SAMPLE

​CHAPTER 6

 

 

Driving along Sir Francis Drake Boulevard toward the headland one passes through several working dairy ranches. Originally, two families owned most of the Point Reyes Peninsula totaling 52,562 acres. Over the next hundred years, those huge tracts were sold off into five-dozen privately owned ranches, the largest being 7,713 acres. In 1962, the ranches were grandfathered in to the new park preserve called the Point Reyes National Seashore, which came under the supervision of the National Park Service.

 

“Uh, oh,” Tom said, as they passed a road sign. Gallegos looked over with concern. “Sign back there says the lighthouse is closed today. Which means the lifeboat station could be closed, too. I hope the road to Chimney Rock isn’t blocked.”

 

Twelve minutes later, after they passed through “A” Ranch, Tom saw the road ahead divided in two: to the right was the Point Reyes Lighthouse; to the left, Chimney Rock and the Lifeboat Station. As they approached the divide, Tom recited a phrase commonly attributed to New York Yankee Yogi Berra. “When you come to a fork in the road—take it.” After making the sharp left, he glanced over to see the old man chuckling to himself, making Tom now one-for-three in the humor department.

~ ~ ~

 

Driving south along the headland, cattle grazed on both sides of the road. And with no fencing to prevent the livestock from overtaking the road, Morrow reduced his speed to 15 miles per hour. After a dramatic but gentle descent, they arrived at Chimney Rock parking lot.

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Tom counted five cars as he bypassed the lot and eased his truck down the lane, past the sign warning visitors the roadway is reserved for vehicles on official business. “If we want to park close to the Lifeboat Station, we’ll just have to venture forward.” Morrow guided the truck leisurely down the lane past the two-story, park ranger residence painted white with green trim. “Ever been here?”

 

“Oh, a long time ago,” Martín answered. “Mostly, when I strolled these beaches.”

 

“They frown on that now from what I’ve heard,” Tom said. “This whole place is a protected natural area reserved for the Elephant Seals. Visitors are supposed to keep a distance of one-hundred feet from the animals.”

 

When they arrived at the Lifeboat Station Tom stopped short of the parking lot. He peered through the windshield and pointed toward the next bend. “That’s where the possible cave area is located, but it’s at least a football field away, maybe two, and a rocky, unstable walk at that, Martín. If we’re going to do this together, it’ll have to be right here, outside the truck,” Tom said.

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He backed the truck into the first parking stall so the rear of the vehicle faced the water. He exited, walked around the hood and opened the passenger door for Mr. Gallegos. The door to the Lifeboat Station unlatched and a young woman dressed in a khaki Park Ranger uniform poked her head out. She instructed Tom the stalls were reserved for park business. Tom walked over and politely explained his situation: in the truck was an eighty-something-year-old man whose dying wish was to revisit the place where he first wooed his wife over sixty years ago.

 

Not only was it a lie, but two big ones: Gallegos was not dying, and he never married. But when the woman looked into the cab where the octogenarian saluted her with a smile and a wave, she relented and agreed to let them stay for twenty minutes. Tom thanked her and walked back to the truck where he helped the older man clamber on to the tailgate.

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Tom pulled out the paper with the chant. He surveyed the bay and paused. “I’d prefer we weren’t so conspicuous, with the Lifeboat Station in plain view, but in this case, we have no choice.” He sat down next to Martín Gallegos. “Ready?”

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“Give me a moment.” The old man’s hands trembled with anticipation. He bent his head and recited a quiet prayer, his lips moving as he silently spoke the words. Gallegos made the sign of the cross, finishing with a kiss of his thumb. He looked at his young partner. “Now, I am ready.”

~ ~ ~

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Morrow slid off the tailgate and walked over to the white picket fence that prevents visitors from walking on the rocky shore below. Facing the general direction of the imagined cave, two hundred yards south of their position at the Lifeboat Station, Tom drew a breath. As Gallegos’ new spokesperson, he summoned the moxie to dive into character. After reciting the first two lines of the chant, and with Lana’s advice still echoing in his memory, Tom inserted the woman’s name at the stanza’s end with a strong intention.​

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Oh, wondrous and powerful Queen Califia!

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Although not a religious man, Tom found his arms involuntarily spreading apart and reaching out in a gesture of respect to the imaginary figure he hailed. Morrow held the pose for several moments, but as the weight of his extended arms began to drain his strength, he labored to keep the posture. He refocused to the present. As the wind whipped the collar of his windbreaker, Morrow heard and saw nothing out of the ordinary except an occasional elephant seal groan between waves sloshing on the shore. Turning around with a look of dejection, he was surprised by the expression on Gallegos’ face: somewhere between intrigue and rapture.

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“Look!” the old man said in hushed tones. He pointed with an unsteady hand northward toward an abandoned dry dock some three football fields away.

 

Tom saw a charcoal-colored cloud, swirling and shifting as it floated over the sand, until it meandered toward the Lifeboat Station. At first Morrow thought it might have been a flock of black birds or a swarm of flying insects. But when the double-helix charcoal cloud reached the white picket fence, it paused, hovering some ten feet above the grass. Tom slowly backed away, joining Mr. Gallegos at the truck’s tailgate.

 

While still airborne the black cloud began to descend on the grassy area, morphing into a concrete image. At last, it resolved into a human shape. When it came to a halt, there before them stood a strikingly beautiful woman: tall, lithe and muscular. She appeared as a tropical island native, wearing a flimsy feather-arrangement over her breasts and an otter-pelt apron around the waist, neither of which disguised much of her bronze-colored skin. The woman evaluated the men. “Which of you has summoned me from my slumber?” she demanded in a cool, imperious voice.

 

The old man’s hands trembled as he pointed in Tom’s direction. “It was he, your grace,” he said, with a modest bow of his head.

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Surprised at Gallegos’ deference, Tom stepped forward. “I did. And you would be…?”

 

A thin smile formed on the woman’s lips as her eyes narrowed. “You know who I would be. For you have called me with the chant I gave to one man many cycles ago, on this very beach,” she said with arms stretched wide. “I am Califia, Queen of California.” She struck an aggressive pose; a huntress with a warrior spirit.

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An involuntary whisper escaped from Morrow’s mouth. “My god… she’s the spitting image of Beyoncé.”

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“What did you just call me?” The woman addressed him with a tone of intemperance.

Tom appeared flummoxed at the direct challenge. The woman stood almost his height: two inches shy of six feet, with a physique rivaling a modern Olympic athlete; well-toned biceps and large, defined thigh and calf muscles suggesting a year-round course of weight lifting and distance running. Her chocolate-brown eyes and skin tone invited comparisons of loamy, fertile earth. But it was her regal bearing inspiring supreme confidence he found most intimidating. She appeared to be a goddess from Egyptian mythology or a distant relative of the singer, Beyoncé.

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“No, I was merely observing it seems fitting your image is… beyond saying.” He grimaced, knowing the rejoinder was impossibly clunky and nonsensical. But the improvisation bought a few moments of time.

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Martín Gallegos slid off the tailgate and down to the ground without help. He ambled up to the woman, and in an animated voice said, “So, you are Queen Califia. The one my ancestor Ricardo Castañeda wrote about in the map he created on these very shores.”

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“I helped him create that map.” A bemused smile graced her face. “And you are his descendant?” she said, towering over the elder Hispanic man. “I see no resemblance.”

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Their conversation was interrupted by the Lifeboat Station ranger who appeared at the doorway. “Fellas, I’m going to have to have to ask you to.…” Seeing Califia standing at the white wooden railing the ranger stopped mid-sentence. “I don’t remember seeing a woman in your cab earlier.”

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“Oh, we met her a few minutes ago. An old friend,” Tom claimed. “She came walking up the beach.”

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(End Sample Chapter 6)

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