THE ENCHANTMENT OF YOUTH
They went to wish Victor _bon voyage_. Laverne was learning to play on
the guitar, and another event happened to interest her very much. Mr.
Chadsey had used his influence to obtain a position of first mate on a
vessel bound for Shanghai for Joseph Hudson, who was expected in daily
with his wife. No word had come from the Estenegas. The two children
had been sent to Monterey, the old house dismantled, and now swallowed
up by the fine street that would some day make a great driveway. For
anything else the world might have swallowed them up.
Mrs. Hudson had been quite Americanized, but was more deeply in love
than ever. There was a certain piquancy and dainty freedom that was
very attractive, quite unlike her former stiffness. She was not afraid
to go anywhere with José now--to the very ends of the earth if there
was need.
Captain Blarcom was delighted to secure the services of so trusty a
man and good seaman as Joseph Hudson for his first mate. Being a
trading vessel, they might be gone two years or more.
"I shall send mamma a letter, and tell her the whole story," said
Carmen. "I have been so happy I think she will soften her anger and
not curse me as mothers sometimes do. And perhaps, when I come back,
she may admit me to her again, since I was married lawfully and by a
priest of our Holy Church. For in quiet moments one longs for the
mother of all one's earlier years. Only the life here is so much
broader and earnest, and every one seems working to some end, not
trifles that become monotonous."
"Yes," Miss Holmes returned, "I should write by all means."
They kept her very close; indeed, she was rather afraid to venture
down in the town. And at last, the ship was laden and ready, and
another friend went out of Laverne's life for a while at least.
Nearly a year later they heard the sequel of the Estenegas' fortunes.
Pascuel Estenega had been most savagely angry that this young bride
should have slipped out of his reach, and left no clew. He blamed the
Convent Superior, he threatened vengeance on any daring lover who had
circumvented him. But no lover or maiden was found, they had covered
their flight so securely. He grew more and more ill-tempered, until
hardly a servant would accept a position with him. And on one
occasion, for some trifling fault, he had beaten his coachman so
severely that he himself had fallen into a fit, and never recovered
consciousness, dying a few days after. Then the Señora and her
daughters had gone to care for the elder man, who had been made quite
ill from the shock.
Isabel Personette's marriage was one of the events of the early
season. Even Major Barnard honored the occasion with his presence, and
the younger military men were in their most notable array. There was
an elegant reception afterward, and Olive was in her glory as the
only Miss Personette. Howard's bent was mechanical, and his father
presently admitted that he had chosen wisely.
Indeed, there was much call for ability in every direction. A railroad
had been projected to Sacramento. Congress had established a line of
mail steamers between San Francisco and Shanghai. Between the city and
the Hawaiian Islands there was frequent communication. Coal was being
brought now from Bellingham Bay, gas was furnished about the city,
there were rows of handsome dwellings. The new Merchants' Exchange was
begun, the Custom House would be massive and beautiful. The shipping
and mercantile part of the city seemed to settle itself about Clark's
Point, on account of the great advantages it offered for wharves.
Then there were several fine theatres and a large music hall, erected
by a Mr. Henry Meiggs, where people of the more quiet and intellectual
order could patronize concerts, oratorios, and lectures. Private balls
were quite the thing, and people struggled to get within the charmed
circle, where an invitation could be secured.
If the little girl had lost one friend, two came in his place. Howard
Personette constituted himself her knight when they met at any
gathering, and brought them tickets for concerts, and new books or
magazines, when he found Miss Holmes was much interested in them.
There was indeed a library association that readers found very useful,
and the daily papers were good news purveyors.
Richard Folsom felt he had something of a claim on her friendship, and
was importuning them both to come to dinner and go to some
entertainment.
"You show the result of your quiet life and freedom from care," Mrs.
Folsom said to Miss Holmes. "You're younger looking to-day than when
we met on shipboard. I half envy you your easy time, and I
occasionally wonder if the money one piles up is worth the hard work
and anxiety. Only I had a son to look after and place in the world. He
was crazy to go to the gold fields, but I think he saw enough at the
Dawsons. It's hard work to keep a boy from going to the bad in a place
like this, but Dick has grown up into a pretty nice fellow. Now, if he
can only marry a sensible girl, one of the home kind, who isn't all
for show and pleasure! I wouldn't mind if she hadn't anything but her
wedding clothes. An early marriage steadies a fellow."
But Dick wasn't thinking particularly about marriage. He couldn't have
told just why he liked to climb Telegraph Hill an hour or so before
sundown and chat a while, bringing some rare fruit, or a new kind of
flower, and have a talk and a ramble about. There were girls that were
lots more fun, girls who jumped at a chance for a drive behind his
fine trotter, Hero, and who didn't even disdain the Sunday drive to
the races. Miss Holmes never went to these.
Sometimes of a Sunday they all went over to Oaklands. Mr. Savedra was
much interested in the quaint, intelligent man who was not only making
a reputation for honesty and fair dealing, but fortune as well. The
place was so lovely and restful.
The agricultural resources of the outlying places were beginning to be
appreciated. Gardens and farms were found to be largely profitable
since people must be fed. Fruit, too, could be improved upon and bring
in abundant returns.
After several conversations with Miss Holmes, it was deemed advisable
to have an English governess, since French and Spanish were as native
tongues to the children. Isola was improving in health, but quite
backward for her age, except for her really wonderful gift in music.
"I can't seem to make up my mind to send either of them away," she
said to Miss Holmes. "We miss Victor so much. And a mother's joy
centres largely in her children. I could not live without them. If I
could find some one like you."
"There are some still better adapted to the undertaking than I should
be," Miss Holmes returned with a half smile. "I sometimes feel that I
have been out of the world of study so long, that I am old-fashioned."
"That is what I like. The modern unquiet flurry and ferment annoys me.
And pleasure continually. As if there were no finer graces to life, no
composure, nothing but dress and going about. And you have made such a
charming child of Miss Laverne. How pretty she grows."
And now she was growing tall rapidly. Miss Holmes wondered
occasionally what would happen in a year or two, if, indeed, the idea
of travel was a settled purpose. Mr. Chadsey seldom spoke of it,
except to the child. He was very much engrossed with his business.
But presently she would need different environment. She could not
always remain a little girl. And she _was_ pretty with a kind of
modest fairness that had an attractive spirituality in it, yet it did
not savor of convent breeding. It was the old New England type. She
seemed to take so little from her surroundings, she kept so pure to
the standard.
They were at Mrs. Folsom's to dinner one day. Uncle Jason had found it
necessary to be away late on business, and would come for them. He did
not quite like to leave them alone in Pablo's care, though Bruno was a
good keeper. But an evil-disposed person might shoot the dog. He began
to realize that it was more exposed up on the hill now that there were
so many rough workmen about. Another year of it, and then----
They had a delightful little dinner in a "tea room," there was a great
deal of coming and going in the large dining room. And Mrs. Folsom
said:
"I'm going to ask a guest in to share your company. She's rather
lonely, as her husband is away on some business. They have been here a
fortnight or so. Laverne will like to hear her talk. She's been most
all over."
So she brought in Mrs. Westbury, and introduced her.
"I hope I haven't intruded," the newcomer said, in a peculiarly
attractive voice. In a young girl it would have been pronounced
winsome. "I have been taking some meals in my own room; I tired of
going to the public table when Mr. Westbury was not here. But I do get
so lonely. I generally go with him, but this was up to the mines,
where the roughness and wickedness of the whole world congregates, I
believe."
"You are quite welcome," Miss Holmes replied, with a certain New
England reserve in her voice.
"You came from the East?" with an appreciative smile, as if that was
in her favor.
"From Boston; yes." Miss Holmes was always proud of that.
"And I from southern New Hampshire; we're not so very far apart. I
married Mr. Westbury in New York, but we have been about--almost
everywhere," in a tired voice. "I had wanted to travel, and I've had
it."
Laverne's eyes kindled. "And were you abroad?" she asked rather
timidly.
"Well--yes," smiling. "I've lived longest in London. And there's been
Paris and Berlin, and, oh, ever so many German towns, where they're
queer and slow, and wouldn't risk a dollar a month if they could make
ten by it. Most of the Eastern cities, too, but I think this is the
strangest, wildest, most bewildering place I ever was in; as if the
whole town was seething and had no time to settle."
"I think that is it. You see, we are used to age in our New England
towns; permanent habits, and all that. Yet, one would hardly believe
so much could have been done towards a great city in a dozen years."
Mrs. Westbury raised her brows. "Is it as young as that?"
"And we have people from everywhere who will presently settle into a
phase of Americanism, different from all other cities. Most places
begin poor and accumulate slowly. San Francisco has begun rich."
"And the newly rich hardly know what to do with their money. You have
some fine buildings, and queer old ones, that look as if they had
stood hundreds of years."
There was something peculiar in the voice, and that had been born with
the girl, and had needed very little training. It had an appealing
quality; it indicated possibilities, that fixed it in one's memory.
She might have suffered, had strange experiences, but one deeply
versed in such matters would have said that she had come short of
entire happiness, that hers was not the tone of rich content. She had
a delicate enunciation that charmed you; she passed from one subject
to another with a grace that never wearied the listener.
Mrs. Folsom came in to see if all was agreeable. She had taken a fancy
to Mrs. Westbury, she had such an air of refinement and good-breeding.
Mr. Westbury seemed a fine, hearty, wholesome man, prosperous yet no
braggart. That was apt to be the fault out here. He had commended his
wife to Mrs. Folsom's special care, and paid liberally in advance,
besides depositing money at a banker's for his wife's needs.
They were having a pleasant, social time. When the dinner was through
they retired to Mrs. Folsom's private parlor. In the large one there
were card playing and piano drumming and flirtations going on.
Perhaps Mrs. Westbury did most of the talking, but she made sundry
halts to give her listeners opportunity to answer, and she never
seemed aggressive. Laverne listened, charmed over the delightful
experiences.
She had learned that these were more attractive than one's troubles or
perplexities, and she had set out to be a charming woman. There was
only one terror to her life now--she was growing so much older every
year. She had kept her youth uncommonly, but alas, no arts could bring
the genuine article back.
Some lives go purling along like a simple stream that encounters
nothing much larger than pebbles in its course, others wind in and
out, tumble over rocks, widen and narrow, and take in every variety.
She had been a mill hand, pretty, graceful, modest. After having been
a widower two years and married to a woman older than himself, a
bustling, busy worker who lived mostly in her kitchen, Mr. Carr, the
mill owner, married this pretty girl, installed her in the big, gloomy
mansion, and made her the envy of the small town where many of the
families were related to him. He had some peculiar views in this
marriage. He meant to rule, not to be ruled; he hoped there would be
children to heir every dollar of his estate. He succeeded in the
first, but in the twelve years there were no children. She was
miserable and lonely; there were times when she would have preferred
the old mill life. Her only solace came to be reading. There was a
fine library, histories, travels, and old English novels, and it
really was a liberal education.
Then Mr. Carr died suddenly, having made a will that tied up
everything just as far as the law allowed. She was to live in the
house, a brother and a cousin were to run the mill on a salary that
was made dependent on the profits. A shrewd lawyer discovered flaws,
and it was broken. The heirs paid her very well to step out of it all
and have no litigation. She was extremely glad. She took her money and
went to New York, and for three years had a really enjoyable time.
She was thirty-seven when she married David Westbury, who was
thirty-five. She set herself back five years and no one would have
questioned. After several years of ill-luck, fortune had smiled on him
and whatever he touched was a success. He bought up some valuable
patents and exploited them, he formed stock companies, he had been
sent abroad as an agent, he was shrewd, sharp, long-headed, and not
especially tricky. Honesty paid in the long run. And now she had
enjoyed seven happy, prosperous years. She had proved an admirable
co-partner, she had a way of attracting men that he wanted to deal
with and not lowering her dignity by any real overt act. Her
flirtations never reached off-color. But of late she felt she had lost
a little of her charm. She was not inclined to play the motherly to
young men, nor to flatter old men. Those between went to the charming
young girls.
"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry to go," Laverne exclaimed, when word was sent
up that Mr. Chadsey was waiting for them. "I've had such a splendid
time listening to you. It's been like travelling. And to see so many
celebrated people and places, and queens."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I hope you will come again. Oh, I like you
very much," and she leaned over and kissed her, though she was not an
effusive woman.
Jason Chadsey had been sorely bothered. A young fellow he had had high
hopes of had proved recreant and gone off with considerable money. He
had been straightening accounts, and trying to decide whether to set
the officers on his track or let him go--to do the trick over again on
some one else. So he only half listened, glad to have his darling gay
and full of delight. He really did not notice when she said "Mrs.
Westbury."
That lady had a talk with Dick the next morning. He thought she was
"quite nice for an old girl," so far off does youth remove itself.
Could she get a carriage and ask Miss Holmes and her young charge to
go out with her?
"Why, I'll take you, ma'am, and be glad to. Oh, yes, we're such old
friends. It's odd, but we may be called old settlers, really. A party
of us came round the Horn just at the last of '51. She was such a
little thing, the only child on board. And we all stayed and are
settled just about here. Tell you what I'll do. We'll stop at school
for her and take her home, and then go on."
"But, Miss Holmes"--hesitatingly--"she ought to have notice," smiling
deprecatingly.
"Oh, that won't count. You just take my word, Laverne will be glad
enough."
He was glad enough. He had a vague idea somehow that Miss Holmes
rather fenced him out. This time he would have Laverne on the front
seat with him. Not that he really was in love with her now, but in
time to come----
His plan worked admirably. Laverne was delighted and greeted her new
friend cordially. They drove around a little at first, then up to the
hill, and now the road was broken up unless one went a long way
round.
"I can run up," Laverne said eagerly. "I won't be many minutes," and
she sprang out.
"They're going to lower this hill," Dick explained. "They started it
once, but land! only a goat can climb it now."
"Say a deer or an antelope," with a light laugh, as both watched the
child threading her way in a zig-zag fashion, the shortest.
"It must be awfully lonely up there."
"But the prospect is wonderful. And there is Golden Gate and the
ocean. Still, I should like to be more with folks. Chadsey doesn't
mind. He's a queer Dick, and his mind is all on making money."
"She is his niece. Are there any others?"
"No, I guess not. I never heard of any. All her folks--family are
dead."
"And Miss Holmes isn't related?"
"Oh, no."
They watched and saw them coming down presently, but they took a
better pathway. Miss Holmes seemed pleased with the plan. Laverne
sprang in beside Mrs. Westbury.
"Perhaps the ladies----" Dick was disappointed.
"I want to sit here," the girl said rather imperiously. "And you know
you won't let me drive."
"You'd be like that fellow you told of driving the chariot to the sun,
I'm afraid. I don't dare trust any one except Nervy, the jockey, to
ride her. It was immense on Sunday. You saw that she won. Mother's
against having me enter her, and I don't do it often. But jimini! I'd
like to. And ride her myself."
Mrs. Westbury had seen the Derby, where all the style of London went,
and fortunes were lost and won. Dick was fascinated by the account.
They turned oceanward. Sandhills, stones, patches of verdure where one
least expected, tangled depths of laurels and alder, manzanita, vines
scrambling everywhere and such a wealth of bloom, then barren rocks
and sand. Now you could see the glorious ocean, the great flocks of
sea birds swirling, diving, flying so straight and swiftly that not a
wing moved. Cries of all kinds, then from the landward side a strange,
clear song that seemed to override the other. Seals thrusting up their
shiny black heads and diving again, sunning themselves lazily on the
rocks.
"Is there another country in the world like this?" exclaimed Mrs.
Westbury. "And all down the coast! I stayed at Monterey before. We
crossed the Isthmus and came up. It is wonderful."
Dick kept them out quite late to see the gorgeous sunset, and then
would fain have taken them home with him. Laverne had her hands full
of flowers that she had never seen before, and her eyes were lovely in
their delight.
"I shall be spoiled. I shall want to see you every day. I wish there
was no school," Mrs. Westbury said. "Oh, can't I come and visit you?"
and the entreaty in her voice would have won a harder heart.
"Our home is so very simple, and now the streets are in such a state,
almost impassable. But if you have the courage we shall be glad to see
you," responded Miss Holmes, curiously won.
"I shall come, most assuredly, although I have rather begged the
invitation. But you are so different from the women of the Hotel. I do
tire of their frivolity. I even go out alone to walk, though at first
I was afraid. Could I meet my little friend at her school and come
up?"
"Oh, yes, she will be glad to pilot you."
It was late that evening when Jason Chadsey came home. He looked tired
and worn. Indeed, the farther he went in the matter the worse it
appeared. And the culprit had made his escape. So there was nothing to
do but to pocket the loss.
"Shall I make you a cup of tea?" inquired Miss Holmes.
"If you please--yes. Then I shall go straight to bed; I must be up
betimes in the morning. Is Laverne in bed?"
She answered in the affirmative.
Friday Mrs. Westbury sent a little note to Laverne, asking if Saturday
would do for the visit. Every other Saturday the child spent at
Oaklands. So it was the next week when the visit was made. She stopped
at the school for Laverne, and Dick Folsom was to come for her in the
evening.
"It is very queer," she declared, laughing. "It seems a little like
Swiss châlets built in the mountain sides where you go up by wooden
steps. Only--the sand. I should think you would slip away."
"They are not going to take another street until next year. Of course,
we shall move; I think down in the town. But it has been so delightful
up here. And it did not seem so queer at first. But since they have
been putting up such splendid buildings in the town, and making such
fine streets, it has given us a wild appearance. Presently there will
not be anything of Old San Francisco left. A good part of it has
burned down already."
Miss Holmes welcomed her guest warmly and brought her a glass of
delightful fruit sherbet. The place was plain enough, and yet it gave
evidence of refined and womanly tastes in its adornments. And the
clustering vines and bloom made a complete bower of it.
Mrs. Westbury espied the guitar. She was really glad there was no
piano. Was Laverne musical?
"I've been learning the guitar. And I sing some. But you should hear
my friend at Oaklands. Her voice is most beautiful. If mine was not a
contralto I shouldn't venture to sing with her."
"You don't look like a contralto. A pure blonde should be a soprano."
"Perhaps I'm not a very pure blonde," with a merry light in her eyes.
"I've heard concert singers who could not compare with Miss Savedra,
but her people would be shocked at the idea of her singing in public.
I was telling her about you. We are great friends. She is odd in some
ways and foreign; they are Spanish people, but I love her better than
any girl I know."
"And this Olive?" questioningly.
"Oh, Olive. She took a great liking to me in the beginning--we were
quite children. She and the Savedras are cousins. And her father
married a friend of Miss Holmes, but she is a delightful stepmother.
Only now Olive seems so much older and has lovers. Yes, we are
friends in a way, but we do not really love each other."
"And you haven't any lovers?"
"Oh, no." She flushed at that. "I don't want any. Why, I am not
through school."
Mrs. Westbury found that she could not only read, but talk French
and Spanish, and that she was being sensibly educated. But that
was not the chief charm. It was a simplicity that defied art, a
straightforwardness that was gentle, almost deprecating, yet never
swerved from truth, a sweetness that was winning, a manner shy but
quite captivating. And though she told many things about her life up
here on the hill, there were no indiscreet or effusive confidences
such as she had often listened to in young girls.
When Mr. Chadsey met the guest as they were coming in from the arbor,
he simply stared at the name, not realizing that he had heard it
mentioned before. A fair, somewhat faded woman, so well made up that
she could still discount a few years. Her attire and her jewels
betokened comfortable circumstances, indeed wealth, for besides some
fine diamonds she had two splendid rubies.
Twice since he had been in California he had been startled by the
name. Once by a young fellow of two or three and twenty, looking for a
chance at clerking. The other had been a miserable, disreputable
fellow, who had failed at mining and was likely through drunkenness to
fail at everything else. He questioned him closely. The man had left a
wife and family at Vincennes, and would be only too glad to get back
to them. He had been born and raised in Indiana. So he had helped him
on his way, praying that he might reach there. And here it had cropped
up again. It sent a shiver through him.
He questioned the guest adroitly, carefully. She was proud of her
husband and his successes. She had met him in New York; she thought
him a native of that State.
Surely the David Westbury he knew could never have had all this good
fortune. So he dismissed this case from his mind, and smiled over
Laverne's new friend, who would be one of the transient guests of the
heart.
Mr. Westbury sent word by a messenger that he would be detained longer
than he expected. He hoped she found her quarters satisfactory, and
that she would take all the entertainment she could. He had struck a
new opening that would in all probability make a millionaire of him.
When he returned they must go at once to London, and they might remain
there for years, since it was one of the places she liked.
Yes, she did like it, and had made some very nice friends there.
But--if she had a daughter like this girl to draw young men; she
should always yearn for the young life that had never been hers, and a
girl to dress beautifully, to take out driving in the "Row," to have
one and another nod to her, to take her calling--that was the way
mothers did in England, to give dainty parties for her, to let her
tend stalls at fairs, to have her some day presented to the Queen, and
at last to marry well. Her daughter might have such a fortune. David
Westbury had been lucky in a good many things and he seldom made a
mistake.
She dreamed this over and over again. She had never cared for babies
or little children, and she had felt glad there had been no children
to tie her to the old New Hampshire town, where she must then have
spent her life. She had had so much more enjoyment, larger liberty,
and oh, worlds more money. Travelling, hotels, meeting delightful
people. But now her day was about over. If there was a young blossom
growing up beside her to shed a charm around, to attract, to fill a
house with gayety, so she could go through with it all again. Then
lovers and marriage. She should want a pretty girl, one with a winsome
manner. A little training would do wonders with this one, who was just
the right age to be moulded into success.
Of course, her uncle would never give her up, and one could not coax
her away. A man's journeying about would have no society advantages.
Miss Holmes was very nice and sensible, but there were some
old-maidish traits. She was rather narrow. She really pitied the
girl's life between them. It would lose the exquisite flavor of
enjoyment that by right belonged to youth.
Of course, all this was folly. But she did like the child so much. And
she wanted a new adoration, which she believed she could win easily.