ACROSS THE YEARS
Nine or ten friars, from different missions within a day's ride, were
in a room close by the living apartment of the pastor, Padre Osuna, of
Mission San José. Once or twice the padre's voice, in deep murmur,
came to the ears of his waiting confreres; then it was silent. Each
time the others paused a little, for his coming, then resumed desultory
conversation.
"Why waits so long Padre Osuna for the coming?" impatiently from Padre
Mercado, continuing: "We are told he is within, and even now once more
I heard his voice."
Juan Antonio ushered in Señor Mendoza.
"Señors Padres, it is a delight to meet you. I trust your various
charges are prospering."
The friars, who had arisen, exchanged glances.
"This is as may be, señor," from the padre of Santa Clara.
Padre Osuna came quietly into their midst.
"Reverend padres, and Señor Mendoza, I am late. A visitor, coming
unexpectedly and bringing a message of vast purport to me, was the
cause of my detaining. Let us be seated."
He continued:
"Brethren of my order, I requested you here, that you might be
listeners of the proposal Señor Mendoza is prepared to make. You know
the missions and their requirements. You may be able to enlighten him
as to the wisest course. Now," inclining his head to Mendoza, "we are
ready to hear you, señor."
The courtly hidalgo bowed in return.
"Señor pastor, and señors padres, the law of the secularization is
spread on our statute books. Its extension in this Mission of San José
de Guadalupe has been gradual, as you know. I believe the time has
come for further extension."
He looked slowly from Osuna to the others. None of the churchmen
spoke. He went on:
"Namely, that each able-bodied Indian of good character, member of this
Mission, shall receive a plot of land of sufficient acreage to maintain
himself and his family; the land, of course, to be taken from the
leagues still held by this Mission, in trust, from the Mexican
government."
Padre Osuna did not speak.
"The Indians are but overgrown children, and are incapable of caring
for themselves, except under strict tutelage. So said the great
missionary, Padre Junipero Serra, and the years have shown the wisdom
of his thought." Thus, Padre Suscol, of Sonoma.
"Years ago I gave each of my Indians his piece of land. They are
working it for themselves, and ably. Padre Junipero spoke of the issue
as he knew it sixty years ago, and most wise were his words, but he
could not foresee present-day needs," was Mendoza's reply.
"The procedure that you propose will impoverish the Mission,"
remonstrated another friar.
"Many of the hacenderos are giving each year a tithe to the Mission.
Let the Indians be instructed to do the same, either in money or in
labor," rejoined Mendoza.
Osuna lifted his eyes. "Why load this burden on our neophytes?"
"To teach them the necessity of self-reliance. They should become of
age, as regards development of mind."
"Their old teachers should determine that," from Padre Mercado.
"The state determines when our sons and daughters attain their
majority, not we," from Mendoza.
"Why oppress our neophyte children with this becoming of age just at
this time?" questioned Osuna.
"Because it is not a day too soon. Men of many nations begin to flock
here. Westward the course of civilization must come. It is destiny.
We cannot stay it. Then, why not meet it? We, Spaniard and Indian,
must stand on our own feet, accept from the newcomer what will
strengthen our moral and spiritual fiber, and give back as much of
ourselves as will benefit others. Therefore must we be self-reliant."
The room was still.
Padre Osuna spoke after a moment.
"Circumstances have but now arisen which preclude me from giving Señor
Mendoza reply. That, as well as the adjustment of other affairs here,
will have to fall to some one else. Soon will I make explanation."
Turning to Mendoza: "Shall I find the Señor Mendoza at his house late
this afternoon?"
Mendoza bowed. "At your service, señor padre."
"Brethren, I will return to you in a moment."
The padre conducted the Administrator down a long corridor, into the
courtyard, toward the lodge.
An elderly woman was walking under a vine-covered trellis.
"Mother," tenderly from the friar, "I am sorry to keep you waiting; but
there are many things to do, and only a short time."
The snowy-haired woman had advanced a few steps to meet her son. She
stopped abruptly. She was not looking at the padre, but at Señor
Mendoza.
"My mother, allow me to present to you--" began the friar.
"The Lady Romalda!" exclaimed Mendoza, the words clutching his throat.
"Don José!" she cried, holding out her hands, her lips trembling.
Señor Mendoza took her hands in his, and, bending low, reverently
kissed the finger-tips. "Romalda! Romalda!"
The padre looked at the two in questioning wonder. The woman and the
man seemed to have slipped the years from their shoulders, and to be
standing again in youth.
"My boy," said the mother, "Colonel Mendoza and I knew each other well,
many years ago. We were very dear--friends," moisture dimming her
eyes, emotion halting her voice.
The son was much shaken by his mother's show of feeling. "My beloved
mother!" he said, gently stroking her hair.
In a little Señor Mendoza and the Lady Romalda, after the manner of
those long separated, began speaking of former times. Soon the padre
excused himself, to return to his brethren, leaving his mother and
Señor Mendoza seated under the trellised vines.
Nothing but kindliness and tenderness and chivalry was in Mendoza's
heart for the woman by his side. Memories long forgotten came to life,
under stimulation of the Lady Romalda's presence. Robbed of all
harshness were those bygone times. The happy and useful life he had
spent in his adopted country left bitterness no room.
As for her, slumbering years and crowding vicissitude had put in the
background, but had not quenched, the affection for her girlhood lover.
The years passed under review.
They spoke of the parting in the castle of her father, the Ambassador
Altamira, of Castile.
"Colonel," she said, a faint blush creeping into her faded cheek, "had
I listened one moment more to you that day, I would have fled to your
arms, and have left with you for California, though my father's heart
had broken."
A surprised exclamation was Mendoza's reply.
"You rode furiously down the avenue. At the bend, in the shadow of
those old oaks, you stopped, reining your horse about. I can still see
you there. I hastened to the door to welcome you, thinking you were
about to return. My father bade me within, but I obeyed not. I
remained at the door. I beckoned you. My father made a scene.
Nevertheless, once more I beckoned. I thought you saw, but you
galloped away."
"I saw you not. Grief flooded my eyes. Castle Altamira, your home,
and hallowed by our courtship, had been to me as a shrine.
"On this Pacific shore I had built another Castle Altamira, laying the
foundation and rearing the walls in love. It embodied my devotion to
you. In the shadow of those oaks, as I rode away, my heart was gone
from me, for the castle in Castile was become but building stone, the
doña of the hearth mine no longer. The new home in this western world,
lacking the cement of love, was worthless, and must fall in ruins. Had
I seen you beckoning--" agitation breaking the sentence.
"You would have returned, José?"
"Yes, Lady Romalda, yes; though many forbidding ambassador-fathers
barred the way," smiling. "But, señora, your father's intensity of
feeling seemed equaled by your own."
"The hidalgo is by nature an ardent nationalist, as you know. Born
into that atmosphere, with every breath I imbibed its spirit. That you
should lose this pride of nation fired me with indignation. Yes, José,
even when love forced me to try to bring you back, my very soul was
lifted against you. Time, and the irony of fate, revolutionized my
views."
They became silent, their thoughts busy.
"I too became a foreigner," she went on presently, as if no break had
occurred in the conversation.
She related her journeying to Bombay with her father, a few years
later, and of meeting there a young native prince who was in part of
Portuguese extraction, his mother having been a member of a powerful
family of that nationality residing in Goa.
The prince's father, a Christian, had been maharajah of Rajput, one of
the great principalities of British Hindustan. The Mohammedan portion
of the maharajahship had engendered rebellion. In attempting to
suppress it by armed force the father was killed. The son, also a
Christian, attained high position in English officialdom in Bombay.
This youthful Hindustanee, whose Latin name was Lusciano Osuna do
Castello Branco, became very friendly with the daughter of the Spanish
representative, Ambassador Altamira, of Castile.
"My father died suddenly," said the Lady Romalda. "The prince paid
court and won my hand. We were married.
"My husband was a citizen of Great Britain. I became a British subject
by my marriage. My son, known here as Padre Lusciano Osuna, was born
in Bombay, and was given his father's name in baptism, Lusciano Osuna
do Castello Branco."
She told of her son's school days in England, whither the English
government had sent him, of his graduation from a military academy, and
his return to India.
"The Mohammedan maharajah was deposed by the British. My husband was
placed on the throne. I lived in Rajput, a princess. My husband fell
in suppressing insurrection, as had his father before him. Lusciano,
my son, commanded in his father's stead, and through his efforts the
rebellion was overcome. Great preparations were under way to honor the
young prince, the present padre, when he should take the throne. Great
Britain promised him unlimited support. His father's enemies, even,
swore allegiance to him. All looked forward to a reign of prosperity
and peace.
"Lusciano, always of strongly religious bent, refused the honor; turned
his back on the world and became a Franciscan novice in Goa. The
people begged him to remain with the principality, but he persisted in
his chosen course. Soon he was called to Europe. In a few years all
Spain was ringing in praise of the brilliant preaching of the friar do
Castello Branco. His superiors, foreseeing a future of great
usefulness for the churchman, were about to make him a cardinal. The
mystic, the recluse, in him took alarm, and he requested the British
ambassador at Madrid to use his influence to avert the threatened
honor. He was allowed to come to this province, and hoped the world
would forget him.
"Grave difficulties have recently arisen in India, which is seething in
rebellion. The people of Rajput, remembering his efficient leadership,
are clamoring for the return of Prince do Castello Branco. The English
premier brought the matter before the pope, who has issued an order
that my son go to Rajput at once, ascend the throne, and, as
friar-king, rule for Christian concord in the principality. The
British ship bearing the order to Lusciano stopped at Bombay and I took
passage to meet my son and to see the country which was to have been my
home.
"So, José, I came--and I find you, an unlooked-for pleasure. I was
told that you had obliterated the house you had prepared for me, so I
thought that long ago you had left this part of the world forever."
Mendoza shook his head slowly, and was lost in reverie. At last he
spoke. "My heart overflows with rejoicing at this privilege of hearing
your voice once more, and of taking your hand in mine. Time touches
you lightly, Romalda."
"And you, also, my Don José, of the erect shoulders and stalwart form."
There under the arbor, with the busy life of the Mission going on about
them, they talked until the long shades came.
It was not until Padre Osuna stood by their side and said, "Madre mia,
the twilight must chill thee after the warmth of Rajput," that they
parted.
Matronas attended the mother, while the friar conducted Mendoza to the
lodge gate.
"Señor," he said, "I have advised my brethren to resist secularization
by every means within their power. Were it possible for me to remain
as head of this Mission I would fight, to the last, the proposed
encroachment."
The neighboring hacenderos vied among themselves to do honor to the
Princess do Castello Branco, guest of the province. The days came and
went in delightful companionship.
Finally, the time for the homeward journey had arrived. The British
ship was sailing out of San Francisco harbor, on the afternoon tide.
Lady Romalda and Señor Mendoza were standing on the forward deck,
looking out over the vast, restless sea. She was talking rapidly. He
spoke little.
The vessel began pitching on the swells that precede the bar.
It was the moment of parting.
They stood, hands clasped. The lady's eyes were streaming. The
Administrator's good-by broke in his voice.
A boat was lowered over the side, and Señor Mendoza was rowed to the
fort.
The ship gathered headway, crossed the bar, and lost itself in the
horizon of the ocean.