LOLITA
All winter long Alison hoped for news from Neal, but not so much as
a word had come when spring was fairly arrived, and many were the
fears which possessed the girl as time went by and she dwelt upon the
possibilities of that adventure into which her knight had gone. But the
events of every day occupied her, and with Christine’s patience as a
model she did not give way to any actual despair.
During this time it is not to be supposed that she saw nothing of
Lolita, though, be the fact known, Lolita was much concerned in her
own affairs and had room for little else in her thoughts. Blythe no
longer made a secret of his devotion, and his family for some time had
suspected that his visits to the Rosses’ rancho were not on Alison’s
account, this especially after Alison began to wear her ring openly,
and had confided to Laura that Neal had given it to her.
“Dear, dear, and I hoped you would be my sister,” said Laura.
“Well, so I shall be,” replied Alison, “for surely, miss, you will not
play the coquette with my brother.”
As no one before had ever hinted that Laura possessed any of the
qualities of a coquette, she was covered with confusion and indignantly
repudiated any such charge. “You know better than to say such a thing
as that, Alison Ross,” she said.
“How was I to know better after your speech, Laura Ross that is to be,”
laughed Alison. “You are in a box, and may as well own up. When is it
to be? Come, tell me.”
“Oh, why--Alison, I don’t know.”
“But some day, truly?”
“Yes, I suppose I may acknowledge that it will be some day, but now we
are all troubled about Blythe. I did think that when he married and
brought his wife home I might be satisfied to leave my mother.”
“Then why not have it so?”
“Because she whom I hoped he would marry, has thoughts of another.”
“If you mean me,” returned Alison frankly, “John might have told you it
would not be so.”
“How did he know?”
“He knew before I did,” said Alison, but would not explain this
enigmatical speech.
After this it was an accepted fact that Laura would one day go to live
at the Ross rancho, and the intimacy between the two families was even
greater than before. Therefore it was no surprise to Alison when Laura
one day hunted her up as she was busy with a brood of young chicks.
“Hallo,” said Laura, looking over the fence of the chicken yard. “A new
brood, Alison?”
“Yes, these are just out to-day. Did you come over alone, Laura?”
“No, mother came with me. She is so worried about Blythe and wants to
talk over the trouble with Christine, and see if nothing can be done to
cure the boy of his infatuation for that wretched Mexican girl. Mother
says she will never, never consent to the match.”
“But why? Isn’t Lolita pretty enough for a daughter in-law?” asked
Alison, as she put the last chick under its clucking mother.
“What a flippant answer,” said Laura.
“Then is it because Blythe is the first American who has wanted to
marry a Mexican?”
Laura was silent and Alison rising from her stooping posture shook out
her skirts, and picked up the basket in which she had kept the chicks.
“I am sure Lolita is a good, modest, beautiful, sweet-tempered, capable
girl, much better in every way than most you meet. What possible
objection is there to her?”
“She is not of our religion in the first place.”
“I don’t think that her own is so serious a matter to her that she
would not be perfectly willing to accept her husband’s. What does she
know of the faith of her fathers? Once a year, maybe, she sees the old
padre; she says her prayers dutifully every day as she was taught;
she believes only what she has been told she ought to believe. She has
never thought for herself, and she is so obedient that she would be a
tractable subject for your efforts at conversion.”
“But her father, would he not make trouble if we tried to change her
beliefs?”
“It wouldn’t make a particle of difference to him. Old Pedro has no
special belief; he told me so. Lolita’s happiness has always been, and
will always be, his first consideration. He has many American friends,
and is not the bigoted old man you would think. Pedro is really a very
superior person, if he is only a greaser. If you knew Lolita as well
as I do you would see what a lovable girl she is and would be glad to
welcome her as a sister.”
“Perhaps you would like to have had her for your sister,” said Laura,
who had always been a little jealous of Alison’s love for Lolita.
“If I had another brother I shouldn’t in the least mind, but as it is,
I am perfectly well satisfied with John’s choice,” returned Alison,
which oil-upon-the-waters speech caused Laura a pang of repentance
after her tart remark.
“Come,” she said, “use your arguments with mother. I confess you do
make the matter seem less dreadful.” And the two went to the house,
where Mrs. Van Dorn was in close converse with Christine.
She held out her hand to Alison. “I came over to escape a sudden and
dreadful fit of cleaning which has possessed our old Hitty,” she
explained. “She cannot be made to endure a systematic weekly scrubbing
of the floors, but once in a while she undertakes the whole place,
souses and swashes and flings water all over the rooms and ends by
lifting up a board and sweeping all the overflow into the cavity. She
persistently refuses to get down on her hands and knees to scrub, as my
servants at home used to do.”
Alison laughed. “Oh, we have become quite used to that method. You
see, the houses at home are not built on piles as these are down here.
Consider how much easier it is to lift a board, which is always left
loose for that purpose, and to swash the water down on the ground
where it will run off, instead of laboriously carrying it outside and
emptying it.”
“I must confess the plan has the advantage of saving muscle,” said Mrs.
Van Dorn, “but I cannot get used to thinking it as clean a process as
ours. Come here, dear, and sit down. Christine and I have been talking
over a matter much more serious to me than house-cleaning. I want you
to assure me that this is but a youthful madness of Blythe’s and that I
really am to welcome to my home a daughter much more to my taste than a
wretched little Mexican.”
“But my dear Mrs. Van Dorn, if you mean Lolita, she is not the
wretched little Mexican you think. I assure you she is of good Spanish
stock, and except for the prejudice against Mexicans, which Texans
hold, I don’t see why she shouldn’t be as acceptable as any other girl.
Have you met her? Have you talked to her? She is not uneducated and has
the sweetest manners.”
“I have seen her, but I have held no conversation with her.”
“Don’t you think her very beautiful?”
“She is very pretty, I am obliged to confess, though I always prefer a
fairer style of beauty,--however that is but a matter of taste,--but to
think of my only son’s marrying one of her class is something I cannot
endure.”
“Would you rather he would marry Eliza Jane Binney, or Annamela
Stuckett?”
“Oh, my dear, why need he marry either of them? Ah, Alison, why cannot
you save him and us from an unfortunate alliance? He is very young,
barely of age. If you would but encourage him he would probably get
over this fancy.”
“I couldn’t encourage him for two reasons,” replied Alison. “One is
that I could never be so disloyal to a friend as to try to steal away
her lover. Lolita’s friendship is dear to me and I want to be worthy of
it, because I love her. The other reason is,” she looked down at the
sparkling jewel on her hand, “that there is some one else whom I would
not give up for any man living.”
Mrs. Van Dorn looked the disappointment she felt, and released Alison’s
hand which she had been holding. “In that case,” she said, after a
moment’s silence, “I suppose I must give up the hope I have indulged in
this year past. My only chance is to appeal to the girl. I suppose I
can see her?” She turned to Christine.
“Please don’t say anything to hurt her feelings,” said Alison
impulsively.
“My dear,” replied Mrs. Van Dorn, with dignity, “I hope I know enough
not to wilfully injure any one. If the girl has the good sense and
the refinement you invest her with, she will understand what I wish
to convey without many words of mine. Christine, will you go with me
to her house? and then, if you do not mind, I should like to see her
privately.”
Christine had no alternative but to consent, and the two started for
the small cabin just outside the door of which Lolita was busy with her
tortillas. She was singing a little song:
“Baila preciosa niña,
Baila sin mas tardar.”
It had a sweet and spring-like melody, though a minor cadence ran
through it, in spite of the joyous movement it suggested. Mrs. Van Dorn
could but admire the picture the girl made against the background of
spring green, her arms moving with youthful grace as she slapped her
tortillas from hand to hand keeping time to her song.
As she saw who accompanied Christine she looked up with a startled
expression, and the tortilla fell to the ground unnoticed. She stepped
back as if to retreat, and then with eyes downcast, came forward and
stood the pattern of girlish confusion.
“Lolita, this is Mrs. Van Dorn who has come to see you,” said
Christine, and Lolita made a timid obeisance. It was a moment fraught
with terror for her, and she would willingly have escaped.
But her courtesy did not forsake her. “My father’s house is yours,
señora,” she said. “Will you enter?”
“Is it not more pleasant outside?” said Mrs. Van Dorn. “I will sit
here, if you will allow. Christine, are not those magnolias nearly in
bloom? I wonder if you would get me a bud. They are the first I have
seen.” And Christine, thus dismissed, left Lolita to face the situation
alone.
For a moment Mrs. Van Dorn said nothing, but sat looking at the girl
standing before her, eyes downcast and hands clasped. It was useless
to deny that she was a beautiful creature. Surely one would needs go
far to find a maiden so near perfection. Her face in repose was very
serious. The casual observer might have called it cold unless he saw
the expression of her eyes.
“My son has been visiting you, I believe,” Mrs. Van Dorn began. “He is
a very good friend of yours, is he not?”
“Si, señora. Yes, madam, I am have the honor to call him so.”
“Do not stand,” said her visitor. And Lolita gravely seated herself
upon the grass, leaving the bench for her guest’s sole occupancy. “I
wish to know----” Mrs. Van Dorn felt that it was brutal for a stranger
to try to probe the girl’s secrets, but she remembered her son and
steeled herself to go on. “I wish to know if my son is more than a
friend; if he has said things to you such as young men will say and to
which girls like to listen.”
Lolita raised her solemn eyes. “He has said many beautiful thing to
me,” she answered.
“He has asked you to marry him, perhaps, and you have answered--what?”
“He has my heart,” said Lolita simply. One who thought her cold should
have seen the light of deep emotion which overspread her face.
Mrs. Van Dorn hesitated. It was difficult to go on. This was no
worldly-wise damsel ready to assert her rights, to defy interference,
to claim her own. What could a mother say to such a girl as this?
“My son is very ambitious,” she continued. “We are ambitious for him.
My husband wished him to study law and some day he might rise to be a
judge. It is my wish also. He is my only son. I have great hopes in
him. I think he is too young to marry.” This subterfuge came suddenly;
it was not what she had meant to say, but with those soulful eyes upon
her she could not come to her point at once. She turned her gaze away
to where Christine was dutifully gathering flowers.
Lolita made no answer. It was not her place to take the initiative,
and consequently the difficulties for the mother increased. “I do not
mean,” she went on, “that I never wish him to marry, but that it may be
later on when he knows his own mind better,” and then she paused. “His
sisters, his family, I, myself, would like to see him marry a young
woman who could win him friends, who could help him in his career and
gain him popularity. A man’s wife can be either a great help or a great
hindrance to him.” She spoke as if impersonally, but Lolita understood.
Her dark eyelashes swept her cheek. She was very pale. “Don’t you think
so?” Mrs. Van Dorn went on, feeling the girl’s silence a reproach.
“I think yes. I think who loves should not wish to harm her beloved.”
“Ah!” Mrs. Van Dorn breathed with satisfaction. “I felt sure that you
would be sensible and that you would understand that this boy and
girl affair is merely youthful folly, and that you will soon outgrow
it. You are too fair a blossom not to be gathered by some brave young
Mexican, and you will soon forget that you ever thought of doing a
thing so foolish as to marry an Americano.”
“I shall not forget--no. What is it that you wish for him? that you
wish me to do for him? I do not quite understand.”
To tell her exactly what she did wish seemed the height of cruelty,
but Mrs. Van Dorn had gone too far to retreat. “My dear little girl,”
she said, “I hope I am thinking of your own happiness as well as my
son’s when I say that I wish to be assured that you have no thought of
marrying Blythe, that you will tell him so and ask him not to see you
again.”
A quiver of pain passed over the girl’s face and the clasp of her hands
tightened.
“It will really make but little difference to you in a few months,”
said the mother, trying to be jocular. “You will forget and I shall
hear of your wedding before long, I am sure.”
Lolita bowed her head, her attitude one of resigned grief. In a very
low voice she said, “He has my heart but I will not marry him to make
him sorry some days. I will not marry to keep him from to be what you
are wishing. No, no. You are the mother; you have the right to say
obey, and I obey, but I think I am die; I think I am die.”
She lifted her face marble-like in its pallor; but suddenly she sprang
to her feet with a scream. At the same instant Mrs. Van Dorn who had
moved her arm to rest it upon the low window ledge heard a whirring
sound, then felt a sharp, agonizing pain. Lolita sprang towards her,
grasped her wrist and applied her lips to the burning spot, unheeding
the fact that the rattlesnake which had been disturbed in his exit from
the house, had also attacked her as she thrust him aside.
Her scream brought Christine running to find Mrs. Van Dorn in an agony
of fright and Lolita on her knees drawing the poison from the wound.
“What is it? What is it?” cried Christine.
“A snake, a dreadful rattler,” said Mrs. Van Dorn. “Oh, child, child!”
the tears began to course down her cheeks.
“Where is the snake? Did it strike you, Lolita?” asked Christine.
“I do not know. Yes, I think. There, madam, I do not believe you are to
suffer,” she added.
“But you, you,” said Christine.
“It does not matter,” said Lolita dully. “It is only my father who will
care. For me it does not matter.”
“Hush, hush, such talk will never do. Come with me, both of you,”
ordered Christine. And fairly dragging Lolita, Mrs. Van Dorn running by
her side, she hurried to the house. “Quick, quick, Alison,” she called
when she was within hearing. “Get the rattlesnake cure. Mrs. Van Dorn
and Lolita have been struck by a rattler.”
Alison was not long in bringing a piece of the root which every Texan
provided himself with. It was poisonous of itself, but was considered
a sure antidote for the bite of the rattlesnake, if taken in time.
In Mrs. Van Dorn’s case it was quite positive that Lolita’s prompt
measures had been effective, but the girl’s condition was doubtful,
and among those who tended her Mrs. Van Dorn was the most devoted, her
tears never ceasing to flow as she did so.
Laura was completely unnerved, even after she knew that her mother was
out of danger. Mrs. Van Dorn drew her to one side. “I cannot leave
while that child is in the least danger,” she said, “but you had better
go home, Laura. Tell them I am detained and send Blythe to me as soon
as you can.”
In the course of an hour it was decided that the antidote had proved
efficacious and that Lolita was in no danger, though this fact
seemed to bring her little satisfaction. Alison, who hovered over
her and spoke caressing words to her, did not marvel at her drooping
appearance, though it gave Mrs. Van Dorn a sharp pang. Pedro had gone
to the village and therefore was not on hand to share the general
anxiety, a fact of which all were glad.
Not even when Blythe entered did Lolita’s demeanor change. She sat
with head drooped on her breast and made no movement to speak to any
one.
Mrs. Van Dorn hurried out with the others to meet him. “My son, my
son,” she cried, “we have had a great escape. Your mother was struck by
a rattler and might have died but for that dear child Lolita Garcia.”
The tears came again to her eyes. “And what had I done? Struck her as
cruel a blow as it was possible for woman to strike. And she received
it with meekness and obedience, rewarding me a moment after by utterly
forgetting herself and trying to save me. Oh, Blythe, Blythe, I give
up. I have no word to say against your choice.” She put her head down
on her son’s shoulder and wept softly. Then she led him to the room
where Lolita sat as motionless as a statue. Dropping on her knees by
the girl’s side and touching her lips to the dull purple spot on the
round smooth arm she said: “Dear little girl, here is my son. Will you
tell him that he has a very cruel mother, but that you forgive her and
will be her daughter some day, for she has suddenly realized that a
true heart and an unselfish spirit are worth more than honors or fame
can bring. Lolita, dear little Lolita, I want you to call me mother.”
“The light that never was on land or sea” glorified Lolita’s face as
Blythe, forgetting all else, even his mother, thought only that he had
come near to losing Lolita, and taking her in his arms he murmured the
words she loved to hear: “Mi corazon, mi vida, mi alma.”
“I have but one request to make,” said Mrs. Van Dorn after the three
had settled down happily side by side. “You will not marry for a year
or so yet, will you, my son?”
Blythe looked down at the girl beside him. “It shall be as Lolita says.”
“You must always do as your mother wish,” she said softly. And at this
continued evidence of her sweetness, the mother’s last regret vanished.
Going to the door she called the others. “Come in, girls,
congratulations are in order. I wish to announce the engagement of my
son, Blythe Van Dorn, to Miss Lolita Garcia.”
She could not have chosen a moment more fortunate if she had wished
the matter quickly to be noised abroad, for Hannah Maria had seen
Laura riding by, had stopped and had learned of the disaster. So,
gathering together her most notable remedies, she started forth at
once, appearing in her dun-colored costume just in time to hear the
announcement.
“Well, now,” she exclaimed, “ain’t I lucky? I started out to nurse
the sick and I git in jest in time for a love story. Ain’t it jest my
good luck? My, my! I certainly am glad I come.” She beamed happily
on Blythe, offered him her snuffy fingers, and kissed Lolita with
expansive affection. “It’s wonderful,” she said, “how love gits its
way. I reckon that’s for why the Marster made rattlers,” for Mrs. Van
Dorn had not hesitated to confess that she had attempted the rôle of
cruel parent and that she had failed in the face of Lolita’s lovely
behavior.
“I’ll jest hev to hurry back an’ tell Bud,” Hannah Maria went on. “Come
over soon, gals, an’ you bring Loliter, Blythe. You hear me, gals, your
time’s a-comin’. Jest look how love is a workin’ out. Thar’s John and
Laury, and Lou and Iry, and now these two. Jest keep on a-lookin’ fur
your Mr. Right, Allie; he’s comin’ along. An’ you, too, Tina, don’t
give up a-hopin’. Folks has come back after twenty year.” And she rode
away on her old white mule, enveloped in an atmosphere of romance.