IN SANTA BARBARA
To children brought up in sight of mountains and far from the sea,
Santa Barbara offered new pleasures, for here the sea stretched before
them, "the sun-kissed sea," and though they regretted the little home
which had been theirs for three months, they were eager for fresh
scenes. Here Carter's car came in for daily service, over the mountain
drive for twelve miles, to Montecito valley, to Carpinteria to see the
largest grape-vine in the world, and where the motor car could not
go Carter was ready to lead as escort on horseback over some of the
numerous trails which gave them many a happy day's outing.
"Carter is a great institution," said Miss Helen returning one day
from a particularly delightful expedition. "I shall have to write to
his mother a special letter of thanks. How well you are looking, Mary.
Surely this winter has done you good."
"Surely it has," returned Mrs. Corner. "I feel as if I were almost
safe. I hope Carter may be."
"I hope so. He thinks seriously of settling in this sunny land, he
tells me, and I think he would be wise to do it. To be on the safe side
is much better than to take any risks. The doctors tell him that he
will be likely to live as long as any one if he settles here, but with
that incipient tendency he will not feel quite sure at home. He is so
young I believe in a few years he may entirely outgrow his trouble."
"His poor mother," said Mrs. Corner, "how will she stand the
separation?"
"Better than if he were removed altogether," said Miss Helen gravely.
"Mollie Carter is no weakling; she will not dissuade him from what is
for his best good. Moreover her other children will soon be old enough
to be left at home and she can then come to Carter at least once a
year. Dear me, Mary, how many mothers must be separated from their
children. Their daughters marry and follow their husbands to any part
of the world; their sons accept positions which take them across the
ocean; it is one of the trials of motherhood, I admit, but it is not
a rare one. Now, you, my dear, will soon have to settle what is to
be done in your own case for next year. Shall it be California again
or shall we go to Southern France and Italy? I do so want you to see
Europe."
"Can't I wait till my girls are ready to go, too?" said Mrs. Corner
helplessly. "I cannot bear to put the ocean between us."
"But you don't want to risk a winter in the east and run the danger of
leaving them altogether?"
"Oh, no, not that."
"Then suppose you let me tell you what I propose and you can think
it over. Mrs. Roberts and I have had a talk about the girlies. She
knows of an excellent school near Boston where only a few girls are
admitted as boarders. I think a little New England experience will not
hurt our lassies. Nan could go to the Boston Conservatory and could
have the musical advantages which I should like for her. You know our
old friend, Mr. Harmer is there and would take a personal interest
in her. The Lorings, too, would make a special effort to be nice on
Mrs. Roberts's account. Miss Sarah seems so content with the present
arrangement at home that she would be glad to continue it for another
year, I know. You and I would then be free to go abroad for the winter,
or, if you found you could not stand being away so long, you could come
back when you pleased and go to the Adirondacks or North Carolina. Now,
there is something for you to think about. Don't decide now, but let it
soak in and tell me any time you may make up your mind."
Mrs. Corner sat with a very thoughtful look on her face after her
sister left the room. Nan, coming in, found her so. "Sweetest and
loveliest," she said, "what are you thinking about? You didn't hear me
and I called you twice." She stooped over and kissed her mother's cheek.
"I was thinking of my bairns and was wondering what would be best for
us all next winter." She drew Nan very close to her. "I can't bear to
be parted from you, darling. This has been such a happy winter compared
to last."
"Hasn't it been?" said Nan. "It has been wonderful. I never dreamed of
anything like it, and I hate to think of its being over, of our leaving
California and the friends we have made here. Mrs. Roberts writes that
her father is quite broken up by our going and goes around as if he
didn't know what to do with himself. She says the Corner family have
bewitched him and that she will not be able to keep him with her much
longer. Of course he didn't intend to stay as long as he has done, but
she likes to put it that way. Then there is the señorita, I know she
feels very badly at the idea of parting from us. Well, muzzy, dear,
have you made any plans?"
"Nothing is determined yet. I shall have some time in which to decide,
but your Aunt Helen has made a proposition which I am thinking over."
"Tell me if it is tellable; I'll not mention it if it is a secret."
"I wouldn't speak of it yet because the little girls could not
understand the whys and wherefores," and then she told what Miss Helen
had proposed.
"I don't wonder you were so thoughtful and serious," said Nan gravely,
when her mother had finished speaking. "Gracious, but that is a problem
to solve."
"Should you like your part of the plan, Nan?"
"I should, and I shouldn't. It is delightful in some respects, all but
the separation from you," she added with a little catch in her voice,
and bending to lay her cheek against her mother's hand. "Oh, if we
could only have this winter all over again. Why couldn't we?"
"For two or three reasons. I think your Aunt Helen pines for Europe.
She has lived so long abroad that she misses the art, the music, the
older civilization, and I cannot bear to have her sacrifice herself
for us. To be sure she could go alone, but we are all she has and she
clings to us so. I cannot forget that she has been willing to give us
half of what was legally hers."
"It was what her mother and father both wanted her to do, and she
couldn't have done differently, it seems to me."
"Some persons would have. She has been more than generous, with her
half, too."
"And you have never been to Europe," said Nan slowly. "I think, mother,
you'd better go."
"Oh, Nan!"
The girl's eyes were full of tears which her mother did not see. "Yes,
I do," she answered bravely, "but you don't have to decide yet, do you?
There is plenty of time."
"Plenty."
"Then don't let us cross that bridge till we come to it. Who knows what
may turn up before we leave this Sunset Land? I, for one, am not going
to think about it yet. Isn't this Santa Barbara the dearest place? I
loved San Diego; I was perfectly happy at Los Angeles; I thought no
spot could be lovelier than Pasadena, and I'd like to stay here years;
that is the way it goes all along the King's highway. I like that name;
the Camino Real, for it is so much more than an every-day road. I think
of those old mission fathers traveling it and I hope that it will be
opened up and kept in good order."
"You love the missions, don't you, daughter?"
"Yes, I do; they seem so much a part of the old life. Aunt Helen says
they are this country's saving grace, that beside them all the big
pumpkins and giant grape-vines are as vulgar nothings, and that the
country would be painfully new if it were not for what the Spaniards
left behind. Yes, I do love the missions. Weren't you pleased with the
one here, the one H. H. describes when she tells of the christening of
one of its towers?"
"It is certainly most interesting."
"But, oh, dear, I was disappointed when I found that no woman was
allowed to enter the garden. For once I wanted to be the wife of a king
or of the president, so as to have the privilege. There is Jack calling
me. I wonder what now; that is a voice of trouble, I am afraid," and
she ran out to see what was wrong with her little sister.
There was nothing worse than a cut finger and that was soon tied up
to Jack's satisfaction, and she went off again to her play, while Nan
hunted up Mary Lee.
If Nan had regrets at leaving California Mary Lee had pangs, for did it
not also mean parting with her beloved Miss Dolores? She spent all the
time she could in her idol's company, clung to her side when they were
out walking and had a nightly weep when she calculated that there was
one less day to be spent in the dear presence.
"You make me tired, Mary Lee," Nan would say. "I do wish you would stop
that sniffling; I just know you are crying about the señorita."
"You're so heartless, Nan," Mary Lee would reply. "I don't believe you
care one bit that after another week you will never see her again."
"I'm not going to think that, besides it doesn't make it any better
to cry about it," and Nan would unsympathetically turn over and go to
sleep.
"Shall you miss me one little bit?" Mary Lee asked Miss Dolores one day
when it was near the time for them to leave Santa Barbara.
"Certainly," she replied. "More than I can say. Except my aunt no one
has ever been so good and kind to me as your mother and aunt, and to
you, my pupils, I give much affection. It will be a sad parting, but I
hope to earn my living somewhere. Your aunt thinks in San Francisco I
shall have much opportunity to get a situation and she will help me.
She says my experience of the past three months will help me."
"If you only had some relatives," said Mary Lee, "cousins, or
something, it would be much better. Cousins are a great help; we have
some that we are very fond of and when mother was away last winter I
don't know what we should have done without them."
"I had a little cousin to whom I gave much love," said the señorita.
"She died when she was fifteen. Like myself she lived with an aunt and
we were great friends."
"What was her name?" asked Mary Lee.
"Pepita we called her. It is the Spanish for Josephine, or rather it is
the diminutive, as you would say, Josie."
"It is a very pretty name; I like it much better than Josie. Did she
have no mother?"
"No, her mother died when she was born, but she had a good home and a
happy little life. Like myself she was of the Spanish, the old Spanish,
for her mother and mine were cousins, and neither remembered that she
had had such parent. Yes, we were happy little girls. All that is
passed now." The señorita sighed.
"I don't like to have you sad," said Mary Lee, "and you always are when
you talk of those old times."
"It is all so different now; I belong to no one and no one belongs to
me; that is why I sigh. But never let us speak so much of it. I have
not been to San Francisco; it must be a fine city, so large, so gay,
something like Paris. I think we shall like that city, and when I have
a fine position with wealthy family I shall save my money and some day
when you are in Virginia you will look from the window and say: 'Who is
that stranger who comes to our house?' Then the others will look and
will say, 'She is rather old, but the face has familiar look.' Another
will say, 'Perhaps she comes to the wrong house.' Then when your
servant brings you the name of Dolores Garcia you will look puzzled and
say, 'Who is this?'"
"Oh, Miss Dolores," expostulated Mary Lee, "how could you think we
would ever forget you?"
The señorita laughed. "Ah, will you not? You should not say that; you
do not know how easy it is to forget sometimes, and when one is young."
"But not you; I couldn't forget you," Mary Lee said, earnestly. "If I
forgot every one else I should still remember you, for you do not know
how dear you are to me, Miss Dolores."
Here Nan came running to find them. "Mr. Pinckney has come," she
announced. "He said he couldn't stand it any longer without seeing us.
Jack is jumping all over the place with delight, and Jean is eating
chocolates as fast as she can pop them into her mouth; he has brought a
great big box of them; you'd better come if you want any."
The double attraction was too enticing and Mary Lee followed her sister
to where Mr. Pinckney sat surrounded by a smiling company.
"Doesn't it seem good to see the dear old fat thing sitting there?"
said Nan. "I declare I didn't know how fond I was of him till I saw him
coming puffing and blowing up the steps."
"I wonder if he has seen Jo Poker," said Mary Lee.
"Of course you would think of that first thing," returned Nan.
"Wouldn't you have thought of it?"
"I would have after while, but not yet."
They took occasion to make their inquiries later. "Couldn't find him,"
Mr. Pinckney told them. "They told me he had come up in this direction
somewhere, so I'll try to look him up, if it is to be done."
"He may be in San Francisco by this time," said Mary Lee. "Mr. Sanders
thought he would probably go there from his place."
"Humph!" said Mr. Pinckney; "I am afraid it will be a tough job to find
him. Well, how do you like the idea of leaving California?"
"Don't like it at all," said Nan, "but I do want to see some of the
other places we are going to. It is lovely here, don't you think?"
"Pretty fine, but I sometimes pine for old Broadway and our own vile
climate. If I were a youngster I should think it rather monotonous if
I couldn't switch around from flying kites to coasting and skating once
a year. There are people who can live on climate, but I am not one of
them. I enjoy California, bless you, yes, but I enjoy New York, too.
Now, let us see, when do you leave here?"
"Aunt Helen thinks day after to-morrow. Carter wants some of us to go
on his car with him, but I don't think we shall."
"The señorita is going, of course."
"Yes, of course."
"Mrs. Roberts thinks she has heard of a position which may suit the
young lady, and asked me to tell her about it. I fancy she would rather
be with some one we know all about than to go among entire strangers."
"Is it in Los Angeles?" asked Mary Lee, eagerly.
"In Pasadena, I believe."
"Oh, if she takes it, I do hope Mrs. Bobs will think of her sometimes
and ask her to come to see her."
"Trust her for that. It was for that very reason she was anxious that
Miss Garcia should apply for this position. No, young lady, you needn't
have any fear but that Jennie will have an eye on her, and if she is
lonely it will not be my daughter's fault."
"Shall I go tell her that you want to see her?" asked Mary Lee.
"Suppose you do, then we'll settle it right here." So Mary Lee went off
to seek Miss Dolores and presently left her in close conversation with
Mr. Pinckney.