CHAPTER XVIIILOLITA
ALL winter long Alison hoped for news from Neal, but not so much as a word had come when spring was fairly arrived, and many were the fears which possessed the girl as time went by and she dwelt upon the possibilities of that adventure into which her knight had gone. But the events of every day occupied her, and with Christine’s patience as a model she did not give way to any actual despair.
During this time it is not to be supposed that she saw nothing of Lolita, though, be the fact known, Lolita was much concerned in her own affairs and had room for little else in her thoughts. Blythe no longer made a secret of his devotion, and his family for some time had suspected that his visits to the Rosses’ rancho were not on Alison’s account, this especially after Alison began to wear her ring openly, and had confided to Laura that Neal had given it to her.
“Dear, dear, and I hoped you would be my sister,” said Laura.
“Well, so I shall be,” replied Alison, “for surely, miss, you will not play the coquette with my brother.”
As no one before had ever hinted that Laura possessedany of the qualities of a coquette, she was covered with confusion and indignantly repudiated any such charge. “You know better than to say such a thing as that, Alison Ross,” she said.
“How was I to know better after your speech, Laura Ross that is to be,” laughed Alison. “You are in a box, and may as well own up. When is it to be? Come, tell me.”
“Oh, why—Alison, I don’t know.”
“But some day, truly?”
“Yes, I suppose I may acknowledge that it will be some day, but now we are all troubled about Blythe. I did think that when he married and brought his wife home I might be satisfied to leave my mother.”
“Then why not have it so?”
“Because she whom I hoped he would marry, has thoughts of another.”
“If you mean me,” returned Alison frankly, “John might have told you it would not be so.”
“How did he know?”
“He knew before I did,” said Alison, but would not explain this enigmatical speech.
After this it was an accepted fact that Laura would one day go to live at the Ross rancho, and the intimacy between the two families was even greater than before. Therefore it was no surprise to Alison when Laura one day hunted her up as she was busy with a brood of young chicks.
“Hallo,” said Laura, looking over the fence of the chicken yard. “A new brood, Alison?”
“Yes, these are just out to-day. Did you come over alone, Laura?”
“No, mother came with me. She is so worried about Blythe and wants to talk over the trouble with Christine, and see if nothing can be done to cure the boy of his infatuation for that wretched Mexican girl. Mother says she will never, never consent to the match.”
“But why? Isn’t Lolita pretty enough for a daughter in-law?” asked Alison, as she put the last chick under its clucking mother.
“What a flippant answer,” said Laura.
“Then is it because Blythe is the first American who has wanted to marry a Mexican?”
Laura was silent and Alison rising from her stooping posture shook out her skirts, and picked up the basket in which she had kept the chicks. “I am sure Lolita is a good, modest, beautiful, sweet-tempered, capable girl, much better in every way than most you meet. What possible objection is there to her?”
“She is not of our religion in the first place.”
“I don’t think that her own is so serious a matter to her that she would not be perfectly willing to accept her husband’s. What does she know of the faith of her fathers? Once a year, maybe, she sees the old padre; she says her prayers dutifully every day asshe was taught; she believes only what she has been told she ought to believe. She has never thought for herself, and she is so obedient that she would be a tractable subject for your efforts at conversion.”
“But her father, would he not make trouble if we tried to change her beliefs?”
“It wouldn’t make a particle of difference to him. Old Pedro has no special belief; he told me so. Lolita’s happiness has always been, and will always be, his first consideration. He has many American friends, and is not the bigoted old man you would think. Pedro is really a very superior person, if he is only a greaser. If you knew Lolita as well as I do you would see what a lovable girl she is and would be glad to welcome her as a sister.”
“Perhaps you would like to have had her for your sister,” said Laura, who had always been a little jealous of Alison’s love for Lolita.
“If I had another brother I shouldn’t in the least mind, but as it is, I am perfectly well satisfied with John’s choice,” returned Alison, which oil-upon-the-waters speech caused Laura a pang of repentance after her tart remark.
“Come,” she said, “use your arguments with mother. I confess you do make the matter seem less dreadful.” And the two went to the house, where Mrs. Van Dorn was in close converse with Christine.
She held out her hand to Alison. “I came over to escape a sudden and dreadful fit of cleaning which has possessed our old Hitty,” she explained. “She cannot be made to endure a systematic weekly scrubbing of the floors, but once in a while she undertakes the whole place, souses and swashes and flings water all over the rooms and ends by lifting up a board and sweeping all the overflow into the cavity. She persistently refuses to get down on her hands and knees to scrub, as my servants at home used to do.”
Alison laughed. “Oh, we have become quite used to that method. You see, the houses at home are not built on piles as these are down here. Consider how much easier it is to lift a board, which is always left loose for that purpose, and to swash the water down on the ground where it will run off, instead of laboriously carrying it outside and emptying it.”
“I must confess the plan has the advantage of saving muscle,” said Mrs. Van Dorn, “but I cannot get used to thinking it as clean a process as ours. Come here, dear, and sit down. Christine and I have been talking over a matter much more serious to me than house-cleaning. I want you to assure me that this is but a youthful madness of Blythe’s and that I really am to welcome to my home a daughter much more to my taste than a wretched little Mexican.”
“But my dear Mrs. Van Dorn, if you mean Lolita,she is not the wretched little Mexican you think. I assure you she is of good Spanish stock, and except for the prejudice against Mexicans, which Texans hold, I don’t see why she shouldn’t be as acceptable as any other girl. Have you met her? Have you talked to her? She is not uneducated and has the sweetest manners.”
“I have seen her, but I have held no conversation with her.”
“Don’t you think her very beautiful?”
“She is very pretty, I am obliged to confess, though I always prefer a fairer style of beauty,—however that is but a matter of taste,—but to think of my only son’s marrying one of her class is something I cannot endure.”
“Would you rather he would marry Eliza Jane Binney, or Annamela Stuckett?”
“Oh, my dear, why need he marry either of them? Ah, Alison, why cannot you save him and us from an unfortunate alliance? He is very young, barely of age. If you would but encourage him he would probably get over this fancy.”
“I couldn’t encourage him for two reasons,” replied Alison. “One is that I could never be so disloyal to a friend as to try to steal away her lover. Lolita’s friendship is dear to me and I want to be worthy of it, because I love her. The other reason is,” she looked down at the sparkling jewel on her hand,“that there is some one else whom I would not give up for any man living.”
Mrs. Van Dorn looked the disappointment she felt, and released Alison’s hand which she had been holding. “In that case,” she said, after a moment’s silence, “I suppose I must give up the hope I have indulged in this year past. My only chance is to appeal to the girl. I suppose I can see her?” She turned to Christine.
“Please don’t say anything to hurt her feelings,” said Alison impulsively.
“My dear,” replied Mrs. Van Dorn, with dignity, “I hope I know enough not to wilfully injure any one. If the girl has the good sense and the refinement you invest her with, she will understand what I wish to convey without many words of mine. Christine, will you go with me to her house? and then, if you do not mind, I should like to see her privately.”
Christine had no alternative but to consent, and the two started for the small cabin just outside the door of which Lolita was busy with her tortillas. She was singing a little song:
“Baila preciosa niña,Baila sin mas tardar.”
“Baila preciosa niña,Baila sin mas tardar.”
“Baila preciosa niña,
Baila sin mas tardar.”
It had a sweet and spring-like melody, though a minor cadence ran through it, in spite of the joyous movement it suggested. Mrs. Van Dorn could butadmire the picture the girl made against the background of spring green, her arms moving with youthful grace as she slapped her tortillas from hand to hand keeping time to her song.
As she saw who accompanied Christine she looked up with a startled expression, and the tortilla fell to the ground unnoticed. She stepped back as if to retreat, and then with eyes downcast, came forward and stood the pattern of girlish confusion.
“Lolita, this is Mrs. Van Dorn who has come to see you,” said Christine, and Lolita made a timid obeisance. It was a moment fraught with terror for her, and she would willingly have escaped.
But her courtesy did not forsake her. “My father’s house is yours, señora,” she said. “Will you enter?”
“Is it not more pleasant outside?” said Mrs. Van Dorn. “I will sit here, if you will allow. Christine, are not those magnolias nearly in bloom? I wonder if you would get me a bud. They are the first I have seen.” And Christine, thus dismissed, left Lolita to face the situation alone.
For a moment Mrs. Van Dorn said nothing, but sat looking at the girl standing before her, eyes downcast and hands clasped. It was useless to deny that she was a beautiful creature. Surely one would needs go far to find a maiden so near perfection. Her face in repose was very serious. The casual observer mighthave called it cold unless he saw the expression of her eyes.
“My son has been visiting you, I believe,” Mrs. Van Dorn began. “He is a very good friend of yours, is he not?”
“Si, señora. Yes, madam, I am have the honor to call him so.”
“Do not stand,” said her visitor. And Lolita gravely seated herself upon the grass, leaving the bench for her guest’s sole occupancy. “I wish to know——” Mrs. Van Dorn felt that it was brutal for a stranger to try to probe the girl’s secrets, but she remembered her son and steeled herself to go on. “I wish to know if my son is more than a friend; if he has said things to you such as young men will say and to which girls like to listen.”
Lolita raised her solemn eyes. “He has said many beautiful thing to me,” she answered.
“He has asked you to marry him, perhaps, and you have answered—what?”
“He has my heart,” said Lolita simply. One who thought her cold should have seen the light of deep emotion which overspread her face.
Mrs. Van Dorn hesitated. It was difficult to go on. This was no worldly-wise damsel ready to assert her rights, to defy interference, to claim her own. What could a mother say to such a girl as this?
“My son is very ambitious,” she continued. “Weare ambitious for him. My husband wished him to study law and some day he might rise to be a judge. It is my wish also. He is my only son. I have great hopes in him. I think he is too young to marry.” This subterfuge came suddenly; it was not what she had meant to say, but with those soulful eyes upon her she could not come to her point at once. She turned her gaze away to where Christine was dutifully gathering flowers.
Lolita made no answer. It was not her place to take the initiative, and consequently the difficulties for the mother increased. “I do not mean,” she went on, “that I never wish him to marry, but that it may be later on when he knows his own mind better,” and then she paused. “His sisters, his family, I, myself, would like to see him marry a young woman who could win him friends, who could help him in his career and gain him popularity. A man’s wife can be either a great help or a great hindrance to him.” She spoke as if impersonally, but Lolita understood. Her dark eyelashes swept her cheek. She was very pale. “Don’t you think so?” Mrs. Van Dorn went on, feeling the girl’s silence a reproach.
“I think yes. I think who loves should not wish to harm her beloved.”
“Ah!” Mrs. Van Dorn breathed with satisfaction. “I felt sure that you would be sensible and that you would understand that this boy and girl affair ismerely youthful folly, and that you will soon outgrow it. You are too fair a blossom not to be gathered by some brave young Mexican, and you will soon forget that you ever thought of doing a thing so foolish as to marry an Americano.”
“I shall not forget—no. What is it that you wish for him? that you wish me to do for him? I do not quite understand.”
To tell her exactly what she did wish seemed the height of cruelty, but Mrs. Van Dorn had gone too far to retreat. “My dear little girl,” she said, “I hope I am thinking of your own happiness as well as my son’s when I say that I wish to be assured that you have no thought of marrying Blythe, that you will tell him so and ask him not to see you again.”
A quiver of pain passed over the girl’s face and the clasp of her hands tightened.
“It will really make but little difference to you in a few months,” said the mother, trying to be jocular. “You will forget and I shall hear of your wedding before long, I am sure.”
Lolita bowed her head, her attitude one of resigned grief. In a very low voice she said, “He has my heart but I will not marry him to make him sorry some days. I will not marry to keep him from to be what you are wishing. No, no. You are the mother; you have the right to say obey, and I obey, but I think I am die; I think I am die.”
She lifted her face marble-like in its pallor; but suddenly she sprang to her feet with a scream. At the same instant Mrs. Van Dorn who had moved her arm to rest it upon the low window ledge heard a whirring sound, then felt a sharp, agonizing pain. Lolita sprang towards her, grasped her wrist and applied her lips to the burning spot, unheeding the fact that the rattlesnake which had been disturbed in his exit from the house, had also attacked her as she thrust him aside.
Her scream brought Christine running to find Mrs. Van Dorn in an agony of fright and Lolita on her knees drawing the poison from the wound. “What is it? What is it?” cried Christine.
“A snake, a dreadful rattler,” said Mrs. Van Dorn. “Oh, child, child!” the tears began to course down her cheeks.
“Where is the snake? Did it strike you, Lolita?” asked Christine.
“I do not know. Yes, I think. There, madam, I do not believe you are to suffer,” she added.
“But you, you,” said Christine.
“It does not matter,” said Lolita dully. “It is only my father who will care. For me it does not matter.”
“Hush, hush, such talk will never do. Come with me, both of you,” ordered Christine. And fairly dragging Lolita, Mrs. Van Dorn running by her side, she hurried to the house. “Quick, quick, Alison,” shecalled when she was within hearing. “Get the rattlesnake cure. Mrs. Van Dorn and Lolita have been struck by a rattler.”
Alison was not long in bringing a piece of the root which every Texan provided himself with. It was poisonous of itself, but was considered a sure antidote for the bite of the rattlesnake, if taken in time. In Mrs. Van Dorn’s case it was quite positive that Lolita’s prompt measures had been effective, but the girl’s condition was doubtful, and among those who tended her Mrs. Van Dorn was the most devoted, her tears never ceasing to flow as she did so.
Laura was completely unnerved, even after she knew that her mother was out of danger. Mrs. Van Dorn drew her to one side. “I cannot leave while that child is in the least danger,” she said, “but you had better go home, Laura. Tell them I am detained and send Blythe to me as soon as you can.”
In the course of an hour it was decided that the antidote had proved efficacious and that Lolita was in no danger, though this fact seemed to bring her little satisfaction. Alison, who hovered over her and spoke caressing words to her, did not marvel at her drooping appearance, though it gave Mrs. Van Dorn a sharp pang. Pedro had gone to the village and therefore was not on hand to share the general anxiety, a fact of which all were glad.
Not even when Blythe entered did Lolita’s demeanorchange. She sat with head drooped on her breast and made no movement to speak to any one.
Mrs. Van Dorn hurried out with the others to meet him. “My son, my son,” she cried, “we have had a great escape. Your mother was struck by a rattler and might have died but for that dear child Lolita Garcia.” The tears came again to her eyes. “And what had I done? Struck her as cruel a blow as it was possible for woman to strike. And she received it with meekness and obedience, rewarding me a moment after by utterly forgetting herself and trying to save me. Oh, Blythe, Blythe, I give up. I have no word to say against your choice.” She put her head down on her son’s shoulder and wept softly. Then she led him to the room where Lolita sat as motionless as a statue. Dropping on her knees by the girl’s side and touching her lips to the dull purple spot on the round smooth arm she said: “Dear little girl, here is my son. Will you tell him that he has a very cruel mother, but that you forgive her and will be her daughter some day, for she has suddenly realized that a true heart and an unselfish spirit are worth more than honors or fame can bring. Lolita, dear little Lolita, I want you to call me mother.”
“The light that never was on land or sea” glorified Lolita’s face as Blythe, forgetting all else, even his mother, thought only that he had come near to losing Lolita, and taking her in his arms he murmuredthe words she loved to hear: “Mi corazon, mi vida, mi alma.”
“I have but one request to make,” said Mrs. Van Dorn after the three had settled down happily side by side. “You will not marry for a year or so yet, will you, my son?”
Blythe looked down at the girl beside him. “It shall be as Lolita says.”
“You must always do as your mother wish,” she said softly. And at this continued evidence of her sweetness, the mother’s last regret vanished.
Going to the door she called the others. “Come in, girls, congratulations are in order. I wish to announce the engagement of my son, Blythe Van Dorn, to Miss Lolita Garcia.”
She could not have chosen a moment more fortunate if she had wished the matter quickly to be noised abroad, for Hannah Maria had seen Laura riding by, had stopped and had learned of the disaster. So, gathering together her most notable remedies, she started forth at once, appearing in her dun-colored costume just in time to hear the announcement.
“Well, now,” she exclaimed, “ain’t I lucky? I started out to nurse the sick and I git in jest in time for a love story. Ain’t it jest my good luck? My, my! I certainly am glad I come.” She beamed happily on Blythe, offered him her snuffy fingers, and kissed Lolita with expansive affection. “It’s wonderful,”she said, “how love gits its way. I reckon that’s for why the Marster made rattlers,” for Mrs. Van Dorn had not hesitated to confess that she had attempted the rôle of cruel parent and that she had failed in the face of Lolita’s lovely behavior.
“I’ll jest hev to hurry back an’ tell Bud,” Hannah Maria went on. “Come over soon, gals, an’ you bring Loliter, Blythe. You hear me, gals, your time’s a-comin’. Jest look how love is a workin’ out. Thar’s John and Laury, and Lou and Iry, and now these two. Jest keep on a-lookin’ fur your Mr. Right, Allie; he’s comin’ along. An’ you, too, Tina, don’t give up a-hopin’. Folks has come back after twenty year.” And she rode away on her old white mule, enveloped in an atmosphere of romance.