The Doomswoman: An Historical Romance of Old California

  VII.

  The festivities were to last a week, every one taking part butAlvarado and Dona Martina. The latter was not strong enough, thegovernor cared more for duty than for pleasure.

  The next day we had a merienda on the hills behind the town. The greenpine woods were gay with the bright colors of the young people. Hereand there a caballero dashed up and down to show his horsemanship andthe silver and embroidered silk of his saddle. Silver, too, werehis jingling spurs, the eagles on his sombrero, the buttons on hiscolorous silken jacket. Horses, without exception handsomely trapped,were tethered everywhere, pawing the ground or nibbling the grass. Thegirls wore white or flowered silk or muslin gowns, and rebosos abouttheir heads; the brown ugly duenas, ever at their sides, were foilsthey would gladly have dispensed with. The tinkle of the guitar neverceased, and the sweet voices of the girls and the rich voices of themen broke forth with the joyous spontaneity of the birds' songs aboutthem.

  Chonita wore a white silk gown, I remember flowered with blue,--largeblue lilies. The reboso matched the gown. As soon as we arrived--wewere a little late--she was surrounded by caballeros who hardly knewwhether to like her or not, but who adhered to the knowledge that shewas Chonita Iturbi y Moncada, the most famous beauty of the South.

  "_Dios!_ but thou art beautiful," murmured one, his dreamy eyesdwelling on her shining hair.

  "_Gracias_, senor." She whispered it as bashfully as the maidens towhom he was accustomed, her eyes fixed upon a rose she held.

  "Wilt thou not stay with us here in Monterey?"

  She raised her eyes slowly,--he could not but feel the effort,--gavehim one bewildering glance, half appealing, half protesting, thendropped them suddenly.

  "Wilt thou stay with me?" panted the caballero.

  "Ay, senor! thou must not speak like that. Some one will hear thee."

  "I care not! God of my life! I care not! Wilt thou marry me?"

  "Thou must not speak to me of marriage, senor. It is to my father thoumust speak. Would I, a Californian maiden, betroth myself without hisknowledge?"

  "Holy heaven! I will! But give me one word that thou lovest me,--oneword!"

  She lifted her chin saucily and turned to another caballero, who, Idoubt not, proposed also. Estenega, who had watched her, laughed.

  "She acts the part to perfection," he said to me. "Either natural oracquired coquetry has more to do with saving her from the solitaryplane of the intellectual woman than her beauty or her father'swealth. I am inclined to think that it is acquired. I do not believethat she is a coquette at heart, any more than that she is the marbledoomswoman she fondly believes herself."

  "You will tell her that," I exclaimed, angrily; "and she will endby loving you because you understand her; all women want to beunderstood. Why don't you go to Paris again? You have not been therefor a long time."

  Not deeming this suggestion worthy of answer, he left me and walked toChonita, who was glancing over the top of her fan into the ardent eyesof a third caballero.

  "You will step on a bunch of nettles in a moment," he said,practically. "Your slippers are very thin; you had better stand overhere on the path." And he dexterously separated her from the othermen. "Will you walk to that opening over there with me? I want to showyou a better view of Monterey."

  His manner had not a touch of gallantry, and she was tired of thecaballeros.

  "Very well," she said. "I will look at the view."

  As she followed him she noted that he led her where the bushes werethinnest, and kicked the stones from her path. She also remarked thenervous energy of his thin figure. "It comes from his love of theAmericans," she thought, angrily. "He must even walk like them. TheAmericans!" And she brought her teeth together with a sharp click.

  He turned, smiling. "You look very disapproving," he said. "What haveI done?"

  "You look like an American! You even wear their clothes, and they arethe color of smoke; and you wear no lace. How cold and uninteresting ascene would this be if all the men were dressed as you are!"

  "We cannot all be made for decorative purposes. And you are as unlikethose girls, in all but your dress, as I am unlike the men. I will notincur your wrath by saying that you are American: but you are modern.Our lovely compatriots were the same three hundred years ago. WillDona California be pleased to observe that whale spouting in the bay?There is the tree beneath which Junipero Serra said his first mass inthis part of the country. What a sanctimonious old fraud he must havebeen, if he looked anything like his pictures! Did you ever see baybluer than that? or sand whiter? or a more perfect semicircle of hillsthan this? or a more straggling town? There is the Custom-house on therocks. You will go to a ball there to-night, and hear the boom ofthe surf as you dance." He turned with one of his sudden impatientmotions. "Suppose we ride. The air is too sharp to lie about under thetrees. This white horse mates your gown. Let us go over to Carmelo."

  "I should like to go," she said, doubtfully; he had made her throbwith indignation once or twice, but his conversation interested herand her free spirit approved of a ride over the hills unattended byduena. "But--you know--I do not like you."

  "Oh, never mind that; the ride will interest you just the same." Andhe lifted her to the horse, sprang on another, caught her bridle,lest she should rebel, and galloped up the road. When they were on theother side of hill he slackened speed and looked at her with a smile.She was inclined to be angry, but found herself watching the varyingexpressions of his mouth, which diverted her mind. It was a bafflingmouth, even to experienced women, and Chonita could make nothing ofit. It had neither sweetness nor softness, but she had never feltimpelled to study the mouth of a caballero. And then she wondered howa man with a mouth like that could have manners so gentle.

  "Are you aware," he said, abruptly, "that your brother is accused ofconspiracy?"

  "What?" She looked at him as if she inferred that this was the orderof badinage that an Iturbi y Moncada might expect from an Estenega.

  "I am not joking. It is quite true."

  "It is not true! Reinaldo conspire against his government? Some onehas lied. And you are ready to believe!"

  "I hope some one has lied. The news is very direct, however." Helooked at her speculatively. "The more obstacles the better," hethought; "and we may as well declare war on this question at once.Besides, it is no use to begin as a hypocrite, when every act wouldtell her what I thought of him. Moreover, he will have more or lessinfluence over her until her eyes are opened to his true worth. Shewill not believe me, of course, but she is a woman who only needs animpetus to do a good deal of thinking and noting." "I am going to makeyou angry," he said. "I am going to tell you that I do not share youradmiration of your brother. He has ten thousand words for every idea,and although, God knows, we have more time than anything else in thisland of the poppy where only the horses run, still there are moreprofitable ways of employing it than to listen to meaningless andbombastic words. Moreover, your brother is a dangerous man. No man isso safe in seclusion as the one of large vanities and small ambitions.He is not big enough to conceive a revolution, but is ready to be thetool of any unscrupulous man who is, and, having too much egotism tofollow orders, will ruin a project at the last moment by attempting tothink for himself. I do not say these things to wantonly insult you,senorita, only to let you know at once how I regard your brother, thatyou may not accuse me of treachery or hypocrisy later."

  He had expected and hoped that she would turn upon him with a burst offury; but she had drawn herself up to her most stately height, andwas looking at him with cold hauteur. Her mouth was as hard as a pinkjewel, and her eyes had the glitter of ice in them.

  "Senor," she said, "it seems to me that you, too, waste many words--inspeaking of my brother; for what you say of him cannot interest me.I have known him for twenty-two years; you have seen him four or sixtimes. What can you tell me of him? Not only is he my brother and thenatural object of my love and devotion, but he is Reinaldo Iturbi yMoncada, the last male descendant of his hous
e, and as such I hold himin a regard only second to that which I bear to my father. And withthe blood in him he could not be otherwise than a great and good man."

  Estenega looked at her with the first stab of doubt he had felt. "Sheis Spanish in her marrow," he thought,--"the steadfast unreasoningchild of traditions. I could not well be at greater disadvantage. Butshe is magnificent."

  "Another thing which was unnecessary," she added, "was to defendyourself to me or to tell me how you felt toward my brother, and why.We are enemies by tradition and instinct. We shall rarely meet, andshall probably never talk together again."

  "We shall talk together more times than you will care to count. Ihave much to say to you, and you shall listen. But we will discuss thematter no further at present. Shall we gallop?"

  He spurred his horse, and once more they fled through the pine woods.Before long they entered the valley of Carmelo. The mountains weremassive and gloomy, the little bay was blue and quiet, the surf ofthe ocean roared about Point Lobos, Carmelo River crawled beneathits willows. In the middle of the valley stood the impressive yellowchurch, with its Roman tower and rose-window; about it were thecrumbling brown hovels of the deserted Mission. Once as they rodeEstenega thought he heard voices, but could not be sure, so loud wasthe clatter of the horses' hoofs. As they reached the square they drewrein swiftly, the horses standing upright at the sudden halt. Thenstrange sounds came to them through the open doors of the church:ribald shouts and loud laughter, curses and noise of smashing glass,such songs as never were sung in Carmelo before; an infernal clash ofsound which mingled incongruously with the solemn mass of the surf.Chonita's eyes flashed. Even Estenega's face darkened: the traditionsplanted in plastic youth arose and rebelled at the desecration.

  "Some drunken sailors," he said. "There--do you see that?" A craftrounded Point Lobos. "Pirates!"

  "Holy Mary!" exclaimed Chonita.

  "Let down your hair," he said, peremptorily; "and follow all that Isuggest. We will drive them out."

  She obeyed him without question, excited and interested. Then theyrode to the doors and threw them wide.

  The upper end of the long church was swarming with pirates; there wasno mistaking those bold, cruel faces, blackened by sun and wind, halfcovered with ragged hair. They stood on the benches, they bestrodethe railing, they swarmed over the altar, shouting and carousing inriotous wassail. Their coarse red shirts were flung back from hairychests, their faces were distorted with rum and sacrilegious delight.Every station, every candlestick, had been hurled to the floor andtrampled upon. The crucifix stood on its head. Sitting high on thealtar, reeling and waving a communion goblet, was the drunken chief,singing a blasphemous song of the pirate seas. The voices rumbledstrangely down the hollow body of the church; to perfect the sceneflames should have leaped among the swinging arms and bounding forms.

  "Come," said Estenega. He spurred his horse, and together theygalloped down the stone pavement of the edifice. The men turned atthe loud sound of horses' hoofs; but the riders were in theirmidst, scattering them right and left, before they realized what washappening.

  The horses were brought to sudden halt. Estenega rose in his stirrups,his fine bold face looking down impassively upon the demoniacal gangwho could have rent him apart, but who stood silent and startled,gazing from him to the beautiful woman, whose white gown looked partof the white horse she rode. Estenega raised his hand and pointed toChonita.

  "The Virgin," he said, in a hollow, impressive voice. "The Mother ofGod. She has come to defend her church. Go."

  Chonita's face blanched to the lips, but she looked at thesacrilegists sternly. Fortune favored the audacity of Estenega. Thesunlight, drifting through the star-window above the doors at thelower end of the church, smote the uplifted golden head of Chonita,wreathing it with a halo, gifting the face with unearthly beauty.

  "Go!" repeated Estenega, "lest she weep. With every tear a heart willcease to beat."

  The chief scrambled down from the altar and ran like a rat pastChonita, his swollen mouth dropping. The others crouched and followed,stumbling one over the other, their dark evil faces bloodless, theirknees knocking together with superstitious terror. They fled fromthe church and down to the bay, and swam to their craft. Estenega andChonita rode out. They watched the ugly vessel scurry around PointLobos; then Chonita spoke for the first time.

  "Blasphemer!" she exclaimed. "Mother of God, wilt thou ever forgiveme?"

  "Why not call me a Jesuit? It was a case where mind or matter musttriumph. And you can confess your enforced sin, say a hundred aves orso, and be whiter than snow again; whereas, had our Mission of Carmelobeen razed to the ground, as it was in a fair way to be, Californiawould have lost an historical monument."

  "And Junipero Serra's bones are there, and it was his favoriteMission," said the girl, unwillingly.

  "Exactly. And now that you are reasonably sure of being forgiven, willnot you forgive me? I shall ask no priest's forgiveness."

  She looked at him a moment, then shook her head. "No: I cannot forgiveyou for having made me commit what may be a mortal sin. But, HolyHeaven!--I cannot help saying it--you are very quick!"

  "For each idea is a moment born. Upon whether we wed the two or thinktoo late depends the success or the failure of our lives."

  "Suppose," she said, suddenly,--"suppose you had failed, and those menhad seized me and made me captive: what then?"

  "I should have killed you. Not one of them should have touched you.But I had no doubts, or I should not have made the attempt. I know thesuperstitious nature of sailors, especially when they are drunk. Shallwe gallop back? They will have eaten all the dulces."