The christmas brides col.., p.11
The Christmas Brides Collection, page 11
“Hang on to my neck,” he whispered as he climbed over the low, spindly wooden banister of the balcony and transferred them onto his faithful horse. With a quiet kick to the horse’s sides, they were galloping like the wind into the thick, damp night. They rode past the mariachi bands in the taverns. Soon the lights from the city streets thinned, and he slowed the horse’s pace to an easy canter.
In the blackness of the starry night and free from the darkened prison of Monterey, Isabella relaxed against Juan Carlos, letting out her first relaxed breath of the long day. “We are free,” she stated simply.
“No, Isabella, you are free. I will go back to Monterey to pay the consequences for my past choices.”
“No, Juan Carlos!” She turned to face him. “They will let you hang. Why did you steal me away if you were only going to run back into danger? Surely, this will make things worse for you!”
“I am a preacher. I must obey the law. And I have been arrested,” he reminded her.
“But you have made it worse for yourself by taking me away in the night. Why?” She stared angrily into his eyes.
“You are trouble to the general, and I was afraid his wife might harm you,” he answered without looking at her. Instead, he steered the horse along the dirt path that led back to the rancho.
“The general’s wife. Why should she care about me? Just because I stir her ridiculous jealousy?” Isabella crossed her arms, leaning against Juan Carlos again. She could not fathom why he would take such a chance.
He spoke evenly. “Señora Torena, the general’s wife, was in love with Antonio Fremont, your husband-to-be.”
Isabella gasped, sitting upright once again.
“He made her no offer of marriage, and she finally married the general after waiting a year for a proposal that never came. Her family disowned her for not marrying a true Califorñio, and I was worried she’d take her vengeance out on you.”
Isabella shuddered at the thought of the cold, dark eyes that belonged to the general’s wife. Suddenly the woman’s chilling stares made sense—the hostility, the jealousy. She turned on the horse to speak directly to Juan Carlos. “I won’t let you go back to Monterey. You can live in the stables; the Indians will help you.”
Juan Carlos laughed. “Isabella, I am a former smuggler. If I wanted to run, I assure you, no one would ever find me, but I don’t want to run. I want to preach the Word of God, and perhaps His will is for me to do that in prison, as Paul did.”
“How can you just accept such a fate? Will you not even try to save yourself?” Isabella was incredulous. She had always thought she lived for God, but Juan Carlos defied her beliefs. He was willing to give up his freedom for his faith—freedom that would have been his if she hadn’t struggled so stubbornly for her own.
“It is not my job to save myself, Isabella. It is God’s. You have tried to save yourself instead of letting God work His wonders for you. And here you are in the middle of the cold night on a horse with a former thief. You must trust in God, not just when times are good, but when they seem impossible. Only then will you see the true nature of God.”
Isabella sighed. “But we could run together. I could go back to Pastor Sola’s church and take care of him. Or I could just follow you.” She felt like such a simpleton. She was so weak, weak and foolish. Only moments before she had been promising God that she would submit to her papa’s wishes, and now she was throwing herself at a man who didn’t want her.
“It is folly to covet what I cannot have,” Juan Carlos said.
“Then you do have feelings for me?” she asked timidly.
She felt his warm breath alongside her ear and heard him whispering, “The first time I laid eyes on you, you pierced my heart to its very core. The look of joy you held in your sparkling eyes, so quickly replaced by sadness when you realized Pastor Sola was not with us. I will never forget that moment, Isabella. For it was then that I felt I had known you for a lifetime, that you would always be with me in my heart.” He gallantly struck his arm over his chest, and she closed her eyes, treasuring his tender words.
“Then how can you ask me to marry another, when you feel as I do?” she questioned.
“You need only look at the trouble you brought upon yourself today, my little one. You are a Califorñio, I am a Spaniard. You know a life of luxury that I only knew as a child … and when I stole for it. God asks us to submit to Him. He asks us to honor our parents. You can only do that by marrying the man your papa has chosen for you. If you love me, you will honor your papa. I will have you home by morning, before the adobe rises, and you will go on with your life.”
“You think I can just go on, knowing I have destroyed your chances for an honest life?”
“Isabella, you have nothing to feel guilty about. You made your choices, and I have made mine. I am not being punished for your sins, but for my own. When my father died, I made my choice. I entered a pirate ship of my own volition. I stole cargo from whaling ships, cowskins from rancheros, and jewelry from wealthy travelers.”
“Then how did you come to know God if not from your parents?”
“My mother was Catholic and loved God with all her heart. But when she died shortly after my father, the church could not help me. They were too burdened with the needs of the local Indians. I had to go my own way. And I did, until Pastor Sola found me on a ship and told me of Jesus again. I had forgotten,” he said softly. “I knew then I would turn my life over to God.”
“So Pastor Sola saved both our lives,” Isabella said.
“I suppose he did.”
She felt herself relax once again, praying for God’s mercy.
“Shh.” Juan Carlos sat upright, and Isabella turned to watch him look around them. “Someone is following us. We’re going to have to make a run for it. Hang on. Yah!”
The horse bolted into a full run, and Isabella suddenly heard the hooves that were indeed behind them. The chase escalated, and Juan Carlos’s horse increased his speed. Isabella had never known a horse could go so quickly, and being in the darkness only magnified the effect.
She closed her eyes tightly, almost waiting to strike a tree, but the horse just kept running in the darkness with Juan Carlos guiding them safely. The wind whipped through her hair and she felt frozen to the bone, yet the horse raced on, swiftly and gracefully. They ran for what seemed like an eternity, but eventually Juan Carlos slowed the pace and steered them into a grove of trees, making the darkness even blacker. Suddenly a cabin appeared in the thick stand of trees.
“What is this place?” she whispered breathlessly.
“It’s a smuggler’s cabin. We’ll be safe here until morning.” He dismounted from the horse and took her frozen hands in his own. “Don’t be afraid, Isabella, they’ll never find us here.”
Juan Carlos lit a fire in the hearth and read from his Bible by its light. After he had selected several passages, he stood. “I’ll be outside just in case there’s trouble. Get some sleep, Isabella. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
Chapter 8
The dawn was just breaking in the tranquil valley as Rancho de Arguello came into view. Isabella felt her heart in her throat at the sight of it. She was thankful for the familiarity and the safety it represented but fearful for her future and for that of Juan Carlos. Her papa’s anger would not be silent, and this time she would pay a heavy toll for her rebellious actions.
She climbed off the horse, knowing it was the last time she would ever be in the comfort of Juan Carlos’s arms, and she stared up at him longingly. “Juan Carlos, I—”
“Isabella, I must go. Your papa will not be kind if he finds me on his property. You are safe, and that’s all that matters to me. I love you, Isabella. Pray, sweet one.”
He spurred the black steed, and Isabella watched as the man she loved rode into the morning light. She fell to her knees on the grassy knoll near the adobe, sobbing for all she was losing.
“Isabella?” Victoria grabbed her and picked her up from the dirt. “Oh, Isabella, it’s all right.”
Isabella leaned into her older sister and continued to cry. “They’ll hang him, sister.”
“They won’t hang him. Papa will see to it,” Victoria said to comfort her.
“The general hates him. He will surely hang, and it will be my fault. My foolishness, my selfishness,” she wailed. “It will be as though I made the noose myself.”
“No, Isabella, no. Papa would never let that happen. Pastor Sola trusted Señor Vega, and Papa will always ensure Pastor Sola is taken care of.”
“Victoria, leave us.” Señor Arguello stood in the winter sun, a severe frown on his worn face.
Isabella looked up to him fearfully. “Papa, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry! Isabella, it is a miracle you are alive. Where have you been all night?”
“I’ve been in Monterey. I snuck into Señor Vega’s oxcart under the skins. Señor Vega was arrested by General Torena and taken away. Juan Carlos came for me in the middle of the night and returned me here, then went back to Monterey for his punishment.”
Isabella’s papa came down beside her and sat on the hard ground. She stared at him awkwardly, unsure of what to think of his uncharacteristic warmth. “Juan Carlos is a Spaniard, you know,” he explained gently. “And Spaniards think less of Californios.”
“Juan Carlos doesn’t. He says we are all equal in Christ, and why would he have placed himself in danger to rescue me?”
“Yes, I admit I was wrong about Señor Vega. Only a decent man would have brought you back to us without alerting the Mexican soldiers. Not only are you safe, but your reputation is intact, thanks to Juan Carlos’s restraint. He should be rewarded for his efforts,” Señor Arguello said as if to convince himself.
“Papa, I was wrong to leave, to not listen to you. Juan Carlos told me that, and now I must beg something of you, Papa. Though I know I am in no position to ask for favors, I only ask that you would send word to Monterey and see that Juan Carlos’s life is spared for his valiant rescue of me.”
“Isabella, that is not an easy favor to grant.” Señor Arguello stood, and she also got up. “The Mexican guards and the Californios already have a strained relationship. Juan Carlos was a thief before he became a preacher. He stole the hides and tallow that we work so hard for. If he is executed, it will be of his own doing.” Señor Arguello looked disappointed.
“But Papa, he has changed,” Isabella argued.
“I know he has, or he would have never brought you back to me,” her father admitted. “I will do what I can, but your wedding is in one week and the preparations must be made. He is a Spaniard, a former nobleman of some kind. And the Mexicans don’t want war, so his life should be spared. I will look into his release, Isabella. I will do what I can.”
“I will help Mama immediately, Papa. And I will never disappoint you again, Papa. I’m sorry.” She looked at him with sad brown eyes, and for a moment, she thought she saw tears in her rugged papa’s eyes. How could she have ever questioned her papa’s love? Yes, he held fast to the patriarchal system in place on the ranchos. And yes, his word was law, but there was a gentleness about her father. A warmth she’d never seen in the other rancheros.
He nodded in reply. Then, for the first time in her life, Isabella felt her father hug her, awkwardly at first, then tighter. She stood stiff in his embrace, unsure of how to react, but eventually she fell into his hug. Her throat tightened with emotion.
Isabella helped her mother drape white muslin cloth from the rafters of the patio. Wispy, white material flowed in the afternoon breeze, and her mother placed handmade, faux flowers elegantly around the circumference of the adobe. The entire home was awash with a festive air, and as the Indians prepared the ingredients for the baked goods for the party, Isabella found herself becoming less anxious over her wedding. She faced it with a certain resignation, knowing that if her father was able to spare Juan Carlos from punishment, she could endure a marriage with Señor Fremont. During her prayer times, God had spoken to her, telling her not to be anxious, and strangely, she wasn’t.
Visitors began arriving the following day for the week-long festivities, and Isabella was assigned to insuring their comfort until her wedding. Although it was customary for the bride to remain idle, Isabella’s papa thought it best for her to keep busy. She watched her papa load up an oxcart full of cowskins and ride toward Monterey. Never before had she had so much respect for her papa. It was unheard of for a ranchero to deliver his own cowskins, but Señor Arguello obviously loved her enough to see to Juan Carlos’s release on his own.
The sound of lowing permeated the ranch, and Isabella looked outside to see a huge herd of cattle being rounded into the grazing lands. Their deep calls shattered all sense of quietness and peace. “That’s what I’m worth,” she said solemnly. “All those cows.”
“Isabella!” her mama chastised.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean it disrespectfully. It’s just ominous to see my payment coming toward the adobe. I’m grateful for what you and Papa have done for me, really I am,” Isabella said truthfully.
“I know you are, darling. You know, most women have to take the cows with them. If it wasn’t for your beauty, you’d cost your papa quite a few California banknotes.”
“I know. I’m glad Papa will get so many cattle.”
“Your papa loves you so, Isabella. When you were gone, he cried like a baby.” Isabella’s mother held her hand.
“He did?” Isabella was stunned. Her papa was not given to showing emotions, and to know that he had actually shed tears filled her with an unidentifiable feeling.
“Yes, he did. It hurts him so much that you do not like Antonio Fremont, but he fears for your future if you stay here on the rancho. You must have a place of your own. Our land will go to Victoria’s husband. Do you see now why your papa has promised you to Señor Fremont? It is not to make him wealthier. It is to insure your future.”
“I know that now, Mama. I’m sorry I was so spoiled, so selfish. I will tell Papa immediately when he gets back,” Isabella promised.
“He already knows, sweet. He would never say so, but he was hurt deeply when you ran away. He’s only doing what’s best for you, and sometimes that is painful.”
“I know, Mama. Thank you.” Isabella reached over and planted a swift kiss on her mother’s cheek. “I’ll go make sure the guests have everything they need.”
Chapter 9
Isabella could hear her intended’s obnoxious laughter from the other room. Luckily, Califorñio tradition prevented her from seeing him, and she didn’t have to worry about being near him until the wedding day. She cringed at the thought of looking at him through the ceremony, but she would not be ungrateful again. And if she had to stare at him lovingly for her parents’ sake, she would, no matter how much acting it took.
Isabella waited patiently for her papa’s return, creating more fake flowers for the trellis over the patio; but when the darkness began to descend upon the landscape, keeping her hands occupied no longer soothed her mind. Just as the last of the sun slipped past the top of the mountain, Isabella saw her papa approaching. She ran to him, desperate for news and thankful for his safe return.
“Papa, Papa!”
He dismounted and looked at her sadly. “I’m sorry, my dear. There’s no word. The general would not give me any information, but Juan Carlos was not at the jail. I asked several witnesses, and they said he had been taken away. Isabella, I’m sorry. No one knew where they took him.”
Isabella broke down. “Papa, I love him. You don’t think they’ll kill him?” she inquired frantically.
“Shh. You must not say such things. Señor Fremont may hear. Juan Carlos is still a Spanish citizen, so most likely they shipped him back to his country, safe and sound. Whatever happens, it is no longer your concern,” he said firmly.
But Isabella thought her father seemed preoccupied with something, something he didn’t dare share with her. She thought she saw fear in his eyes.
“Papa, thank you for going to Monterey. I’m sorry I haven’t been more grateful. I love you, Papa.”
Her father was clearly uncomfortable at her emotional outburst. “Go help your mama,” he ordered, dismissing her.
“Papa,” she continued tentatively. “I trust you.” Then she turned on her heels and ran into the house.
Isabella took out the family Bible and stared at it determinedly. She practiced the words she knew, looking for them within the great book. “Jee-sus,” she pronounced cautiously. “God. Luv.”
The next morning at daybreak, her papa galloped away on his favorite mare. Isabella couldn’t imagine where her father might be headed on such an important day as the beginning of her wedding celebration, but she dismissed it, thinking he was probably just checking on the vaqueros’ morning rounds.
When he didn’t return by the next afternoon, Señora Arguello was calming the gathering of well-wishers, assuring them her husband would return by the evening to give his daughter away in marriage. Isabella spent her day in prayer, preparing to meet the end of life as she knew it on her familiar rancho. Soon she would be Señora Antonio Fremont and have a rancho of her own. She solemnly prayed to her heavenly Father, still beseeching Him to intervene, but outwardly accepting her fate.
“Mama?” Isabella spoke to her mother. Señora Arguello jumped with alarm. “Mama, where is Papa?”
“He’ll be here,” she said sternly, wringing her hands nervously.
“Mama, it will be nightfall soon. The guests are beginning to wonder at his disappearance. He should be here to entertain our guests,” Isabella said.
“Isabella, is this your rancho?”
“No, Mama, I just—”
“Then don’t question your papa again, do you understand? I would think you would have learned by now that your papa knows what he’s doing,” Isabella’s mother snapped uncharacteristically.
