I asked Uncle Frank about his law practice in Los Angeles, but he just said that his partner could take it over, and that he thought he was needed at Las Palmeras. I really think that is rather strange, since I’m sure I know a great deal more about ranching than he does. Besides, Grandpa has Mr. García, who is the best foreman in the county. However, I’m terribly glad they are staying, whatever the reason. Uncle Frank is so nice, and I adore little Donie. I haven’t gotten to know Aunt Lily very well yet, but I’m sure I will now. I would like very much to be like her. She is so beautiful and poised, and dresses nicer than anyone I know.
Aunt Lily says it’s no wonder I haven’t very good judgment about clothes since I’ve had no one but María for so many years. She says Grandpa should have gotten a good governess for me a long time ago. I’m sure it would have been good for me, but then I wouldn’t have been able to go to the academy in Santa Luisa, and I’ve always liked it there so much. I think it would be lonely to study at home.
Besides, María would hate having someone else take care of me; she’s been my nurse so many years. I can imagine how she would quarrel with a governess. I tried to explain about María to Aunt Lily, but she only said a young lady of fifteen is far too old to have a nurse and that María should have been sent back to her people years ago.
B.B.
P.S. It’s wonderful that there will be so many McCurdys living at Palmeras House again. For so many years there has been only Grandpa and I.
January 4:
I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve already been negligent about keeping my journal faithfully, but yesterday was so busy that there just didn’t seem to be a moment to devote to it. In the morning I rode out to El Pasto with Uncle Frank. He wanted to look over the stock and have things explained to him. He says he’s forgotten so much of his Spanish that he has trouble understanding Mr. García.
It was a very enjoyable morning, and Uncle Frank was interested in everything. I’m afraid, however, that he became tired and stiff before the expedition was over. He explained that he hasn’t been doing much riding recently.
Grandpa says that Francisco never did like to ride, not even as a boy. It seems strange that brothers can be so different. Everyone says that Terrence, my father, was the best horseman in the county.
Yesterday afternoon the doctor came again to see Grandpa. I do wish he would get well. He’s never been sick so long before.
The spring term began today. Uncle Frank is having Tomás drive me to school in the carriage. It makes me feel quite grand and rather silly. I’d really much prefer riding Conchita or going in the wagon with Juan and Catalina.
Mr. Fitzgerald says I’m doing better in Latin grammar. Grandpa will be glad to hear that.
Bonita
January 5:
Today a freight wagon came from the railroad station with Aunt Lily’s furniture. So now there is no doubt that they are going to stay at Las Palmeras. Aunt Lily’s things are much newer and more fashionable than our furniture, so she is moving most of the old things up to the second floor and furnishing the parlor and reception room with her things. It looks very elegant but rather strange.
I had such a pleasant time with Donie today after school. I put him up on Conchita and led him about the patio. He loved it and wasn’t a bit afraid. I think he is going to be a wonderful horseman like Grandpa and my father. He cried when Aunt Lily had me take him off, so to cheer him up I took him for a long walk out past the gardener’s cottage to the foothills. The grass is getting tall already, and we played hide and seek in it. He is such a darling baby. Except for Grandpa, I love him more than anybody in the world.
B.B.
January 10:
I’ve been neglecting my diary again. I’m afraid I’ll never be as organized as Aunt Lily is. But this time it really was unavoidable, at least in part, because I was away.
On Friday I went home from the Academy with Mary and spent the weekend at Rancho Venado. I had a wonderful time. There’s always something exciting going on at the Ortegas’, and if there isn’t, Mary is sure to invent something. At present she is helping the foreman’s daughter plan her elopement. Juana is in love with José Luna from the Blakesly Ranch, and her father doesn’t approve. So Mary has planned how they are to elope. It’s to happen next Sunday when Juana is on her way to church. We spent all weekend making maps and carrying messages. It was very exciting.
I came home this morning. Grandpa seems to be a little better. I read to him for a little while, and he seemed to enjoy it.
It rained all afternoon so I spent the time reading. Mary lent me a new novel that I’ve been eager to read. I think the reading nook in our library is a perfect spot to spend a rainy day. I’ve spent so many happy hours there.
B.B.
(Robin read that paragraph over several times. It made a funny little tingle go up the back of her neck. “I’ve spent so many happy hours there,” the diary said. Robin could almost believe that if she turned quickly, Bonita would be there, curled up on the red cushions. Somehow, it wasn’t a frightening thought. As Robin turned her head, she realized that she was hoping—but the pillows were bare. She went on to the next page.)
January 12:
Father Chadworth came to call today. He went up and talked to Grandpa. When he came down, he said something to me about trusting in God and being brave. I don’t know what he meant, but it seems as if he thinks Grandpa isn’t going to get better. He must be wrong. Grandpa has had these sick spells before, and he always gets well. And the doctor told me, just the other day, that he was improving.
I’ve been worried about María lately, too. She has been unhappy and cross. She has taken a dislike to Aunt Lily and refuses to do anything Aunt Lily tells her to do. I don’t blame Aunt Lily for being angry, because she’s used to ordinary servants. She doesn’t understand about María’s being my father’s nurse years ago and mine since I was born, and being just like a part of the family.
I’m so afraid that María overheard something that Aunt Lily said to me the other day. When we were talking about a governess, Aunt Lily said it was ridiculous to leave the upbringing of a young lady to an old Mexican woman who couldn’t even read and write. María is very sensitive about such things, and I’m sure she will find it hard to forgive Aunt Lily if she did overhear. Besides, it really wasn’t quite fair, because María can read a little bit, in Spanish.
Bonita
January 13:
It rained again today.
Aunt Lily is having the dining room papered. She says paper is very fashionable in Los Angeles now.
I read to Grandpa this afternoon. He doesn’t seem to be much better. I’m so worried about him.
Bonita
January 16:
Still raining.
Juana’s elopement is on, at least for now. It was raining so hard on Sunday that her father wouldn’t let her go to church.
Grandpa still very sick.
January 20:
The doctor was here again this morning. Grandpa is worse.
The next page of the diary was blank except for a few words written in a shaky, uncontrolled hand. The ink was so blurred and smeared that Robin had to hold it up to the light to make out the words.
February 5:
Donovan Patrick McCurdy age 68 died February 3, 1890, at Las Palmeras.
The diary ended there. The rest of the pages in the little book were blank. Robin sat staring at the crumpled blurry page for a long time. Then she climbed the ladder, replaced the diary on the top shelf, and ran from the room.
Even though she ran all the way, she was a little bit late getting back to the Village. She had promised to be back by eleven, because the family was going on a shopping trip to Santa Luisa. The Model T was finally repaired, and Dad had gotten the afternoon off. It would be the family’s first trip into town since they had come to Las Palmeras. Until now, Dad had been borrowing rides when he had to go in for groceries.
When Robin reached home, Theda was already w
aiting in the car. Theda loved to go shopping, even when there wasn’t much money to spend. She could window-shop happily by the hour, or use up half a day deciding how to spend a quarter. When Theda saw Robin, she said, “Well, so you finally made it, after all. I don’t see why you like to spend so much time at that old lady’s house. What do you do over there anyway?”
The rest of the family was straggling out of the cabin. Robin ignored Theda’s question. “I’ve got to get my shoes,” she said. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She didn’t want to get into a conversation. There was too much to think about. All the way into town, while Cary read the billboards at the top of his lungs and Shirley cried because she’d left her doll at home, Robin’s mind was full of the faded flowery phrases of the diary. What happened then? she kept wondering. What happened to Bonita after her grandfather died?
“La Fantasma de Las Palmeras”
EVEN BEFORE ROBIN FOUND the diary, she was intrigued by the story Gwen told her about the girl who had disappeared so mysteriously. But afterwards it was more than that. It was almost as if Bonita were someone she knew very well and was very close to.
Almost every day when she got to the Velvet Room, Robin took down the diary and read parts of it over again. She spent many minutes peering into the glass case at the tiny portrait. She was sure now that it must be Bonita. In her imagination, she lived the events in the diary as Bonita must have lived them and pictured how all the people looked: Maria, Aunt Lily, Uncle Francisco, the adventuresome Mary, and the baby Donie, who must have grown up to be Gwen’s father, Donovan McCurdy the Second.
At first Robin wondered about Bonita’s disappearance, but after a while she didn’t anymore. It just didn’t seem possible that anything had happened to her at all. Without thinking about it very much, Robin developed a rather vague theory that Bonita must have left for reasons of her own; probably an elopement with a nobleman from another country; or perhaps she ran away to become an actress—and under a fictitious name had become rich and famous.
On Thursday of the last week before pitting season Robin went to Bridget’s as usual and staked Betty out, before going on to Palmeras House. It was a beautiful morning, sunny and warm but with a cool, fresh breeze. In the Velvet Room she did the usual things. She dusted the furniture, looked through a few books, and then just strolled around, thinking and imagining. She drifted into the alcove, knelt on the cushions, and looked out.
The shiny leaves of the orange trees moved and glittered in the sun. It took a strong breeze to move the stiff compact trees that much, but not a rattle or a creak or even a sigh of wind could be heard inside the stone walls of the tower. It occurred to Robin that it would be nice to be there during a real storm, when there was wind and rain and thunder and lightning; how nice to watch the crazy violence of a storm calmly, as if from another world—a safe strong world beyond the reach of wind and rain and everything.
A little later, Robin started home. She went downstairs the usual way and was just closing the double doors that led into the adobe wing, when suddenly she heard something. It came from no particular direction, and yet from everywhere—a faint, faraway wailing, like a distant voice singing a sad song. At times it died away, only to return a moment later.
It must have been close to a minute that Robin stood there as if paralyzed. Her tongue felt dry and heavy, and the skin on the back of her neck prickled. But time went by and nothing happened. The wailing voice rose and fell, but it seemed to get no closer and no farther away. Her fingers were stiff when she finally loosened them from the door knob and forced herself to tiptoe on across the room.
When Robin climbed out of the well a few minutes later, her heartbeat was still echoing in her stomach like the thudding of a bass drum. Her hands were shaking so much she could scarcely fasten the padlock. She needed help. There were some questions she just had to ask before she went back to Palmeras House. Almost without thinking, she hurried towards Bridget’s cottage, trying to compose herself enough to think of a diplomatic way to bring the subject up.
But she didn’t need to say anything. Her face said all that was necessary. As Bridget opened the cottage door, she gasped. “My goodness, child! What happened? You’re as white as a sheet.”
Robin opened her mouth, but to her surprise nothing came out but a little squeak. “Ghost,” it said. “Ghost in Palmeras House.”
Taking Robin’s arm, Bridget led her to a chair. “Sit down,” she said. “Lean forward, and put your head down. You look as if you’re going to faint. Now just sit still, and I’ll get you something.”
Robin did as she was told. She had never fainted in her life, and it seemed as if it might be an interesting thing to do; but as soon as she put her head down, she began to feel quite normal. In a moment Bridget was back with a cup of very sweet tea.
“Now sip that slowly,” she said, “and when you have your breath back, tell me all about it.”
After several swallows Robin was ready to begin. “I heard the ghost,” she said. “La Fantasma de Las Palmeras. I was just leaving the house and I heard it. It was like moaning or crying all around me. It scared me about to death.”
Bridget looked distressed. “I should have thought to warn you about that,” she said. “But it doesn’t happen very often, and it didn’t occur to me that you might be there when it did. It’s really nothing dangerous at all. Some years ago the tile roof of the adobe section of the house had to be replaced, and, since that time, whenever there is a strong wind from the ocean, it whistles across the openings in the tiles: like blowing across the neck of a bottle. But it has to be a strong wind and from just the right direction, so it happens very seldom, especially in the summer. But if you’ve known about La Fantasma all along, you were very brave to go in there all by yourself every day.”
“Well, I’d heard about it,” Robin said. “Gwen told me about the ghost once, and the kids in the Village talk about it a lot. I just never believed in it. I guess I just couldn’t believe anything bad about Palmeras House.”
“I wonder why Gwen didn’t tell you about the real cause of the sounds,” Bridget said. “I know she knows, because we used to talk about it. What did she tell you exactly?”
“I guess she just left that out to make it a more exciting story,” Robin said. “I mean, a ghost is more interesting than some noisy tiles. She just told me that people thought the house was haunted, and all about Bonita, the girl who disappeared a long time ago when Mr. McCurdy was a baby. Do you know about that?”
“Oh, yes,” Bridget said. “Anyone who’s been around Las Palmeras very long hears about that.”
A new thought had just occurred to Robin. “I wonder why they thought the wind noise was the ghost of Bonita?” Robin asked. “I mean, other people died at Las Palmeras. Why couldn’t it have been someone else’s ghost?”
“Well, as I understand it,” Bridget said, “it was due to a number of circumstances. After Bonita disappeared there were all sorts of strange rumors. Even though the police were sure she had drowned, there were people who believed that Bonita’s own aunt and uncle might have had something to do with her disappearance. You see, Bonita’s grandfather had just died, and to everyone’s surprise he had left most of Las Palmeras to Bonita. So there seemed to be a motive.”
“Oh-h-h,” Robin said, “do you think they really might have done something to her, her own aunt and uncle?”
“Oh no. But it made things look rather bad. And then when the roof started wailing, the ghost story spread like wildfire. It didn’t take the McCurdys long to discover what it really was; but in a case like that, there are people who aren’t much interested in the truth. I guess the family tried hard to stop the rumors for a while, but no one worries much about them any more. In fact, the present Mr. McCurdy told me that he doesn’t try to tell people that there isn’t a ghost. Since Palmeras House is standing empty, he thinks it’s just as well if some people are afraid of it. Otherwise there might be prowlers.”
“Gwen said an ol
d Mexican woman helped to spread the rumors,” Robin said. “I bet I know who it was. I bet it was María. She didn’t like Aunt Lily and Uncle Frank.”
Bridget looked startled. “Who told you ...? Where did you hear ...?”
“The diary,” Robin interrupted. “Don’t you know about the diary? It’s right there on a shelf in the Vel—the library, with all the other books.”
“Of course,” Bridget said, “of course it is. I just wasn’t thinking that you might have read it.”
“I read it all the time,” Robin said. “Oh—and Bridget—I’ve been wanting to ask someone. Do you know if the little oval-shaped picture in the glass cupboard is Bonita?”
Bridget’s answer came slowly. “Why, yes, I believe it is,” she said.
Robin clapped her hands delightedly. “I knew it!” she said. “It just had to be.”
Bridget only said, “Oh”; but her eyebrows made it into a question.
It was hard to explain just why she’d been so sure it was Bonita. “It’s just that I think about Bonita a lot. When I’m there, I sort of imagine about her. Sometimes I even pretend I’m Bonita. It’s like a game, I guess. And that’s the way she looks. Just exactly. I don’t think I could imagine her any other way.”
That night Robin sat on the steps of the cabin in the long June twilight, thinking. The rest of the family was in the house, except for Cary, who kept galloping through the yard carrying a broken lath and the lid of a garbage can. Once he stopped in mid-charge and yelled, “Hey, Robin! You’re the damsel in distress; I’m rescuing you.”
“Go away,” Robin said distantly. “I don’t want to be rescued.”
The Velvet Room Page 9