Treasure of the Sun (10 page)

"Thieves, yes. Did you hear what Fremont did to Don Jose Dolores Pacheco?" Rico asked.

Mariano's face grew stern. "Tell us."

"There was a complaint lodged with Don Jose's office. He's the alcalde of San Jose, you know." The heads around him nodded. "Don Sebastian Peralta discovered that one of the horses in Fremont's camp was his-was stolen. So he sought to retrieve it, and Fremont insulted him. Insulted him about the return of his own horse. As if there aren't horses to be had in California. They mock our hospitality with their rudeness."

"What about Don Jose?" Hadrian stood snapping his fingers.

Rico answered, "He wrote a letter to Fremont, a very nice letter, broaching the problem. Fremont insulted him, too. He wrote a letter back calling Don Sebastian a vagabond."

An angry murmur followed the general groan. "Where is Fremont now?" Damian demanded.

Everyone turned to Gundersheimer. "Making trouble somewhere, no doubt."

"What does Governor Pio Pico say about this?" A relative of Pico's, Rico felt honor bound to query, but he knew he'd asked the wrong question when Alejandro rounded on him.

"What does Pico ever have to say? He's hiding in his headquarters in Los Angeles, demanding all the money from the treasury in Monterey. The question is, what does General Castro say about this?"

"I know the answer to that." Gundersheimer grinned as the faces turned on him. "He's not happy. You should return to the valley, Don Damian. You need to protect your interests."

"Oh, why?" Alejandro said in disgust. "Damian works until he has calluses on his hands like a vaquero. What could possibly be there worth going back for."

The blunt German stuck out his neck. "You are the fool if you think you have anything here. This is a well kept ranch, true, but in the Sacramento Valley we have everything. The elk stand up to their knees in waving grass. We have flowers and trees in abundance, and sweet soil that welcomes the grape. The rivers, they flow crystal clear, so clear you can pluck the salmon out with your bare hands."

Julio drawled, "Ah, yes. In the valley, the land is tough with turf. You must come miles to bring your hides to market, and go miles back with your supplies. The company is few and far between, and there are no women with which to ease your hunger."

"Julio'" His wife joggled his arm. "That's not a subject for the daylight."

Julio turned to Maria Ygnacia, a tiny woman with a snow-white streak in her hair. She blushed beneath his scrutiny and took a step back. "Of course, my dear." He bowed courteously. "I forget myself."

Godart Gundersheimer hadn't forgotten himself. Belligerent in defense of his chosen home, he said, ''There are getting to be too many people in the valley."

"Americans," Damian sneered.

"You're judging all Americans by the actions of one hothead," Mariano chided. "They're a young, energetic race, with all the brash rudeness of a child. Yet when I was comandante general of California, I warned Mexico to take action if it wished to retain this province. They ignored me. With the continued uninterest of Mexico, who better to turn to than the United States!"

Damian rounded on him fiercely. "Perhaps there's none better, but I don't have to like it. You make excuses for Fremont, but in my opinion, he's an example of what we can expect from these people."

Putting his arm around Damian's shoulder, Mariano said, "We'll do the best we can, Damian. California is a tasty morsel, and the wolves of the world salivate over us. If we're not careful, there'll be armies marching over our soil and destroying everything we've built."

"Couldn't we govern ourselves?" Hadrian wondered. Both Mariano and Damian laughed, amused in varying degrees.

"We can't even do that with the occasional interference of Mexican officials. Southern California struggles to wrest control from Monterey, and no one knows who's in charge." Mariano shook his head. "No, I don't hold out hope for that."

"So the Americans will take California, and I will go live in the Sacramento Valley." Damian turned back to Gundersheimer. "But the Americans are taking over there, too?"

"Yes, there are Americans," Gundersheimer admitted. "But not long ago, one of the men found a lone Californio working to build a house. He had papers from the governor saying the land was his. So you see, company is coming, and only the early claimants will get the best lands." His voice rose. "Ducks and geese by the thousands, figs heavy on the trees, a paradise on earth."

Putting his hand under Gundersheimer’s elbow, Damian assisted him to his feet. "You're tired.” He lifted his finger, and Leocadia materialized before them. "Find Senor Gundersheimer a bed. He can join us later.”

"Yes, I'll do that, with gratitude. I'm not the horseman you are, Don Damian, and my back aches from the ride."

"He's a fanatic," Julio said with cool distaste as the man strode away. "He talks too much."

Alejandro insisted, "There's nothing in the Sacramento Valley to keep you there."

"I like it," Damian answered plainly. ''This is my father's land and my home. But my rancho in the valley is my own and I will return."

"Every man should have the thrill of conquering his own land and taming his own woman.” Mariano bowed. "Ladies and gentlemen, I must leave you now and prepare to return home" Damian grasped his arm. "Must you, Mariano?"

"You know I must. My wife awaits me in Sonoma, and I'm gone too much with this nonsense in the government. As usual, your hospitality was warm."

"Next time, bring the family," Damian ordered.

"I will.” Mariano walked away, looked back and grinned. ''The Vallejos will come to dance at your wedding. We wouldn't miss that.”

A raucous burst of laughter followed him away.

Damian glanced up as new guests rode up the road towards the stables. "I, too, must leave you.” He held up his hands against the sighs and complaints. "Guests are arriving for the fandango, and I must prepare our musicians to play. Until then, find someone else to distress with your teasing.” He: reached out and touched Maria Ygnacia's cheek with his finger. She had been the only woman he'd ever worshiped in his youth, and he retained a fondness for her.

She smiled at him, then glanced at Julio.

Damian found Julio watching them with a cynical gaze.

She folded her hands and lowered her eyes, and Damian wanted to groan in distress. The increasing animosity between his two friends distressed him, but what could he do? Neither of them would thank him for his interference.

As he drew abreast of Julio, the man took his ann. Damian jumped, almost guiltily, but Julio had other matters on his mind "Look, compadre," he said into Damian's ear.

Following Julio's eye, he saw her.

His Katherine.

Carrying a dusty carpetbag that bumped against her knee, she followed Leocadia and Gundersheimer to the house. She was discussing something with the man. Damian was distressed to note-perhaps shipping schedules. And she was smiling at Gundersheimer until he reeled beneath the attention.

She'd sewn the seam on one of her unattractive black dresses.

She'd tucked her hair beneath a voluminous black cap so that not one strand shone in the sun. She looked hot, struggling to fulfil everyone's needs. She looked flustered and harried, working too hard and sleeping too little.

She looked wonderful

All his anger, his fear, his delight rushed back at him as if they'd never been banished. He had eyes only for her. Only for Katherine.

Beside him, he heard Julio laugh sharply. "Perhaps you don't like the Americans, Damian, but I bet you're going to annex that piece of the country soon yourself, hey?"

22 May, in the year of our Lord, 1777

My brothers and I knew the danger. We were not fearful, putting our trust in Christ. The very soldiers sent to protect us started the trouble. What imbeciles they were, to believe the Indians would accept such insults. Their chief's wife raped, his son dragged behind a horse to his death! The soldiers died in agony, without last rites. The mission burned like a torch in the night and too many of my brethren remained within. Yet they died in a state of grace, so surely their souls will be received directly into Heaven, and they’ll stand beside the martyrs and saints exalted by Holy Mother Church.

In that belief is my comfort

from the diary of Fray Juan Estevan de Bautista

Chapter 5

"Dona Katherina, we have new guests."

Don Lucian's voice stopped her as she stepped onto the shaded veranda. She broke off her eager discussion of the Sacramento Valley's virtues with Mr. Gundersheimer. Temporarily sun blind, she blinked and struggled with her dismay. More guests! Already the hacienda strained at the seams. Now four more men stood silhouetted against the setting sun, their faces in shadow. One she recognized as Don Lucian. One wore the sombrero of a Spanish hidalgo. One had whipped off his hat at her appearance and one--one smelled like a skunk. She blinked at his pungent smell, but offered a cordial welcome in Spanish. "Of course, it's a pleasure."

Mr. Gundersheimer touched his hat to the strangers and stomped into the house without a word, his boots heavy on the floorboards. Puzzled, she stared after him as she handed the carpet bag to Leocadia and waved her inside. Turning back to the guests, she said, "If you gentlemen would take a seat, I'll send someone with refreshments while I prepare a room."

"Thank you, but I brought these gentlemen over for the day, only."

The pure British accent identified him, and she said in English, "Mr. Hartnell. Forgive me, I couldn't see you." She took the proffered hand of the courtly gentleman, the owner of one of the largest ranchos along the Salinas River. "Where is Senora Hartnell? Didn't you bring her?"

"As if I could keep Maria Teresa away," he scoffed. "We brought three of our daughters and seven of our sons. Twelve of our grandchildren trailed along, too. They're mingling with the ladies." He nodded out toward the lawn. "They want to whip up some enthusiasm for a dance tonight."

Familiar with his twenty children and his uncounted grandchildren who lived and visited at will, Katherine wasn't surprised by his wry humor. "They'll not have a struggle, I'm sure. There's been a danza every night of fiesta."

Smiling, she turned at the new sound of boots on the stair behind her, but her smile faded when a too-familiar voice agreed. "The mariachis are warming up already."

The sun blindness had faded, she realized, for Damian looked only too clear to her. One flashing glance from his fiery eves, and she turned away to find the two strangers studying her.

They were Americans. One held a hat in his hand. He was tall and blond, tanned and windblown and attractive. The other was dirty. A mountain man, clearly, dressed in the same kind of buckskins as his companion. Where his companion had taken advantage of civilization to wash, this man obviously considered cleanliness optional.

"Don Damian, you're looking well." William Hartnell stepped forward with the hearty good humor that had earned him his place as one of the most popular foreigners to settle in California. "I was here for that ridiculous display of bravery before the bull. You've started a whole new trouble for me. All my grandsons have decided they, too, should challenge the bull in such a manner."

"Lo siento." Damian grinned.

"Sorry, indeed," Senor Hartnell grumbled. "You're not sorry. You enjoy stirring the pot. But I have here someone who puts your exploit into the realm of mere braggadocio. Let me introduce my guests. Senora Katherine Maxwell, this is a great explorer from your country. John Charles Fremont, Senora Maxwell."

"John Fremont!" Katherine exclaimed, startled out of good manners. "John Charles Fremont, the explorer of the West?"

The blond man smiled in modest acknowledgement. "You've heard of me?"

"Heard of you?" Katherine held out her hand. '''When I left Boston last year, all of the city was reading of your exploits. The pamphlet you published had been passed through many hands, and your courage was standard drawing room conversation."

He dropped his head and shrugged, but not before taking her hand. "I'm doing no more than any good man should do for his country."

"When I read 'The Report of the Exploring Expedition to the Rocky Mountains and to Oregon and Northern California,' it gave me the courage to proceed with my plans to board my vessel," she said, sincerity ringing in her voice. "If it weren't for you, Mr. Fremont-"

"Call me John Charles."

Startled, she disengaged her hand. "Thank you. I couldn't be so unceremonious.”