California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1) (34 page)

Desperate, she ignored the fact that he
was doing nothing more than she hoped to do to Mosby; perhaps even with
Murietta's help. "This is not you. You said you would not…"

"There are some things no man can
avoid, no matter how much he would like to."

"And killing Claussen is one of
them?"

"Yes."

"You are as stupid and prideful as
the rest of them," she screamed, conscious now of how much she might need
him. "I hate you. You deceived me. You led me to believe you are different
from them."

The irony of what she was saying struck
her full force. Desperation overwhelmed the shame she felt. Her frustration
turned to anger. She saw Mosby for an instant in her mind and suddenly edged
her horse nearer, swinging an open hand at his face. She was not near enough to
hit Murietta, and as the force of her swing sent her toppling off the horse, he
reached out, grabbed her wrist, and broke her fall. Swinging a leg over, he
slid out of his own saddle and dropped down on his knees next to her. She swung
her other hand, and he blocked it with his palm. He took hold of her wrists and
she struggled for a moment, then gave up. He let go of her and they stood up,
staring at each other in the humming silence beneath the sheltering branches of
the giant evergreens. He started to remount.

"Is there
nothing
that will
stop you?" she pleaded. Murietta's Appaloosa nuzzled her mare. Esther was
suddenly aware of the musky aroma of lathered horseflesh.
No matter what it
costs,
she thought,
I will keep him here.
"Could something,
anything, be important enough to make you choose it rather than what you are
about to do?"

He turned to her, one foot in a stirrup.
"I do not think so. My feelings are too strong."

She reached out and touched his cheek.
"There are other feelings, just as strong. I don't want to lose you. I
couldn't bear the thought of you dead."

"I do not want to die," he
said. "But I would rather be dead than…"

"Don't you understand what I am
saying?" She could feel the pine needles under her feet as she reached up
and undid the tie-strings of the nightdress. "I want you
alive
."

"Esther…"

"
I
want you alive." She
pulled at the buttons and let the nightdress fall to the ground. "More
than you want Claussen dead."

He tried to turn away.
"Esther…" He couldn't keep his eyes off her.

She moved closer to him, saw his
expression soften and his nostrils flare. "I know you have wanted me for a
long time," she said, inwardly astonished at what she was capable of
doing. "Do you want me more than you want Claussen?"

He stared at her for a long time, then
smiled and shook his head in wonder. And then his arms were around her, his
hips were on hers, and they were sinking slowly to the carpet of pine needles
and snow. He stopped after a moment, got up and unrolled his poncho and his
bedroll. He spread the poncho and her nightdress and pulled the blanket over
them after stripping naked and lying by her side.

When he was in her, she felt relief and
release along with a moderately, then increasingly pleasant feeling. There was
no rapture, none of the convulsive, intense response she had experienced with
Alex Todd. Murietta's stiff, moving presence was simply a positive physical
sensation. The part of him that was in her felt like the smooth fabric of the
nightdress beneath her; no more, but no less pleasant.
If this will keep him
with me,
she thought,
then I will do it; as often as he wishes. The rest
will be scarcely more difficult than being affectionate to a brother or sister.
She thought of Alex, and guilt rose in her.
Forgive me,
she thought.
I
have
to do this
. She banished the guilt from her mind.

She watched Murietta's face tighten, his
eyes grow slightly blank, and then she felt the cool film of perspiration break
out all over his body just before he pulled away and his thick, warm liquid
pulsed onto her abdomen. She smiled at the pleasure and contentment in his face
as he lowered himself and they rolled over, facing one another. A tender, warm
feeling for him lifted her out of her detached frame of mind. She kissed him
softly on the eyes and cheeks. When he rested his face in the hollow of her
neck, she stroked his head the way she would that of a child.

Esther wondered if this was all any woman
could feel if she loved someone else. She stared up at the rapidly brightening
sky. When she finally turned and saw he was watching her, she knew there was a
trace of sadness behind his otherwise contented expression. She wondered if a
man might know if a woman was not in love with him by subtle variations in the
sexual act. She felt a moment of apprehension as he began to speak, fearful
that he would ride on after Claussen because he knew the limitations of her
feelings, and they would not be enough to outweigh his need for revenge.

But he simply said,
"
Querida
,
you have probably saved my life." He
laughed at the way it sounded, at the way he had been saved.

She understood and laughed with him.
Feeling a surge of relief, she smiled happily and put her arms around him. It
occurred to her that he might take her mood and the way she was expressing it
as evidence of deep love. She knew that allowing such misinterpretation was
deceit, manipulation, but decided she would have to live with that. There was
no one else to help her. No matter how much gold she had, she did not think she
could do it alone. And she would never find a more natural ally than Murietta.
Somehow she would make it up to him. She hoped the limit of her feelings was
obscured to him, for his sake. For a moment, as they lay silently in each
other's arms, she thought he did not know.

"I have been very lucky today,"
he said, gazing past her. "Perhaps I will be even luckier in the
future." He nodded to a snow-covered clearing beyond where they lay.
"For if
that
can grow at this time of year, perhaps your love for
me will grow also."

She followed the line of his gaze to an
oval patch of white gleaming in a slanting shaft of sunlight. In the center of
the exposed clearing, a tiny flower had thrust its yellow petals up through the
surface of the snow.

"But I love you now," she said,
praying that somehow, someday, it might not be a lie.

Mariposa
Ranch

July 20, 1852

Sunday. Oh, Alex, how can I begin to tell you? It has been more
than two years since I have written in these pages. I wish I could say that it
is simply because I have been busy, here at the ranch, with the mining
operations and so forth. But while that is true, the main reason has been my
reluctance to convey in these pages what my life has been like with Murietta.
The last time I wrote, I begged your forgiveness and asked you to try to
understand my reasons for becoming involved with him. Now that so much time has
passed and I have not even spoken once to Murietta of Mosby, the uneasiness I
feel about breaking my vow to you weighs on me heavily.

Things change, Alex, and I sense a shift in me concerning Murietta.
Perhaps this will cause you additional pain, should you ever read these pages.
Banish such feeling, for the changes I detect in myself do not have anything to
do with my continued love for you. That will never change. It is just that so
much time has passed, and without Murietta I would be alone. That was
acceptable to me for a long time, but it is no longer. I have tried to make it
up to you, by pulling a string from time to time to assist in increasing your
good fortune and prosperity. And surely you have become involved, had your
affairs, by this time. I hope so, indeed cannot imagine that you have not. Or
that anything would change the feelings you had for me when we were together.

Nonetheless, I shall make you two promises. First, I will speak
to Murietta about Mosby as soon as possible. I have been thinking much lately
about how I have let my preoccupation with running things here and the
comforting hours with Joaquin lull me in my resolve concerning Mosby. To be
fair to myself, I have to say that no way occurred to me in which I could
enlist Murietta's aid without sending him into a situation that might easily
cost him his life. Perhaps it has been dense of me, but I did not think to tell
him all of the story, thereby making him understand that I must be the one to
finally confront Mosby and do what must be done. And that he must simply help
me find the man and arrange his final hour. I will do that—along with keeping a
second promise to resume sharing everything with you—as soon as Murietta returns.

He has been gone since Monday. To San Francisco and Sacramento
again to spare me the burdens of business. I ask you to please remember how
much has transpired since we were together: that each of Joaquin's brief
absences has seemed longer than the year and a half (almost) that has passed
since that morning at dawn with him under the pines. I suppose missing him so
much means that I love him in a way. It may be a comfort to know that I have
not experienced those additional ranges of feeling that were part of my love
for you. Still, Joaquin is more than a comfort, and I must confess the sweet
languor of our occasional nights together gentles me considerably. (I pray that
you have found similar affection and relief.) There is some disquiet in me
about it. I still see your face occasionally when Joaquin and I lie together.
And although the ingenious wrapping of… himself… with sheep-gut seems indeed to
work and I have not become pregnant, I still so much fear such a calamity that
it robs me of some of the modest pleasure I feel.

I hope Joaquin keeps his promise to avoid
Sonora
and Coulterville on his way back. Thank God the bestiality and
injustice being heaped upon miners of Latin origin and ancestry in those places
has not reached into the larger operations such as this one. Why the Sonorans,
Mexicans, and South Americans stay is beyond me, reduced as they are to
underpaid laborers for the combines and larger companies that now predominate.
They are insulted and attacked at every turn, as you probably know. No wonder
so many of them have succumbed to drunkenness and retaliated with murder and
banditry. I cannot say with certainty that I would not respond in the same way
if I were harshly taxed simply because I was a foreigner, and accused of every
crime committed anyway.

Moses will be five in less than two months. I wish my attempt
last month to have him here had not resulted in such a turmoil of bad memories
and renewed hatred for Mosby. One good thing came of it: I suspect my renewed
attention and — I have told Murietta only that Moses is illegitimate — resolve
concerning Mosby were triggered by Moses' presence. I wish my feelings were
such that I could raise the boy myself. It will be difficult for him—and for
Solana,
I am sure—when I place him in school. But sooner or later it
must be done. He regards
Solana
as his
mother, obviously, and loves and trusts her as he does no one else. But he is
white, and it is my duty to see that he is educated, prepared for survival in
the world outside her village. And try as I will to remember there has been no
trouble there, the knowledge of violence against Indians elsewhere keeps me
fearful for his continued safety. It is time. It must be done this year…

I hope Murietta is able to see the "Lieutenant
Governor" while he is in Sacramento. Happily, Warren affects little of the
trappings and certainly none of the self-importance of most
politicos
of even modest rank. I have often wondered what you think of
him. The more I know Barnett, the more I love and admire the truly decent man
that resides within that huge body. Upon reflection, he seems the only man
under fifty I have ever known, other than yourself, whose interest in me was
untainted. Perhaps men who can accommodate a purely spiritual bond with a woman
are even rarer than true friends seem to be in general…

I am eager to hear what has developed in Blue Star's
six-month-old business relationship with the new Sacramento firm, Huntington
and Hopkins, which I recommended on reports received from Mr. Kellerman.
Perhaps it might be prudent for me to extend my private wholesale-retail
arrangements to include Huntington and Hopkins as well. From all indications,
the intense competition may well "do in" Kellerman, and that would
leave me without an outlet for my goods in Sacramento. That prospect displeases
me, not least because I take a particular pleasure from every penny anyone
keeps out of Sam Brannan's pockets. I must hand it to him—and to Coleman. They
have wasted no time in establishing themselves, everywhere, it seems, from the
gold-field towns to San Francisco itself.

I wish things were not so drastically changed on the South Fork.
It is true that since Barnett and Kelsey persuaded you — at my oblique
suggestion — to take over the new hydraulic mining operations for the absentee-owner,
"E. Cable," efficiency and profits have risen steadily. (The irony of
the arrangement! What a shock it will be to you when you finally read this!)
But it pains me that Miwokan is no longer involved, retreating to his hut as he
has since his brother and so many more of his men went off on their own last
year. Of course, I could not feel as secure as I do about the management of the
South Fork Mining Company without you there. How I wish I could personally
praise and congratulate you for what you have done for yourself. Somehow it
does not surprise me that you are able to manage both the mining company and
the stage and express line you and your cousin, Talbott, developed out of the
original mail service. I am glad you resisted selling the line to Adams and
Company.

Good Lord, they are so high-handed in their business and banking
dealings! Were it not for the intricate financial relationship between Adams
and Company and Blue Star, I would take my account to another bank just to show
them what I think of their haughty attitude!

When I think of it, it is strange how little the figure $450,000
registers with me. That, as they say, is "what I am worth" according
to the last account. Does that astonish you? It does me. I am unable to grasp
what that much money means, beyond the knowledge that I have at my disposal
wherewithal unimaginably beyond that available to the average person. And that
when fate ordains, I will have more than enough financial strength to deal with
Mosby.

It seems ironic to me that I could hire, through third parties,
Murietta — whomever, a half-dozen assassins — to find and kill Mosby tomorrow,
for far less than I now have. But I could not even begin to entertain such
thoughts. It seems clear to me that it would be morally different from taking
revenge with my own hands. Perhaps such a distinction would seem like splitting
hairs to some, but it is not to me. Moreover, it would seem to be injudicious
to reveal to anyone my part in whatever happens to Mosby. How could I avoid
that, and subsequent entrapment — perhaps even the gallows — if I hired someone
to kill him? And now that I have focused sharply on the subject again, after
weakly allowing my determination to wane, the urge to do him in by my own hand
is so strong it alone would preclude paying someone else to do it.

God, I cannot believe it! Just thinking about Mosby again for
more than a few seconds after so long has my hands trembling. I swear I will
not let the matter drift again. I cannot wait until Murietta returns!