XII.
We sat in the sala the next evening, awaiting the return of theprodigal and his deliverer. The night was cool, and the doors wereclosed; coals burned in a roof-tile. The room, unlike most Californiansalas, boasted a carpet, and the furniture was covered with green rep,instead of the usual black horse-hair.
Don Guillermo patted the table gently with his open palm, accompanyingthe tinkle of Prudencia's guitar and her light monotonous voice. Shesat on the edge of a chair, her solemn eyes fixed on a painting ofReinaldo which hung on the wall. Dona Trinidad was sewing as usual,and dressed as simply as if she looked to her daughter to maintain thestate of the Iturbi y Moncadas. Above a black silk skirt she wore ablack shawl, one end thrown over her shoulder. About her head was aclose black silk turban, concealing, with the exception of two softgray locks on either side of her face, what little hair she may stillhave possessed. Her white face was delicately cut: the lines of timeindicated spiritual sweetness rather than strength.
Chonita roved between the sala and an adjoining room where four Indiangirls embroidered the yellow poppies on the white satin. I was readingone of her books,--the "Vicar of Wakefield."
"Wilt thou be glad to see Reinaldo, my Prudencia?" asked DonGuillermo, as the song finished.
"Ay!" and the girl blushed.
"Thou wouldst make a good wife for Reinaldo, and it is well that hemarry. It is true that he has a gay spirit and loves company, but youshall live here in this house, and if he is not a devoted husband heshall have no money to spend. It is time he became a married man andlearned that life was not made for dancing and flirting; then, too,would his restless spirit get him into fewer broils. I have heardhim speak twice of no other woman, excepting Valencia Menendez, and Iwould not have her for a daughter; and I think he loves thee."
"Sure!" said Dona Trinidad.
"That is love, I suppose," said Chonita, leaning back in her chair andforgetting the poppies. "With her a placid contented hope, with him acalm preference for a malleable woman. If he left her for another shewould cry for a week, then serenely marry whom my father bade her, andforget Reinaldo in the _donas_ of the bridegroom. The birds do almostas well."
Don Guillermo smiled indulgently. Prudencia did not know whetherto cry or not. Dona Trinidad, who never thought of replying to herdaughter, said,--
"Chonita mia, Liseta and Tomaso wish to marry, and thy father willgive them the little house by the creek."
"Yes, mamacita?" said Chonita, absently: she felt no interest in theloves of the Indians.
"We have a new Father in the Mission," continued her mother,remembering that she had not acquainted her daughter with all theimportant events of her absence. "And Don Rafael Guzman's son wasdrafted. That was a judgment for not marrying when his father badehim. For that I shall be glad to have Reinaldo marry. I would not havehim go to the war to be killed."
"No," said Don Guillermo. "He must be a diputado to Mexico. I wouldnot lose my only son in battle. I am ambitious for him; and so artthou, Chonita, for thy brother? Is it not so?"
"Yes. I have it in me to stab the heart of any man who rolls a stonein his way."
"My daughter," said Don Guillermo, with the accent of duty rather thanof reproof, "thou must love without vengeance. Sustain thy brother,but harm not his enemy. I would not have thee hate even an Estenega,although I cannot love them myself. But we will not talk of theEstenegas. Dost thou realize that our Reinaldo will be with us thisnight? We must all go to confession to-morrow,--thy mother and myself,Eustaquia, Reinaldo, Prudencia, and thyself."
Chonita's face became rigid. "I cannot go to confession," she said."It may be months before I can: perhaps never."
"What?"
"Can one go to confession with a hating and an unforgiving heart? Ay!that I never had gone to Monterey! At least I had the consolation ofmy religion before. Now I fight the darkness by myself. Do not askme questions, for I shall not answer them. But taunt me no more withconfession."
Even Don Guillermo was dumb. In all the twenty-four years of her lifeshe never had betrayed violence of spirit before: even her hatred ofthe Estenegas had been a religion rather than a personal feeling. Itwas the first glimpse of her soul that she had accorded them, and theywere aghast. What--what had happened to this proud, reserved, carelessdaughter of the Iturbi y Moncadas?
Dona Trinidad drew down her mouth. Prudencia began to cry. Then,for the moment, Chonita was forgotten. Two horses galloped into thecourt-yard.
"Reinaldo!"
The door had but an inside knob: Don Guillermo threw it open as ayoung man sprang up the three steps of the corridor, followed by alittle man who carefully picked his way.
"Yes, I am here, my father, my mother, my sister, my Prudencia! Ay,Eustaquia, thou too." And the pride of the house kissed each in turn,his dark eyes wandering absently about the room. He was a dashingcaballero, and as handsome as any ever born in the Californias. Thedust of travel had been removed--at a saloon--from his blue velvetgold-embroidered serape, which he immediately flung on the floor. Hisshort jacket and trousers were also of dark-blue velvet, the formerdecorated with buttons of silver filigree, the latter laced withsilver cord over spotless linen. The front of his shirt was coveredwith costly lace. His long botas were of soft yellow leather stampedwith designs in silver and gartered with blue ribbon. The clankingspurs were of silver inlaid with gold. The sash, knotted gracefullyover his hip, was of white silk. His curled black hair was tied with ablue ribbon, and clung, clustering and damp, about a low brow. He borea strange resemblance to Chonita, in spite of the difference of color,but his eyes were merely large and brilliant: they had no stars intheir shallows. His mouth was covered by a heavy silken mustache, andhis profile was bold. At first glance he impressed one as a perfecttype of manly strength, aggressively decided of character. It was onlywhen he cast aside the wide sombrero--which, when worn a littleback, most becomingly framed his face--that one saw the narrow,insignificant head.
For a time there was no conversation, only a series of exclamations.Chonita alone was calm, smiling a loving welcome. In the excitement ofthe first moments little notice was taken of the devoted bailer, whoardently regarded Chonita.
Don Juan de la Borrasca was flouting his sixties, fighting for hisyouth as a parent fights for its young. His withered little face worethe complacent smile of vanity; his arched brows furnished him with asupercilious expression which atoned for his lack of inches,--he wasbarely five feet two. His large curved nose was also a compensatinggift from the godmother of dignity, and he carried himself so erectlythat he looked like a toy general. His small black eyes were brightas glass beads, and his hair was ribboned as bravely as Reinaldo's. Hewas clad in silk attire,--red silk embroidered with butterflies. Hislittle hands were laden with rings; carbuncles glowed in the lace ofhis shirt. He was moderately wealthy, but a stanch retainer of thehouse of Iturbi y Moncada, the devoted slave of Chonita.
She was the first to remember him, and held out her hand for him tokiss. "Thou hast the gratitude of my heart, dear friend," she said,as the little dandy curved over it. "I thank thee a thousand times forbringing my brother back to me."
"Ay, Dona Chonita, thanks be to God and Mary that I was enabled so todo. Had my mission proved unsuccessful I should have committed a crimeand gone to prison with him. Never would I have returned here. Duenoadorado, ever at thy feet."
Chonita smiled kindly, but she was listening to her brother, who wasnow expatiating upon his wrongs to a sympathetic audience.
"Holy heaven!" he exclaimed, striding up and down the room, "that anIturbi y Moncada, the descendant of twenty generations, should be putto shame, to disgrace and humiliation, by being cast into a commonprison! That an ardent patriot, a loyal subject of Mexico, should beaccused of conspiring against the judgment of an Alvarado! Carillo wasmy friend, and had his cause been a just one I had gone with him tothe gates of death or the chair of state. But could I, _I_, conspireagainst a wise and great man like Juan Bautista Alvarado? No! not evenif Carillo had
asked me so to do. But, by the stars of heaven, hedid not. I had been but the guest of his bounty for a month; and thesuspicious rascals who spied upon us, the poor brains who compose theDepartmental Junta, took it for granted that an Iturbi y Moncada couldnot be blind to Carillo's plots and plans and intrigues, that, havingbeen the intimate of his house and table, I must perforce aid and abetwhatever schemes engrossed him. Ay, more often than frequently dida dark surmise cross my mind, but I brushed it aside as one does theprompting of evil desires. I would not believe that a Carillo wouldplot, conspire, and rise again, after the terrible lesson he hadreceived in 1838. Alvarado holds California to his heart; Castro, theMars of the nineteenth century, hovers menacingly on the horizon. Who,who, in sober reason, would defy that brace of frowning gods?"
His eloquence was cut short by respiratory interference, but hecontinued to stride from one end of the room to the other, hisface flushed with excitement. Prudencia's large eyes followed him,admiration paralyzing her tongue. Dona Trinidad smiled upward withthe self-approval of the modest barn-yard lady who has raised amagnificent bantam. Don Guillermo applauded loudly. Only Chonitaturned away, the truth smiting her for the first time.
"Words! words!" she thought, bitterly. "_He_ would have said all thatin two sentences. Is it true--_ay, triste de mi!_--what he said of mybrother? I hate him, yet his brain has cut mine and wedged there. Myhead bows to him, even while all the Iturbi y Moncada in me arises tocurse him. But my brother! my brother! he is so much younger. And ifhe had had the same advantages--those years in Mexico and America andEurope--would he not know as much as Diego Estenega? Oh, sure! sure!"
"My son," Don Guillermo was saying, "God be thanked that thou didstnot merit thy imprisonment. I should have beaten thee with my cane andlocked thee in thy room for a month hadst thou disgraced my name.But, as it happily is, thou must have compensation for unjusttreatment.--Prudencia, give me thy hand."
The girl rose, trembling and blushing, but crossed the room withstately step and stood beside her uncle. Don Guillermo took her handand placed it in Reinaldo's. "Thou shalt have her, my son," he said."I have divined thy wishes."
Reinaldo kissed the small fingers fluttering in his, making a greatflourish. He was quite ready to marry, and his pliant little cousinsuited him better than any one he knew. "Day-star of my eyes!" heexclaimed, "consolation of my soul! Memories of injustice, discomfort,and sadness fall into the waters of oblivion rolling at thy feet. Isee neither past nor future. The rose-hued curtain of youth and hopefalls behind and before us."
"Yes, yes," assented Prudencia, delightedly. "My Reinaldo! myReinaldo!"
We congratulated them severally and collectively, and, when theceremony was over, Reinaldo cried, with even more enthusiasm than hehad yet shown, "My mother, for the love of Mary give me something toeat,--tamales, salad, chicken, dulces. Don Juan and I are as empty ashides."
Dona Trinidad smiled with the pride of the Californian housewife. "Itis ready, my son. Come to the dining-room, no?"
She led the way, followed by the family, Reinaldo and Prudencialingering. As the others crossed the threshold he drew her back.
"A lump of tallow, dost thou hear, my Prudencia?" he whispered,hurriedly. "Put it under the green bench. I must have it to-night."
"Ay! Reinaldo--"
"Do not refuse, my Prudencia, if thou lovest me. Wilt thou do it?"
"Sure, my Reinaldo."
The Doomswoman: An Historical Romance of Old California Page 12
