Chapter 15

Sierra sat with her bare legs dangling over the side of Ron’s sailboat as she watched Clanton and Carolyn swim in the cove with Pamela and Reed. It was a perfect early summer day, the sun high overhead, not a cloud in the blue sky. Looking back toward the mainland, she could see the haze of smog that lay over the metropolitan area of Los Angeles. Here, she could fill her lungs with clean, sea air.

“It’s heaven, isn’t it?” Marcia said with a contented sigh as she lay basking on a deck chair.

“Hmmmm,” Sierra said dreamily. How long had it been since she had heard Clanton and Carolyn laugh or seen them having so much fun? Clanton was trying to catch Ron. Each time he came close, Ron disappeared beneath the surface and came up well out of reach. The four children tried working together and still failed to tag him.

“All I need is something to eat,” Marcia said.

Sierra turned her head. Reaching up for the railing, she started to pull herself up. “If you’ll watch the children, I’ll—”

“No, no,” Marcia said, adjusting her dark glasses as she got up. “I’ll see about getting lunch. Stay where you are. There’s not enough room in the galley for two people. Besides, Ron didn’t leave much to do this time. He called a caterer. All I have to do is take off the plastic wrap. Stay and enjoy the sun.” She shrugged into a lightweight hip-length terry-cloth robe that covered her bikini. “Tom can help keep an eye on the children.” She flicked the hat off his face. Grunting from the shock of sunlight, he awakened abruptly. “I said you can help keep an eye on the children,” Marcia repeated. “I’m going below.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said.

“Go back to sleep, Tom,” Sierra laughed. “I’ll watch them.”

“Thanks,” he said and sagged back, picking up the hat and putting it over his face again.

Ron came up next to the ladder he had put over the side after dropping anchor. Shaking his blond hair back, he started to climb. Sierra couldn’t help noticing he had a perfect body. Looking away, she kept her eyes on the children.

“You’re getting burned,” Ron said, toweling himself off a few feet from her.

“I put sunscreen on.”

“It probably washed off when you took that two-minute swim,” he said, grinning.

Two minutes in the cold Pacific had been all she needed to know she preferred toasting on the deck.

“You need another basting.” Ron uncapped a bottle of lotion Marcia had left next to her deck chair. Squirting some into his palm, he rubbed his hands together and hunkered down behind her. The scent of coconut and tropics filled her senses as he rubbed the lotion into her skin. “Where’s your hat?” he said, his strong fingers kneading her shoulders.

“I think I left it below.”

“Deliberate disobedience.” Unlooping the towel he’d put around his neck, he covered her head with it. “I don’t want you getting sunstroke the first time you sail with me.”

Laughing, she folded it up so she could see. “You’re worse than a mother, Ron.”

He flipped her French braid over her right shoulder and finished rubbing the lotion into her back and shoulders. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“Very much.”

His hands slowed. She felt his thumbs moving up her spine. He gripped her shoulders. “It’s good to see you smile and mean it,” he said. Releasing her, he straightened.

Marcia called for Tom and began handing up the food. There was a large platter of cut vegetables and dip, another of sandwiches, bowls of potato and fruit salad, and bags of chips. “How are we doing with the drinks?” she called from below.

Tom opened the ice chest that had been set on the deck when they got under way. “We could use some more wine coolers. We’ve plenty of everything else.”

Ron gave a piercing whistle, drawing the attention of the four children, who were still splashing around in the cove. “Anybody out there hungry?”

Four voices gave a short yes! and started swimming for the boat.

“You’d better get what you want before they get here,” Marcia said. “There’s something about swimming and salt air that seems to triple the appetite.”

Laughing, Sierra rose from her post. The only one who hadn’t served himself was Ron. He nodded for her to go ahead while he kept an eye on the children, who approached like hungry barracuda.

Clanton clambered onto the deck first. Shivering, he threw a towel around himself. Taking a plate, he heaped it with two sandwiches and two scoops of potato salad. Tucking a soda under his arm, he grabbed a bag of chips and headed for the bow. Reed, Carolyn, and Pamela poured onto the deck and raced for the food.

Ron laughed. “It’s like watching sharks in a feeding frenzy.”

“Take some vegetables, Reed.”

“Aw, Mom.”

“You heard me.”

Glowering, Reed took a couple of carrot and celery sticks and put them on his plate before heading for the bow.

Shaking her head, Marcia glanced at her daughter and noticed she was about to take a handful of potato chips. “Pamela,” she said, sounding weary. “You know very well what grease does to your complexion. No, take some of the fruit salad instead.”

Cheeks stained red with humiliation, Pamela put her plate down and fled below.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Marcia said, annoyed. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately.”

“I wonder.” Tight-lipped, Tom leaned down and took another wine cooler from the ice chest.

Marcia raised her brow. “You’ve had four, Tom.”

“Then I guess this one makes five.” He headed for his deck chair.

Marcia stared after him in consternation. Clearing her throat softly, she glanced back at Ron and Sierra. “Well, I guess I’d better go below and see what’s upset Pamela this time.” She gave Ron a beseeching smile and whispered, “Would you please keep an eye on Tom?”

“He’s a grown man, Marcia.”

“Yes, but I think he’s had enough to drink, don’t you?”

Sierra noticed that as soon as Marcia went below, Reed pitched the vegetable sticks into the water and dug into the bag of chips Clanton had commandeered.

She and Ron shared a quiet lunch together, talking about Outreach and some of the children they were helping. Tom fell asleep in his deck chair while the boys rummaged through a waterproof case on the deck where Ron had laid in a supply of games. Carolyn sat with her legs dangling, waiting for Pamela to come up from below. When she did, her face was splotchy from crying.

“Mother says she has a splitting headache,” she said as though delivering a rehearsed message. She picked up her plate and dutifully added a small scoop of fruit salad before she went to sit on the bow with Carolyn.

Sierra went below and found Marcia rummaging through her tote bag. “I know I brought them,” she said in frustration. Upending everything onto the couch built into the bulkhead, she spread things out, searching again. Letting out her breath in relief, she picked up a small prescription bottle and uncapped it. Shaking out two capsules, she recapped the bottle and dropped it on the couch. Tossing the pills into her mouth, she headed for the galley. Sierra heard the hiss of tonic being shot into a glass.

“I don’t know what to do about that girl,” Marcia said from the galley. Sierra heard the thunk of a glass on the counter. “All I’m trying to do is protect her. Children can be so merciless to someone who’s fat and has pimples.” She came back into the chamber and sat down on the couch built into the bulkhead. She began to collect and toss the things back into her tote bag. “She misunderstands everything I say to her. Sometimes I think she does it deliberately in an effort to make me feel bad. Either that, or she’s stupid.”

Dropping the tote bag onto the floor, she leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she kneaded her temples. “And now this headache. . . .”

“Can I get you a cold compress?” Sierra said, feeling sorry for her.

“Please,” she said and stretched out on the couch.

Sierra went into the galley and dampened a cloth for her. “Thank you,” Marcia said and pressed it against her eyes and forehead. “Would you please tell Tom I’m not feeling well? I must have a touch of sunstroke.”

“Tell her to take a nap,” Tom said when Sierra delivered the message. Yawning, he pulled the hat down over his eyes again. Clearly, he had no intention of going below and speaking with his wife.

Ron went in his stead and talked with Marcia while the children went swimming again. Sierra leaned on the railing near the bow and watched them.

When Ron came up again, he gave her a rueful smile and shook his head. “Sorry to desert you.”

Sierra had enjoyed the solitude. She felt guilty that Marcia’s problems made her feel less a failure for her own. She had always thought Marcia’s family was perfect. She knew there were times of tension, of course. What family didn’t have them? But what she’d seen today was clear evidence that all was not well in Camelot.

“Is she feeling better?”

“She’s going to stay below and rest on the way back.” Ron gave a loud whistle to catch the children’s attention. “Wrap it up, mates. We’re hauling anchor in half an hour.”

Four children groaned expressively and went back to their game of water tag.

Under his tutelage, the children, with Tom’s assistance, manned the sails. When the wind caught the sheets, the boat sped across the water toward the Long Beach pier. Closer in, they battened down the sails, and Ron used the engine to bring them to dock.

“We had a wonderful time, Ron,” Marcia said, kissing his cheek while the children gathered their things. While Tom shook hands with him, Marcia turned to Sierra and gave her a hug. “Sorry I made a scene below,” she said, kissing her cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Sierra saw her take the car keys from Tom’s hand as they headed for the parking lot.

Ron took Sierra and the children to an expensive seafood restaurant. He laughed when Clanton and Carolyn both ordered hamburgers. Over dinner, he talked about sailing to the South Seas and spending two years exploring islands that were barely a spot on a map. Clanton was enthralled; Carolyn, quiet.

It was late when Ron finally pulled up in front of Sierra’s house. She was sorry the day was over. The children had fallen asleep in the backseat of his Mercedes. They’d only lasted fifteen minutes from the restaurant before dozing off and leaving her and Ron to talk alone. And talk they did, about everything from his travels to her growing up in a quiet country town to racial prejudice, social climbing, education, and the importance of family. He’d grown up the only son of a Greek businessman and a Swedish actress. His mother died in a car accident when he was only fourteen. “My father never got over her death,” he said quietly. “Now he’s gone, too. I’m the only family I’ve got left. And I find myself craving the connection of family all the time.” He smiled at her in the darkness. “All in God’s timing,” he said.

Sierra couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy. The woman he married would be lucky indeed. She didn’t know anyone as caring and sensitive to others as Ron Peirozo.

He turned off the ignition, then glanced into the backseat. He chuckled. “If you have a wheelbarrow in the garage, I’ll unload your children for you.”

Sierra laughed. “I may have to take you up on that offer.” She reached over the seat and tapped each of them. “Come on, sleepyheads. We’re home.”

As she unlocked the front door, she heard the children thanking Ron for taking them sailing. Clanton asked if they could go again. “Sure,” Ron said, a hand on his shoulder. “I’m out as often as I can be when the weather’s like this.”

As the children shouldered their tote bags and headed down the hallway to their rooms, Ron turned to her again. His mouth tipped slightly as he reached out and lightly brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “You got a little color today.”

Ron always knew what to say to make her feel better about herself. “Maybe I’ll actually look like a Southern Californian one of these days.” She smiled, drawn to him.

“You look just fine the way you are, Sierra.”

He couldn’t have said anything kinder. Bruised and battered by Alex’s desertion, she believed herself a complete failure as a wife, as a mother, and as a woman. Looking into Ron’s eyes, she saw he valued her. She wanted to thank him for everything—for taking them sailing, for sharing so much of himself with her, for listening, for caring. She felt closer to him than she had felt to anyone in a long, long time.

An inexplicable shiver of alarm raced along her nerve endings at the realization.

His eyes flickered, and the warmth that stirred within her had little to do with sunburn.

He took a slow step back. “I’ll see you Monday morning,” he said, his smile both casual and tender. He closed the door behind him as he went out.

Disturbed, Sierra frowned, perplexed by her feelings. What had just happened? Was she so desperate to feel like a woman again that she could imagine a man like Ronal Peirozo was attracted to her? Ridiculous! The poor man had only been acting out of kindness and friendship. There was no reason to read anything more into it.

Stepping to the door, she opened it. “Ron!”

He paused halfway down the pathway.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling.

“Any time.”

Feeling a little better, she stood in the doorway until he got into his Mercedes. He gave her a wave as he pulled away from the curb.

Closing the door, she set the dead bolt. Gathering her things, she headed down the hallway to say good night to the children before she took a shower and went to bed.

Deborah is feverish and complaining of stomach pain.

I asked if she had eaten anything along the way and she says no. She has suffered often of stomach aches when she eats too many berries. The pain seems worse on her right side. I have bedded her down in the wagon where it is less dusty and am sitting with her until the fever lets up. Reese Murphy is looking in on her again in a little while.

I am so afraid and I do not know what I fear most. In the beginning, I thought it was just anger plaguing me. I was wrong. It was fear underneath. I knew what I had back home. I knew the face of my enemy. Out here, I do not know from one day to the next where the danger lies. It could be a fall from a wagon seat or a snake. It could be Indians or sickness. Or being tired unto death.

As tired as I am I know the men have the worst of it. They are the ones hauling the wagons across the rivers. They were the ones lowering the wagons down that dreadful hill. They are the ones digging the graves. But it is the men too who dream of Oregon. It is as though Heaven itself beckons them and we must all cross hell to get to it.

Aphie McKenzie. Harlan Doane. Paul Colvigne. Three gone already. I think of the hard trail and how many wagons will pass over these fine people and never know of their existence. How many more will we bury before we reach our destination?

I am afraid for my baby.

I dreamed of Aunt Martha last night. She seemed so close. We talked as we used to do. I wept when I awakened. Has she died? Is that why I dreamed about her? Is that why she seemed so near to me? Oh, that she were here with me now. The thought of never seeing her again makes my heart ache and my throat close up. When my father turned me out, she took me in and loved me. When I jilted Thomas, she loved me still. Even when I said I did not believe in God anymore, she did not forsake me. She cried but she did not turn me out. She said she loved me no matter what. I have never known anyone so good and kind and constant.

She said she would pray for me every day. I know she is a woman of her word. I think of her every day and feel perhaps in thoughts at least we are still connected.

I wish I could ask her right now to send up prayers to heaven on behalf of my little Deborah. God would listen to her.

Our precious little Deborah is gone from this life. Doc Murphy did no good at all. Neither could Kavanaugh with his Indian medicines. I hope the next life is better. She passed away last night as the sun was setting on the bluffs above us. They look like the ancient ruins of a once wondrous city. I will think of her playing up there with the angels.

I cannot cry. I cannot let myself. If I do, I will never stop.