Transcript

VII Part 1 · Conquistador

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Section eight of Conquistador. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are
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in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox
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dot org. Conquistador by Catharine Fullerton Gerald, seven Part one. An extraordinary
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Indian summer had kept the mains eight out of town, and it was in
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a garden that Pablo Gutierrez waited for Dorry to come to him. He had
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not written, he had not telephoned. He had merely informed himself and taken
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a chance. His Gutier's tendency to do all things in decorous order was swept
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away by a passionate personal determination to meet the girl. Unprepared to read the
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truth. In the unrehearsed first glance, he remembered what Dick Rivers had said
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about frightening her with the Hassendatto's clothes. Well, his clothes were American,
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and he looked down at them. Uncomfortable too, for a man who had
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grown used to a totally different set of discomforts. Dorimn stepped into the garden
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and saw him standing at the end of a path, a thin brown hand
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hovering over a chrysanthemum though she knew in a vague way the facts, the
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strange name of Pablo Gutirez meant to her only that there might be news out
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of Mexico of an old friend. She could not have conceived of the man
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himself's being announced. Thus he turned quickly to the faint stir of her skirts.
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Wharton Cameron, She colored faintly, like a rose, too fair for
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a blush to burn her face, Wharton Cameron, she repeated softly, then
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was quiet, as if stricken. He gripped her hand in both his and
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stared at her. But her own eyes dropped. She had not remembered the
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perilous, deep blackness of his. They shattered the silence of four years like
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a thunderclap. Dorry, Dorry, look at me, he murmured. He
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needed her eyes. Only her eyes could tell him. But though she let
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him keep her hand, she could not yet give him her eyes. She
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looked at his slender waist, his broad shoulders, even with a little dart
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upward, at his smooth black hair. She could not yet brave his eyes.
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You you are so different, she murmured. But I always hoped I
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should see you again, Wharton, Why did you stay away? So long.
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He remembered suddenly that her voice had always been like that, like the
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glint of silver, and like a running stream. He trembled. Let us
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sit down, he said quietly. A man could not be expected to manage
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his legs and his heart both, and think. Besides, I came as
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soon as I could. I think I can make you understand. They sat
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down then, on a long garden bench under the kind autumnal sun, and
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now Dorry's eyes fluttered over his face. You really are Wharton Cameron, he
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laughed. I was Wharton Cameron, and you went away, she said quietly,
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to build a railroad, and you never came back. You found your
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mother's people and stayed with them a long long time, and they have changed
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you. But now you have come back. Are you Wharton Cameron, she
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asked again. Pablo smiled. Look at me once, straight in the eyes,
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and see. That is the only way you can know. She did
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as he bade her. Then her blue eyes met and contented with his for
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a little, then fell. Yet Dorry Maayn, for all her fairness,
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was no weakling. Tell me all about it, Wharton, she said finally,
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No one has known very much about you. I did not expect ever
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to see you again. Did you ever build the railroad? He told her
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about Luca's swoop and the flight of the whole personnel, dwelt for once on
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the detail of his journey to the hacienda, even told her of the trip
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to hermacio, omitting Juan, and his disclosure of the buried money bags to
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the mayor. He skipped then and spoke of Rivers's visit, not mentioning Donia
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Flora. It was a curious narrative, for he pulled out of his past
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only the moments when he had been or tried to be Wharton Cameron. He
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had an instinct to prove that lost identity, to build for her the bridge
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that connected Wharton Cameron and Pablo, But leaving Pablo out made a disconnected tale,
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and he himself grew impatient. It was not for this he had come,
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yet he wanted to reassure her before striking to the heart of the matter.
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He could not be sure whether he had read her eyes aright, and
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she was so chary of a direct glance. It is a strange story,
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she answered, when he had finished. There is a lot I don't make
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out, but you stayed in Mexico. I now, could you travel about
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in those bad years? I did not travel about, he smiled, Except
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that Sante Eulalia is big enough to travel about on. I was always afraid,
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she said softly. They said, no American's life was worth a copper
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coin. I have not been an American these last years, from head to
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foot a creole. You wore the costume. A slight impatience stirred him.
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Why call it a costume? I wore the clothes a man must wear who
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is in the saddle all day among his vaccaros. I dressed as befitted my
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station in life. Of course, tell me, she said, after a
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little, have you truly come back to us? I have apparently come back
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to you. His emphasis left no doubt of his meaning. She flushed and
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drew back a little into her corner of the bench, But after a moment
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she turned and scanned him with a cooler courage than she had at first been
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able to muster. Bablo felt her eyes at work all over him. This
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he must bear, for it was her right. But he set his teeth
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under the ordeal that which he had once been endured her examination in steely patience,
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that which he had lately become felt a slow anger stirring. Don Pablo
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Gutierres had forgotten the dispassionate appraisal of a woman's eyes. He turned suddenly and
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caught her hand, facing her portius. He muttered and wrenched himself back to
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a vision of the world such as they two had once known. He took
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his turn at staring then, but only to force his eyes to see her
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as closed or opened on strange horizons they had seen her hovering these four years.
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If dor Mayne was intent on minute difference, his eyes were violently insisting
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on the impossibility of change. The contact of her hand, which she did
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not yet withdraw, made the task easier. He bent closer to her.
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I have come back to you, dorry, he repeated. I love you.
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I have always loved you. I He turned his head away for an
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instant, for the words burned his throat as they came. I have nothing
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to offer you but Santa Uleelia and myself. But but I beg you to
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take them. Deeply disturbed by his gathering tears, he let go her hand
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and folded his arms, looking straight before him down the garden walk until his
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eyes ceased to smart. You could have written. Her voice was very low.
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Pablo Gutierres turned back to her. Then he was dismayed at her ignoring
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of his direct plea. But his keen eyes had not been wholly dupes of
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memory. This, for all her softness and fairness, was a woman who
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would answer only in her own good time. Until I saw Dick Rivers a
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few months since. I should not have dared hope that you would even remember
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me. I supposed you were married. Married I to whom pray? How
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should I know? To any one? Dorry Mayn laughed. Lately, I
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am not so easy to please as that any one will by no means do
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Thank God, he murmured, if only I will, can't you answer me,
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Dorry? After four years? She said, calmly, I have a
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right to ask for an hour. Four years of utter silence give you no
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right to be impatient. I think I loved Orton Cameron once. I am
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not sure whether I love him now or not. It is not always safe
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to go away and let a girl grow into a woman alone. But if
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you loved me once, Dorry, he pleaded, his lips almost touching her
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hair, I have always loved you, sometimes I tried to think I did
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not, But within a year I have become intolerably sure. If you will
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not have me, I shall never marry. But if you ever loved me,
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love me now. She twisted herself lightly out of what was nearly an
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embrace and spoke a little wildly. You must not make it harder for me.
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It is not fair. You are so different. How can I know?
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I was at peace and you come suddenly so strange and changed. You
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must give me time. Pablo drew away from her and composed himself with stern
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grace to another position. I will give you all the time you need,
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dorry, he said, quietly, But there are some things about which time
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will only confuse you, he smiled. Will you let me kiss you once?
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She shook her head. Not yet, not yet, please, she
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protested. He frowned faintly. You may be very sure that I shall not
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kiss you until you let me. But it is the quickest way of finding
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out if I could change you back. I would find out in that way,
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she answered quietly. But it is going to take weeks or months to
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make you over, to turn you into Wharton Cameron again. You are not
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Wharton Cameron now. You are what your cards, said Don Pablo Gutierrez.
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Of course I could not marry Don Pablo gutyras I do not even know him.
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But stay with me for a while, and and I may realize that
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you are really the man I knew, not weeks or months. Dorry,
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he answered, my life is not here. And if you do not love
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me enough to let me kiss you once, you cannot love me enough to
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wish to be my wife. You do not understand, the girl said,
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Perhaps if we talk a little, I can make you understand better. She
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smiled at him. You offered me Santa Uleelia and yourself. I am very
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proud that you offer me yourself. Perhaps a strange look came into her eyes.
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I shall take you. But what is Santa Uleelia? Do you mean
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that that is a wedding gift? A wedding gift? Surely does not a
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man endow his wife with all he possesses. It is a vast estate.
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I judge you are a rich man, perhaps Wharton. After all, I
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may be called a rich man. I suppose it was good of your uncle.
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Did you say to leave it to you? Is there any one else,
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any other relative to take it off your hands? If you come home.
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Pablo Gutierrez's hand trembled suddenly. Then he laughed alone at Santa Uleelia,
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alone on his fevered journey northwards. He had planned it all another way.
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He was to look in her eyes and see if she loved him, all
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things would be well. Santa Huleelia was a coat he must wear, but
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only a coat, and she would not even let him kiss her, though
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he more than suspected that of the blood in her veins he could show himself
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the true master. But he had promised fool that he was to wait her
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permission. He felt for and found a Spanish punctiliousness of tone. She should
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never say he was not honest with her. I hope you love me,
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Dorry. If you do, I cannot see that anything else matters. But
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you shan't say that I hurried you, or teased you, or deceived you,
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even faintly. If we must talk of these things first, we will
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talk of them as if you were a senorita in Mexico. He threw in
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grimly, do not be unkind, Wharton. Dorry murmured, you are so
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different that I find it hard be a little patient. I think you are
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Wharton Cameron at heart, But I must find you first. If I were
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not Wharton Cameron at heart for you, I should not be here. But
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I am Pablo gutierres all the same in those other ways that need never matter
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to you and me. I thought you would want to know about Wharton Cameron,
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so I told you. But it is true you must know Pablo too.
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He paused a moment he saw himself lifting Santa Ulalia in his hands to
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heaven. Oblation. Wise, I shall never come home in the sense you
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mean it, back to the States. My home is there. You see.
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My uncle, Don Fernando Gutierrez adopted me as his son and made me
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his heir. His wife had no children. I am a Mexican citizen,
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of course, and a Catholic. Naturally, I am pledged to carry on
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the task the Gutiers have performed for generations. I promised, Santa Juleelia is
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yours, because Santa Jullelia is mine. But it is not a thing to
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be passed about from one hand to another. I am Santa Eulelia. That
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is all all, she quoted reflectively. All you say, your uncle seems
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to have had his way with you very easily. I do not think that
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the Wharton Cameron I knew would have given up everything he held dear for another
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country, another family, another faith. Perhaps you never knew the whole of
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Wharton Cameron, never knew that since his childhood he had been dreaming of his
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mother's house and his mother's people. It is true that he did not know
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then that Santa Ulaelia would be home to him as no place had ever been.
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From the very first it welcomed me, I knew I am a gutiras.
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That is all I have taken the vows that Egutyras must take to sustain
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the faith among the peons, to keep the hacienda what it has always been,
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the home of thousands of happy people from birth to death. Santa Uleelia
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is not their house, it is their country. I am master, and
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friend and refuge. It is not always easy, but at least it is
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a man's work. It is my work, mine and my sons after me,
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as it has been since the first Conquista d'oris. It did not occur
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to me when I came to tell you that I was rich. I did
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not think it mattered. But I am rich enough for you to do as
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you like it Santa Euleelia, You can rebuild if you choose. The people,
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and the cattle and the money are yours as they are mine. How
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could it be otherwise? Though you were ten times a Protestant, you would
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be the Senora their mistress, He smiled. He can measure none better the
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difficulty of a Protestant senora. But he cast it aside. He saw in
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his heart Dorry's fair hair taking the patterned moonlight of his great arcades, a
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marvel in that dark half Indian world. No, no, she murmured,
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it is so strange. The boy I knew could not have been like this,
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And it was that boy I thought I loved. So Dick Rivers was
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right, he said quietly, Dick Rivers, what do you mean? Dick
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said, you would be frightened. I remember his every word. If you
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could see me in my own clothes, in my own place, with my
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hand on a knife, and hear me spit out Spanish to my slaves.
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But I thought Dick was a fool, because he knows nothing about love.
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I couldn't have imagined he was right. The Dory main I knew would have
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struck straight through any strangeness and seen a man's heart for what it was.
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She did not reply to that accusation, but cried out, oh, why
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why didn't he send you back? Poor? Let you go? Why did
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that old man have to take you body and soul? Had you no father?
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That your mother's brother should have all his way with you? If he
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had no children? Couldn't he have found other kin if you had never happened
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to go to him, some one else would have had Santa Illelia? Would
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he not? Pablo Gutiers drew a deep breath, Yes, Wan, where
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is Wan? Can you give it to him? Who is he? Pablo
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answered, very coldly. He was the most promising of Don Fernando's illegitimate children.
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He is dead. He tried to stab me and I shot him.
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You killed him, Yes, I killed him, and your uncle knew.
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Surely he knew. If one had succeeded in killing me, he would have
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been the hassendatto. Now I suppose Don Fernando would have legitimized him. And
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it was too that dreadful old man. You sold yourself worse than that you
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loved him, You said so. Paulogutierres rose from the bench and walked apart.
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A moment touching the late flowers with an idle hand. Thick and violent
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Spanish words crowded to his lips, but he was silent. He must not
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be angry. He must be patient with the one person in the world who
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could insult Don Fernando from the depths of her ignorance with impunity. Ignorance would
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not have served any other The challenge or the blow would have come before this.
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She was the woman he loved. He must be gentle, very gentle
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with her. If he was hard beset, so probably was she. He
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came back to her shaken with the very intensity of his own conviction. Listen,
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Dorry, dear, I cannot expect you to understand, because you have
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never seen a great Spanish gentleman, the old fashioned kind. Don Fernando despised
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most modern Mexicans as you would as long as I knew him. Honor and
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duty were all he lived for. And if you had once known him,
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you would have loved him as he would have loved you. I did not
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sell myself. My mother had abandoned her people, and I went back to
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them. Once there, I saw my duty very plain. I didn't even
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give up my religion, for of course I was bred a Catholic, though
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in the days when you and I knew each other best, I had forgotten
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about it. I gave up my father's country because my mother's country called me.
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To show you how little my heart is Spanish. I refused to promise
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my uncle on his very death bed to marry a Spanish girl. I promised
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him my son for Santa Juleelia. But I would not bind myself about my
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wife, because though I did not suppose I should ever see you again,
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I knew I loved you more than that dorry. More than that I cannot
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take a wife, except as you can take a husband for love. Just
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there, the creole in me stops when I ask you to marry me.
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I am Morton Cameron. If I had been in my heart Pablo Gutierres,
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do you think I would have come north on a casual word of Dick Rivers
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to give you a chance to break my life into no dorry? If I
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had not been Morton Cameron, I should have taken the easiest way. He
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smiled with an irony she hardly perceived, though she was looking at his face
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as he spoke. For every one else in the world, even for our
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friend Dick, I am Pablo Gutyra's. But it is not precisely Pablo that
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I am offering you for a husband. If it were, this conversation would
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have been very different. I believe you love me, she said slowly,
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And I believe in spite of all that you love me. He put out
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his hands, and taking hers, drew her to her feet. Will you
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let me kiss you once? Dorry? It means nothing, she answered,
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strangely. It means a great deal to a man who has been longing to
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kiss you for four years. He bent nearer. But in that other sense,
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if you like, it shall mean nothing. She lifted her face to
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him freely and bravely. Pablogutierres found orton Cameron's last bequest to him in that
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kiss. At last, he let her go gently. His lips felt as
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if they had pressed a rose to death. He searched her face quickly to
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see if the embrace had swept away suspicion. But Dorry's eyes were closed,
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with tears escaping the shut lids. She leaned against his arm as if she
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could not stand quite firmly. Her voice shook. It means nothing, she
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said again, and the words sounded stranger than before, But this time they
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angered him unaccountably. Does this mean nothing? His strong arm swept her to
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him again. The first kiss had been lingering and gentle, but there were
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both wedded hunger and dark triumph in this nothing dorry, he murmured as he
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let her go. But this time she opened tearless eyes full upon him,
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and released herself, standing before him alone. You should not have done that.
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I am not Pablo Gutierrez's wife. End of Section eight