Until the Day Breaks (California Rising Book 1) (31 page)

“Cut me!” Roman did his best to hold Lopez’s attention so Rachel could escape.

Lopez shook his head. “My golden woman awaits me. I will cut her instead.” A wicked smile lit his face. “She will bleed her virgin blood so sweetly.”

Roman went crazy, wrestling the rope that pinned him to the tree. “I will kill you,” he yelled as Lopez walked toward his albino horse. “Luis! I will kill you! I promise you will die!”

After mounting up, Lopez saluted Roman. “Good-bye
,
amigo,” he called, spurring his pale horse out of the ravine.

Roman fought the rope until exhaustion set in. Looking over at Steven, a supernatural calm finally settled over him. “Did you really see Jesus before you died?”

Steven’s body remained hanging limply against the tree.

Roman felt light-headed from his own blood loss.

“Trust your life to Jesus, amigo.”
Steven’s words came back now more powerfully than when Steven spoke them when he was alive.

“Jesus!” Roman cried, causing a flock of birds to burst out of the trees across the clearing. “Jesus!” he screamed again and again. Then, his throat raw from all his yelling, he finally bowed his head and began to weep.

As he hung there, Roman recalled the scripture from the Bible out of Zechariah, the verse he’d read over and over while Rachel was sick with fever.

During the night, I had a vision, and there before me was a man riding a red horse.

He heard Rachel’s sweet, gentle voice telling him, “The man on the red horse is Jesus.”

When Roman looked up, he saw Jesus on a red horse riding up the ravine. He must be dying with Jesus coming for him now.

Dominic couldn’t sleep aboard
The White Swallow
anchored in San Francisco Bay. His unrest was so great he left his bed and paced his cabin, then went up on deck and paced some more. No stars shone that night. The ship was engulfed in a cold, damp fog that enveloped everything. Why was he so disturbed this night?

After several hours prowling his ship, he realized he kept thinking of Steven. Maybe God was trying to tell him Steven needed his help. He prayed for some time and felt even more strongly that Steven needed him.

By dawn, Dominic knew he had to ride after his friend. Jamie rowed him to shore, and he went to the village stables and saddled his horse. He planned to take only the one horse, but that little voice inside persisted that he needed two horses.

Maybe the Holy Spirit was trying to tell him Steven had lost his horse. Giving up on his human reasoning, Dominic trusted that persistent inner voice and bargained with the horse trader to buy another horse for his journey to Rancho de los Robles.

He packed his bedroll and the food he would need to ride to the rancho in a hurry and left Yerba Buena on the same route he and Steven took on their previous trip there
.

Dominic arrived at the ravine two days later. He would not have ridden into the little canyon off the main road had he not heard a man yelling Jesus’ name.

Such a strange thing to hear, someone hollering for the Savior that way. He urged his horse up the canyon until he saw two men tied to trees there. From a distance, both men appeared dead.

His heart pounding, Dominic rode closer until recognition knocked the breath from him. “Roman, Steven!” He spurred his horse over to his friends and jumped off his mount.

“You came.” Roman smiled at Dominic, tears coursing down his stubble-covered cheeks.

Dominic fell to his knees in front of him. “What has happened?” He could see Steven was already dead.

Roman came to his senses. “Luis Lopez killed him.”

Roman was bleeding badly from his arm. Dominic took off his flannel shirt and ripped the sleeve from it, using it to bind Roman’s wound.

“Jesus brought you here.” Roman’s voice was filled with awe and wonder.

Dominic couldn’t speak, so great was his grief over Steven’s death.

“Just before he died, Steven saw Jesus. I know he saw Jesus. I thought you were Jesus riding up on that red horse.”

“You’re not going to die.” Dominic found his stern captain’s voice. He took out his knife and began cutting the rawhide rope that bound Roman to the tree. “Jesus isn’t coming for you yet, amigo. My horse isn’t red. It’s a sorrel.”

“Dom.” Roman waited until Dominic looked him square in the eye. “Jesus was here. He came for Steven. I know Steven saw him.” Tears streamed down Roman’s bruised face.

Dominic sat back on his heels.

Roman took a shuddering breath, looking up into the sky. “Jesus died for me just like Steven died for me.”

Tears rushed to Dominic’s eyes. He went back to sawing on the rope.

“I believe,” Roman rasped. He returned his gaze to Dominic’s.

“Tears rolled freely down Dominic’s cheeks now too. “Steven died so you could believe.” Dominic’s voice was hoarse with emotion.

Roman closed his eyes. His shoulders shook with sobs, though the rope restrained him. When he finally got control, he said, “Lopez is after Rachel. We need to find her before he does.”

Dominic sawed harder on the rope.

When the rope finally burst loose, Roman pushed himself off the tree and nearly fell face down on the ground.

Dominic caught him in his arms. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Are you sure you can ride?”

“I can ride.” Roman got his bearings. “We will come back for Steven after we find Rachel.”

Dominic swiftly unpacked the other horse and helped Roman into the saddle.

He then mounted his own horse and pointed to the long gun tied to the side of his saddle. “I brought my rifle this time. I’m a crack shot, you know.”

The two galloped out of the ravine, following the torn-up dirt trail the fleeing horses had made. Dominic kept an eye on Roman, but after watching him for a while, he decided the Spaniard rode better than he did even with a wounded arm and blood loss.

They traveled south as sundown neared. It was obvious Rachel’s horse was headed home to Rancho de los Robles.

It was Rachel’s worst nightmare. In the distance, she could see the evil man on his pale horse. Roman must be dead if the man now pursued her.

The wind whipped the tears off her face as the little mare she was tied to ran for all her worth on the same road she and Steven had taken the day before. The mare was racing back to Rancho de los Robles, running like Rachel had never seen a horse run. If she hadn’t been bound to the saddle, she surely would have lost her seat miles ago.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the evil man gaining on her. The big albino stallion was finally overtaking her swift little mare.

“Why have you forsaken me?” she cried into the wind. “I’ve lived my whole life for you, Lord! Why have you forsaken me!”

Crying brokenly, Rachel could see the rider on the pale horse, so close now his leering grin was evident. Such an evil face, like looking into the eyes of the devil himself.

She leaned over the mare’s sweat-soaked neck, the sound of the pale horse’s hooves pounding in her ears as her mare galloped into a meadow surrounded by trees.

“Give it up, little gringa!” the evil man called out. “You are no match for me!”

I am no match for him, Jesus.
Rachel wept into the mare’s mane.
Only you can save me. Only my God can save me now.

A rifle shot rang out in the meadow.

The evil man pitched from his saddle just as he reached out for Rachel’s horse. The mare was yanked to a halt by the sprawling outlaw. The barrel-chested man lay face down in the grass, his body restraining the rope attached to Rachel’s trembling mare.

Rachel stared at the dead man in horror and wonder with the words of the Lord ringing inside her head.
Deliverance belongs to the Lord.

Two men emerged from the trees. One of the men ran toward Rachel. His white shirt was bloodstained. A piece of blue flannel bound one arm.

“Roman!” Rachel cried when she recognized him.

The second man wore a torn blue shirt and carried a long rifle, the setting sun gleaming off the gun barrel.

Roman ran across the meadow to her, using his good arm to cut her loose with a knife before sweeping her off the lathered mare into his arms.

He lowered his face to hers for a tender kiss. They did not part until Dominic cleared his throat.

“What should we do with him?” Dominic pointed to the dead man.

“Leave him,” said Roman. “We need to get back to Steven before the wolves find him.”

“Steven?” Rachel asked hopefully.

“Is gone,” Roman said gently. “He gave his life for mine. It was Steven’s sacrifice that opened my eyes to see our Lord.”

“You know Jesus.” It wasn’t a question. Rachel put her hand on his cheek, crying and smiling at the same time.

Roman smiled too, tears rolling out of his soft green eyes. “Yes, I’ve come to know our Lord Jesus, Rachel.”

She launched herself back into his arms, and together they wept.

Bleeding from her womb, Sarita managed to make her way to her room after her brutal encounter with Lopez. When Isabella found her several hours later, Sarita was weak from blood loss, the bed soaked red.

“He has forsaken me,” Sarita said when Isabella leaned over her.

“Who has forsaken you?” Isabella was horrified.

“Tohic,” Sarita whispered, her eyes blazing. “Tohic wants you instead of . . . me.”

“I’ll get Lupe and Mama to help you.” Terror filled Isabella’s face as she backed out of the bloody room.

“Tohic wants . . . you,” Sarita insisted.

Isabella ran for help. She returned to Sarita’s room with her mother and Lupe.

“What has happened?” Tia Josefa leaned over Sarita, smoothing the raven hair back from Sarita’s deathly pale face.

“He . . . has . . . forsaken . . . me,” Sarita whispered.

“Who has forsaken you?” Tia Josefa asked.

“Tohic.”

Lupe made the sign of the cross upon hearing that name.

“Who is Tohic?”

“Tohic is the evil one,” Lupe said. The old Indian woman surveyed the bloody room, her solemn eyes resting on the carved images, speckled woodpecker feathers, and tiny woven baskets set up as a shrine in one corner. Then Lupe left the room without another word.

Tia Josefa pulled the rosary from her skirt pocket.

“Get . . . that . . . away . . . from . . . me,” Sarita said weakly.

“You must pray for God to have mercy on your soul.”

“Tohic is my god. Tohic will heal me.” Sarita tried to bat Tia Josefa’s rosary away from her, but she was too weak.

“Ask God to forgive you so you do not go to hell,” Tia Josefa insisted, her hands shaking that held the rosary.

Sarita looked around the room until she spotted Isabella, appearing scared to death, standing near the door. “Come to me, Izzy,” Sarita whispered.

When Isabella stepped forward, Tia Josefa shooed her away by waving the rosary at her. “Go! Get to your room and say your rosary until I come for you.”

“Tohic . . . has . . . chosen . . . her.” Sarita used the last of her strength to point to Isabella. Then she closed her eyes, her life ebbing away.

“Get out of here,” Tia Josefa ordered Isabella when she remained rooted to the floor beside the door.

Wide-eyed, Isabella finally ran from the room.

With fierce determination, Tia Josefa recited the rosary until Sarita died that afternoon.

The following morning, they buried Sarita in Rancho de los Robles cemetery on the hill behind the creek. As the funeral procession returned to the hacienda in their black mourning attire, a handful of Californio soldiers rode into the yard.

“We are recruiting men for Castro’s army,” the leader of the troop spoke to everyone. “Word has come that Mexico is now at war with the United States.”

“Our son has joined with Castro,” Don Pedro assured them. “I am an old man. Too old to ride with soldiers now.”

“You do not look too old,” one of the mounted Californios challenged.

“I have just returned from riding with Castro’s lieutenants, Padilla and Carrillo, in the north. I was injured on the journey with those men. I am no longer fit to ride.”

“Give us your horses, then,” said the man in charge.

Don Pedro waved two of his vaqueros over to where he spoke with the soldiers in the yard. “Help these men gather the horses they need.”

“Your Indians,” said the Californio leading the group. “They look fit and strong. They will take your place fighting for California. Tell them they must come with us.”

Several Indian women in the mourning party, wives of the vaqueros, began to weep. Tia Josefa wept too. Maria grabbed Isabella’s hand and pulled her close to her side.

Tears filled Don Pedro’s eyes as well as they all watched the herd of palominos driven away by Rancho de los Robles’s loyal vaqueros in the wake of the Californio soldiers.

When the dogs began to bark again that evening, Don Pedro was too drunk to venture out of the hacienda to greet the arrivals.

Isabella’s squeal of joy from the porch alerted the family that these riders were welcome.

Tia Josefa and Maria rushed out onto the porch with Isabella as Roman, Rachel, and Dominic rode into the yard with the sun setting behind the mountains, the sky awash in golden splendor.

“Roman is home,” Isabella cried. “With Rachel!”

When Roman swung down from the saddle, Isabella threw herself into his arms. He held her with his good arm, walking over to Rachel’s horse with Isabella clinging to him. Isabella stepped back and waited until Roman helped Rachel to the ground so Isabella could eagerly embrace her as well.

“What is that?” Isabella pointed to the roll of blankets tied over the saddle of one of the horses. Having buried Sarita that very morning, her body wrapped in a colorful serape, this form draped across the saddle looked all too familiar.

“We will bury Steven tomorrow.” Roman’s voice was hoarse with emotion.

Isabella was horrified. “Everyone is dying!” she wailed.

Tia Josefa rushed off the porch and wrapped her arms around Isabella. “We laid Sarita to rest today,” Tia Josefa whispered to Roman. “She bled to death miscarrying the babe.”