Shortly after that, to the surprise of everybody, Mrs. de Barryos did
die.
People had expected that she was going to be one of those who lived
eternally, eternally complaining, and her death came in the nature of
a sort of shock to the community. Carlita was looked upon with general
favor, and there were those who, while they sighed, exclaimed to each
other consolingly:
"Well it is the first freedom of any sort the poor child ever had. She
will grieve, of course, but as soon as the first shock has worn off,
she'll be happier than she ever was in her life before."
But any kind of a mother is better than no mother at all, and there was
the sincerest sorrow in Carlita's heart. There was enough of the warm
Mexican blood in her veins to fill her with a passion that was beyond
the understanding of those colder, more northern folk, and she had
loved her mother very sincerely. She was frightened, too, at the time
of her mother's death by the remembrance of that curse which her mother
had impressed upon her many times before the end came, and felt that
shrinking sense of loneliness, of bitter oppression, of isolation from
all the world that is so hard to bear.
When Jose de Barryos died he left his fortune, and it was considerable,
equally to his wife and daughter, the daughter under her guardianship
and that of a brother who did not long survive him, so that at the
time of Mrs. de Barryos' death there was considerable interest felt as
to who she had appointed guardian of her daughter in her own place,
Carlita being still under legal age. Some said that she would appoint
her husband's sister, Mrs. Erminie Blanchard but there were others
who knew that there had not been sufficient friendship between the
two women for that, and there was a rustle of excitement felt when
two ladies in mourning arrived on the day of the funeral, two women
whom none of them had ever seen before, but who went at once to the
great de Barryos mansion, for it was nothing less in that country, and
established themselves in the house.
There was considerable talk among the neighbors, who stood off and
looked at them from a distance like frightened sheep, feeling somehow
an embarrassment that they were never known to exhibit before.
Both of them were large women, the elder inclined to be stout, with a
waist that was suspiciously small for the size of bust and hips. Her
hair was yellow--a brilliant, half-greenish yellow--that contrasted
oddly with her very dark eyebrows and black lashes. Her eyes were a
dark blue, and her complexion very white and very pink about the cheeks.
She was startlingly young-looking to confess to being the mother of the
young woman who accompanied her.
She--the daughter--was a curious contrast to her mother, while
following at the same time upon much the same lines. Her hair was
red--that glorious dark rich auburn--her eyes dark brown and rather
fine, her complexion singularly like that of her mother. She was not
beautiful--not even pretty--but there was a certain sort of dangerous
fascination about her that even inexperienced people recognized.
Carlita rather gasped when they bore down upon her suddenly the day
of her mother's funeral, their mourning was so heavy, so crisp, so
new, and they gushed over her in such a curious way, calling her "a
dear thing!" "darling!" and all the rest of it, which was quite new to
Carlita, and they took such absolute possession of everything. But she
explained it all to herself by remembering that letter which her mother
had received signed "Jessica," and tried to be satisfied.
When the will was read, the good people understood it all better.
Mrs. Louise Chalmers has been appointed guardian of the orphaned
heiress, and Mrs. Louise Chalmers was that rather large, rather showy,
rather overdressed, while yet in mourning, woman, and to her had been
left an income of eight thousand dollars a year so long as she remained
Carlita's guardian.
Her black-bordered handkerchief was pressed very closely to her eyes
during the reading of the will; but although an occasional sob was
heard by those who sat nearest to her, there wasn't an atom of moisture
on the handkerchief when it was removed. Her little, black King Charles
spaniel fidgeted and sneezed on her lap during the entire time, not
quite able to comprehend why he should be neglected for the first time
in all his absurdly spoiled life.
It did not seem quite appropriate to those plain Southern folks that
Mrs. Chalmers should hold a dog on her lap during the reading of her
old friend's will; but they rather forgave her when she went up to
Carlita, and, in a really very pretty way, put her arms about the young
orphan's neck, and said in her sweetest and most maternal voice:
"I can not take your mother's place, my darling, but I shall try to be
a second one to you. It is a very sacred trust that she has left me,
and I shall try with all my heart to be worthy of it."
And she immediately took the place of "second mother," taking the
direction of everything in her own hands with a clear sweep that rather
staggered Carlita. Her mother had been ill for five years before her
death, as has already been told, and the girl had been housekeeper
in entire charge, so that to be so completely swept aside in her own
domain was something which she had not calculated upon. Still, she
submitted, because there did not seem to be anything else to be done.
There were not many changes made in the house, because practically
there was no way of making them. The town was not full of
opportunities. The people were slow and inactive. Jose de Barryos had
owned a huge cotton plantation just outside the limits of the town, and
had been contented to have his dwelling-place there, though it must
be confessed that he had not spent much of his time at home. He and
his wife had not agreed sufficiently well to permit their living very
comfortably under the same roof for any length of time together. And
she had remained there after his death because she lacked the energy to
do anything else.
But it was not the sort of place in which Mrs. Chalmers could be long
content. She was not surprised, as she sat one evening upon the lawn
near the fountain, with the sweet southern air blowing lazily about
her, to receive a visit from her daughter.
The girl threw herself upon the grass and looked up indolently.
"I say," she exclaimed in a tone that was low, almost thrilling, "this
is dead slow! And I am tired of the whole thing. I don't think I could
stand it another week for all the fortune that black thing possesses!"
"Jessica!"
"Oh, bah! You are doing the delicately virtuous with a vengeance, and
it is that which adds to my ennui almost more than this enervating
atmosphere. Call a halt, can't you? One can't speak of that little
backwoods thing but you are up in arms!"
"She is beautiful!"
"Yes; but with about as much style as one of these buzzards that are
so disgustingly plentiful. Her big eyes are uncanny, and that chalky
complexion looks like the first indication of decay. She looks like one
of the mulatto girls that abound in these parts. I am seriously afraid
that some one will think that we've brought a negro home with us!"
"Jessica, for the love of Heaven, hush! If she should hear you, she
would never forgive you in the world!"
"And what an awful calamity that would be!" sneered the girl,
gracefully drawing a blade of long grass through her lips. "This place
will be good enough when this absurd time of mourning is passed and we
can fill it with guests; but until it is, for the Lord's sake, let's
cut it all and run. I can't stand it!"
"We can't leave her."
"Of course, we can't--worse luck--but surely you have not lost your
cunning in the development of romance. You can make her see the
absolute necessity for change of air and scene. You don't need a better
ally than that chalky complexion of hers. Get me out of it, or I shall
do something disgraceful."
"Where shall we go?"
"Anywhere. I suppose we've got to draw it mild on her pocket-book for
a while; but--well, the opera season has opened in New York, and there
will be something to live for. After that, we can go over the pond for
a while and--"
"Why don't you try to use a little less slang, Jessica?"
"Because slang is strictly in my line, Miss Virtuous. Look here! It is
quite sufficient to be on my p's and q's when our little mulatto is
around, without getting qualms and--and things. I say, when are you
going to propose the New York plan?"
"You really think it best?"
"Best or worst, it's going to be done. Great Scott! think of it! We've
been buried in this hole for three weeks now. Not a glass of champagne,
not the face of a man, not a single game of poker--nothing to relieve
the dread monotony. I'd be in a mad-house in three weeks more! Besides
all that, I'm dead tired of this black toggery."
"You mean to take it off when you get back to New York?"
"Take it off!" echoed the young lady, looking up in astonishment.
"Well, rather!"
"What will Carlita think?"
"What, in Heaven's name, do you suppose I care what she thinks? Did you
really believe that I intend to pass the rest of my life guarded from
evil by the fear of Carlita's displeasure? If such an idea has ever
disturbed you, put it away at once. She will very soon find her level
in my life, and in yours, if I mistake not. When will you speak to her
about our going?"
"Tomorrow, if you really wish it."
"You'd better make it tonight. There is no time like the present. I
shall sleep better if I know the matter is settled."
"And if she should refuse?"
The girl lifted herself upon her elbow and opened her eyes very wide.
"Refuse!" she exclaimed. "Heavens and earth! Whence did you acquire
this new-born submission? I'm positively afraid the mulatto is
affecting your brain. Is she your guardian, or are you hers? Go in
there and tell her that you are going, and that she is going with you.
It is quite enough. Just let that settle it. Don't begin with anything
like questioning her inclination, or you may have cause to regret it by
and by. Come, toddle along now, and I will wait for you here."
The girl lay indolently back upon the grass, and her mother arose,
albeit with a sigh.