Jubilee Trail (45 page)

She has dozens of cooks and the food in this place is wonderful, I never saw so much or anything so good. Donya Manuela eats all day long and she figures anybody who is not constantly hungry must be sick.

Well you see, she knew I was sick. So she fed me and kissed me and sang me lullibies and then fed me some more. It was the first time anybody had ever treated me like a baby and I did not know how nice it was. But really I could not eat all the food she gave me. I tryed my best becaus she was so sweet and also becaus I was afraid if I did not eat it like she told me I would get slapped. But she did not slap me when I could not eat any more, she just looked worreyed and scolded the girls becaus the food was not good enough and chased them off to cook something else that would tempt my failing appetite.

So pretty soon I felt fine. One day when she was not there I got out of bed and took off my nightie and looked at myself in the mirror and really Garnet I was just beautiful. You could not see my bones any more and the curves were all back in the right places and my hair was shiny and my skin was smooth. I wanted to stay up becaus I was afraid if I did not start moving around I would get even fatter from all that food Donya Manuela was giving me. And besides I wanted to see some people and be sociable. But Donya Manuela would not let me come into the parlor until I had some black dresses. She was very simpathetic and she said of course she understood that I must meet some gents so I could get myself a husband, but for a while I must wear black becaus I was a widow.

Well darling I had forgotten all about being a widow again. But she gathered some girls together and they started sewing me some things so I could go into mourning. Mr. Kerridge came in and saw me standing up meekly in the middle of the room being fitted with yards of dismal black stuff, and he caught my eye and I giggled, I could not help it, and he giggled back at me. Honestly Garnet that man is just as wonderful as his wife is, only in a different way.

So now I am all dressed up in black but I must say I look quite ravishing in it. Donya Manuela lets me come out and meet all the visitors that drop in, and she tells them a long sad story and looks around to see if I am impressing any of the gents enough to have him look like a follower of my late lamented.

Well dear writing this letter has taken me quite a long time. Mr. Kerridge has been cutting my pens for me. I never did much writing and I do not know how to make a feather into a pen. He does the cutting becaus Donya Manuela can do practically everything else but she never learned to read or write. Every now and then she and her family come in and watch me respectfully, quite impressed that I should have so much learning.

Well now it is another day and I have something else to tell you. I have had a great piece of luck.

I had been wondering what I was going to do now. Donya Manuela has planned that I will get a husband soon but between you and me Garnet you know I am not the domestick type. And then day before yesterday who should turn up among the visitors but some Americans.

And my dear among them was John and also the Handsome Brute, and also of all people Silky Van Dorn. Oh I was so glad to see them. John is buying cattle for his rancho. He has got some from Mr. Kerridge and he says he is going down to Hales in a few days to get some more and he will take this letter to you. John told me he has named his rancho for the yellow poppies. I cannot spell the words becaus they are Spannish but it sounds like a lovely name. The Handsome Brute is handsomer than ever and he has fine clothes, how he does love to dress up, and he is so sweet and innocent, my dear I do like him.

But this is the great news. Silky was so surprised to see how I looked, he had got used to seeing me all tired and bony the way I was on the trail. He regarded me with great interest and twirled his mustash and bowed, very grand, and walked off to think and then he came back and told me what he had been thinking about.

Silky has quit the trail. It is such hard work and he has saved up a nice piece of capital so he can leave off. He has opened a gambling house and saloon in Los Angielies and he wants me to come down and work with him. He says I can serve drinks and sing for the customers. So I told him I thought it was a great idea, and I was ready to start working right away.

It will all be strictly bisness. So any time you come to Los Angielies, ask anybody for Silky’s Place and I will be there.

Well I must stop writing now becaus John is leaving in the morning and I must give him this letter tonight. I do hope you are happy dearest and you will never know how greatfull I am for all you have done for me and I love you very much.

Your true frend,

Florinda Grove.

T
HE GOLDEN LIGHT
SWEPT
over the mountains and filled the valley where Charles Hale’s rancho lay. The sun was hot, but as soon as you reached the shade you felt cold. The air had a tingle; it was like the heat of sun and the sting of snowflakes together.

Garnet sat on the grass by an orange tree and leaned back on her hands. The light gave a glory even to the stiff lines of Charles’ rancho. The orange trees were lacy with blossoms, and the fragrance of them was rich in the air. On the slopes the wild flowers grew in beds of blue and gold, and the distant peaks were white points of snow against the sky. It was so beautiful that she hurt with a pleasure almost like pain.

She heard the sound of horses’ hoofs, and looking around she saw John. He had arrived at the rancho a week ago, bringing Florinda’s letter. John sprang off his horse, tossing the bridle to the boy who had been riding with him. He stood looking out toward the mountains as though he too felt the pain of too much pleasure, and she wondered if he had ever looked at a woman as he was looking now at the wonder of the earth.

Then he saw her, and smiled as he said, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” said Garnet. She added, “Where were you at breakfast time?”

“I rode out early to see some calves.”

Garnet looked up at his green eyes and his cool aristocratic face. John was her friend; he had never said so, but she felt that he was. She had been so lonely during these past months, hiding the secret of her pregnancy with a frightened silence. She was glad he was here.

“John,” she said, “I owe you an apology.”

“Yes? For what?” John asked as he sat on the grass by her.

Garnet gestured toward the flowering hills. “You told me California was like this. And then when I got here last fall, I was dreadfully disappointed. I thought you had made it up.”

John gathered a handful of the young wild oats and broke off the tops. “That was my fault. I always think of California like this, in the big spring. But if you were going to stay here,” he went on, “in a year or two you’d find a surprising beauty about the dry season. It’s such a foreign sort of beauty that we don’t see it right away.”

Well, she never would see it, Garnet thought, and she did not want to. In another month she would be on her way back to New York. Glancing at the yellow poppies blooming among the oats, she said,

“In Florinda’s letter she said you had named your rancho for the poppies.”

He nodded. “The Californios call the poppy the flor torosa, the sturdy flower. So I called my place El Rancho de la Flor Torosa. For short, Torosa.”

There was a moment of silence. John looked away from her, toward the mountains.

“Where did you learn to love flowers so?” she asked. “I always liked them, but I never knew much about them.”

“You grew up among bricks and stones,” said John. “I lived on a plantation.”

“But you notice everything,” said Garnet. “The rocks and trees and mountains as well as the flowers. So many people don’t see the earth at all.”

John looked down. He pulled off another handful of the wild oats. “I had a rather lonely childhood,” he said. “The earth was my friend. The growing things that changed every day, the rocks that never changed at all—I could count on them.” He paused, and went on. “You can always count on the things of the earth. You know what to expect of them. Sometimes they are cruel, but it’s a hard clean cruelty. They don’t torture you with their own weakness.”

Garnet felt her hand, like his, closing on the grass. John had not looked up at her as he spoke. She wondered if he had been thinking of Oliver with that last sentence. She asked,

“Is that why you don’t like people? Because they torture you with their own weakness?”

“Yes,” said John. “You can’t count on people.” He glanced up, and the corner of his mouth flickered with a grim little smile as he added, “I proved that to you, didn’t I?”

“I don’t understand you.”

“I should have told you the truth about Carmelita Velasco,” said John.

It was the first time he had ever spoken to her about Carmelita. But now that he had been a week on the rancho, of course he knew that she knew the story. Oliver had probably told him how the earthquake had shown her the letter. Oliver had not said so to her. Oliver did not tell her much about anything any more. He was keeping his promise to take her home, and had bought mules for the journey. But he had grown more and more silent under these months of Charles’ cold resentful displeasure.

“I don’t blame you for not telling me,” Garnet answered. “It wasn’t any of your business.”

“No,” said John. “It was not. But I am sorry you had to discover it in what must have been a shocking fashion.”

Garnet picked up an orange blossom that had fallen on the ground, and crushed it in her hand. The petals were white and waxy. She felt guilty about Carmelita. She did not know why, but she did. Still looking down at the broken petals, she said in a low voice,

“I think I should have been angry if you had told me. I should have thought you were meddling in something that did not concern you.

“It did not concern me,” said John, “and it still does not. But something else has happened,” he went on steadily, “and I think you should know it, and I am going to tell you.”

She started, and turned toward him. John had linked his hands around his knees. She noticed that his hands were long and slender. The skin was burned dark brown, and the hands looked very strong.

“I am going to tell you this now, myself,” said John. He did not add “because Oliver won’t,” but she added it in her mind, and she was sure he was adding it in his. He went on. “If you resent my speaking, you have a right to say so. Carmelita is dead.”

Garnet dropped the blossom. She felt half sick with guilt. “But I thought—she was quite well,” she faltered.

“She was quite well,” said John. “She was living up north with her aunt. She went riding, with her baby on her arm. She rode over a cliff. They are both dead.”

Garnet put her fist to her lips. “Oh, John,” she said from behind it, “do you mean—she did it on purpose? Because—because Oliver—is married to me?”

John answered as quietly as if he had been discussing the weather. “It would seem so. Of course, it might have been an accident. But California girls do not often have riding accidents. They learn to ride as soon as they learn to walk.”

Garnet had shut her eyes and covered them with her hands. Tears slipped out between her fingers. “I’m sorry to be crying,” she murmured. “I—I seem to cry so easily these days.” She caught herself. She did cry more easily now, but she must not let John suspect there was any physical reason why she did. She wished she could put her head on a friendly shoulder and cry and cry. Everything was so tangled up. She did not know what emotions she ought to feel; all she did feel was confusion and a great loneliness.

John put a big red handkerchief into her hand. “I am not going to insult you by offering you pity, Garnet,” he said. “You’re too good for that. But I am sorry you have been caught in a situation you did not deserve.”

She dried her tears. His voice was so steady and his words so direct that he calmed her spirit. Crumpling the red handkerchief in her lap, she raised her eyes to meet his. To her surprise she found that she could speak steadily too.

“When did you hear about this?” she asked.

“On the way down from Kerridge’s. I stopped at Don Rafael’s to ask for water. It’s the most usual sort of request. Ordinarily any traveler can get food or water at any rancho he passes. Don Rafael’s men let me water my horses at a creek, but they told me to leave at once and ride fast. Don Rafael has given orders that no American ever come on his land again. The men said he was half out of his mind. She was his only child.”

Garnet folded the red handkerchief and creased it with her thumbnail. “Did you tell Oliver about this?” she asked after a while.

“Yes, I told him.”

She bit her lip hard and gave her head a shake, as though that would shake her thoughts into place. “Oh John,” she exclaimed, “what can I do?”

“Nothing but what you are doing, Garnet. Get Oliver away from here. He’s very fond of you, and he never meant any harm to anybody in his life. But he has always taken orders from Charles. Once away from Charles, he’ll make you a good husband.”

John stood up. She thought she had never seen a man who gave her such a feeling of quiet strength. He said,

“Now I shall never refer to this matter again unless you tell me you want to talk about it. That’s all.” He gave her a brief smile as he turned away. “I have a great deal of respect for you, Garnet,” he added.

He went toward the house. Garnet sat still. She bit the red handkerchief savagely, wondering how much more she could stand. Carmelita and her baby were dead, and poor old Don Rafael was half insane with grief. And she herself was going to have a baby, and she could not talk about it. Sometimes she felt so strange, and she could not ask if this was the way she ought to feel or if there was something wrong with her.

But she was going home. Oliver had deeded his share of the rancho to Charles, and had spent a good part of the winter riding here and there to buy mules and supplies and merchandise. A few weeks more, and they would be on the trail. She would be on her way back to her mother and father, and all the strong dependable things of home.