Jubilee Trail (78 page)

“And when he read what I had written,” said Garnet, “he was madder than ever.”

“Yes. What did you write him? Something about a piece of toast, he said. I do not understand that.”

“You don’t need to understand it,” she retorted. “Go on.”

The Brute grinned and tilted his bottle. When Pablo finally brought John her note, he said, John had been about to go up to San Francisco. As she knew, John intended to be a rich man and was always finding new ways to make money. San Francisco now had nearly five hundred people, most of them Yankees, four-fifths of them under forty years old, and all of them prosperous. John was sure land around San Francisco was going to be valuable, and he had recently bought some. A certain gay-living ranchero of that district had died, leaving a lot of debts, and part of his land had been offered for sale to pay them. John had bought the property through an agent, and now he wanted to go up and look it over. He had been ready to leave when Pablo came home.

John read Garnet’s letter. He put off his trip north and told his serving-boys they were going down to Los Angeles instead. This was during that bad September heat—surely Garnet remembered how hot it had been in September. Because of the heat John had kept near the coast, where there was more water and better grass for the horses.

“They were near Santa Barbara,” said the Brute, “when John tried to jump a gully. He might have gone around it, but John was in a hurry. And he was mad and jumping the gully was a help to his temper. He was riding a fine stallion, but the gully was too wide. John had a bad fall. Pablo and his new wife took care of him the best they could while the other boys rode to Santa Barbara and got help from some good people John had visited before. Their name is Lorca. They brought a stretcher and carried John to Santa Barbara and got the man who sets bones.”

“Were you there?”

“No, I did not know about it. I had been in San Francisco myself. That is where the Russian ship was in port. I got passage, but she will not sail till spring, so I came south to tell John he could have my cattle when I left. At Torosa they told me he had gone to Los Angeles by the coast way, so I thought I would come here too, and I could see him and you and Florinda besides. When I got as far as Santa Barbara I found he was at the house of Señor Lorca, so I went to see him and he was all bundled up in the bandages.”

“How bad are his hurts, Brute?”

“Not bad enough to last. He will get well. John is such a fool, Garnet. I want to give him my cattle. He won’t take them unless he can pay for them. He is so stupid.”

“Yes, I know it. Brute, has he suffered very much?”

“He had some pain and fever at first, but no more fever now and not much pain as long as he will lie quiet. He hates to lie quiet.”

“He hates to be helpless, I can well believe that. Oh Brute, that exasperating man, why didn’t he write to me before?”

“He could not write. And maybe he did not want a stranger writing to you for him.”

Garnet laughed shortly. “Oh, I know him. He didn’t send me a message because no power on earth could make him say, ‘I am sick and helpless and I need you.’ He wouldn’t have written to me even now, except that you were coming to Los Angeles and he knew you would tell me he’d been hurt.”

“Do not ask me questions,” the Brute said coolly, “when you know the answers already. When can you go to Santa Barbara?”

“Tomorrow. Isabel can take care of Stephen while I’m gone.”

“I have brought two women to wait on you,” said the Brute.

“Why Brute, how good of you!”

“Señora Lorca said I must bring some women. She said you must not travel with me except with some women too, because that would not be nice.”

Garnet could not help laughing. “I’d trust you around the world, Brute.”

“Thank you,” said the Brute. “You would, but Señora Lorca would not. She says I am a wicked man. I should like some more wine. May I take it off the shelf?”

“Of course, go ahead.”

He went to get the wine. Mickey crossed the room to the door opening into the barroom. She heard him say, “Miss Flinda, come to beans.”

Florinda came in. Without pausing she came over to where Garnet sat, and stood before her, hands on hips.

“So,” she said, “I suppose the Brute has told you about John.”

“Why yes,” said Garnet.

“I suppose you are going straight up to Santa Barbara to see him.”

“I certainly am.”

“Love must be a wonderful thing,” said Florinda. Her lips quivered with mirth. “What about all I’ve heard you say,” she continued, “to the effect that he’d get tired of you and grind your heart to powder?”

“I don’t care what I’ve said,” Garnet retorted. “I love him.” Florinda smothered a chuckle, and Garnet added, “Go on. Say what you’re thinking.”

“Well dear, it’s plain that it doesn’t make any difference what I think. But I think you and John are the two stubbornest people I know. I think in a year you will be throwing dishes at each other. And in spite of all the good advice I have given you and am going to give you, I think by that time you’ll probably be the size and shape of a covered wagon. And I wonder what you’ll do then. However—” She paused.

Garnet was laughing. Maybe all Florinda said was true, but right now she was so happy she did not care.

Florinda bent and kissed her forehead. “Go ahead and do as you please, Garnet. I’ll be on your side cheering for you as long as I live.”

“Thank you,” Garnet returned sincerely. “I knew that, but it’s good to hear you say it.”

Mickey was heaping up the plates. The Brute had gone over to watch him with eager pleasure. But Florinda, paying no attention to supper, went across to the shelves on the wall. Taking down pen and ink and paper, she brought them to the end of the table where Garnet still sat. “Here, Garnet,” she said.

“What’s that for?”

“After beans,” Florinda said quietly, “write a letter to Captain Brown.”

Garnet caught her breath. “Oh Florinda!” she gasped. “I forgot about him!”

“I know you did,” said Florinda. Her voice was low. “But you’re not going off without leaving him a letter saying where you’re going and why. You may be addled with love, my dear, but I’m not. And I won’t let you be shabby to the finest man you ever had a chance to marry in your life.”

Garnet was looking down. “I’ll write to him,” she said. “But—” She felt a swift panic, and raised her eyes abruptly. “But Florinda, what can I say to him?”

Florinda’s big blue eyes swept her up and down with blank innocence. “Why, tell him 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—”

“Oh, stop! Are you making fun of me?”

“I certainly am. That’s what you told me to say, remember? I never had the nerve to talk such flapdoodle to any man. Now maybe you know why.”

Garnet doubled her hands on her knees. “I’ll write him a decent letter if it takes all night. Oh, I’m ashamed of myself.”

“It’s not that dreadful, dear. But you’ve got to be nice to him.” Florinda glanced over her shoulder. “Come on. The beans are waiting, but the Brute’s not.”

The ride to Santa Barbara was easy and Garnet enjoyed it. The October days were crisp and jewel-clear. For the first three days they rode inland, behind the mountains. The landscape was noisy with dryness; the plants rustled and snapped at them as they rode. On the morning of the fourth day they went through a rocky pass that led them toward the coast, where the sea came crashing up against the mountains. The water splashed their clothes and threw spray into their faces and Garnet was glad when the coastline began to have an easier slope and they came near the bay of Santa Barbara.

Out in the bay she saw a merchant brig flying the American flag. When she saw it the old question popped into her mind, I wonder if that captain would take me home? But even as she thought it her heart gave a little skip. She was not going home. She was going to marry John and stay in California. Garnet laughed with astonishment. She was not homesick. Since the day she had first met Charles Hale and a shadow had come over her bright dream of California, this was the first time she had not felt like an exile.

They came into Santa Barbara and she looked around. Santa Barbara was built like Los Angeles: there was a plaza full of brown weeds, and a church, and adobe houses scattered at random. But Garnet thought it was a much better town. It stood by a beautiful crescent beach, and the air was fresh. There were hide-carts winding among the houses, and the oxen were followed by Diggers who had plainly never been washed in their lives. But there was a sea-breeze blowing the smells away. The people looked better too. Garnet saw several groups of Californios, handsomely dressed and mounted. She also noticed an unusual number of homes larger than the little cubes of one or two rooms where most people lived. Around these larger houses the weeds were cut down, and they had walled courtyards with trees. Compared to the average California village, Santa Barbara was a very pleasant place.

The train paused before one of these larger houses. This, the Brute told her, was the home of Señor Lorca, where John was staying. Pablo got off his horse and struck the butt of his whip on the courtyard gate. Both the house and the courtyard wall were newly whitewashed, and they had the spanking-fresh look of a little girl in a starched frock. On the wall were vines, and over the wall Garnet could see orange trees full of green oranges the size of walnuts. She felt embarrassed. John’s hosts were nice people, no doubt about it, and she looked like a ragamuffin. Her hair was blown by the wind, her clothes were rumpled, splashes of sea-water had dried on her, and she was covered with dust. If Señor and Señora Lorca had ever traveled they would know she could not help it, but she looked like a ragamuffin all the same.

The gate opened to Pablo’s knock. The Brute sprang off his horse and came over to take her hand as she dismounted. Garnet dropped her eyes, feeling as bashful as if he had read her thoughts and laughed at them. For she knew she did not care what the Lorca family thought of her looks. But she did not want John to see her like this. The last time he had seen her, under the trees at Kerridge’s, she had been cross as an alley-cat but at least she had been fresh and crisp and her hair had been brushed. Servants were coming out to unload their horses. Garnet began to say, “Brute, do you think I can get washed up a little before—”

But the Brute did not hear her. He had led her into the courtyard. Down a flagged path came a gentleman who could be none other than Señor Lorca himself, splendid in a scarlet coat and a white silk shirt and blue trousers laced up the sides with gold cords. He bowed and kissed her hand, saying it was an honor indeed to receive her and everything in his humble home was hers. They went into the parlor, a long low room shining with whitewash and bright curtains. Here came the señora, stout and hospitable and gaily dressed.

Garnet summoned her best Spanish to thank them for her welcome, meanwhile yearning for soap and water. But they seemed to take travel-stains for granted. Señora Lorca was saying that ordinarily she would not have thought it right for a lady to go into the bedroom of a gentleman who was not yet her husband, but the poor Señor Ives could not come outside to meet her and besides the lady was a widow. So Señora Hale would please come this way.

Garnet followed her. She felt scared. She and John would have to greet each other in public, for not only was Señora Lorca going with her but a serving-girl was coming too. The girl opened the door of John’s room. Señora Lorca gestured for Garnet to go in.

It was not a large room, but it was airy and sunny, with two windows looking into the courtyard. By one of the windows was a big bed, all dressed up with the fine embroidered sheets in which California housewives took such pride. And there in the bed, propped up on pillows, was John.

His swarthy face looked darker than ever against the pillows, and his green eyes had a wicked sparkle as he saw her. His right arm was in a sling, and so swathed in bandages that she could see only the tips of his fingers; and his right hip was bundled up too, for it made a big ungainly lump under the bedclothes. He had on a ruffled white shirt, the right sleeve cut out to give room for the sling. As she came in he grinned. He held out his left hand and took hers in a grip that hurt her, and he said, “Hi there, dirty-face.”

“You wretch,” said Garnet. “I can’t help it if my face is dirty. She didn’t give me any chance to wash it.”

“Don’t blame her. I’ve made her promise twenty times a day that she’d bring you in the minute you got here. I was never so mad with anybody in my life. Are you going to behave yourself?”

“Yes,” said Garnet.

“Lukewarm milk toast!” said John. “If I had two good arms I’d beat you. Don’t be scared of what she’s hearing—she doesn’t understand a word of it and she thinks I’m prattling sweet nothings into your ears. Thanks for coming, damn you.”

Garnet began to laugh. The wall-bench was by the head of his bed. She sank down on it and laughed and laughed, and John laughed too; and the señora, happy that her guests were so happy, joined in their laughter.

John squeezed Garnet’s hand. “Ask me to kiss you,” he said.

“Why, stupid?”

“The last time I saw you, I told you I wouldn’t kiss you again till you asked me. Remember?”

Garnet began to laugh again. “Please kiss me, John,” she said.

He kissed the hand he was holding. “That’s the best I can do in front of an audience. You can go now and get washed, but you’ll come back as soon as she’ll let you?”

“Yes,” said Garnet, “as soon as she’ll let me.” She stood up, and the beaming señora started for the door again, to show her the room where she would stay. Garnet wished manners did not require her to go. She did not care whether she got washed or not.

W
HILE SHE WAS
AT
Doña Manuela’s, Garnet had learned the ways of a California home. She was careful to conduct herself as they thought she should, and in a few days she had won Señora Lorca’s complete approval. So the señora made no objection to Garnet’s spending nearly all her time in John’s room, and kept no guard on their behavior. They were careful to have the door open all the time, but as nobody in the house understood English except the Brute they could talk as freely as they pleased.