The Treaty Of Guadalupe Cabrillo Short Story

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“Please, Mr. Henderson.” Melissa tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders despite the glow of coals from the stove inside the small brick office. Half past nine o’clock and the sun had yet to break through the morning clouds. With rain threatening, along with its tendency to turn the roads into quagmires deep enough to swallow a horse or two, she needed to persuade the banker soon.
He glanced up at her, then returned to perusing the papers in front of him, which included the deed to her land, Rancho Cabrillo. It had been a gamble. She’d known, but still she had hoped. She didn’t have enough money to pay for passage on any of the ships leaving California. She’d only had enough for food and lodging while she stayed in San Francisco, visiting
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Henderson, the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo—”
“Doña Cabrillo.” His apologetic tone tempered his interruption. “I’m well aware of the treaty’s stipulations, and I certainly would not presume to question your ownership of the land. Nevertheless, we must wait to see how the government decides to handle the large number of false claims and disputed grants.”
Of course, that was his answer. It was always the answer even though the treaty signed three years ago at the end of the Mexican-American War stated that all existing land grants within the newly acquired territories would be honored by the United States. The agreement seemed fairly straightforward to Melissa, but apparently it wasn’t so clear to government officials. Until they sorted everything out, Rancho Cabrillo—all 3500 acres—was essentially worthless.
Yet, she couldn’t leave without a loan. Somehow, she needed to change his mind. Perhaps she could appeal to his sympathies. She picked up the daguerreotype case on the desk. The woman in the portrait sat on a piano bench with a toddler in her lap and a boy of maybe five or six standing next to her. The resemblance between the children and Henderson was undeniable.
“Is this your
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As in Bertrand Shipping?”
“Yes. Now that we have that established, would you be so kind as to allow me to finish my conversation with your brother?”
“To be honest, Doña Cabrillo, I’m in a hurry. I’ll be catching a steamer in a few days, one of your family’s ships to be exact, and I have quite a bit to do before I leave. If you will excuse my interruption, my brother and I have very important matters to address.”
“I happen to be addressing ‘very important matters’ of my own,” she shot back.
“Haydn has already said we can’t help you. I see no need for this discussion to continue.”
At his rude dismissal, ire heated her blood, but she kept a steady outward demeanor. She relaxed her tense jaw and reminded herself to stay calm, stay focused. She would not give up until she found a way back to New Orleans.
Yet, as she considered how to proceed, she only saw futility in further attempts here. The Hendersons were not going to help her. That much was clear. She had to come up with another plan.
Shoving aside the ever-errant curl, she rose from her chair. “Very well. Good day,

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