"Vengeance is mine and I will repay;" such was the text of Padre
Arguello's discourse that hot October day, before his little
congregation in Bolinas. The good father became as fervid as the day,
and mopped his benevolent face many times before his panting audience
was allowed to walk out in the open and catch a glimpse of the white
ocean gleaming as a mass of melted silver till it met the dull, white
horizon. A dozen fig trees before the door gave the only shade about the
place excepting where the half ruined walls of the old church sheltered
the Father's little garden. The congregation was soon dispersed, most of
them riding to their homes in the foothills, while a few, who lived in
the neighbourhood of the village, walked quietly down toward the sea,
and the bright, cultivated gardens, which were kept green by the
ever-flowing arroyo which here spread its rich alluvial deposits over
the land in the winter time.
I had ridden over the night before with all my household, and as many
from the neighbouring ranchos had joined us on the way, there was as
large a cavalcade as the little village had seen since Viscaino's pilot,
Francisco Bolanos, christened the spot in 1602.
It was Padre Arguello's farewell, as he was to sail for Acapulco in a
few days, and the country people had come for many miles to do him
honour. All had been much surprised when old Ambrosia Moreno entered the
church and, with Ysidria, knelt through the service. Madre Moreno had
not been to service or confession since her father's death, indeed I had
heard her once make a blasphemous jest about the most holy Mass, and
good Padre Andreas at San Anselmo, in whose flock she was the blackest
sheep, gave her up as lost here and hereafter; so there was much
surprise at the Madre's action. Catalina was simply indignant at this
desecration, as she called it, and wondered that the beads had not
burned her fingers.
The sermon was long and dull, but I did not mind these defects, or
rather thought them virtues, for my mind was not interrupted in the
contemplation of Ysidria.
I felt like laughing with delight all the day, and wore far from what is
called now-a-days, a "Sunday face."
There was a bull and bear fight in the afternoon, but Ysidria and I
preferred a walk on the bluffs; of course, Madre Moreno went with us,
but she considerately, or by chance, kept by herself. Madre Moreno had
allowed her niece and myself a freedom of intercourse not at all in
keeping with Californian customs, but she took upon her the duties of
dueña at Bolinas, so that the many visitors should find no chance for
wonder or remark. Catalina and the others of my household, went to the
fight.
There were not many at vespers, and Madre Moreno and Ysidria had started
early for home with the Danas, so I had to myself the pleasure of
kneeling in the spot where Ysidria had worshipped in the forenoon.
Catalina and the servants were very gay, and her mind was so full of the
entertainment, that she never spoke of the morning's wonder, but talked
during all the moonlight homeward ride, about the tactics of the bull,
which it seemed had been the victor.
Catalina must have noticed a change in me, but she could not discover
the cause, as she did not know where I had spent most of my time,
thinking, that I as formerly, went out in the woods botanizing, though
she must have wondered at the scarcity of my collections.
Thus the wet season began and all the country grew green and the streams
were filled, and the plants which had died or withered in the heat of
summer, began to show new leaves, and the nightshade shot up tender
green sprigs before the old growth had fairly died.
Mercedes Dana, who never having had a love episode of her own, spent
most of her time in ferreting out those of others and spreading the news
with such exaggerations and embellishments as she thought needed,
informed Catalina of the state of affairs which had already become the
talk of the country.
Catalina was astonished, for her thoughts were so occupied within the
little circle of the rancho that she noted little of outside
occurrences. She felt hurt, but, as she afterwards told me, she plainly
saw why it was that I had never spoken to her on the subject, and she
was grateful for the thoughtfulness which had so long kept from her the
annoyance which the knowledge would have caused. She was grieved only at
the relationship existing between Madre Moreno and Ysidria, and felt
that in some way it was part of the curse. She said nothing to me of her
discovery, acting as usual, only speaking often of the old family
trouble between the Morenos and the Sotos, saying that she hoped the
curse might pass over one generation, if not depart forever.