Three Wishes Read online

  Now, without her, it seemed impossible.

  “Miss Ruiz has a fine command of the English language,” John said, continuing in Spanish, as we rose to move to the dining room when it became clear that dinner was about to be served.

  Doña Elena coughed as if startled. I dared not look in her direction.

  “I’ve heard her use the foreigners’ tongue,” Javier said, arcing an eyebrow and glancing at me as if wondering about that anew. Apparently English or even Spanglish wasn’t a thing yet.

  “Indeed,” John returned in perfect Spanish. “She may prove useful to you in your negotiations this summer with other captains. I know for certain that some will carry translators of their own; not all are scrupulous. Some are known to skim a portion of the profits for themselves. Having someone on your side who speaks both languages might prove a boon to you. Who knows?” he said, waiting as Javier pulled out my chair and then helped me scoot toward the rough-hewn table. “Her beauty could do more than sway a few more captains into your harbor. And her intellect could help you land better deals than ever before.”

  Yo! Right here with ya, I wanted to interject.

  But I managed to hold my tongue. John meant well. He was trying to secure my position here, give me some power. I was grateful. I needed any edge I could find.

  Javier flicked a dismissive glance over me. “The last thing I need is a woman’s meddling in my business.”

  I literally bit my tongue that time, rather than let out some sassy retort.

  “This is Mexican territory,” Doña Elena added, as Javier pushed her chair in toward the table across from me. “Our guests,” she paused to arrow a look at me, “are expected to speak the language of our people. We do not require translators.”

  “Indeed, Doña Elena,” John said amiably. “It behooves the finest captains to speak the language. But there are more coming your way this summer than ever before. I know from my own native Maine that more than three score were scheduled to set sail for the West Coast. And that only accounts for those from Maine. Would it not be beneficial to your rancho? To have options to circumvent any obstacles to trade? It appears you have more hides and tallow in your storehouse than I’ve ever seen before.”

  Javier nodded. “It’s been a good year for us.”

  “If my son doesn’t gamble away all our profits,” Doña Elena grumbled, “it shall be the best yet.”

  Javier and John kept silent.

  “Perhaps you can speak some sense into him before you set sail,” Doña Elena went on, riveting the captain with a scowl. “It is time for my son to take a wife. To begin having children. It is time for the next generation to begin, to help populate this rich land we’ve been given. Dante and Adalia had their start, but—” She paused, bit her lip, wiped an eye. But she didn’t even look Adalia’s way. The baby had been spirited away by a maid when we reached the table. I thought it kind of awful, the way Doña Elena seemed to write off Adalia as dead too. As if all her hopes had died with her son, Dante.

  “Mamá, please,” Javier said sternly. “This is a conversation for family only, not anything John wishes to take part in. Nor Señorita Ruiz.”

  She lifted her goblet as soon as a servant poured her wine, taking a big gulp as if to distract herself, and then looked my way again. I hurriedly glanced away.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t rush to such a conclusion,” John said, lifting a teasing brow at Javier. “Your mother makes an interesting point. What keeps you from taking a bride, my friend? You have this fine rancho, more than enough food, one of the finest villas in either Baja or Alta California…”

  Javier turned his goblet in a circle and cast him a flinty look. “I could ask the same of you. A man of a certain age, with six fine ships now to his family’s name…”

  “Ah, yes, but months at sea. I fear I’d miss a wife too much, and it would end my seafaring days. In time, I shall take a wife. Just not yet,” he said, lifting his goblet.

  Javier lifted his own, and they clinked them together, as if in silent toast to bachelorhood.

  I understood then. Confirmed bachelorhood was bound to make Doña Elena crazy. Every Mexican mama I knew wanted nothing more than babies and grandbabies and great-grandbabies. It had been my own abuela’s great sadness that I was her only family not in prison or on the run. To her, it meant she was poor in the only way that mattered.

  We bowed our heads for grace, and then servants arrived with steaming platters holding roast chicken covered in a rich-smelling sauce full of cumin, arroz con mariscos, with mussel shells artfully popping up through the mound of garlic-infused rice and between the shrimp, and lastly, tons of tamales. I swallowed hard, realizing I was hungry again.

  By the time all the platters had been passed, my plate was crazy-full. Javier gave me a wry look. “It has been some time since you ate, I assume?”

  “Captain Worthington fed me upon the beach, but yes, I seem to have quite the appetite. It all looks and smells so wonderful,” I said, mostly to Doña Elena, trying to win her over some with praise, even if it was her staff who’d done all the work.

  She didn’t respond.

  “This is my favorite,” little Estrella said, beside her grandmother, holding a whole shrimp by the tail to show me.

  “Estrella,” Doña Elena scolded in a whisper, shooting her a look that seemed to say children are to be seen but not heard. I pretended not to notice. “I believe that might be my favorite too,” I said, stabbing a shrimp with my odd, two-tined fork and cutting off a bite. Estrella shot me a shy smile but then quickly returned her gaze to her plate, as her elder sister was carefully doing.

  “This is my favorite,” said the youngest, Jacinto, lifting a spoon full of tamale. He flashed me a gap-toothed grin. “With cheese it’s—”

  Doña Elena leaned forward in her chair and looked down the table, and little Jacinto abruptly shoved the spoon in his mouth. I waited until I could catch his eye and gave him a quick smile, taking a bite of my tamale right afterward and nodding appreciatively. The elder sister and brother, Francesca and Mateo, both took in my friendly gestures. I could feel them soften a bit toward me.

  Making progress with the kids…but what about the matron of the family? I’d find my way with her in time. Abuela always told me I was good with customers at the restaurant, and I thought she was right. I could read a man’s mood, a woman’s tone, and find my way in response.

  Javier de la Ventura, on the other hand, was hard for me to read. One moment he seemed to be testing me, the next irritated by my presence, and the next, flirting. I refused to look his way but instead said to John, “How long does the voyage from Maine take, to get here?”

  “It is a two-to-three-month journey around the Cape,” he said, looking like I ought to clearly know such a thing. “Depending on the winds, of course.”

  I blinked, considering that long aboard a ship. Three months?

  “But this summer, we’ve established a cargo train across Panama, so that three of my family’s ships shall continue to import and export from the East Coast, while three more shall import and export here along the West. In so doing, I believe I’ll be here five, maybe six times this summer, depending on how long the weather holds.”

  He’ll be back. That news made me take a deep breath of relief. It was ridiculous, really, me pinning so much on a man I’d just met. But while I couldn’t read Javier very well, John was an open book to me. Caring, polite, protective. And if he thought I was best situated here, with the Venturas, I really had no choice but to trust him. No matter how much Javier unnerved me.

  But the thought that John was going to return, that I could convince him to take me to another place if it wasn’t working out, regardless of how he felt about women aboard his ship, comforted me.

  All that said, I knew I’d likely be outta here by the time he got back. I’d ride back to that beach every day if I had to, hold my little golden lamp, and wait for the poppy-noise-blasty-light-nausea weirdness to happen again, taking me home.<
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  Because as fascinating as all of this was—some wild dreamscape—this was not where I belonged.

  CHAPTER 4

  We finished our supper, and the servants, who all appeared to be Native Americans—which made me feel a little strange—cleared away our dishes. They seemed content with their tasks, even happy. But what had life been like for them before Spain encouraged Mexico to send people northward? I remembered from my state history class that the missions hadn’t all been unicorns and rainbows. At some, the natives had been little more than indentured servants. And now, as John had said, with the missions being abandoned, many were likely displaced. No longer either master or servant in their own land.

  But that had been the way of America from before colonial times: move in, dominate, take over. And it appeared that the Mexicans were no different. Maybe it was the same everywhere. Fortune favored the strongest.

  Mexico ruled this territory for now. But a few years down the line, gold would be discovered, and California would become much, much more interesting to the old dudes back in DC. If I remembered right, there was still the Mexican-American War to come and that battle at the Alamo. Or had that already happened?

  All I knew was that, as much as the Ventura family thought they were All That, there would be some rough times ahead for them. I could see it unfolding before me as clearly as paging through my California-history textbook.

  But it wasn’t my place to interfere. My only role here, now, was to ride out this particular experience and wait for my return back to my own world of problems. I didn’t need to adopt theirs too.

  All at once it became clear that John was preparing to take his leave. My heart pitter-pattered in alarm, but I knew he couldn’t do anything about it, and neither could I. His world called him to take to the sea; mine called me to remain as close to my own land as possible. There just really was no other option. I followed him and Javier out of the dining room, ignoring the fact that Doña Elena and the children remained behind. Perhaps it was the way of gentlemen in this era to say farewell without distraction, but I pretty much didn’t care. There was no way Captain Worthington was going to leave without remembering me…and remembering me well.

  I needed him in my corner. If I didn’t succeed in getting home before he returned, there was a whole list of reasons I needed him. And I owed him. He’d taken me under his wing with little hesitation. Just took care of me from start to finish, giving all he had. Who did that kind of thing?

  He’d found me this dress and a place to stay—perhaps the only place to stay in over a hundred miles.

  John turned toward me and took my hand in both of his. “My prayer is that you will heal and flourish here, Señorita Ruiz.”

  “Zara,” I said. “Please call me Zara. I owe you a great deal.”

  “You owe me nothing at all,” he said, leaning toward me in that Older Brother sort of conspiratorial way, still holding my hand in his. “It has been my good pleasure. And stories of you shall fuel our voyage northward. The men shall allow me to speak of little else, I assume, wanting to know all about the girl I found on the beach. The girl who managed to finagle my own sister’s dress as a gift of her own—and to relieve Don Javier of his horse. Oh, how the tongues shall wag…” He turned toward Javier. “Treat this one as you would my sister, Javier.” He lifted a warning finger toward him. “Truly. My sister. I shall hold you accountable.”

  “Of course,” Javier said with a crisp nod, hands behind his waist. But his lush lips quirked to one side, as if holding back a grin.

  “Javier…,” John said, instantly sober and serious. “I shall hold you accountable. If anything untoward happens to Señorita Ruiz—”

  Javier lifted his hands. “You doubt me? You are as dear to me as a brother. Trust me when I say I will treat this one as our sister.”

  They both looked at me then, and I wondered at the odd twisting of displeasure I felt in my heart when I heard Javier utter those words. Surely I didn’t want anything else from him…the thought of it made my cheeks burn.

  The same stable boy in the too-small jacket brought back John’s mount. I saw then that two men from the ship had arrived after us. Had they trailed us all along, an escort of sorts? Or guards? They mounted and glanced my way as their captain neatly pulled astride his own horse.

  Impulsively, I moved toward John and looked up, aware that I was wringing my hands. “I shall look forward to your return, Captain Worthington.”

  He stiffened, looked a little confused, but then smiled. “Be well, Señorita Ruiz. This is a land of bounty and a fine home. Relish it as you take your recovery. I shall see you soon.”

  Then I took a step back, and the three men turned and rode off at a gallop. I saw now that the sun was hanging low on the horizon—maybe six o’clock. I instinctively reached for a pocket, where my cell phone always was, to check. But of course there was nothing.

  “What do you search for among your skirts?” Javier asked, stepping beside me.

  “Nothing,” I muttered. “Nothing at all.” It was only then that I thought of it. I’d been so distracted, so focused on meeting up with Javier again, and then his fam, and then distracted by this new place, I’d forgotten. “Where is your mare?” I said, turning toward him. But my mind was screaming, Where is that saddlebag? My golden lamp?

  “In the stables, of course,” he said casually.

  I turned, lifted my skirts, and practically ran to where he had gestured, a long, single-level barn sort of structure. I knew he followed behind me, but I didn’t care. How could I have let it out of my sight? I berated myself. My only link to my own time?

  I was an idiot. ¡Que idiota! For a moment, I wondered if I had really hit my head on something, keeping me from thinking clearly.

  I pushed up the crossbeam and let the doors swing open before me, rushing through. He entered behind me, almost lackadaisical, but I ignored him. Madly I looked left and right, searching for Javier’s mare. But it wasn’t until I reached the very end that I saw her, in a larger stall, saddle off, munching on hay at her feet. I swallowed an angry accusation—he could’ve told me she was at the end, rather than watching me search each stall in a panic—in favor of finding the saddlebag.

  But as I craned my neck to search each corner of the mare’s stall, I could see it was gone. I whirled, feeling my skirts follow behind, an odd, foreign sensation. “Where is the saddlebag?”

  He leaned his shoulder against the wooden beams of his mare’s stable and crossed his arms. “Why do you ask?”

  “You know why I ask,” I returned furiously, stepping toward him.

  I noted he kept his legs together this time, but he didn’t flinch at my advance, just watched me through curious, suspicious eyes.

  “You clearly know what’s inside the bag, Don de la Ventura. Where is it?” I asked, stepping closer to him. “Tell me.”

  “It is in my safekeeping,” he said, looking down at me. The shadows were long, hiding half his face from me now. “Such a valuable object…it belongs in the ranchero’s hands. You wouldn’t want such a thing stolen, would you? It’s worth more than a year’s pay for most. I’ve locked it securely away in my safe.”

  “But, but it’s mine,” I sputtered lamely.

  He studied me a moment. “And I shall keep it safe for you,” he declared.

  I stared up at him, willing myself not to react, not to attack him like some sort of crazy person. No matter how badly I wanted to.

  “Who are you, Zara?” he whispered, leaning a little closer to me. “Tell me. Tell me the truth, and I might consider giving your little lamp back to you.” He shook his head. “Beautiful, educated women with such unique objects do not just fall off a passing ship—unless they are planted for some other purpose.” He straightened and circled me slowly, looking me over. A nervous shiver ran down my back. “By someone who knows my taste in women? You come here, having charmed my friend, John, and win over my mother, my siblings in the space of an hour.”

  His w
ords were complimentary, but his tone was nothing but accusatory. Who did he think I was? Who did he so fear? Suspect?

  “I am Zara Ruiz,” I returned. “And you know all that I know about how I got here and who I am.”

  “Hmm,” he said doubtfully. “So until you can tell me more,” he said thoughtfully, looking at my lips in a way that made my stomach flip. “I’ll hold on to your treasure.”

  “Then you hold it as ransom,” I said, “more than any true desire to keep it safe.”

  “For both,” he returned.

  “You cannot. It is mine!”

  “I can. And I will.” He quirked a brow. “Besides, what need of it have you? Here? Now? Do you not trust me with it? I promise I will not sell it. I have all the gold a man could need from our trade in tallow and hide.”

  I frowned up at him, wishing he’d make some advance that would allow me to bring him down again, right here in the middle of his own stables. But he stayed stubbornly in place, not even reaching out to touch my face again. “I will trust you with it for now, Don Ventura,” I said, speaking as if I was uttering a blood oath. “But when I am ready to leave, you shall give it to me.”

  “Of course,” he said easily. “When you are ready to go, I shall give it to you.”

  I stared back at him. He knew I had nowhere else to go. But to be without the only key to that invisible doorway to my own time made me feel crazed with worry, with frustration. Never had I felt so trapped in all my life and I hated that hot, angry tears threatened behind my eyes. “If you allow anything to happen to it, I shall make you pay.”