Hers the Kingdom (59 page)

     Still, she couldn't dispel the small knot of regret that had gathered inside of her; she
was
pleased that Thad did not dislike her, so why should she have this small, nagging worry?

"You certainly look handsome these days, Thad," Willa remarked one morning as Thad happened on to us in the kitchen. "Don't you think so, Lena?" she asked me.

     "Thad always looks handsome when he's happy," I said, looking into his eyes. "Of course, it is also true that Thad is always happy
when he's on the ranch, and from what Ignacio tells Trinidad—and she tells me—Thad is fast becoming the new
patrón
of the Malibu."

     He smiled with pleasure, and gave both of us a quick kiss on the cheek as he made his way out the door.

     Willa looked at me in amazement. "A kiss!" she said.

     "Don't be such a goose," I told her, "you know what makes a young man act like that."

     My sister's eyes rounded in wonder. "Sally? Could it be?"

     "It could and it is," I laughed.

     Willa grew serious. "Oh, my," was all she said.

     "Sally is probably the very best thing that could happen to Thad," I scolded her.

     "It's not that, of course I approve of Sally. It's just that, well . . . I don't want Thad to be disappointed again. There have been too many disappointments for him, and they are both very young. . .. Sally is not the usual sort of girl, she has ideas—plans. I am not at all sure that her plans won't be in conflict with his."

     I nodded. Sally had confided in me, too. I knew that marriage was not in her future plans, at least for some time. "I suppose I was only thinking in terms of now," I explained, "of the friendship that Thad needs. They are such children, really. . .."

     "She is eighteen," Willa answered. "At eighteen I felt I was quite grown up."

     I nodded. "Perhaps you are right, should we speak to Sally?"

     "I think not," Willa quickly said, "I think there is nothing for us to do but take care not to interfere. I trust Sally's good judgment . . . I only hope she sees, in time, how very vulnerable Thad is."

     "What I said about Ignacio was true," I put in, "he is very pleased with Thad's progress this past year. I hardly see what can go wrong for Thad now—all he ever wanted to do was run this ranch, and that is what is before him, now. You've made that clear to him."

     Willa smiled. "I can't help thinking how Owen loved to play at being the gentleman farmer—and how Thad really is one. He
knows so much more about the ranch than Owen ever did. And the men are becoming more accepting of him. He seems to have his temper under control. As soon as they become convinced, he will be able to earn their respect."

     Without thinking, I said, "Isn't it strange, Owen got their respect and he knew so little about the work. Thad can do so many things so much better than Owen. Some men just seem to command respect . . . Owen, and . . ." I stopped myself, surprised at the name I was about to utter.

     Willa said it for me: "Connor. Connor McCord, you were about to say."

     "Willa . . ." I stumbled, "I can't imagine why his name popped into my mind."

     "Because he did have that about him . . . one just believed in him, I don't know why." She shook her head. "I haven't thought about Connor in a very long time."

     "No?" I said naively.

     "No!" she answered, sharply, surprising us both.

     "Are you still that angry?" I asked.

     She shrugged. "At myself, I suppose. It's hard to believe I could have been so stupid, could have allowed my . . ." she paused, searching for a delicate phrase ". . . my physical nature to so overwhelm my reason."

     We sat, locked in separate silences. Finally I asked, "Do you think 'physical nature' was all of it? Could it be . . .?"

     "No, it was all," she said, "awful, physical attraction. But that is buried now. Dead. Owen is dead, and so is Connor for me."

     I thought it best not to tell my sister, at that moment, that Connor McCord was very much alive. Sara had told me on her last visit. We had gone up to the artist's shack on the hill with a bottle of vintage wine, we had talked and sipped and she told me she had seen Connor in San Francisco. "He's doing well enough for himself," she said. "He used the years he spent in prison studying hardrock-mining techniques that were developed in England.
Then, when he got out he made a survey of gold mines in the northern diggings, concentrating on those that had played out. He bought the old Empire Mine in Grass Valley, got it for a good price. The owners went around congratulating themselves for having unloaded it on this 'green Irishman.' They thought that a grand joke—
green
Irishman. Connor, however, got the last laugh. He's taken several millions out already, and says there are untouched veins that should produce for a decade or more."

     "You seem to know quite a bit about it," I offered, delicately.

     "Oh, I know a good deal about business dealings in San Francisco. It's how I spend my time—on gossip." She did not look at me as she spoke.

     "I wonder where he came upon the money to buy the mine," I pushed on. "Certainly he didn't have a cent when he left here."

     "I'm told he paid his investors off handsomely," Sara answered. Then she insisted on changing the subject, so I knew she would tell me no more.

     I can't say why, but I decided against saying anything to Willa about it. There was little chance that she would find out on her own, I knew. Since Owen's death, Willa seldom ventured beyond Santa Monica. Joseph was, in fact, running the Land Company, but since we had no holdings in gold mines, I doubted that he would come into contact with Connor, either.

     I felt certain that Sara had decided to back McCord's venture, I had no idea why, and I knew I would not find out until Sara was ready to tell me.

The twins dictated the rhythms of my life; they were gentle rhythms, gentle years. I moved between the nursery and the kitchen and the garden and the school. There were fishing trips with Soong, music lessons, field trips, puppet shows, and galas on the lawn. On Sundays, we picnicked on the beach and Thad was
always talked into giving impromptu lessons on whatever sea life the twins were able to discover. He and Kit became so involved in tide pools, and their secret life, that even Sally began to clamor for more romping, less studying. And of course, as Thad was drawn into the vortex of the family, he was thrown ever closer to Sally. At times I would have to look away, not to blush at the look on his face as he watched her. He was in love, totally, as Thad always loved. I could only wonder how Sally intended to deal with it.

     I looked at the two of them together: The slim, handsome young man, the rather plump, freckled girl (who would have been described as plain, had it not been for her remarkable expressions), and I could only shake my head in wonder.

     "You're thinking that any girl in her right mind would be panting after him, aren't you?" Willa asked.

     "Actually, I wasn't," I answered. "Women on this ranch have a habit of not being in their right mind, you know."

     "She's braver than we were—braver than me, than Arcadia," Willa said. "I admire her, and yet I fear for her . . . for Thad, too."

"They've torn it down again, Mother," Thad called, scraping caked dirt off his boots before entering the kitchen, "it looks as if they hitched a team to the fence and pulled the whole thing down. Must have done it last night."

     "Damnation!" Willa cursed, "that's the sixth time in as many months. I've got to think of something to stop it . . . those settlers have gone too far."

     She was in a dark mood all morning, pacing through the house, as if trying to solve the problem of the beach gate in one fell stroke. On the days when she was at the ranch, Willa had taken to wearing a buckskin vest with her corduroy riding skirt. Now, when she went riding off alone, she strapped on a gun belt. It was, she told Sally and Kit, simply a precaution against rattlesnakes. They could
not know that for a long time she had not worried about rattlers.

     By mid-morning, Willa seemed to have worked something out. "I'm riding out to the north forty to find Ignacio," she called back to me, striding with determination toward the barn. I stood, watching, so that I saw Ignacio walk to meet her. They stopped under the pepper tree, she listened as Ignacio stood, turning his old straw hat in his gnarled hands, talking at unusual length.

     "Twenty more pigs are gone today, that makes fifty this month, a hundred fifty this year. It's rustlers, we see the tracks," Ignacio said.

     "Did you follow them?"

     "
Sí
," he nodded. "Into the mountains, through the pass by the Silver Lake."

     "Who's the settler up there? Harding, is it?"

     "
Sí
," Ignacio said again, "there are three of them close by. All Yankees." His voice was flat; he was offering no comment.

     "That's how they're doing it, then—the rustlers. The settlers are working with them, giving them a holding pen until they can get our livestock out."

     Ignacio was impassive. Willa seemed not to notice.

     "First things first," she said then. "I want a gatehouse built by the gate on the beach, and someone to be there all the time. Put some carpenters on it today. Next time someone decides to tear down the gate, we'll have a witness. The settlers have to know I mean business."

     Ignacio turned to put her plan into action.

     "Think of someone to put in the gatehouse—someone who won't be missed much."

     Ignacio stopped, scratched his head.

     "What about old Francisco?" she asked. "He sleeps most of the day as it is."

     "Francisco, he is a very old man," Ignacio said.

     "Then he will probably be happy with such an easy task," she answered, a little surprised that Ignacio should seem doubtful
about her choice, since she knew he favored the old man.

     I told her what Ignacio would not, that old Francisco might not be able to deal with whoever was tearing down the gates, that he might get hurt.

     "If I thought that for a moment," Willa said to me coldly, "I would never put him there. No, the rustlers aren't coming through the front door. They travel over the mountains. It's the settlers who are tearing down the gate, and they know better than to attack one of our people."

     "I hope you're right," I answered.

     "I know I'm right," she told me.

     When I didn't seem convinced, she went on, "Listen, Lena, I have no choice. It's no good complaining to the authorities in town. They only say they haven't the men to patrol my ranch, and they point out that since the whole matter is right now before the courts—the right of way—they are not sure they should be keeping the settlers off my roadways. Joseph is half-hearted about pursuing the matter. I've had to hire outside lawyers to take the case. I'm afraid my patience is fraying. I must do something, and I don't want to put a young firebrand cowboy down there who might provoke a fight. Francisco is perfect. He's not going to do much of anything but tell the settlers they can't pass. Then, if they go without permission, we'll at least know who they are."