Jessica, the Heiress

“What’s that, Aunt Sally? Is Antonio better?”

“Oh! bother Antonio. He’ll get well, of course. That kind always does. Of that I never had a misdoubt. The word is this, and I begin to think that old Fra Sebastian may be a real Christian, after all. He not only offers, but he says it must be this way: As soon as ‘top-lofty’ can be safely moved, he wants him to the sannytarium to his mission. Him and Ferd, the dwarf, likewise. He says them old Californys all belong to him, and he will look after them. Antonio is to be in the sanny-house, and Ferd is to be put into the mission school. Though he’s a man in years, he’s a child in learning–’cept evil. So Fra proposes to oust the evil if he can–I wager he’ll find he’s got a job–and put in good. He’ll make Antonio earn his keep a-writin’ up the books and accounts, for, with all his silliness, he’s a master hand at figurin’–for himself. So that settles them, and don’t you dast say no to the arrangement when it’s perposed to you, Gabriella Trent, or I’ll never let you hear the last of it. It’s the Lord’s own way of disposing things, and a better one than I could cipher out, if I do say it.”

Certainly Mrs. Trent had no objection to make to so comfortable a settlement of a perplexing question; and in due time the Bernals left Sobrante forever; and of their lives at the mission those whom they had known so long were henceforth to hear little, “and care less,” according to the satisfied ranchmen.

Mr. Cornell, the expert, came, inspected, reserved his opinion, and departed; but Ninian Sharp had gathered enough from the visitor’s few sentences, idly dropped, to feel quite convinced that the thing was worth carrying farther. So he, too, left Sobrante; but, after a brief sojourn in Los Angeles, reappeared, in company with Morris Hale and a trio of prospectors, representing much capital. All this was very exciting to the simple household; and Mrs. Trent, at least, felt infinite relief when, on the eve of Navidad, there were left in it only those two strangers, who had now become less strangers than familiar friends.

Gathered about the fireside, which the first of the rainy nights made doubly enticing, the New York lawyer discussed at length the decision which the prospectors had made. They considered the mine well worth working. “In fact, I have reason to believe it will turn out one of the richest in the whole country. They are willing to advance all money needed upon certain conditions,” and he named them.

These seemed extremely liberal and just to both sides, but Mrs. Trent did not greatly surprise her listeners when she quietly interposed a clause to the effect that:

“My husband believed in profit-sharing. It was his ambition to put Sobrante and its various interests into such an operation. I want all our ‘boys’ to enjoy the benefits of that which God has given us. They will contribute their labor and share in its results; share richly if I can have my will.”

“Your will is doubtless law, madam,” answered Mr. Hale, courteously.

“And if the mine is worked, I want our dear friend, Ninian Sharp, to come here and act as its manager, on behalf of the Sobrante side. He”–she raised her hand gently, as he started to interrupt–“he must be paid a much larger salary than he could earn upon the staff of the Lancet, and would have, I hope, sufficient leisure time to use his pen in other literary work, such as he tells me he has never had the chance to do.”

For the first time in his life, maybe, the alert reporter was taken off guard, and hadn’t a word to say, except the very ordinary one of “Thank you”; but he said it, bending over the lady’s hand, and with such an expression of delight upon his thin, intellectual face, that no greater eloquence was needed.

“And now,” said Aunt Sally, “it’s time to begin that there decorating which Gabriell’ thinks is a part of Christmas. Pasqually’s been real good. He’s been up to the dreen, where you planted them calla lilies, Jessie, and he’s fetched a good many bushels. Seven hundred, I guess he said. And he’s cut poinsetty enough to turn us blind with its redness; and my boy, John, hitched up and went along under the flume and druv his pushcart back full of the biggest maidenhair ferns and sweet brakes I ever see. So now, youngsters, set to and trim. Then we’ll hang up our stockings, every one; and I’ll give you the nicest Christmas dinner can be cooked, if I have to cuff Wun Lungy into basting them turkeys as they ought to be basted. Come, Neddy; come, little Echo; I saw Santy Claus’ wife–that’s me, shove a pan full of gingerbread men into the wall oven, and if they’re done, I’ll give each of you a soldier of dough to drive you to bed. Stockings first? Of course, of course. Why, what would Christmas be without its stockings? Here’s a brand-new pair auntie’s knit for you, one a piece; and if you don’t find ’em stuffed with rods in the morning, it won’t be because you don’t deserve it, you precious, precious, naughty little lambs!”

Off went the good creature, a boy on either arm, her patchwork streaming behind her, her spectacles on the top of her head, and her ruddy countenance as beaming as if she were, indeed, that mythical person–Santa Claus’ wife.

Oh! what a Christmas followed! With everybody from far and near who had any claim upon Sobrante hastening thither to share its open hospitalities; Wolfgang and Elsa, with their “little” six-foot son; the genial McLeods, Dr. Kimball and his sweet-faced invalid sister, Louise, for whose benefit he had left their fine Boston home to live in this lonely, lovely southland. These, and many more, not only came, but did such justice to Mrs. Benton’s and Wan Lung’s cookery that, as she said, next morning:

“Land suz! There ain’t scraps enough left to make a decent soup, even! But never mind, we had a royal time, every single soul of us. Christmas is over, and I’m glad it’s so well over. Now, we can settle down and rest a spell.”

Indeed, there was rest for the household itself, but for Ninian Sharp and his coadjutors. The mining scheme was rapidly put into practical operation; Mr. Hale lingering all that winter to further its interests, and to enjoy what he had coveted early in his acquaintance with it, a few months of ranch life at ideal Sobrante.

Then came the glorious springtime, when the mesa was alive with flowers; the canyon was fragrant with perfume, and the whole countryside became an earthly paradise. The springtime, when the Easterner could no longer delay his homeward trip, nor Mrs. Trent the revelation of what her New York letters had contained, though Jessica had almost forgotten them.

One week before the lawyer was to leave them, mother and child sat, hand in hand, beside the father’s grave, whither the widow had purposely withdrawn, as if the precious dust within might still support and counsel her. Taking the little captain’s hand in hers, and speaking as calmly as if her heart were not desperately sad, she said:

“My darling, when Mr. Hale goes home to New York you will go with him.”

“Mother! Oh! Why?”

“Because it is right. My Cousin Margaret, whose letters you have seen me read, sometimes with ungrateful tears, offers you a home and an education. She was a mother to me in my youth, and I owe her much. Now that she is old and desolate, she begs for you. It may be that I should still have declined to please her at so much pain to–us, but the discovery of this copper mine of ours, and the fact that you will one day be one of America’s richest daughters, forces me to comply.”

“But, why, mother? Why should that matter? I’d rather give it up. Say no! Oh, please, say no!”

“I cannot now. I dare not. Upon your dear shoulders will rest a great trust and responsibility. You must be fitted to discharge that trust by the best education possible. This education you cannot gain here. You must seek it elsewhere. We must not make it harder for each other, this bitter parting, but we must bear it bravely for–father’s sake.”

Thus ended Jessica’s early childhood; and of what befell her in that widely different life at school it must be left to another volume to relate.

notes

1

Little one.

2

Christmas box or gift.