be cautious.
One thing more remained to be done. She must find the woman.
But how to find a woman gone these forty years or more? Where to look?
She would be dead by now, or gone to Mexico, or taken by Indians. In all those years, there had been no word.
She had been a strange woman, a woman alone in the world. Where would such a one go? What would she do? Elena remembered that night, a stormy night when the rain came down in torrents and the wind blew. It had been one of the worst storms ever known along the Pacific coast of California.
A man had come with two black horses, a man whose face she never saw, and she herself had opened the door that the woman might leave. She, with little Consuelo at her side.
She had seen the horses plunging in the rain, their coats streaming with it, their eyes rolling, their teeth gnashing at the bits. Lightning had flashed, and in a roll of thunder the woman had climbed into the saddle with her bundle, and the horses had raced away, their iron shoes striking fire from the pavement.
Gone! But where? And nothing…nothing left after all those years? No sight, no sound, no word.
Vanished….
CHAPTER 45
Miss Nesselrode unlocked the book shop only just after daybreak. The street outside was deserted. She had seen a lone horseman riding along Aliso Street, and a man had been sweeping the boardwalk in front of a store on Main Street.
Half the night she had lain awake worrying about Johannes, yet explaining to herself there was no need to worry. Johannes was born to the wilderness. He knew it and was at home there. He had lived with Indians; he had survived several ordeals in the mountains and had shown himself capable of handling difficult situations.
Scarcely was she seated at her desk when the door opened and Meghan burst in. “Where is he?”
“You quarreled with him?”
“Well…I guess. Maybe it could be called that. Don Federico had called on me, and Johannes did not like it.”
“Did you expect him to?”
She avoided that. “Where is he?”
“He has gone to the mountains, following some horses that were stolen from us. I have no idea when he will be back.”
Meghan sat down, eyes wide. “Stolen horses? But he might be killed!”
“He is aware of that. H
e is also aware the horses were stolen to lead him into a trap. Those who stole the horses hoped he would follow. They will be waiting.”
“But why, then? Why would he go, knowing it was a trap?”
“He caught those horses, helped to break them. They were to be the beginning of a horse ranch for him. I am sure he can handle the situation.” Even as she spoke the words, she was praying she was right. “Jacob is with him. There are others.”
“But who would do such a thing? Was it Don Isidro?”
“Not this time,” Miss Nesselrode replied coolly. “It was Don Federico, or so we believe.”
“That’s absurd! Why should he do such a thing? Oh, I know Johannes believes Don Federico tried to kill him once, but—”
“And you do not?”
“Of course not! Federico is a gentleman! And why should he do such a thing?”
“You should know. It was your father who warned Johannes of what he might expect.”
“My father does not know Federico! He has never even met him!”
“Well, we shall see.” Miss Nesselrode pushed her mail to one side, folding her hands before her. “Where is Don Federico now? Do you have any idea?”
How should she know? He had not said when he would call.
“How could Johannes leave like that? He did not even say good-bye!”
“He left very quickly. And if you quarreled—”
“It was not really a quarrel! He did seem upset when I told him Federico had been calling, but I did not think it mattered that much.”
“He felt betrayed. I know he did. It is very hard, Meghan, but you must decide where your loyalties lie. Hannes knows Federico tried to have him killed. Not once, but several times. When Don Isidro was leaving him in the desert, Don Federico wanted to kill Johannes and then leave him.”
“I do not believe that. He was only a small boy then. He cannot remember.”
“He does remember. Also, where is Don Federico now? I believe he has gone into the desert to make sure of his trap.”
Meghan stood up. “That’s a hateful thing to say! I don’t believe it!”
“Your father did. He warned Johannes.”
“I must find him.”
“Meghan, no one could find him. Perhaps Mr. Kelso, who works for me. He will be trailing those stolen horses and riding very fast. It will be in wild, wild country.”
“I didn’t think he’d go off like that. I thought I’d be seeing him again. I—”
“Meghan, you must try to understand. From his earliest memory Johannes has known his life was in danger, that his own grandfather wanted him dead. He saw his father killed, and he himself was carried off and left to die. Whether you believe it or not, he is sure Don Federico was one of those who abandoned him.
“He seems relatively untouched by all this, but that isn’t the case. He has no waking moment when he can feel safe, and he has become exceptionally wary as a result. I am sure he is, or was, in love with you, but suddenly he discovered that even that haven was no longer secure, and he discovered that you, whom he loved, were welcoming an enemy.
“Now he has gone into the desert, and if you have learned anything about him at all, you must know he has an affinity for the desert and it for him.”
“He has talked of it.”
“The first happiness his parents knew together was in the desert. Even in flight they found a peace there, and a quiet. Johannes has experienced the desert himself. He has lived with Indians, and where others might feel lost and terribly alone, he feels at home.”
“What are you saying?”
Miss Nesselrode rested her hands on the desk. “What I am saying is that even if he survives, he may never come back.”
“What? You mean he might stay out there?”
“That is exactly what I mean. Human relationships are often fragile, they need to be nurtured until they can put down roots, and Johannes is one of the most complete human beings I have known. He has understanding, compassion, and strength. He possesses an inner tranquillity and poise such as no one I have ever known, with the exception of a Buddhist monk I met in crossing Mongolia as a girl.
“What you must understand is that Johannes does not need anyone.”
“Then what chance would there be for me?”
“I said he did not need anyone. I did not say that he did not want someone. He told me once that happiness was born a twin, that it must be shared. He had the example of his mother and father, who found happiness in each other no matter whatever else they discovered.
“You and Johannes were just finding each other. Each of you, I think, was reaching out. Johannes, I think, with less confidence than you. You are a beautiful girl. People come to you. Your finding of people has been natural, easy, without strain. You have never had to work at it.
“Johannes has lived in many towns. He has met people, but before liking or understanding developed, he had to move away. Close relationships are strange to him. He has no foundation of security on which to build. The result is that through sheer loneliness he has had to become more secure within himself. He has learned to live alone, to be alone.”
“You have known him a long time?”
“Longer than anyone here. Only Mr. Kelso and Jacob Finney have known him as long, and they did not live in the wagon with him as I did.”
Meghan was quiet, and Miss Nesselrode gathered her papers together and began checking her correspondence, some of which had come by sea and some overland from the States. “I guess I do not know him at all,” Meghan said at last. “I thought—”
“That he was like the others? He is not. He is vastly more complicated and much more simple. He has read more than anyone I know, but what is more important, he thinks.
“He thinks about what he has read, about what he has seen, and about what he has learned.”
For a time they sat silent, Miss Nesselrode working over her correspondence, checking notes on future business dealings and projected plans. She missed Jacob Finney. Kelso was good but not as astute. He carried out her orders to perfection, but he was less aware of the nuances of business and less aware of indications of weakness or strength on the part of those with whom she dealt.
“I do not know him either.” She spoke suddenly. “I think Elena is the wisest of us; she does not pretend to understand him, nor wish to. She simply loves him. First, she loved him because he was Consuelo’s son; now she loves him for himself. She would die for him. I know that, for she has risked much, risked all, in fact.”
“I must find him!”
“It is impossible. I do not know where he has gone, nor does anyone else. He is following a trail left by thieves, wherever it takes him.
“He lost his great black horse, too. The one he has been hoping to ride. When the thieves stole the other horses, the stallion escaped. It has run away into the hills, nobody knows where.”
“Why did he have to go? Why did he not at least tell me!”
Now there were people on the streets. Horsemen were riding by, a wagon or two, and a carreta.
“He is the son I never had,” Miss Nesselrode said suddenly. “I scarcely knew his father, but there was an affinity between us, an understanding, if you will. And with Johannes also.”
“His father was very ill?”
“He was dying, and he knew it. He was desperately worried about Johannes, so much so that he risked his life to find a home for him. I believe he would cheerfully have died if he could have been sure Johannes was cared for. He need not have worried, for the Indians accepted him as one of their own.”
“I wish he had not gone.”
Wind stirred dust in the street, and a man walked down to the door and stood there, not looking in. It was Alexis Murchison.
For a moment he looked around; then, turning quickly, he lifted the latch and stepped in. A
quick glance to where Meghan sat brought an irritated frown to his face.
“Ma’am? May we speak alone for a moment?”
“Whatever you have to say, sir, you can say here. I can think of no reason why we should be alone.”
“I am from Russia!”
“Of course. And so?”
“We wish you to come home. We want you to come back to Russia. To your mother country.”
“Russia is no longer my home. And the czar sent me to Siberia.”
“That is all forgotten. You are wanted at home.”
“No doubt. What would it be this time? Siberia again?”
“Please! I can arrange transportation. You would see your family again.”
“I have no family. They died in Siberia. This is my home, and here I shall stay.”
“Please, I have been sent to see that you return. I am not alone in this. Your country wishes you back.”
“You are wasting your time.”
Murchison was silent, glancing at Meghan; then he said quietly, “My advice would be to come now and come willingly. We will give you a few days to settle your business here, whatever it amounts to, and then you must go. Do not make us go to your government.”
She smiled. “Mr. Murchison, you amuse me. By all means, go to my government. Go to any official you wish. I suggest it. In fact, I entreat you, please go to them. Tell them what you wish.
“I can think of no reason why anyone in Russia would want me back unless my presence, and perhaps a trial, would be embarrassing to someone, but I have no intention of returning, nor is there any way you can force me to return. You may know your government, sir. You do not know ours.”
The Lonesome Gods (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 32
