Jubilee Trail (37 page)

Maybe, Garnet thought, she was a bit dazed from that wine she had drunk so greedily. But she could see perfectly well. And she thought California was just plain ugly.

She saw Florinda turn her head. Their eyes met again.

“Florinda,” Garnet said in a low voice, “what do you think of it?”

Florinda smiled. She shrugged her thin shoulder. “The whole damn landscape,” she said, “looks like it ought to be sent to the laundry.”

They did not say anything else.

Garnet saw Oliver returning. He put his arm around her shoulders and told her to come with him. Glancing back, she saw Florinda walking away with Mr. Penrose.

Oliver led Garnet to the big adobe house. As they walked, he told her this was the home of Don Antonio himself, and the hospitable señor had given them a room here for their own use. Garnet looked around with curiosity.

There were a great many horses grazing about the place, saddled and ready for use. She asked in alarm if they were going to ride somewhere else today. Oliver laughed and said no, but nobody on a California rancho ever walked anywhere. The horses were kept ready all day long. A lot of people were going about, men and women and children, all in the brightest sort of clothes. These were the serving-people, Oliver said.

“But there are so many of them!” she exclaimed in wonder. “What do they do?”

“I’ve never found out,” Oliver answered, laughing again. “Except at the spring rodeos, when the cattle are branded and slaughtered. Here we are. Now you can rest.”

Garnet sighed hopefully at the words. She hurt all over. They were following a Mexican woman, gay in a white blouse and red skirt, her two black pigtails tied with red ribbon. She opened a door and stood aside, curtsying as they went in. Garnet found herself in a little room with bright-figured calico curtains around the walls. It had a wall-bench and a table, and at one side was a window with wooden shutters. Near the window was a bed, a real bed with pillows and blankets. On the wall-bench was a blue pottery basin and a blue jug full of water.

Garnet smiled. It seemed so strange and wonderful to be inside a house again. Sinking down on the bed, she sighed happily at the feel of softness.

Oliver was dragging in a mule-pack holding her clothes. With a proud grin at her, he took an orange out of his pocket, cut a hole in the end of it and gave it to her.

Garnet caught her breath. “Can I have it all?” she asked.

“Of course. The trees are full of them.”

She sucked the orange dry. It was the first fruit she had tasted in so long that the juice had a strange tang in her mouth. Forgetting how dusty she was, she sank back into the pillow. California was an ugly place, but she did not care. California was a place where you could get all the sleep you wanted, all the water you wanted, fresh food, clean clothes, a bed. For a few minutes she was conscious that Oliver was taking off her shoes and drawing a blanket over her. That was all she knew before she went to sleep.

When she woke up, the afternoon sun was slanting on the wall-curtains and the air was rich with the odor of roasting beef. Before she was well awake Garnet remembered the long monotony of mush on the desert. She felt her stomach giving little jumps of ecstasy. Oliver told her they would not have supper for about an hour yet. The girls could not know just when to expect the caravan, so they did not start cooking till they saw the men ride in. But meanwhile, there was plenty of soap and water.

They laughed and scrubbed and combed their hair. Oliver opened the pack he had dragged in, and they put on clothes they had not worn since they left Santa Fe. The folds were yellow with dust, for no matter how tight the packing was, there was no way to keep dust from drifting in. But they brushed the clothes, and Oliver said the girls would wash everything.

Garnet looked at herself in the mirror on the wall. She was brown as an autumn leaf, and her arms and legs felt almost as firm as wood. In spite of the heavy gloves she had worn, months of riding had left her hands rough and hard.

“Oliver,” she said, “the men I used to dance with—I could break them in two!”

Oliver squeezed her strong waistline. “I think you could,” he agreed. “Now wait a minute while I put on my shirt, and we’ll go outside.”

Garnet went to the window and pushed open the shutters. The wall, like the walls of the houses in Santa Fe, was about a yard thick. She rested her elbows on the sill and looked out.

The rancho was full of movement. The older women were cooking at outdoor ovens that looked like big bee-hives, while the girls carried bowls toward tables set up on the grass, around an angle of the house. The men from the trail were idling about, drinking and flirting while they waited for supper. The girls’ bright clothes made splashes of color against the brown background of the hills. Over everything, the scent of supper was like a whiff of glory.

Just then, as she looked out of the window, Garnet caught sight of the handsomest man she had ever seen in her life.

He was nearly seven feet tall and he weighed close to three hundred pounds, and every ounce of him was hard and healthy. His hair was a rich reddish gold, blowing in ripples from his forehead; his eyes were dark blue, almost purple; his skin had the rosy fairness of a baby’s skin, and though he had strong masculine features his expression was as sweet as that of a happy baby. His clothes were gorgeous: a suit of sky-blue satin trimmed with gold braid, boots with bright star-shaped spurs, and leather gloves embroidered in gold. In one hand he carried a black hat with a blue silk cord around the crown.

This magnificent giant was strolling about the rancho with John Ives. John had changed his trail-clothes for a red silk shirt and dark gray Mexican trousers, but his garments looked staid in contrast with such splendor; and though John was six feet two and tough as a mule, beside his friend he seemed almost small.

As they passed her window, about fifteen feet away, the giant turned his head and saw Garnet leaning on the sill. His face broke into a smile. It was a smile of innocent pleasure, so winning and ingenuous that Garnet smiled back, and as she smiled she felt as if she had made a new friend. His violet eyes rested on her an instant, then he turned and said something to John. Glancing at Garnet, John chuckled and touched his hat as they walked on.

“Oliver!” Garnet exclaimed. “Who is that man?”

Oliver, who had seen John and his companion over her shoulder, laughed as he answered, “That’s John’s pet barbarian.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a Russian. Haven’t I mentioned him? He used to live at one of the Russian fur stations up north. Now he has a rancho down here.”

“What’s his name?”

“His last name is Karakozof. Let him tell you the rest himself, I can’t say it.” Oliver pulled her hair mischievously. “You’ll meet him, you can’t help it. He loves women the way a baby loves candy.”

“But why did you call him a barbarian?”

“Because he is one. Likable fellow, but quite uncivilized. John sort of adopted him and taught him a few manners, but John’s never been able to teach him to use a fork. Want to go out?”

Garnet nodded. She felt a thrill of anticipation. California was an ugly place, but it wasn’t going to be dull.

Just beyond the door Oliver stopped to speak to a driver who wanted to know about piling up the packs. Garnet saw Florinda sitting on a bench built against the wall of the house. Florinda had brushed her hair and put on a fresh cotton dress. She was so thin that the dress fitted her loosely, and she looked very tired, but as she saw Garnet she held out her hand, smiling with determined brightness. She had put on black silk house-mitts with half-fingers, which she would not have to take off while she ate supper.

“Come sit down,” Florinda invited.

Garnet sat by her. “How do you feel?”

“Oh, pretty well. Say, Garnet, did you see the handsome brute?”

“The—oh, you mean the Russian?”

“Is he a Russian? That great big beautiful creature in blue?”

“That’s what Oliver said.”

“Well, well, I never saw a Russian before. Do they all look like that?”

Garnet laughed. “How would I know? I never saw one before either.”

“Anyway,” said Florinda, “he’s the most beautiful object I ever laid eyes on. I saw him just a minute ago. Mr. Penrose went off to get raddled on the local firewater, and I came and sat down here. And then I saw him with John, and he looked at me and smiled so sweetly, like a nice little boy. Who is this handsome brute, Garnet?”

Garnet told her what Oliver had said. Florinda puckered her lips doubtfully.

“Him a barbarian?” she objected. Her face lit as she saw the Russian and John coming toward them. “Here he is again. I do believe he wants to meet us. And if he’s a barbarian I’m a cross-eyed Eskimo.”

John came over to them with the good-looking stranger. The Russian was grinning eagerly. John looked amused, and Garnet remembered what Oliver had told her about the Russian’s liking for women. John said,

“Mrs. Hale, Miss Grove, may I present my friend? Mr. Karakozof.”

The Russian bowed deeply. Speaking with care, as though not quite at home in the language, he said, “It is a stupendous pleasure, ladies.”

Garnet said, “How do you do,” and Florinda said, “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.” Florinda added, “What’s your name again, mister?”

“My name, beautiful lady,” said the Russian, “is Nikolai Grigorievitch Karakozof.”

Florinda winced. “Honestly?”

“Why yes,” he said with amiable innocence, and as though to help her he repeated it. “Nikolai Grigorievitch Karakozof.”

“I can’t say that,” Florinda told him. “Can you say it, Garnet?” Garnet shook her head frankly. Florinda thought a moment, then a light broke over her face. “Would you mind,” she asked him, “if we called you something else?”

“I would like very much,” he said earnestly, “anything I was called by such charming ladies. So you will call me—?”

“The Handsome Brute,” said Florinda.

He laughed joyfully. “The Handsome Brute,” he agreed. “That is me.”

“That’s you. Do you like it?”

“Oh yes. I like it. And I like you. I like all two of you. It is very happy, meeting lovely Yankee ladies. I have seen some Yankee ladies. Up at Sutter’s Fort, which is close to Fort Ross where I lived. But they were not lovely like you.” He addressed Garnet. “You are married to Oliver.”

“Yes, that’s right,” she answered.

“John told me. If I was Oliver I would be so happy. And you,” he said to Florinda, smiling as though he had found her a most enchanting surprise, “you are like me. You are a unfertilized egg.”

“Hell for breakfast,” said Florinda.

The Handsome Brute glanced questioningly at John. “What does she say?”

“She doesn’t understand your language,” said John. Turning to Florinda, he explained, “Un huero—an unfertilized egg. That’s what the Californios call anybody with light hair and blue eyes. Nikolai was very glad to see you, because you’re another freak like himself.”

“Oh sure, I get it,” said Florinda. She smiled up at him in comradeship. “They stare at me too, Handsome Brute. We’ll just have to sympathize with each other for being eggs.”

“I sympathize with you,” the Handsome Brute said gently. “You are tired.”

“Well, naturally,” said Florinda. “Did you ever cross that desert?”

“I am not a hero,” said the Brute. “I am a very lazy man. I have never go east of Cajón Pass and I do not want to go.”

“You’re a smart man,” said Florinda.

The Handsome Brute spoke to John. “Can we stay with the ladies till supper, John?”

“If they have no objection.”

“Of course not,” said Garnet. “Sit down, both of you.”

The men sat down on the dry grass. Linking his big hands around his knees, the Handsome Brute looked up at Garnet and Florinda. “My English is so bad,” he said with apology in his voice. “Forgive me if I do not talk to you right. I am learning better. John give me a book. I read the book all winter.”

“What sort of book?” asked Garnet.

The Brute glanced at John. “Tell her, John. I do not know how.”

“It’s a collection of poetry,” John explained. “It was the only book I had. There aren’t many books in California.”

“Thank you,” said the Brute. He smiled shyly at Garnet and Florinda. “I will talk some more to you, if you please? You will teach me to talk better.”

“Of course,” said Garnet. “But you speak very well already. How long have you been speaking English?”

“I had a—how do I say, John? When I was a little boy?”

“A tutor.”

“That is right. A tutor who talked English. But I was very little then. I forget the English. Up at Fort Ross, we talked Russian. We learned how to talk Spanish too, because we came down to buy supplies from the ranchos. But I did not talk any more English till I met John and he was teaching me again.”

“Did you live a long time at Fort Ross?” Florinda asked.

“Oh yes. My father, he was in the army. The army of the Czar. When I was such a little boy, I had eight years, the Czar sent some army to look at the fur stations in America. There are many fur stations. From Fort Ross in California all up to Alaska. My mother was dead, and my father brought me to America with him.”

“And your father stayed here?” she asked.

“No, my father died too. When we were at Fort Ross, he was very sick. The ship had to go back to Russia without him. Then after the ship was gone, my father died. So I lived at Fort Ross. I worked with the men. We got the furs, seal and sea-otter, and we farmed the land to raise food for the Russians in Alaska.”

“But didn’t any other ships come from Russia?”

“Oh yes, the ship comes once in three years or four, to get the furs. But they did not want to take home a little boy. And when I was grown, why should I go? I was happy at Fort Ross.”

“And when did you come to live here?” Florinda asked.

He grinned up at her. “We worked too well. The fur was giving up—that is wrong, how do I say, John?”

“Giving out.”

“That is right. Thank you. The fur was giving out. The men said they would leave Fort Ross and go to the stations in the north. There was more fur in the north. They sold everything to a man from Switzerland. He is named Sutter. He has Sutter’s Fort on the American River. Our trappers went to Alaska, but I did not want to go to Alaska. I liked California. So I came down to Los Angeles and I got baptized again and they gave me a rancho. I raised cattle. The people laughed at me. The Yankees said I am a barbarian and the Californios said I am a unfertilized egg. And one day I was taking my hides to the store of Mr. Abbott in Los Angeles, and stacking the hides was John. I helped him stack the hides. John did not call me a barbarian or a unfertilized egg. John was a very seldom person. We got to be friends.”