MATCHMAKING
After our return to the Frio, my first duty was writing, relative to
the proposed match, an unfavorable reply to Don Alejandro Travino.
On resuming work, we spent six weeks baling hides, thus occupying our
time until the beginning of the branding season. A general round-up of
the Nueces valley, commencing on the coast at Corpus Christi Bay, had
been agreed upon among the cowmen of the country. In pursuance of the
plan four well-mounted men were sent from our ranch with Wilson’s wagon
to the coast, our _segundo_ following a week later with the wagon,
_remuda_ and twelve men, to meet the rodeo at San Patricio as they
worked up the river. Our cattle had drifted in every direction during
the drouth and though many of them had returned since the range had
again become good, they were still widely scattered. So Uncle Lance
took the rest of us and started for the Frio, working down that river
and along the Nueces, until we met the round-up coming up from below.
During this cow hunt, I carried my fiddle with me in the wagon, and at
nearly every ranch we passed we stopped and had a dance. Not over once
a week did we send in cattle to the ranch to brand, and on meeting the
rodeo from below, Deweese had over three thousand of our cattle. After
taking these in and branding the calves, we worked over our home range
until near the holidays.
On our return to the ranch, we learned that young Blas Travino from the
Mission had passed Las Palomas some days before. He had stopped in
passing; but, finding the ranchero absent, plead a matter of business
at Santa Maria, promising to call on his return. He was then at the
ranch on the Tarancalous, and hourly expecting his reappearance, the
women of the household were in an agitated state of mind. Since the
formal answer had been sent, no word had come from Don Blas and a rival
had meanwhile sprung up in the person of Fidel Trujillo. Within a month
after his employment I noticed the new vaquero casting shy glances at
Juana, but until the cow hunt on the Frio I did not recognize the fine
handwriting of the old matchmaker. Though my services were never called
for as interpreter between Uncle Lance and the new man, any one could
see there was an understanding between them. That the old ranchero was
pushing Fidel forward was evident during the fall cow hunting by his
sending that Mexican into Las Palomas with every bunch of cattle
gathered.
That evening Don Blas rode into the ranch, accompanied by Father
Norquin. The priest belonged at the Mission, and their meeting at Santa
Maria might, of course, have been accidental. None of the padre’s
parishioners at headquarters were expecting him, however, for several
months, and padres are able _padrinos_,—sometimes, among their own
faith, even despotic. Taking account, as it appeared, of the ulterior
motive, Uncle Lance welcomed the arrivals with a hearty hospitality,
which to a stranger seemed so genuine as to dispel any suspicion. Not
in many a day had a visitor at Las Palomas received more courteous
consideration than did Father Norquin. The choicest mint which grew in
the inclosures about the wells was none too good for the juleps which
were concocted by Miss Jean. Had the master and mistress of the ranch
been communicants of his church, the rosy-cheeked padre could have
received no more marked attention.
The conversation touched lightly on various topics, until Santa Maria
ranch was mentioned, when Uncle Lance asked the padre if Don Mateo had
yet built him a chapel. The priest shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly
and answered the question with another,—when Las Palomas proposed
building a place of worship.
“Well, Father, I’m glad you’ve brought the matter up again,” replied
the host. “That I should have lived here over forty years and never
done anything for your church or my people who belong to your faith, is
certainly saying little in my behalf. I never had the matter brought
home to me so clearly as during last summer’s drouth. Do you remember
that old maxim regarding when the devil was sick? Well, I was good and
sick. If you had happened in then and had asked for a chapel,—not that
I have any confidence in your teaching,—you could have got a church
with a steeple on it. I was in such sore straits that the women were
kept busy making candles, and we burnt them in every _jacal_ until the
hour of deliverance.”
Helping himself from the proffered snuffbox of the padre, the host
turned to his guest, and in all sincerity continued: “Yes, Father, I
ought to build you a nice place of worship. We could quarry the rock
during idle time, and burn our own lime right here on the ranch. While
you are here, give me some plans, and we’ll show you that the white
element of Las Palomas are not such hopeless heretics as you suppose.
Now, if we build the chapel, I’m just going to ask one favor in return:
I expect to die and be buried on this ranch. You’re a younger man by
twenty years and will outlive me, and on the day of my burial I want
you to lay aside your creed and preach my funeral in this little chapel
which you and I are going to build. I have been a witness to the
self-sacrifice of you and other priests ever since I lived here.
Father, I like an honest man, and the earnestness of your cloth for the
betterment of my people no one can question. And my covenant is, that
you are to preach a simple sermon, merely commemorating the fact that
here lived a man named Lovelace, who died and would be seen among his
fellow men no more. These being facts, you can mention them; but beyond
that, for fear our faiths might differ, the less said the better. Won’t
you have another mint julep before supper? No? You will, won’t you, Don
Blas?”
That the old ranchero was in earnest about building a chapel on Las
Palomas there was no doubt. In fact, the credit should be given to Miss
Jean, for she had been urging the matter ever since my coming to the
ranch. At headquarters and outlying ranchitas on the land, there were
nearly twenty families, or over a hundred persons of all ages. But that
the old matchmaker was going to make the most out of his opportunity by
erecting the building at an opportune time, there was not the shadow of
a question.
The evening passed without mention of the real errand of our guests.
The conversation was allowed to wander at will, during which several
times it drifted into gentle repartee between host and padre, both
artfully avoiding the rock of matchmaking. But the next morning, as if
anxious to begin the day’s work early, Father Norquin, on arising,
inquired for his host, strutted out to the corrals, and, on meeting
him, promptly inquired why, during the previous summer, Don Alejandro
Travino’s mission to obtain the hand of Juana Leal had failed.
“That’s so,” assented Uncle Lance, very affably, “Don Alejandro was
here as godfather to his nephew. And this young man with you is Don
Blas, the bear? Well, why did we waste so much time last night talking
about chapels and death when we might have made a match in less time?
You priests have everything in your favor as _padrinos_, but you are so
slow that a rival might appear and win the girl while you were drumming
up your courage. I don’t write Spanish myself, but I have boys here on
the ranch who do. One of them, if I remember rightly, wrote the answer
at the request of Juana’s mother. If my memory hasn’t failed me
entirely, the parents objected to being separated from their only
daughter. You know how that is among your people; and I never like to
interfere in family matters. But from what I hear Don Blas has a rival
now. Yes; young Travino failed to press his suit, and a girl will stand
for nearly anything but neglect. But that’s one thing they won’t stand
for, not when there’s a handsome fellow at hand to play the bear. Then
the old lover is easily forgotten for the new. Eh, Father?”
“Ah, Don Lance, I know your reputation as a matchmaker,” replied Father
Norquin, in a rich French accent. “Report says had you not had a hand
in it the match would have been successful. The supposition is that it
only lacked your approval. The daughter of a vaquero refusing a
Travino? Tut, tut, man!”
A hearty guffaw greeted these aspersions. “And so you’ve heard I was a
matchmaker, have you? Of course, you believed it just like any other
old granny. Now, of course, when I’m asked by any of my people to act
as _padrino_, I never refuse any more than you do. I’ve made many a
match and hope to be spared to make several more. But come; they’re
calling us to breakfast, and after that we’ll take a walk over to the
ranch burying ground. It’s less than a half mile—in that point of
encinal yonder. I want to show you what I think would be a nice spot
for our chapel.”
The conversation during breakfast was artfully directed by the host to
avoid the dangerous shoals, though the padre constantly kept an eye on
Juana as she passed back and forth. As we arose from the table and were
passing to the gallery, Uncle Lance nudged the priest, and, poking Don
Blas in the ribs, said: “Isn’t Juana a stunning fine cook? Got up that
breakfast herself. There isn’t an eighteen-year-old girl in Texas who
can make as fine biscuits as she does. But Las Palomas raises just as
fine girls as she does horses and cattle. The rascal who gets her for a
wife can thank his lucky stars. Don Blas, you ought to have me for
_padrino_. Your uncle and the padre here are too poky. Why, if I was
making a match for as fine a girl as Juana is, I’d set the river afire
before I’d let an unfavorable answer discourage me. Now, the padre and
I are going for a short walk, and we’ll leave you here at the house to
work out your own salvation. Don’t pay any attention to the mistress,
and I want to tell you right now, if you expect to win Juana, never
depend on old fogy _padrinos_ like your uncle and Father Norquin. Do a
little hustling for yourself.”
The old ranchero and the priest were gone nearly an hour, and on their
return looked at another site in the rear of the Mexican quarters. It
was a pretty knoll, and as the two joined us where we were repairing a
windmill at the corrals, Father Norquin, in an ecstasy of delight,
said: “Well, my children, the chapel is assured at Las Palomas. Don
Lance wanted to build it over in the encinal, with twice as nice a site
right here in the rancho. We may need the building for a school some
day, and if we should, we don’t want it a mile away. The very idea! And
the master tells me that a chapel has been the wish of his sister for
years. Poor woman—to have such a brother. I must hasten to the house
and thank her.”
No sooner had the padre started than I was called aside by my employer.
“Tom,” said he, “you slip around to Tia Inez’s _jacal_ and tell her
that I’m going to send Father Norquin over to see her. Tell her to
stand firm on not letting Juana leave the ranch for the Mission. Tell
her that I’ve promised the padre a chapel for Las Palomas, and rather
than miss it, the priest would consign the whole Travino family to
endless perdition. Tell her to laugh at his scoldings and inform him
that Juana can get a husband without going so far. And that you heard
me say that I was going to give Fidel, the day he married her daughter,
the same number of heifers that all her brothers got. Impress it on Tia
Inez’s mind that it means something to be born to Las Palomas.”
I set out on my errand and he hastened away to overtake the padre
before the latter reached the house. Tia Inez welcomed me, no doubt
anticipating that I was the bearer of some message. When I gave her the
message her eyes beamed with gratitude and she devoutly crossed her
breast invoking the blessing of the saints upon the master. I added a
few words of encouragement of my own—that I understood that when we
quarried the rock for the chapel, there was to be enough extra cut to
build a stone cottage for Juana and Fidel. This was pure invention on
my part, but I felt a very friendly interest in Las Palomas, for I
expected to bring my bride to it as soon as possible. Therefore, if I
could help the present match forward by the use of a little fiction,
why not?
Father Norquin’s time was limited at Las Palomas, as he was under
appointment to return to Santa Maria that evening. Therefore it became
an active morning about the ranch. Long before we had finished the
repairs on the windmill, a _mozo_ from the house came out to the
corrals to say I was wanted by the master. Returning with the servant,
I found Uncle Lance and the mistress of the ranch entertaining their
company before a cheerful fire in the sitting-room. On my entrance, my
employer said:—
“Tom, I have sent for you because I want you to go over with the padre
to the _jacal_ of Juana’s parents. Father Norquin here is such an old
granny that he believes I interfered, or the reply of last summer would
have been favorable. Now, Tom, you’re not to open your mouth one way or
the other. The padre will state his errand, and the old couple will
answer him in your presence. Don Blas will remain here, and whatever
the answer is, he and I must abide by it. Really, as I have said, I
have no interest in the match, except the welfare of the girl. Go on
now, Father, and let’s see what you can do as a _padrino_.”
As we arose to go, Miss Jean interposed and suggested that, out of
deference to Father Norquin, the old couple be sent for, but her
brother objected. He wanted the parents to make their own answer
beneath their own roof, unembarrassed by any influence. As we left the
room, the old matchmaker accompanied us as far as the gate, where he
halted and said to the padre:—
“Father Norquin, in a case like the present, you will not mind my
saying that your wish is not absolute, and I am sending a witness with
you to see that you issue no peremptory orders on this ranch. And
remember, that this old couple have been over thirty years in my
employ, and temper your words to them as you would to your own parents,
were they living. Juana was born here, which means a great deal, and
with the approval of her parents, she’ll marry the man of her choice,
and no _padrino_, let him be priest or layman, can crack his whip on
the soil of Las Palomas to the contrary. As my guest, you must excuse
me for talking so plain, but my people are as dear to me as your church
is to you.”
As my employer turned and leisurely walked back to the house, Father
Norquin stood stock-still. I was slightly embarrassed myself, but it
was easily to be seen that the padre’s plans had received a severe
shock. I made several starts toward the Mexican quarters before the
priest shook away his hesitations and joined me. That the old
ranchero’s words had agitated him was very evident in his voice and
manner. Several times he stopped me and demanded explanations, finally
raising the question of a rival. I told him all I knew about the
matter; that Fidel, a new vaquero on the ranch, had found favor in
Juana’s eyes, that he was a favorite man with master and mistress, but
what view the girl’s parents took of the matter I was unable to say.
This cleared up the situation wonderfully, and the padre brightened as
we neared the _jacal_.
Tiburcio was absent, and while awaiting his return, the priest became
amiable and delivered a number of messages from friends and relatives
at the Mission. Tia Inez was somewhat embarrassed at first, but
gradually grew composed, and before the return of her husband all three
of us were chatting like cronies. On the appearance of Tio Tiburcio,
coffee was ordered and the padre told several good stories, over which
we all laughed heartily. Cigarettes were next, and in due time Father
Norquin very good naturedly inquired why an unfavorable answer,
regarding the marriage of their daughter with young Blas Travino, had
been returned the previous summer. The old couple looked at each other
a moment, when the husband turned in his chair, and with a shrug of his
shoulders and a jerk of his head, referred the priest to his wife. Tia
Inez met the padre’s gaze, and in a clear, concise manner, and in her
native tongue, gave her reasons. Father Norquin explained the
prominence of the Travino family and their disappointment over the
refusal, and asked if the decision was final, to which he received an
affirmative reply. Instead of showing any displeasure, he rose to take
his departure, turning in the doorway to say to the old couple:—
“My children, peace and happiness in this life is a priceless blessing.
I should be untrue to my trust did I counsel a marriage that would give
a parent a moment of unhappiness. My blessing upon this house and its
dwellers, and upon its sons and daughters as they go forth to homes of
their own.” While he lifted his hand in benediction, the old couple and
myself bowed our heads for a moment, after which the padre and I passed
outside.
I was as solemn as an owl, yet inwardly delighted at the turn of
affairs. But Father Norquin had nothing to conceal, while delight was
wreathed all over his rosy countenance. Again and again he stopped me
to make inquiries about Fidel, the new vaquero. That lucky rascal was a
good-looking native, a much larger youth than the aspiring Don Blas,
and I pictured him to the padre as an Adonis. To the question if he was
in the ranch at present, fortune favored me, as Fidel and nearly all
the regular vaqueros were cutting timbers in the encinal that day with
which to build new corrals at one of the outlying tanks. As he would
not return before dark, and I knew the padre was due at Santa Maria
that evening, my description of him made Don Blas a mere pigmy in
comparison. But we finally reached the house, and on our reëntering the
sitting-room, young Travino very courteously arose and stood until
Father Norquin should be seated. But the latter faced his parishioner,
saying:—
“You young simpleton, what did you drag me up here for on a fool’s
errand? I was led to believe that our generous host was the instigator
of the unfavorable answer to your uncle’s negotiations last summer. Now
I have the same answer repeated from the lips of the girl’s parents.
Consider the predicament in which you have placed a servant of the
Church. Every law of hospitality has been outraged through your
imbecility. And to complete my humiliation, I have received only
kindness on every hand. The chapel which I have desired for years is
now a certainty, thanks to the master and mistress of Las Palomas. What
apology can I offer for your”—
“Hold on there, Father,” interrupted Uncle Lance. “If you owe this
ranch any apology, save your breath for a more important occasion. Don
Blas is all right; any suitor who would not be jealous over a girl like
Juana is not welcome at Las Palomas. Why, when I was his age I was
suspicious of my sweetheart’s own father, and you should make allowance
for this young man’s years and impetuosity. Sit down, Father, and let’s
have a talk about this chapel—that’s what interests me most right now.
You see, within a few days my boys will have all the palisades cut for
the new corrals, and then we can turn our attention to getting out the
rock for the chapel. We have a quarry of nice soft stone all opened up,
and I’ll put a dozen vaqueros to blocking out the rock in a few days.
We always have a big stock of _zacahuiste_ grass on hand for thatching
_jacals_, plenty of limestone to burn for the lime, sand in abundance,
and all we lack is the masons. You’ll have to send them out from the
Mission, but I’ll pay them. Oh, I reckon the good Lord loves Las
Palomas, for you see He’s placed everything convenient with which to
build the chapel.”
Father Norquin could not remain seated, but paced the room enumerating
the many little adornments which the mother church would be glad to
supply. Enthusiastic as a child over a promised toy, no other thought
entered the simple padre’s mind, until dinner was announced. And all
during the meal, the object of our guest’s mission was entirely lost
sight of, in contemplation of the coming chapel. The padre seemed as
anxious to avoid the subject of matchmaking as his host, while poor Don
Blas sat like a willing sacrifice, unable to say a word. I sympathized
with him, for I knew what it was to meet disappointment. At the
conclusion of the mid-day repast, Father Norquin flew into a great
bustle in preparing to start for Santa Maria, and I was dispatched for
the horses. Our guests and my employer were waiting at the stile when I
led up their mounts, and at final parting the old matchmaker said to
the priest:—
“Now, remember, I expect you to have this chapel completed by Easter
Sunday, when I want you to come out and spend at least two weeks with
us and see that it is finished to suit you, and arrange for the
dedication. Las Palomas will build the chapel, but when our work is
done yours commences. And I want to tell you right now, there’s liable
to be several weddings in it before the mortar gets good and dry. I
have it on pretty good authority that one of my boys and Pierre Vaux’s
eldest girl are just about ready to have you pronounce them man and
wife. No, he’s not of any faith, but she’s a good Catholic. Now, look
here, Father Norquin, if I have to proselyte you to my way of thinking,
it’ll never hurt you any. I was never afraid to do what was right, and
when at Las Palomas you needn’t be afraid either, even if we have to
start a new creed. Well, good-by to both of you.”
We had a windmill to repair that afternoon, some five miles from the
ranch, so that I did not return to the house until evening; but when
all gathered around the supper table that night, Uncle Lance was
throwing bouquets at himself for the crafty manner in which he had
switched the padre from his mission, and yet sent him away delighted.
He admitted that he was scared on the appearance of Father Norquin as a
_padrino_, on account of the fact that a priest was usually supreme
among his own people. That he had early come to the conclusion if there
was to be any coercion used in this case, he was determined to get in
his bluff first. But Miss Jean ridiculed the idea that there was any
serious danger.
“Goodness me, Lance,” said she, “I could have told you there was no
cause for alarm. In this case between Fidel and Juana, I’ve been a very
liberal chaperon. Oh, well, now, never mind about the particulars.
Once, to try his nerve, I gave him a chance, and I happen to know the
rascal kissed her the moment my back was turned. Oh, I think Juana will
stay at Las Palomas.”