Until the Day Breaks (California Rising Book 1) (27 page)

On her way to her room, Sarita passed Isabella’s quarters. Behind the closed door, she heard the girl singing sweetly to someone and wondered who was in the room with the child.

A pet, perhaps.

Sarita burst into the room without knocking. A smile lit her face when she saw Isabella in her nightgown, sitting on the bed holding a chicken in her lap. A little red hen. Sarita momentarily felt disappointment. Only a chicken.

“Is this chicken your pet?” She walked over for a better look at the little hen.

“You do not know how to knock?” Isabella petted the chicken to settle her down. Sarita’s harsh entrance had startled the bird.

“Your singing was so pretty I just had to see who you sang the lullaby to.” Sarita eyed the hen with growing interest. Isabella held it so tenderly.

“Señora Poppycock does not like strangers.” Isabella tucked the hen’s head under her wing so she wouldn’t see Sarita. The chicken obediently remained this way in the girl’s lap. Sarita was charmed.

“Such a lovely little hen. Have you had her very long?”

“For two years. She is a wonderful chicken. The smartest ever.”

“You must love her a great deal.”

“Señora Poppycock is my best friend.”

“Do you sing to your little chicken every night?” Sarita gazed intently at the girl and her chicken.

“Every night,” Isabella answered. “Señora Poppycock is afraid of the dark. My singing helps her go to sleep.”

“That is lovely. Does Señora Poppycock sleep in your room with you?”

“Yes. We take care of each other at night.”

“So where does your little hen go during the day?”

“She goes to the kitchen, where Lupe takes care of her while I do my chores and sew with Mama. Then I go fetch her, and we take walks together looking for flies.”

“Well, I better let you continue with your singing. We don’t want your dear little hen to be frightened tonight.”

“After I sing, I pray for Señora Poppycock, and then she is not frightened any longer.”

“I will pray for you and your little hen too. Tohic cares about you. He can make your nights oh so sweet, little cousin. Tohic is the king of the darkness. With him as your lord, you will never be afraid.”

“Is Tohic real?” Isabella’s blue eyes grew wide with fear and wonder.

“Of course he is real. Tohic can do great things. He rules the earth. All you must do is worship Tohic, and he will give you whatever your heart desires.”

Isabella wrinkled her nose. “Do you have to be a witch to worship Tohic?”

Sarita laughed. “You think I am a witch?”

Isabella shrugged her shoulders, continuing to stroke Señora Poppycock.

“I use the power Tohic gives me to gather the souls of men. These souls I bring to Tohic. I am not a witch. I am a gatherer.”

Isabella’s eyes widened even more. “What does Tohic do with these souls of men?”

Sarita smiled. “That is Tohic’s business.”

“Tohic sounds like the devil to me.”

Sarita laughed. “The devil is not who the padres teach he is. He is not bad. He is prince of this earth. He can make you powerful. The greatest weakness of men is women. A beautiful woman can rule over men. If she is beautiful and a gatherer, she can have any man she wants.”

“How do you gather a man?” Isabella asked.

Sarita smiled. “I must spend some time teaching you Tohic’s ways. You have everything it takes to become a gatherer. Your face is pretty, and your eyes, they are like running water. Pray to Tohic that your breasts grow. Men love the soft flesh of a woman.”

Isabella sat up straighter, squaring her petite shoulders, thrusting out her budding bosom. “Can Tohic bring me true love?” she asked in excitement.

“Yes.” Sarita’s smile disappeared. “But Tohic always requires a sacrifice worthy of the gift.”

“What kind of sacrifice?” Isabella’s face fell. She held Señora Poppycock more closely against her.

“That is between you and Tohic. He will speak to you through your thoughts. It takes time to understand how to hear Tohic, but once you learn his voice, you will know what he requires of you.”

Sarita walked to the door, giving the little red hen a final triumphant glance. Tohic spoke to her at that very moment. He not only requested the chicken, he wanted Isabella too. The chicken for the fire. Isabella for his use.

She is a gatherer,
said Tohic.
I will make the girl irresistible, and men will break themselves apart over her. She will have their hearts, and I will have their souls.

A fierce jealousy sprang up in Sarita as Tohic spoke this prophecy over her cousin. After leaving Isabella’s room, Sarita stood in the hall listening to Isabella sing once more. The girl had a siren’s voice. Jealousy was fierce in Sarita. The little half-breed didn’t deserve such favor from Tohic. She was a dirty little Indian harlot’s daughter. Why was she special to Tohic?

She has the crystal eyes of her father. He belonged to me. He was from a long line of those who have served me. The padres took her mother from me. They put the shadow of the cross on the mother so I could no longer touch her, but this girl is mine. Claim her for me, Sarita.

“You promised me Roman,” Sarita whispered to Tohic as she stood in the hall while Isabella sang to her stupid little chicken inside the room.

After you bring me the red hen, set aside some of its blood to be mixed with the blood of the girl with the crystal eyes, and I will give you Roman.

“How do I get her blood?” Sarita asked.

I will present the opportunity to you. Ask a servant to steal the chicken from the kitchen in the morning. Do not let the girl know it is you who has killed her precious hen. I want you to befriend Isabella. Teach her my ways.

“Promise Roman will love me again,” Sarita pleaded.

You must kill the gringa first. When Rachel Tyler is dead, Roman will be yours again.

“You hate my stepdaughter as much as I do,” Sarita whispered in delight, struck with this knowledge that Tohic despised Rachel even more than she did.

She hurried down the hall to gather what she would need to sacrifice the little red hen tomorrow. All night, she planned and worshiped and the next morning found an Indian who took the chicken from the kitchen when the old cook was distracted by another servant Sarita paid for the service.

After killing the little hen and draining blood from its neck into a small leather
bota
out in the oak grove on the hill, Sarita burned every last feather, chanting a wicked song that sounded nothing like Isabella’s pretty lullaby the night before.

When Sarita returned to the hacienda hours later, she came upon Isabella crying and bleeding at the bottom of the stairs on the backside of the hacienda.

Rachel was with the girl, trying to comfort her while pressing her skirt to the girl’s forehead in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“What has happened?” Sarita rushed to her cousin’s side, thrilled at the sight of Isabella’s blood.

“Señora Poppycock is gone. I cannot find her,” Isabella sobbed.

“She fell down the stairs while running in search of her hen,” Rachel explained. “She needs Lupe’s help.”

“You fetch Lupe. I’ll stay here with Isabella.” Sarita hid her smile. Tohic made this so easy.

“You must hold tightly to the wound to stop the flow,” Rachel instructed, her hands and skirt covered with Isabella’s blood.

“I will.” Sarita lifted her skirt to cover Isabella’s wound when Rachel pulled her own skirt away from the girl’s forehead.

As soon as Rachel rushed away, Sarita took the small leather bag from her dress pocket. “Blood is precious to Tohic. Give me some of your blood so we can make you a gatherer.”

“Will becoming a gatherer help me find Señora Poppycock?” Isabella asked tearfully.

“I don’t know. But being a gatherer is certain to bring you true love. No man will be able to resist you once you belong to Tohic.”

Isabella allowed Sarita to collect the blood flowing from a small gash near her temple. “I have to find Señora Poppycock. I think maybe one of those terrible men who were here the other night came back and took her. Do you think one of the
bandoleros
could have returned and taken her?”

“I did see them after the chickens,” Sarita said sympathetically. She corked the
bota
with Isabella’s blood and hastily returned it to her dress pocket. Then she used her skirt once more to stanch the flow spurting from the gash.

Isabella sobbed harder. “I’ve even prayed to God . . . asking him . . . begging him to bring . . . Señora Poppycock . . . back to me.” Isabella cried so brokenly she could hardly speak.

“This is why years ago I pledged my life to Tohic,” Sarita told the distraught girl. “This God of the black-robed padres did not get off his cross to help me. But Tohic has helped me. He will help you too, little cousin. I will give him your blood, and you will belong to him forever.”

“Why is my daughter bleeding!” Tia Josefa rushed over to where Isabella and Sarita sat on the bloodstained stairs.

Rachel and Lupe came too, Lupe carrying her bag of herbs and fresh cloths to bind the wound.

“Señora Poppycock is missing. Isabella fell down the stairs while searching for her.”

“I told Pedro those men came here with evil intent. Most of our chickens are missing from the yard,” Tia Josefa said.

Isabella collapsed against Sarita in a burst of heart-wrenching sobs.

Rachel rushed to her side. “Let me pray for you.” She got on her knees beside Sarita and Isabella, her skirt stained with Isabella’s bright red blood.

“I have already prayed for her.” Sarita tightened her hold on Isabella.

Rachel rose to her feet, stepping out of the way so Lupe could care for Isabella.

“I will keep looking for Señora Poppycock,” Rachel promised Isabella.

“Yes, do keep looking, my dear.” A smile curved Sarita’s lips.

Roman found Rachel with a tear-streaked face, walking up the road that led to Rancho de los Robles. “Go on without us,” he told Tio Pedro, dismounting there beside her on the road.

“What has happened?” Tio Pedro asked. “Have the Americanos attacked the hacienda?”

“No. Isabella has lost Señora Poppycock.”

“You cry over a chicken?” Tio Pedro asked incredulously.

Roman turned his horse loose, along with the string of palominos he led. When the horses trotted toward the rancho’s buildings, Tio Pedro’s horse reared up on hind legs, straining to go with them.

Tio Pedro nearly lost his seat in the saddle. “You are a foolish woman to act this way over a chicken,” he said, surprising both Rachel and Roman with his harshness. “We are at war with the Americanos. War is worthy of tears. Not chickens!” He spurred his horse after the palominos, kicking up dust on the road as he rode off.

“You know a Californio never walks where he can ride a horse,” Roman told Rachel.

“Then why are you walking?” She wiped tears from her cheeks.

“Because you are walking.” He pulled out a handkerchief and used the cloth to dry her face. “I don’t think you will find Señora Poppycock out here,
pequeña
.”

“I know, but I cannot bear to be at the hacienda any longer. Sarita hates me, and she will not leave Isabella’s side. She is turning Isabella against me.”

“Isabella wants Sarita over you? I cannot believe this.”

“I’m not sure what is happening. Isabella won’t let me pray with her. She says God isn’t good. That God allowed a bad thing to happen to Señora Poppycock and she will never pray to God again.”

Roman tried to take her in his arms.

“Please don’t touch me.”

“
Chica
, let me hold you.” He tried again to enfold her in his embrace.

“If you touch me . . . I won’t be able to . . .” She broke into sobs.

Roman scooped her up into his arms and carried her down the road to the shade of a massive oak tree. He sat down holding her in his lap. “Please, little dove, do not cry. Your God will make everything right.”

“I do not know if he will,” Rachel breathed between sobs.

“He will,” Roman assured her.

A rider approached on the road. A smile burst across Roman’s face when he recognized Steven in his felt hat. “You have returned, amigo!” he called, taking Rachel’s hand to lead her over to welcome Steven.

Steven climbed down from his horse, hugged both Rachel and Roman, and then walked beside them as they proceeded toward the hacienda. “In Yerba Buena, everyone is talking about war. U.S. ships are in the harbor ready for battle. Dominic is preaching restraint to anyone who will listen.” Steven smiled, but his brown eyes were troubled.

“So what brings you back to Rancho de los Robles so soon
,
amigo?”

Steven looked at Rachel, and then returned his attention to Roman. “I have decided to return to New England. I was going to send a message of farewell, but the Lord made it clear to me that I should come in person to say goodbye to both of you.”

Roman captured Rachel’s hand and pulled her closer to his side. “California is not safe for Americanos any longer. It is better for you in New England right now.”

The thought of Steven in the hands of the likes of Lopez and Garcia chilled Roman’s blood. He could not escape the memory of those screams of the Yankee prisoners as they were tortured. The Americanos were surely dead now. “You should not be traveling alone,” he told Steven. “Not all Californios are honorable men. There are some in the province who are outlaws. They use the excuse of war to spread their evil.”

“I did not see anyone as I traveled here.” Steven wiped sweat from his neck with his handkerchief. “The land I rode through was quiet and uncommonly beautiful.”

“Castro’s soldiers are roaming the countryside. You are lucky not to have run into these troops.”

“I don’t believe in luck. The Lord orders my steps. I have arrived here safely because it is the Lord’s will that I do so.”

Roman envied Steven’s faith. Was it true God cared about a man’s steps enough to order them? He was grateful Steven had returned. Together, they could talk more about God. Roman had many questions.

At the hacienda, Roman told Rachel, “Please tell Tia Josefa to have a feast prepared. We will celebrate Steven’s safe return.”