Читать книгу The Squatter and the Don - María Amparo Ruiz de Burton - Страница 12

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The Darrell family had been the happy dwellers of their fine house on the Alamar rancho for nearly two months, and the three Misses Holman had been the guests of the Alamar family for the same length of time, and now the month of September, 1872, had arrived.

The awnings at the east and south side of the front veranda were down, and in that deliciously cool place, the favorite resort of the Alamar ladies, they now sat with their guests—the Holmans—engaged in different kinds of fancy work, the greater portion of which was intended to be wedding presents for Elvira and Lizzie Mechlin, who were to be married in a few months.

Mercedes was the only one not at work. She was reclining on a hammock, reading.

“Arn't you going to work anything for the girls, Mercedes?” Rosario inquired.

“Which girls?” Mercedes asked, with her eyes fixed on her book.

“Lizzie and Elvira, of course,” Rosario answered.

“I will when the wedding day is fixed.”

“It will soon be, when George arrives,” Doña Josefa said.

“That will be time enough for my work,” said Mercedes, looking from her book down the valley, towards the Darrell house, as if casually observing from under the awning the green meadows below.

“What made you come here? The back veranda is entirely shaded, and much cooler. I have been waiting for you there. Pshaw!” said Victoriano, coming forward and stretching open a hammock to throw himself into it.

“Had we known that, we would all have rushed there,” said Corina Holman.

“In a perfect stampede,” added Rosario.

“I thought you had gone with your father,” Doña Josefa said.

“No, he said he might stay to lunch at aunt's. It is too hot a day to be riding about in the sun.”

“Certainly, after having been in the moon for two months the change of temperature might hurt you,” said Amelia Holman.

“That's a fact; I have been in the moon ever since you came,” assented Victoriano.

“Your moon stays in the valley, it doesn't rise to this level,” said Amelia.

“It is a lovely moon wherever it may shine. I say, Baby, won't you go with me to the Darrells this evening?” asked he, addressing Mercedes, who had made no reply, for the reason that she had just seen Clarence coming on horseback, and, as usual, when any one spoke of him, or she unexpectedly saw him, she found it necessary to take a little time, in order to steady her voice, which otherwise might betray her heart's tumult.

“Mercedes' French novel must be very interesting,” Carlota said.

“It is not a novel—it is French History,” said Madam Halier.

“Mercedes, Tano wants you to escort him this evening,” said Rosario. “Will you take him?”

“Where?” Mercedes asked, without moving.

“To the moon,” said Corina.

“She means to the third heaven,” rejoined Victoriano.

“I declare, the God of Love is truly miraculous. I think it could even poetize the Pittikin girls, or the Hughes, in Tano's opinion,” said Carlota.

“Talk of the angels, and you hear the clatter of their hoofs,” said Rosario; “there he is at the gate.”

“This awning is too low—we don't see people until they are upon us,” said Carlota.

“I am off. I suppose he will stay to lunch, that will give me all I want of his charming society,” said Rosario, rising to go as Clarence dismounted at the gate.

“Stay, he has seen us all; it would be discourteous to leave now,” said Doña Josefa, and Rosario remained.

Victoriano jumped out of the hammock to meet Clarence.

“Hallo, yourself and welcome! Any news?”

“Yes, big news,” Clarence replied, blushing crimson—not at the news he brought, as one might have supposed—but because he had just seen two little feet, in a tiny pair of slippers, with blue rosettes, which he well knew. These little blue rosettes had set his heart to beating, sending more than the normal amount of blood to his head.

On leaving her hammock to take a chair Mercedes had shown those tantalizing tip ends of her slippers, half hidden in a mass of lace ruffles. That was all, and yet poor Clarence was disconcerted, and became more and more so, on perceiving that there were not less than nine ladies on that veranda; nine pairs of eyes which had undoubtedly observed his own, devouring the blue rosettes.

“What is the news, pray? Don't kill us with suspense,” pleaded Miss Corina Holman.

“The news is that Colonel Scott has arrived at San Francisco, and will be in San Diego next week.”

“Hurrah,” shouted Victoriano, “now we'll all be rich.”

“How do you make that out?” Rosario asked.

“Never mind how, we'll not go into particulars.”

“No, better not,” Rosario advised.

“Papa will be so glad to hear this news,” said Mercedes, “and Mr. Holman, also. He'll come down now, will he not?”

“Yes, father will come down with Col. Scott, and may be build us a house right away,” said Amelia.

“There is papa now; I am so glad,” Mercedes exclaimed.

“I must run with the news to him,” said Victoriano, rushing madly through the hall, to the patio, or court, where Don Mariano had just dismounted.

The news was so gladdening to Don Mariano, that he came immediately to propose to the young ladies to have a dance that evening.

“But where are the gentlemen? There are plenty of ladies, but unless you invite squatters”—Rosario began, but Doña Josefa stopped her with a look.

“Let us see,” said Don Mariano, counting on his fingers, “there are three or four Darrells, and six or eight Alamares, if my brothers and half of my nephews come. That ought to be enough, I think.”

“Plenty. I'll send a vaquero to aunt's to call the boys, and you bring your brothers and sisters, Clarence,” said Victoriano.

“With pleasure,” was Clarence's reply.

“There will surely be some fellows from town this evening, and we'll make them stay,” added Victoriano.

The dance took place and was followed by many others. The Alamar family were very hospitable, and had many visitors, who were only too glad to spend their evenings, dancing with charming and refined young ladies, whose society was certainly most attractive.

There were several young gentlemen from the Eastern States stopping at the principal hotel in San Diego, and they came to Alamar almost daily, to have a dance, or picnic, or musicale, or a card party.

These gayeties were not confined to the Alamar and Mechlin and Darrell families, nor was the Alamar rancho only made happy because Tom Scott was coming. The entire county of San Diego was buoyed up with hopes of prosperity, which now seemed founded upon a solid basis.

As for the town of San Diego itself, the dwarfed and stunted little city, she went crazy with joy. Her joy, however, was not of the boisterous, uproarious kind, it was of a mild character, which smiles at everybody, and takes all that comes in good part, ready always to join in the laugh on herself, provided everybody enjoys it. She was happy, seeing a broad vista of coming prosperity in the near future. Why not? She had every reason and every right to expect that the Texas Pacific would be built.

At last, Col. Scott arrived, and drove to the principal hotel, where a deputation of the most prominent citizens immediately waited on him to pay their respects, and learn his wishes as to how his time should be occupied during his stay in San Diego. The city desired to honor the distinguished guest with liberal hospitality, but the business of the railroad was the main point in view. There were speeches to be made at “Armory Hall,” with meetings and consultations to be had at nights, besides drives to examine the town site and surrounding country during the day. The ladies wished to give him a ball, but the business men said Tom Scott did not come to dance, he came to work. There was a banquet given to him, but no ladies were present, only men, and plenty of railroad speeches. The ladies could only meet him at private receptions in the evening, when he was tired out with driving. Yet, this was the best that could be done, as his time was limited. But he was amiable, the ladies were amiable, and the gentlemen were amiable. So the little city of San Diego gave all she had to give; all the lands that had belonged to the old “San Diego & Gila R. R. Co.,” all that had been transferred to “The Memphis & El Paso R. R. Co.,” all the town lands, water front and rights of way that could by any means be obtained, all was most generously proffered, adding more lands than those originally given to the road under the old names of “The San Diego & Gila Railroad” or “The Memphis & El Paso Railroad.”

Col. Scott left well satisfied with the people of San Diego, and the people were charmed with Col. Scott. Speculation then ran wild. Town lots were bought and sold at fancy prices, but in the madness of the hour folly seemed wisdom.

Among the heaviest investors, Don Mariano Alamar, Mr. James Mechlin, and Mr. Alfred Holman were the most prominent. They bought block after block of building lots, and only stopped when their money was all invested. Clarence also bought a few blocks, and George and Gabriel risked all they dared. Many other people followed this (which proved to be disastrous) example, and then all sat down to wait for the railroad to bring population and prosperity.

————

The day of the double wedding which was to tie together (with a double loop) the Alamar and Mechlin families, was set for the 24th of May, 1873. On that day Gabriel and George would lead to the altar their respective sisters, Lizzie and Elvira.

Don Mariano wished to celebrate that double wedding in the same old-fashioned way in which his own had been solemnized. He wanted at least three days of good eating and drinking, and dancing; to have noise and boat racing; to have a day's sailing on the bay, and a day's picnic in the woods, to which picnic even the stubborn, hostile squatters should be invited. But with the sole exception of Victoriano, no one of his family approved this programme.

“I'm afraid my dear husband that we are too closely surrounded by Americans for us to indulge in our old-fashioned rejoicings,” Doña Josefa said.

“We would be laughed at,” Carlota added.

“Who cares for that?” Victoriano asked, scornfully.

“I don't believe that the right thinking and kind-hearted Americans would say anything, except that such is customary among us. But if George and Gabriel desire to run off in the steamer, as though they were ashamed of matrimony, I say let them have their way. But they will have a wedding that will look like a funeral,” said the disappointed Don Mariano.

“George and Gabriel are willing to have their wedding celebrated as you propose, but it is the girls that object; they wished to run off and hide for a month in a fashionable hotel in San Francisco; afterward they came to the conclusion that they didn't want to go to a hotel, so Gabriel proposed that they will take the steamer that goes to Mazatlan and Guaymas and La Paz, thus to visit all of those places on their wedding tour,” Victoriano said. “As George had been wishing to see the Mexican coast, this plan suited all very well, and George has written to have the steamer stop for them on her way south,” Victoriano explained, half apologetically, half resentfully.

“That is all right; if they are satisfied I am,” said Don Mariano, philosophically, with characteristic amiability.

The steamer running between San Francisco and the Mexican ports on the Gulf of California stopped at San Diego to take the newly married couples; a large party of friends escorted them on board.

Don Mariano was kind and affable to all, but many days passed before he became reconciled to the fact that the marriage of his two children was not celebrated as his own had been, in the good old times of yore.

The brides and grooms had been gone for some time, and might now be coming back in a few days.

“I am glad we three are alone, for there is something of which I wish to speak with you two when no one of the family is with us,” said Doña Josefa to Carlota and Rosario, as they sat in their favorite front veranda, sewing.

The girls looked up, and casting a quick glance to see whether any one was approaching, waited to hear what their mother had to say. The awnings being only half down no one could come from the outside unobserved.

“What is it, mamma?” Carlota asked, seeing that her mother seemed to hesitate; “anything unpleasant?”

“Well, no—yes. That is to say, to me it is, very. Have you noticed Mercedes' manner lately? She seems absorbed, silent, thoughtful, sad, and—and—you know what I fear. She says she is not sick, then it is some mental trouble, I am sure. So, then, I have been thinking that she had better go with Elvira and visit New York for a while, the change will do her good. I do not approve of young girls going from home on visits, but as she will go with her married sister, and—and—I hope it will be for her good.”

“And yet it may not,” said Carlota.

“Perhaps, if it is as you—as we three—fear, absence might be worse for her,” added Rosario; “Mercedes is very gentle, but she is very loving and constant, so it might do more harm than good to send her away now. Remember what the poet says about it:

‘La ausencia es para el amor

Lo que el aire para el fuego;

Si es poco, lo apaga luego,

Si es grande, lo hace mayor.’

and I fear that Mercedes is too deeply interested already.”

“That is so. Have you spoken to papa about it?” Carlota asked.

“I mentioned it only once, knowing his partiality to Clarence,” Doña Josefa replied.

“He might be partial, but when it comes to the danger of his daughter's marrying a squatter I should think there would be a limit to partiality,” Carlota said, warmly.

“I fear your father views the matter differently. The one time I mentioned to him that Clarence seemed to be more and more in love with Mercedes, and my fear that she also liked him more than I care to believe. He said, ‘Has he made love or proposed to her?’ I told him I hoped he had not been so audacious as that. ‘Audacious!’ said he, and laughed. ‘I tell you, wife, if all that is necessary for Clarence to propose be courage, neither you nor I can stop him, for the boy is no coward. I reckon that it is Mercedes herself who gives him no encouragement; that is what deters him, but none of our sangre azul,’ and he laughed again. I said to him, you take very coolly a matter that might be a question of our child's fate for life, but he only appeared amused at my anxiety. He said: ‘Don't borrow trouble; Clarence is a most excellent young fellow—bright, energetic and honorable. Don't bother them or yourself; if they feel true love they have a right to it. Trust him, he is all right.’ ”

“But a squatter! The idea of an Alamar marrying a squatter! For squatters they are, though we dance with them,” Carlota said. “I am shocked at papa's partiality. I must say yes, mamma, send poor Mercita away.”

“Yes; with all due respect to papa, I fear I will not be reconciled to the idea of Mercedes being a daughter-in-law of old Darrell,” Rosario said, with a shudder.

“Neither could I,” added Carlota.

And thus felt and thus reasoned these proud ladies in those days. For although the shadows of black clouds were falling all around, they had not observed them, or suspected their proximity; they held up their heads proudly.

“And has Clarence the means of supporting a wife?” Rosario asked. “That is another question to be considered.”

“I don't know. I heard he had made money in stocks, but I don't know how much,” Doña Josefa replied.

“I have no faith in stocks,” said Carlota.

“Let us not mention this to Mercedes yet. When Elvira returns we will consult with her,” Doña Josefa said.

Nothing was said to Mercedes about her journey, but she was never allowed to see Clarence alone.

Elvira returned, and the project mentioned to her. She, as a matter of course, was delighted at the prospect of having her favorite sister with her. The pain of leaving her home would be lessened in her company.

A day or two after, when Elvira was alone in her room, Mercedes came in, looking rather pale, and letting herself drop into the first chair she came to, said:

“What is this unexpected news about my going to New York with you?”

“Good news, I think. Don't you like it?”

“Certainly. But it is too sudden. Why hadn't mamma thought of it before?”

“Because she did not think your health required any change.”

“I tell you what, mamma alarms herself unnecessarily, and puts but poor reliance on me. I understand it all, but as a trip to New York is a most delightful medicine, I am willing to take it, and that she should consider my health in a precarious state.”

“But you do look pale and thin, Mercita.”

“Nonsense!” Mercedes exclaimed. “I have been keeping late hours, and dancing too much. If I go to bed early I shall get back my good color and flesh again. However, I am glad to play the invalid until I get on board the cars.”

“Very well. I'll be alarmed for you, too, until we get off.”

Mercedes laughed, and went to her room singing, but once there her gayety vanished. She locked her door, and threw herself on the bed, burying her face in her pillow to stifle her sobs.

“Can anything tear his image from my heart? No. Nothing! nothing! They may send me away to the other end of the world, they shall not part us, for you will still fill my heart, my own darling, holding my very soul forever in full possession.”

Mercedes, being not quite seventeen, her grief at parting from Clarence was wild, vehement and all-absorbing. But she had been trained to obedience, and her battles with the spirit always took place after she carefully locked her bedroom door. Then Clarence was wildly apostrophized, and a torrent of tears relieved the overcharged, aching heart.

The day of departure arrived, and she had not had one minute's conversation alone with Clarence.