“And now?”
“Now I try to learn. With the gun, I shall not worry, but otherwise? And here, in the town, it could be otherwise. There is also Rad Huber.”
We talked long, of that and other things, but through it all there was a nagging
thought, something said in passing that I had not noted at the time. Some
reference to a man who lived near the mountains. He was Chinese, if I remembered
correctly.
Miss Nesselrode told me then, for the first time, of her meeting with Don Isidro. “And now?”
“He has not forgotten,” she said, “but I think he is a little afraid. I do not think he has ever been afraid except of being shamed, of being made to seem ridiculous. To be laughed at or pitied-that he could not stand. I think it has been the ruling motive of his whole life. But he is a small man-small in character, I mean. He hates you, and he now hates me as well, and I do not believe he has forgotten us.”
“Nor has the flat-nosed one, the one you say is Chato Valdez. Nor, for that matter, Fletcher.”
She smiled. “We have enemies, Johannes, but enemies can make one strong. And we will be strong.”
For a moment she was silent. “Your Aunt Elena, now? She, in her own way, is very strong. Yet, I think she has a secret. Perhaps it is her brother’s secret as well, but there is something…” Her voice trailed off; then she said, “Have you ridden your black stallion yet?”
“Not yet,” I said, “but soon. I think he likes me. I think, somehow, that he expects me to ride him. When I saddle the other horses, he comes to the corral bars and watches. He follows along inside the corral as I ride away, and I do not believe it is just because he wishes to be with the other horses.” Wind stirred the leaves in the trees outside. Miss Nesselrode got to her feet, then said suddenly, “I almost forgot. Captain Laurel was by the shop earlier. He wants to talk to you.”
Meghan’s father wished to talk to me? And about what? It did not matter. I would see him. Perhaps I would see her.
Thirty-seven
When it was discovered that I had lately been rounding up wild horses in the San Joaquin, many wished to question me about what I had seen and what the country was like. The area from the mountains to the Colorado was virtually unknown, although some of the citizens, particularly those like Ben Wilson and William Wolfskill, who had been trappers, had crossed it at least once. Yet why did Captain Laurel wish to see me? Was it this? Was he interested in those inner lands? Or was it some other matter? On an early afternoon I walked my dark dapple-gray along the dusty street to his door. An attractive Indian woman opened the door for me and I was shown into the shadowed quiet of a rectangular room carpeted with Oriental rugs. Other such rugs were thrown across the hidebound chairs. The inner walls were whitewashed, and over the mantel was an ancient shield and two samurai swords, which I recognized from drawings I had seen.
One wall of the room was covered with books, and I crossed to them at once. It needed but a glance to realize that I had discovered a first-class mind, one who had read far beyond my limited opportunities. Somewhat awed, I studied the titles, choosing a volume published in Spanish in 1621 of the journals of Matthew Ricci, covering his travels in China from 1583 to 1610. I knew nothing of the book, and opening it, was soon lost in its pages and scarcely heard Captain Laurel enter the room, nor was I aware of his presence until he appeared beside me.
“You are interested in China?”
“In everything,” I admitted, “but I’ve read nothing about China but The Travels of Marco Polo.”
“Then you should read Ricci. His may be the first book to come to Europe since Polo. The first about China, I mean. If you are interested, you may read it.” “Thank you, sir. I’ll treat it as though it were my own.” He lifted an eyebrow at me. “I was afraid of that. Please remember it is not your own. Too many people borrow books and come to believe they are their own.”
“I wouldn’t—“
He waved a hand. “Forget it. Will you sit down?” When we were seated, the Indian woman brought hot chocolate. He glanced at me several times. “I knew your grandfather,” he said abruptly, “and knew your father slightly. They were good men. Two of the very best.” He changed the subject. “Tell me about this foray of yours into the interior.” Briefly but with care for the major points, I told him of the country, our capture of wild horses, and of the Cahuillas who helped us. He listened, asking but few questions; then he said suddenly, “You know my daughter, I believe?” “Yes, sir. We attended the same school.”
“Fraser’s a bright young man. A good teacher, I believe.” He looked at me again.
“You are finished with school?”
“I can go no further here, and in any event, I must make my way in the world. I am a boy no longer, and whatever future I have lies in these”-I spread my hands-“or in what I can learn.”
“You have no wish to go to sea?”
“No, sir. I have chosen California, or it chose me, I do not know which.” He emptied his cup and put it down. He stared at me, lighting a cigar. “You have enemies.”
“Yes, sir. Enemies I have not made myself. They have chosen to be my enemies.” “No matter. The reality is that you have enemies.” He paused, staring at me from under his brows. “Perhaps more than you realize, and that is unfortunate. A man can protect himself against enemies of whom he is aware. It is the others who can be most dangerous. In this case, most dangerous.”
“I dp not follow you, sir. I know my grandfather-“
“Of course. He is an old fool, not only because of his attitude toward you but because of his acceptance of others.”
He took the cigar from his teeth. “Have you given thought to what would happen should your grandfather die?”
“Die? No, sir. It had not occurred to me. I should certainly have one enemy the less.”
“What of his estate?”
“I have not thought of it, sir.”
“You’d better! You’d better give it serious thought. Your grandfather is not a young man. Moreover, I suspect there are those who do not expect him to live much longer. If he should die, you would be his heir, or one of his heirs.”
“I had not thought of it, sir. My Aunt Elena-“
He dismissed her with a wave. “She is a woman. She would be left a modest pension, I suspect.” He paused, dusted ash from his cigar, and asked, “Do you know of any other heirs?”
“No, I don’t,” I admitted, “but I’ve given it no thought. My grandfather hates me, sir. He would leave nothing to me.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps he has been no more careful in that than in other business dealings. Perhaps he has no will.”
He paced the floor, then turned abruptly and said, “What do you know of your grandfather’s Spanish properties?”
“I wasn’t aware there were any.”
“There are. Your grandfather, in property, is a very wealthy man. His cash position is, I believe, not so good. Not that a skillful manager couldn’t straighten it out very quickly.”
He sat down again, leaning his elbows on his knees. He was a stocky, powerful man with fierce gray brows and a shock of gray, curly hair. “What do you know of Don Federico Villegra?”
“It is a new name to me.”
He drew on his cigar, dusted the ash again, and said, “It is good that you have friends. You’d last no time at all without them.” Irritated, I said, “I can take care of myself!” Yet even as I spoke, I thought of Chato Valdez and honesty made me remind myself that I’d been a fool once. Was I about to be so again? “I have some good friends,” I agreed. “You have more than you realize of those, too. Why do you think you are here?” “I’ve no idea. Frankly, sir, I have been puzzled, although I have wanted very much to know you.”
“You have, have you? Well, you know me now, thanks to Meghan. She decided you needed help.”
Meghan thought I needed help? Did she think me a child, then? Or did she think me weak? I said nothing, waiting.
“You see, young man, Meghan and I knew things you did not. You must not blame yourself, for there is no way you were likely to know. Don Federico is the man your grandfather wanted to marry your mother. When she ran off with your father, he was insulted. He was furious.” He drew on his cigar, then put it down beside the empty cup. “And not only because of your mother. “You see, Don Federico is a relative. A distant one, it is true. Distant enough so he could marry your mother, but close enough to inherit if you were dead.” For a moment, I just stared. Slowly it sank in. “You are sure of this?” “My first trip to California was around the Horn, from Spain. Before that I spent several months sailing to Spain from Tripoli. I am a man who listens well, and there is much gossip. There was a lot of it when your grandfather suddenly decided to sail to America so suddenly that he arranged to leave Cadiz at night.”