THE THREE WISHES
Patty’s letter to Tomás might as well have not been written, for,
several days before its arrival at its destination, the young man
was on his way home. Don Felipe was too important an individual in
his community not to have much made of his death and of the romantic
and sensational appearance of a hitherto unsuspected daughter, and
because Tomás received a weekly sheet printed in Llanes he learned the
surprising events before he was personally notified. There was beyond
this, another reason for his sudden return as he was selected to go
on a business trip to his own country in the interests of the firm by
which he was employed. Heretofore he had not seemed eager to respond to
the suggestion, but with the news of Don Felipe’s removal from his path
he felt he would move heaven and earth in order to reach Perdita and at
once made application with so much enthusiasm in the undertaking, that
he was allowed to go at once to conduct the business which would take
him back to Spain.
Meanwhile in the big _palacio_ Perdita sat and waited. Patty, who was
fast recovering her old spirits, spent much time with her, and her
gay laughter often enlivened the great rooms. Doña Martina, too, went
frequently. There had been a call of state when Don Juan and his wife
formally accepted Perdita as their brother’s betrothed, and now there
was nothing to do but to have patience. Don Felipe had added another
surprise, to his first, in a legacy to Don Juan of all his fine old
reliquaries and medals, and to Patty he left a case of antique jewelry
“in gratitude for her friendship to my daughter”; to this was added the
sum of one hundred _pesetas_ for the purchase of a donkey, “when Guido
shall no longer be of use.” So did Don Felipe have his little joke at
the last and Patty could fancy the dry chuckle which might accompany
the writing of this clause.
The day of San Juan came and went, but there were no flowery boughs set
by Patty’s window this year, nor was much made of the day except by
Don Juan’s patients who brought their offerings as before; among these
was a handsome gift of silver from Perdita in “grateful memory of Don
Juan’s many kindnesses to herself and her family.” It was Perdita’s
first act as _grand dame_, and that she enjoyed it no one doubted.
There was no _fiesta_ this year, and the song of San Juan was not heard
approaching nearer and nearer till it ended at the door.
June days had nearly come to a close when Patty one afternoon started
up the road alone. She had seen Perdita the day before when they had
discussed frescoes and upholstery. The workmen had returned and Perdita
was busy giving orders and seeing to the carrying out of her father’s
plans. She had developed a great deal of ability in the management of
affairs and seemed much older. The nuns had not wasted their time, for
in place of the childish peasant girl was a self-poised, efficient
woman.
“I do miss the little peasant,” Patty said to herself, “yet I feel more
as if I had a friend who stood on an equal footing. Tomás will find
there is no condescension on his part.” She smiled. “I’d like to see
the meeting.” She strolled slowly along the road. Here was the spot
where she had seen the beggar beating his donkey. Poor old Don Felipe,
how indignant she had been with him that day, and from the moment when
Robert had come forward so generously she believed dated her warmer
feeling for him. She drew a long sigh. “I suppose patience is an
excellent virtue, but, oh dear, I wonder if it is doing any good to
exercise it. Where is he? Where is he? Why doesn’t he come back? What
should he come back for unless he knows, and how can he know? I suppose
there are people who would defy fate and would do something to set the
current moving. What could I do? Let me see. I could write to Alice
Brainerd and tell her Perdita’s story, laying stress on the fact that
she is to marry Tomás, and I could say that if she ever happened to
meet Robert Lisle to tell him the tale because he would be interested,
since he knew them both. I could do that without the least compromising
myself. Then I could write to Aunt Mag, not to Uncle Henry, men never
attach much importance to such things, but I could write to Aunt Mag
and tell her the same thing. I think I will do it. He said he would
some time go back to his old home and to his relatives in Kentucky. Oh,
if we could only go, could only be there when he is. Maybe if I fixed
my mind on it something will happen; it must, it must. I will make it
happen, I will tell Tina I must go back to Kentucky, to Uncle Henry’s
to stay till I can find out something. How can one care so much for a
person whom one, after all, has known such a short time? But that is
the way these things come; out of the sky, or they grow up over night.”
She wandered on up the little road to the solitary place where the Lady
of Pity looked out from behind her iron grating upon green boughs and
rippling stream. Within the shelter of the little porch Patty found the
old stone seat where they two had sat that day when they had brought
Guido to be blessed. A year? was it less than a year ago? Here they had
seen Perdita on her knees. Well, unless fate now cruelly intervened
Perdita would have her prayer granted. And the three wishes. The
_inxanos_ had kept fatally silent. “They evidently don’t understand
English,” said Patty, with a sudden smile. “I believe I will go around
by the sea caves,” she said, rising from the bench; “I told Tina I
might. It will be lovely there to-day.”
She followed the paths across to the wooded way which led to the
_playa_. “I seem to be making a sort of pilgrimage or _romeria_ on my
own account,” her thoughts followed the same subject. “Here is where I
stumbled and he held my hand to steady me. Oh, ‘what fools we mortals
be!’ Why didn’t I let him come home with me that night? Why was I so
contrary? I think I was afraid of myself. I was scared at the thought
of whither I was drifting. I was beginning to realize.” She crossed the
wide stretch of pebbly shore and entered the cave where the wishes had
been hidden. The place was well marked by a white seam in the rock. The
surgings of many wintry seas had long since penetrated the crevices of
the caves and she scarcely expected to find any vestige of the papers,
but they had been carefully stowed away in a little hollow and upon
lifting the rock under which they had been placed she found them, four
bits of folded paper, damp from the brine, but still whole. The one on
top she knew to be her own, for she remembered that she had laughingly
said hers would be the first the _inxanos_ would find. She took it up
carefully and opened it, standing there lost in pity for the girl who
had so cheaply thrown away the gifts which the genii had brought. “That
very night, if I had stopped to consider, it might have come true, at
least part of it. I believe I will put it back with his; I shall like
to think of their being in company.”
She went toward the crevice, but just as she was about to tuck away her
paper again there was a crunch of the pebbles, then a footstep suddenly
arrested. She turned around.
“Glad Lady!”
The paper she held fluttered to the ground. The color went from the
girl’s cheeks. She could not speak. The _inxanos_ had been at work.
Here was the gift.
The man took a step forward. “Glad Lady,” said Robert, a second time.
Her lips trembled. She was very near to tears in the sudden rush of
joy, but she gathered strength to go forward. “I am a very glad lady,”
she said, “glad to see you. How did you find me?”
“Your sister said you might be here.”
“And where did you come from, South Africa? We heard you had gone
there.”
“No, I have come from South America. My plans were all made for South
Africa, when they were suddenly changed and I went to South America
instead. What were you doing here? Waiting for the _inxanos_?” There
was an exultant vibrancy in his voice.
[Illustration: “‘GLAD LADY!’”]
“Not exactly. I wanted to see if the wish papers were still there.”
“And were they?”
“Yes, a little the worse for dampness. There is mine.” She pointed to
the paper lying at her feet.
He picked it up and unfolded it. “May I?” he asked with imploring eyes.
Patty nodded and stood with drooping head while he read:
“The three wishes of Patience Blake, surnamed Patty:
“1--She wishes for a true and loyal lover whom she can love with all
her heart and soul.
“2--She wishes she could go back to her old Kentucky home to live.
“3--She wishes that Perdita’s prayer may be granted.”
Robert came nearer and laid the paper on a projecting ledge. “Glad
Lady,” he said, “the first part of your first wish has come true; he is
before you.”
There should be no defying of fate, no wasted moments this time, Patty
quickly determined. She held out her hands: “And the second part has
come true, too,” she answered.
He clasped her hands and held them close against his breast as if
he would never let them go, and they stood there looking into one
another’s eyes till they were brought back to a consciousness of where
they were by a laughing voice saying: “Shocking! Awful badth form!” and
looking up they beheld Tomás at the entrance of the cave.
“Tomás! Tomás!” Patty sprang forward to meet him. “When did you come?
What a surprise! and are you two together?” She looked at Robert. “Oh,
how good this is.”
“Yes, as chance would have it we crossed on the same steamer,” Robert
told her, “and instead of going to England I came to Spain.”
“And have you seen Perdita?” Patty turned to Tomás.
A little cloud of disappointment came over the young man’s face. “Not
yet,” he acknowledged. “She has gone to Llanes and will not return till
evening, I discovered. Martina thought we might find you here so Don
Roberto searched the caves while I climbed around outside.”
“It does me good to see you again. Ah, Tomás, there will be no
returning for you now, I think.”
“I do not know; I am no match for the wealthy daughter of Don Felipe,”
he answered modestly.
“Oh, but wealth is nothing; it should never come in the way of
happiness, and true love should not stand at so poor a thing as money.”
Robert’s hand stole out and found hers to give it a tender clasp, and
in the semi-darkness of the cave with no one but Tomás to see, she did
not in the least mind. Good Tomás, however, appreciated the fact that
this was a time when he might well be absent and making the excuse that
he had not yet seen his brother, he left them to come home alone.
“And were you really on your way to England?” Patty asked her lover.
“Yes, beloved.”
“And would you have made up with your grandfather and have married Miss
Moffatt?”
For an answer he caught her in his arms and kissed her lips, her eyes,
her hair. “Don’t, don’t,” he cried. “When I think that it might have
been so, that I might have lost you by so slight a chance I am nearly
mad.”
Patty gave a long sigh and nestled closer. “But you haven’t lost me and
I haven’t lost you. Isn’t it wonderful? Were you unhappy? Tell me.”
“Heaven knows there was never one more wretched than I who cursed the
day I landed in Spain, and when I shook its dust from my feet I said I
would never touch its shores again.”
“And was it Tomás who urged you to come back?”
“It was he who gave me hope. I told him I had heard he was open to
congratulations and he thought I meant Perdita, so he told me the whole
story, then I knew that neither he nor Don Felipe stood in my path and
I thought maybe there would be a chance to win you if I came back.”
Patty drew herself away. “And I flew right to you. I didn’t give you
a chance to try. But I, too, have been so unhappy. Oh, why did you go
right off that day? Oh, you don’t know how unhappy I was when I knew
you had gone.”
He gathered her to him again. “Darling girl, to think you should have
been made unhappy is the worst part of it, but your dear sister in
all innocence gave me to believe that all was settled between you and
Tomás, and my own doubts and fears helped the conclusion. You were so
ready to make excuses not to see me that morning, so chary of letting
me believe that I had the least place in your regard that I could only
determine to find out from your sister what I could, and if the fates
were against me to go, and go quickly.”
“And was it Tomás who told you how it was Tina thought as she did? I
was a silly little goose to tease her so, and to behave like such a
witch of contrariness. Yet,” she said, after a pause, “I think it has
done me good; I don’t believe I am quite such a harum-scarum as I was.
What did Tina say when she saw you?”
“She welcomed me right royally, and as if to make amends for having so
misled me she did insinuate that she thought you would be very glad to
see me if I were to hunt you up. Were you glad?”
“Did I look particularly annoyed? I was the gladdest of glad ladies
ever was. But you are becoming entirely too inquisitive. We must go
back and tell Tina that the first wish has come true. But first you
must show me your wishes.”
A second piece of paper was drawn from the hollow and handed over for
Patty’s scrutiny. It read thus:
“I, Robert Lisle, ask that the kind _inxanos_ grant me:
“1--The love of Patience Blake;
“2--A return to the land we both love;
“3--Such success as may make me able to give ease, comfort, and
happiness to said Patience Blake when she shall be my wife.”
“Shall we put them back?” Patty asked, as with tender eyes she looked
up from the reading.
“I should like you to give me yours.”
“And I am simply crazy to keep yours.”
“Then why not?”
“Why not indeed? Abracadabra! Appear, _inxanos_! Whether visible or
invisible to us, accept our thanks, and we’ll keep the papers, please.
Do you hear any underground murmurs or see a cloud of smoke?” She
turned to Robert.
“No, but no doubt they heard.”
“Then we’ll go.”
Back through the leafy road they walked, and if they stopped at certain
well-remembered points who can blame them? At the gate they parted,
Robert promising to return later when he had seen his luggage safely
carried to the _fonda_.
Patty with dancing step ran upstairs to her sister. “And what will you
give me for my news?” she asked.
Doña Martina smiled. “Your news is written on your face, my dear,”
she replied. “There is no need to tell it. And are you happy, little
sister?”
Patty knelt down and put her arms around the other’s waist, looking
up into her face with eyes all alight. “I am just as happy as I was
miserable. I am so happy I am almost frightened.”
“And what will you give for my news?” asked Doña Martina, looking down
and smoothing away the dark locks with a gentle finger.
“Have you news, too?”
“Yes, and I think you will be happier still when you know it, or I am
much mistaken.”
“Then tell it to me quick, although I am not sure that I shall not fly
out the window if more joy comes.”
“What would you say if I were to tell you that Juan had accepted the
offer to enter into partnership with a medical friend of his, an
elderly man who will soon wish to retire and wants a younger man to
help him now with his practice, and that the city where he lives is
Cincinnati?”
“Oh, Tina, so near our own Kentucky. Why, it is almost like being in
the same state. You could really live in Kentucky if you wanted, I
suppose.”
“No, we must live in Cincinnati, for Dr. Vargas wishes us to take up
our home in his house. He is a widower who has no family, and it seems
as if it might be the best thing to do. He was a friend of Juan’s
father and has always taken an interest in him.”
“It sounds very promising. I am glad for Juan, and for you, too, dear.”
“I hope we shall not be far apart, though I don’t know what your
Robert’s plans are.”
“My Robert! Oh, Tina, how wonderful that you can say that truly. I
don’t know anything but that he is my Robert.”
Her sister laughed. “You impractical children! And you have no idea
whether he wishes to carry you off to the wilds of South Africa or to
the frozen regions of Siberia, I suppose; it would be all the same to
you.”
“Weren’t you just that way yourself, once upon a time?”
“Oh, yes, my dear, I admit it, and I acknowledge that even now that I
am a prosy old married woman I would follow my leader to the ends of
the earth.”
“Then don’t say a word about my being impractical. You can go and ask
Robert anything you choose and be perfectly sure that wherever he goes
it will be home to me.”
Her sister shook her head. “I never expected you to go to such lengths,
yet I might have known. Well, my blessed child, I will satisfy my
sisterly curiosity on the subject, hoping he will not take you utterly
beyond my reach.”
Tomás did not appear till the next day, though Patty heard him stealing
up the stairs after she had gone to her own room, too happy to waste
the blissful hours in sleep. It was a radiant face which met hers when
she looked over her balcony after having taken her morning coffee.
“Well, Tomás,” she said banteringly, “why do you look so woebegone? I
never saw such a dismal countenance. I will come down and cheer you up,
for I am sure you need it.”
Tomás laughed. “You look a gladth ladthy yourself,” he said, waving his
hand. “Come down, come down and let us dance and sing together.”
She ran down to the garden and held out her hand to him. “Good morning,
Tomás, it does seem like old times to see you here. I am so glad to
have you back again, and how is Perdita?”
“Well, so well, but not the leetle childth I left. Is she not
wondtherful as a grand ladthy?”
“She truly is. And are you disappointed to find her so?”
“No, for the heart has not changed, the fine golden heart of her, it is
the same.”
“And you are not thinking of leaving her again, I hope. Let us go to
the summer-house and have one of our old talks, but oh, what a happy
talk it will be, Tomás, not like those last sorry ones.”
The birds were twittering as of old in the branches above the arbor,
and the pigeons still sought it in search of chance crumbs, when the
two took their old places. “No, I shall not return,” said Tomás.
“Perdita will need me, she says, to help her look after these estates
of hers, and she say, why not I as well as a stranger? She tell me she
need me more as before.”
“I think she does, and I am very glad you are to stay.”
“I am first to complete the business for which I am leaving Mexico,
and when is complete I am say the gentlemans then, I resign myself
the position you so kindly make to me, for I wish not again leave my
country. I am remain here with my wife eternally. Then I am no longer
torturated with the illness of home. I am happy with my Perdita, my
mountains, my sea.”
“And when will you marry?”
“As soon as is respectable after the losings of the father of Perdita.
She wish not I leave her to trouble of lawyer and paper.”
“And so the _palacio_ will be ready for a bride after all, but how glad
I am, Tomás, that it will be your bride and not Don Felipe’s.”
“It is because of our friend Pattee that all is. We have say many time
how we bless you as one who is angel.”
“Glad Lady! Glad Lady,” a voice interrupted them. “Oh, here you are
in the old place. Don’t leave us, Tomás. I will have a cigarette with
you. Good morning, you two, and what are you plotting now? I suppose I
may conjecture that the talk has been on the same old subject,” said
Robert, sitting down by Patty’s side.
“The subject is the same, but you should see Tomás’s fiancée now; she
is more beautiful than ever,” Patty told him.
“I shall see her soon I hope. Well, little girl, I have been under
a fire of questions from Doña Martina. Must you go, Tomás, to the
_palacio_? Ah, well, we will not keep you. _Vaya V. con Dios._” He laid
his hand over Patty’s and looked down at her with a proud expression.
“Beloved,” he said, “your sister tells me I should let you know my
plans, that it is all very well to live in the clouds sometimes, but
one must descend once in a while, and so I am sure you will be glad to
know how I am going back to Kentucky with you all.”
“Oh, Robert, to live always?”
“Always, I hope. Those mines in the West will call me away for a time
but I think I shall do well to settle in the States and there is no
reason why we shouldn’t make Kentucky our home, even if we must go away
from it sometimes.”
“Ah, if it could be the dear home I left.”
“Why not?”
“Could it be? Half is mine, of course.”
“And the other half can be mine, I hope, for your sister and brother
and I have been talking hard, straight business, and that is how we
settled it, if the plan meets your approval.”
“Bless the _inxanos_!” Patty cried. “They have granted all our wishes.”
He drew her close to him. Before their eyes arose the vision of an old
garden, green with box hedges and rose sweet, along its borders they
two should walk till the setting of life’s sun.
THE END
Transcriber’s Note:
Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Nine misspelled words were corrected. ‘I know’ was added
to the phrase “... all I know is you won’t have to live...”
Unprinted punctuation at ends of sentences and missing diacriticals
were added. Two excess commas and one duplicated word were deleted.