Part 28 (1/2)

The ceremony was solemnized by the Rev. J.A. Benton, of Sacramento. The event is also noteworthy as being the occasion of the first reunion of the five Donner sisters since their parting at Sutter's Fort in June, 1847. Georgia's place was by my side, while Elitha, Leanna, and Frances each grouped with husband and children in front among friends, who had come to witness the plighting of vows between my hero and me. Not until I had donned my travelling suit, and my little white Swiss wedding dress was being packed, did I fully realize that the days of inseparable companions.h.i.+p between Georgia and me were past; She had long been a.s.sured that in my new home a welcome would be ever ready for her, yet she had thoughtfully answered, ”No, I am not needed there, and I feel that I am needed here.”

Nature's wedding gift to us was a week of glorious weather, and its first five days we pa.s.sed in San Francisco, the bustling, historic city, which I knew so well, yet had never seen before. Then we boarded the afternoon boat up the bay, expecting to spend the evening and following morning in Sonoma with Grandpa and Grandma Brunner, but the vessel failed to reach Lakeside Landing in time to connect with the northbound coach. This mischance necessitated our staying overnight at the only hostelry in the place.

The cry, ”All aboard for Sonoma!” hurried us from the table next morning, and on reaching the sidewalk, we learned that the proprietor of the hotel had bespoken the two best seats in the coach for us.

I was too happy to talk until after we crossed the Sonoma River, shaded by grand old oak, sycamore, and laurel trees, and then onward, I was too happy to remain silent. Before us lay the valley which brought back memories of my childhood, and I was in a mood to recall only the brightest, as we sped on to our destination. My companion shared my delight and gave heed to each scene I called to his attention.

The coach stopped in front of the hotel, and we alighted upon almost the same spot from which I had climbed into the carriage to leave Sonoma six years earlier. But, oh, how changed was everything! One sweeping glance at the little town revealed the fact that it had pa.s.sed its romantic age and lost its quickening spirit. Closed were the homes of the old Spanish families; gone were the _caballeros_ and the bright-eyed _senoritas_; gra.s.s-grown was the highway to the mines; the flagstaff alone remained flushed with its old-time dignity and importance. In subdued mood, I stepped into the parlor until our names should be registered. When my husband returned, I said,

”The carpet on this floor, the chairs in this room, and the pictures on these walls were in place in grandma's home when I left her--perhaps she is no longer living.”

He left me again to make inquiry concerning those whom we had come to see, and ascertained that the Brunners had remarried for the purpose of facilitating the readjustment of their property rights, and of rescuing them from the hands of a scheming manager, who, with his family, was now living on the estate, and caring for grandma, but would not permit grandpa to enter the house.

After sending a messenger to find grandpa, I led the way to the open door of the old home, then slipped aside to let my husband seek admission. He rapped.

[Ill.u.s.tration: GENERAL VALLEJO'S CARRIAGE, BUILT IN ENGLAND IN 1832]

[Ill.u.s.tration: GENERAL VALLEJO'S OLD JAIL]

I heard a side door open, uneven footsteps in the hall, and him saying quietly, ”I think the old lady herself is coming, and you had better meet her alone.” I crossed the threshold, opened my arms, and uttered the one word, ”Grandma!”

She came and rested her head against my bosom and I folded my arms about her just as she had enfolded me when I went to her a lonely child yearning for love. She stirred, then drew back, looked up into my face and asked, ”Who be you?”

Touched by her wistful gaze, I exclaimed, ”Grandma, don't you know me?”

”Be you Eliza?” she asked, and when I had given answer, she turned from me in deepest emotion, murmuring, ”No, no, it can't be my little Eliza!” She would have tottered away had I not supported her to a seat in the well-remembered living room and caressed her until she looked up through her tears, saying, ”When you smile, you be my little Eliza, but when you look serious, I don't know you.”

She inquired about Georgia, and how I came to be there without her.

Then she bade me call my husband, and thanked him for bringing me to her. Forgetting all the faults and shortcomings that once had troubled her sorely, she spoke of my busy childhood and the place I had won in the affections of all who knew me.

A tender impulse took her from us a moment. She returned, saying, ”Now, you must not feel bad when you see what I have in the hand behind me,”

and drawing it forth continued, ”This white lace veil which I bought at Sutter's Fort when your mother's things were sold at auction, is to cover my face when I am dead; and this picture of us three is to be buried in the coffin with me. I want your husband to see how you looked when you was little.”

She appeared proudly happy; but a flame of embarra.s.sment burned my cheeks, as she handed him the picture wherein I showed to such disadvantage, with the question, ”Now, doesn't she look lovely?” and heard his affirmative reply.

Upon the clock lay a broken toy which had been mine, and in childlike ecstasy she spoke of it and of others which she had kept ever near her.

When invited to go to luncheon with us, she brought first her bonnet, next her shawl, for me to hold while she should don her best apparel for the occasion. Instead of going directly, she insisted on choosing the longer road to town, that we might stop at Mrs. Lewis's to see if she and her daughter Sallie would recognize me. Frequently as we walked along, she hastened in advance, and then faced about on the road to watch us draw near. When we reached Mrs. Lewis's door, she charged me not to smile, and clapped her hands when both ladies appeared and called me by name.

As we were taking leave, an aged horseman drew rein at the gate and dismounted, and Mrs. Lewis looking up, exclaimed, ”Why, there is Mr.

Brunner!”

It did not take me long to meet him part way down the walk, nor did I shrink from the caress he gave me, nor know how much joy and pain that meeting evoked in him, even after he turned to Mr. Houghton saying fervently, ”Do not be angry because I kiss your wife and put my arms around her, for she is my child come back to me. I helped raise her, and we learned her to do all kinds of work, what is useful, and she was my comfort child in my troubles.”

My husband's reply seemed to dispel the recollections which had made the reunion distressing, and grandpa led his horse and walked and talked with us until we reached the turn where he bade us leave him while he disposed of Antelope preparatory to joining us at luncheon.

Proceeding, we observed an increasing crowd in front of the hotel, ma.s.sed together as if in waiting. As we drew nearer, a way was opened for our pa.s.sage, and friends and acquaintances stepped forth, shook hands with me and desired to be introduced to my husband. It was apparent that the message which we had sent to grandpa early in the day, stating the hour we would be at the hotel, had spread among the people, who were now a.s.sembled for the purpose of meeting us.