The Angel of the Gila: A Tale of Arizona

by Cora Marsland

  CHAPTER XII

  CHRISTMAS DAY

  It was Christmas morning, early. Not a leaf was stirring. Thestillness seemed aware. The sun rose in solemn majesty, heralded byscarlet runners of the sky. Just as it burst forth from behind thesleeping mountains, a splendor of coloring beyond the power of man todescribe flooded the earth and the covering dome of the heavens. Thenthe snowy mountain peaks, grim sentinels of the ages, grew royal incrimson and gold. And the far-stretching valley, where the soft grayof dead gramma grass was relieved by the yellowish tint of desertsoil, took on the glory of the morning. From zenith to horizon, thecrystal clearness seemed for one supreme moment ashine with siftedgold. But, as if to protect the eyes of man from the too greatsplendor of this anniversary of Christ's natal day, a faint purpleveil of haze dropped over the distant mountains. The waters of theGila caught the glory of the morning, and became molten gold.

  When the Gilaites awakened, the gladness of the morning was upon them;and men and women remembered, some of them for the first time inyears, that it was Christmas day, and went about with "MerryChristmas" on their lips.

  To the children of Gila, the day that had heretofore been as all otherdays, now took on new meaning. They had come to associate it with awonderful personality they were learning to know through theirteacher. Christ's birthday she had called Christmas day, Christ theirelder brother, Christ the lover of children.

  They had seen the splendor of the morning. What wonder that some ofthem were touched with a feeling of awe?

  For the first time in the history of Gila, Christmas day was to beobserved, and every child had come to feel a personal interest in thecelebration.

  The preparations for the evening exercises to be held in theschoolhouse had all been so new, so mysteriously interesting!Expectation ran high. Word had spread to the burro camps on themountains, and to the Mexicans tending the charcoal pits up thecanyon. Rumors had reached other camps also, miles away.

  The Mexicans, as was their custom, had prepared immense bonfires onthe mountains and foothills for firing Christmas night. But hearing ofthe approaching entertainment at the schoolhouse, they caught thespirit of the hour and outdid themselves.

  The saguaro, or giant cactus, sometimes called the sentinel of thedesert, is one of the most interesting varieties of the cactus family.Sometimes it grows in the form of a fluted column, many times reachinga height of sixty feet. Often at a distance of perhaps thirty feetfrom the ground, this cactus throws out fleshy arms at right angles,which, after a short distance, shoot upward in columns parallel to themain column, giving the cactus the appearance of a giant candelabrum.The saguaro has a skeleton of woody ribs bound together by tough,woody fibers. In the living cactus, this framework is filled andcovered with green pulp; but when the cactus dies, the pulp dries andis blown away. The ribs are covered with quantities of resinous thornsthat burn like pitch. The dead saguaro, therefore, when set on fire,becomes a most effective bonfire, having frequently been used by theIndians, in early days, as a signal fire.

  On this special occasion, the Mexicans had found several of these deadsentinels of the desert so nearly in the shape of a Roman cross that afew blows from an ax made them perfectly so. When lighted Christmasnight, the burning crosses on the mountains loomed up against the sky,no longer symbols of triumphant hate, but of triumphant love.

  Early that day, what the Mexicans had done began to be noised abroad;and with every bulletin that passed from mouth to mouth, interest inthe approaching service at the schoolhouse deepened. It looked asthough the room could not hold all who would come.

  The young folk had been generous helpers, and had decorated the placewith spruce, pine, cedar and mistletoe. The air was heavy with spicyfragrance. Around the room were huge altar candles in improvisedcandlesticks of wood. Across one end of the room, was stretched alarge sheet of white cotton cloth.

  For many a day, John Clayton, Kenneth Hastings and Esther Bright hadformed a mysterious triumvirate. The two men had been seen bringingpackages from the distant station. What it might mean became anabsorbing topic of conversation. One thing was certain, Gila wasalive.

  On Christmas morning, these three, accompanied by Mrs. Carmichael, metat the schoolhouse to make their final preparations. The beautifulsilver spruce, selected for the Christmas tree, stood out from thedark greenery of the room. It was a beautiful tree, exquisite incolor, perfect in symmetry, spicy in fragrance. They decorated thiswith ornaments, then began to hang gifts on its branches. At one sideof the tree, Esther stacked small pasteboard boxes close and high.What these contained, only she herself knew; and she preserved amysteriously interesting silence.

  As the four busied themselves at their happy task, Mrs. Carmichaelsuddenly uncovered a huge basket she, thus far, had managed toconceal. She looked a culprit as she said:

  "An' whaur would ye be wishin' the cookies put?"

  "Cookies!" they all exclaimed, with one accord, "Cookies!"

  Esther sampled one.

  "They're just as good as they look!" she said. "What a lot of them!How did you come to think of it? How good of you!"

  "It was Donald. He telt me aboot y'r birthday cakes for the wains. SoI thocht bein's it was the Maister's birthday, each should hae abirthday cake. A makit one hundred."

  "One hundred!" Kenneth whistled. "You know how to find the way tomen's hearts," he laughed. "But you found your way to mine long ago."

  "Fie, fie," she said smiling. "I ken ye weel."

  When their preparations were completed, they looked about with an airof satisfaction. It was evident the spirit of Christmas had takenpossession of them. Such kindness! Such good will!

  Jack Harding was the last to leave the room. Before he closed andlocked the door, he deposited some packages in an obscure corner.

  An hour before the time for the entertainment, the little adobeschoolhouse was surrounded by people, and they continued to come evenafter the teacher, accompanied by the Claytons, opened the door. Soonevery seat was filled; then, all standing space. Then the windows werecrowded with faces. Still there were as many more outside who couldnot hope to see, but might possibly hear.

  Those fortunate enough to enter the room sniffed the fragrance ofcedar and spruce. The burning mesquite wood in the fireplace snappedand crackled, and the soft light from the huge candles idealized thebeauty of the tree and the woodsy decorations of the room. And therewas the teacher also, _their_ teacher (for did she not belong tothem?) young, lovely, doing all this for them! They noted every detailof her simple gray toilet, even to the soft lace at her throat. Therewas something exquisite about her that night as she stood before themin the yellow candle-light. Her face was luminous. Kenneth Hastingsobserved it, and said in a low tone to his friend John Clayton, "SeeMiss Bright's face! I never saw anything more lovely. The spirit ofChristmas is in it."

  John Clayton placed his hand on his friend's shoulder as he responded,"Yes. It's all due to her beautiful, generous soul."

  After several Christmas carols were sung, he told them Miss Brightwould now address them. There was an approving murmur.

  Then she told them the old, old story, dearest story of childhood, ofthe little child in the khan at Bethlehem, of the star, of the song ofthe angels, the coming of the shepherds, and the search by the WiseMen, as they came with their rich gifts of gold and frankincense andmyrrh, to lay them at the Christ-child's feet. She told the storybriefly and simply.

  Among those who listened there that night were Mexicans andhalf-breed Indians, Englishmen, Irishmen, Scotchmen and Americans.There were Catholics and Protestants, Mormons, and men of no faithwhatever. There were four university-bred men; there were also men andwomen of deepest ignorance; and there were many others between theseextremes.

  While the voice of the teacher still held their attention, JohnHarding and Kenneth Hastings put out the lights, and picture afterpicture, illustrating the early life of Christ (all copies of famouspaintings), flashed upon the white screen. There were exclamations ofapproval such as
these:

  "Did yez iver now?"

  "The Holy Mother! Bless her!"

  "Oh!--Oh!--Oh!" in faint whispers.

  When Murillo's "Holy Family" appeared, there was a hush. As itdisappeared, some one asked for it again. After complying with thisrequest, the candles were relighted, and the distribution of giftsbegan. There was a subdued hum of interest. These men and women,throwing aside care and toil for an hour, were as pleased as children.

  As gifts were passed, many began to realize what the extra meetings atthe schoolhouse had meant. The children had been making things, andhad made them well. They had been engaged in manual training, thoughthe teacher had not called it that. She was in advance of the age, andwas doing practical work in manual training years before thepedagogues of the land had wakened to the necessity of training thehand.

  The Gila children had made gingham aprons for mothers and sisters;they had crocheted lace and mats; they had made articles for domesticuse, and so on.

  When a new blouse waist and a pair of suspenders were given toWathemah, his delight knew no bounds. Kenneth and Jack Harding stoodwatching him. The child was a favorite with both.

  "Do you like your waist, little chap?" asked Kenneth.

  "Yes!--Me!--Pretty!" said the child, patting and smoothing his waistas if it were an object of affection. Then he held his suspenders upfor his two friends to see.

  "Do you like 'em, sonny?" asked Jack Harding.

  "Mine! Mine!--S'penders!--Wathemah's s'penders!"

  The grown-ups smiled. The day had unlocked many a heart long barredand bolted against human sympathy.

  "Two dolls, one for Nora and one for Kathleen Murphy," called out thesuperintendent.

  "Did yez iver?" said Patrick, smiling with good humor, from the crownof his bristly head to the extremity of his bristly chin.

  Gifts were passed to right and left. It seemed wonderful so manyshould be remembered. Some received their gifts with undisguisedpleasure,--pleasure so out of proportion to the intrinsic value of thegifts, it was pathetic. Esther felt her eyes brimming. More than onesaid to her that night that it was the first time he or she had everreceived a Christmas present.

  As yet Brigham had received no gifts, but he sat by Wathemah,apparently enjoying what his friend had received as though it had beenhis own. But when his turn came, and his Beloved brought him threebooks about animals, he seemed embarrassed, and stammered out:

  "For me? All thim for me?"

  The teacher stood smiling.

  "Yes, for you, dear."

  In a short time he and Wathemah, with heads close together, were lostin one of these books.

  Esther watched them from time to time. It was evident to every one inGila, that Brigham and Wathemah were very intimate friends of theirteacher's. Brigham had confided to Kenneth that he was "intimater withher nor anybody else, 'cause she loved him, an' he loved her best ofanybody in the world." He had likewise confided to Kenneth his greatdesire to have some animal books, as he called them. And Kenneth hadseen to it that he should not be disappointed.

  Suddenly, to her surprise, Esther Bright was presented with a newchair, and was asked to be seated in it. The excitement of thechildren rose. This, to them, was the important moment of the evening.

  As one homely little gift after another was presented to her,--all thework of children's hands, she spoke homely, loving words out of herheart. Several coat sleeves were put to a new use, and some cleangingham aprons actually found their way to women's cheeks. Aloving-hearted woman had entered their lives and found them worthwhile. What wonder that she became to them, more than ever, what theyhad called her at first in ridicule, but later in respect andaffection and reverence,--the angel of the Gila?

  When Esther Bright's lap was full of gifts, she tried to express whatshe felt. Her words had vanished, and happy tears had taken theirplace.

  After her unsuccessful effort to speak, Wathemah, who could hardlycomprehend her tears, ran to her, and began to wipe them away with asleeve of his new waist. She slipped her arm about him and drew him toher. He looked up questioningly.

  "It's all right, Wathemah," she said, smiling. "I was so happy Icouldn't help crying."

  "Now," said the superintendent, "you are each to receive from MissBright a Bible, a box of candy and a Christmas card; and from Mrs.Carmichael, some delicious Christmas cookies. Here, boys," he said,beckoning to some of them, "pass these, will you?"

  Esther Bright herself took a large panful of cookies to the peopleoutside of the schoolhouse. As she approached a Mexican, she sawstanding by him his wife, a blanket Indian, and on her back, apappoose. As she passed the cakes to them, the squaw reached down andgrabbed two handfuls of them, devouring them ravenously.

  Esther patted the child, and smiled into the squaw's face, which shecould see distinctly in the light that streamed from the window.

  "Pappoose?" she said to the Indian.

  But there was no answering smile in the squaw's eyes. The "emptinessof ages" was in her face. It was a face Esther was to see again undervery different circumstances; but no premonition warned her of thefiery ordeal through which she would be called to pass.

  Finally the multitude was fed. The boisterous laughter and the loudtalk, within, seemed strangely out of harmony with the solemnstillness of the night. The moon sent a flood of silvery light overthe scene before her; and, everywhere, the Christmas fires, built bythe Mexicans, were leaping skyward. Esther stood watching; for onfar away mountains and near by foothills, the sentinels of the deserthad become gigantic burning crosses. She had heard that these were tobe a unique feature of the Christmas celebration, but she was notprepared for the exceeding beauty of it all. The burning cross caughther fancy. Suddenly, she became aware of the presence of KennethHastings.

  "Wonderfully beautiful,--the scene,--isn't it?" she said, withoutturning. "I think I have never seen anything more impressive."

  "Yes, beautiful. These Catholic Mexicans have a religious feeling thatfinds expression in splendor. Does the burning cross have anysignificance to you?"

  "Yes," she answered, speaking slowly, as she looked toward one ofthem; "the cross, once a symbol of ignominy; but now become, like theflaming cross on the mountains, a symbol of light."

  "Miss Bright," said John Clayton, from the doorway, "you are askedfor."

  As she entered the room, Patrick Murphy stepped forward. He raised hishand for attention. After several gibes from the men, and wittyretorts on his part, the company quieted down again.

  "Ladies an' gintlemin," he said, flourishing his empty pipe, as hemade an elaborate gesture, "it's mesilf as feels as we have wid us afoine Christian lady. Ez Oi watched the picters av the Holy Mitherthis avenin', Oi sez ter mesilf, sez Oi, our teacher (the saints blissher!) is as lovin' ter the children av this school, as is the blissidVirgin ter the child in thim picters. Oi sez ter mesilf, this lady isas good a Catholic as Oi wish ter see. An' she learns 'em all ter giton. Oi'll sind ivery child o' mine ter day school an' Bible school. Oihope yez'll all do the same."

  Mrs. Murphy's face was a suppressed thunder-storm; but Patrick wasoblivious of this as he talked on.

  "This was a godless region. Miss Bright come like a angel ter tell usav our sins. Oi belave the Lord sint her.

  "See what she done fur us! Her nate little talk ter us, the pictersan' her prisints. All who wish ter thank our koind frind, join wid mein three cheers fur Miss Bright!"

  Then cheer on cheer rose from the people.

  As Patrick took his seat, John Clayton rose.

  "Now," said he, "three cheers for our good friend, Mrs. Carmichael,who made the Christmas cookies."

  Again the hearty cheers echoed on the still night air.

  But Mrs. Carmichael raised a protesting hand. She didn't deserve sucha compliment, she said.

  Then the guests went their various ways. John Harding covered theembers of the fire and took from his teacher's hands whatever she hadto carry, going directly to the Clayton home. She and Kenneth Hastingswere the
last to leave. Outside the door, they stood for a moment,watching the moonlit scene. In the distance, they heard a man's richvoice singing, "In the Cross of Christ I glory." They listened. Thenthey walked on in silence for some moments, the gaze of each fixedupon a colossal burning cross through whose yellow flames violet, andgreen, and red, and blue leaped and died away, then leaped again.

  "The cross!" he said at last. "How it has gone in the van ofcivilization!"

  She stopped and laid her hand on his arm. He, too, stopped and lookedquestioningly into her lifted face, which he could see but dimly.

  "The world for Christ!" she said, deeply moved. "It will surely be!Followers of the wonderful Nazarene, filled and actuated by His spiritof brotherhood, are reaching the uttermost parts of the earth. Weshall live to see the awakening of nations. We shall live to seestrong men and women enlisted on the side of Christ to bring rightand justice and purity into life, God into men's lives."

  Again silence.

  "I know nothing of God," he responded, "save as I see power manifestedin the physical world. I have read the Bible so little. I am notintimately familiar with the life and words of Jesus. Before meetingyou, I had always thought of religion with more or less contempt. Iconfess my ignorance. But I am learning to know _you_. What you areand what you do convince me there is something in your religion I havenot found. I am as untaught in spiritual truth as a babe. But now Iwant to learn."

  "I am glad you do. Will you study your Bible?"

  He did not tell her he had no Bible, but he promised to study one.

  "Will you pray too?" she asked, with a little choke in her voice.

  "Would you have me read the prayers of the church?"

  "No; the prayer of your own heart."

  Then the man became rash.

  "The prayer of my heart?" he repeated, with evident emotion. "Theprayer of my heart? That prayer is that I may win your love, and yourhand in marriage. That is my religion; you, I worship."

  "Don't! Don't!" she said, withdrawing her hand from his arm. "Don't;that seems blasphemous."

  "If you could only love me, I might begin to comprehend what you tellus of the love of God. I love _you_. That I _know_, I understand. Youare the embodiment of all I hold sweet and dear. Can't you loveme--sometime?"

  "I do not know," she responded. "What I _do_ know surely is that I donot love you now. I believe that love of the deep and abiding kinddoes not fall at man's feet as manna, nor does it grow like a mushroomin a night. It takes time for the mighty, resistless forces of natureto develop a single blade of grass. So love, I take it, must have timeto grow."

  "Then I may hope to win your love?" he said eagerly.

  "Oh, no; don't think of love. You have my friendship; let us not spoilthe friendship by dreaming of a love that I cannot give you."

  "Do you believe," he asked, "that you will never love any other man?"

  "I believe if such love ever grows in my heart, I shall walk in gloryall my days. It is a sacred thing, and I could never speak of itlightly, as many do."

  "Good night," he said, "and God bless you."

  They had reached the Clayton home. The door closed, and Kenneth wasalone. He turned; and before him, on the foothills, flamed the burningcross.