When Gore next saw Mariquita in public she herself was dressed as a
bride. It was a little more than a year later. After her return to
Loretto she remained there about three weeks, at the end of which she
went home to the range for a week. Her parents (as Don Joaquin insisted
on describing himself and Sarella) had returned from their wedding trip,
and she could see that the marriage was a success. The two new servants
were installed, and Ginger was now Mrs. Lawrence Burke and absent on
_her_ wedding journey.
Mariquita's father made more of her than of old, and inwardly resolved
to make up to "her brother" for any shortcomings there might have been
in her case.
Sarella was unfeignedly glad to have her at home, and looked forward
sadly to her final departure. Of one thing she was resolved--that
Mariquita should be taken all the way to her "Carmel" in California by
both "her parents." And, of course, she got her own way.
The extreme beauty of the Convent and its surroundings, the glory of the
climate, the brilliance of its light, the splendor of the blue and gold
of sky and hills, half blinded Sarella to the rigor of the life
Mariquita was entering--till the moment of actual farewell came. Then
her tears fell, far more plentifully than Mr. Kane's at her own wedding.
Still she admitted that the nuns were as cheerful as the sky, and
wondered if she had ever heard more happy laughter than theirs as they
sat on the floor, with Mariquita in their midst, behind the grille in
the "speak-room." As a postulant Mariquita did not wear the habit, but
only a sort of cloak over her own dress; her glorious hair was not yet
cut off.
Don Joaquin did not see the nuns, as did Sarella, with the curtains of
the grille drawn back. It seemed to him that the big spikes of the
grille were turned the wrong way, for he could not imagine anyone
desiring to get forcibly _in_. He watched everything, fully content to
take all for granted as the regulation and proper thing, without
particularly understanding any of it. It gave him considerable
satisfaction to hear that Saint Theresa was a Spaniard, and he thought
it sensible of Mariquita to join a Spanish order. He had no misgivings
as to her finding the life hard--he did not know in the least what the
life was, and made no inquisition; he had a general idea that women did
not feel fastings and so forth. He would have felt it very much himself
if he had had to rise with the dawn and go fasting till midday, instead
of beginning the day with a huge meal of meat.
The old life at the range, as it had been when Sarella first came, was
never resumed. She was determined that its complete isolation should be
changed, and she changed it with wonderful rapidity and success. The
friendly and kind-hearted Kanes helped her a great deal. They had
insisted, at the wedding itself, that the bride and bridegroom should
pay them a very early visit, after their return from their
wedding-journey. It was paid immediately on their getting back from
California, and it lasted several days. During those days their host and
hostess took care that they should meet all the leading Catholics of the
place, to whom Sarella made herself pleasant, administering to them (in
her husband's disconcerted presence) pressing invitations to come out to
the range: though they all had autos it was not to be expected that they
would come so far for a cup of tea, and they came for a night, and often
for two or three nights. Naturally the Kanes came first and they spoke
almost with solemnity (as near solemnity as either could attain) of
social duty. It was an obligation on all Catholics to hang together, and
hanging together obviously implied frequent mutual hospitalities. Don
Joaquin had found that the practice of his religion did imply
obligations and duties never realized before, and he was a little
confused as to their relative strictness. On the whole, he succumbed to
what Sarella intended, with a compliance that might have surprised
Mariquita had she been there to see. Some of the cowboys were of the
opinion that the old man was breaking. He was only being (not
immediately) broken in. A man of little over fifty, of iron
constitution, does not "break," however old he may appear to
five-and-twenty or thirty. The sign that appeared most ominous to these
young men was that "the Boss" betrayed symptoms of less rigid
stinginess; there was nothing really alarming about the symptoms. Such
as they were they were due, not so much to any decay in the patient's
constitution, as to a little awakening of conscience referable, such as
it was, to the late-begun practices of confession. Old Jack was made
foreman, at an increase of pay by no means dazzling, but quite
satisfactory to himself, who had not expected any such promotion. Larry
and Ginger settled, about two miles from the homestead, in a small house
which they were permitted by Don Joaquin to build. Two of the cowboys
found themselves wives whom they had first seen in church at Sarella's
wedding; these young ladies, it appeared, had severally resolved that
under no circumstances would they marry any but Catholics, and their
lovers accepted the position, largely on the ground that a religion good
enough for Miss Mariquita would be good enough for them.
"Too good," grimly observed one of their comrades who was not then
engaged to marry a Catholic.
Don Joaquin allowed the two who were married to have a little place
built for themselves on the range. And as the brides were each
plentifully provided with sisters it seems likely that soon Don Joaquin
will have quite a numerous tenantry. It also appears probable that a
priest will presently be resident at the range, for one has already
entered into correspondence with Don Joaquin on the subject. Having
recently recovered from a "chest trouble," he has been advised that the
air of the high prairies holds out the best promise of continued life
and avoidance of tuberculosis. There is another scheme afoot of which,
perhaps, Don Joaquin as yet knows nothing. It began in the active mind
of Sister Aquinas, and its present stage consists of innumerable
prayers on her part that she may be able to establish out on the range
a little hospital, served by nuns, for the resuscitation of patients
threatened with consumption. She sees in the invalid priest a chaplain
plainly provided as an answer to prayer; Mr. and Mrs. Kane, her
confidants, see in the scheme immense occasion for unbridled bazaars and
whist drives. All friends of Mr. Kane meet him on their guard, uncertain
which of their possessions he may have it in his eye to raffle. Even as
I write, I hear that another answer to the dear nun's prayers looms into
sight. A widowed sister of her own, wealthy, childless and of profuse
generosity, writes to her, and the burden of her song is that she would
not mind (her chest having always been weak) going to the proposed
sanatorium herself, at all events for a few years, and bringing with her
Doctor Malone: Dr. Malone is of unparalleled genius in his profession,
but tuberculous, and it is transparently plain that his kind and
affluent friend wishes to finance him and remove him to an
"anti-tuberculous air."
It seems to me certain that Sister Aquinas's prayers will very soon be
answered, and the sanatorium be a fact. She has, I know, mentally
christened it already, "Mariquita" is to be its name.