He did not respond, and she said, “You tried to kill Alfredo on the ship.”
“A pity I did not succeed. Nobody wanted him. You cannot tell me that you did.
Consuelo made a fuss over him just to show off.”
“She loved him. We all did.”
He shrugged. “So you say. You all wished to be rid of him, and now he is gone. I see no tears.”
She hoped he would go, but he lingered … Why? Her fingers closed on the small pistol butt. He was arrogant, greedy, and completely selfish. For such a one there were no limits, and she was alone but for the girl in the kitchen. Yet she was not afraid. He hated her, and she despised him for all that he had become. “Take my advice,” she suggested, “and leave Johannes alone. You do not know him.
He is stronger than his father was, and infinitely more dangerous.”
“Bah!”
“You are being foolish, Federico. Don Isidro would give you more land. You have some. Today all is changing, and it is a time to become rich. “Drop all these foolish thoughts of revenge and hatred. There is money to be made in a growing land. Many of the Californios are already prospering. They have found their place in business, in politics-“ He snorted his disgust “What do you think I am? A tradesman?” She leaned back in her chair and looked at him. Her fingers held the pistol in the folds of her dress. “I think you are a very conceited, vain man, with empty hands and an empty head. You are not a tradesman. Perhaps you could not be. “You dress very prettily. You strut. You ride well, so perhaps you could become a vaquero, but if you have other talents, I have not seen them. You are, despite what you seem to believe, no longer a young man by present-day standards. From childhood you seem to have had no other idea than to inherit the wealth of Don Isidro.”
“And I shall. I shall have it all. Now that you have shown what you are, and what you think of me, you shall have nothing. Nothing at all!” For a moment she held the pistol. Suppose she killed him now, here? Would it save Johannes? Or would she simply drag them all through the disgrace of a public trial? For a moment she looked at him, weighing the possibilities. He needed killing, he deserved to be killed. Yet slowly, reluctantly, her fingers relaxed.
“You may go,” she said.
He turned sharply around. “What?”
“You may go. I will not kill you now.”
“What?” He stared at her. “Kill me?”
She lifted the pistol. “I have been considering it, but you are not worth the trouble. But go … please go before I change my mind.” He was shocked, yet as his eyes went from her to the pistol and back, he became suddenly aware of how vulnerable he had been.
But Aunt Elena? Kill him? He looked at her suddenly with a realization that this quiet, strange old woman was not known to him at all. She had seemed a frail shadow hovering somewhere near Don Isidro, someone you passed by, someone you acknowledged, something dim and ghostlike. Now suddenly her voice had changed. There was iron beneath those rustling garments. She could have, might have, killed him.
Abruptly he turned and walked away, and he did not look back. Out on the patio he stopped. Suddenly he shivered. She could have done it. She might have done it.
His mouth was dry with shock. There had been a tone in her voice he had not heard before, and he shivered again. She could have killed him, she might have; the idea appalled him.
He went to his horse, and stopped after gathering up the reins. For a moment he stood there; then he swung into the saddle and turned away. He must be careful. There were enemies everywhere.
But Aunt Elena! It was impossible!
Tia Elena finished her tea and then went to her room. Now, more than ever, she was sure she was doing the right thing, but she should consult the alcalde, or perhaps one of those American attorneys. Miss Nesselrode had showed her what a woman could do, and other Californio women were in business and doing well. Coolly, carefully, she considered what she was doing and its consequences. She had watched Federico for many years and knew the kind of man he was. She also knew their conversation would not deter him in any way and might even act as a spur.
With the desertion of Don Isidro’s loyal workers and the subsequent weakening of Don Isidro’s position, Federico had become more assertive, more confident, and he had, to all intents and purposes, taken command. Her brother had withdrawn more and more, eaten by his hatred.
She must move a little faster now, even at the risk of being discovered. Of the properties in Spain, she knew little, although when the time came she must learn more of them. They were her brother’s concern, and when she had left Spain she had no reason to interest herself in them. Of the house in town and the ranch, whatever other property there was-these were the focus of her attention. “Somehow,” she whispered to herself, “I must save them. I must protect the young ones.”
Federico had stated his intentions clearly. Of his intentions there was no doubt. For Consuelo she could do nothing. Consuelo was gone, but for … She would see.
At the same time, she must be careful. Now she had presented herself as an antagonist. Federico recognized her as an enemy, and he would not hesitate to do what he felt needed to be done; only now he would be cautious. One thing more remained to be done. She must find the woman. But how to find a woman gone these forty years or more? Where to look? She would be dead by now, or gone to Mexico, or taken by Indians. In all those years, there had been no word.
She had been a strange woman, a woman alone in the world. Where would such a one go? What would she do? Elena remembered that night, a stormy night when the rain came down in torrents and the wind blew. It had been one of the worst storms ever known along the Pacific coast of California. A man had come with two black horses, a man whose face she never saw, and she herself had opened the door that the woman might leave. She, with little Consuelo at her side.
She had seen the horses plunging in the rain, their coats streaming with it, their eyes rolling, their teeth gnashing at the bits. Lightning had flashed, and in a roll of thunder the woman had climbed into the saddle with her bundle, and the horses had raced away, their iron shoes striking fire from the pavement. Gone! But where? And nothing … nothing left after all those years? No sight, no sound, no word.
Vanished….
Forty-five
Miss Nesselrode unlocked the book shop only just after daybreak. The street outside was deserted. She had seen a lone horseman riding along Aliso Street, and a man had been sweeping the boardwalk in front of a store on Main Street. Half the night she had lain awake worrying about Johannes, yet explaining to herself there was no need to worry. Johannes was born to the wilderness. He knew it and was at home there. He had lived with Indians; he had survived several ordeals in the mountains and had shown himself capable of handling difficult situations.
Scarcely was she seated at her desk when the door opened and Meghan burst in.
“Where is he?”
“You quarreled with him?”
“Well … I guess. Maybe it could be called that. Don Federico had called on me, and Johannes did not like it.”
“Did you expect him to?”
She avoided that. “Where is he?”
“He has gone to the mountains, following some horses that were stolen from us. I have no idea when he will be back.”
Meghan sat down, eyes wide. “Stolen horses? But he might be killed!” “He is aware of that. He is also aware the horses were stolen to lead him into a trap. Those who stole the horses hoped he would follow. They will be waiting.” “But why, then? Why would he go, knowing it was a trap?” “He caught those horses, helped to break them. They were to be the beginning of a horse ranch for him. I am sure he can handle the situation.” Even as she spoke the words, she was praying she was right. “Jacob is with him. There are others.” “But who would do such a thing? Was it Don Isidro?” “Not this time,” Miss Nesselrode replied coolly. “It was Don Federico, or so we believe.”
“That’s absurd! Why should he do such a thing? Oh, I know Johannes believes Don Federico tried to kill him once, but-“ “And you do not?”