X
IT came. And when it came, it fell out worse for Ramona than Margarita'smost malicious hopes had pictured; but Margarita had no hand in it. Itwas the Senora herself.
Since Felipe had so far gained as to be able to be dressed, sit in hischair on the veranda, and walk about the house and garden a little,the Senora, at ease in her mind about him, had resumed her old habit oflong, lonely walks on the place. It had been well said by her servants,that there was not a blade of grass on the estate that the Senora hadnot seen. She knew every inch of her land. She had a special purposein walking over it now. She was carefully examining to see whether shecould afford to sell to the Ortegas a piece of pasture-land which theygreatly desired to buy, as it joined a pasturage tract of theirs. Thisbit of land lay farther from the house than the Senora realized, and ithad taken more time than she thought it would, to go over it; and it wasalready sunset on this eventful day, when, hurrying home, she turnedoff from the highway into the same shortcut path in which FatherSalvierderra had met Ramona in the spring. There was no difficulty nowin getting through the mustard tangle. It was parched and dry, and hadbeen trampled by cattle. The Senora walked rapidly, but it wasdusky twilight when she reached the willows; so dusky that she sawnothing--and she stepped so lightly on the smooth brown path that shemade no sound--until suddenly, face to face with a man and a womanstanding locked in each other's arms, she halted, stepped back a pace,gave a cry of surprise, and, in the same second, recognized the faces ofthe two, who, stricken dumb, stood apart, each gazing into her face withterror.
Strangely enough, it was Ramona who spoke first. Terror for herself hadstricken her dumb; terror for Alessandro gave her a voice.
"Senora," she began.
"Silence! Shameful creature!" cried the Senora. "Do not dare to speak!Go to your room!"
Ramona did not move.
"As for you," the Senora continued, turning to Alessandro, "you,"--shewas about to say, "You are discharged from my service from this hour,"but recollecting herself in time, said,--"you will answer to SenorFelipe. Out of my sight!" And the Senora Moreno actually, for once inher life beside herself with rage, stamped her foot on the ground. "Outof my sight!" she repeated.
Alessandro did not stir, except to turn towards Ramona with an inquiringlook. He would run no risk of doing what she did not wish. He had noidea what she would think it best to do in this terrible dilemma.
"Go, Alessandro," said Ramona, calmly, still looking the Senora full inthe eye. Alessandro obeyed; before the words had left her lips, he hadwalked away.
Ramona's composure, and Alessandro's waiting for further orders than herown before stirring from the spot, were too much for Senora Moreno. Awrath, such as she had not felt since she was young, took possession ofher. As Ramona opened her lips again, saying, "Senora," the Senora did ashameful deed; she struck the girl on the mouth, a cruel blow.
"Speak not to me!" she cried again; and seizing her by the arm, shepushed rather than dragged her up the garden-walk.
"Senora, you hurt my arm," said Ramona, still in the same calm voice."You need not hold me. I will go with you. I am not afraid."
Was this Ramona? The Senora, already ashamed, let go the arm, andstared in the girl's face. Even in the twilight she could see upon itan expression of transcendent peace, and a resolve of which no one wouldhave thought it capable. "What does this mean?" thought the Senora,still weak, and trembling all over, from rage. "The hussy, thehypocrite!" and she seized the arm again.
This time Ramona did not remonstrate, but submitted to being led likea prisoner, pushed into her own room, the door slammed violently andlocked on the outside.
All of which Margarita saw. She had known for an hour that Ramonaand Alessandro were at the willows, and she had been consumed withimpatience at the Senora's prolonged absence. More than once she hadgone to Felipe, and asked with assumed interest if he were not hungry,and if he and the Senorita would not have their supper.
"No, no, not till the Senora returns," Felipe had answered. He, too,happened this time to know where Ramona and Alessandro were. He knewalso where the Senora had gone, and that she would be late home; but hedid not know that there would be any chance of her returning by way ofthe willows at the brook; if he had known it, he would have contrived tosummon Ramona.
When Margarita saw Ramona shoved into her room by the pale and tremblingSenora, saw the key turned, taken out, and dropped into the Senora'spocket, she threw her apron over her head, and ran into the back porch.Almost a remorse seized her. She remembered in a flash how often Ramonahad helped her in times gone by,--sheltered her from the Senora'sdispleasure. She recollected the torn altar-cloth. "Holy Virgin! whatwill be done to her now?" she exclaimed, under her breath. Margaritahad never conceived of such an extremity as this. Disgrace, and a sharpreprimand, and a sundering of all relations with Alessandro,--this wasall Margarita had meant to draw down on Ramona's head. But the Senoralooked as if she might kill her.
"She always did hate her, in her heart," reflected Margarita; "sheshan't starve her to death, anyhow. I'll never stand by and see that.But it must have been something shameful the Senora saw, to have broughther to such a pass as this;" and Margarita's jealousy again got thebetter of her sympathy. "Good enough for her. No more than she deserved.An honest fellow like Alessandro, that would make a good husband for anygirl!" Margarita's short-lived remorse was over. She was an enemy again.
It was an odd thing, how identical were Margarita's and the Senora'sview and interpretation of the situation. The Senora looking at it fromabove, and Margarita looking at it from below, each was sure, and theywere both equally sure, that it could be nothing more nor less than adisgraceful intrigue. Mistress and maid were alike incapable either ofconjecturing or of believing the truth.
As ill luck would have it,--or was it good luck?--Felipe also hadwitnessed the scene in the garden-walk. Hearing voices, he had lookedout of his window, and, almost doubting the evidence of his senses, hadseen his mother violently dragging Ramona by the arm,--Ramona pale, butstrangely placid; his mother with rage and fury in her white face. Thesight told its own tale to Felipe. Smiting his forehead with his hand,he groaned out: "Fool that I was, to let her be surprised; she has comeon them unawares; now she will never, never forgive it!" And Felipethrew himself on his bed, to think what should be done. Presently heheard his mother's voice, still agitated, calling his name. He remainedsilent, sure she would soon seek him in his room. When she entered, and,seeing him on the bed, came swiftly towards him, saying, "Felipe, dear,are you ill?" he replied in a feeble voice, "No, mother, only tired alittle to-night;" and as she bent over him, anxious, alarmed, he threwhis arms around her neck and kissed her warmly. "Mother mia!" he saidpassionately, "what should I do without you?" The caress, the lovingwords, acted like oil on the troubled waters. They restored the Senoraas nothing else could. What mattered anything, so long as she had heradoring and adorable son! And she would not speak to him, now that hewas so tired, of this disgraceful and vexing matter of Alessandro. Itcould wait till morning. She would send him his supper in his room, andhe would not miss Ramona, perhaps.
"I will send your supper here, Felipe," she said; "you must notoverdo; you have been walking too much. Lie still." And kissing himaffectionately, she went to the dining-room, where Margarita, vainlytrying to look as if nothing had happened, was standing, ready to servesupper. When the Senora entered, with her countenance composed, and inher ordinary tones said, "Margarita, you can take Senor Felipe's supperinto his room; he is lying down, and will not get up; he is tired,"Margarita was ready to doubt if she had not been in a nightmare dream.Had she, or had she not, within the last half-hour, seen the Senora,shaking and speechless with rage, push the Senorita Ramona into herroom, and lock her up there? She was so bewildered that she stood stilland gazed at the Senora, with her mouth wide open.
"What are you staring at, girl?" asked the Senora, so sharply thatMargarita jumped.
"Oh, nothing, nothing, Senora! And the Senori
ta, will she come tosupper? Shall I call her?" she said.
The Senora eyed her. Had she seen? Could she have seen? The SenoraMoreno was herself again. So long as Ramona was under her roof, nomatter what she herself might do or say to the girl, no servant shouldtreat her with disrespect, or know that aught was wrong.
"The Senorita is not well," she said coldly. "She is in her room. Imyself will take her some supper later, if she wishes it. Do not disturbher." And the Senora returned to Felipe.
Margarita chuckled inwardly, and proceeded to clear the table she hadspread with such malicious punctuality two short hours before. In thosetwo short hours how much had happened!
"Small appetite for supper will our Senorita have, I reckon," said thebitter Margarita, "and the Senor Alessandro also! I'm curious to see howhe will carry himself."
But her curiosity was not gratified. Alessandro came not to the kitchen.The last of the herdsmen had eaten and gone; it was past nine o'clock,and no Alessandro. Slyly Margarita ran out and searched in some of theplaces where she knew he was in the habit of going; but Alessandrowas not to be found. Once she brushed so near his hiding-place that hethought he was discovered, and was on the point of speaking, butluckily held his peace, and she passed on. Alessandro was hid behind thegeranium clump at the chapel door; sitting on the ground, with his kneesdrawn up to his chin, watching Ramona's window. He intended to staythere all night. He felt that he might be needed: if Ramona wanted him,she would either open her window and call, or would come out and go downthrough the garden-walk to the willows. In either case, he would see herfrom the hiding-place he had chosen. He was racked by his emotions; madwith joy one minute, sick at heart with misgiving the next. Ramona lovedhim. She had told him so. She had said she would go away with him andbe his wife. The words had but just passed her lips, at that dreadfulmoment when the Senora appeared in their presence. As he lived the sceneover again, he re-experienced the joy and the terror equally.
What was not that terrible Senora capable of doing? Why did she lookat him and at Ramona with such loathing scorn? Since she knew that theSenorita was half Indian, why should she think it so dreadful a thingfor her to marry an Indian man? It did not once enter into Alessandro'smind, that the Senora could have had any other thought, seeing them asshe did, in each other's arms. And again what had he to give to Ramona?Could she live in a house such as he must live in,--live as the Temeculawomen lived? No! for her sake he must leave his people; must go to sometown, must do--he knew not what--something to earn more money. Anguishseized him as he pictured to himself Ramona suffering deprivations. Themore he thought of the future in this light, the more his joy faded andhis fear grew. He had never had sufficient hope that she could be his,to look forward thus to the practical details of life; he had only goneon loving, and in a vague way dreaming and hoping; and now,--now, ina moment, all had been changed; in a moment he had spoken, and she hadspoken, and such words once spoken, there was no going back; and he hadput his arms around her, and felt her head on his shoulder, and kissedher! Yes, he, Alessandro, had kissed the Senorita Ramona, and she hadbeen glad of it, and had kissed him on the lips, as no maiden kisses aman unless she will wed with him,--him, Alessandro! Oh, no wonder theman's brain whirled, as he sat there in the silent darkness, wondering,afraid, helpless; his love wrenched from him, in the very instant oftheir first kiss,--wrenched from him, and he himself ordered, by one whohad the right to order him, to begone! What could an Indian do against aMoreno!
Would Felipe help him? Ay, there was Felipe! That Felipe was hisfriend, Alessandro knew with a knowledge as sure as the wild partridge'sinstinct for the shelter of her brood; but could Felipe move the Senora?Oh, that terrible Senora! What would become of them?
As in the instant of drowning, men are said to review in a second thewhole course of their lives, so in this supreme moment of Alessandro'slove there flashed through his mind vivid pictures of every word and actof Ramona's since he first knew her. He recollected the tone in whichshe had said, and the surprise with which he heard her say it, at thetime of Felipe's fall, "You are Alessandro, are you not?" He heard againher soft-whispered prayers the first night Felipe slept on the veranda.He recalled her tender distress because the shearers had had no dinner;the evident terribleness to her of a person going one whole day withoutfood. "O God! will she always have food each day if she comes with me?"he said. And at the bare thought he was ready to flee away from herforever. Then he recalled her look and her words only a few hours ago,when he first told her he loved her; and his heart took courage. Shehad said, "I know you love me, Alessandro, and I am glad of it," and hadlifted her eyes to his, with all the love that a woman's eyes can carry;and when he threw his arms around her, she had of her own accord comecloser, and laid one hand on his shoulder, and turned her face to his.Ah, what else mattered! There was the whole world; if she loved him likethis, nothing could make them wretched; his love would be enough forher,--and for him hers was an empire.
It was indeed true, though neither the Senora nor Margarita would havebelieved it, that this had been the first word of love ever spokenbetween Alessandro and Ramona, the first caress ever given, the firstmoment of unreserve. It had come about, as lovers' first words, firstcaresses, are so apt to do, unexpectedly, with no more premonition, atthe instant, than there is of the instant of the opening of a flower.Alessandro had been speaking to Ramona of the conversation Felipe hadheld with him in regard to remaining on the place, and asked her if sheknew of the plan.
"Yes," she said; "I heard the Senora talking about it with Felipe, somedays ago."
"Was she against my staying?" asked Alessandro, quickly.
"I think not," said Ramona, "but I am not sure. It is not easy to besure what the Senora wishes, till afterward. It was Felipe that proposedit."
This somewhat enigmatical statement as to the difficulty of knowing theSenora's wishes was like Greek to Alessandro's mind.
"I do not understand, Senorita," he said. "What do you mean by'afterward'?"
"I mean," replied Ramona, "that the Senora never says she wishesanything; she says she leaves everything to Felipe to decide, or toFather Salvierderra. But I think it is always decided as she wishes tohave it, after all. The Senora is wonderful, Alessandro; don't you thinkso?"
"She loves Senor Felipe very much," was Alessandro's evasive reply.
"Oh, yes," exclaimed Ramona. "You do not begin to know how much. Shedoes not love any other human being. He takes it all. She hasn't anyleft. If he had died, she would have died too. That is the reason shelikes you so much; she thinks you saved Felipe's life. I mean, thatis one reason," added Ramona, smiling, and looking up confidingly atAlessandro, who smiled back, not in vanity, but honest gratitude thatthe Senorita was pleased to intimate that he was not unworthy of theSenora's regard.
"I do not think she likes me," he said. "I cannot tell why; but I donot think she likes any one in the world. She is not like any one I eversaw, Senorita."
"No," replied Ramona, thoughtfully. "She is not. I am, oh, so afraid ofher, Alessandro! I have always been, ever since I was a little girl. Iused to think she hated me; but now I think she does not care one way orthe other, if I keep out of her way."
While Ramona spoke these words, her eyes were fixed on the runningwater at her feet. If she had looked up, and seen the expression inAlessandro's eyes as he listened, the thing which was drawing near wouldhave drawn near faster, would have arrived at that moment; but she didnot look up. She went on, little dreaming how hard she was making it forAlessandro.
"Many's the time I've come down here, at night, to this brook, andlooked at it, and wished it was a big river, so I could throw myselfin, and be carried away out to the sea, dead. But it is a fearful sin,Father Salvierderra says, to take one's own life; and always the nextmorning, when the sun came out, and the birds sang, I've been gladenough I had not done it. Were you ever so unhappy as that, Alessandro?"
"No, Senorita, never," replied Alessandro; "and it is thought a greatdisgrace, among us, t
o kill one's self. I think I could never do it.But, oh, Senorita, it is a grief to think of your being unhappy. Willyou always be so? Must you always stay here?"
"Oh, but I am not always unhappy!" said Ramona, with her sunny littlelaugh. "Indeed, I am generally very happy. Father Salvierderra says thatif one does no sin, one will be always happy, and that it is a sin notto rejoice every hour of the day in the sun and the sky and the workthere is to do; and there is always plenty of that." Then, her faceclouding, she continued: "I suppose I shall always stay here. I have noother home; you know I was the Senora's sister's adopted child. She diedwhen I was little, and the Senora kindly took me. Father Salvierderrasays I must never forget to be grateful to her for all she has done forme, and I try not to."
Alessandro eyed her closely. The whole story, as Juan Can had told it tohim, of the girl's birth, was burning in his thoughts. How he longed tocry out, "O my loved one, they have made you homeless in your home. Theydespise you. The blood of my race is in your veins; come to me; come tome! be surrounded with love!" But he dared not. How could he dare?
Some strange spell seemed to have unloosed Ramona's tongue to-night.She had never before spoken to Alessandro of her own personal history orburdens; but she went on: "The worst thing is, Alessandro, that she willnot tell me who my mother was; and I do not know if she is alive or not,or anything about her. Once I asked the Senora, but she forbade me everto ask her again. She said she herself would tell me when it was properfor me to know. But she never has."
How the secret trembled on Alessandro's lips now. Ramona had neverseemed so near, so intimate, so trusting. What would happen if he wereto tell her the truth? Would the sudden knowledge draw her closer tohim, or repel her?
"Have you never asked her again?" he said.
Ramona looked up astonished. "No one ever disobeyed the Senora," shesaid quickly.
"I would!" exclaimed Alessandro.
"You may think so," said Ramona, "but you couldn't. When you tried, youwould find you couldn't. I did ask Father Salvierderra once."
"What did he say?" asked Alessandro, breathless.
"The same thing. He said I must not ask; I was not old enough. When thetime came, I would be told," answered Ramona, sadly. "I don't see whatthey can mean by the time's coming. What do you suppose they meant?"
"I do not know the ways of any people but my own, Senorita," repliedAlessandro. "Many things that your people do, and still more that theseAmericans do, are to me so strange, I know nothing what they mean.Perhaps they do not know who was your mother?"
"I am sure they do," answered Ramona, in a low tone, as if the wordswere wrung from her. "But let us talk about something else, Alessandro;not about sad things, about pleasant things. Let us talk about yourstaying here."
"Would it be truly a pleasure to the Senorita Ramona, if I stayed?" saidAlessandro.
"You know it would," answered Ramona, frankly, yet with a tremor in hervoice, which Alessandro felt. "I do not see what we could any of us dowithout you. Felipe says he shall not let you go."
Alessandro's face glowed. "It must be as my father says, Senorita," hesaid. "A messenger came from him yesterday, and I sent him back with aletter telling him what the Senor Felipe had proposed to me, and askinghim what I should do. My father is very old, Senorita, and I do not seehow he can well spare me. I am his only child, and my mother died yearsago. We live alone together in our house, and when I am away he is verylonely. But he would like to have me earn the wages, I know, and I hopehe will think it best for me to stay. There are many things we want todo for the village; most of our people are poor, and can do little morethan get what they need to eat day by day, and my father wishes to seethem better off before he dies. Now that the Americans are coming in allaround us, he is afraid and anxious all the time. He wants to get a bigfence built around our land, so as to show where it is; but the peoplecannot take much time to work on the fence; they need all their time towork for themselves and their families. Indians have a hard time to livenow, Senorita. Were you ever in Temecula?"
"No," said Ramona. "Is it a large town?"
Alessandro sighed. "Dear Senorita, it is not a town; it is only a littlevillage not more than twenty houses in all, and some of those are builtonly of tule. There is a chapel, and a graveyard. We built an adobe wallaround the graveyard last year. That my father said we would do, beforewe built the fence round the village."
"How many people are there in the village?" asked Ramona.
"Nearly two hundred, when they are all there; but many of them are awaymost of the time. They must go where they can get work; they arehired by the farmers, or to do work on the great ditches, or to go asshepherds; and some of them take their wives and children with them. Ido not believe the Senorita has ever seen any very poor people."
"Oh, yes, I have, Alessandro, at Santa Barbara. There were many poorpeople there, and the Sisters used to give them food every week."
"Indians?" said Alessandro.
Ramona colored. "Yes," she said, "some of them were, but not like yourmen, Alessandro. They were very different; miserable looking; they couldnot read nor write, and they seemed to have no ambition."
"That is the trouble," said Alessandro, "with so many of them; it iswith my father's people, too. They say, 'What is the use?' My fathergets in despair with them, because they will not learn better. He givesthem a great deal, but they do not seem to be any better off for it.There is only one other man in our village who can read and write,besides my father and me, Senorita; and yet my father is all the timebegging them to come to his house and learn of him. But they say theyhave no time; and indeed there is much truth in that, Senorita. You seeeverybody has troubles, Senorita."
Ramona had been listening with sorrowful face. All this was new to her.Until to-night, neither she nor Alessandro had spoken of private andpersonal matters.
"Ah, but these are real troubles," she said. "I do not think mine werereal troubles at all. I wish I could do something for your people,Alessandro. If the village were only near by, I could teach them, couldI not? I could teach them to read. The Sisters always said, that toteach the ignorant and the poor was the noblest work one could do. Iwish I could teach your people. Have you any relatives therebesides your father? Is there any one in the village that you--love,Alessandro?"
Alessandro was too much absorbed in thoughts of his people, to observethe hesitating emphasis with which Ramona asked this question.
"Yes, Senorita, I love them all. They are like my brothers and sisters,all of my father's people," he said; "and I am unhappy about them allthe time."
During the whole of this conversation Ramona had had an undercurrent ofthought going on, which was making her uneasy. The more Alessandro saidabout his father and his people, the more she realized that he was heldto Temecula by bonds that would be hard to break, the more she fearedhis father would not let him remain away from home for any length oftime. At the thought of his going away, her very heart sickened. Takinga sudden step towards him, she said abruptly, "Alessandro, I am afraidyour father will not give his consent to your staying here."
"So am I, Senorita," he replied sadly.
"And you would not stay if he did not approve of it, of course," shesaid.
"How could I, Senorita?"
"No," she said, "it would not be right;" but as she said these words,the tears filled her eyes.
Alessandro saw them. The world changed in that second. "Senorita!Senorita Ramona!" he cried, "tears have come in your eyes! O Senorita,then you will not be angry if I say that I love you!" and Alessandrotrembled with the terror and delight of having said the words.
Hardly did he trust his palpitating senses to be telling him true thewords that followed, quick, firm, though only in a whisper,--"I knowthat you love me, Alessandro, and I am glad of it!" Yes, this waswhat the Senorita Ramona was saying! And when he stammered, "But you,Senorita, you do not--you could not--" "Yes, Alessandro, I do--I loveyou!" in the same clear, firm whisper; and the next minute Alessandro'sa
rms were around Ramona, and he had kissed her, sobbing rather thansaying, "O Senorita, do you mean that you will go with me? that youare mine? Oh, no, beloved Senorita, you cannot mean that!" But he waskissing her. He knew she did mean it; and Ramona, whispering, "Yes,Alessandro, I do mean it; I will go with you," clung to him with herhands, and kissed him, and repeated it, "I will go with you, I loveyou." And then, just then, came the Senora's step, and her sharp cryof amazement, and there she stood, no more than an arm's-length away,looking at them with her indignant, terrible eyes.
What an hour this for Alessandro to be living over and over, as hecrouched in the darkness, watching! But the bewilderment of his emotionsdid not dull his senses. As if stalking deer in a forest, he listenedfor sounds from the house. It seemed strangely still. As the darknessdeepened, it seemed still stranger that no lamps were lit. Darkness inthe Senora's room, in the Senorita's; a faint light in the dining-room,soon put out,--evidently no supper going on there. Only from underFelipe's door streamed a faint radiance; and creeping close to theveranda, Alessandro heard voices fitfully talking,--the Senora's andFelipe's; no word from Ramona. Piteously he fixed his eyes on herwindow; it was open, but the curtains tight drawn; no stir, no sound.Where was she? What had been done to his love? Only the tireless cautionand infinite patience of his Indian blood kept Alessandro from goingto her window. But he would imperil nothing by acting on his ownresponsibility. He would wait, if it were till daylight, till hislove made a sign. Certainly before long Senor Felipe would come to hisveranda bed, and then he could venture to speak to him. But it was nearmidnight when the door of Felipe's room opened, and he and his mothercame out, still speaking in low tones. Felipe lay down on his couch; hismother, bending over, kissed him, bade him good-night, and went into herown room.
It had been some time now since Alessandro had left off sleeping on theveranda floor by Felipe's side. Felipe was so well it was not needful.But Felipe felt sure he would come to-night, and was not surprisedwhen, a few minutes after the Senora's door closed, he heard a low voicethrough the vines, "Senor Felipe?"
"Hush, Alessandro," whispered Felipe. "Do not make a sound. To-morrowmorning early I will see you, behind the little sheepfold. It is notsafe to talk here."
"Where is the Senorita?" Alessandro breathed rather than said.
"In her room," answered Felipe.
"Well?" said Alessandro.
"Yes," said Felipe, hoping he was not lying; and this was all Alessandrohad to comfort himself with, through his long night of watching. No, notall; one other thing comforted him,--the notes of two wood-doves, thatat intervals he heard, cooing to each other; just the two notes, thecall and the answer, "Love?" "Here." "Love?" "Here,"--and long intervalsof silence between. Plain as if written on a page was the thing theytold.
"That is what my Ramona is like," thought he, "the gentle wood-dove. Ifshe is my wife my people will call her Majel, the Wood-Dove."