Читать книгу Folded Hills - Stewart Edward White - Страница 8

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The baby was born in March, and proved indeed to be a son. All the Riveras moved up for the occasion. This was as well, but rather on Andy’s account than for the comfort of the girl. In spite of Vicenta’s common-sense assurances, and the faint derision of Carmel herself, Andy could not prevent himself from feeling increasingly nervous. He was glad to have Ramón and his brothers, and Don Sylvestre himself. The Californians developed enormous interest, most of it genuine, in the state of the rancho, so that Andy must ride with them over the hills and to distant valleys, even up to the highest tinajas under the dark peaks. He could not in courtesy refuse these excursions; though he would have much preferred to remain at home and near Carmel. However, he had been assured, her hour was not yet come.

Because of this assurance his first emotion was a flash of indignation at being fooled when, on their return from the third of these excursions, they were met at the foot of the hill by a clamorous mob that with three exceptions included every person attached to the rancho. The exceptions were Carmel herself, Vicenta, and Cazador, the black, wide-headed dog. Andy’s horse leaped under his spur. His first flash of resentment had been instantly succeeded by a more poignant stab of alarm, though, if he had stopped to think, there was nothing but joy in the shouting confusion of the reception committee. He flung himself from the saddle and rushed to the door where he all but collided with Vicenta, and only just saved himself from falling over Cazador, the dog. Vicenta’s comfortable bulk filled the doorway. Cazador had stationed himself squarely before her. Andy perforce must stop.

“The señora!” he gasped.

“The señora sleeps. All is well,” said Vicenta.

“I must see her.” Andy moved as though to push by, but Vicenta did not move.

“Presently, presently!” said Vicenta soothingly. “But would you not look upon your son?”

And only then did Andy observe that across her arm she held a blanketed bundle. His surprise was evident. Vicenta snorted, but refrained from expression of her scorn. She drew back a fold of the blanket. Andy bent over eagerly. For ten seconds he struggled to master his dismay, the crash of high hopes and anticipations, to grasp a control he must find to face this cruel visitation of fate.

“Is—is it also deformed?” he managed at last.

“Deformed!” cried Vicenta, indignantly, “deformed! But what are you saying, señor? It is a beautiful baby, the most beautiful baby I have ever seen! Why do you say such a thing, señor?” Her fine black eyes snapped, and she drew the infant to her ample bosom. “How dare you say such a thing of your own son?”

“He—well, isn’t he just a little—well, queer-looking?” Andy stammered. “He is so red—and wrinkled.”

Vicenta’s eyes flashed sparks.

“He is a most beautiful baby,” she repeated. “Red and wrinkled indeed!” She surveyed Andy for a moment, then softened. “But all new-born babies are so,” she said more gently, “like petals of the rose. Wait, señor, you shall see.” She withdrew again the blanket from the infant’s face. Andy looked once more. He was not entirely reassured, but his panic had passed. The rose-petal analogy still seemed to him a trifle far-fetched. Something leaned against his leg. He looked down. It was Cazador. The dog was looking up with liquid adoring eyes, not at his master, but at the bundle in Vicenta’s arms. A whimsical irrelevance cut across Andy’s distractions. He grinned in appreciation, for the dog had beat him to it. And with this lightening of his mood, the queer strangeness began to pass. He looked again at the child. It opened its eyes. They were blue-gray, like Andy’s own. And suddenly, with a rush, as though of waters released, his soul was filled.

Vicenta slowly drew aside.

“Go to the señora, señor,” said she.

Andy tiptoed across the sala to the patio, and so to the door of the bedroom. He peeped within. Carmel’s eyes were closed. She looked very small and white. Her abundant hair was spread wide over the pillows. As he looked, her eyelids fluttered, then opened. For a moment she seemed to be looking at him from a vast distance; then she smiled faintly.

“Querido,” she murmured.

Instantly Andy was kneeling at her side. He was almost afraid to touch her, for she seemed to him fragile and remote. She laid her hand in his. A great awe and wonder filled his soul. His capacity could not contain it, this evocation of a new human being that yesterday had not existed in the world.

“You have seen him?” breathed Carmel. “Is he not wonderful? Is he not beautiful?”

“Beautiful,” said Andy from his heart.