Heaven Is a Long Way Off (9 page)

“It's where we belong.”

“We're going,” said Flat Dog.

“Very roundabout,” said Sam.

He walked back into camp and surveyed the rigging. He thought the trick would work.

How will the don come?
he asked himself.

Sam himself would scout and move stealthily.

But he was no fiery don.

 

T
HEY WERE SET.
The campfire was down to coals. Around the fire lay five blanketed figures. If a curious person had taken time to look at the hats, he would have seen those of the Englishman and his manservant beside two blankets together and three Californio hats and saddles beside other blankets. Had this observer been curious enough to touch the blankets, he would have felt the stones underneath.

Don Joaquin Montalban y Alvarado, however, was not a man to come creeping up on his enemy. Riders, horses, and men of foot stormed the campground as a fire rages before the wind.

They came so suddenly, so swiftly that Grumble was nearly late with his knife. The don's horses roared into the campground, the men yelling out war cries and firing at the sleeping figures.

Coy barked furiously, but Sam held him back.

Grumble sliced hard at the rope.

The keg of gunpowder dropped straight down from where it hung below a limb and directly onto the fire.

The explosion hit like lightning. Tree limbs sailed through the air like torches. Sparks flew into the sky like fiery birds.

Eight enemies on foot brandishing axes and knives crashed at random into trees, boulders, and the earth.

The five mounted enemies were mostly beyond the campground when the keg blew, turning their horses to charge back among their blanketed foes.

The horses were blown backward, sometimes landing on the riders. As the attackers scrambled to their feet, Sam, Flat Dog, and Hannibal fired from behind boulders.

Well instructed, Sumner held the scattergun at the ready. Grumble held fire with his palm-sized gambler's pistol.

The firelight made sighting difficult, and only two out of three shots struck. Then the three mountain men charged the enemies still standing, or staggering, or trying to get to their feet. Two fired their pistols, and Sam swung his butcher knife.

Enemies died.

Coy hurled himself at enemies, snarling and biting.

Sam, Hannibal, and Flat Dog hacked wildly at the remnants of the enemy force with tomahawks and knives. They didn't know whom they cut, but they struck hard.

Eventually, the tornado blew itself out. All stood still, their eyes mad. Embers around the campground smoldered. Small clumps of grass smoked, crisped, and went out. Sam could smell the river air again.

Sam counted. Hannibal and Flat Dog stood near him. Coy rubbed against his leg. Grumble and Sumner came out from behind boulders. Grumble was holding his face. “He couldn't resist looking,” Sumner said, “and he's a little burned.”

Flat Dog knelt over a prostrate figure. Coy approached the figure's head, sniffing.

“Check to make sure they're dead,” said Hannibal.

Sam had to swallow hard.
They came here to kill us.

They were dead. Some of them were mangled, some dismembered.

Sam wanted to vomit.

Flat Dog walked to him holding a bloody scalp.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

“Montalban's,” said Flat Dog.

Coy whined.

Montalban's. Sam didn't want to touch the thing. He hoped he could get rid of the memories.

D
AYLIGHT CONFIRMED ELEVEN
bodies. Grumble and Hannibal thought they'd seen thirteen attackers, which meant two escaped.

“I doubt that they'll be back,” said Grumble, smiling. “Ouch!” His face shone from the grease he'd rubbed on his facial burns.

Five riders, two dead horses, two horses they were able to round up.

Four saddles. One was a gorgeous work of tooled leather and silver studs, probably Montalban's. On or near the bodies of the four riders they found four rifles and three pistols. From the riders and men on foot they took an assortment of knives and daggers. Each mountain man claimed a pistol. The rest of the booty they carried off in the wagon.

They got going as soon as they could. Even before the bodies ripened, death stood rank in their eyes and nostrils.

“I
DON'T LIKE
it,” said Hannibal.

“I hate it,” said Flat Dog, but he didn't mean the situation. He meant his fury about his wife.

Rancho Malibu stretched before them, wide plains on the inland side of ragged coastal mountains. Now, in October, golden grasses colored the flats along the creek and the steep slopes. Scrubby trees spotted the hills. The ranch house and buildings stretched along the creek. Planted fields, an orchard, a vineyard, and grazing lands spread away from the steep slopes of mountains.

Sam couldn't help thinking of what lay behind him, the vast Pacific Ocean. There he and Meadowlark camped on Topanga Beach, and their new friend Robber showed them the wonders of the tide pools. Meadowlark had been thrilled by the anemones and the sea horses.

A few days later Flat Dog and Julia eloped to that beach, borrowed the tipi, and spent several days exploring each other. Until Julia's father barged in and snatched away his daughter. He also gave Flat Dog a thrashing with a knout, a Russian lash with bits of metal embedded in the rawhide. Flat Dog's back would be bumpy as a plowed field for the rest of his life.

“Watching isn't getting us anywhere,” said Sam. He could feel the rage coming from his brother-in-law.

“Let's do something,” said Flat Dog.

Sam tried not to think what it must be like for Flat Dog to know his wife was in one of those two houses, full of their child, but he couldn't see her, talk to her, touch her.

The three of them had watched the rancho from this ridge for two full days. Having found out how practical a field glass was, Sam traded a captured pistol for one in Santa Barbara. Passing through eight missions on the way south, they'd been welcomed everywhere and protected along El Camino Real by Padre Enrique's letter. Funny world, to Sam, where influence counted for more than skill or good sense.

Two days of watching told them that Mexican hands worked around the rancho's outbuildings and in the vineyards and orchard. Occasionally, herders could be seen in the distance. Don Cesar, the
patròn,
rode the property each afternoon with his son-in-law Alfredo, and they were out on horseback now. They stopped at the vineyard to talk with an old man, then dismounted to inspect something. Then they rode on.

“Sumner would love this,” said Sam.

“A life where you do nothing but watch your ‘inferiors' labor for you,” said Hannibal.

Now father and son rode to the corral, dismounted, and let a stable hand take the horses. Each man then strode to his own house. The don's adobe, by the Pittsburgh and St. Louis standards Sam knew, was not particularly grand. He remembered its comfort, and its one strange room, which housed Don Cesar's collection of weapons, and the don's pride in his instruments of torture and destruction.

Two days and no sign at all of Julia.

Reina, her sister, took her two children outside every day for a couple of hours. She and Alfredo shared the modest adobe next to Don Cesar's.

“Do they ever go anywhere?” asked Sam.

“Julia won't be traveling now,” said Flat Dog. “She's almost eight months.”

“Californio women, meaning rich Californio women,” said Hannibal, “aren't like Crow women. Toward the end they don't travel. They lie in.”

“I just want to go kill the son of a bitch,” said Flat Dog.

Sam saw that in his friend's face.

“Not a good idea to kill your wife's father,” said Hannibal, “no matter how much she hates him.”

Flat Dog made a rude sound.

“We don't want to hurt him,” said Sam. “Just to get her. And Esperanza.”

Flat Dog was silent.

“Let's go talk to Grumble,” said Sam.

They'd let Grumble and Sumner ride into Mission San Fernando alone. The mission was only ten miles north of the rancho. No point in adding Grumble to the watch party. “Just one more face someone from the rancho might recognize,” Sam had said.

“Going in, that's risky,” said Hannibal.

“I've got an idea,” said Sam.

“You? That's plain dangerous,” said Hannibal.

 

T
HE THREE BUMPED
along in the open carriage.

“My dear,” said Grumble, “you've never looked lovelier.”

“Nuns don't have to be pretty,” said Sumner. He adjusted the wimple around his head. “I hate this brown. It's the color of shit. And they's nuns 'cause they ain't pretty.”

“Some men might want to try a nun,” said Hannibal.

“Pervert,” said Sumner.

Grumble had told him to steal a monk's robe from the laundry. In the dark Sumner had filched a nun's outfit. Which Grumble suddenly decided was even better.

“Let's get our minds on business,” Grumble said. He was brown-robed as a priest, and all smiles at the disguise.

Hannibal drove the carriage. He'd never been to the rancho, so couldn't be recognized. He looked over one shoulder. Rubio and his son were in the vineyard and riding away from the house. He'd timed it right.

They'd gotten good information at the mission. Grumble and Sumner discovered that once a week a priest traveled to Rancho Malibu to accept confessions and administer the Eucharist, and a nun from the convent went along to tutor the boys in reading. Thus the plan.

Sam and Flat Dog were hiding along the road north to the mission, probably half mad with fear and doubt.

Hannibal reined in the carriage directly in front of Don Cesar's adobe.
Right in the lion's den,
he thought. His chest tightened. A stable hand appeared to help with the horses. A cigarillo jutted up into the air from his lips, unlit.

As Cigarillo carried the harness, Hannibal led the animals. He was outfitted as a poor Indian, so that no one would expect him to speak good Spanish and he would have no business near the main house. He looked back at his friends, making their way to the front door. Under his loose shirt Hannibal was armed with knife and pistol.
But I'll be at the corral, and damned little help from there.

“I don't like this,” said Sumner in a falsetto voice.

“You'll be amazed at how easily people accept a costume,” Grumble said. “You can be a policeman, a sailor, anything you like. That's the charm of it.”

Grumble rapped on the door and they were admitted. The maid seemed to accept the friar and nun as a matter of course. Since he and Sumner had met the don last winter, Grumble's face and hands were walnut-stained a deep brown, and from his trunk of tricks he'd put on a silver beard.

“I don't like this,” Sumner repeated.

“Your falsetto is really very good.”

To Grumble's relief it was Doña Reina who came to greet them. Two boys ran down the corridor behind her, playing at war.

As I am playing at war,
thought the cherub.

“Permit me to introduce myself,” he said in his uncertain Spanish. “I am Father Lorenzo come to pay my respects to the family. This is Sister Annunzio.”

“Come in,” said Reina. Her face showed signs of wear and worry, and no interest in her visitors.

As they followed Reina down the corridor and into a parlor, Grumble felt a familiar rise in his energy.
I like a frisson of danger.

Sumner lifted his wimpled head to him, as though to say,
This is more than any damned frisson.

When they sat, Reina said, “My father and husband are out in the fields, but I'll let my sister know you're here.” Her voice was lifeless.

When they were alone, Grumble said softly, “I relish deceiving people.”

Sumner said, “I can tell you're nervous. You babble.”

Grumble chuckled. “And you?”

“The life of a thief is more honest.”

Julia walked in, one child in her arms and another big in her belly.
My God,
thought Grumble,
she really is near her term.

Julia was a beautiful woman, with comely features, tawny hair, and golden skin, and she was quick-minded. Her eyes were bright and alert and—and perhaps suspicious.

“My child,” Grumble began immediately, “I am Father Lorenzo. I am new to the mission, and come to pay my respects to the family.”

At the sound of Grumble's voice her face grew wild.
She knows,
Grumble thought. He pursed his lips.
She spent plenty of time with us.
Julia's eyes flashed from one face to other, and her face mottled with color. He rushed forward with words. “This is Sister Annunzio.”

“Buenas tardes, Señora,”
said Sumner.

Julia opened her mouth but nothing came out. Disbelief? Joy? Alarm? Grumble wished he knew.

Reina came in bearing two glasses. “You'll want some wine,” she said.

Grumble and Sumner accepted the wine and sipped. Reina disappeared.

“Are you well, my child?” said Grumble. “Physically?”

Julia clearly couldn't speak.

“I'd be glad to accept your confession, if you like.”

She nodded.

Reina came in and handed Julia a glass. Julia downed the wine in a single gulp. She looked around wildly and handed the baby to Reina.

The four sat and stared at each other nervously.

“I'm pleased to meet the two of you,” said Grumble, “and look forward to meeting Don Cesar and Don Alfredo.”

“Why have you come?” asked Julia. Tension thrummed in her voice. After a moment she added, “Father.”

Grumble pretended. “I was born in Padua. I've been serving at Mission San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo, near Monterey, and am newly assigned to Mission San Fernando Rey de España.”

Reina looked oddly at her sister, turned back to her guests, and said, “Is Sister Annunzio also a newcomer?”

“I have seen the boys when they've been at the mission,” said Sumner, “but this is my first time at the rancho. It's beautiful.”

Julia's hand was about to shatter the wineglass.

“My child, perhaps it's time for you to make your confession now.”

“Of course, Father.”

 

I
N THE SMALL
room Julia sat on the narrow bed, not pretending. Grumble drew a chair close. “Flat Dog is waiting for you,” he said softly. “Sam is with him.”

Julia gasped. She clutched her hands around her belly as though to hold the child in.

“We are going to take you out of here right now. If you want to go.”

Julia looked like she was going to burst with emotions. She managed to nod yes.

Grumble put his arms around her and held her. Her head thrashed wildly. Quietly, he told her what she was to do. From time to time she whispered, “Yes.” She seemed tongue-tied, but at the end she got out one thought. “Trust Reina. She's on our side.” She leaned into him and wept, great, heaving sobs.

Eventually, after Julia had cried long enough to recite the sins of a highwayman, Grumble softly told her the rest of the plan. She nodded yes several times. He said with a sincerity that surprised even him, “God bless you, my child.” He wished he could give her absolution.

When Julia left the room to get her sister, her face was marbled red, white, and gold.
Good,
he thought,
she will be convincing.

Reina came in and knelt. She looked up at Grumble, looked down, and began the ritual words, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Grumble interrupted. “Doña Reina,” he said, “I am not a priest and Sister Annunzio is not a nun.”

Horror floated through Reina's eyes.

Grumble couldn't help smiling as he said, “I am Grumble, she is Sumner.”

Reina jumped. Grumble put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from running off.

Julia glided into the room. “Let us explain…”

 

H
ANNIBAL CURSED
. D
ON
Cesar and his son were walking their horses back.
Just when I thought we might get off clean.

He jumped down from the corral fence, trotted into the barn, and got the harness. Cigarillo gave him a peculiar look—like
Who told you to get the carriage ready?
—but the Mexican brought the two draft animals out of the corral. Together they started the harnessing.

Don Cesar threw Cigarillo an imperious look. The stable hand walked toward the dons, his shoulders swaying sassily, took the reins of both horses, and led them away for water and oats.

The front door of Don Cesar's adobe scraped open. Out came a horrendous moan, a ululating cry of pain.

Don't overdo it,
Hannibal thought.

Two women came out, one of them Sumner in his nun's getup. The other must be Doña Reina. They held the ends of a heavy blanket, which emerged in bright colors from the shadowed corridor.

The moan soared upward again. It came from the shape half wrapped in the blanket, apparently Julia.

Grumble staggered out, struggling to support his end of the blanket.

“The baby!” exclaimed Doña Reina.

The don's face rearranged itself from arrogance to childlike horror.

Hannibal ran to help. He grabbed Julia and lifted her out of the blanket. Reina took Esperanza from Julia. Hannibal hurried toward the carriage, bearing the stricken woman.

“What the devil is going on?” demanded Don Cesar.

“Papa, it's a month early! The baby is coming a month early!”

“Then why are you moving Julia?”

Sumner minced forward in quick tiny steps and put his hand on the don's forearm. “She needs help. It's very dangerous. We must get her to the midwife.”

“Who in hell are you?”

“Sister Annunzio,” said Reina, sounding out of breath. “Papa, we've got to get her help.”

Hannibal deposited Julia in the carriage.

Again she issued a horrifying moan.

Good woman,
thought Hannibal. He climbed up and took the reins.

“I'll ride to the pueblo for the doctor.”