The Obedient Servant [Going for the Gold 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (21 page)

Milo shook his head slowly. “Nah. I can’t see their faces from the reflection off the water, but they’ve got serapes.”

Americans could wear serapes, too, and Milo surprised Reynaldo by enquiring of one of the Delawares in his own language. Even Carson didn’t seem to understand the Indian’s response, so Milo interpreted for them.

“He’s not even sure, but those aren’t rifles they’re shouldering. Seem to be sticks, maybe walking sticks. Let’s get closer.”

They dismounted, quickly picketing their horses and stealing through a manzanita grove. Now Reynaldo could see, they were indeed Californios, but upper-class
gente de razon
, “people of reason,” the pureblood Castilians who had not intermingled with Indians or Mexicans down south. They wore broad-brimmed black hats, ornate waistcoats, and velveteen
calzonera
pantaloons. One was an older gentleman, the other two in about their twentieth year. They all wore the crimson sash that denoted their elevated status, and they were seated on broad rocks, donning their enormous spurs.

Carson cocked his rifle-lock, and Milo put out a warning hand. Not bothering to whisper, Milo said, “They look to be upper drawer Spaniards.”

“So?” said Carson. “That ain’t going to stop them delivering messages from Castro to their
compañeros
up north.”

Milo said, “Let’s give them a chance to jaw.” He shouldered his rifle and ventured forth into the sandy clearing. “
Buenos dias, Señores, paisanos, amigos.”
The two younger ones leaped to their feet and spun to face Milo, hands emptily grabbing at hip holsters they obviously didn’t possess.

“
Hermano, amigo
,” said the older gent in a nervous tone, as Reynaldo and Carson made themselves known behind Milo. “
Viva los Americanos!
”

“Right, right,” said Milo. “Where you headed?”

The older
gent de razon
pointed with a trembling finger toward the mission. “That man said he would bring us back some horses.” He meant the Delaware messenger, who had been handing them a line. “He told us we could borrow horses from the mission. My son…I wish to visit…José de los Santos Berryessa…”

Berryessa! Reynaldo knew that at Sonoma Frémont had imprisoned Berryessa the younger along with two of his brothers as being complicit in the rubbing out of Fowler and Cowie. Reynaldo tucked the butt of his Hawken into the hollow of his shoulder and took a half-step forward while Milo said, “Now, look here, amigo—”

In a flash one of the youths leaped two feet back from a rifle blast, and it was not Reynaldo’s or Milo’s. The body thudded dully in the rocky sand under a drift of smoke. Reynaldo had heard Milo say, “A mountain man never pulls a trigger without sending the bullet to the mark,” so Reynaldo knew it was Carson who had counted that coup on the Californio.

Carson now made meat of the other brother in the same manner. Whirling about, Reynaldo saw Carson on his belly, ramming a ball down his barrel with his wiping stick.

“Carson!” cried Reynaldo, more from anger at having someone shoot while he stood in front of them. “We don’t know who these
gente de razon
are—”

Berryessa the elder flailed his arms about and cried in Spanish, “You take them? You may as well take me!”

Knowing full well Carson
would
, Reynaldo took a dive into the underbrush just as Carson discharged his piece right into the elder’s chest. Milo dove clear over Reynaldo to get out of Carson’s line of fire.

“
Dios mío
,” Reynaldo whispered.

When the smoke cleared, they were looking at three sets of soft leather foot soles. The drifting powder smoke cast mutating shadows across their bodies. Swift and the Delawares, on their bellies alongside, panted heavily as though they had done the firing.

Carson exhaled heavily and muttered, “Gut-shot is that hoss. That heap of fat meat will shine no longer.”

The Americans began to stir, to raise themselves and brush themselves off. It completely took Reynaldo by surprise when Milo leaped over him and flipped Carson onto his back in one fluid motion. He choked the scout with one powerful hand and drew back the other fist. Reynaldo knew that in his wandering mountain years Milo had fought the Blackfoot, trapped on the Columbia and Lewis Fork, and allegedly wrestled old grizzly Bruin. He could drop Kit Carson till Carson was cold as a wagon tire.

Instead, Milo snarled, “Those men were unarmed, Carson. Have you been Frémont’s slave so long you’ve taken to lifting hair from unarmed Spaniards?”

Carson’s bright red face blazed in Milo’s grip, but he didn’t use any old mountaineering tricks, such as stabbing Milo in the back with the wiping stick, or kneeing him in the jock. “I was…only following orders!” he choked out.

It was Swift who tore Milo from the little scout’s body. Milo allowed Swift to tumble him to his ass on the ground.

“Dry up, Stephens!” shouted Swift. “Carson’s right—those were Frémont’s orders!”

With dignity Milo got to his feet, dusting off his red jacket. “Not like we’re in an army,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at Carson’s sprawled figure. “It’s just a goddamned volunteer militia. And never
ever
shoot when you’re behind my back again.”

Sonoma, California

July 1846

“They’re coming! The victors are coming!”

Akers’s cry as he galloped around the plaza roused all the loungers in the Blue Wing Inn. As one unit, at once about twenty men leaped for the narrow blue-painted door. As a result, the jam prevented anyone from getting through, and a knot of jellied men quivered with flailing limbs.

Tallulah and Origin knew to take the back door.

Jogging around the front of her little house—Tallulah hadn’t slept there in two weeks—she ran into Lieutenant Joseph Revere. A few days before, he’d been sent by Commodore Sloat, who had started a military occupation of Monterey. Revere had two new American flags, one for Sonoma and one for Sutter at his fort. They were waiting for the battalion’s return to run the new flag up the pole. And Revere had brought the news that the United States was officially at war with Mexico and had been since Polk had declared it on May 11. News moved so slowly, it often took six months to receive a letter from The States, if the letter was lucky enough to come through the isthmus of Panama and not the long way around Tierra del Fuego.

There had been some incident in late May near the Rio Grande in Texas that had been the final straw for Polk. Some Americans were murdered, and he’d declared war. Frémont probably didn’t know about this yet, as Revere hadn’t encountered him on his way north. But it gave all the rebellious actions of the past couple of months more legitimate credence, having been officially sanctioned, whether or not that was known at the time. Revere had been waiting to give Frémont the honor of running the new flag up.

Origin saluted Revere. He worshiped the lieutenant as being the grandson of the patriot Paul Revere. “Your time of glory has come, sir!”

“I’ll say!” Revere agreed cheerfully. “I heard news that Frémont spiked the cannon at the presidio in Yerba Buena so they could not be used against us.”

“Tillie,” Origin said excitedly, being at ease now, “let’s ride to the top of the knoll so we can see them coming.”

That was a splendid idea, so they ran to the corral and quickly saddled their horses. Spurring their mounts, they galloped around two sides of the plaza, skirting Akers as he raced the opposite direction.

“How far are they?” Tallulah shouted.

“Maybe two cables!”

Indeed, by the time Tallulah and Origin reached the rise of the knoll, the detachment was about one cable away, and they waited giddily.

“We are here at the dawn of a new civilization,” Origin intoned pompously.

But Tallulah had to agree. She was quite getting carried away with the glamor and triumph of the day. She hadn’t seen her men in two weeks and was aching for them. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she soon picked Milo out by his red jacket. And that must be Reynaldo riding abreast of him, wearing a hat so dark with grease it looked like obsidian. The men did look bedraggled, but that was to be expected.

“They will need a good bath and a shave.”

Origin frowned. “Do not bother them with hell-fired trivial frippery, woman! They are big chess pieces in this grand, earth-shaking game of history we are making here today! Allow them to go to the plaza and participate with Frémont in raising the new flag of the great United States, of which California is now one!”

Tallulah sighed. Origin was right, although a bit grandiose.

Milo and Reynaldo spurred their mounts when they caught sight of Tallulah. No one shouted them back into line, and they galloped up the knoll.

“My sweet,” said Milo, looking very rough and worse for the wear but otherwise in one piece. They were only able to lean close and hold hands. “How I have longed for you.” His voice did sound ragged, as though he’d been yelling, or crying, or both. In just two short weeks his pristine red jacket had become drab with dust and soil, some smudges and tears indicating he’d been in more than a couple of fights. She almost liked the unshaven, weary look, but she also couldn’t wait to scrape off the layer of dust and find the handsome devil underneath all that scruff.

Origin blurted, “Polk declared war. Back in May.”

There was a brief silence. Tallulah scanned the men’s faces for a reaction. Milo had a frightening blank look, and Reynaldo looked about to vomit. Finally it was Reynaldo who said, “It was nice of them to tell us.”

Snapping into action, Milo smiled at Tallulah. “I’ll meet you in the plaza.” He galloped down the rise before she had a chance to respond.

Openmouthed, she gestured at Reynaldo. “What’s…”

“Maybe he had to go to the bathroom,” Origin piped up.

Reynaldo soothed her. “He has an urgent mission down at Casa Grande. I imagine Vallejo and the others will be released?”

They wheeled their horses and started down the rise, too. Milo was already a speck against the scattering of adobe buildings.

“Yes,” said Tallulah. “Vallejo has contracted malaria at Sutter’s Fort. He has to sign an agreement to remain neutral for the rest of the war or he won’t be released.”

“Good,” said Reynaldo. “I wish to discuss some property with him.”

“I’ll bet,” said Origin, “that you can do a much better job than Leese on those vineyards.”

Reynaldo said, “I’ve already sent a letter to my brother in Massachusetts asking him to send some cuttings from the Madeira vines.”

“So you really
are
staying.” Warmth surged through Tallulah’s breast to think of having Reynaldo around for years to come. She had been bitter and angry against the tradition of marriage for so long, but there really were some good aspects to it. The companionship and security. The ability to have sex at will in a comforting relationship, particularly if one trusted the man not to stray.

She trusted Reynaldo. His inexperience with women stood him in good stead, and she believed he was enamored of her. If not just for her, Reynaldo would remain faithfully addicted to his partner Milo. His love for Milo bordered on worship.

“I’m staying,” Reynaldo confirmed. “I’ve already told Frémont I’m not continuing with him to San Diego. He wants me to continue to map this area as long as I’m staying here.”

“Making wine,” Origin reminded Reynaldo. “I would be overjoyed to assist you with the winemaking, considering my past experience.”

Tallulah said, “I thought you only had experience in tasting it.” There was no possibility she could spare Origin from the Blue Wing.

But Reynaldo said, “That would be helpful, Origin. Tillie, you need at least one new assistant. Is there no one suitable? Some Spaniards can be quite helpful.”

“I will have to think. I have a backwoods Pike County man guarding my bar right now. He’s not bad, and he certainly scares away any potential mashers. But Origin, don’t leave me in the lurch.”

Origin saluted. “I will be lurch-free, my dear.”

By now they were nearing the plaza. They corralled their horses before venturing forth, and many of the California Battalion men who hadn’t gone to Olompali congratulated Reynaldo on the victory. Nothing of note had happened since they’d been gone—in fact, the mad barber Garcia had been rumored to have gone south, or wherever the bandit Joaquin Murietta was. Garcia had certainly not been in town cutting anyone’s hair, that was for sure.

Tallulah didn’t want to ask about Milo, what his plans were. She was happy for the moment and would let Milo disappoint her after she’d been allowed to be happy for an hour or so.

The congratulatory crowd swept them toward the flagpole, and Reynaldo found a wooden box for her to stand upon. She touched his shoulder to balance herself, and she now saw that Milo stood by the flagpole alongside the dashing Frémont, a serious Kit Carson, Revere, and “Fighting” Ford. Frémont and Milo were deep in conversation while the other two tugged on their lapels and puffed their chests. Milo held the folded American flag, and Frémont spoke urgently in his ear.