XXIV
"We should all wear black for so mournful an occasion," said RafaellaSal, spreading out her scarlet skirts.
"Father Abella is right. The occasion is sad enough without giving itthe air of a funeral."
"Sad! Dios de mi alma! Will he return?"
Elena Castro shook her wise head. She was nearly twenty, and fouryears of matrimony had made her sceptical of man's capacity forromance. "Two years are long, and he will see many girls, and becomeone again of a life that is always more brilliant than our sun in May.His eyes will be dazzled, his mind distracted, full to the brim. Tosit at table with the Tsar, to talk with him alone in his cabinet, tohave for the asking audience of the Pope of Rome and the King of Spain!Ay yi! Ay yi! Perhaps he will be made a prince when he returns to St.Petersburg and all the beautiful princesses will want to marry him.Can he remember this poor little California, and even our lovelyConcha? I doubt! Valgame Dios, I doubt!"
"Concha has always been too fortunate," said Rafaella with a touch ofspite, for years of waiting had tried her temper and the sun alwaysfreckled her nose. The flower of California stood on the corridor ofthe Mission and before the church awaiting the guest of honor and hisescort. A mass was to be said in behalf of the departing guests; theJuno would sail with the turn of the afternoon tide. Men and women werein their gayest finery, an exotic mass of color against the roughwhite-washed walls, chattering as vivaciously as if the burden of theirconversation were not regret for the Chamberlain and his gay younglieutenants. Concha, alone, wore no color; her frock was white, hermantilla black. She stood somewhat apart, but although she was paleshe commanded her eyes to dwell absently on the shifting sand far downthe valley, her haughty Spanish profile betraying nothing of thedespair in her soul.
"Yes, Concha has always been too fortunate," repeated Rafaella. "Whyshould she be chosen for such a destiny--to go to the Russian court andwear a train ten yards long of red velvet embroidered with gold, awhite veil spangled with gold, a headdress a foot high set so thickwith jewels her head will ache for a week--Madre de Dios! And we stayhere forever with white walls, horsehair furniture, Baja Californiapearls and three silk dresses a year!"
"No one in all Russia will look so grand in court dress as ourConchita," said Elena loyally. "But I doubt if it is the dress and thestate she thinks of losing to-day. She will not talk even to me ofhim-- Ay yi! she grows more reserved every day, our Concha!--except tosay she will wed him when he returns, and that I know, for did not Iwitness the betrothal? She only mocks me when I beg her to tell me ifshe loves him, languishes, or sings a bar of some one of our beautifulsongs with ridiculous words. But she does. She did not sleep lastnight. Her room is next to mine. No, it is of Rezanov she thinks, andalways. Those proud, silent girls, who jest when others would weep anduse many words and must die without sympathy--they have tragedy intheir souls, ay yi! And you think she is fortunate? True she isbeautiful, she is La Favorita, she receives many boxes from Mexico, andshe has won the love of this Russian. But--I have not dared to remindher--I remembered it only yesterday--she came into this world on thethirteenth of a month, and he into her life but one day before thethirteenth of another--new style! True some might say that it was anescape, but if he came on the twelfth, it was on the thirteenth shebegan to love him--on the night of the ball; of that I am sure."
Rafaella shuddered and crossed herself. "Poor Concha! Perhaps in theend she will always stand apart like that. Truly she is not as others.I have always said it. Thanks be to Mary it was Luis that wooed me,not the Russian, for I might have been tempted. True his eyes areblue, and only the black could win my heart. But the court of St.Petersburg! Dios de mi vida! Did I lie awake at night and think ofConcha Arguello in red velvet and jewels all over, I should hate her.But no--to-day--I cannot. Two years! Have I not waited six? It iseternity when one loves and is young."
"They come," said Elena.
The cavalcade was descending the sand hills on the left, Rezanov infull uniform between the Commandante and Luis Arguello and followed bya picked escort of officers from Presidio and Fort. The Californianswore full-dress uniform of white and scarlet, Don Jose a blue velvetserape, embroidered in gold with the arms of Spain.
As they dismounted Rezanov bowed ceremoniously to the party on thecorridor, and they returned his salutation gravely, suddenly silent.He walked directly over to Concha.
"We will go in together," he said. "It matters nothing what theythink. I kneel beside no one else."
And Concha, with the air of leading an honored guest to the banquet,turned and walked with him into the dark little church.
"Why did you not wear a white mantilla?" he whispered. "I do not likethat black thing."
"I am not a bride. I knew we should kneel together--it would have beenridiculous. And I could not wear a colored reboso to-day."
"I should have liked to fancy we were here for our nuptials. Delusionspass but are none the less sweet for that."
They knelt before the altar, the Commandante, Dona Ignacia, Luis,Santiago, Rafaella Sal and Elena Castro just behind; the rest of theparty, their bright garments shimmering vaguely in the gloom, as theylistened; and enough fervent prayers went up to insure the health andsafety of the departing guests for all their lives.
Rezanov, who had much on his mind, stared moodily at the altar untilConcha, who had bowed her head almost to her knees, finished hersupplication; then their eyes turned and met simultaneously. For amoment their brains did swim in the delusion that the priest with hisuplifted hands pronounced benediction upon their nuptials, thatprobation was over and union nigh. But Father Abella dismissed allwith the same blessing, and they shivered as they rose and walkedslowly down the church.
Dona Ignacia took her husband's arm, and muttering that she feared achill, hurried the others before her. The priests had gone to thesacristy. Before they reached the door Rezanov and Concha were alone.
His hands fell heavily on her shoulders.
"Concha," he said, "I shall come back if I live. I make no foolishvows, so idle between us. There is only one power that can prevent ourmarriage in this church not later than two years from to-day. Andalthough I am in the very fulness of my health and strength, with mywork but begun, and all my happiness in the future, and even to a lesssanguine man it would seem that his course had many years to run, stillhave I seen as much as any man of the inconsequence of life, of theinsignificance of the individual, his hopes, ambitions, happiness, andeven usefulness, in the complicated machinery of natural laws. It maybe that I shall not come back. But I wish to take with me your promisethat if I have not returned at the end of two years or you havereceived no reason for my detention, you will believe that I am dead.There would be but one insupportable drop in the bitterness of death,the doubt of your faith in my word and my love. Are you too much of awoman to curb your imagination in a long unbroken silence?"
"I have learned so much that one lesson more is no tax on my faith.And I no longer live in a world of little things. I promise you that Ishall never falter nor doubt."
He bent his head and kissed her for the first time without passion, butsolemnly, as had their nuptials indeed been accomplished, and thegreater mystery of spiritual union isolated them for a moment in thattwilight region where the mortal part did not enter.
As they left the church they saw that all the Indians of the Missionand neighborhood, in a gala of color, had gathered to cheer theRussians as they rode away. Concha was to return as she had come,beside the carreta of her mother, and as Rezanov mounted his horse shestood staring with unseeing eyes on the brilliant, animated scene.Suddenly she heard a suppressed sob, and felt a touch on her skirt.She looked round and saw Rosa, kneeling close to the church. For amoment she continued to stare, hardly comprehending, in the intenseconcentration of her faculties, that tangible beings, other thanherself and Rezanov, still moved on the earth. Then her mind relaxed.She was normal in a normal world once more. She stooped and patted the
hands clasping her skirts.
"Poor Rosa!" she said. "Poor Rosa!"
Over the intense green of islands and hills were long banners of yellowand purple mist, where the wild flowers were lifting their heads. Thewhole quivering bay was as green as the land, but far away themountains of the east were pink. Where there was a patch of verdure onthe sand hills the warm golden red of the poppy flaunted in thesunshine. All nature was in gala attire like the Californiansthemselves, as the Juno under full sail sped through "The Mouth of theGulf of the Farallones." Fort San Joaquin saluted with seven guns; theJuno returned the compliment with nine. The Commandante, his familyand guests, stood on the hill above the fort, cheering, wavingsombreros and handkerchiefs. Wind and tide carried the ship rapidlyout the straits. Rezanov dropped the cocked hat he had been waving andraised his field-glass. Concha, as ever, stood a little apart. As theship grew smaller and the company turned toward the Presidio, sheadvanced to the edge of the bluff. The wind lifted her loosenedmantilla, billowing it out on one side, and as she stood with her handspressed against her heart, she might, save for her empty arms, havebeen the eidolon of the Madonna di San Sisto. In her eyes was the sameexpression of vague arrested horror as she looked out on that world ofmenacing imperfections the blind forces of nature and man had created;her body was instinct with the same nervous leashed impotent energy.
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