The Spinners Book of Fiction | Page 9

years
later. And she was worshipped, no less. So beautiful she was, so
humble, so sweet, and at the same time so practical; she had what the
Americans call 'hard sense,' and something of Rezánov's own way of
managing people. When she made up her mind to bring a sinner or a
savage into the Church she did it. You know.
"But do not think she had her way in other things without a struggle.
Don José and Doña Ignacia--her mother--permitted her to enter upon
the religious life, for they understood; and Luis and Santiago made no
protest either, for they understood also and had loved Rezánov. But the
rest of her family, the relations, the friends, the young men--the
caballeros! They went in a body you might say to Don José and
demanded that Concha, the most beautiful and fascinating and clever
girl in New Spain, should come back to the world where she
belonged,--be given in marriage. But Concha had always ruled Don
José, and all the protests went to the winds. And William Sturgis--the
young Bostonian who lived with us for so many years? I have not told
you of him, and your mother was too young to remember. Well, never
mind. He would have taken Concha from California, given her just a
little of what she would have had as the wife of Rezánov--not in
himself; he was as ugly as my whiskers; but enough of the great world
to satisfy many women, and no one could deny that he was good and
very clever. But to Concha he was a brother--no more. Perhaps she did
not even take the trouble to refuse him. It was a way she had. After a
while he went home to Boston and died of the climate. I was very sorry.
He was one of us.

"And her intellect? Concha put it to sleep forever. She never read
another book of travel, of history, biography, memoirs, essays,
poetry--romance she had never read, and although some novels came to
California in time she never opened them. It was peace she wanted, not
the growing mind and the roving imagination. She brought her
conversation down to the level of the humblest, and perhaps--who
knows?--her thoughts. At all events, although the time came when she
smiled again, and was often gay when we were all together in the
family--particularly with the children, who came very fast, of
course--well, she was then another Concha, not that brilliant
dissatisfied ambitious girl we had all known, who had thought the
greatest gentleman from the Viceroy's court not good enough to throw
gold at her feet when she danced El Son.
"There were changes in her life. In 1814 Don José was made
Gobernador Propietario of Lower California. He took all of his
unmarried children with him, and Concha thought it her duty to go.
They lived in Loreto until 1821. But Concha never ceased to pray that
she might return to California--we never looked upon that withered
tongue of Mexico as California; and when Don José died soon after his
resignation, and her mother went to live with her married daughters,
Concha returned with the greatest happiness she had known, I think,
since Rezánov went. Was not California all that was left her?
"She lived in Santa Barbara for many years, in the house of Don José
de la Guerra--in that end room of the east wing. She had many relations,
it is true, but Concha was always human and liked relations better when
she was not surrounded by them. Although she never joined in any of
the festivities of that gay time she was often with the Guerra family and
seemed happy enough to take up her old position as Beata among the
Indians and children, until they built a school for her in Monterey. How
we used to wonder if she ever thought of Rezánov any more. From the
day the two years were over she never mentioned his name, and
everybody respected her reserve, even her parents. And she grew more
and more reserved with the years, never speaking of herself at all,
except just after her return from Mexico. But somehow we knew. And
did not the very life she had chosen express it? Even the Church may

not reach the secret places of the soul, and who knows what heaven she
may have found in hers? And now? I think purgatory is not for Concha,
and he was not bad as men go, and has had time to do his penance. It is
true the Church tells us there is no marrying in heaven--but, well,
perhaps there is a union for mated spirits of which the Church knows
nothing. You saw her expression in her coffin.
"Well! The time arrived when we had