part0051

Roman’s relatives lived in a one room house in one of the rundown squares of the mission. With great delight, they welcomed Roman and his guests into their humble adobe. Several crosses hung on their walls. Their furniture was sparse but well cared for. The place was very peaceful.

“Is there a padre here?” Roman asked after embracing the elderly couple.

Pablo Renaldo, Roman’s great uncle on his mother’s side, shook his white-haired old head. “Only Mormons. These families arrived on the ship Brooklyn from New York and had no place to stay. We have given them the mission housing. A priest has not lived here in many years.”

“Is there a padre in Yerba Buena?” Roman asked, feeling a keen disappointment.

“I do not think so.” Pablo looked pensive. “There are many ships in the harbor now. Several days ago, the American flag was raised over the town. Most of our padres have returned to Spain. Why do you need a priest, mi hijo ?”

Roman ushered Rachel forward. “This is my betrothed, Señorita Rachel Tyler. We long to marry.”

Pablo clapped his gnarled hands in excitement. His shrunken little wife, Teresa, displayed pleasure as well. “We will pray for a priest,” Pablo said with great confidence. “The Lord will provide. Come, you must rest after your long journey.”

“Let me settle the horses and my vaqueros for the night,” Roman said. “Tio, this is my amigo, Dominic Mason. He is like a brother to me. Show Dom and Señorita Rachel into your casa. I will return shortly.”

“Behind the church you will find lodging for your men,” Pablo told Roman before he ushered Rachel and Dominic into the small but hospitable house with the delicious smell of onions, garlic, and roasted meat wafting in the air.

That night, Roman and Dominic spread their bedrolls on the house’s earthen floor. Across the room, Rachel slept on Pablo’s pallet beside Teresa. Pablo slept on a serape near the men.

Before settling down for the night, Pablo said a series of long, earnest prayers in Spanish that Rachel and Dominic could not understand. But a spirit of goodwill permeated the dwelling. Everyone did a lot of smiling.

Early the next morning, Roman had everyone mounted on their horses to continue on to Yerba Buena, journeying over rolling sand hills covered in gooseberry and wild currant bushes. Native rosebushes thrived as well, as did scrubby evergreen oak and hawthorn brambles. On the steep ridges of the coast range magnificent redwood trees rustled in the breeze from the bay.

The sun steadily climbed in the sky, the morning clear and beautiful when they reached Yerba Buena. The bay shimmered like sapphires surrounded by wooded hills. Dozens of ships, whalemen, merchantmen, and the U.S. sloop of war Portsmouth, stood at anchor in the harbor, along with a host of smaller crafts. Dominic pointed out his clipper, The White Swallow .

“So many ships.” Roman was taken aback. The last time he’d visited Yerba Buena only two trading vessels were in the harbor. Several rocky islands made white by the droppings of waterfowl rose out of the middle of the bay, and beyond the bay, steep hills forested with redwoods rose on the other side of the harbor.

“I’ve never seen a bay like this one,” Dominic said. “I believe this may be the finest harbor in all the world.”

“Apparently, the world has discovered it.” Roman looked out over a sea of vessels from around the globe. “No longer is San Francisco Bay California’s best kept secret.”

Leaning from her horse, Rachel touched his arm. “The Lord has promised us a hope and a future here,” she said reassuringly. “This war will pass. California will be at peace again.”

“A hope and a future,” Roman agreed with a smile, though his eyes remained somber.

“I’ll find a place for your vaqueros to rest in the village,” Dominic offered. “You two can search for a padre.”

“Thank you.” Roman gave Rachel’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

Roman and Rachel rode from house to house in the village. Less than three hundred people resided in Yerba Buena, most of the inhabitants foreigners, predominantly Americans. Only a few Spanish families remained in the town. No priest was there.

Dominic waited at the village horse trader’s house. It was nothing more than an old man’s adobe, where several horses stood tied to posts in front of the tiny hacienda. Behind the little adobe, horses wandered about with ropes hanging from their necks. Roman and Rachel arrived in a short while, discouraged.

“This is not the Yerba Buena I remember,” Roman told Dominic. “Nearly all the Californios are gone. There is not one padre amongst the people.”

“Where is the nearest church?” Dominic asked.

“Monterey,” said Roman.

Dominic smiled. “Just a sail away.”

Roman raised his eyebrows.

“We will cruise down the coast in my ship this afternoon, and you can wed by tomorrow eve.”

Rachel smiled in relief.

Roman thought long and hard for a moment. “I do not like the looks of things here,” he admitted. “I did not expect the American military to be here. Perhaps Monterey is a better place for us,” he told Rachel.

“You have an uncle and aunt in Monterey,” Dominic guessed with a grin.

“And plenty of cousins.” Roman returned Dominic’s smile.

After arranging for Rancho de los Robles’s vaqueros to ride down the coast to meet them with the horses after a day of rest for the cowboys, Roman and Rachel and Dominic rowed out to The White Swallow in a little boat.

As the morning gave way in San Francisco Bay, the breeze picked up. By the afternoon, a brisk wind blew off the ocean, carrying The White Swallow with all of her billowing sails swiftly down the coast toward Monterey.

Roman and Rachel stood with Dominic on deck under the summer sun as he good-naturedly captained his men while entertaining his guests by pointing out whales and sea lions and dolphins and all sorts of sightings as The White Swallow followed the coastline.

Dominic had a special meal prepared for Roman and Rachel, and that night after supper, they stargazed from the deck. Rachel then retired alone to the wood-paneled captain’s quarters as Roman and Dominic remained on deck the rest of the night sailing the ship.

The morning found The White Swallow in the blue-green waters of Monterey Bay. Rachel went up on deck with Roman and Dominic as the picturesque town with its red-roofed, whitewashed adobes came into view.

Roman was taken aback to see the American flag waving over the presidio. He hadn’t known Monterey had fallen to the Americanos as well.

Concealing his dismay, he said a silent prayer that God would protect them this day and that by nightfall, he and Rachel would be husband and wife.

Dominic’s deckhand, Jamie, the curly haired, blond boy who had captured Isabella’s fancy, rowed Roman to shore after The White Swallow anchored in the harbor.

Rachel and Dominic remained on the ship. Dominic to watch the crew, and Rachel to await Roman’s return.

Dominic sent his first mate, a red-haired bear of a man, Jack Andrews, along in the rowboat in case Roman met with any resistance from the American soldiers now in charge of Monterey harbor.

On shore, the burly first mate wasted no time ordering the young deckhand to run ahead to the church to warn the padre they were coming and wanted a wedding performed that afternoon.

Roman kept quiet, though the first mate’s high-handedness disturbed him. Californios did not appreciate such brusqueness. A Spanish padre would not take kindly to being told he must perform a wedding on a moment’s notice.

Praying the Lord would smooth the way, Roman walked from the docks to the church to speak to the padre himself. It had been years since he’d been in Monterey. The sun felt warm on his face. Seagulls swooped overhead, their squawks filling his ears. He thought of his mother, a sought-after belle in Monterey, until his father married her and whisked her away to Rancho de los Robles.

By the time he reached the Royal Presidio Chapel, entering the sandstone sanctuary with a prayer on his lips, the deckhand, Jamie, was all but pleading with the grim-faced padre near the altar. Roman was grateful the blustering first mate had stopped at the customhouse to announce The White Swallow’s arrival and had not appeared here yet.

“Por favor, Padre, ” Roman interrupted in Spanish. “I am Roman Miguel Vicente Ramon Vasquez. . .”

“My boy,” cried the old priest, a smile splitting his ancient face. “Come closer so I can look at you, mi hijo . You have become a fine man.”

Roman recognized the bent old padre. “Father Santiago!” He strode forward and embraced the priest.

The padre laughed with joy. “You still have your mother’s green eyes. And her sweet smile as well.” The padre held Roman by the cheeks, gazing up at him with great pleasure.

Tears flowed out of Roman’s eyes, dampening the padre’s wrinkled hands. “I was just thinking of my mother as I walked here from the harbor.”

“God has reconciled you to her death, then?”

“He has,” Roman said with wonder in his voice. His mother’s death had always been so painful for him. To have peace about it now after all these years surprised him.

“You have met our Lord Jesus, I see. The light of his Spirit shines on your face, my son.”

“Si.” Roman no longer cared that he couldn’t stop the tears.

Father Santiago patted Roman’s wet cheek. “My prayers all these years for you have not been in vain. God has purchased you with the blood of his precious Son, our Lord Jesus Christ.”

“You have prayed for me?” Roman found it hard to believe.

“Since your mother’s passing. Your courage at her graveside broke my heart. I told our Lord I would pray all my life for Domitilla’s green-eyed boy.” The old priest smiled. “Now I can die in peace knowing your soul is safe with him.”

Jamie cleared his throat. Both Roman and Father Santiago had forgotten about the boy. “Should I tell the captain the wedding will take place this afternoon, then?”

“These Americanos,” Father Santiago said in Spanish. “They are so impatient. They marry like they do everything else, swift as sand dries in the sun.”

“I am sorry,” Roman apologized. “The wedding he speaks of is my wedding.”

“Yours!” Father Santiago cried, a wide smile taking over his wrinkled face. The padre turned to the deckhand. “By all means, tell your captain I will perform the wedding at dusk. Roman will remain here with me until then. We need time to prepare for this holy union.”

“Please have Captain Mason bring my sack of belongings so I can change into my wedding attire when he escorts Rachel here.” Roman spoke with Jamie.

The deckhand nodded and hurried from the church, appearing much relieved to escape the place.

Father Santiago laughed. “Our Lord has brought you to me for your marriage. I am so pleased, mi hijo .” The padre began to cry, tears dripping down his weathered old face.

“May I confess my sins to you, Father Santiago, so that you can pray with me to walk uprightly before God the rest of my days?”

“By all means.” The little priest waved Roman toward the confessional.

“Can we kneel here at the foot of the cross instead?” Roman looked toward the altar with its crucifix hanging there.

“Of course, mi hijo .” Father Santiago knelt down on the hard tile in front of the altar. He waved Roman down beside him.

On his knees, Roman bowed his head. He had lived in sin for so many years. He had much to confess. The Americanos he killed in Texas. The adultery he’d committed with Sarita. His coupling with other women. At every turn, he had rebelled against God, leading a godless life among godless people.

He told Father Santiago of his loathing for Sarita. His relief and grief at the news of her death along with, perhaps, his child. The fierce hatred he still carried for Luis Lopez. And his heartbreak over Steven giving his life for him. Once he finished, Father Santiago began to pray. On and on the priest prayed until Roman lost track of time and space and all his sins.

Finally, Father Santiago blessed Roman, and the two men rose to their feet. He helped Father Santiago to stand as the old priest struggled to rise after kneeling for so long.

“These arthritic bones don’t move like they used to.” Father Santiago smiled.

“I am sorry my sin kept you so long on your knees,” Roman apologized, smiling too.

“You did not keep us there. Our Lord kept us there. He is purifying your heart, mi hijo . Time on one’s knees is required for cleansing.”

“I do feel cleaner. Like a newborn lamb.”

“You are clean. The blood of Christ has washed all your sins away. As far as the east is to the west, your sins have been removed, mi hijo . You are white as washed wool now.”

Father Santiago led Roman over to sit on one of the wooden benches. “Tell me about your betrothed. Will her confession take as long as yours?” the old padre teased.

Roman smiled. “She will probably not confess to you at all. She is a devout Protestant, though she’s been baptized into the Catholic faith.”

“Does your señorita know our Lord?”

“She knows Jesus quite well,” Roman assured Father Santiago.

“Then she will confess her sins before I marry you. Confession is an essential part of every believer’s life. I must find my best robe. We will light every candle in the church. When your señorita arrives you will wait in my room until I have heard her confession. Then you may come out to meet her at our Lord’s altar where the two of you will become one flesh.” Father Santiago clapped his hands in anticipation.