Chapter Fifteen #4
Alejandro sat down at his small oak writing desk, moving aside the stack of letters he had been reading, and Ramon de la Guerra took a seat in the leather-bottomed chair across from him.
“You are here to discuss Rancho del Robles,” Alejandro said.
“I am well aware of your troubles. Your father came to me in the beginning. He hoped I would somehow be able to prevent the loss of his land, but at the time, I am sorry to say, I was not able to help him.” He sighed deeply, thinking of the tragic death of his good friend. “I only wish I could have.”
“You were his abogado for many years, Don Alejandro. In your letter, you said you may have stumbled onto something that could change things.”
“Si, that is correct. The record of your father’s title to Rancho del Robles was destroyed in the fire here in Monterey over twenty years ago, and the land descriptions in his original diseno were so vague the courts refused to accept it without a second means of verification.”
The don leaned forward. “And now you have found such a means?”
“After your father’s case was lost, another case was opened.
The haciendado who owned the land, Don Hernando Seville, introduced church records to verify his claim—records of births and deaths that showed four generations of Sevilles had owned the property.
At first the Lands Commission wouldn’t accept it, since they have always been suspicious of the Catholic church, but in the end, Don Hernando won.
His claim was ratified and Rancho Las Palmas remained in his family’s hands. ”
“If such records exist, could they not also prove the de la Guerra claim?”
Alejandro nodded. “It is possible. Unfortunately, the priest who would know is preparing even now to leave for Los Angeles. Unless you can reach him today, it will be many months before he will return—perhaps never, should he journey on to Mexico.”
The don came up from his chair. “Where is he?”
“At a small church about thirty miles south of here. I learned of his departure through the priest at the mission in Carmelo. The man you wish to see, Padre Renaldo, is very old. For a while he lived at the mission in San Juan Bautista.”
“Si … I believe I remember him from when I was a boy.”
“The records are not there, but if they still exist, he will know where to find them.”
“Then I must go to him … speak to him before he leaves.”
Alejandro shoved back his chair and came to his feet. “It is a long, grueling ride, but I can think of no other way. And even if you find the documents, I cannot guarantee the Land Commission will overturn its decision.”
“I understand. Still, it is more hope than I have had in some time.”
Alejandro rounded his desk and extended a hand to the tall, imposing don. “God go with you, my son.”
“Gracias, Don Alejandro. My family and I are grateful for your help.” He started for the door, lifted the latch and drew it open.
“Oh, and by the way”—Alejandro smiled—”my most hearty felicitations on your marriage.”
For a moment, the younger man’s hard look softened. “Gracias. I will relay your kind words to my bride.” Then the lines of his face grew grim once more. Long, purposeful strides carried him into the quiet dirt street and Alejandro closed the door.
* * *
“I am sorry, chica. I hate to leave you like this, but I cannot take you with me. Perhaps I should speak to my cousin … see if there is room for you at Casa Micheltorena.”
“Don’t be silly. If this is as important as you say, then of course you must go. I’ll be fine while you are away, and you’ll be back by tomorrow night. After that, we can be together.”
He bent his head and kissed her. “Monterey is a peaceful town, but it is not so safe as it used to be. Promise me you will stay inside the hotel and be sure to lock the door before you go to sleep.”
“I told you, I’ll be fine.”
“Promise me.”
“All right, I promise.”
Ramon smiled, thinking how lovely she was and how much he hated to leave her. “I will be counting the hours until my return.” He collected his saddle bags and turned toward the door.
“Ramon?”
“Si, querida?”
“Are you certain you won’t tell me what this is about?”
A moment of unease filtered through him.
He wished he could tell her the truth, make her understand that the land belonged to his family, had for generations, and he intended to do everything in his power to see it returned.
But the man he opposed was her uncle. He couldn’t be certain how she would feel if she knew.
“Perhaps when I come back.” He pulled her against him, took her mouth in a hard, possessive kiss that said she was his and that she shouldn’t forget it. “Hasta manana, my lovely wife. I will return as quickly as I can.”
“Good luck, Ramon.”
The unease returned. Her uncle was a subject they hadn’t discussed since their days in the stronghold. It was as if each of them was afraid to broach a topic that was bound to set them at odds. He wondered if she would still wish him luck if she understood what it was that he planned to do.
“Gracias, querida. Take care of yourself until my return.”