When he had gone, I asked, “Miss Nesselrode, what is happening?” She worked at her papers for a moment, then said, “A few years ago Texas fought a war for her independence. The United States recognized her independence and Mexico was unhappy about it.
“Now, almost ten years later, Texas has applied for admission to the Union and we have admitted Texas as a state. Mexico said that if we did so they would consider it an act of war. Not long ago a Mexican force crossed the Rio Grande and wiped out an American patrol.
“Before coming west, I had talked with some gentlemen from Mexico, who assured me Mexico would go to war if Texas was admitted to the Union. They were quite confident, and with reason, as their standing army is several times the size of ours.
“As a matter of fact, the United States is in no condition for war. We have less than twenty-five thousand men under arms and they are scattered across the frontier protecting settlers.”
“Will we be beaten?”
“I doubt it, Johannes. Our Constitution provides that no law shall forbid us from keeping and bearing arms because of the necessity for a militia. We have a militia of a sort, but our greatest strength lies in the fact that so many of our people not only possess weapons but also understand their use, and above all they are prepared to defend themselves against any sudden attack by an enemy. “You will remember that we won our freedom because we were armed. We were not a simple peasantry unused to weapons. The men who wrote our Constitution knew our people would be safe as long as they were armed.” She gathered her papers and placed them in a leather case. “I was a woman alone, Johannes. I weighed the circumstances and decided to come west, believing California would become a part of our country.
“I told myself I would do nothing against a people who have been friendly to me, nor have I betrayed that promise.
“On the other hand, if such a change took place, I wished to be on hand to accept the opportunity. No matter who wins, California will no longer be isolated. There will be trade, and there will be a need for horses and cattle. Prices here are three or four times what they would be if goods could be imported by sea, and trade will become important.” She paused. “We are two people alone, Johannes. Whatever happens, we must be prepared to move with the tide. We shall be ready. We must be ready. “You were left alone, as I was. I have learned to be strong, and you have also. Whatever is to come, Johannes, each can help the other. We will stand together, you and I.”
Twenty-six
“You are history,” Thomas Fraser told us. “Do not think of history as something remote that concerns only kings, queens, and generals. It concerns you. Each of you has a history that is part of the history of Los Angeles, a part of the history of California, part of the history of the United States and the world. “You and your families march across the pages of history, and often he who plows a furrow is of more importance than he who leads an army. The army can destroy, the furrow can feed.
“Los Angeles became a town on September 4 of 1781. The founders were eleven adult males and their families. Their names were Camero, Lara, Navarro, Rosas, Moreno, Mesa, Banegras, Villavicencia, Rodriguez, Quintero, and Rodriguez again. These men were or had been soldiers at the Mission of San Gabriel. “In all there were forty-six people; twenty were children under twelve years of age. Of the men, two were from Spain, one from China, and the rest from Baja California, Sonora, or Sinaloa. Twelve house lots faced the plaza on three sides, the remaining space was given over to public buildings. This was your town.
“On the lowlands near the river, thirty fields were laid out, separated from each other by narrow access roads, these fields to be cultivated by the townspeople. Each was provided with two each of oxen, mules, sheep, goats, and cows. The government at first was largely a military government, and the new citizens, having been soldiers, were accustomed to discipline.” He paused. “Each of you is a part of what is happening here. Do not think you can sit idly by while it grows to a great city, as it assuredly will. A city is made up of citizens, and citizens are so called because they inhabit a city, and if they will, can direct its destiny.
“Is it to be a place where only business is done? Simply a marketplace, or is it to be a place of beauty? The great cities, the remembered cities, are the cities known for their beauty.”
Our studies slowly became harder and we were given much outside reading and occasional bits of writing to do. In going to and from school we walked only certain streets, staying away from Sonora Town, even though many of the people who lived there were fine people. It was also a hangout for toughs of all kinds. In spite of that, we could see the restlessness in the town, as though trouble was expected. Fremont, I discovered, had been earlier in San Diego and then had gone north.
Often I thought of what Miss Nesselrode had said, that each of us had been left alone. Was that why she had offered me a home? Because she saw in me what she had been? Or was there some other reason?
At another time she had said, “Do not be afraid. A little fear can make one cautious. Too much fear can rob you of initiative. Respect fear, but use it for an incentive, do not let it bind you or tie you down.” Coming and going from school, I had begun to vary my route, taking one for a day or two, then another. The choices were few, but often I cut through orchards or walked paths where no horseman would go, and the Californios were all riders. They disdained walking.
Much time passed before I saw the don. Miss Nesselrode had told me he rarely came to town, staying on his ranch for weeks at a time, sometimes for months. Then there was a day when, about to emerge from an orchard, I heard the clatter of hooves and looked out to see him ride by.
There was no mistaking him. He was a handsome man with a white goatee and mustache, riding a magnificent horse and a saddle loaded with silver. There were six men with him on that day, and one of them I remembered. He of the flat nose and the scarred face, the one who had wanted to kill me. They rode swiftly past, but it was not until the dust settled that I emerged on the street and crossed it, leaping over the zanja and climbing the pole fence that divided Miss Nesselrode’s yard from the one behind hers. Sitting on the top rail I fed a stolen carrot to my horse and thought about my grandfather. Such hatred was unreasonable. As Miss Nesselrode said, such pride was foolish, yet it was present and must be dealt with. On that day I did not go to the shop, but remained at home, reading. The hatred was unreasonable, and yet … I had an uneasy sympathy for my grandfather. Was it because of that relationship? Or was it something more? His pride was in his family and his name. From what I had heard both from my parents and from others, it was all he had. His family, the name, and his wealth. To him his daughter’s marriage to a common seaman was a disgrace, a blot on the family name not to be tolerated. Having read some of the stories of Sir Walter Scott and similar romances, I could understand what this might mean to a proud man.
Our world was different in some respects. It was based on accomplishment, on doing. His seemed to be based on simply being. Supposing that was all one had, and suddenly it was threatened? Grudgingly I began to see his side of it, although I had little sympathy for that view.
Later, I explained to Miss Nesselrode what I had thought, and she listened without speaking until I had finished, and then she said, “Johannes, you are growing up. You are becoming a man, and a good man, too.” So much was happening. Thomas Fraser explained some of it in school, very carefully, so as not to seem to take sides.
The Californios had never liked the idea of their governors being political appointees from Mexico. Some of the governors had been liked or at least tolerated; many had come only to get rich and get out. One of those they had not liked was Micheltorena, who, after a bloodless battle fought in the San Fernando Valley, had been driven from California, and Don Pio Pico of Los Angeles had become governor.