Rezanov

  VIII

  Concha boxed Rosa's ears twice while being dressed for the ball thatevening. It was true that excitement had reigned throughout thePresidio all day, for never had a ball been so hastily planned. DonLuis had demurred when Concha proposed it at breakfast; officially toentertain strangers not yet officially received exceeded his authority.Concha, waxing stubborn with opposition, vowed that she would give theball herself if he did not. Business immediately afterward took theCommandante ad. in. down to the Battery at Yerba Buena. Before he lefthe gave orders that the large hall in the barracks, where balls usuallywere held, should be locked and the key given up to no one but himself.He returned in the afternoon to find that Concha had outwitted him.The sala of the Commandante's house was very large. The furniture hadbeen removed and the walls hung with flags, those of Spain on threesides, the Russian, borrowed by Santiago from the ship, at the head ofthe room. Concha laughed gaily as Luis stormed about the sala raspinghis spurs on the bare floor.

  "Whitewashed walls for guests from St. Petersburg!" she jeered, as Luismenaced the flags. "We have little enough to offer. Besides--whatmore wise than to flaunt our flag in the face of the Russian bear?Their flag, of course, is a mere idle compliment. Let me tell you twothings, Luis mio: this morning I invited the Russians to danceto-night, and told Padre Abella to ask all our neighbors of the Missionbesides; and Rafaella Sal helped me to drape every one of those flags.When I told her you might tear them down, she vowed that if you did shewould dance all night with the Bostonian."

  Luis lifted his shoulders and mustache to express an attitude ofcontemptuous resignation, but his face darkened, and a moment later heleft the room and strolled up the square to the grating of Rafaella Sal.

  Concha well knew that the frank gray eyes of the Bostonian--allcitizens of the United States were Bostonians in that part of theworld, for only Boston skippers had the enterprise to venture sofar--were for no one but herself. But his face was bony and freckled,and his figure less in height and vigor than her own. He was rich andwell-born, but shy and very modest. Concha Arguello, La Favorita ofCalifornia, was for some such dashing caballero as Don Antonio Castroof Monterey, or Ignacio Sal, the most adventurous rider of the north.Meanwhile he could look at her and adore her in secret, and DonaRafaella Sal was very kind and danced as well as himself. He neverdreamed that he was being used as a stalking horse to keep alive in thebest match in the Californias the jealous desire for exclusivepossession that had animated him in 1800 when he had applied throughthe Viceroy of Mexico for royal consent to his marriage with theFavorita of her year. That was six years ago and never a word had comefrom Madrid. Luis was faithful, but men were men, and girls grew olderevery day. So the wise Rafaella was alternately indifferent andalluring, the object of more admiration than a maid could always repel,yet with wells of sentiment that only one man could discover. And theAmerican was patient, and even had he known, would not in the leasthave minded the use she made of him. He still could look at ConchaArguello.

  William Sturgis had sailed in one of his father's ships, now six yearsago, from Boston in search of health. The ship in a dense fog had goneon the rocks in the straits between the Farallones and the Bay of SanFrancisco. He alone, and after long hours of struggle with the wickedcurrents, not even knowing in what direction land might be, was flung,senseless, on the shore below the Fort. For the next month he was aninvalid in the house of the Commandante. Fortunately, his papers andmoney were sewn in an oilskin belt and his father's name was well knownin California. Moreover, there never was a more likable youth. Hisillness interested all the matrons and maids of the Presidio in hisfate; when he recovered, his good dancing and unselfishness gave him apermanent place in the regard of the women, while his entire absence ofbeauty, and his ability to hold his own in the mess room, establishedhis position with the men.

  In due course word of his plight reached Boston, and a ship wasimmediately despatched, not only to bring the castaway home, but withthe fine wardrobe necessary to a young gentleman of his station. Butthe same ship brought word of his father's death--his mother had gonelong since--and as there were brothers enamored of the business hehated, he decided to remain in the country that had won his heart andgiven him health. For some time there was demur on the part of theauthorities; Spain welcomed no foreigners in her colonies. But Sturgisswore a mighty oath that he would never despatch a letter uninspectedby the Commandante, that he would make no excursions into the heart ofthe country, that he would neither engage in traffic nor interfere inpolitics. Then having already won the affections of the Governor, hewas permitted to remain, even to rent an acre of land from the Churchin the sheltered Mission valley, and build himself a house. Here heraised fruit and vegetables for his own hospitable table, chickens andgame cocks. Books and other luxuries came by every ship from Boston;until for a long interval ships came no more. One of these days, whenthe power of the priests had abated, and the jealousy which would keepall Californians landless but themselves was counterbalanced by a greatincrease in population, he meant to have a ranch down in the southwhere the sun shone all the year round and he could ride half the daywith his vaqueros after the finest cattle in the country. He shouldnever marry because he could not marry Concha Arguello, but he couldthink of her, see her sometimes; and in a land where a man was neitherfrozen in winter nor grilled in summer, where life could be led in theopen, and the tendency was to idle and dream, domestic happiness calledon a feebler note than in less equable climes. In his heart he wasdesperately jealous of Concha's favored cavaliers, but it was ajealousy without hatred, and his kind, earnest, often humorous eyes,were always assuring his lady of an imperishable desire to serve herwithout reward. Of course Concha treated him with as littleconsideration as so humble a swain deserved; but in her heart she likedhim better than either Castro or Sal, for he talked to her of somethingbesides rodeos and balls, racing and cock-fights; he had taught herEnglish and lent her many books. Moreover, he neither sighed norlanguished, nor ever had sung at her grating. But she regarded himmerely as an intelligence, a well of refreshment in her stagnant life,never as a man.

  "Rose," she said, as she caught her hair into a high golden comb thathad been worn in Spain by many a beauty of the house of Moraga, andspiked the knot with two long pins globed at the end with gold, whilethe maid fastened her slippers and smoothed the pink silk stockingsover the thin instep above; "what is a lover like? Is it like meetingone of the saints of heaven?"

  "No, senorita."

  "Like what, then?"

  "Like--like nothing but himself, senorita. You would not have himotherwise."

  "Oh, stupid one! Hast thou no imagination? Fancy any man being wellenough as he is! For instance, there is Don Antonio, who is sohandsome and fiery, and Don Ignacio, who can sing and dance and ride asno one else in all the Californias, and Don Weeliam Sturgis, who isvery clever and true. If I could roll them into one--a tamale of cornand chicken and peppers--there would be a man almost to my liking. Buteven then--not quite. And one man--what nonsense! I have too muchcolor to-night, Rosa."

  "No, senorita, you have never been so beautiful. When the lover comesand you love him, senorita, you will think him greater than our naturalking and lord, and all other men poor Indians."

  "But how shall I know?"

  "Your heart will tell you, senorita."

  "My heart? My father and my mother will choose for me a husband whom Ishall love as all other women love their husbands--just enough and nomore. Then--I suppose--I shall never know?"

  "Would you marry at your parents' bidding, like a child, senorita? Ido not think you would."

  Concha looked at the girl in astonishment, but with a greaterastonishment she suddenly realized that she would not. Even her littlefingers stiffened in a rush of personality, of passionate resentmentagainst the shackles bound by the ages about the feminine ego. Herindividuality, long budding, burst into flower; her eyes gazed farbeyond her radiant image in the mirror with a loo
k of terrified butdauntless insight; then moved slowly to the girl that sat weeping onthe floor.

  "I know not what thy sin was," she said musingly. "But I have heard itsaid thou didst obey no law but thine own will--and his. Why shouldthe punishment have been so terrible? Thou hast sworn to me thou didstnot help to murder the woman."

  "I cannot tell you, senorita. You will never know anything of sin; butof love--yes, I think you will know that, and before very long."

  "Before long?" Concha's lips parted and the nervous color she haddeprecated left her cheeks. "What meanest thou, Rosa?" Her voice rosehoarsely.

  And the Indian, with the insight of her own tragedy, replied: "TheRussian has come for you, senorita. You will go with him, far away tothe north and the snow. These others never could win your heart; butthis man who looks like a king, and as if many women had loved him, andhe had cared little-- Oh, senorita, Carlos was only a poor Indian, butthe men that women love all have something that makes thembrothers--the Great Russian and the poor man who goes mad for a momentand kills one woman that he may live with another forever. The greatRussian is free, but he is the same, senorita--he too could kill forlove, and such are the men we women die for!"

  Concha, ambitious and romantic, eager for the brilliant life the adventof this Russian nobleman seemed to herald, had assured Santiago that hewould love her; but they had been the empty words of the Favorita ofmany conquests; of love and passion she had known, suspected, nothing.As she watched Rosa, huddled and convulsed, little pointed arrows flewinto her brain. Girls in those old Spanish days went to the altar witha serene faith in miracles, and it was a matter of honor among thosethat preceded their friends to abet the parents in a custom whichassuredly did not err on the side of ugliness. Concha had a largervocabulary than other Californians of her sex, for she had read manybooks, and if never a novel, she knew something of poetry. Sturgis hadfilled the sala with the sonorous roll of his favorite masters and ithad pleased her ear; but the language of passion had been so manybeautiful words, neither vibrating nor lingering in her consciousness.But the rude expression of the miserable woman at her feet, whose sobsgrew more uncontrollable every moment, made it forever impossible thatshe should prattle again as she had to Santiago and Rezanov in the lastday and night; and although she felt as if straining her eyes in thedark, her cheeks burned once more, and she rose uneasily and walked tothe window.

  She returned in a moment and stood over Rosa, but her voice when shespoke had lost its hoarseness and was cold and irritated.

  "Control thyself," she said. "And go and bathe thine eyes. Wouldstlook like a tomato when it is time to pass the dulces and wines? Andthink no more of thy lover until he can come out of prison and marrythee." She drew herself away as the woman attempted to clutch herskirts. "Go," she said. "The musicians are tuning."