Mystic Memories (18 page)

“Oh-my-god,” breathed Cara in horror. “We’ve got to
do
something to save that poor woman.”

Before she started down the hill toward the building, he grabbed her hand. “Wait, Cara.”

“I can’t stand here while those men rape her!”

“As appalling as it may sound, she agreed to that arrangement. No one forced her. She went of her own accord.”

Cara stared at the Indian. “He’s just sitting there? Letting his wife—”

“Indian wives are often brought here by their husbands to make money for their families. They cannot sneak down here at night without alarming the dogs. When they are really desperate, they come here during the day. If she is caught by the
alcaldes
, she will be whipped.”

“Just her? Not the men? Not her husband for bringing her?”

“Only the women are punished for illicit behavior. But the authorities have been known to look the other way if the woman is merely an Indian who is not worthy of having her virtue protected.”

“Willing or not,” she said sadly, her voice barely audible, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, “it’s still rape.”

Blake suddenly imagined Cara in a similar situation, forced to earn her living by selling herself to these men. The very idea angered him. She could not be left to fend for herself. Before the week was out, he would find a safe home for her. He would also leave behind enough money for her to live modestly, if not well. But for how long? Until she found this boy named Andrew? That is, if the ten-year-old boy actually existed.

“Andrew
does
exist, Blake.”

Breaking free of his hand, Cara spun away from the view of the hide house, her pained expression etched upon her face. She marched up the hill, leaving him speechless.

Regaining his composure, he said to her retreating backside. “Dammit, you did it again, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she hollered over her shoulder. Bud traipsed along between them, then pulled up short when Cara turned around. Planting her feet wide, she hooked her hands on her hips. “And I will manage without you or your money, thank you very much. I assure you that I have no intention of selling this body to anyone.”

“Good,” Blake barked. Bud barked, too. “Shut up, Bud.”

“Don’t take your anger out on him. He’s only reacting to you.”

“He’s my dog. I’ll say or do whatever I please with him.”

“Well, you may own him, but you don’t own
me
. So I would prefer you keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“I
did
keep them to myself. You are the one who took them without my permission,” he argued, silencing her.

The absolute absurdity of his statement hung in the air. The corner of her mouth twitched as she fought to keep from smiling. The smallest chuckle slipped out. His dog yipped in playful excitement, then dashed toward her.

Blake lunged forward. “No, Bud!”

With startled laughter, she caught the huge front paws with her hands as Blake grabbed the boisterous canine from behind. Stumbling on a rock, he joined the momentum of the leaping dog. The three of them went down. Twisting his body during the fall, he managed to keep his full weight, and Bud’s, from crushing Cara.

In the midst of trying to get his dog out of the way, which was impossible, he grunted, “Are . . . you . . . hurt?”

“No, but—” She sputtered. “He won’t quit licking me. No, Bud. No more kisses.”

Damn dog
, he groused silently.
Damn LUCKY dog
.

Blake was not yet ready to let go of his anger and frustration with Cara. Or with Bud. Finally freeing the arm that had been pinned under his dog, he knelt on his knees and tugged Bud to his feet, scolding him soundly and sending him off to explore the bushes.

Breathless from laughter, she lay on her back, her arms flung out at her side. Her giggles completely melted his annoyance. Her rich, coffee-colored eyes danced with mirth. Dusty and mussed, she still looked enchantingly beautiful. He gazed at her smiling lips, wanting to kiss her, knowing he shouldn’t.

Reaching out, he brushed his knuckles across the hollow of her cheek. She stilled.

“What am I thinking now?” he asked, his mind filled with thoughts of wanting her.

“That I frighten you.”

Chapter
12

B
lake pulled back. “You are wrong.”

“I know you want to make love to me. It’s obvious we
both
want it.” Cara’s gaze was direct, unwavering. “But underneath all that lust, I scare the hell out of you.”

He shot to his feet. For an instant, his gentlemanly manners prompted him to offer his hand to help her up. Then he walked several feet from her, putting some much-needed distance between them.

He heard her approach, then felt her hands come around his waist. She pressed her cheek to the middle of his back. When he realized she was probably peeking into his mind, he tried to empty his head of all thoughts. But the harder he worked at it, the harder it got.

“Let go, Blake.”

“Let go?
You
are the one holding
me
.”

“I meant for you to stop holding on to the demons from your past.”

“You are mistaken, Cara. I have told you before that I have already let go of my past, so much so that I have forgotten it entirely.”

“But I have the key that will open that door. I
am
the key. I know things about you—”

“Through Keoni.”

“No, through touching you. I saw something terrible happen to you as a boy. And, through me, you can learn about your past. You must go back before you can move forward.”

She said nothing more but remained standing behind him, holding him in a gentle embrace. Radiant heat from her body seeped into every fiber of his being, infusing him with her warmth and compassion. He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, giving himself time to think of what she had said, what she had meant. While he had no basis of knowledge to comprehend the concept of this “letting go” of which she spoke, he somehow knew inside himself that Cara’s statements had a ring of truth.

In these few brief moments of contemplation, he’d had no intention of reviewing his past, remembered or forgotten. Yet he found himself mentally exploring a cove on the island of Kaua‘i with his new friend and adopted brother.

“You and Keoni, that’s good,” encouraged Cara’s soft voice. “Is this right after you came to the islands?”

“Yes, I was fourteen.” He saw the officer who had brought him to live with the Pahinui family. He saw his new parents and sisters and brothers. Then he remembered their tears when they saw the scars across his back.

“How did you get the scars? Think back . . .”

“Captain Myers.” Blake’s body tensed at the memory of the man who possessed the face of Satan himself. The heinous leer bore down on him, growing larger and larger. “No!”

“It’s all right,” soothed Cara. “You’re safe. Stand up to him. He can’t hurt you now.”

Blake broke away from her. “I can’t do this. Come, let’s go to the village to look for Andrew.” He started off again, leaving her to decide whether to stand there or go with him.

With a heavy sigh of resignation, she followed him. “Do you believe he exists or are you just pacifying me?”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he murmured as Bud came up beside him and nudged his hand for a pat.

The village consisted of a few dozen squat adobe huts and some larger whitewashed houses, all of which were clustered at the base of a hill on which the old fort stood in a state of near ruin, though still occupied by a ragtag group of Mexican soldiers.

As they approached the small community, Cara had a feeling that she would learn nothing about Andrew from the people here. After talking with women, particularly mothers, without any luck, they walked up to the fort. They learned nothing more when they met the pompous commandant and his family, who did not know and did not care about a lost little boy.

They left the
presidio
with Bud loping ahead of them, flushing a flock of small brown birds from the bush. He took off after them with no hope of catching a single one.

“I need to go to the mission,” she said, watching the black Lab.

“It lies another three miles east of here in a valley. Are you sure you want to walk?”

“I may regret it tomorrow, but right now it feels good to stretch my legs.”

“But the
padre
will probably tell you no more than the villagers, that they know of no yellow-haired child.”

She had a feeling Blake was right. Still, she knew in her gut she must go, even though it might be a wasted and tiring trip.

The hike turned out to be more than invigorating for Cara. The smell of spring was in the air with a rich scent of the earth mingling with the sun-warmed tall grass and green bushes. The lack of abundant trees didn’t seem to matter. There was a perfection in the untouched, untainted landscape that only someone from the urban sprawl of the future could appreciate. It all seemed so wide open and spread out.

Following a worn trail over low hills and uneven terrain to a lush valley, she spotted in the distance a tiered bell tower with five bells and a cross on top. After what seemed like half an hour or more, they crossed a small stream and entered Mission
San Diego de Alcalá
. The perimeter was marked by a row of tall white buildings on one side, smaller structures on another side, the large church taking up the whole of the third side, then a long wall that finished the enclosure of the square. The place appeared as deserted as the one at San Juan Capistrano. Occasionally, a half-dressed Kumeyaay Indian walked from one doorway to the next, not acknowledging their presence.

While Blake looked around, Bud followed Cara to the church, where a large fountain spouted four columns of fresh water into its base. As the dog sat at her side, she cupped her hands to catch some water and bring it to her mouth. Free of chlorine and other purifying chemicals, the water tasted so refreshingly clean it could almost be sweet. When a paw brushed her leg, she glanced down at Bud.

“You had plenty to drink at the stream,” she reminded the dog, then chuckled at his woeful expression. “Oh, all right.” She scooped more water, knelt down, and offered it to him as Blake approached, but most of it dribbled onto the ground.

Somewhere behind them, a man emerged from a building and called out an exuberant greeting in Spanish. He was dressed in the more civilized apparel of the region—a wide hat, short jacket, open-neck shirt, red sash, knee-length pants, white stockings, and deerskin shoes ornamented with Indian beads. He also had a set of keys dangling from a neck chain, which indicated his stewardship of the mission. As the
mayordomo
, he offered them food and wine and a bone for the dog, but no information about a blond ten-year-old.

After their meal, Blake compensated the man with a few reals in much the same way that he had handled payment for services to Lupe in San Juan.

When Blake suggested visiting the Indian huts to talk with the people, Cara agreed, despite her certainty that they would not be any help either. Still, there was some reason she’d been compelled to visit this mission. Why? What was this niggling feeling just out of reach in the back of her mind?

The
mayordomo
accompanied them, to interpret the Kumeyaays’ native language. Beyond the mission walls was a tiny community of crude twig domes with naked little children running about. The men could be seen in the distance, tending cattle and a large plot of land with numerous vegetables and abundant fruit trees.

The women wore sack dresses similar to the one on the woman who had sneaked off with the three sailors on the beach. She wondered if any of these women were also forced to visit the hide houses, though she couldn’t imagine the need to do so when she saw the garden. Still, her full stomach gave her a guilty conscience for consuming a huge lunch while others were suffering from lack of food.

Bringing her concentration back to the search for Andrew, Cara followed the
mayordomo
around the small village, learning nothing as he asked questions about the missing boy. As he spoke to a feeble, shriveled-up little man who could easily have been more than a hundred years old, she noticed an old woman hurry away and disappear through the huge gates of the mission. Cara’s internal radar perked up.

“Blake, would you stick around and ask the questions for a little bit while I go back inside the mission?”

“Why? What’s in there that you need?”

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” she said, purposely being vague. If she told him about her hunch and it turned out to be wrong, he wouldn’t let her forget it. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Very well. But stay inside the walls. Don’t wander away.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” she answered obediently, then turned to leave, only to stop and tell Bud not to follow her. The black Lab’s ears drooped as he plopped down in the dirt.

Walking away, she overheard Blake grumble, “That’s the first time someone’s had to make my own dog stay with me.

Leaving him with the
mayordomo
, she passed through the entrance and glanced around the square. The door of the church was closing. Instinct prodded her to follow.

The interior of the enormous adobe church was cool and dark in contrast to the warm spring sunshine outside. Cara paused to let her eyes adjust to the low light, then looked around. The sanctuary was empty.

“Hello?” She spoke quietly, yet her voice seemed to bounce off the walls in the silent house of worship. She heard the skittering of a small animal, and saw a field mouse running along the base of the rough white wall a few feet away.

Walking toward the altar at the front of the church, she again called out, and again received no answer. She stopped alongside one of the first few benches, absorbing the feeling of reverence and sanctity. Moving over to the wooden seat, she kept her eyes forward, staring at the crucifix. She slowly sat down. And waited.

Even though her parents had all but abandoned their affiliation with the Catholic Church when Cara was young, there was something about the traditional church setting that prompted her to fold her hands and bow her head. A compulsion to pray for Andrew prompted a spontaneous yet awkward one-sided conversation with her creator.

“Please watch over him,” she murmured. “And show me how to find him. I’m having a hard time accepting that I came all this way without catching up with him. So what do you say? Can you throw me a few clues?”

A sudden tap on her shoulder made her leap to her feet as if a needle had pricked her backside. “Blake—” she scolded in hushed anger as she spun around. She stopped, stunned by the sight in front of her. It couldn’t be. Not again. This was too strange . . . even for her.

“A-Aunt G-Gaby?”

The woman smiled sweetly and gave a slight nod. “
Estoy aquí, mi Cara
.”

“Uh-uh.
No way. This can’t be possible.” She turned and walked a few paces, then pivoted. “Okay, I’ve got this figured out now. You’ve had a week or more to travel down here from Capistrano by donkey.”

“No,” Gabriella answered in Spanish. “I am here, Cara. Simply accept this. Don’t try to understand how.”

“I may be psychic. But I’m just not used to these real-life visitations. It’s downright spooky.”

Her aunt kept on smiling that familiar, lovable smile, then gestured toward the bench. “Come and sit.”

“I’m more comfortable standing, thank you.”

“Easier to run away if you get too scared?”

“You’re reading my mind.”

The woman chuckled silently. “I came to you during your fever, Cara, but I want you to understand that you can ‘see’ me whenever you wish. Or you can simply hear my voice.”

“So, you’re a figment of my imagination.”

“Not entirely. But if that is how you wish to believe, so it shall be.”

“It’s not like you to patronize me, Aunt Gaby. I want to comprehend what’s happening here.”

“Do you ‘comprehend’ your time-travel experience?”

“I—” Unable to describe the complex confusion of acceptance and bewilderment, Cara backed up to a bench on the opposite side of the aisle from her aunt and sat down. She looked down at her hands, turning them over and studying her palms. “I know I am here in the flesh. I feel the sea breeze and taste the water. I see the ships and hear the birds. I experience the passage of days and nights. So to answer your question—I cannot grasp how it is I am here in this time, but I do accept I am here now.”