Destiny - The Callahans #1 (24 page)

By 1536, under another king, Cortez had
extended his exploration and discovered the Baja Peninsula. He sent
out separate parties to explore the surrounding land, and to
Captain Garcia Cardenas fell the task of marching north and west
toward the mythical Seven Cities of Cibolo, or cities of gold. On
the western coast of central Mexico, a natural harbor was
encountered. Captain Cardenas figured that from this harbor, where
he would establish a port, his ships could easily load the gold and
return to Spain laden with the treasures that were certain to bring
honors to his family name. Surrounded by marshy terrain, the land
abounded with deer, which the local natives called mazat, and in
1540, Mazatlán, which did not actually become a city until the
early nineteenth century, was entered onto explorers’ maps.

Over the next three centuries, Mazatlán
became a haven for pirates, ships flying foreign flags, and a
headquarters for the Catholic missionaries who accompanied the
conquistadors, as eager to capture the souls of the local natives
and bring them unto Christ as the soldiers were to subject them to
their individual desires and royal greed.

By the time Harold Stromberg arrived there in
the late nineteenth century, Mazatlán had experienced three hundred
and fifty years of European influence, and Don Sebastian Cardenas,
a direct descendent of Captain Cardenas, was well established as
the Patron of Mazatlán. Closely allied with Porfiro Diaz, President
of Mexico, Don Sebastian’s holdings were vast.

His residence in Mazatlán rested on a high
promontory, overlooking the large harbor. It was a site easily
defended from sea assault by the guns of a single outpost situated
on the rocky point at the entrance to the harbor.

As his ship entered the harbor, Harold
Stromberg was met by Don Sebastian’s oldest son and several
caballeros who rowed out to the ship. Speaking excellent English,
Miguel Antonio Cardenas greeted Harold with a flair that surprised
the Utah native and which immediately established his status in the
community. Those with Miguel saw that Señor Stromberg was a man who
Don Sebastian held in high esteem, and who was to be treated with
great deference and respect, a role Harold quickly and easily
assumed.

Don Sebastian spoke English surprisingly
well. He explained to Harold that the house in which they currently
resided was his town home. His hacienda, he said, was located about
eight miles north. Twelve miles beyond there, farther up the coast,
was the land Don Sebastian had described to Harold’s father,
consisting of about eighteen thousand acres, some marsh land, but
mostly excellent farming land with ample vegetation for cattle.
Miguel, the Don said, would escort Señor Stromberg to the site as
soon as he had sufficiently rested from his arduous journey, a two-
or three-day process during which he would be well cared for.

After being shown to his room, Harold
unpacked some of his clothing, then stood on the balcony, admiring
the view of both the harbor and the town of Mazatlán. In the center
of town, the spires of a magnificent cathedral rose above the red
tile roofs of the buildings surrounding it, its bells pealing
pleasantly, calling the faithful to evening worship.

Below, in the quadrant, several riders made a
dramatic entrance, their horses’ hoofs clattering on the floor of
the cobblestone paved courtyard. Servants rushed to attend to the
horses, controlling the spirited animals as the riders dismounted.
Harold’s eyes were riveted to one of them. She wore a black,
tailored riding skirt, a white, long-sleeved silk blouse, and
polished, black leather boots, and her eyes were shaded by a
flat-brimmed Spanish riding hat with dangling tassels. Dismounting
skillfully and with an air of authority, she handed the reins of
her excited stallion to one of the grooms. Stepping away from the
horse, she loosened the wooden slide on the cord under her chin,
allowing her hat to fall from her head to the back of her neck.
Then, removing a comb and shaking out her long, black hair, she
turned toward the house. Before disappearing from the courtyard,
she glanced up at the balcony, catching Harold’s eye, smiling
slightly and nodding to acknowledge his presence. Then she was
gone.

As the courtyard cleared, Harold remained for
a time on the balcony, feeling as though he had been granted the
privilege of observing the royal party. He returned to his room,
where he slept, lying on his bed, until he was roused by a light
tapping on his door.

“Señor Stromberg?” an accented male voice
called through the door.

Startled from his unplanned sleep, Harold
stirred slowly. “Yes, yes.”

“Señor, dinner will be served in thirty
minutes, por favor.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be there,” Harold
responded groggily.

The servants were waiting with cool lemonade
as Harold descended the spiral staircase and found Miguel Antonio
on the verandah. As was the case from his room, the view was
magnificent, encompassing the entire harbor and the colorful boats
of the fishing fleet anchored there. They were quickly joined by
Don Sebastian, who greeted Harold as Magnus had advised him to
expect, with the most cordial of Mexican greetings. “Mi Casa, Su
Casa,” Don Sebastian declared.

The courtesy of saying “my house is your
house,” in the Spanish tradition, meant exactly that. Full
privileges of the house were afforded, and the guest was treated as
family by the servants, made to feel completely at home. His
father’s advice had proved correct, and the custom was exactly to
Harold’s liking. He would revel in the courtesies being extended
him.

“Don Sebastian, I brought some documents from
my father,” Harold said, handing a sealed packet to his host.

“Gracias, Señor,” Don Sebastian responded.
“And how is your father?”

“Quite well, sir, thank you. He sends his
regards and asks that you take no insult from his not having come
in person.”

“Ah, de nada, Señor. It is nothing. We are
most honored to have his eldest son with whom to conduct our
business. Surely you will wish to see the land we have proposed to
your father, but first we must show you some of the hospitality of
Mexico and of our beautiful Mazatlán. Do you ride, Señor?”

Harold smiled. “Sí, Don Sebastian. My father
taught me to ride as a young boy.”

“Ah, bueno. Then tomorrow, perhaps you and
Miguel can ride some of the countryside, and you will learn a bit
about our land and our people.”

“I would like that, Don Sebastian. If that
would be acceptable to you, Miguel,” Harold said, looking toward
the younger man.

“My pleasure, Harold. It is my hope that we
become good friends, as we shall be neighbors shortly.”

Harold’s eye caught a flurry of activity as
several servants moved toward the staircase and Señor Cardenas and
Miguel turned toward the inner room. Harold watched as the young
woman he had seen earlier gracefully descended the staircase. Her
eyes locked for a moment with Harold’s, and then she turned her
attention to her father, smiling at him as she came forward.

Harold hadn’t thought she could look more
beautiful than she had appeared in riding costume earlier, but her
presentation this evening was stunning. She wore a simple, yet
elegant, full length, powder blue, empire-waist dress of satin
material, accented only by a pearl necklace and matching single
pearl earrings. Her dark hair, now removed from the plaiting she
had worn earlier, hung in a dramatic single coil, cascading over
one shoulder.

“Señor Harold Stromberg, allow me to present
my daughter, Teresa Maria Cardenas. Teresa, this is my old friend
Magnus Stromberg’s eldest son, Harold.”

Teresa performed a slight curtsy and nodded
her head as she offered a smile to Harold. “El gusto es mio,
Señor,” she said softly. Switching to English, she continued her
greeting. “It is a pleasure to welcome you to my father’s house,
Mr. Stromberg. It is our hope you will find everything acceptable.
I am at your service, Señor, to make your stay as pleasant as
possible.”

Harold stood quietly, enjoying her beauty and
marveling at the grace with which she assumed the role of hostess
in her father’s house. Don Sebastian spoke to break the brief
silent interlude.

“My wife had been dead for some years now,
Harold, and Teresa has graciously accepted the responsibility to
serve as the woman of the house. We pay great respect to the
hostess,” he laughed, “and I’m certain you will find that Teresa
will spare no effort to assure you are welcomed with proper Spanish
civility,” he said, wrapping his arm around his daughter.

“Don Sebastian, that I may be deserving of
such hospitality is my foremost desire, and, through a growing
friendship with your son,” he said, looking at Miguel, “to solidify
the relationship you have formed with my father. And, of course,
your lovely daughter,” he added, taking care to smile directly at
Teresa and receiving in return a pleasant smile from the beautiful
young woman. “Thank you most humbly for this warm and gracious
welcome.”

Don Sebastian smiled broadly, nodding toward
his son and looking back toward Harold. “Well said, young man. Your
father has been a great friend to us and rendered us a valuable
service. It will be an honor to have the Stromberg family as our
neighbors in Mazatlán. To your health, Señor,” the Don said,
raising his glass. “And rest assured, Harold,” he added, “your
father has long ago explained to me your religious beliefs with
regard to alcohol. I assure you that you will have them honored
while in my household. Now,” he gestured toward the dining room,
“if you would be so kind as to escort my daughter to the table,
Señor Stromberg, we will commence with dinner.”

Teresa moved toward Harold, waiting for him
to initiate their movement toward the dining room. Realizing that
all were waiting for him, as the lady’s escort, Harold stepped off
lightly. A waiting servant assisted with her chair, the one at her
father’s left. Harold, at the unspoken direction of another
servant, was seated on his right, directly across from Teresa.

At the conclusion of dinner, the four removed
to the drawing room, a spacious, leather appointed room filled with
books of all origin, many in English, as during the next several
days, Harold would come to discover. Pleasant conversation consumed
the evening until shortly before eleven, when Teresa excused
herself. Her father and brother stood, bringing Harold to his feet
also as she prepared to leave.

Before exiting the room, she glanced at
Harold, then turned to Miguel. “Perhaps, Miguel, Señor Stromberg
would like to join us for an early morning ride.”

Miguel looked at Harold for his consent.

“It would be my pleasure, Señorita
Cardenas.”

“Excellent,” she said. “Shall we say six
o’clock?”

Harold nodded. “I will look forward to it.
Until then,” he replied, enjoying the dramatics of the situation
and bowing slightly as she exited the room.

“Well,” announced Don Sebastian, “I think
it’s time an old man also took his leave. One thing, Harold,” he
added. “Your father included this envelope in the packet of
documents he provided. I believe it is for your eyes.” He handed
Harold a sealed envelope that had his name boldly written on the
outside.

“Thank you, Señor Cardenas. If you’ll excuse
me, I think I would also like to go to bed. It’s been a long day,
and six o’clock will come early. Thank you for providing such a
warm welcome.”

“De nada, Señor Stromberg . . . , uh, Harold.
We are glad to have your presence. Miguel,” the Don said, looking
toward his son, “you will see to the household, sí?”

“Sí, Father. Good-night.”

After the older man had taken his leave, and
before he left to secure the house, Miguel asked, “Do you have
ample riding gear, Harold, boots and all?”

“Yes, thank you, Miguel. My father described
the pleasures I might enjoy here, and I came prepared.”

“Excellent. Until tomorrow then. I bid you
good-night.”

“Good-night, Miguel,” Harold said, “and thank
you.”

Back in his room, Harold removed his shoes
and loosened his tie, then sat on the bed to open the letter from
his father. Strange, Harold thought, that Father didn’t simply give
me the note before I left, or advise me to open it en route on the
ship. He slit the envelope and unfolded the pages.

Dear Harold,

By now you will have been warmly welcomed by Don
Sebastian. No one knows how to make a guest feel more at home than
the Spanish nobility. You will no doubt be curious why I didn’t
instruct you as to the contents of this note before you left home.
That will become apparent quickly.

Harold, this new and bold venture upon which the
Strombergs and many of those who will follow us will enter is a
dramatic step. After a great deal of soul searching, I have come to
the conclusion that the so-called Manifesto wrongly precludes
faithful followers from living the Principle that the Prophet
Joseph taught and died for. Whatever the reason (I see it as
political), the church has taken a wrong turn that will lead to its
ruination. It is clear, the President is being counseled by fools,
and I would not be true to the understanding I have been given if I
failed to act. I know there are many who share this vision of
things and who will look to us for an example.

As we have discussed, the establishment of our new
colony will once again allow us to re-institute the true church and
the principles we should follow.

You know that for several years now, my other
families have been secreted throughout Utah, and that your dear
mother is the only one with whom I have been allowed to openly
reside. But my love for my other wives and children has not
diminished. I sense that you know and understand these things.