A Prairie Infanta

by Eva Wilder Brodhead

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DESTINY PRESSES

  Jane stood confounded. Her aghast mind, following Mr. Keene's project,seemed to see him rakishly ascending the pavilion steps, among awondering throng, and making way to Lola as she sat, happy and honored,with her friends. Jane had a sharp prevision of Lola's face when herfather should appear before her, so different from the tender ideal ofhim which she had cherished, so intent upon himself, so bent uponshattering with his first word to his child all those visions ofunselfish kindness and generosity which had made her thoughts of himbeautiful.

  Lola would go with him. She would rise and leave her home, friends andhappy prospects to follow him to whatever life he might judge best,however rough, however wild. In ordinary circumstances Jane could notdeny to herself that this course would be the right course for adaughter; that such an one would do well to succor a father's failings,to add hope to his despondency and love to the mitigation of histrials. But Mr. Keene was not despondent, nor were his trials of a sortwhich might not easily be tempered by something like industry on hisown part. He was frankly idle. He loved better than simple work theprecarious excitement of prospecting--an occupation which, except inisolated and accidental instances, cannot be pursued to any good savewith the aid of science and capital.

  Camp life might not be bad for Mr. Keene; but that it would be good fora girl so young and sensitive to every impression as Lola, Janedoubted.

  "I got to consider what's best for her," thought Jane, while Keenehimself was beginning once more to sympathize with the silent misery inher face.

  "I never had no idea you thought so much of Lola!" he exclaimed. "Shewasn't the kind of child a stranger'd be apt to get attached to. I hopeyou don't think I'd do anything mean? That isn't my style! All is, I'mher father, and a father ought to have some say-so. Now aint that true,Miss Combs?"

  Jane was thinking. "Would three hundred dollars help you out?" shedemanded. "I've got that much. I've been saving it toward Lola'sschooling next year."

  "What, have you been sending her to pay-school?" Keene lookedsurprised, and unexpectedly his eyes began to dim. "I'd have been abetter man if I'd had any luck," he said, with apparent irrelevance.

  Jane made no moral observations. She did not point out that a man'svirtue ought not to depend altogether on his income. She said simply,"Will that much do?"

  Mr. Keene, controlling his emotion, said it would, and they parted uponthe understanding that they should meet at Lynn two days later, for thetransference of the fund.

  Then Jane plodded wearily back to the pavilion, and mutely watched thecow-ponies rush and buck around the course. She beheld ValentinoCortes, a meteoric vision in white cotton trousers, girdled in crimson,flash by to victory amid the wild "_Vivas!_" of his compatriots. Shesaw the burros trot past in their little dog-trot of a race.

  But although she essayed a pleased smile at these things, and listenedwith enforced attention to the speeches and the music, there werepresent with her foreboding and unrest. For usually the Dauntlesspursued no vigorous labor in summer, but merely kept the water out ofits slope and "took up" and sold to various smelters such "slack" as ithad made during the winter. There would be no royalties coming in toJane, since no coal would be mined; and presently it would beSeptember, and no money for Lola's school.

  So Jane's cares were thickening. Not only did the mine soon enter onits summer inactivity, but worse befell. The mine boss came one day totell Jane that, because of a certain "roll" in the east entries, it wasdeemed inadvisable farther to work these levels.

  "The coal over there makes too much slack, anyhow," said the mine boss,"so we intend hereafter to stick to the west." Whereupon, unaware ofleaving doom behind him, he went cheerfully away.

  Jane's horizons had always lain close about her. She had never beenone to scent trouble afar off. To be content in the present, to betrustful in the future, was her unformulated creed. And now, as shemused, it came to her swiftly that she need not despair so long as shehad over her head a substantial dwelling. This abode, in its merecubhood, had afforded her financial succor. It would be queer if suchan office were beyond it now. Only this time the doctor must not beapproached; his reasoning before had been too searching.

  Jane therefore wrote to a lawyer in Trinidad, authorizing him to obtainfor her a certain amount of money. She felt assured of the outcome ofthis letter, but presently there came a reply which stupefied her. Thelawyer wrote that there happened to be in court a suit concerning theboundaries of an old Spanish land grant, which, it was claimed,extended north of the Purgatory River, and touched upon her own andother neighboring property. The lawyer wrote that matters wouldprobably be settled in favor of the present landholders, but that, solong as litigation pended, all titles were so clouded as to make anyquestions of loans untenable.

  Jane felt as if a ruthless destiny were pressing her home. She lookedat Lola, and her heart sank at the girl's air of springlike happinessand hope. Must these sweet hours be broken upon with a tale ofimpending penury?

  Lola of late had seemed gentler, and the silent, stony moods wereleaving her, together with her childish impulse toward sudden anger. Somuch Jane saw. Lola herself was sensible of a changing sway of feelingwhich she did not seek to understand. To read of a noble deed broughtswift tears to her eyes in these days of mutation, and stirred her toemulative dreams.

  She did not know what power of action lay in her; but there seemed tobe some vital promise in the eager essence of spirit which spreadbefore her such visions of beautiful enterprise. Lola did not realizehow favorable to ripening character was the atmosphere in which shelived. She could not yet know how she had been impressed by the simplepage of plain, undramatic kindness and generosity which Jane's lifeopened daily to her eyes.

  One day Jane spoke to her sadly.

  "Lola," she said, "I'm afraid there won't be enough money to send youaway to school this year."

  "But papa never denies me anything, _tia_."

  "I know, dear."

  "How funny you say that! Is--has he--lost his money, _tia_? You'rekeeping something from me!"

  "Lola," said Jane, in a moved voice, "I don't know a great deal aboutyour father's means. I can't say they're less than they were; butthere's reasons--why I'm afraid you can't--go to Pueblo this comingfall. No, Lola--don't ask me any questions--I can't speak out! I'vedone wrong! I can't say any more!" and to Lola's surprise she hurriedout of the room.

  Never before had Lola witnessed in Jane such confusion and distress.The sight bewildered and troubled her so sorely as for the moment toexclude from mind the bearing upon her own future of Jane's ambiguous,faltering words. Something was surely amiss; but the girl as yet fullyrealized only one fact--that tia, always so steadfast and strong andcheerful, had gone hastily from the room in the agitation of one whostruggled with unaccustomed tears. Lola hesitated to follow Jane. Someinward prompting withheld her.

  "She is like me," mused the girl. "She would rather be alone whenanything troubles her. I will wait. Maybe she will come back soon andtell me everything."

  Outside it was as dry and bright as ever. The Peaks stood bald andpink against the flawless sky. Over in the Vigil yard Lola saw thesmaller Vigil boys lassoing one another with a piece of clothes-line,while, dozing over her sewing, Senora Vigil herself squatted in thedoorway. Propped against the house-wall, Diego Vigil sat munching acorn-cake and frugally dispersing crumbs to the magpies which hoveredabout him in short, blue-glancing flights.

  Diego was two years old--quite old enough to doff his ragged frock forthe "pantalones" which his mother was still working upon, after weeksof listless endeavor. The senora's thread was long enough to reachhalf-way across the yard, and it took time and patience to set astitch. For very weariness the senora nodded over her labor, and mademany little appeals to the saints that they might guide aright thetortuous course of her double cotton.

  "Life is hard!" sighed the senora, pausing over a knot in her endlessthread. "Ten children keep the needle hot. Ay, but
this knot is a hardone! There are evil spirits about."

  She laid down her work to wipe her eyes, and, observing two of her sonsgrappling in fraternal war at the house corner, she arose to cuff eachone impartially, exclaiming, "_Ea, muchachos!_ You fight before my veryeyes, eh? Take that! and that!" Waddling reluctantly back to hersewing, she saw Lola standing in the white-pillared porch of the bigadobe house beyond, and a gleam of inspiration crossed the senora'sdark, fat face.

  "She shall take out this knot," thought Senora Vigil. "Senorita!" shecalled. "Come here, I pray you! There is a tangle in my thread and allmy girls are away!"

  And, as Lola came across the field, she added, "I am dead ofloneliness, Lolita. Ana and Benita and Ines and Marina and Alejandroare gone up the Trujillo to the wedding-party of their cousin, JuditaVasquez. To-morrow she marries the son of Juan Montoya. _Hola!_ Shedoes well to get so rich a one! He has twenty goats, a cow and sixdogs. His house has two rooms and a shed. They will live splendid! Itis to be hoped these earthly grandeurs will not turn Judita's thoughtsfrom heaven!" The senora shook her head cheerfully. "My Ana told Juditashe ought to be thankful so plain a face as hers should find favor withJose Montoya. My Ana is full of loving thoughts! She never lets herfriends forget what poor, sinning mortals they are!"

  "Indeed, no!" agreed Lola, feelingly, while she smoothed out thethread.

  "Take a stitch or two that I may be sure the cotton is really allright!" implored the senora. "Yes, truly Ana is a maid of rare charms.When she marries I shall be desolate!"

  "Is there talk of that?" asked Lola, with interest. Ana was nowsixteen, and was nearly as heavy as her mother, and much more sedate.In true Mexican fashion the look of youth had left her betimes, and herswarthy plumpness had early hardened and settled to a look of maturityto which future years could add little.

  "There is Juan Suarez," said the senora, in a mysterious whisper, "andif I would I could mention others; for, as you know, Lolita, my Ana isvery beautiful."

  Lola maintained a judicious silence, and the senora continued placidly,"Though she is my child, I am bound to admit it. Her nature is a rareone, too. And when suitors throng about her she only shakes her head.She is lofty. She will not listen. 'No, _caballeros_,' she says, 'Ihave regarded your corral. It is too empty.' And one by one they goaway weeping, the poor caballeros! She is cruel, my Ana, being sobeautiful! Me, I own it--though my heart aches to see the caballerosshedding tears!"

  Lola, finding her own face expanding irresistibly, bent lower overDiego's small trousers. The picture of Ana, standing disdainful amongthe sorrowing caballeros and waving off their pleas with an imperioushand, was one to bring a smile to lips of deadliest gravity. Ana, withher hands on her broad hips, short and thick as a squat brown jug withits handles akimbo,--Ana, with her great clay-colored face and tiny,glittering eyes, with her thick, pale lips and coarse, blackhair,--surely none but a mother could view in Ana such charms asbedewed Senora Vigil's eyes only to think of!

  "To see unhappiness is a very blade in my heart!" sighed Senora Vigil,recovering herself. "Do not make the thread short, Lolita! No, no! Ishall have to thread the needle again before the week is out, if youdo. Ah, yes! I wept much the day when you were lost, and Bev Gribble,the vaquero, brought you home on his horse. 'Twas long ago. And now youare grown tall and can play the piano. Shall you go on fretting yourpoor head with more schooling, _chiquita_?"

  "'DO NOT MAKE THE THREAD SHORT LOLITA!'"]

  At this question Lola's mind sharply reverted to the distressing scenewhich had by a moment preceded her neighbor's summons. There had beenin Jane's words a broken, yet oddly definite, assertion of impendingpoverty. She had spoken of the unlikelihood of another year in Pueblofor Lola, and the girl for the first time began to realize this factwith a sinking of the heart. Her voice had a tremor as she saidhesitatingly, "I'm afraid I can't go back to Pueblo this fall."

  "Not go back? The Jonas senorita goes back! Why not you? Has thy fatherlost money? I am thy friend, Lolita. Tell me!"

  "I can't tell what I don't know, senora. I don't know if he has lostmoney. _Tia_ only said that--that I mightn't go back to school. Shedidn't say why, but she will, no doubt."

  Senora Vigil's eyes narrowed. She recalled certain rumors long afloatin town as to Jane's extravagance, and the inability of her means tosuch luxuries as pianos. Also, although half-consciously, the senora'sinner memory dwelt upon that corner of her back yard which it had beenJane's sad fortune to take away.

  The senora was not unkind or vindictive, but she had a mouse-trap sortof mind which only occasionally was open to the admittance of ideas,but which snapped fast forever upon such few notions as wandered intoit. Having once accepted the belief that Jane was not averse to snatchat any good in her way, even if it belonged to another, the senorafound herself still under the sway of this opinion.

  "The big house of Mees Combs has cost too much!" she asserted. "Wherehas the money come from? From the coal? Some, perhaps, yes; but for allof the great house, ah, it cannot be! Every one has been saying therewas not enough coal in her tract to pay for what she has done; and newdebts press, doubtless. What could be easier than to take the money ofthy father? I tell you, Lolita, that you cannot go to school becauseMees Combs has had to use your money to pay them! Eh, but your fatherwill be mad! He is not working himself to a bone that strangers shouldbuild themselves fine houses! My Pablo said a little time ago thatpeople said your father's riches were going astray. Me, I did notlisten. Now I know he spoke true." The senora's tongue wagged on in adiatribe of accusation and pity.

  Lola let the sewing fall. Against her stoutest effort there prevailed avivid remembrance of Jane's manner and statements, of Jane'sself-impeachment and agitation, and, try as hard as she could toforget them, the words which Jane had used kept coming to mind. "I havedone wrong!" Had not Jane said this? Had she not covered herface--could it be _guiltily_--and gone away?

  "No," said Lola, hoarsely, half to herself, half to her hearer, "itisn't true! You make mistakes, Senora Vigil! Do you hear? You makemistakes!"

  "Alas, for thy soft heart!" moaned the senora. "Thou art changed much!Me, I would not be hard on Mees Combs, though her sin is clear. Who amI to judge? Nay, even I try to forget that me she has also despoiled;that she took a corner of our back yard, and plants corn in it to thisday! I am all for forgiving. But the saints are not so easy!" said thesenora, unconscious of any disparagement to the saints, and referringmerely to a judicial quality in them.

  Lola was not listening. She had a burning wish to escape from the softbuzzing of the senora's words, which, a velvety, sting-infested swarm,whirred around her bee-like, seeking hive and home.

  "Don't think I believe anything against _tia_!" she heard herselfsaying sternly, as the gate slipped from her impetuous hand and sherushed away, the quarry of emotions which no speed, however swift,could outdistance.

  BEWILDERING SATISFACTION