MAKING A NEW HOME
It rained three days, not quite like sullen Eastern storms, but in
gusts and showers. At times the wind drove it along like a trampling
army, then the fog came up and you could hardly see anything but the
vaguest outlines. The rainy season had set in.
"Will it rain all the time?" asked Laverne. "And I have no rubbers."
"That is a sad oversight. I don't believe you will find any small ones
here," answered Mrs. Dawson. "But I have interviewed some of the old
residents, and they say it only rains by spells, but that the spells
are rather frequent. I suppose we shall get used to it."
It was mid-forenoon. Laverne had asked questions about everything she
could imagine, and heard many wonderful stories. The convent tales
interested her deeply. They had found an old volume of the early days,
and she had rejoiced in the legend of Father Francis, who had been
left out of the list of missions that were to be named after the
Saints.
"And no St. Francis!" cried the good missionary, surprised at such
neglect. "Is not our own dear Father Francis to have a mission
assigned to him?"
The visitador replied loftily, "If St. Francis wishes a mission let
him show you a good port and it shall bear his name."
They had been discouraged at the rough shores and rocky heights. But
they went on and suddenly the gateway opened before them, and the bay
came in view. So they entered it, and while they were waiting for the
storeship, they cut down timber and began to make a settlement on a
fertile plain surrounded by vine-clad hills. When the storeship
arrived with cattle, provisions, and some more emigrants, they built
some plain houses, and the mission, and on the day of St. Francis it
was blessed and consecrated with a Mass, and for music they had a
continual discharge of firearms, while the smoke answered for incense.
Then they set about converting the natives who were poor, wandering
clans with no religion, but a great fear of sorcerers, and were very
easily managed. And now the Mission de los Dolores was but a crumbling
ruin, while the good St. Francis lives in the noble name of bay and
city.
Then there was the pathetic story of Doña Conceptione, daughter of the
Commandant of Presidio. A Russian official visited it, and fell deeply
in love with the beautiful girl. But he not only had to return with
business matters, but had to lay before the Czar his earnest wish to
espouse his sweetheart. Doña Conceptione waited at first in great joy
and hope, but no word and no lover came. When her father tried to win
her from her love by various devices, she would not be comforted with
them. Many a time she looked longingly over the ocean, straining her
eyes to see the vague outline of his ship that never came, and so her
sweet youth passed, her beauty began to fade, but she would not give
up her faith. He was dead, or he would have come. He could not prove
false. She went into a convent and prayed for his soul's rest. Long
afterward she heard he had been killed on his way home, and her sad
heart was comforted by the thought that she had never doubted his
love.
And then another beautiful girl, whose lover had gone to battle with a
fierce tribe of Indians who had attacked one of the lower missions.
His horse had found its way back unharmed, and some one who had seen
him fall brought back his bloody scarf and his jewelled dagger, picked
up from the ground, but the Indians had mutilated his body horribly
and cast it away in fragments. When Doña Eustacia recovered from her
long illness she would take the veil in spite of her mother's
protests, for there was another lover the elder had preferred. And so
two years passed away when a poor, dishevelled, footsore man came
back, who had not been killed but wounded and taken prisoner, and at
last managed to escape. And when the Señor Roldan learned Eustacia's
sorrowful mistake he begged that she be released from her vows, and
proffered his estate to the mission for her. But the Padre was
obdurate and would not listen. Did some bird carry messages to her?
There was no need to pray for his soul, and his faithful love was too
sweet to give up. So the little bird comforted her, and though she
knew she was perilling her soul's salvation she slipped out of the
convent one night, and her lover lifted her on his horse and they went
away in the storm and the darkness, whither no one ever knew, but the
Padre took his estate, and they were both laid under the ban of the
Church.
"But did it really hurt them?" queried the young listener.
"I should like to think they were very happy," declared Miss Holmes,
closing the book, "and we will end it that way."
"Do see!" cried Laverne, running to the window. "Why, it is yellow and
purple, and rolling up----"
"The fog is lifting. And the sun is coming out," was the reply.
"The cobwebs being swept from the sky," laughed the child. "But there
is no old woman with a broom."
Yes, there was the sun out in all its glory, driving the fog into the
ocean, tearing it into tatters, and suddenly everything was glorified.
The evergreens had been washed free from dust and were in their
metallic tints, other foliage that had seemed brown a few days ago,
glowed and shimmered in the crystal-clear air. The change was
marvellous. The newcomers glanced at each other in surprise, with no
words to express their exhilaration.
"And now we can go out!" cried Laverne. "I want to climb a hill."
Uncle Jason laughed. "Come and see," he replied.
Alas! Rivulets were running down the slopes and the wind was
appalling. Some of the streets were simply seas meandering along.
"Never mind, to-morrow it will be nice and you will see it dry up by
magic."
Laverne went back to the book of legends and stories. The others had
been considering plans. Mrs. Folsom had accepted Mr. Dawson's proposal
and was installed as housekeeper to his wife's great satisfaction.
"It would be folly for a young fellow like you to go out to the
mines," Mr. Dawson said to Richard. "There's gold enough to last ten
years or I'll miss my guess. It's no place for a boy. And there is
plenty to do right here. I'll take you as a clerk."
"We certainly have fallen in a clover bed," exclaimed his mother; "I
don't know how to thank you."
"I guess I need you as much as you need me. And if the boy keeps
honest and upright and doesn't take to gambling his fortune is made."
"But I shall go to the gold fields in the end," Dick said to his
mother. She was satisfied to have it put off a while.
The rain had not kept Jason Chadsey in the house. He had gone on
several inspecting tours. There was work to be had everywhere.
Building up the burned district, draying around the bay in every
conceivable branch. Every week dozens of men threw up a job and
started for the gold fields. Three or four shipping houses almost
fought for him when they learned he was a Maine man, and had been half
over the world, was indeed full of shrewd knowledge that had been
discriminated by a wide experience, and neither drank nor gambled, the
besetting sins of those early days.
Then there was the home. Miss Alwood had found a position. The other
two had been friends for years. A needlewoman would readily gain
employment, and no doubt teachers would be in demand.
Jason Chadsey ruminated over the matter. Women had hardly begun to
make homes for themselves in that chaotic region. What if he made a
home for them both and Miss Holmes took care of Laverne? The child was
very fond of her.
He went about the matter in a straightforward fashion. Miss Holmes
accepted at once. She had begun to wonder a little at her temerity in
seeking her fortune in this new land. In the older cities it was
different. And she had a motherly heart for Laverne. Indeed, if Jason
Chadsey had offered her marriage she would have accepted it readily,
though it would have been based on respect and friendship.
"You will be head of the interior," he said, in a rather humorous
tone. "We may find some one to do the rough part. And if Miss Gaines
would like to make her home with you we shall be a cheerful and
comfortable family, I fancy."
It was not so easy to find a domicile ready made. Too many of the
houses, even among those offered for sale, were flimsy things and held
at exorbitant prices. But he struck one presently. The man's wife had
died and he wanted to go to the mines, but did not really care to
sell. He would rent furniture and all for six months.
The Dawsons were sorry to have them leave. To be sure, their places
could be filled easily enough, but they had all been so friendly.
Meanwhile the weather would have been amusing if it had not been so
trying. It had come off very hot, and the north wind seemed to be
bringing gusts from the desert that scorched the green things with its
withering fury. The stars shone out pitiless like lesser suns. Then
splendid revivifying showers, and air as balmy as spring, laden with
wafts of curious fragrance, touching the hillsides with magic,
clothing them with daintiest verdure. Was this winter? Were not the
seasons absolutely lost?
The little girl was as much interested in the house as if she had been
a decade older. It was rather out of the business region, and built on
a side hill. Downstairs, even with the street in front, which had a
narrow plank sidewalk, there were two rooms; on the next floor four,
and you stepped out on the level again at the back. There was a flat
rock, then another declivity, but not so steep. Up here there was a
magnificent prospect. A little shrubbery grew about, but it was mostly
a tangle of vines, where flowers were to run riot in the spring.
It was quite as plain as the little cottage in the Maine town though
much less substantial. Sometimes in a strong west wind it seemed as if
it might slide to the street below. But houses seldom blew about that
way.
Outside a series of rude steps had been laid. Now and then they washed
out in a heavy rain, but they could be relaid without much trouble,
and sometimes the sticky clay hardened like stone and they remained
for a long while. She liked to run up and down them, flying like a
gull, stretching out her small arms, to the terror of Miss Holmes.
"You will slip some day and break your neck or some of your limbs, and
your uncle will think I was careless about you," she said anxiously.
"Oh, I will tell him that you were always cautioning me. And I do not
believe I shall break easily," laughing with a child's glee.
Every day changed her it seemed. Her eyes glowed with quivering lights
like the bay, her cheeks rounded out, the dimple grew deeper and held
a pink tint like the heart of a rose. Uncle Jason put uncounted kisses
in it. She would be prettier than her mother, and that gave him a
jealous pang. Her father had been esteemed good-looking, but really
she was not like him. The coloring and hair resembled her mother's.
Ah, if she could be here amid the splendor, and he shuddered, thinking
of the bleak little town.
The housekeeping was not arduous. Even in those early days fruits were
abundant and vegetables enough to surprise one. Then Jason Chadsey
went away in the morning and oftener took his lunch at the Dawsons',
not coming home until night. Everything in a business way rushed.
There were schools already, for the American plants his schoolhouse if
there are a dozen children. They could see the one down on the Plaza.
There were churches, too. Even in 1848 there had been Sunday worship
established on the Plaza, and a year later, in spite of all the
hubbub, churches were really organized. Then they erected a
substantial tent on Dupont Street, until one of their members ordered
a church ready to be put together, from New York. There was beside a
Congregational Society and this attracted Miss Holmes, for she had
always been "orthodox" in Boston. But the long sea voyage and the
lawless life all about her were rather demoralizing.
Men and women broadened out, sharp corners of creeds were rubbed off.
There was a very earnest endeavor among the better classes for the
extension of higher moral purposes, and a purer rule, and all of that
mind worked heartily together.
Marian Holmes was much interested in her friend's welfare. Miss
Gaines, with true Yankee faculty, was meaning to make a place for
herself and some money. Her heart yearned for the intelligence and
order of her native city.
"I shall not spend all my life in this riotous, disorderly place where
you cannot tell what will happen to you next. Like the men, I want to
make some money. It doesn't take so very much to be comfortable in
Boston, and there are all the appliances and enjoyments of
civilization. I was talking to that Mrs. Latham who has come to the
Dawsons for a few weeks while their house is being finished. And she
recommends that I shall start an establishment at once, while I am new
to the town."
Miss Gaines studied her compeer. She had been talking so rapidly she
was out of breath.
"Well?" as Miss Holmes was silent.
"Why, it might be an excellent thing. Only could you get girls to sew?
I do not think the young women are of that type. They flock to the
restaurants."
"There are two Catholic women Mrs. Latham spoke of--you know their
priests keep stricter watch over them. They are of the old Spanish
Californian stock. They have sewed for her and are neat as new pins,
but have no style. They rent out the lower floor of their house, being
in straitened circumstances. Their tenant is to go next week, I
believe I shall take the two rooms, and open a shop, emporium,
establishment, whatever it is best to call it. They will work for me.
And the more bizarre clothes are made the better. I think they will
suit these people, who do not care how they spend their money if it is
so their neighbors can see it. Then we will all be provided for.
Though I think I could have had an offer of marriage last night. A man
had just come in from the mines with a pile of gold. He was a Boston
man, but sadly demoralized by drink. I felt sorry for him at first,
then disgusted."
Miss Holmes laughed. "And thereby missed a chance that it is supposed
no woman lets slip."
"I certainly shall not take a chance like that. Come with me to see
the rooms."
"I must find Laverne. The child grows wild as the wildest thing in
town, and yet she is sweet as a rose. There's something in the air
that sets all your blood astir. I have not danced for years. I should
like to dance. I feel curiously young."
"Marian Holmes! You are in love! But I can't imagine Jason Chadsey
dancing. Though you are not compelled to dance with your husband in
this lawless place."
"I am afraid it would be love's labor lost if that were the case. He
like you has his heart set on making money, but for the child."
She ran out and looked at Table Rock, as they called a large, flattish
boulder. Laverne was not there. Then she glanced around. Some distance
down the street was a group of little girls, but Laverne's light hair
made her distinctive. She walked a short distance and then called.
The child hesitated, and the call was repeated. Laverne came with the
rush of a wild deer.
"Oh, can't I stay a little longer? I'm telling them about Maine, and
the snows and coasting. And it doesn't snow here, at least only a
little bit. They are such nice girls, and I am so lonely with only big
folks. They talk Spanish and very broken English."
"I want to take you out. Your uncle wouldn't like me to leave you
among strangers."
"Oh, but we're not strangers now. We know each other's names.
Carmencita,--isn't that pretty,--and Juana, and Anesta, and their
voices are so soft, and such black eyes as they have!"
"But you must come with me, dear," and there was a firmness in Miss
Holmes' tone.
The child looked irresolute. "Well, I must tell them," and she was off
again. These walks about the city always interested her. She made
amends by promising to come in the afternoon.
There was not much regularity in the streets save in the business
section. Some were little better than alleyways, others wound about,
and like most new places, houses had been set anywhere, but there were
a few pretty spots belonging to some of the older settlers before the
irruption of the horde. And already the Chinese had congregated
together, the Germans had a settlement, and the American was
everywhere.
This was really a pretty nook, with some wild olive trees about and
almonds, while grape vines clambered over the rocks. It had been quite
a fine estate, but its day was past. At one end was the adobe cottage
of two stories, with a flat roof and small deep-set windows, that
made it look like the spur of a mission. At the southern end was a
great open porch, the adobe floor stained a dullish red, and vines
were climbing over the columns. The little garden in front had some
vegetables growing in it.
The Señora Vanegas came down the outside stairs, she had seen the
guests from her window. She spoke quite brokenly, falling into Spanish
when she was at loss for a word. Then she called her daughter
Jacintha, who had mastered English, but spoke it with a charming
accent, and translated into Spanish that her mother more readily
understood the desire of the visitors. Mrs. Latham had sent them. Yes,
they knew Mrs. Latham very well. Oh, it would be charming to have some
one to take the lead, they did not profess to understand all the art
of costuming. But Jacintha brought down some exquisite embroidery and
drawn work, and the mother made cushion lace for some of the big
ladies. Her brother, it seemed, had owned the whole estate, which had
come from their father, and drank and gambled it away, keeping racing
horses. Only this little spot was left to them, and they were very
poor. The mother would gladly retire to a convent, but the
daughters----
"I could not like the life," Jacintha protested. "Perhaps, when I am
old and have had no lovers, I might be willing. But while I can work,
and the world is so bright," smiling with youth and hope.
"All three of you----" inquired the mother.
"Only Miss Gaines," explained Jacintha. "The others have a home, and
Miss Gaines will go there on Sunday. Oh, Señorita, you will find
plenty of work, and we will be glad to help. And it will be a great
interest."
The mother brought in a plate of crispy spiced cakes, and some sweet
wine of berries that she always prepared. For berries grew almost
everywhere, even if they were not of the choicest kind. A little
cultivation worked wonders.
So that was settled. They all went to Dawson House and had luncheon.
Mrs. Dawson was really in her glory.
"I was a fool that I didn't come out before," she said, with her
heartsome laugh. "Several of my cousins went West and suffered
everything, and I had no taste for emigrating. So I said to Dawson
when he was smitten with the gold craze, 'Go out and make some money,
and get a home to keep me in, and a servant to wait upon me, and then
I will come.' But I might as well have been here a year ago. There is
money to be paid for everything, no one haggles over the price. So,
Miss Gaines, we will wish you success and a fortune."
"Thank you for your hand in it;" and Miss Gaines nodded merrily.
"Hillo!" cried a bright voice, as Laverne stood talking to the
beautiful big dog in the hall. "Why, I've not seen you for ever so
long. Where have you been?"
"Home--I suppose that's home over there," and she nodded her head,
while the dimple in her cheek deepened. "But it is all so queer. Well,
when you are over on the other side of the world,--turned upside
down"----and she looked half funny, half perplexed.
"Are you homesick? Do you want to go back to Maine?"
"But there isn't any one to care for me there," she said a little
sadly. "Uncle Jason's all I have. It's so queer for winter, though. No
snow, no sliding, no skating, no fun at snowballing. And between the
rains things spring up and grow. I've tamed two funny little
squirrels, so one of them will eat out of my hand. And the birds come
to be fed."
"You can see snow enough up on the mountain-tops. It never melts away.
I like the fun and stir and strange people. It makes you believe in
Sir Francis Drake and the pirates and everything. But my! how they
spend money and gamble it away! I hope your uncle will have a level
head and hold on to what he gets."
"I've found three Spanish girls that are just lovely. There are so few
little girls about," in a rather melancholy tone. "And Miss Holmes
teaches me at home. I'd rather go to school, but it's too far, and
uncle says wait until I get older."
"I guess that's best," returned the experienced youth. "Sometimes it
is hardly safe for a little girl in the street. There are so many
drunken rowdies."
"Oh, I never do go out alone, except over at the cedars. They are sort
of scrubby and look like Maine. The little girls live there. I don't
quite like their mother; she has such sharp black eyes. Why do you
suppose so many people have black eyes?"
Dick considered a moment. "Why, the tropical nations are darker, and
the Mexicans, and those queer people from Hawaii and all the islands
over yonder. Your uncle will know all about them. When I am a few
years older I mean to travel. I'll go up to the gold fields and make a
pile, and you bet I won't come in town and gamble it away in a single
night, the way some of them do. I'll go over to Australia and China."
Laverne drew a long breath. What a wonderful world it was! If she
could be suddenly dropped down into the small district school and tell
them all she had seen!
Some one called Dick. She sauntered back into the room, but the women
were still talking business and clothes. There was a beautiful big
hound who looked at her with wistful eyes, and she spoke to him. He
nodded and looked gravely wise.
"You've a most uncompromising name," Mrs. Latham was saying. "You
can't seem to Frenchify the beginning nor end. You must put a card in
the paper." For the newspaper had been a necessity from the very
first, and the _Alta Californian_ was eagerly scanned.
"Yes," Miss Gaines returned, "Calista Gaines. It has a sound of the
old Bay State. Well, I'm not ashamed of it," almost defiantly.
"And we shall have to get most of our fashions from the States for
some time to come. We are not in the direct line from Paris. And I
really don't see why we shouldn't have fashions of our own. Here are
the picturesque Spanish garments that can be adapted. Oh, you will do,
and we shall be glad enough to have you," giving a most hearty and
encouraging laugh.
"Fortune-making is in the very air," declared Miss Gaines on the
homeward way. "Well, I think I like a new, energetic country. And what
a delicious voice that Jacintha has! I wonder if voices do not get
toned down in this air. Our east wind is considered bad for them. And
it is said a foggy air is good for the complexion. We may end by being
rich and beautiful, who knows!"
Laverne ran out to look after her squirrels, and chattered with them.
Then something bright caught her eye up among the tangles of vines and
shrubs. Why, flowers, absolutely in bloom in December! She gathered a
handful of them and hurried back overjoyed.
"Oh, see, see!" she cried, out of breath. "They are up here on the
hill, and everything is growing. Isn't it queer! Do you suppose the
real winter will come in July?"
"If stories are true we will hardly have any winter at all," was the
reply.
"And they are all snowed up in Maine. Oh, I wish there was some one to
write me a letter."