Jubilee Trail (61 page)

But Yerba Buena was four hundred miles away. By the time Stockton’s men got from there to San Pedro—in October—the Americans had been driven out of every place they had held in the south. The Californios, who had gathered all the weapons they could lay hands on, were watching the harbors, and of the first marines who landed, seven were killed. By this time the whole south was in disorder. For safety’s sake, the Yankee tradesmen had disappeared from Los Angeles. Most of them took refuge with friendly rancheros. Even Silky had found it wise to go, leaving his precious liquor-stock behind him.

Luckily, Garnet and Florinda had reached Kerridge’s Rancho before they heard of the revolt in Los Angeles. Along with a number of other Americans, they spent the winter in cheerful comfort. The Americans were all welcome guests. Mr. Kerridge had Yankee blood and a long tradition of California hospitality. As for Doña Manuela, she ruled her own kingdom and she did not care who ran the government. Doña Manuela said all these riots were disgraceful. Yankees and Californios had always got along very well in her house and there was no reason why they should not get along elsewhere. If she were in Los Angeles right now she’d have the town quiet by sundown. Nobody in the house disagreed with her.

D
OÑA MANUELA
WAS DELIGHTED
to see Florinda again, though disappointed that she was not married yet. As for Garnet and Stephen, Doña Manuela gathered them into her arms and wept over them. The story of Carmelita had flown around the ranchos on the wings of gossip. As innocent victim of the tragedy, Garnet and her baby reached the depths of Doña Manuela’s deep heart.

She led them to the room Florinda had stayed in last winter. With tears and kisses and loving pats, while her fat bosom bobbled and her bracelets jingled up and down, Doña Manuela told them her home was theirs. She also told them her heart bled for them in their sorrows, she would see to it that they met some worthy young men to console them, and dinner would be ready at once. The girls understood no more than half she said, but as the door banged and they heard her go off yelling for the cooks, they hugged each other in delight.

John and the Brute rested at Kerridge’s only one night. They had to see to their own ranchos, and also they wanted to go up to Monterey and ask for news. Garnet and Florinda went out early in the morning to see them ride off.

The serving-boys were loading the packs. John and the Brute stood holding their horses’ bridles.

“I’ll come back to get you as soon as it’s safe,” John said to Garnet. “In the meantime I think you’ll be happy here.”

She thought, I’d be happier with you, wherever you’re going. But she answered, “Of course I will. After that saloon in Los Angeles this is like paradise.”

He smiled, glad she liked it. “You’ll be comfortable, and I’m pretty sure you’ll be safe. This rancho is off the main north-south trail, so it’s not likely to be in anybody’s line of march. But please, Garnet,” he added gravely, “be careful.”

“I will if you’ll tell me how. What does ‘be careful’ include?”

“Don’t go beyond the gardens alone. And when you ride, no matter who’s with you, stay in sight of the main house. You can see it for miles from these hills, so I’m not denying you plenty of exercise. But there are horse-thieves about, taking advantage of the war, and I shouldn’t like to have you run into them. You’ll remember?”

Garnet promised. John’s horse stamped, restless to be off. He turned to quiet it, and the Brute, who had been talking to Florinda, spoke to Garnet. “I’ll be coming back through here soon. Do you want me to bring you something from Monterey?”

“I’d like some yarn, if you can get it,” said Garnet. “Silk or wool, I don’t care which, just so the colors are pretty. While I’m here I can crochet a shawl for Doña Manuela.”

The Brute said he would look for the yarn. He and John sprang into their saddles, and the Brute glanced down at Florinda. They had ridden to the rancho through a hot sun, and she had a streak of sunburn on her forehead. The Brute told her to put some olive oil on the burn. While they were talking John said to Garnet, “I’ll send you news as soon as I can. Meanwhile, don’t worry.”

“I won’t. You don’t know how glad I am to be here, John. I was more uneasy in Los Angeles than I was telling anybody, and I’m very gratef—”

“Please, Garnet!” he exclaimed. Then as though ashamed of himself, he laughed a little and added, “I’m sorry. I know I sound like a barbarian. But that word makes me wince like a scratch on a rusty stovepipe.”

What an exasperating creature he was, she thought. “I forgot,” she said. “I won’t say it again.”

“Try not to think it either, won’t you? I don’t need to be paid for doing what I want to do.” His green eyes swept her up and down. “Goodby,” he said.

For another instant his eyes held hers. Then, abruptly, he turned his horse. The Brute called goodby, and both men waved as they rode away, followed by their pack-horses and a troop of servants. Garnet stood watching the dust waving after them like a long yellowish feather in the sun. John had not touched her, not even to take her hand as he said goodby. He had spoken to her no lover’s words. But just then, if she had ever seen such a thing, he had looked at her with a lover’s eyes.

She heard the dwindling thud of horses’ hoofs, swift and soft through the wild oats as the men rode away. Florinda said she was going indoors and take the Brute’s advice about putting olive oil on her sunburn.

Garnet walked to a grove behind a wing of the house, where vines and trees offered a shady place to rest. She sat down on an adobe bench by an olive tree, thinking. John did find her desirable. She was sure of this. But she was not sure why he had not said so.

True, she had been a widow less than a year and her baby was only two months old. Back home, if a man had spoken ardent words to her so soon his haste would have been thought shocking. But she was sure John would not be deterred by any calendar of polite usage. If he loved her he would tell her so when it suited him. But he had not told her, and she wished she knew why.

Suddenly she wondered what John had been talking about when he said, while they were riding from Charles’ rancho to Los Angeles, that he had once been an object of charity. Garnet looked down with a puzzled scowl. She had always thought “charity” meant bundles for the ragged poor. That was certainly not what John meant, not John with his high-bred manners and his cultured speech. But she wondered what he did mean.

How little she knew about him. Not that it mattered. She knew how important he was to her, and how much she wanted to be important to him. Garnet looked out toward the far toast-colored hills where she had watched John ride away, and hoped she could pretend to be patient until he came back.

Mr. Kerridge lived in a house with adobe walls and a roof made of red tiles. It was a long, low, sprawling house, with many wings. In front was a grove of sycamores and live-oaks, where horses ready saddled stood under the trees all day. On both sides were courtyards planted with vines and fruit-trees, and at the back, enclosed by a high wall, was the courtyard of the young girls. Men were not allowed to enter here, and the unmarried daughters of the house could not go beyond it unchaperoned. Married women could go anywhere they pleased.

This fall Mr. Kerridge was having more Yankee visitors than ever before. Now that they were sure California was about to become American territory, scores of men were coming down from Oregon. Many of them found their way to Kerridge’s, since they wanted advice from a Yankee long established in the country. Other men brought strings of horses, which they asked Mr. Kerridge to keep for them. Men of Frémont’s battalion were roaming around, taking horses and leaving promises that some day the United States government would pay for them. The rancheros did not trust any such promises. Since Kerridge’s was not on the main trail, they thought the horses would be safer here than on the ranchos near the coast.

The visitors usually meant to stay only a few days. But they rarely left so soon. They had not expected Mr. Kerridge to introduce them to two marriageable American women. The men prolonged their visits, and seldom left without having proposed marriage to at least one of the girls, usually both. Neither Garnet nor Florinda had a notion of marrying any of these eager strangers. But after the dirt and smells and spiders of Los Angeles it was very agreeable to stroll among the olive trees and be adored.

Altogether, Garnet and Florinda were having a gay holiday. Their days began at the first streak of dawn, when a girl brought hot chocolate to their bedside. When they were dressed they joined the others for long rides over the hills, and came in ravenous for the vast, magnificent meals. There was a mid-morning breakfast, and dinner was at noon. After dinner they all had a siesta. When they were dressed again they went into the courtyards, where girls were walking about with plates of wafers and pots of a hot drink called cha, brewed from native herbs and flavored with orange blossoms.

The first rain came in November. The earth turned green and the high peaks turned white, for what had been rain in the valleys had been snow in the mountains. Not long after the storm the Handsome Brute rode in from Monterey. To Garnet’s disappointment, he rode alone. He brought her a note from John, clear and brief. John said he had found he could be useful to the American troops. He knew every pass, every trail, almost every gully in southern California, so they were using him as guide and interpreter. He would come to get her and Stephen and Florinda as soon as he thought it safe for them to travel, but he did not think this would be for some months yet.

The letter was so provokingly impersonal that Garnet’s first impulse was to tear it to pieces. That stick of wood, she thought savagely. What could you do with a man like that? When every time you heard his name you felt like a volcano, and he wrote to you as if he had been writing to his aunt!

You couldn’t do anything. Whatever John’s feelings were, he kept them locked up. As Garnet thought of this, the storm within her began to subside. She remembered how John had stood by her when she needed him, and the way his eyes had held hers that last moment before he rode away. John did care for her, and it was foolish of her to doubt it.

She was sitting on the wall bench in the room she shared with Florinda. Laying the sheet of paper beside her, she began sorting the yarn the Brute had brought her to crochet a shawl for Doña Manuela. The yarn was beautiful: hanks of silk in many colors, which he had got from a Yankee clipper engaged in the China trade. Stephen woke and gabbled for somebody to come and pay attention to him. As Garnet picked him up Florinda came in, and Garnet glanced around to say, “There’s John’s letter. He says we’ll have to stay here all winter.”

It was time for siesta. Florinda began to take the pins out of her hair. “Well, if we’ve got to kill time this is a mighty pleasant place to do it.” She put her hairpins in a pile beside the wash basin and unbuttoned her dress. “But I do wish,” she went on, “that all these nice blockheads would quit asking me to marry them. I don’t want any husband cluttering up my life. Tell me a ladylike way to refuse a gent, Garnet.”

Garnet considered. “You can say you admire him, and you are honored by the evidence of his esteem. But you do not feel for him that peculiar preference which a woman should entertain for the man whose life she expects to share—”

“Hail Columbia, does it have to be that fancy? Well, write it down so I can memorize it.” Florinda put on her nightgown. “All winter,” she said with a shake of her head. “That means losing
lots
of money. I do hope Silky has managed to hide our whiskey somewhere. It was so awfully expensive.”

With her face bent over Stephen, Garnet wondered doesn’t Florinda ever think about anything but money? The baby had gone back to sleep, and she stood up to put him into his bed. Florinda turned to stroke Stephen’s head, smiling down at him tenderly. As Garnet saw her scarred hand caressing the little rings of baby hair, her own conscience gave a twist. No wonder Florinda thought so highly of money. Why shouldn’t she? That was all she had.

Later on, when they were up from their nap, a girl brought in a pile of clothes freshly laundered. Garnet was mending a dress of Stephen’s, so Florinda sat on the floor by the clothes chest to put them away. When she had finished she took her jewel box from the chest. After studying the ornaments inside it, she picked up a ring set with an enormous aquamarine.

“I think I’ll give this to Doña Manuela when we leave,” she said. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

She tossed the ring into Garnet’s lap. “What a gorgeous stone!” Garnet exclaimed.

“Seventy-five carats,” Florinda said complacently.

Garnet turned the ring between her fingers, watching as the aquamarine caught the light in blue-green flashes. She wondered how long it had been since Florinda’s hands had been as lovely as the rest of her, so she could wear rings. The hanks of silk yarn lay on the bench beside her. It made Garnet feel almost guilty to have them there, reminding her that while she could express her thanks to Doña Manuela with a gift of fine needlework, Florinda could not. But though this fact was evident, neither of them had ever spoken of it and they were not going to do so now. Garnet said,

“It’s a beautiful ring, Florinda. She’ll love it.”

“If she can get it on,” Florinda said laughing. “Her fingers are so very fat. But there must be somebody hereabouts who can make it larger.” She smiled reminiscently as Garnet handed back the ring. “Quite a nice gent he was, the one who gave me this,” she remarked.

“Did you like him very much?” Garnet asked.

“Why sure, I liked him fine,” said Florinda. She put the ring back into the box. Closing the lid, she glanced over her shoulder. “Are you trying to ask me again if I’ve ever been in love?” she asked with a touch of humor.

“No. I know you never have.”

“Darling, what makes you look so sober about it?”

“I was wishing you weren’t such a cynic.”

“I don’t know what a cynic is,” Florinda returned cheerfully. “However—” she hesitated, and her own face grew sober too. After she had thought about it, Florinda went on. “Garnet, I wish you didn’t believe in so many rainbows. About love and marriage and all that.”