Suzanna (14 page)

“I warned you that what I had to say would come as a shock,” he declared. “You have had every opportunity that a girl can have. I am sorry that you have not profited thereby. Your actions tonight show how little store you set by the honorable name you bear and how little respect you have for the man to whom you are promised.”

The enormity of the peon's offense to her dignity left Chiquita speechless. Eyes snapping, she saw Ruiz shake his head regretfully as he surveyed her.

“My child,” Ruiz muttered, “there is no truer saying than that blood will tell. In spite of all the advantages and training you have had you remain as you were born,—all peon.”

The blood left the girl's face as she heard him out. Something seemed to be strangling her as she fought for speech. Her hands flashed to her beautiful throat as a stifled scream broke from her lips.

“Oh, Virgen santisima que pasa?”
she moaned at last. “Have you gone mad? What is it that you are trying to say?”

“That you are my daughter,” Ruiz answered doggedly.

A mad laugh greeted this amazing statement. The girl's eyes showed that she thought Ruiz had gone insane.

“No,” he said answering her, “I am not mad. You are
my
daughter, even as Suzanna is the daughter of Don Diego. The two of you were born on the same day. Suzanna's mother, Doña Fe, died in childbirth. We were but a few in California in those days. The families of Don Fernando and Don Diego shared the same roof. We were gathered about Doña Fe's bedside when she passed away. You had been born some two hours earlier. Doctor Ramos told Don Diego that he feared little Suzanna would follow her mother to the grave. I overheard him, and believing the child would live but an hour or two, I foolishly contrived to put you in Suzanna's crib and Suzanna into the arms of your sleeping mother. I have had eighteen years in which to regret it. I had hoped to give you an opportunity to rise to a position far removed from any that the child of a peon could aspire to. Before you left for Mexico City I had reasons enough to fear for your future. I took heart again when Don Fernando told me that Ramon and you were betrothed. My old dreams of you came back. I saw you, my own flesh and blood, the wealthiest and most powerful woman in the entire province. To make your way easy, I even agreed to have Suzanna sent away, for I had seen how fond she was of Ramon. And I knew that he took a great interest in her. And here, on the third night after your return, I find you engaged in a vile
amour
with a man who advertises his true worth to all who have eyes in their heads.”

Consternation no longer gripped Chiquita as Ruiz finished. Unbelief, ridicule, amusement were written large across her face. This preposterous tale was not even worth denying.

“And you—do you believe that anyone will take stock in your weird story?” she asked patronizingly.

“It will be easily proven,” Ruiz answered without hesitation. “I do not ask or expect affection or consideration from you for myself. But Don Fernando has been a good master. And Don Diego has repaid my treachery with years of kind treatment. I will not see them shamed publicly. And no matter what it may cost me, I warn you that unless you change your ways I shall confess.”

The dignity and assurance of the man bore weight with the girl, and as the horrible feeling that she had listened to the truth settled upon her, she Hew into a wild rage. The fool, to talk of affection! With pleasure, she could have seen him drawn and quartered.

“If ever you so much as breathe a word of this to a living soul,” she threatened vengefully, “I will kill you with my own hands. What do you think Don Diego would do if he knew how you had tricked him?”

“I am already an old man,” Ruiz answered. “Death holds no fear for me. I have kept step with it so long that when it calls me I shall not hold back. And remember that it is me who threatens, not you. Go to your room, now, and take stock of yourself.”

He attempted to open the door for her, but the girl would have none of his assistance. She flung herself out of the place, and with a hard, metallic laugh, crossed the patio.

The old man came out a second after her. Head bowed, he shuffled across the moonlit garden toward the rear of the house.

Ruiz had done that which he had been intent on for many years. And now that he had whispered his story to the ears of her who had profited most by his treachery, he found himself even more miserable than he had been, for fear was now added to his tortures. He wondered what his fate would he if Don Fernando discovered what he had done. Would he be sent to the hemp fields in Mexico to wear his old fingers off in the broiling suns of Yucatan? Death would be preferable to that.

Ruiz had been a good man on the hacienda. Few had worked harder. Would his master forget that? He made the sign of the cross and mumbled a prayer for mercy as he trudged to his room. He had little hope that what he had said to his daughter would make her change her ways. She was a wilful, headstrong girl. It is significant that what paternal affection the man had was given to Suzanna, and not to his own child, and whenever he succeeded in rising beyond worrying about himself, it was of her, and not of Chiquita, that he thought.

Pancho Montesoro waited until long after Ruiz' going before he moved from his cover in back of the store-room. The man had heard every word of what went on between the girl and her father. The effect of it left him cold, un-nerved. Not until he had scaled the wall and returned to his quarters in Don Fernando's house did he give vent to his emotions. It frightened him to think how close he had been to running off with the girl. Her secret would have come out, and he would have been left with a penniless peon on his hands.

The narrowness of his escape continued to haunt the man as he fought for sleep. And then, as he lay tossing in his bed, he saw his golden opportunity,—Suzanna. He alone, excepting Ruiz, knew the truth concerning her. What easier than to keep his head on his shoulders and let Ramon marry Chiquita? That left him a free hand with Suzanna. And so roseate did his immediate future become that he was soon fast asleep.

CHAPTER XIV

C
HIQUITA
lay awake the following morning waiting for Suzanna to serve her breakfast. Propped up in her massive bed, clothed in lingerie which was a mass of silk and lace, the girl was a beautiful picture, for all that she had not spent a particularly restful night and that she was in none too good humor. When her sleepy eyes caught sight of a hand protruding through the peep-hole in the door, she frowned. But the sight of a letter in the hand changed matters. Jumping quickly from bed, she hurried to the door and took the note.

She had just climbed back into bed when Suzanna—a far different Suzanna than she had ever seen before—returned with her breakfast of chocolate,
tortilla
, butter and molasses. Suzanna placed the tray on the bed in front of Chiquita, who stared at her disdainfully. Suzanna didn't mind: she had decided to treat her mistress with as silent contempt as she could command. Being anxious to get rid of her maid, so she could read her letter, Chiquita directed her to get fresh molasses. Without a word, Suzanna took the molasses pitcher and left the room. Chiquita opened her letter and found that it was from Pancho. As she read, her brow contracted, and a dark, foreboding look appeared in her eyes.

The letter said:

“I realize it would be a serious mistake for you to elope with me as we planned. Using your own words, your father might disinherit you; and I have nothing to offer but my great love. By all means marry Ramon. What will there be to prevent us from being the same to each other as we have been in the past? I love you too much to ask you to take the great risk of turning your father against you. Believe me, always yours.

“P———.”

Chiquita trembled with anger. She was in such mental agitation that her body quivered. Marry Ramon! Indeed! Climbing quickly from her bed she began to dress.

No sooner was Suzanna back than she ordered her to tell Don Diego that she wished to see him at once in her apartment.

She was pacing impatiently up and down her room when Don Diego entered. She had had a few minutes in which to get control of herself, and her conduct showed that she was not without a certain finesse at chicanery.

Instead of letting loose a torrent of angry words, she went up to the man whom she had always addressed as father and placed her arm about his neck and kissed him.

Don Diego was delighted.

“What is it, little one?” he asked affectionately.

Chiquita mustered a tantalizing pout to her lips, and gazing at Don Diego from the corners of her eyes, she said in gentle, pensive tones:

“Father, must we remain here?”

“Do you find life so dull?” Don Diego asked sympathetically.

Chiquita nodded her head.

“I know that I shall wither and die if I have to remain here,” she murmured plaintively.

“But you will soon become accustomed to this new order of life, my child. Before long you and Ramon will be getting married; you will find that that alone will bring many new interests to you. In the end, you will not trade California for Mexico City. My fortune is invested here, it is my home. And I love this broad land. You will, too, when the glamour of city life wears off.”

“But I shan't, father,” Chiquita protested. “I shall never like it here. Please, father, won't—won't you let me return to Mexico City?”

Don Diego was astounded. He could not believe that he had heard aright.

“What?” he demanded. “You go back to Mexico City alone? Are you mad to suggest such a thing? Do you think that I would allow you, a girl of your age, to commit such folly?”

Don Diego's voice had risen as the enormity of Chiquita's request mounted before his eyes. The mask had fallen from the girl's face as his anger blazed forth.

“I am old enough to know what I want to do!” she retorted. “I will not remain here!”

“But you will!” Don Diego exclaimed. “And I warn you, do not humble me by communicating your desire to Ramon's family.”

“Ramon?” Chiquita echoed contemptuously. “I have been here three days and he has not been in my company a second, save for meeting me at table.”

“You forget,” Don Diego protested in kindlier tone, “that the boy is no dandy. But what skill he lacks on the guitar, he more than makes up in his ability to manage his father's hacienda. If I had a son of my own I would not ask to have him more worthy than Ramon.”

“I question only his interest in me,” Chiquita pursued. “If you ask, I hold as little attraction for him as he does for me. I have heard whispers enough since my return. Why was Don Fernando sending this girl Suzanna away? Surely, you do not believe this fiction about educating her?”

“You do not mean to say that you are jealous of little Suzanna, do you?” Don Diego asked. “You know the pet Don Fernando made of her. She and Ramon grew up together. It is only natural that the boy should have an interest in her. I hold it to his credit; but your tone implies something that I do not want to hear on my daughter's lips. Banish such evil thoughts, and rest assured that the boy's intentions are honorable. And remember, too, that it is well to be suspicious of those who are too well versed in love.”

Chiquita turned away with a sarcastic smile, and as she did so, Suzanna came in with the announcement that Ramon was downstairs.

Don Diego bowed her out of the room. There was a smile of happiness on his face as he turned to Chiquita.

“See!” he grinned. “The boy is fond of you. He is like his father; he is not to be hurried. Put on your prettiest smile, little one, and you will see how he will reward you.”

Ramon was going to Monterey for the day and Doña Luz was responsible for his being at Don Diego's home this early in the morning. The boy's mother had insisted that he offer to do whatever errands he could for Chiquita. It was a gentlemanly thing to do, and one which he could not refuse, even though he resented placing himself in a position which seemed to give encouragement to his father's plans in regard to Chiquita.

Suzanna had lingered with Ramon as long as she had dared when he arrived, and once out of Chiquita's room, she promptly returned for another minute with him. Even though being near to him filled her with happiness, she was not able to conceal the fact from the boy that she was far from being the carefree girl she had been.

“You are unhappy here, aren't you,
muchachita?”
Ramon said softly. “There's no one to make excuses for you, now, is there?”

Suzanna shook her head as she looked away, afraid to meet his eyes.

“My father sold you as though you were a slave,” the boy went on bitterly. “'Twere a million times better that you had gone to San Luis Bautista than to serve the woman you do. She was ever a haughty, ill-tempered person, and it is easy to see she has not changed her ways.”

“Hush,” Suzanna begged.

“The injusice of it burns me,” the boy persisted in saying. “It makes me envy Pérez his freedom. If I had the courage I, too, would turn outlaw. But you mark it well—the day will come when these things will not be tolerated in California. I am a free-man, the son of a don, and yet I am ordered about even as you are. I have seen this day coming a long while since, and yet two weeks ago I was happy, satisfied to wait for others to act. I'm done with dreaming, now.”

Ramon saw Suzanna tremble as she stiffled a sob. Reaching out, he placed his hands upon her shoulders and wheeled her around so that she faced him.

“Suzanna,” he murmured, “I beg of you, don't despair. I trust I have been a dutiful son: it is my wish to remain one. But I shall not become a traitor to myself even for the love I bear my parents.”

“Your words are very virtuous,” interrupted Chiquita. She had entered the room in time to catch Ramon's last statement and to see the tender regard for Suzanna in his eyes.