Ramona Read online

  Produced by David Reed

  RAMONA

  By Helen Hunt Jackson

  I

  IT was sheep-shearing time in Southern California, but sheep-shearingwas late at the Senora Moreno's. The Fates had seemed to combine toput it off. In the first place, Felipe Moreno had been ill. He was theSenora's eldest son, and since his father's death had been at the headof his mother's house. Without him, nothing could be done on the ranch,the Senora thought. It had been always, "Ask Senor Felipe," "Go to SenorFelipe," "Senor Felipe will attend to it," ever since Felipe had had thedawning of a beard on his handsome face.

  In truth, it was not Felipe, but the Senora, who really decided allquestions from greatest to least, and managed everything on the place,from the sheep-pastures to the artichoke-patch; but nobody except theSenora herself knew this. An exceedingly clever woman for her day andgeneration was Senora Gonzaga Moreno,--as for that matter, exceedinglyclever for any day and generation but exceptionally clever for the dayand generation to which she belonged. Her life, the mere surface of it,if it had been written, would have made a romance, to grow hot andcold over: sixty years of the best of old Spain, and the wildest of NewSpain, Bay of Biscay, Gulf of Mexico, Pacific Ocean,--the waves of themall had tossed destinies for the Senora. The Holy Catholic Church hadhad its arms round her from first to last; and that was what had broughther safe through, she would have said, if she had ever said anythingabout herself, which she never did,--one of her many wisdoms. So quiet,so reserved, so gentle an exterior never was known to veil such animperious and passionate nature, brimful of storm, always passingthrough stress; never thwarted, except at peril of those who did it;adored and hated by turns, and each at the hottest. A tremendous force,wherever she appeared, was Senora Moreno; but no stranger would suspectit, to see her gliding about, in her scanty black gown, with her rosaryhanging at her side, her soft dark eyes cast down, and an expression ofmingled melancholy and devotion on her face. She looked simply like asad, spiritual-minded old lady, amiable and indolent, like her race, butsweeter and more thoughtful than their wont. Her voice heightened thismistaken impression. She was never heard to speak either loud or fast.There was at times even a curious hesitancy in her speech, which camenear being a stammer, or suggested the measured care with which peoplespeak who have been cured of stammering. It made her often appear as ifshe did not known her own mind; at which people sometimes took heart;when, if they had only known the truth, they would have known that thespeech hesitated solely because the Senora knew her mind so exactly thatshe was finding it hard to make the words convey it as she desired, orin a way to best attain her ends.

  About this very sheep-shearing there had been, between her and the headshepherd, Juan Canito, called Juan Can for short, and to distinguish himfrom Juan Jose, the upper herdsman of the cattle, some discussions whichwould have been hot and angry ones in any other hands than the Senora's.

  Juan Canito wanted the shearing to begin, even though Senor Felipe wereill in bed, and though that lazy shepherd Luigo had not yet got backwith the flock that had been driven up the coast for pasture."There were plenty of sheep on the place to begin with," he said onemorning,--"at least a thousand;" and by the time they were done, Luigowould surely be back with the rest; and as for Senor Felipe's being inbed, had not he, Juan Canito, stood at the packing-bag, and handled thewool, when Senor Felipe was a boy? Why could he not do it again? TheSenora did not realize how time was going; there would be no shearersto be hired presently, since the Senora was determined to have nonebut Indians. Of course, if she would employ Mexicans, as all the otherranches in the valley did, it would be different; but she was resolvedupon having Indians,--"God knows why," he interpolated surlily, underhis breath.

  "I do not quite understand you, Juan," interrupted Senora Moreno at theprecise instant the last syllable of this disrespectful ejaculation hadescaped Juan's lips; "speak a little louder. I fear I am growing deaf inmy old age."

  What gentle, suave, courteous tones! and the calm dark eyes rested onJuan Canito with a look to the fathoming of which he was as unequalas one of his own sheep would have been. He could not have told why heinstantly and involuntarily said, "Beg your pardon, Senora."

  "Oh, you need not ask my pardon, Juan," the Senora replied withexquisite gentleness; "it is not you who are to blame, if I am deaf. Ihave fancied for a year I did not hear quite as well as I once did.But about the Indians, Juan; did not Senor Felipe tell you that hehad positively engaged the same band of shearers we had last autumn,Alessandro's band from Temecula? They will wait until we are ready forthem. Senor Felipe will send a messenger for them. He thinks them thebest shearers in the country. He will be well enough in a week or two,he thinks, and the poor sheep must bear their loads a few days longer.Are they looking well, do you think, Juan? Will the crop be a good one?General Moreno used to say that you could reckon up the wool-crop to apound, while it was on the sheep's backs."

  "Yes, Senora," answered the mollified Juan; "the poor beasts lookwonderfully well considering the scant feed they have had all winter.We'll not come many pounds short of our last year's crop, if any.Though, to be sure, there is no telling in what case that--Luigo willbring his flock back."

  The Senora smiled, in spite of herself, at the pause and gulp with whichJuan had filled in the hiatus where he had longed to set a contemptuousepithet before Luigo's name.

  This was another of the instances where the Senora's will and JuanCanito's had clashed and he did not dream of it, having set it all downas usual to the score of young Senor Felipe.

  Encouraged by the Senora's smile, Juan proceeded: "Senor Felipe can seeno fault in Luigo, because they were boys together; but I can tell him,he will rue it, one of these mornings, when he finds a flock of sheepworse than dead on his hands, and no thanks to anybody but Luigo. WhileI can have him under my eye, here in the valley, it is all very well;but he is no more fit to take responsibility of a flock, than one ofthe very lambs themselves. He'll drive them off their feet one day, andstarve them the next; and I've known him to forget to give them water.When he's in his dreams, the Virgin only knows what he won't do."

  During this brief and almost unprecedented outburst of Juan's theSenora's countenance had been slowly growing stern. Juan had not seenit. His eyes had been turned away from her, looking down into theupturned eager face of his favorite collie, who was leaping andgambolling and barking at his feet.

  "Down, Capitan, down!" he said in a fond tone, gently repulsing him;"thou makest such a noise the Senora can hear nothing but thy voice."

  "I heard only too distinctly, Juan Canito," said the Senora in a sweetbut icy tone. "It is not well for one servant to backbite another.It gives me great grief to hear such words; and I hope when FatherSalvierderra comes, next month, you will not forget to confess this sinof which you have been guilty in thus seeking to injure a fellow-being.If Senor Felipe listens to you, the poor boy Luigo will be cast outhomeless on the world some day; and what sort of a deed would that be,Juan Canito, for one Christian to do to another? I fear the Father willgive you penance, when he hears what you have said."

  "Senora, it is not to harm the lad," Juan began, every fibre of hisfaithful frame thrilling with a sense of the injustice of her reproach.

  But the Senora had turned her back. Evidently she would hear no morefrom him then. He stood watching her as she walked away, at her usualslow pace, her head slightly bent forward, her rosary lifted in her lefthand, and the fingers of the right hand mechanically slipping the beads.

  "Prayers, always prayers!" thought Juan to himself, as his eyes followedher. "If they'll take one to heaven, the Senora'll go by the straightroad, that's sure! I'm sorry I vexed her. But what's a man to do, ifhe's the interest of the place at heart, I'd like to know. Is he tostand by, and see a lot of idle moo
ning louts run away with everything?Ah, but it was an ill day for the estate when the General died,--an illday! an ill day! And they may scold me as much as they please, and setme to confessing my sins to the Father; it's very well for them, they'vegot me to look after matters. Senor Felipe will do well enough when he'sa man, maybe; but a boy like him! Bah!" And the old man stamped hisfoot with a not wholly unreasonable irritation, at the false position inwhich he felt himself put.

  "Confess to Father Salvierderra, indeed!" he muttered aloud. "Ay, thatwill I. He's a man of sense, if he is a priest,"--at which slip of thetongue the pious Juan hastily crossed himself,--"and I'll ask him togive me some good advice as to how I'm to manage between this young boyat the head of everything, and a doting mother who thinks he has thewisdom of a dozen grown men. The Father knew the place in the oldentime. He knows it's no child's play to look after the estate even now,much smaller as it is! An ill day when the old General died, an illday indeed, the saints rest his soul!" Saying this, Juan shrugged hisshoulders, and whistling to Capitan, walked towards the sunny veranda ofthe south side of the kitchen wing of the house, where it had been fortwenty odd years his habit to sit on the long bench and smoke his pipeof a morning. Before he had got half-way across the court-yard, however,a thought struck him. He halted so suddenly that Capitan, with the quicksensitiveness of his breed, thought so sudden a change of purpose couldonly come from something in connection with sheep; and, true to hisinstinct of duty, pricked up his ears, poised himself for a full run,and looked up in his master's face waiting for explanation and signal.But Juan did not observe him.

  "Ha!" he said, "Father Salvierderra comes next month, does he? Let'ssee. To-day is the 25th. That's it. The sheep-shearing is not to comeoff till the Father gets here. Then each morning it will be mass in thechapel, and each night vespers; and the crowd will be here at leasttwo days longer to feed, for the time they will lose by that and bythe confessions. That's what Senor Felipe is up to. He's a pious lad.I recollect now, it was the same way two years ago. Well, well, it is agood thing for those poor Indian devils to get a bit of religion now andthen; and it's like old times to see the chapel full of them kneeling,and more than can get in at the door; I doubt not it warms the Senora'sheart to see them all there, as if they belonged to the house, asthey used to: and now I know when it's to be, I have only to make myarrangements accordingly. It is always in the first week of the monththe Father gets here. Yes; she said, 'Senor Felipe will be well enoughin a week or two, he thinks.' Ha! ha! It will be nearer two; ten days orthereabouts. I'll begin the booths next week. A plague on that Luigo fornot being back here. He's the best hand I have to cut the willow boughsfor the roofs. He knows the difference between one year's growth andanother's; I'll say that much for him, spite of the silly dreaming headhe's got on his shoulders."

  Juan was so pleased with his clearing up in his mind as to SenorFelipe's purpose about the time of the sheep-shearing, that it put himin good humor for the day,--good humor with everybody, and himself mostof all. As he sat on the low bench, his head leaning back against thewhitewashed wall, his long legs stretched out nearly across the wholewidth of the veranda, his pipe firm wedged in the extreme left cornerof his mouth, his hands in his pockets, he was the picture of placidcontent. The troop of youngsters which still swarmed around the kitchenquarters of Senora Moreno's house, almost as numerous and inexplicableas in the grand old days of the General's time, ran back and forthacross Juan's legs, fell down between them, and picked themselves up byhelp of clutches at his leather trousers, all unreproved by Juan, thoughloudly scolded and warned by their respective mothers from the kitchen.

  "What's come to Juan Can to be so good-natured to-day?" saucily askedMargarita, the youngest and prettiest of the maids, popping her head outof a window, and twitching Juan's hair. He was so gray and wrinkledthat the maids all felt at ease with him. He seemed to them as old asMethuselah; but he was not really so old as they thought, nor they sosafe in their tricks. The old man had hot blood in his veins yet, as theunder-shepherds could testify.

  "The sight of your pretty face, Senorita Margarita," answered Juanquickly, cocking his eye at her, rising to his feet, and making a mockbow towards the window.

  "He! he! Senorita, indeed!" chuckled Margarita's mother, old Marda thecook. "Senor Juan Canito is pleased to be merry at the doors of hisbetters;" and she flung a copper saucepan full of not over-clean waterso deftly past Juan's head, that not a drop touched him, and yet he hadthe appearance of having been ducked. At which bit of sleight-of-handthe whole court-yard, young and old, babies, cocks, hens, and turkeys,all set up a shout and a cackle, and dispersed to the four corners ofthe yard as if scattered by a volley of bird-shot. Hearing the racket,the rest of the maids came running,--Anita and Maria, the twins, womenforty years old, born on the place the year after General Moreno broughthome his handsome young bride; their two daughters, Rosa and Anita theLittle, as she was still called, though she outweighed her mother; oldJuanita, the oldest woman in the household, of whom even the Senora wassaid not to know the exact age or history; and she, poor thing, couldtell nothing, having been silly for ten years or more, good for nothingexcept to shell beans: that she did as fast and well as ever, and wasnever happy except she was at it. Luckily for her, beans are the onecrop never omitted or stinted on a Mexican estate; and for sake of oldJuanita they stored every year in the Moreno house, rooms full of beansin the pod (tons of them, one would think), enough to feed an army. Butthen, it was like a little army even now, the Senora's household; nobodyever knew exactly how many women were in the kitchen, or how many menin the fields. There were always women cousins, or brother's wives orwidows or daughters, who had come to stay, or men cousins, or sister'shusbands or sons, who were stopping on their way up or down the valley.When it came to the pay-roll, Senor Felipe knew to whom he paid wages;but who were fed and lodged under his roof, that was quite anotherthing. It could not enter into the head of a Mexican gentleman to makeeither count or account of that. It would be a disgraceful niggardlythought.

  To the Senora it seemed as if there were no longer any people about theplace. A beggarly handful, she would have said, hardly enough to do thework of the house, or of the estate, sadly as the latter had dwindled.In the General's day, it had been a free-handed boast of his that neverless than fifty persons, men, women and children, were fed within hisgates each day; how many more, he did not care, nor know. But that timehad indeed gone, gone forever; and though a stranger, seeing the suddenrush and muster at door and window, which followed on old Marda'sletting fly the water at Juan's head, would have thought, "Good heavens,do all those women, children, and babies belong in that one house!" theSenora's sole thought, as she at that moment went past the gate, was,"Poor things! how few there are left of them! I am afraid old Marda hasto work too hard. I must spare Margarita more from the house to helpher." And she sighed deeply, and unconsciously held her rosary nearer toher heart, as she went into the house and entered her son's bedroom. Thepicture she saw there was one to thrill any mother's heart; and as itmet her eye, she paused on the threshold for a second,--only a second,however; and nothing could have astonished Felipe Moreno so much as tohave been told that at the very moment when his mother's calm voice wassaying to him, "Good morning, my son, I hope you have slept well, andare better," there was welling up in her heart a passionate ejaculation,"O my glorious son! The saints have sent me in him the face of hisfather! He is fit for a kingdom!"

  The truth is, Felipe Moreno was not fit for a kingdom at all. If he hadbeen, he would not have been so ruled by his mother without ever findingit out. But so far as mere physical beauty goes, there never was aking born, whose face, stature, and bearing would set off a crown or athrone, or any of the things of which the outside of royalty is made up,better than would Felipe Moreno's. And it was true, as the Senora said,whether the saints had anything to do with it or not, that he had theface of his father. So strong a likeness is seldom seen. When Felipeonce, on the occasion of a grand celebration and pro
cession, put on thegold-wrought velvet mantle, gayly embroidered short breeches fastened atthe knee with red ribbons, and gold-and-silver-trimmed sombrero, whichhis father had worn twenty-five years before, the Senora fainted at herfirst look at him,--fainted and fell; and when she opened her eyes, andsaw the same splendid, gayly arrayed, dark-bearded man, bending over herin distress, with words of endearment and alarm, she fainted again.

  "Mother, mother mia," cried Felipe, "I will not wear them if it makesyou feel like this! Let me take them off. I will not go to their cursedparade;" and he sprang to his feet, and began with trembling fingers tounbuckle the sword-belt.

  "No, no, Felipe," faintly cried the Senora, from the ground. "It is mywish that you wear them;" and staggering to her feet, with a burst oftears, she rebuckled the old sword-belt, which her fingers had so manytimes--never unkissed--buckled, in the days when her husband had badeher farewell and gone forth to the uncertain fates of war. "Wearthem!" she cried, with gathering fire in her tones, and her eyes dryof tears,--"wear them, and let the American hounds see what a Mexicanofficer and gentleman looked like before they had set their base,usurping feet on our necks!" And she followed him to the gate, and stooderect, bravely waving her handkerchief as he galloped off, till he wasout of sight. Then with a changed face and a bent head she crept slowlyto her room, locked herself in, fell on her knees before the Madonna atthe head of her bed, and spent the greater part of the day praying thatshe might be forgiven, and that all heretics might be discomfited. Fromwhich part of these supplications she derived most comfort is easy toimagine.

  Juan Canito had been right in his sudden surmise that it was for FatherSalvierderra's coming that the sheep-shearing was being delayed, and notin consequence of Senor Felipe's illness, or by the non-appearance ofLuigo and his flock of sheep. Juan would have chuckled to himself stillmore at his perspicacity, had he overheard the conversation going onbetween the Senora and her son, at the very time when he, half asleepon the veranda, was, as he would have called it, putting two and twotogether and convincing himself that old Juan was as smart as they were,and not to be kept in the dark by all their reticence and equivocation.

  "Juan Can is growing very impatient about the sheep-shearing," saidthe Senora. "I suppose you are still of the same mind about it,Felipe,--that it is better to wait till Father Salvierderra comes? Asthe only chance those Indians have of seeing him is here, it would seema Christian duty to so arrange it, if it be possible; but Juan is veryrestive. He is getting old, and chafes a little, I fancy, under yourcontrol. He cannot forget that you were a boy on his knee. Now I, for mypart, am like to forget that you were ever anything but a man for me tolean on."

  Felipe turned his handsome face toward his mother with a beaming smileof filial affection and gratified manly vanity. "Indeed, my mother, ifI can be sufficient for you to lean on, I will ask nothing more of thesaints;" and he took his mother's thin and wasted little hands, both atonce, in his own strong right hand, and carried them to his lips as alover might have done. "You will spoil me, mother," he said, "you makeme so proud."

  "No, Felipe, it is I who am proud," promptly replied the mother; "and Ido not call it being proud, only grateful to God for having given mea son wise enough to take his father's place, and guide and protect methrough the few remaining years I have to live. I shall die content,seeing you at the head of the estate, and living as a Mexican gentlemanshould; that is, so far as now remains possible in this unfortunatecountry. But about the sheep-shearing, Felipe. Do you wish to have itbegun before the Father is here? Of course, Alessandro is all readywith his band. It is but two days' journey for a messenger to bringhim. Father Salvierderra cannot be here before the 10th of the month. Heleaves Santa Barbara on the 1st, and he will walk all the way,--a goodsix days' journey, for he is old now and feeble; then he must stopin Ventura for a Sunday, and a day at the Ortega's ranch, and at theLopez's,--there, there is a christening. Yes, the 10th is the veryearliest that he can be here,--near two weeks from now. So far as yourgetting up is concerned, it might perhaps be next week. You will benearly well by that time."

  "Yes, indeed," laughed Felipe, stretching himself out in the bed andgiving a kick to the bedclothes that made the high bedposts and thefringed canopy roof shake and creak; "I am well now, if it were not forthis cursed weakness when I stand on my feet. I believe it would do megood to get out of doors."

  In truth, Felipe had been hankering for the sheep-shearing himself. Itwas a brisk, busy, holiday sort of time to him, hard as he worked in it;and two weeks looked long to wait.

  "It is always thus after a fever," said his mother. "The weakness lastsmany weeks. I am not sure that you will be strong enough even in twoweeks to do the packing; but, as Juan Can said this morning, he stoodat the packing-bag when you were a boy, and there was no need of waitingfor you for that!"

  "He said that, did he!" exclaimed Felipe, wrathfully. "The old man isgetting insolent. I'll tell him that nobody will pack the sacks butmyself, while I am master here; and I will have the sheep-shearing whenI please, and not before."

  "I suppose it would not be wise to say that it is not to take place tillthe Father comes, would it?" asked the Senora, hesitatingly, as if thething were evenly balanced in her mind. "The Father has not that holdon the younger men he used to have, and I have thought that even inJuan himself I have detected a remissness. The spirit of unbelief isspreading in the country since the Americans are running up and downeverywhere seeking money, like dogs with their noses to the ground! Itmight vex Juan if he knew that you were waiting only for the Father.What do you think?"

  "I think it is enough for him to know that the sheep-shearing waits formy pleasure," answered Felipe, still wrathful, "and that is the end ofit." And so it was; and, moreover, precisely the end which Senora Morenohad had in her own mind from the beginning; but not even Juan Canitohimself suspected its being solely her purpose, and not her son's. Asfor Felipe, if any person had suggested to him that it was his mother,and not he, who had decided that the sheep-shearing would be betterdeferred until the arrival of Father Salvierderra from Santa Barbara,and that nothing should be said on the ranch about this being the realreason of the postponing, Felipe would have stared in astonishment, andhave thought that person either crazy or a fool.

  To attain one's ends in this way is the consummate triumph of art. Neverto appear as a factor in the situation to be able to wield other men,as instruments, with the same direct and implicit response to will thatone gets from a hand or a foot,--this is to triumph, indeed: to be asnearly controller and conqueror of Fates as fate permits. There havebeen men prominent in the world's affairs at one time and another, whohave sought and studied such a power and have acquired it to agreat degree. By it they have manipulated legislators, ambassadors,sovereigns; and have grasped, held, and played with the destiniesof empires. But it is to be questioned whether even in these notableinstances there has ever been such marvellous completeness of successas is sometimes seen in the case of a woman in whom the power is aninstinct and not an attainment; a passion rather than a purpose.Between the two results, between the two processes, there is just thatdifference which is always to be seen between the stroke of talent andthe stroke of genius.

  Senora Moreno's was the stroke of genius.