Until the Day Breaks (California Rising Book 1) (8 page)

“Would you like to see yours and Maria’s room?” Rachel asked Isabella. These Californian women were so different than the women she was used to. Never would her grandmother or the ladies of their church have discussed the marriage bed so freely.

“Can I sleep in your room with you?” Isabella widened her big blue eyes in sweet appeal. “We are going to be sisters. I sleep with Maria all the time. I want to sleep with you tonight.”

“Please, Tia Josefa, let Izzy sleep with Rachel. I’m tired of her kicking me all night long. She is such a little goat.” Maria dropped her aunt’s boots on the floor with a thud.

“It is Señorita Rachel’s decision.” Josefa pointed at the boots. “Tuck those under the bed,
mi hija.
”

Maria wrinkled her nose, pushing the boots out of sight with the tips of her own boots.

“Of course Isabella can sleep with me.” Rachel touched the little girl’s head with tenderness. Isabella reminded her of Molly, only a few years older than the little Irish girl.

Isabella nestled her small brown hand into Rachel’s and tugged. “Let’s go see your room.”

Rachel allowed the little girl to lead her down the hall. “Maria calls me
little goat
. Do you think I have goat ears?”

Isabella cocked her head, using her free hand to push the long black hair away from a little ear for inspection.

“I think you have lovely ears.” The child had perfect ears. Like little seashells.

“I think my ears are nice too.” Isabella giggled happily. “Maria will end up eating with pigs. I know she will.”

“Why do you say such a thing about your sister?”

“Because people reap what they sow. Maria is always sowing slop, so she will reap slop one day.”

“That expression is from the Bible. Do you read the Bible?”

“The padres read the Bible during Mass. I don’t like going to Mass.”

“Why not?”

“Because Señora Poppycock is not welcome at Mass.”

“Who is Señora Poppycock?”

“My chicken.”

“You have a chicken?”

“Oh yes, and she is beautiful and smart and eats flies off the wall. When you come to live with us, I will bring her to your room so she can eat up all the flies, and then they won’t bother you.”

“That will be wonderful.” Despite her anxiety over her betrothal, Rachel couldn’t help but smile, enjoying Isabella’s company very much.

Rosa massaged the herbs and oil into Roman’s lacerated back. He didn’t talk or make any sound as she dressed his wounds, but he drank all the patrón’s whiskey she’d brought along to take the edge off his pain. Never had Rosa seen such a magnificent man, nor one so harshly flogged. He thanked her with a grateful smile, flashing perfect white teeth when she finished attending him, then he rose from the wooden chair he’d straddled while she ministered to his wounds and lay down on the bed with only his pants on. He appeared to already be asleep when she departed. After quietly closing his door, Rosa nearly screamed out loud, coming face-to-face with Sarita.

“
Silencio,
” Sarita hissed, calling Rosa a terrible name as well.

Rosa crossed herself, backing away from the woman. “You must give me Señorita Tyler’s hair,” Rosa demanded in a trembling voice.

Sarita laughed, making a growling sound that unnerved Rosa. “I will use the
Yanquia’s
hair to worship Tohic when the new moon rises.”

Rosa made the sign of the cross again. “I will tell the patrón,” she threatened.

“Tell him.” Sarita smiled, eyes black and hard as onyx. “I will steal his hair and yours too and offer it all to Tohic if you don’t stay out of my way, you stupid fool.”

“Why did you come here?” Rosa kept her voice low so as not to disturb her patient on the other side of the door. Rachel’s betrothed had been placed in the
mayordomo’s
quarters behind the sprawling redwood stables outside the hacienda’s walls until he sobered up.

“I have come to attend his wounds.” Sarita held up a deerskin pouch that was bloodstained. Rosa shuttered at the thought of what might be in that bag.

“I have already attended Señorita Rachel’s betrothed.” Rosa mustered all her courage. “He does not need your help.”

The señora’s eyes grew even blacker, if that were possible, narrowing in fury. “Roman Vasquez belongs to me. He has always been mine. He will always be mine.” Glaring a warning at the servant, Sarita pushed past her, cracking open the
mayordomo’s
door. “If you tell anyone I was here, I will have you killed.” Slipping into the room, the señora shut the door in Rosa’s face.

Rosa made the sign of the cross again as she hurried back to the hacienda. Poor Señorita Rachel, an innocent angel tangled in that witch’s web. Knowing the señora probably would not return to the hacienda for some time, Rosa hurried to Sarita’s room and frantically searched for Rachel’s hair. She found charms and woodpecker feathers and numerous herbs, sinister little carvings of animal figures and evil faces, and tiny woven medicine baskets made by Indian women, but not a lock of blond hair.

Distraught and discouraged, she considered going to the patrón, but she didn’t want to attend to his desires if he happened to be in the mood. After years with him, Rosa knew he was not in the least superstitious. Informing Joshua that his wife was a witch would do no good. But if she told him about Sarita in Rachel’s betrothed’s room, certainly that would stir up enough trouble to keep the señora from casting her spells right now, but who knew where this telling would lead?

Rosa still hoped she could return to Monterey and the little red tile-roofed house he had built for her there this past winter as he planned his wedding. Upon giving the situation more thought, Rosa decided to return to Señorita Rachel to help her dress for tonight’s celebration without saying anything to anyone. She was a servant after all, and servants kept their mouths shut and did as they were told.

The siesta was nearly over. Soon it would be time to prepare for the evening activities. After she arrived at the señorita’s room, Rosa helped Rachel into a corset and petticoat, though the women of California rarely wore corsets these days. The peacock-blue silk gown with its scooped neckline and laced-up bodice made the most of Rachel’s slender curves. The girl’s long hair tumbled in golden waves to her waist. Washed and dried now, Rosa brushed the beautiful hair till it shone like sunshine, then pinned it up in artful curls. Thankfully, Señorita Rachel didn’t press her for any information about her betrothed. Rosa’s thoughts swirled about what she could do to help her young charge, but nothing came to mind that would protect the patrόn’s daughter from the wicked woman he’d married.

“You missed Rachel’s singing. You must hear her sing,” Isabella said excitedly upon Roman’s arrival that night at the family’s fiesta. His sister tugged him farther into the courtyard lit by candle lanterns. A table laden with food filled the air with the smells of a feast, but he wasn’t hungry and made no pretense of wanting to be there, resisting Isabella’s pleas to go see Rachel. He’d only come because Tio Pedro insisted on it.

Isabella finally gave up trying to drag him over to where Rachel stood near the musicians and instead rushed over to Rachel’s side. After pleading with her to sing again— without success, it appeared from Roman’s vantage point, Isabella scampered over to Tio Pedro and Joshua Tyler, who were smoking cigarillos and drinking brandy where they sat in two carved wooden chairs probably carried out from the house into the courtyard.

Hands on hips, Isabella planted herself before the two men. That determined look was on her little face that Roman knew all too well. He couldn’t make out the words she said, but he had an idea of what she told them.

Tio Pedro crushed out his cigarillo, and Joshua Tyler did the same. “Have you asked her to sing?” Tyler’s voice rang out loud enough for all to hear.

Isabella answered him, but Roman couldn’t hear what she said. He’d retired to the darkest corner of the courtyard, planting himself against a cool adobe wall where he set about lighting his own cigarillo
.

After speaking with Isabella, Joshua Tyler walked over to his daughter, who was standing with the Indian musicians. She did not look comfortable there. She looked like he felt, forced into something neither of them wanted.

Isabella bounced back over to where he sat on the cobblestones, leaning gingerly against the wall. “I am sleeping in Rachel’s room tonight,” she teased. “Don’t you wish you were me,
hermano
?”

“You should not talk of things you don’t understand,
pequeña.
And look, you got Rachel in trouble with her padre.” Roman pointed to Tyler chastising his daughter now.

A hurt look on her face, Isabella flounced away.

It wasn’t long before the fiesta quieted as Rachel stepped into the middle of the courtyard once more. The Indians strummed the violins, softly, slowly, and then stronger, with the guitar joining in as Rachel began to sing.

Isabella skipped back over to Roman, crawling up into his lap. Roman crushed out his cigarillo
.
He did not wish to smoke in front of his sisters, for he did not want them taking up the habit like some women did.

“Isn’t Rachel’s singing beautiful? She sings like a bird. A nightingale, I think.”

He said nothing.

“I feel like weeping when she sings. Do you not feel like weeping?” Isabella leaned against Roman’s chest. He flinched as her weight pressed his injured back into the hard adobe bricks. He didn’t take his eyes off of Rachel.

“You smell funny,” Isabella announced. “You smell like a woman.”

“It’s medicine. Sit still, Izzy, you’re hurting my back.”

“You smell like perfume,” she accused.

“If you don’t like how I smell, go sit somewhere else.”

Isabella pressed her warm little body snugly against his. “No, I like sitting on you,
hermano
.”

The two listened to the rest of Rachel’s song in silence. When she finished singing, Rachel left the courtyard with her head bowed. Roman sensed her defeat. Her haunting song continued to ring in his ears. She really did have the sweetest voice he’d ever heard. He stood up, dumping Isabella onto her own two feet.

“Where are you going?” Isabella asked.

“Isn’t it your bedtime yet?”

“I’ll go to bed when Rachel goes to bed. I’m sleeping with her tonight.”

“Perhaps she just went to bed.” Roman walked from the courtyard. Isabella trailed along behind him.

“I think you’re mad,” she told him.

“Why would I be mad?”

Outside of the walled patio, at the edge of the darkness, Isabella tugged him to a halt. “You are mad because nothing is going the way you planned. You lost the war in Texas. Sarita married the gringo. And now you must marry Rachel. Perhaps California will be conquered by the Yankees, and then you will be happy you married a gringa because Papa says an alliance with the Americanos will protect us.”

Roman knelt down beside her, putting his hand gently on top of her head. “Do you fear the Americanos coming,
pequeña?”

“Maria prays the United States will conqueror us quickly. She says she will sail away on one of those Yankee ships that bring us sugar and satin shoes.” Isabella’s voice trembled, and her eyes filled with tears.

Roman pulled her into his arms. “I won’t let that happen,
chica
. Maria will never board a Yankee ship and leave us. Never.”

Isabella wrapped her arms around his neck. “Promise?”

“I promise.” Roman held her for a moment and then set her away from him as he rose to his feet.

“Did Papa whip you harshly?”

He smiled to ease her concern. “I am fine,
pequeña
. Let me go to bed now. I’m very tired tonight.”

“Is that really where you are going? To your bed?”

“Look at the moon. The second night watch is already here. You should go to your bed too.”

“Will you walk me to Rachel’s room?”

His smile disappeared. “Can you not find your own way there?”

“No. I need your help. How will I sleep tonight without Señora Poppycock?” Isabella appeared on the verge of tears again.

He reached for her hand and led her through a colonnaded patio lit by more candle lanterns. “I hope Señorita Tyler does not snore like Señora Poppycock.”

“Señora Poppycock does not snore.”

“No, she clucks. How do you sleep with all that clucking your chicken does?”

“She only clucks if something frightens her.”

“Then she must be frightened all the time.”

“Señora Poppycock is not frightened all the time. She is a brave hen.” Isabella tugged him toward the east wing.

After passing several closed doors, Isabella abruptly opened a door and pulled Roman into a candlelit room. Clothed in a white nightdress, Rachel knelt beside her bed. Her unbound hair tumbled to the floor. She rose swiftly to her feet upon their arrival, her hair swirling about her in glorious display.

“You left without me,” Isabella chastised her.

Rachel glanced at Isabella and then fixed her gaze on Roman. He attempted to free himself from Isabella’s grip, taking in Rachel’s unbound hair and thin white nightdress, as well as the shocked look on her face. As he stared at her, she gathered her hair with both hands and swiftly braided it over one shoulder.

Isabella would not let him go. He finally yanked his hand free of hers and shut the door behind them so no other guests saw him there. “Can’t you see we have interrupted Señorita Tyler as she prepares for bed?”

“She wasn’t sleeping, just praying,” Isabella said.

“You should never barge into a señorita’s room.” Roman glared down at her.

Isabella backed away from his disapproval until she stood in the sweep of Rachel’s white nightgown.

Rachel put her arms around Isabella. “It’s all right. I told her my room was hers as long as she stayed here.”

Rachel looked so vulnerable and fetching and determined to stand her ground that he couldn’t help but admire her. “I’m sorry you were forced to sing tonight,” he said.

“I am sorry you and I are being forced to marry. I do not want this marriage any more than you do,” she answered.