For Honor’s Sake by Connie Mason

erupted. “I refuse to become someone’s ‘responsibility.’ I will not be treated like a possession and an unwanted one at that,” Julie fumed, incensed by Rod’s lack of sensibility. She would be a burden to no man. “I don’t need your protection. You don’t love me and I certainly don’t love you! Do you think your father will accept me as your wife? No! Neither will Elena. It’s impossible, Rod. This whole situation is impossible,” she contended. “It can’t be and you know it.”
    “It will be,
querida
,” Rod schooled sternly. “I won’t hear another word about it. Our marriage will not be disputed. The strict code of honor under which I was raised demands I do this. You are my wife and nothing or no one will change that.”
    Julie sighed heavily, too weary to protest further. Sensing her exhaustion Rod rose to leave. “Sleep,
querida
,” he advised. “When you awaken it will all seem like a bad dream. When you are fully recuperated we will leave for my
hacienda
.”
    Two days later Julie found herself bidding a tearful farewell to both Mae Parker and Marty Sloan. No matter how long and hard she had protested, in the end she was forced to comply with Rod’s wishes. Not even her argument of continuing her search for her father served to dissuade him from his misplaced sense of duty toward her. In Julie’s estimation their loveless marriage was destined for more trouble than either of them was prepared to face.
    In the two days and nights prior to their departure Rod made no demands upon her, leaving her in Mae’s capable hands while he prepared for their trip down El Camino Real to San Luis Obispo. Perhaps he had no intention of consummating their marriage, Julie thought dismally, suddenly recalling how her body had once come alive under his hands and lips. No doubt henow thought her not good enough for him and wanted no part of her. Well, that was all right with her, she decided evasively. She had no desire to experience a man’s lust again. Brute Kelly had cured her of all her girlish romantic notions with his attempted rape, for Julie knew he had not completed his vile act.
    Finally, all her goodbyes were said and Rod was loading her belongings in the bed of the wagon which also contained an assortment of supplies needed for their journey south. Because Julie could not ride, the wagon was necessary. Rod’s own mount was tied behind the disreputable but sturdy vehicle.
    “Are you ready,
querida?
” Rod asked in an attempt to hasten their departure. “It grows late.”
    “You bring her back, Don Rodrigo, you hear?” commanded Mae, swiping a roughened hand across her misting eyes. “It’s not so far that you can’t visit once in a while.”
    “I promise,” laughed Rod, boosting Julie onto the springless seat.
    Before long the wagon was traveling along the forty-foot planked toll road that led out of San Francisco’s muddy business district and which ended abruptly at Sixteenth Street. Soon even the wheel ruts and prints of animals and men disappeared into the grassy fields. The dunes in the background were studded with chaparral. Julie gazed dispassionately at the cattle grazing for miles between peninsula foothills and the wide southern arm of San Francisco Bay.
    El Camino Real, the king’s road, was the name given to the old mission trail, Julie knew from what Rod told her, consisting sometimes of nothing more than rude paths connecting San Francisco with San Diego, an arduous six to eight day journey. It would take over four days and nights just to reach San Luis Obispo.
    Along El Camino Real lay the missions established by the Franciscans as early as 1769. Now, the chain ofadobe buildings stretched from San Diego to San Francisco. In 1833 the Secularization Act doling out half the holdings of prosperous missions and settlements to the state vastly reduced the missions. The other half was divided among Indians capable of living independently of the missions. The Franciscans were