Ramona

by Helen Hunt Jackson

  XI

  WHEN the Senora bade Felipe good-night, she did not go to bed. Afterclosing her door, she sat down to think what should be done aboutRamona. It had been a hard task she had set herself, talking all theevening with Felipe without alluding to the topic uppermost in her mind.But Felipe was still nervous and irritable. She would not spoil hisnight's rest, she thought, by talking of disagreeable things. Moreover,she was not clear in her own mind what she wished to have done aboutAlessandro. If Ramona were to be sent away to the nuns, which was theonly thing the Senora could think of as yet, there would be no reasonfor discharging Alessandro. And with him the Senora was by no meansready to part, though in her first anger she had been ready to dismisshim on the spot. As she pursued her reflections, the whole situationcleared itself in her mind; so easily do affairs fall into line, in theplottings and plannings of an arbitrary person, who makes in his formulano allowance for a human element which he cannot control.

  Ramona should be sent in disgrace to the Sisters' School, to be aservant there for the rest of her life. The Senora would wash her handsof her forever. Even Father Salvierderra himself could not expecther any longer to keep such a shameless creature under her roof. Hersister's written instructions had provided for the possibility of justsuch a contingency. Going to a secret closet in the wall, behind alife-size statue of Saint Catharine, the Senora took out an iron box,battered and rusty with age, and set it on the bed. The key turned withdifficulty in the lock. It was many years since the Senora had openedthis box. No one but herself knew of its existence. There had been manytimes in the history of the Moreno house when the price of the contentsof that box would have averted loss and misfortune; but the Senora nomore thought of touching the treasure than if it had been guarded byangels with fiery swords. There they lay, brilliant and shining even inthe dim light of the one candle,--rubies, emeralds, pearls, and yellowdiamonds. The Senora's lip curled as she looked at them. "Fine dowry,truly, for a creature like this!" she said. "Well I knew in thebeginning no good would come of it; base begotten, base born, she hasbut carried out the instincts of her nature. I suppose I may be gratefulthat my own son was too pure to be her prey!" "To be given to my adopteddaughter, Ramona Ortegna, on her wedding day,"--so the instructionsran,--"if she weds worthily and with your approval. Should such amisfortune occur, which I do not anticipate, as that she should proveunworthy, then these jewels, and all I have left to her of value, shallbe the property of the Church."

  "No mention as to what I am to do with the girl herself if she provesunworthy," thought the Senora, bitterly; "but the Church is the placefor her; no other keeping will save her from the lowest depths ofdisgrace. I recollect my sister said that Angus had at first intended togive the infant to the Church. Would to God he had done so, or left itwith its Indian mother!" and the Senora rose, and paced the floor. Thepaper of her dead sister's handwriting fell at her feet. As she walked,her long skirt swept it rustling to and fro. She stooped, picked it up,read it again, with increasing bitterness. No softness at the memory ofher sister's love for the little child; no relenting. "Unworthy!" Yes,that was a mild word to apply to Ramona, now. It was all settled;and when the girl was once out of the house, the Senora would breatheeasier. She and Felipe would lead their lives together, and Felipe wouldwed some day. Was there a woman fair enough, good enough, for Felipe towed? But he must wed; and the place would be gay with children's voices,and Ramona would be forgotten.

  The Senora did not know how late it was. "I will tell her to-night," shesaid. "I will lose no time; and now she shall hear who her mother was!"

  It was a strange freak of just impulse in the Senora's angry soul, whichmade her suddenly remember that Ramona had had no supper, and led herto go to the kitchen, get a jug of milk and some bread, and take themto the room. Turning the key cautiously, that Felipe might not hear, sheopened the door and glided in. No voice greeted her; she held her candlehigh up; no Ramona in sight; the bed was empty. She glanced at thewindow. It was open. A terror seized the Senora; fresh anger also. "Shehas run off with Alessandro," she thought, "What horrible disgrace."Standing motionless, she heard a faint, regular breathing from the otherside of the bed. Hastily crossing the room, she saw a sight which hadmelted a heart that was only ice; but the Senora's was stone towardRamona. There lay Ramona on the floor, her head on a pillow at the feetof the big Madonna which stood in the corner. Her left hand was underher cheek, her right arm flung tight around the base of the statue. Shewas sound asleep. Her face was wet with tears. Her whole attitude wasfull of significance. Even helpless in sleep, she was one who had takenrefuge in sanctuary. This thought had been distinct in the girl's mindwhen she found herself, spite of all her woe and terror, growing sleepy."She won't dare to hurt me at the Virgin's feet," she had said; "andthe window is open. Felipe would hear if I called; and Alessandro willwatch." And with a prayer on her lips she fell asleep.

  It was Felipe's nearness more than the Madonna's, which saved her frombeing roused to hear her doom. The Senora stood for some momentslooking at her, and at the open window. With a hot rush of disgracefulsuspicions, she noted what she had never before thought of, thatAlessandro, through all his watching with Felipe, had had close accessto Ramona's window. "Shameful creature!" she repeated to herself. "Andshe can sleep! It is well she prayed, if the Virgin will hear such!" andshe turned away, first setting down the jug of milk and the bread on atable. Then, with a sudden and still more curious mingling of justnessin her wrath, she returned, and lifting the coverlet from the bed,spread it over Ramona, covering her carefully from head to foot. Thenshe went out and again locked the door.

  Felipe, from his bed, heard and divined all, but made no sound. "ThankGod, the poor child is asleep!" he said; "and my poor dear mother fearedto awake me by speaking to her! What will become of us all to-morrow!"And Felipe tossed and turned, and had barely fallen into an uneasysleep, when his mother's window opened, and she sang the first line ofthe sunrise hymn. Instantly Ramona joined, evidently awake and ready;and no sooner did the watching Alessandro hear the first note of hervoice, than he struck in; and Margarita, who had been up for an hour,prowling, listening, peering, wondering, her soul racked between herjealousy and her fears,--even Margarita delayed not to unite; andFelipe, too, sang feebly; and the volume of the song went up as roundedand melodious as if all hearts were at peace and in harmony, instead ofbeing all full of sorrow, confusion, or hatred. But there was no one ofthem all who was not the better for the singing; Ramona and Alessandromost of all.

  "The saints be praised," said Alessandro. "There is my wood-dove'svoice. She can sing!" And, "Alessandro was near. He watched all night. Iam glad he loves me," said Ramona.

  "To hear those two voices." said the Senora; "would one suppose theycould sing like that? Perhaps it is not so bad as I think."

  As soon as the song was done, Alessandro ran to the sheepfold, whereFelipe had said he would see him. The minutes would be like years toAlessandro till he had seen Felipe.

  Ramona, when she waked and found herself carefully covered, and breadand milk standing on the table, felt much reassured. Only the Senora'sown hand had done this, she felt sure, for she had heard her theprevious evening turn the key in the lock, then violently take it out;and Ramona knew well that the fact of her being thus a prisoner would beknown to none but the Senora herself. The Senora would not set servantsto gossiping. She ate her bread and milk thankfully, for she was veryhungry. Then she set her room in order, said her prayers, and sat downto wait. For what? She could not imagine; in truth, she did not muchtry. Ramona had passed now into a country where the Senora did not rule.She felt little fear. Felipe would not see her harmed, and she was goingaway presently with Alessandro. It was wonderful what peace and freedomlay in the very thought. The radiance on her face of these two new-bornemotions was the first thing the Senora observed as she opened the door,and slowly, very slowly, eyeing Ramona with a steady look, entered theroom. This joyous composure on Ramona's face angered the Senora, as ithad done before
, when she was dragging her up the garden-walk. It seemedto her like nothing less than brazen effrontery, and it changed thewhole tone and manner of her address.

  Seating herself opposite Ramona, but at the farthest side of the room,she said, in a tone scornful and insulting, "What have you to say foryourself?"

  Returning the Senora's gaze with one no less steady, Ramona spoke in thesame calm tone in which she had twice the evening before attempted tostay the Senora's wrath. This time, she was not interrupted.

  "Senora," she said slowly, "I tried to tell you last night, but youwould not hear me. If you had listened, you would not have been soangry. Neither Alessandro nor I have done anything wrong, and we werenot ashamed. We love each other, and we are going to be married, and goaway. I thank you, Senora, for all you have done for me; I am sureyou will be a great deal happier when I am away;" and Ramona lookedwistfully, with no shade of resentment, into the Senora's dark, shrunkenface. "You have been very good to do so much for a girl you did notlove. Thank you for the bread and milk last night. Perhaps I can go awaywith Alessandro to-day. I do not know what he will wish. We had onlyjust that minute spoken of being married, when you found us last night."

  The Senora's face was a study during the few moments that it took to saythese words. She was dumb with amazement. Instantaneously, on thefirst sense of relief that the disgrace had not been what she supposed,followed a new wrath, if possible hotter than the first; not so muchscorn, but a bitterer anger. "Marry! Marry that Indian!" she cried, assoon as she found voice. "You marry an Indian? Never! Are you mad? Iwill never permit it."

  Ramona looked anxiously at her. "I have never disobeyed you, Senora,"she said, "but this is different from all other things; you are not mymother. I have promised to marry Alessandro."

  The girl's gentleness deceived the Senora.

  "No," she said icily, "I am not your mother; but I stand in a mother'splace to you. You were my sister's adopted child, and she gave you tome. You cannot marry without my permission, and I forbid you ever tospeak again of marrying this Indian."

  The moment had come for the Senora Moreno to find out, to her surpriseand cost, of what stuff this girl was made,--this girl, who hadfor fourteen years lived by her side, docile, gentle, sunny, anduncomplaining in her loneliness. Springing to her feet, and walkingswiftly till she stood close face to face with the Senora, who, herselfstartled by the girl's swift motion, had also risen to her feet, Ramonasaid, in a louder, firmer voice: "Senora Moreno, you may forbid meas much as you please. The whole world cannot keep me from marryingAlessandro. I love him. I have promised, and I shall keep my word." Andwith her young lithe arms straight down at her sides, her head thrownback, Ramona flashed full in the Senora's face a look of proud defiance.It was the first free moment her soul had ever known. She felt herselfbuoyed up as by wings in air. Her old terror of the Senora fell from herlike a garment thrown off.

  "Pshaw!" said the Senora, contemptuously, half amused, in spite of herwrath, by the girl's, as she thought, bootless vehemence, "you talk likea fool. Do you not know that I can shut you up in the nunnery to-morrow,if I choose?"

  "No, you cannot!" replied Ramona.

  "Who, then, is to hinder me." said the Senora, insolently.

  "Alessandro!" answered Ramona, proudly.

  "Alessandro!" the Senora sneered. "Alessandro! Ha! a beggarly Indian, onwhom my servants will set the dogs, if I bid them! Ha, ha!"

  The Senora's sneering tone but roused Ramona more. "You would neverdare!" she cried; "Felipe would not permit it!" A most unwise retort forRamona.

  "Felipe!" cried the Senora, in a shrill voice. "How dare you pronouncehis name! He will none of you, from this hour! I forbid him to speak toyou. Indeed, he will never desire to set eyes on you when he hears thetruth."

  "You are mistaken, Senora," answered Ramona, more gently. "Felipe isAlessandro's friend, and--mine," she added, after a second's pause.

  "So, ho! the Senorita thinks she is all-powerful in the house ofMoreno!" cried the Senora. "We will see! we will see! Follow me,Senorita Ramona!" And throwing open the door, the Senora strode out,looking back over her shoulder.

  "Follow me!" she cried again sharply, seeing that Ramona hesitated; andRamona went; across the passage-way leading to the dining-room, out intothe veranda, down the entire length of it, to the Senora's room,--theSenora walking with a quick, agitated step, strangely unlike her usualgait; Ramona walking far slower than was her habit, and with her eyesbent on the ground. As they passed the dining-room door, Margarita,standing just inside, shot at Ramona a vengeful, malignant glance.

  "She would help the Senora against me in anything," thought Ramona; andshe felt a thrill of fear, such as the Senora with all her threats hadnot stirred.

  The Senora's windows were open. She closed them both, and drew thecurtains tight. Then she locked the door, Ramona watching her everymovement.

  "Sit down in that chair," said the Senora, pointing to one near thefireplace. A sudden nervous terror seized Ramona.

  "I would rather stand, Senora," she said.

  "Do as I bid you." said the Senora, in a husky tone; and Ramona obeyed.It was a low, broad armchair, and as she sank back into it, her sensesseemed leaving her. She leaned her head against the back and closedher eyes. The room swam. She was roused by the Senora's strongsmelling-salts held for her to breathe, and a mocking taunt from theSenora's iciest voice: "The Senorita does not seem so over-strong as shedid a few moments back!"

  Ramona tried to reason with herself; surely no ill could happen to her,in this room, within call of the whole house. But an inexplicable terrorhad got possession of her; and when the Senora, with a sneer on herface, took hold of the Saint Catharine statue, and wheeling it halfaround, brought into view a door in the wall, with a big iron key in thekeyhole, which she proceeded to turn, Ramona shook with fright. She hadread of persons who had been shut up alive in cells in the wall, andstarved to death. With dilating eyes she watched the Senora, who, allunaware of her terror, was prolonging it and intensifying it by herevery act. First she took out the small iron box, and set it on a table.Then, kneeling, she drew out from an inner recess in the closet a largeleather-covered box, and pulled it, grating and scraping along thefloor, till it stood in front of Ramona. All this time she spoke noword, and the cruel expression of her countenance deepened each moment.The fiends had possession of the Senora Moreno this morning, and nomistake. A braver heart than Ramona's might have indeed been fearful, atbeing locked up alone with a woman who looked like that.

  Finally, she locked the door and wheeled the statue back into its place.Ramona breathed freer. She was not, after all, to be thrust intothe wall closet and left to starve. She gazed with wonder at the oldbattered boxes. What could it all mean?

  "Senorita Ramona Ortegna," began the Senora, drawing up a chair, andseating herself by the table on which stood the iron box, "I will nowexplain to you why you will not marry the Indian Alessandro."

  At these words, this name, Ramona was herself again,--not her old self,her new self, Alessandro's promised wife. The very sound of his name,even on an enemy's tongue, gave her strength. The terrors fled away.She looked up, first at the Senora, then at the nearest window. She wasyoung and strong; at one bound, if worst came to worst, she could leapthrough the window, and fly for her life, calling on Alessandro.

  "I shall marry the Indian Alessandro, Senora Moreno," she said, in atone as defiant, and now almost as insolent, as the Senora's own.

  The Senora paid no heed to the words, except to say, "Do not interruptme again. I have much to tell you;" and opening the box, she lifted outand placed on the table tray after tray of jewels. The sheet of writtenpaper lay at the bottom of the box.

  "Do you see this paper, Senorita Ramona?" she asked, holding it up.Ramona bowed her head. "This was written by my sister, the SenoraOrtegna, who adopted you and gave you her name. These were her finalinstructions to me, in regard to the disposition to be made of theproperty she left to you."

  Ramona's li
ps parted. She leaned forward, breathless, listening, whilethe Senora read sentence after sentence. All the pent-up pain, wonder,fear of her childhood and her girlhood, as to the mystery of her birth,swept over her anew, now. Like one hearkening for life or death, shelistened. She forgot Alessandro. She did not look at the jewels. Hereyes never left the Senora's face. At the close of the reading, theSenora said sternly, "You see, now, that my sister left to me the entiredisposition of everything belonging to you."

  "But it hasn't said who was my mother," cried Ramona. "Is that all thereis in the paper?"

  The Senora looked stupefied. Was the girl feigning? Did she care nothingthat all these jewels, almost a little fortune, were to be lost to herforever?

  "Who was your mother?" she exclaimed, scornfully, "There was no need towrite that down. Your mother was an Indian. Everybody knew that!"

  At the word "Indian," Ramona gave a low cry.

  The Senora misunderstood it. "Ay," she said, "a low, common Indian. Itold my sister, when she took you, the Indian blood in your veins wouldshow some day; and now it has come true."

  Ramona's cheeks were scarlet. Her eyes flashed. "Yes, Senora Moreno,"she said, springing to her feet; "the Indian blood in my veins showsto-day. I understand many things I never understood before. Was itbecause I was an Indian that you have always hated me?"

  "You are not an Indian, and I have never hated you," interrupted theSenora.

  Ramona heeded her not, but went on, more and more impetuously. "And ifI am an Indian, why do you object to my marrying Alessandro? Oh, I amglad I am an Indian! I am of his people. He will be glad!" The wordspoured like a torrent out of her lips. In her excitement she came closerand closer to the Senora. "You are a cruel woman," she said. "I did notknow it before; but now I do. If you knew I was an Indian, you had noreason to treat me so shamefully as you did last night, when you saw mewith Alessandro. You have always hated me. Is my mother alive'? Wheredoes she live? Tell me; and I will go to her to-day. Tell me! She willbe glad that Alessandro loves me!"

  It was a cruel look, indeed, and a crueller tone, with which the Senoraanswered: "I have not the least idea who your mother was, or if she isstill alive, Nobody ever knew anything about her,--some low, viciouscreature, that your father married when he was out of his senses, as youare now, when you talk of marrying Alessandro!"

  "He married her, then?" asked Ramona, with emphasis. "How know you that,Senora Moreno?"

  "He told my sister so," replied the Senora, reluctantly. She grudged thegirl even this much of consolation.

  "What was his name?" asked Ramona.

  "Phail; Angus Phail," the Senora replied almost mechanically. She foundherself strangely constrained by Ramona's imperious earnestness, and shechafed under it. The tables were being turned on her, she hardly knewhow. Ramona seemed to tower in stature, and to have the bearing ofthe one in authority, as she stood before her pouring out passionatequestion after question. The Senora turned to the larger box, and openedit. With unsteady hands she lifted out the garments which for so manyyears had rarely seen the light. Shawls and ribosos of damask, laces,gowns of satin, of velvet. As the Senora flung one after another on thechairs, it was a glittering pile of shining, costly stuffs. Ramona'seyes rested on them dreamily.

  "Did my adopted mother wear all these?" she asked, lifting in her hand afold of lace, and holding it up to the light, in evident admiration.

  Again the Senora misconceived her. The girl seemed not insensible to thevalue and beauty of this costly raiment. Perhaps she would be lured byit.

  "All these are yours, Ramona, you understand, on your wedding day, ifyou marry worthily, with my permission," said the Senora, in a voicea shade less cold than had hitherto come from her lips. "Did youunderstand what I read you?"

  The girl did not answer. She had taken up in her hand a ragged, crimsonsilk handkerchief, which, tied in many knots, lay in one corner of thejewel-box.

  "There are pearls in that," said the Senora; "that came with the thingsyour father sent to my sister when he died."

  Ramona's eyes gleamed. She began untying the knots. The handkerchief wasold, the knots tied tight, and undisturbed for years. As she reached thelast knot, and felt the hard stones, she paused. "This was my father's,then." she said.

  "Yes," said the Senora, scornfully. She thought she had detected a newbaseness in the girl. She was going to set up a claim to all which hadbeen her father's property. "They were your father's, and all theserubies, and these yellow diamonds;" and she pushed the tray towards her.

  Ramona had untied the last knot. Holding the handkerchief carefullyabove the tray, she shook the pearls out. A strange, spicy fragrancecame from the silk. The pearls fell in among the rubies, rolling rightand left, making the rubies look still redder by contrast with theirsnowy whiteness.

  "I will keep this handkerchief," she said, thrusting it as she spoke,by a swift resolute movement into her bosom. "I am very glad to have onething that belonged to my father. The jewels, Senora, you can give tothe Church, if Father Salvierderra thinks that is right. I shall marryAlessandro;" and still keeping one hand in her bosom where she hadthrust the handkerchief, she walked away and seated herself again in herchair.

  Father Salvierderra! The name smote the Senora like a spear-thrust,There could be no stronger evidence of the abnormal excitement underwhich she had been laboring for the last twenty-four hours, than thefact that she had not once, during all this time, thought to ask herselfwhat Father Salvierderra would say, or might command, in this crisis.Her religion and the long habit of its outward bonds had alike gone fromher in her sudden wrath against Ramona. It was with a real terror thatshe became conscious of this.

  "Father Salvierderra?" she stammered; "he has nothing to do with it."

  But Ramona saw the change in the Senora's face, at the word, andfollowed up her advantage. "Father Salvierderra has to do witheverything," she said boldly. "He knows Alessandro, He will not forbidme to marry him, and if he did--" Ramona stopped. She also was smittenwith a sudden terror at the vista opening before her,--of a disobedienceto Father Salvierderra.

  "And if he did," repeated the Senora, eyeing Ramona keenly, "would youdisobey him?"

  "Yes," said Ramona.

  "I will tell Father Salvierderra what you say," retorted the Senora,sarcastically, "that he may spare himself the humiliation of laying anycommands on you, to be thus disobeyed."

  Ramona's lip quivered, and her eyes filled with the tears which no otherof the Senora's taunts had been strong enough to bring. Dearly sheloved the old monk; had loved him since her earliest recollection. Hisdispleasure would be far more dreadful to her than the Senora's. Hiswould give her grief; the Senora's, at utmost, only terror.

  Clasping her hands, she said, "Oh, Senora, have mercy! Do not say thatto the Father!"

  "It is my duty to tell the Father everything that happens in my family,"answered the Senora, chillingly. "He will agree with me, that if youpersist in this disobedience you will deserve the severest punishment. Ishall tell him all;" and she began putting the trays back in the box.

  "You will not tell him as it really is, Senora," persisted Ramona. "Iwill tell him myself."

  "You shall not see him! I will take care of that!" cried the Senora, sovindictively that Ramona shuddered.

  "I will give you one more chance," said the Senora, pausing in theact of folding up one of the damask gowns. "Will you obey me? Will youpromise to have nothing more to do with this Indian?"

  "Never, Senora," replied Ramona; "never!"

  "Then the consequences be on your own head," cried the Senora. "Go toyour room! And, hark! I forbid you to speak of all this to Senor Felipe.Do you hear?"

  Ramona bowed her head. "I hear," she said; and gliding out of the room,closed the door behind her, and instead of going to her room, sped likea hunted creature down the veranda steps, across the garden, calling ina low tone, "Felipe! Felipe! Where are you, Felipe?"