Treasure of the Sun (39 page)

"Why did you allow her to marry him, if you feel so prejudiced against him?" Katherine snapped.

Taking a deep breath that raised her bosom and curled her lip, Senora Roderiguez answered, "Maria Ygnacia eloped with him.”

Julio leaned towards Katherine to whisper, "Close your mouth. It's unattractive to imitate a fish when my mother-in-law is speaking."

Snapping her jaw up, she whispered back, "Eloped?" "There's no stopping true love." Julio sounded and looked sincere.

"See?" The magical finger waved at the two mutterers. "Their common background betrays them."

Julio laughed. "Don't compare Dona Katherina to me, I beg. She's educated, polished, and the daughter of married parents."

He didn't know that was the truth, and Katherine appreciated his faith in her heritage. Before she could speak for herself, Damian added, "She has already become a Catholic, Senora Roderiguez."

The lady didn't understand. "That's proper for any person who chooses to live in California."

"Fray Pedro de Jesus will marry us on our return to the mission.”

Senora Roderiguez turned her whole body when she looked at Damian. The lady laced her corset so tight, held her neck so stiff, moved with such deliberation that she engendered an odd kind of sympathy in Katherine. How would the lady handle defeat at the hands of Damian? Defeat she would have, no matter how logical she was. Damian would never betray his wife, and in his way he was every bit as authoritarian and stubborn as Senora Roderiguez.

That was a truth Katherine had already realized.

His resolve shone in his stance and the forward jut of his chin. Something of his determination must have seeped into Senora Rodriguez’s mind, but she wouldn't yield an inch. "I will speak to your father about this."

At the threat to Don Lucian's peace of mind, a half smile curved Damian's lips. "I will inform him of your intentions, Senora."

Like a sailing ship turning its prow with ponderous deliberation, she focused her attention on her son-in-law. "Julio. We came to curtail your conspicuous fornication."

A gasp sounded from just inside the doorway, and Senor Roderiguez stepped around to see who it was. Harrumphing like a bullfrog with a cold, he said, "Maria Ygnacia, come out. Hidding from the truth is a damned poor way to live your life. Isn't that right, my dear?"

"Quite right, my dear." Senora Roderiguez peered at her daughter as Nacia stepped reluctantly onto the veranda. "We warned you against marrying this gorron, this wastrel, and now you repent. It is my duty to tell you about his ways with women."

Nacia exhibited a fine, tensile strength as she drew her tiny figure up with dignity. "I have no interest in his ways with women."

"Nor I," her mother said, "except as it affects us. Every man keeps his light women, and as long as he is discreet his wife should be grateful to be relieved of the burden of ardor. But it is the duty of every good Christian to interfere when a man spreads himself so thin that his wife fails to conceive."

Nacia closed her eyes against the reminder.

Satisfied she had revealed the truth, Senora Roderiguez said, "You are our only daughter and the heir to everything we own."

"A burden I never sought," Nacia cried defiantly.

Katherine felt Julio beside her, straining to remain still, trembling with some kind of anticipation.

"Maria Ygnacia," Senor Rodriguez boomed, "you will never say such a thing again."

"It's true." Nacia stomped her foot, a smack of silken slipper against the aging boards. Julio trembled in his seat, waiting, waiting, as she continued, "All my life, I've been carrying the lands and the houses like a gigantic stone. No one's ever been able to see me."

"Maria Ygnacia, you will not say another word." Senora Roderiguez didn't lift her voice, but she sounded clear and cold. "This is the most thankless bit of drivel I've ever heard in my life. You will sit down, behave like a well-bred hostess and stop embarrassing your guests. I don't know where you learned such behavior." Looking hard at Katherine, she made it clear whom she suspected.

Beneath the lash of her imperious mother's tongue, Nacia wilted like a rose plucked and mishandled. One look at Julio made Katherine want to cry out, for his face was etched with the painful failure of hope.

"I didn't mean to embarrass .... " Nacia faded off. Katherine wanted to shout. Nacia hadn't embarrassed her; her parents had, but nothing could convince the two omnivores of their fault. Crisply, she said, "You didn't embarrass me. I'm so ill-bred I was enjoying the scene."

The sarcasm missed Nacia and her parents. She fumbled for a stool, nodded blindly at Katherine, settled herself and groped for poise.

"Senor Roderiguez, what news from Monterey?" Damian interrupted the sad little scene without finesse. "Has there been any more trouble?"

Julio leaned close to Katherine. "He changes the subject to protect us, and I accept his guardianship gratefully." He winked, his disappointment gone as if it had never been. To his man· servant, stationed in the doorway, he called "Aguardiente for our guests."

"Oh, Julio, I was going to serve champurrado." Nacia wrung her hands. "Dona Katherina will enjoy my recipe, I'm sure."

"Yes," Katherine agreed, anxious to ease Nacia's responsibility. "I love chocolate, and it will be a fitting end to the merienda."

Julio accepted a bottle from his manservant. "Let her try it.

Champurrado
is a woman's drink, and perhaps it will sweeten their dispositions. The men will have aguardiente." He splashed the pungent liquor into the cups and waved the servant towards his father-in-law and Damian.

"I will drink." Damian accepted the aguardiente. "But I won't continue until my stomach heaves."

"A wise policy." Julio saluted him with the cup. "I'll try to follow it, also. I wouldn't want to shock our prim Dona Katherina.”

"Don't let me stop you," Katherine ordered. "If you want to spend the evening on your knees in the yard, killing Nacia's roses, that's your business."

Senora Rodriguez looked momentarily amazed by her frankness, but recovered enough to suggest, "That is an ill-bred thing to say, Dona Katherina, and an even more ill-bred thing to do, Julio. Try to conform to the dictates of polite society."

"I brought it up," Damian interposed.

Senora Rodriguez smiled at him, a cold lifting of her lips.

"But the difference, dear Don Damian, is that you understand the correct way to act."

Damian opened his mouth, prepared to argue, and shut it as if it were too futile. Instead he inquired, "Senor Rodriguez, what do you have to say about the events in Monterey?"

"Monterey." Senor Rodriguez cleared his throat. "Ah, Monterey is indeed a nursery of high-minded fools. That Larkin, that Yankee trader-"

"The American consul?" Damian clarified.

"That's what he calls himself," the old man said in exasperation. ''That Larkin called a meeting with all the fools who have any influence, any land. He wanted to discuss California's future. As if it's any business of his."

"He does have substantial holdings in Monterey," Julio pointed out.

Ignoring such logic with grandeur, Senor Rodriguez said, _ ''That Hartnell, that Britisher, declared England should protect California. As if it's any business of his. Then that young puppy, Soberanes leaped to his feet and said, 'California libre, soberano, 'Y independiente!' And that other young puppy, Alvarado, agreed. As if those two are old enough to know anything about forming an independent, sovereign state of California ." Pacing out from behind his wife, he stood against the railing and declared, "The day California left the fold of Mother Spain was a black day in history."

"What did Mariano Vallejo say?" Julio asked with wicked humor. "I heard that he was in Monterey, and he's no puppy."

Senor Rodriguez snorted. "That young-" He stopped before he called Mariano Vallejo, one of the most respected men in California, a puppy. "He dares call himself Californio. That Vallejo called for the government to detach itself from Mexico and to apply for admission to the United States."

Interested and amazed, Damian whistled. "So he said it, did he? He's said it privately for years. Did they vote on it?"

"No, they fought about it," Senor Rodriguez said irritably.

"This has everyone all stirred up. That young puppy who calls himself a general-"

"Jose Castro?" Damian interrupted.

"Of course, Jose Castro." Senor Rodriguez pulled out a handkerchief and wiped at his nose with extravagant annoyance. "He's the only puppy who's calling himself a general in Monterey, although how many puppies are calling themselves generals in Los Angeles, I don't know. Jose Castro has called a military junta to protect us from that barbarian. Hey!" He pointed a shaking finger at Katherine. "Does this young minx know Fremont?"

Katherine refused to answer a question not asked of her.

While Damian fumbled with his reply, Senor Rodriguez waved a dismissing hand. "Eh, of course she must know him. All these Americans are part of a nefarious plot to wrest California from its rightful owners."

Damian flushed a somber red, though whether from fury or mortification, Katherine couldn't tell. "Katherine is my wife. She has no part of any plot."

"Ooh, here it comes." Julio rubbed his hands together and leaned forward. "Damian's ashamed of his American wife."

There was no challenge in Damian's voice. Only the plain, flat stating of facts. "She's not an American."

"She's not?" Julio asked. He poured himself another cup of aguardiente, listening with delight.

"I'm not?"

"She doesn't want to be related to such cochinos as those," Damian said.

Nacia blinked with complete astonishment. "Pigs? You're saying Katherine is related to a nation of pigs?"

"I beg your pardon, Don Damian." Katherine's voice rose in indignation. "What of the Americans who have married California daughters? They're your friends. They're welcome in your home. Are you calling them pigs?"

Julio made an oinking noise and sang out, "Worried about your pedigree, Damian?"

"Of course he's not," Katherine snapped. "I'm not a brood mare."

"You're not a Spaniard, either," Julio mocked, then drained his cup. "Damian's always been a conceited ass about his bloodlines. The way he feels about Americans can only compound matters."

In a low, intense tone, Damian insisted, "She became a Spaniard the day she married me."

Katherine moderated the alarm in her voice, fighting to impress him with the right level of good sense. "Aka1de Diaz is a very powerful deity if he can change my heritage with a simple ceremony."

Like two lights that stung in their intensity, Damian used his eyes on Katherine. "You're my wife."

Frustrated, she groped for the rationale that would make him see his folly. "Does that preclude me from being anything else? Am I not a human, a woman?"

She could see him distancing himself from her, putting his pride like a shield between them. "You're all of those things, but as my wife you must forget your previous loyalties. You must cleave only to me and mine."

She drew a deep breath, but still she felt smothered, overwhelmed in the way Mission San Juan Bautista had overwhelmed her. Like the sand pulled before a tide, it seemed her identity was slipping away from under her feet. "Is all of me defined by you?"

With a frightening lack of humor, he said, "Now you understand, my Catriona. Now you understand."

She tottered under the weight of him when he wrapped one arm around her shoulder. "Julio, I can't hold you up." She tried to dislodge him, but he stuck like a burr and alarm shot through her. "Julio! Let go of me. This doesn't look good."

"We must look good," he sneered. "We must do what's proper. Mustn't we?" Wrapping both his arms around her, he tilted her back and mashed his closed lips to hers.

She struggled against him, but she knew it all as he kissed her: fury, hurt, pain, guilt, they tasted bitter as he passed them to her, and she suspended her own anger at his terrible retribution. A retribution not against her, but against the day, his life and the people who hurt him with no consciousness of their crime. He didn't ask for complicity; she was only a flower to shred in his violence, the kind of violence that would end in the ashes of a friendship and Julio's own bitter shame. Unwilling to participate, waiting for it to end, she stood quiet under the attack, her eyes wide open, staring down the hall.