XVII
The muscles in Dona Ignacia's cheeks fell an inch as she listened,dumbfounded, to the tale her husband poured out. To her simplearistocratic soul Rezanov had loomed too great a personage to dream ofmating with a Californian; and as her sharp maternal instinct hadrecognized his personal probity, even his gallantries had seemed to herno more consequent than the more catholic trifling of his officers.
"Holy Mary!" she whimpered, when her voice came back. "Holy Mary! Aheretic! And he would take our Concha from us! And she would go! ToSt. Petersburg! Ten thousand miles! To the priests with her--now--thisvery day!"
Concha had thrown herself on her bed in belated hope of siesta, whenMalia (Rosa had been sent to the house of Don Mario Sal in the valley)entered with the message that she was to accompany her parents to theMission at once. She rose sullenly, but in the manifold essentials ofa girl's life she had always yielded the implicit obedience exacted bythe Californian parent. In a few moments she was riding out of thePresidio beside her father. Dona Ignacia jolted behind in her carreta,a low and clumsy vehicle, on solid wheels and springless, drawn byoxen, and driven by a stable-boy on a mustang. The journey was made incomplete silence save for the maledictions addressed to the oxen by theboy, and an occasional "Ay yi!" "Madre de Dios!" "Sainted Mary, butthe sun bores a hole in the head," from Dona Ignacia, whose increasingdiscomfort banished wrath and apprehension for the hour.
Don Jose did not even look at his daughter, but his face was ten yearsolder than in the morning. He had begun dimly to appreciate that shewas suffering, and in a manner vastly different from the passionateresentment he had seen her display when the contents of a box fromMexico disappointed her, or she was denied a visit to Monterey. Thathis best-loved child should suffer tore his own heart, but he merelycursed Rezanov and resolved to do his best to persuade the Governor toyield to his other demands, that California might be rid of him thesooner.
Father Abella was walking down the long outer corridor of the Missionreading his breviary, and praying he might not be diverted fromrighteousness by the comforting touch of his new habit, when he lookedup and saw the party from the presidio floundering over the last of thesand hills. He shuffled off to order refreshments, and returned intime to disburden the carreta of Dona Ignacia--no mean feat--volublydelighted in the visit and the gossip it portended. But as he offeredhis arm to lead her into the sala, she pushed him aside and pointed toConcha, who had sprung to the ground unassisted.
"She has come to confess, padre!" she exclaimed, her mind, under thedeep tiled roof of the corridor, readjusting itself to tragedy. "I begthat you will take her at once. Padre Landaeta can give us chocolateand we will tell our terrible news to him and receive advice andconsolation."
Father Abella, not without a glimmering of the truth, for better thanany one he understood the girl he had confessed many times, besideshimself having succumbed to the Russian, led the way to theconfessional in some perturbation of spirit. He walked slowly, hopingthat the long, cool church, its narrow high windows admitting so scanta meed of sunlight that no one of its worshippers had ever read thelegends on the walls, and even the stations were but deeper bits ofshade, would attune her mind to holy things, and throw a mantle ofunreality over those of the world.
He covered his face with his hand as she told her story. This she didin a few words, disjointed, for she was both tired and seething. For afew moments afterward there was a silence; the good priest wasincreasingly disturbed and by no means certain of his course. He wasastonished to feel a tug at his sleeve. Before he could reprove thisimpenitent child for audacity she had raised herself that she mightapproach her lips more closely to his ear.
"Mi padre!" she whispered hoarsely, "you will take my part! You willnot condemn me to a life of misery! I am too proud to speak openly toothers--but I love this man more than my soul--more than my immortalsoul. Do you hear? I am in danger of mortal sin. Perhaps I amalready in that state. You cannot save me if he goes. I will notpray. I will not come to the church. I will be an outcast. If Imarry him, I will be a good Catholic to the end of my days. If I marryhim I can think of other things besides--of my church, my father, mymother, my sisters, brothers. If he goes, I shall pass my lifethinking of nothing but him, and if it be true that heretics are doomedto hell, then I will live so that I may go to hell with him."
In spite of his horror the priest was thrilled by the intense passionin the voice so close to his ear. Moreover, he knew women well, thisgood padre, for even in California they differed little from those thatplayed ball with the world. So he dismissed the horror and spokesoothingly.
"What you have said would be mortal sin, my daughter, were it not thatyou are laboring under strong and natural excitement; and I shallabsolve you freely when you have done the penance I must impose. Youhave always been such a good child that I am able to forgive you evenin this terrible moment. But, my daughter, surely you know that thismarriage can never take place--"
"It shall! It shall!"
"Control yourself, my daughter. You cannot bring this man into thetrue church. His character is long since formed and cast--it is iron.Even love will not melt it. Were he younger--"
"I should hate him. All young men are insufferable to me--always havebeen. I have found my mate, and have him I will if I have to hide inthe hold of his ship. Ah, padre mio, I know not what I say. But youwill help me. Only you can. My father thinks you as wise as a saint.And there are other things--my head turns round--I can hardlythink--but you dare not lose the friendship of this Russian. And mymarriage to him would be as much for the good of the Missions as forCalifornia herself. Champion our course, point out that not only wouldit be a great match for me, but that many ends would be lost by ruiningmy life. The Governor will find himself in a position to grant yourprayers for the cargo, particularly if you first persuaded myfather--so long they have been friends, the Governor could not resistif he joined our forces. What is one girl that she should be held ofgreater account than the welfare of this country to which you aredevoting your life? The happier are your converts, the more kindlywill they take to Christianity--which they do not love as yet!--themore faithful and contented will they be, in the prospect of theluxuries and the toys and the trinkets of the Russian north. What isone girl against the friendship of Russia for Spain? Who am I that Ishould weigh a peseta in the scale?"
"You are Concha Arguello, the flower of all the maidens in California,and the daughter of the best of our men," replied Father Abellamusingly. "And until to-day there has been no Catholic more devout--"
"It lies with you, mi padre, whether I continue to be the best ofCatholics or become the most abandoned of heretics. You know me betterthan anyone. You know that I will not weaken and bend and submit, likea thousand other women. I could be bad--bad--bad--and I will be! Doyou hear?" And she shook his arm violently, while her hoarse voicefilled the church.
"My child! My child! I have always believed that you had it in you tobecome a saint. Yes, yes, I feel the strength and maturity of yournature, I know the lengths to which it might lead another; but youcould not be bad, Conchita. I have known many women. In you alonehave I perceived the capacity for spiritual exaltation. You are thestuff of which saints and martyrs are made. The violent will, thetranscendent passions--they have existed in the greatest of our saints,and been conquered."
"I will not conquer. I-- Oh, padre--for the love of heaven--"
He left the box hastily and lifted her where she had fallen and carriedher into the room adjoining the church. He laid her on the floor, andran for Dona Ignacia, who, refreshed with wine and chocolate, cameswiftly. But when Concha, under practical administrations and maternalendearments, finally opened her eyes, she pushed her mother coldlyaside, rose and steadied herself against the wall for a moment, thenreturned to the church, closing the door behind her.
When a woman has borne thirteen children in the lost corners of theworld, with scarce a thought in thirty y
ears for aught else save thehusband and his comforts, it is not to be expected that her wits shouldbe rapiers or her vocabulary distinguished. But Dona Ignacia'sunresting heart had an intelligence of its own, and no inner convulsioncould alter the superb dignity of mien which Nature had granted her.As she rose and confronted Father Abella he moved forward with theinstinct to kiss her hand, as he had seen Rezanov do.
"Mi padre," she said, "Concha is the first of my children to push measide, and it is like a blow on the heart; but I have neither anger norresentment, for it was not the act of a child to its parent, but of onewoman to another. Alas! this Russian, what has he done, when her ownmother can give her no comfort? We all love when young, but this ismore. I loved Jose so much I thought I should die when they would havecompelled me to marry another. But this is more. She will not die, noreven go to bed and weep for days, but it is more. I should not havedied, I know that now, and in time I should have married another, andbeen as happy as a woman can be when the man is kind. Concha will lovebut once, and she will suffer--suffer-- She may be more than I, but Ibore her and I know. And she cannot marry him. A heretic! I nolonger think of the terrible separation. Were he a Catholic I shouldnot think of myself again. But it cannot be. Oh, padre, what shall wedo?"
They talked for a long while, and after further consultation with DonJose and Father Landaeta, it was decided that Concha should remain forthe present in the house of Juan Moraga, where she could receive thedaily counsels of the priests, and be beyond the reach of Rezanov.Meanwhile, all influence would be brought to bear upon the Governorthat the Russian might be placated even while made to realize that toloiter longer in California waters would be but a waste of precioustime.