XXIII
The next morning Magdalena did as wise a thing as if inspired by reasoninstead of blind instinct: she got on her horse and rode for six hours.When she returned home she was exhausted of body and inert of brain. Shefound a note from Helena awaiting her.
DEAREST 'LENA,--What a tornado and an idiot you must think me! I cannot explain my extraordinary departure. I suppose I was in such a nervous state that I was obsessed in some mysterious manner and went off like a rocket. I can assure you I feel like a stick this morning. You will forgive me, won't you? for you know that although my affections do fluctuate for some people, they never do for you.
Well! this morning I had a scene with papa. He was very angry, talked about honour and all that sort of thing, said that I was an unprincipled flirt, and that I expected too much of a man. But when I said I could not understand how so perfect a man as himself could wish his daughter to marry a rake, he never said another word, but went off and wound up with Mr. Trennahan. I don't know what they said to each other; I don't care. It's all too dreadful to think about, and I never want to hear the subject mentioned again.
We're going to Monterey this afternoon to remain till the end of the season, and then we'll go to the Blue Lakes for a little before settling down for the winter. I'm tired of Menlo. Can't you come to Monterey for a week or two? Do think about it. I haven't a minute to go over to Fair Oaks to say good-bye, but perhaps you'll come to the train. HELENA.
Magdalena got some luncheon from the pantry, then went to bed and sleptuntil six o'clock. At dinner Mr. Polk said to her,--
"I saw Trennahan this afternoon in a hack with a lot of luggage onbehind, and I stopped the driver and got in, and went to the ferry withhim. His engagement with Helena Belmont is broken, it seems, and he isoff for Samoa. Looked like the devil, but was as polite as ever, andasked me to say good-bye to all of you."
Don Roberto looked up. "When he coming back?" he asked.
"You know as much about that as I do; or as he does, I guess. He told methat he was going to explore the South Seas thoroughly, and that oughtto take as many years as he's got left, and more too."
It was two or three days before Magdalena realised what a relief it wasto have Trennahan out of the country. It moved him back among thememories, and struck from her imagination agitating possibilities. Andhe belonged to no woman! He could never be hers, but at least she couldlove him. Already she had begun to do so with a measure of calm. Shecould hide him in her soul and count him wholly hers; and the prospectseemed far sweeter and more satisfactory than she should have imaginedof such immaterial union. And some day, she believed, he would write toher. He had spoken authoritatively of the permanence of theirfriendship, and of its necessity to him. He had not loved her, as mencount love, but for a little she had been to him something more thanother women had been. The spiritual sympathy which had been rudelyinterrupted, but had surely existed, taught her this. In time he wouldbecome conscious again of the bond, and his letters alone would besomething to live for.
And she had much else. In the evenings when her father was weeding onthe lawn, she devoted herself to her uncle; and he seemed grateful forher attentions, slight as was his response. He was visibly shrinking tohis skeleton, although he neither coughed nor complained, and went totown every morning with the regularity of his youth. But his gaunt facewas less savagely determined, his eyes had lost the hard surface ofmetal; and one evening when Magdalena slipped her hand into his, heclasped and held it until Don Roberto, gloomy and perspiring, camepanting across the drive.
And almost immediately Magdalena began to write. She did not go to hernook in the woods, but after her morning ride she wrote in her roomuntil luncheon. She told her mother of her literary plans and asked heradvice about making a similar announcement to her father. Betweenastonishment and consternation Mrs. Yorba gasped audibly, and herimpassive countenance looked as if the hinges had fallen out of itsmuscles.
"For God's sake don't tell your father!" she exclaimed; and she was notgiven to strong language. "I don't believe you can write, anyhow, and weshould only have a terrible scene for nothing."
Magdalena accepted the advice. Her father showed so little sense of hisduty as a parent that her own was growing adaptable to circumstances,although she was still determined not to publish without his knowledge.She had not returned to her English romance: that had been consigned tothe flames, and was now meditating in that limbo which receives thewraiths of the lame, the halt, and the blind of abortive talent. She wasat work upon the simplest of the Old-Californian tales.
On the Saturday afternoon after Helena's departure for Monterey Rosecalled and invited Magdalena to drive with her to the train to meet Mr.Geary. Tiny and Ila, who were with her, added their insistence, andMagdalena, having no reasonable excuse, joined them. As they drovethrough the woods Ila confided her engagement to young Washington, andwas kissed and congratulated in due form.
"I'm going to live in Paris," she announced. "No more California for me.You might as well be on Mars, in the first place, and everybody cacklesover your private affairs, in the second. For the matter of that, youhaven't any."
"I think it's disloyal of you to desert California," said Tiny. "I havea feeling that we should all keep together, and to the country."
"That's a very fine sentiment, but though I love you none the less, Iwant to live. I intend to be the best-dressed American in Paris. That'sa reputation worth having."
"I'm going East to find a husband," said Rose, shamelessly. "There's noone to marry here. Alan Rush would not have been half bad, but he mightas well be in an urn on Helena's mantel-piece. I like Eastern men best,anyhow."
"Why not go to Southern California?" asked Tiny. "It's not so far as NewYork; and there are always plenty of them there."
"I should feel like a ghoul,--man-hunting in One-lungdom, as Mr. Biercecalls it. Besides, I'd rather die an old maid than have a sick man on myhands for five minutes. I'm not heartless, but--well, we've all had ourexperiences with fathers and brothers. A sick man's an anomaly, somehow:he doesn't fit into a woman's imagination."
"I'm not going to marry at all," said Tiny. "Fancy what a lot of bother.It's so comfortable just to drift along like this."
"Tiny," said Rose, "you're a Menlo Park poppy."
They had arrived at the station, the pretty station under its great oak,and flanked by its beds of bloom. Eight or ten other equipages werethere, waiting for the "Daisy train,"--the fast train from town which onSaturday afternoons carried many San Franciscans to Monterey.
The women were in their bright summer attire and full of chatter; as thetrain was not due for some moments, several got out of their carriagesand went to other carriages to gossip. It was a very lively andagreeable scene: there being no outsiders, they were like one largefamily. In the middle of the large open space beside the platform stoodseveral of the phaetons and waggonettes, whose horses stepped high atsight of the engine. On the far side was a row of Chinese wash-houses,in whose doors stood the Mongolians, no less picturesque than thecivilisation across the way. Behind them was the tiny village of MenloPark. On the opposite side of the track was a row of high closely knittrees which shut the Folsom place from the passing eye. Caro, under abig pink sunshade, had walked over to chat with her friends and escorther visitors home.
The train rolled in and discharged its favoured few. The wait was short,and Mr. Geary was still mounting the steps of his char-a-banc whenMagdalena sat forward with a faint exclamation. The smoking-car wasslowly passing. Four hats at four consecutive windows were raised asthey drifted past. They were the hats of Alan Rush, Eugene Fort, CarterHoward, and "Dolly" Webster.