Mariposilla Part 5

Never before had the unpretentious home of the Dona Maria Del Valle appeared so complete a refuge as upon our return after the eventful day in Pasadena. In the living-room our kind hostess had lighted a fire of grotesque grape roots, that writhed like a holocaust of mummies. After the gloom without, our welcome seemed perfect. The ruddy flames from the fireplace, flickering against the dusky walls, had mercifully relieved the row of saints, who in the daytime appeared to suffer persistently the throes of indigestion. Likewise, from her frame above the chimney shelf the little Spanish Virgin smiled serenely upon her holy Child. In the firelight, she seemed to forget her atrocious finery in the sweet consciousness of her maternity.

The aged grandmother dozed in her accustomed chair. At her feet the grayhounds, Pancho and Pachita, sprawled in longitudinal grace, dead dogs, to all appearances, until a trespa.s.sing footstep attested their vigilance.

A faint, delicious odor of frijoles floated from the kitchen when the Dona Maria opened the door to bid us welcome home.

Marjorie flew to the strong arms overjoyed; but Mariposilla avoided her mother as she hastily retreated to her own room, remaining apart until called to supper.

The watchful Dona Maria, observing that her child could eat nothing, artlessly inquired the cause. "Are not the frijoles inviting?" she asked, in simple distress. "I have prepared them most fresh, and the oil is from a new bottle," the good woman pursued.

"Perhaps my child is not well; if so, it is unfortunate that she should have gone from home, for the good Father and Sister Francisco came at noon. While I served them with fruit and wine the Father told much of our dear Arturo, expressing often great joy that so fine a youth grows rich, soon to return to the friends who await him with so much affection. Sister Francisco was grieved that the convent is no more dear to her child. She requested that the days be few until a visit is paid, and left with her love a little gift."

As the Dona Maria paused, she arose from the table and handed Mariposilla a small religious book.

The child had controlled herself with stoical determination throughout her mother's reproachful disclosures, but, unable to do so longer, she burst into tears and fled from the room.

The calm Dona Maria took no notice of the tempestuous departure, but the grandmother appeared distressed, muttering her disapproval in Spanish.

I confess that I felt annoyed at Mariposilla's conduct. I could see no reason for the outburst of grief and felt myself an innocent agent in unsettling her happiness and disturbing her family.

After supper, when I had undressed Marjorie, who was soon asleep, and had put on a chamber gown preparatory to writing letters, a timid tap at my door told me that Mariposilla was without. So fond had I become of the child that I instantly forgot my recent resentment. Not waiting for the penitent to come to me I met her at the door. Drawing her to the couch I urged her to tell me quietly the cause of her unhappiness.

"The senora will think me unworthy of her love," she cried, chokingly.

"No, dear," I replied, "I shall always love you. I have had many sorrows myself, and I know how hard it is to speak of them; but always when I have confided in a true friend, I have felt better and sorry that I had not sought relief sooner."

"I will tell you," she said, "and then you may despise me."

She was very beautiful as she half drooped before me, her great eyes moist, her dark hair loose about her shoulders.

"Tell me all, dear child," I urged, as she still hesitated.

"I am most wicked!" she cried desperately. "I love not my people; I am unhappy because I am not an American."

A gush of tears terminated the confession.

"Poor child!" I said, drawing her to my side; "I am glad that you have told me your trouble, for I think I can help you very soon."

She lifted her face appealingly while I spoke.

"Yes," I continued, "I am sure that I understand your unhappiness. You are not untrue to your people. You only desire to be an American because you have perceived that they are more in touch with the times than your own nation, who, from loss of fortune and other causes, are not what they once were, or what they will some day be again. Your poor little heart and mind are starving for food. You must be nourished, and then you will be happy. It is perfectly right that you should admire the superior attainments and polished manners of a race not your own. It means no disloyalty to your people, only the desire for a broader life and a higher culture.

"You may be sure, dear child, that no one is ever satisfied. The yearnings of the heart after unattainable desires is common in G.o.d's wide creation. The longings of the savage are only different in degree from yours or mine. Race puts no limits upon pure and laudable ambition.

"It is not necessary for you to be an American to be all that a lovely woman should be. The daughter of the brave, wonderful Dona Maria Del Valle can make of herself whatever she determines."

Mariposilla was still weeping gently.

"You are very beautiful, dear child," I continued. "More beautiful than any American girl I ever knew. Still there is a beauty which shines from the soul and from the mind that you must try daily to acquire. Then you will be lovely, without flaw.

"If only you will be patient and true to your best ambitions, I am sure that a great happiness will some day come into your life. Try to be contented. Be a dutiful daughter to your dear mother, who has seen so much sorrow, and has left only her precious child. Please her in all things that are possible, and if you will do this I am sure that after a time you will understand how wise and unselfish she has always been."

Instantly the girl released herself, while she faced me with a pa.s.sionate despair I will never forget.

"I will do all," she cried, "but marry Arturo. If I do not that I have done nothing. The priest and my mother and the sisters at the convent will curse me if I refuse. They will call me a shame, and, although I love not Arturo, they would sell me for his gold."

"No, dear," I entreated, "no one will compel you to marry Arturo.

Believe me, you shall do as you please, only you must not allow unjust suspicions to make you miserable. Think no more for the present of marriage, try only to learn things that will fit you for life and happiness; after a time, if one should come whom you love, you can then not only make him joyful with your great beauty, but he will love and respect you, because you have acquired the knowledge that makes life agreeable and comfortable long after youth and beauty have flown."

"The senora is most wise," the child a.s.sented calmly. "Perhaps she will teach me a little from her books, that I, too, may learn of the great world; for, indeed, I will be good," she cried, brightening with the determination.

"Yes, Mariposilla," I replied; "each day you shall have a lesson in English, and soon you will be able to enjoy all that I enjoy; only in return you must teach me Spanish, that I may also understand the language and literature of your famous race."

Thus the compact was sealed, and each day afterward found Mariposilla seated quietly in my room, poring over an allotted task. Her stormy pa.s.sions seemed stilled. If the wind of destiny sometimes shrieked in my watchful ears, it more frequently sighed plaintively as I devised new educational schemes for my protegee.

No one was more delighted over Mariposilla's apparent reformation than the Dona Maria.

Not only did the lessons progress with astonishing regularity, but work on the altar cloth, which had been for long intervals neglected so that its various stages of completion were easily detected in the several soiled sections of the linen, was resumed with steady, plodding determination. Now but one row of the little Jesus st.i.tch remained to be done in the beautiful cloth ordered months before by a wealthy devotee.

The Dona Maria was in ecstasies when her daughter brought the task finished, two days before Christmas; at the same time begging permission to ride to Pasadena that she might receive for her labor the great sum of thirty dollars.

That same morning, when Mariposilla was pressing carefully the handsome piece of linen, Father Ramirez had looked into the kitchen and praised her industry.

"After all, she is a dear child," the old priest said, patting the dark head. "She will yet make a true woman like her dear mother. Before long Arturo will come, and the bells of Old San Gabriel shall ring again as they rang for the Dona Maria long ago."

Mariposilla flushed not. A deadly pallor extinguished the healthy glow that the light labor had produced. Turning disrespectfully away, she darted through the open door, and was gone.

It was only after the old priest had left and the Sandersons had driven into the long green tunnel that color shone again beneath the surface of her cheeks.

CHAPTER X.

The Sandersons did not remain long at the ranch. After their departure Mariposilla saddled the pony, and, bidding us a gleeful adieu, cantered away with the precious altar cloth.

At parting, the Dona Maria had given her child, for a surprise, a dozen exquisite doilies of her own workmanship. They were bestowed as a reward for the girl's recent industry, and she was permitted to sell them with the altar cloth.

"Shall I not be rich?" she cried, brandishing in excitement a superb riding whip, a remnant of former glories. "When I am come again the senora will go with me to Los Angeles. There I shall buy beautiful things for you all."

An instant later she was flying down the green tunnel. As she pa.s.sed between the mammoth century plants, she waved once more her whip--and was gone.

"Dear child!" I said, as we entered the house.

"Yes," said the mother, "she is good of heart. If only she would listen to the advice of Father Ramirez and marry Arturo, we might all be once more joyful."

"Yes," I answered, "I hope it may yet be as you desire; but, if you will pardon me, dear Dona Maria, for speaking plainly, let no priest or other person come between your child and yourself. Mariposilla is still so young that she is absolutely frightened at the thought of marriage. Let her develop gradually in her own way, willful though it may appear.