Part 11 (1/2)
”Never were such smocks!” cried one of the girls. ”Ay! he will make a good husband. That sign never fails.”
”Thou must wear long, long trains now, my Prudencia, and be as stately as Chonita.”
”Ay!” exclaimed Prudencia. Did not every gown already made have a train longer than herself?
”Thou needst never wear a mended stocking with all these to last thee for years,” said another: never had silk stockings been brought to the Californias in sufficient plenty for the dancing feet of its daughters.
”I shall always mend my stockings,” said Prudencia, ”I myself.”
”Yes,” said one of the older women, ”thou wilt be a good wife and waste nothing.”
Valencia laid her arm about Chonita's waist. ”I wish to meet Don Diego Estenega,” she said. ”Wilt thou not present him to me?”
”Thou art very forward,” said Chonita, coldly. ”Canst thou not wait until he comes thy way?”
”No, my Chonita; I wish to meet him now. My curiosity devours me.”
”Very well; come with me and thou shalt know him.--Wilt thou come too, Eustaquia? There are only men on the corridor.”
We found Diego and Don Guillermo talking politics in a corner, both deeply interested. Estenega rose at once.
”Don Diego Estenega,” said Chonita, ”I would present you to the Senorita Dona Valencia Menendez, of the Rancho del Fuego.”
Estenega bowed. ”I have heard much of Dona Valencia, and am delighted to meet her.”
Valencia was nonplussed for a moment; he had not given her the customary salutation, and she could hardly murmur the customary reply.
She merely smiled and looked so handsome that she could afford to dispense with words.
”A superb type,” said Estenega to me, as Don Guillermo claimed the beauty's attention for a moment. ”But only a type; nothing distinctive.”
Nevertheless, ten minutes later, Valencia, with the manoeuvring of the general of many a battle, had guided him to a seat in the sala under Dona Trinidad's sleepy wing, and her eyes were flas.h.i.+ng the language of Spain to his. I saw Chonita watch them for a moment, in mingled surprise and doubt, then saw a sudden look of fear spring to her eyes as she turned hastily and walked away.
Again I shared her room,--the thirty rooms and many in the out-buildings were overflowing with guests who had come a hundred leagues or less,--and after we had been in bed a half-hour, Chonita, overcome by the insinuating power of that time-honored confessional, told me of her meeting with Estenega at the Mission. I made few comments, but sighed; I knew him so well. ”It will be strange to even seem to be friends with him,” she added,--”to hate him in my heart and yet delight to talk with him, and perhaps to regret when he leaves.”
”Are you sure that you still hate him?”
She sat up in bed. The solid wooden shutters were closed, but over the door was a small square aperture, and through this a stray moonbeam drifted and fell on her. Her hair was tumbling about her shoulders, and she looked decidedly less statuesque than usual.
”Eustaquia,” she said, solemnly, ”I believe I can go to confession.”
XVIII.
At sunrise the next morning the guests of Casa Grande were horsed and ready to start for the Mission. The valley between the house and the Mission was alive with the immediate rancheros and their families, and the people of the town, aristocrats and populace.
At Estenega's suggestion, I climbed with him to the attic of the tower, much to the detriment of my frock. But I made no complaint after Diego had removed the dusty little windows on both sides and I looked through the apertures at the charming scene. The rising sun gave added fire to the bright red tiles of the long white Mission, and threw a pink glow on its n.o.ble arches and towers and on the white ma.s.sive aqueduct. The bells were cras.h.i.+ng their welcome to the bride.
The deep valley, wooded and rocky, was pervaded by the soft glow of the awakening, but was as lively as midday. There were horses of every color the Lord has decreed that horses shall wear. The saddles upon them were of embossed leather or rich embroidered silk heavily mounted with silver. Above all this gorgeousness sat the caballeros and the donas, in velvet and silk, gold lace and Spanish, jewels and mantillas, and silver-weighted sombreros; a confused ma.s.s of color and motion; a living picture, s.h.i.+fting like a kaleidoscope. Nor was this all: brown, soberly-dressed old men and women in satin-padded carretas,--heavy ox-carts on wheels made from solid sections of trees, and driven by a ganan seated on one of the animals; the populace in cheap finery, some on foot, others astride old mules or broken-winded horses, two or three on one lame old hack; all chattering, shouting, eager, interested, impatiently awaiting the bride and a week of pleasure.
In the court-yard and plaza before it the guests of the house were mounted on a caponera of palominas,--horses peculiar to the country; beautiful creatures, golden-bronze, and burnished, with luxuriant manes and tails which waved and shone like the sparkling silver of a water-fall. A number were riderless, awaiting the pleasure of the bridal party. One alone was white as a Californian fog. He lifted his head and pranced as if aware of his proud distinction. The aquera and saddle which embellished his graceful beauty were of pink silk worked with delicate leaves in gold and silver thread. The stirrups, cut from blocks of wood, were elaborately carved. The glistening reins were made from the long crystal hairs of his mane, and linked with silver.
A strip of pink silk, joined at the ends with a huge rosette, was hung from the high silver pommel of the saddle, depending on the left side,--a stirrup for my lady's foot.