Ramona

by Helen Hunt Jackson

  IX

  WHEN the Senora came back to the veranda, she found Felipe asleep,Alessandro standing at the foot of the bed, with his arms crossed on hisbreast, watching him. As the Senora drew near, Alessandro felt again thesame sense of dawning hatred which had seized him at her harsh speech toRamona. He lowered his eyes, and waited to be dismissed.

  "You can go now, Alessandro," said the Senora. "I will sit here. Youare quite sure that it will be safe for Senor Felipe to sleep here allnight?"

  "It will cure him before many nights," replied Alessandro, still withoutraising his eyes, and turning to go.

  "Stay," said the Senora. Alessandro paused. "It will not do for him tobe alone here in the night, Alessandro."

  Alessandro had thought of this, and had remembered that if he lay onthe veranda floor by Senor Felipe's side, he would also lie under theSenorita's window.

  "No, Senora," he replied. "I will lie here by his side. That was what Ihad thought, if the Senora is willing."

  "Thank you, Alessandro," said the Senora, in a tone which would havesurprised poor Ramona, still sitting alone in her room, with sad eyes.She did not know the Senora could speak thus sweetly to any one butFelipe. "Thank you! You are kind. I will have a bed made for you."

  "Oh, no." cried Alessandro; "if the Senora will excuse me, I could notlie on a bed. A raw-hide like Senor Felipe's, and my blanket, are all Iwant. I could not lie on any bed."

  "To be sure," thought the Senora; "what was I thinking of! How theboy makes one forget he is an Indian! But the floor is harder than theground, Alessandro," she said kindly.

  "No, Senora," he said, "it is all one; and to-night I will not sleep.I will watch Senor Felipe, in case there should be a wind, or he shouldwake and need something."

  "I will watch him myself till midnight," said the Senora. "I should feeleasier to see how he sleeps at first."

  It was the balmiest of summer nights, and as still as if no living thingwere on the earth. There was a full moon, which shone on the garden, andon the white front of the little chapel among the trees. Ramona, fromher window, saw Alessandro pacing up and down the walk. She had seen himspread down the raw-hide by Felipe's bed, and had seen the Senora takeher place in one of the big carved chairs. She wondered if they wereboth going to watch; she wondered why the Senora would never let her situp and watch with Felipe.

  "I am not of any use to anybody," she thought sadly. She dared notgo out and ask any questions about the arrangements for the night. Atsupper the Senora had spoken to her only in the same cold and distantmanner which always made her dumb and afraid. She had not once seenFelipe alone during the day. Margarita, who, in the former times,--ah,how far away those former times looked now!--had been a greater comfortto Ramona than she realized,--Margarita now was sulky and silent, nevercame into Ramona's presence if she could help it, and looked at hersometimes with an expression which made Ramona tremble, and say toherself, "She hates me; She has always hated me since that morning."

  It had been a long, sad day to Ramona; and as she sat in her windowleaning her head against the sash, and looked at Alessandro pacing upand down, she felt for the first time, and did not shrink from it nor inany wise disavow or disguise it to herself, that she was glad he lovedher. More than this she did not think; beyond this she did not go.Her mind was not like Margarita's, full of fancies bred of freedom inintercourse with men. But distinctly, tenderly glad that Alessandroloved her, and distinctly, tenderly aware how well he loved her, shewas, as she sat at her window this night, looking out into the moonlitgarden; after she had gone to bed, she could still hear his slow,regular steps on the garden-walk, and the last thought she had, as shefell asleep, was that she was glad Alessandro loved her.

  The moon had been long set, and the garden, chapel-front, trees, vines,were all wrapped in impenetrable darkness, when Ramona awoke, sat up inher bed, and listened. All was so still that the sound of Felipe's low,regular breathing came in through her open window. After hearkening toit for a few moments, she rose noiselessly from her bed, and creeping tothe window parted the curtains and looked out; noiselessly, she thought;but it was not noiselessly enough to escape Alessandro's quick ear;without a sound, he sprang to his feet, and stood looking at Ramona'swindow.

  "I am here, Senorita," he whispered. "Do you want anything?"

  "Has he slept all night like this?" she whispered back.

  "Yes, Senorita. He has not once moved."

  "How good!" said Ramona. "How good!"

  Then she stood still; she wanted to speak again to Alessandro, to hearhim speak again, but she could think of no more to say. Because shecould not, she gave a little sigh.

  Alessandro took one swift step towards the window. "May the saints blessyou, Senorita," he whispered fervently.

  "Thank you, Alessandro," murmured Ramona, and glided back to her bed,but not to sleep. It lacked not much of dawn; as the first faint lightfiltered through the darkness, Ramona heard the Senora's window open.

  "Surely she will not strike up the hymn and wake Felipe," thoughtRamona; and she sprang again to the window to listen. A few low wordsbetween the Senora and Alessandro, and then the Senora's window closedagain, and all was still.

  "I thought she would not have the heart to wake him," said Ramona toherself. "The Virgin would have had no pleasure in our song, I am sure;but I will say a prayer to her instead;" and she sank on her knees atthe head of her bed, and began saying a whispered prayer. The footfallof a spider in Ramona's room had not been light enough to escape theear of that watching lover outside. Again Alessandro's tall figure arosefrom the floor, turning towards Ramona's window; and now the darknesswas so far softened to dusk, that the outline of his form could be seen.Ramona felt it rather than saw it, and stopped praying. Alessandro wassure he had heard her voice.

  "Did the Senorita speak?" he whispered, his face close at the curtain.Ramona, startled, dropped her rosary, which rattled as it fell on thewooden floor.

  "No, no, Alessandro," she said, "I did not speak." And she trembled,she knew not why. The sound of the beads on the floor explained toAlessandro what had been the whispered words he heard.

  "She was at her prayers," he thought, ashamed and sorry. "Forgive me,"he whispered, "I thought you called;" and he stepped back to the outeredge of the veranda, and seated himself on the railing. He would liedown no more. Ramona remained on her knees, gazing at the window.Through the transparent muslin curtain the dawning light came slowly,steadily, till at last she could see Alessandro distinctly. Forgetfulof all else, she knelt gazing at him. The rosary lay on the floor,forgotten. Ramona would not finish that prayer, that day. But her heartwas full of thanksgiving and gratitude, and the Madonna had a betterprayer than any in the book.

  The sun was up, and the canaries, finches, and linnets had made theveranda ring with joyous racket, before Felipe opened his eyes. TheSenora had come and gone and come again, looking at him anxiously, buthe stirred not. Ramona had stolen timidly out, glancing at Alessandroonly long enough to give him one quick smile, and bent over Felipe'sbed, holding her breath, he lay so still.

  "Ought he to sleep so long?" she whispered.

  "Till the noon, it may be," answered Alessandro; "and when he wakes, youwill see by his eye that he is another man."

  It was indeed so. When Felipe first looked about him, he laughedoutright with pure pleasure. Then catching sight of Alessandro at thesteps, he called, in a stronger voice than had yet been heard from him,"Alessandro, you are a famous physician. Why couldn't that fool fromVentura have known as much? With all his learning, he had had me in thenext world before many days, except for you. Now, Alessandro, breakfast!I'm hungry. I had forgotten what the thought of food was like to ahungry stomach. And plenty! plenty!" he called, as Alessandro ran towardthe kitchen. "Bring all they have."

  When the Senora saw Felipe bolstered up in the bed, his eye bright,his color good, his voice clear, eating heartily like his old self,she stood like a statue in the middle of the veranda for a moment; thenturning to
Alessandro, she said chokingly, "May Heaven reward you!" anddisappeared abruptly in her own room. When she came out, her eyeswere red. All day she moved and spoke with a softness unwonted, indeedinconceivable. She even spoke kindly and without constraint to Ramona.She felt like one brought back from the dead.

  After this, a new sort of life began for them all. Felipe's bed onthe veranda was the rallying point for everything and everybody.. Theservants came to look up at him, and wish him well, from the garden-walkbelow. Juan Can, when he first hobbled out on the stout crutchesAlessandro had made him of manzanita wood, dragged himself all the wayround the house, to have a look at Senor Felipe and a word with him. TheSenora sat there, in the big carved chair, looking like a sibyl with herblack silk banded head-dress severely straight across her brow, and herlarge dark eyes gazing out, past Felipe, into the far south sky. Ramonalived there too, with her embroidery or her book, sitting on cushions onthe floor in a corner, or at the foot of Felipe's bed, always so placed,however,--if anybody had noticed, but nobody did,--so placed that shecould look at Felipe without looking full at the Senora's chair, even ifthe Senora were not in it.

  Here also came Alessandro many times a day,--sometimes sent for,sometimes of his own accord. He was freely welcome. When he played orsang he sat on the upper step of the stairs leading down to the garden.He also had a secret, which he thought all his own, in regard to thepositions he chose. He sat always, when Ramona was there, in the spotwhich best commanded a view of her face. The secret was not all his own.Felipe knew it. Nothing was escaping Felipe in these days. A bomb-shellexploding at their feet would not have more astonished the differentmembers of this circle, the Senora, Ramona, Alessandro, than it wouldto have been made suddenly aware of the thoughts which were going on inFelipe's mind now, from day to day, as he lay there placidly looking atthem all.

  It is probable that if Felipe had been in full health and strength whenthe revelation suddenly came to him that Alessandro loved Ramona, andthat Ramona might love Alessandro, he would have been instantly filledwith jealous antagonism. But at the time when this revelation came, hewas prostrate, feeble, thinking many times a day that he must soon die;it did not seem to Felipe that a man could be so weak as he was, andever again be strong and well. Side by side with these forebodings ofhis own death, always came the thought of Ramona. What would become ofher, if he were gone? Only too well he knew that the girl's heart wouldbe broken; that she could not live on alone with his mother. Felipeadored his mother; but he understood her feeling about Ramona.

  With his feebleness had also come to Felipe, as is often the case inlong illnesses, a greater clearness of perception. Ramona had ceased topuzzle him. He no longer asked himself what her long, steady look intohis eyes meant. He knew. He saw it mean that as a sister she loved him,had always loved him, and could love him in no other way. He wondered alittle at himself that this gave him no more pain; only a sort of sweet,mournful tenderness towards her. It must be because he was so soon goingout of the world, he thought. Presently he began to be aware that a newquality was coming into his love for her. He himself was returningto the brother love which he had had for her when they were childrentogether, and in which he had felt no change until he became a man andRamona a woman. It was strange what a peace fell upon Felipe when thiswas finally clear and settled in his mind. No doubt he had had moremisgiving and fear about his mother in the matter than he had everadmitted to himself; perhaps also the consciousness of Ramona'sunfortunate birth had rankled at times; but all this was past now.Ramona was his sister. He was her brother. What course should he pursuein the crisis which he saw drawing near? How could he best help Ramona?What would be best for both her and Alessandro? Long before the thoughtof any possible union between himself and Ramona had entered intoAlessandro's mind, still longer before it had entered into Ramona's tothink of Alessandro as a husband, Felipe had spent hours in forecasting,plotting, and planning for them. For the first time in his life he felthimself in the dark as to his mother's probable action. That any concernas to Ramona's personal happiness or welfare would influence her, heknew better than to think for a moment. So far as that was concerned,Ramona might wander out the next hour, wife of a homeless beggar,and his mother would feel no regret. But Ramona had been the adopteddaughter of the Senora Ortegna, bore the Ortegna name, and had lived asfoster-child in the house of the Morenos. Would the Senora permit such aone to marry an Indian?

  Felipe doubted. The longer he thought, the more he doubted. The morehe watched, the more he saw that the question might soon have to bedecided. Any hour might precipitate it. He made plan after plan forforestalling trouble, for preparing his mother; but Felipe was by natureindolent, and now he was, in addition, feeble. Day after day slipped by.It was exceedingly pleasant on the veranda. Ramona was usually with him;his mother was gentler, less sad, than he had ever seen her. Alessandrowas always at hand, ready for any service,--in the field, in thehouse,--his music a delight, his strength and fidelity a repose, hispersonal presence always agreeable. "If only my mother could thinkit," reflected Felipe, "it would be the best thing, all round, to haveAlessandro stay here as overseer of the place, and then they might bemarried. Perhaps before the summer is over she will come to see it so."

  And the delicious, languid, semi-tropic summer came hovering over thevalley. The apricots turned golden, the peaches glowed, the grapesfilled and hardened, like opaque emeralds hung thick under the canopiedvines. The garden was a shade brown, and the roses had all fallen; butthere were lilies, and orange-blossoms, and poppies, and carnations, andgeraniums in the pots, and musk,--oh, yes, ever and always musk. It waslike an enchanter's spell, the knack the Senora had of forever keepingrelays of musk to bloom all the year; and it was still more like anenchanter's spell, that Felipe would never confess that he hated it.'But the bees liked it, and the humming-birds,--the butterflies also;and the air was full of them. The veranda was a quieter place now as theseason's noon grew near. The linnets were all nesting, and the finchesand the canaries too; and the Senora spent hours, every day, tirelesslyfeeding the mothers. The vines had all grown and spread out to theirthickest; no need any longer of the gay blanket Alessandro had pinned upthat first morning to keep the sun off Felipe's head.

  What was the odds between a to-day and a to-morrow in such a spotas this? "To-morrow," said Felipe, "I will speak to my mother," and"to-morrow," and "to-morrow;" but he did not.

  There was one close observer of these pleasant veranda days that Felipeknew nothing about. That was Margarita. As the girl came and went abouther household tasks, she was always on the watch for Alessandro, on thewatch for Ramona. She was biding her time. Just what shape her revengewas going to take, she did not know. It was no use plotting. It must beas it fell out; but that the hour and the way for her revenge would comeshe never doubted.

  When she saw the group on the veranda, as she often did, all listeningto Alessandro's violin, or to his singing, Alessandro himself now at hisease and free in the circle, as if he had been there always, her angerwas almost beyond bounds.

  "Oh, ho! like a member of the family; quite so!" she sneered. "It is newtimes when a head shepherd spends his time with the ladies of the house,and sits in their presence like a guest who is invited! We shall see; weshall see what comes of all this!" And she knew not which she hated themore of the two, Alessandro or Ramona.

  Since the day of the scene at the artichoke-field she had never spokento Alessandro, and had avoided, so far as was possible, seeing him. Atfirst Alessandro was sorry for this, and tried to be friendly with her.As soon as he felt assured that the incident had not hurt him at all inthe esteem of Ramona, he began to be sorry for Margarita. "A man shouldnot be rude to any maiden," he thought; and he hated to remember how hehad pushed Margarita from him, and snatched his hand away, when hehad in the outset made no objection to her taking it. But Margarita'sresentment was not to be appeased. She understood only too clearly howlittle Alessandro's gentle advances meant, and she would none of them."Let him go to his Seno
rita," she said bitterly, mocking the reverentialtone in which she had overheard him pronounce the word. "She is fondenough of him, if only the fool had eyes to see it. She'll be ready tothrow herself at his head before long, if this kind of thing keeps up.'It is not well to speak thus freely of young men, Margarita!' Ha,ha! Little I thought that day which way the wind set in my mistress'stemper! I'll wager she reproves me no more, under this roof or anyother! Curse her! What did she want of Alessandro, except to turn hishead, and then bid him go his way!"

  To do Margarita justice, she never once dreamed of the possibility ofRamona's wedding Alessandro. A clandestine affair, an intrigue of moreor less intensity, such as she herself might have carried on with anyone of the shepherds,--this was the utmost stretch of Margarita's angryimaginations in regard to her young mistress's liking for Alessandro.There was not, in her way of looking at things, any impossibility ofsuch a thing as that. But marriage! It might be questioned whether thatidea would have been any more startling to the Senora herself than toMargarita.

  Little had passed between Alessandro and Ramona which Margarita did notknow. The girl was always like a sprite,--here, there, everywhere, inan hour, and with eyes which, as her mother often told her, saw on allsides of her head. Now, fired by her new purpose, new passion, she movedswifter than ever, and saw and heard even more, There were few hours ofany day when she did not know to a certainty where both Alessandro andRamona were; and there had been few meetings between them which she hadnot either seen or surmised.

  In the simple life of such a household as the Senora's, it was notstrange that this was possible; nevertheless, it argued and involveduntiring vigilance on Margarita's part. Even Felipe, who thoughthimself, from his vantage-post of observation on the veranda, and fromhis familiar relation with Ramona, well informed of most that happened,would have been astonished to hear all that Margarita could havetold him. In the first days Ramona herself had guilelessly told himmuch,--had told him how Alessandro, seeing her trying to sprinkle andbathe and keep alive the green ferns with which she had decorated thechapel for Father Salvierderra's coming, had said: "Oh, Senorita, theyare dead! Do not take trouble with them! I will bring you fresh ones;"and the next morning she had found, lying at the chapel door, a pile ofsuch ferns as she had never before seen; tall ones, like ostrich-plumes,six and eight feet high; the feathery maidenhair, and the gold fern, andthe silver, twice as large as she ever had found them. The chapel wasbeautiful, like a conservatory, after she had arranged them in vases andaround the high candlesticks.

  It was Alessandro, too, who had picked up in the artichoke-patch allof the last year's seed-vessels which had not been trampled down by thecattle, and bringing one to her, had asked shyly if she did not thinkit prettier than flowers made out of paper. His people, he said, madewreaths of them. And so they were, more beautiful than any paper flowerswhich ever were made,--great soft round disks of fine straight threadslike silk, with a kind of saint's halo around them of sharp, stiffpoints, glossy as satin, and of a lovely creamy color. It was thestrangest thing in the world nobody had ever noticed them as they laythere on the ground. She had put a great wreath of them around SaintJoseph's head, and a bunch in the Madonna's hand; and when the Senorasaw them, she exclaimed in admiration, and thought they must have beenmade of silk and satin.

  And Alessandro had brought her beautiful baskets, made by the Indianwomen at Pala, and one which had come from the North, from the Tularecountry; it had gay feathers woven in with the reeds,--red and yellow,in alternate rows, round and round. It was like a basket made out of abright-colored bird.

  And a beautiful stone bowl Alessandro had brought her, glossy black,that came all the way from Catalina Island; a friend of Alessandro's gotit. For the first few weeks it had seemed as if hardly a day passedthat there was not some new token to be chronicled of Alessandro'sthoughtfulness and good-will. Often, too, Ramona had much to tell thatAlessandro had said,--tales of the old Mission days that he had heardfrom his father; stories of saints, and of the early Fathers, who weremore like saints than like men, Alessandro said,--Father Junipero, whofounded the first Missions, and Father Crespi, his friend. Alessandro'sgrandfather had journeyed with Father Crespi as his servant, and many amiracle he had with his own eyes seen Father Crespi perform. There was acup out of which the Father always took his chocolate for breakfast,--abeautiful cup, which was carried in a box, the only luxury the Fatherhad; and one morning it was broken, and everybody was in terror anddespair. "Never mind, never mind," said the Father; "I will make itwhole;" and taking the two pieces in his hands, he held them tighttogether, and prayed over them, and they became one solid piece again,and it was used all through the journey, just as before.

  But now, Ramona never spoke voluntarily of Alessandro. To Felipe'ssometimes artfully put questions or allusions to him, she made briefreplies, and never continued the topic; and Felipe had observed anotherthing: she now rarely looked at Alessandro. When he was speaking toothers she kept her eyes on the ground. If he addressed her, shelooked quickly up at him, but lowered her eyes after the first glance.Alessandro also observed this, and was glad of it. He understood it. Heknew how differently she could look in his face in the rare moments whenthey were alone together. He fondly thought he alone knew this; but hewas mistaken. Margarita knew. She had more than once seen it.

  It had happened more than once that he had found Ramona at the willowsby the brook, and had talked with her there. The first time it happened,it was a chance; after that never a chance again, for Alessandro wentoften seeking the spot, hoping to find her. In Ramona's mind too, notavowed, but half consciously, there was, if not the hope of seeing himthere, at least the memory that it was there they had met. It was apleasant spot,--cool and shady even at noon, and the running wateralways full of music. Ramona often knelt there of a morning, washing outa bit of lace or a handkerchief; and when Alessandro saw her, it wenthard with him to stay away. At such moments the vision returned to himvividly of that first night when, for the first second, seeing her facein the sunset glow, he had thought her scarce mortal. It was not thathe even now thought her less a saint; but ah, how well he knew her tobe human! He had gone alone in the dark to this spot many a time, and,lying on the grass, put his hands into the running water, and playedwith it dreamily, thinking, in his poetic Indian fashion, thoughts likethese: "Whither have gone the drops that passed beneath her hands, justhere? These drops will never find those in the sea; but I love thiswater!"

  Margarita had seen him thus lying, and without dreaming of the refinedsentiment which prompted his action, had yet groped blindly towards it,thinking to herself: "He hopes his Senorita will come down to him there.A nice place it is for a lady to meet her lover, at the washing-stones!It will take swifter water than any in that brook, Senorita Ramona, towash you white in the Senora's eyes, if ever she come upon you therewith the head shepherd, making free with him, may be! Oh, but if thatcould only happen, I'd die content!" And the more Margarita watched,the more she thought it not unlikely that it might turn out so. It wasoftener at the willows than anywhere else that Ramona and Alessandromet; and, as Margarita noticed with malicious satisfaction, they talkedeach time longer, each time parted more lingeringly. Several times ithad happened to be near supper-time; and Margarita, with one eye onthe garden-walk, had hovered restlessly near the Senora, hoping to beordered to call the Senorita to supper.

  "If but I could come on them of a sudden, and say to her as she did tome, 'You are wanted in the house'! Oh, but it would do my soul good! I'dsay it so it would sting like a lash laid on both their faces! It willcome! It will come! It will be there that she'll be caught one of thesefine times she's having! I'll wait! It will come!"