Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon (52 page)

Seeing how Father Lezcano's amazement had grown, Urdaneta chuckled softly. “Seldom is new knowledge recognized for its true worth, but the future will show us the value of what you have paid for with your efforts and tears.”

Father Lezcano stared at him, his thoughts grasping the repercussions of what such farsightedness foretold. “During one of our last discussions, Captain-General Cabrillo said that knowledge was one of God's greatest gifts.”

“And so it is, Father, even if it produces something very different from gold and jewels.” After a moment's reflection he said, “Who knows? One day California may even be prized as a place to settle. Based on these reports, it is beautiful.”

“But, you, sir? Will you sail to the San Lázaros with our charts?”

“Perhaps, Father, but if not I, others will. More and more lately I feel called to a quiet religious life.” Seeing that he had surprised Father Lezcano once more, he smiled and said, “Then again, perhaps I will take to the sea after I am ordained, just as you did.”

Urdaneta began to rise, and Father Lezcano stood with him. “You must be very tired, and I will not delay you further, Father, but in the days to come I would very much like to discuss the possibility of my joining the Augustinians.”

“It would be my pleasure, sir.”

“Fine, fine. But for now, is there any service I can render you?”

Father Lezcano was about to decline his offer, but then he said, “There is something, sir, of a personal nature. You see, I wish very much to visit Señora Cabrillo, and it is appropriate that a letter precedes my arrival. I have tried several times to write to her only to stumble over my clumsiness with words. You were the captain-general's friend, so I hope it will not be too great an imposition to help me compose the message. It is said that you are a gifted writer.”

“You honor me, Father. When do you wish to begin?”

“Do you have time now, sir? We have paper and ink before us.”

“I do indeed.”

In moments their heads were bent together over a sheet of parchment while Father Lezcano's quill carefully scratched words of introduction and condolence. When three pages had been filled, he closed his thoughts with the warmest of wishes, sanded the ink, rolled the letter inside an outer sheet, and sealed it with wax.

“There,” he said with satisfaction. “I am in your debt, Señor Urdaneta.”

“Not at all, Father. Will you let me know when you receive a reply?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Then I advise you to hurry if you intend to reach the post rider before he departs.”

Father Lezcano bid him a hasty farewell and hurried out the door, waving his letter in a parting salute.

Not even a week had passed before the priest received his answering letter from Beatriz, inviting him to come to them as soon as he could leave Navidad. Now, after a few more weeks needed to complete the final duties to his commander and to recover his health, the priest was packing his few belongings into saddlebags slung across the top rail of the corral as Urdaneta stood patiently beside him.

“Well, sir, that is everything. I have only to saddle my horse.”

“You need not hurry your preparations on my account, Father. I have had far too little of your company lately, and I am happy to see you off.”

Father Lezcano strode into the stable and came out a few moments later leading his mount.

Rather than the dusty bay gelding the priest had ridden into Navidad nearly eleven months earlier, his horse was now a superbly appointed dappled gray Andalusian stud. The weeks since his return to Navidad had done the stallion as much good as it had his new owner, giving him back the tone to his muscles and gleam to his coat. Urdaneta's heart warmed as he watched the man and horse, their bond obvious in the way they moved comfortably in unison. Captain-General Ferrelo had told him of Cabrillo's leaving Viento to Father Lezcano in a written codicil, and now it was easier to understand why he had. As the two came nearer, Urdaneta noticed that the priest's brow had furrowed. After looping the reins over the fence, Father Lezcano lowered his eyes to the riding crop in his hand, staring at it as his expression clouded.

Observing the depth of the emotions crossing the young face, Urdaneta asked, “What is it, Father?”

As if speaking to the crop itself, he said softly, “Still hanging from a peg near my old saddle. I had forgotten I left it there before we sailed.” Very slowly he tightened his fingers around the whip, silently recalling the details of a day that had altered his world. “It seems like ages ago. He told me a man's family could not always teach him what must be learned, that sometimes essential lessons are left to others.” After a pause, he said, “So many lessons...” He looked up at Urdaneta, his eyes brightened by moisture. “How can one repay such things, especially when the teacher is no longer here?”

Urdaneta smiled with great gentleness. “The best way I have found is to share what we have learned with others, whenever we can.”

“Yes, that I will try to do. Thank you, sir.” Again glancing at the quirt, he asked, “Will you hold this for a moment?” Urdaneta accepted the whip and stood back while Father Lezcano saddled Viento and checked his hooves one more time, all the while talking to the horse in familiar, loving tones. At last, he said, “There now, Viento, all is ready.”

Urdaneta patted Viento's neck and asked his master, “Are you still uneasy about meeting them, Father?”

“Perhaps a little, but, as you saw, her letter could not have been more welcoming.”

“She will undoubtedly embrace you with affection.”

“Mateo has been there with his family for some time, and I have missed him. I look forward to seeing Manuel at the Cabrillo encomienda as well, but it is Señora Cabrillo I long to meet. I have much to tell her, mostly words from him. Although they will be meant to comfort, I fear they will be difficult to hear. Her grief is very new.”

“Then, for now, tell her only what she asks to know.”

“Good advice, my wise friend. Take care of yourself while I am away.”

Urdaneta's eyes shone fondly upon the priest, “I shall miss our talks. Until next month, farewell. Write to me if you find the time.”

“I will make time.” He gave Urdaneta a strong hug and then climbed into the saddle, and as he adjusted his tension on the reins to keep Viento in place Urdaneta handed him his quirt. He took and said with sudden intensity, “I have just decided what to do with this.”

“Do with it, Father?”

After tucking the crop under the flap of a saddlebag, he said, “I will bury it along the way.” The hint of a smile that had been too long absent came into his deep brown eyes. “And I know the perfect place for it to rest, a place I remember well.” He extended a hand and clasped Urdaneta's. “God keep you well, sir.”

He loosened the reins and let Viento walk away from the corral and onto the road that led eastward. Urdaneta watched him go, speculating on possible explanations behind the priest's strange intention to entomb the whip. At last he turned away, and with a shake of his head he muttered to himself, “Patience. He will tell the whole story when he finds the right time and place.”

T
HE
A
UTHOR

On the bowsprit of
Californian
while researching Cabrillo's voyage, Christine Echeverria Bender, a former resident of San Diego, California, now lives with her family in Boise, Idaho.

She may be contacted at
www.christinebender.com
.

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