Jessica, the Heiress. Raymond Evelyn
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Mrs. Trent and Aunt Sally sat down alone to dinner. The little lads were in their beds, recovering from the sound scrubbing Pasqual had given them. Clothed in fresh nightgowns, and refreshed by generous bowls of bread and milk, they had been left in a darkened room to reflect upon the hard ways of transgressors. But reflection was unusual work for their active brains, and they had promptly fallen asleep; hence the profound peace which rested upon the house.
“I wonder where Jessica is? She was to have written my letters for me, but I haven’t seen her since breakfast,” said the mother, somewhat anxiously.
“Oh! she’s around somewhere. Was at the laundry window while I was tending to the children, and said she’d go find their clothes. In all my born days I never saw two small heads could hatch the mischief Ned’s and Luis’ can. It’s out of one scrape into another, and seems if they must break their necks some day.”
“Oh! don’t forecast evil. Their pranks keep my nerves on tension all the time, yet I shouldn’t worry so. They always escape from harm. But I’d like to know how they got that horse.”
“So would I. They must have had help painting it. Stands to reason two midgets like them couldn’t 23 have kept a high-spirited creatur’ quiet while they wasted enough good paint on him to cover a meeting house.”
“John won’t be pleased. He’s so careful of his belongings, even I never touch them without permission,” said the ranch mistress, smiling afresh at the memory of the ridiculous picture the boys had made.
“Don’t surprise me’t you laugh, Gabriella, but you’d ought to put the reins on tighter to them chaps, lest first you know they’ll be driving you, not you them. Do it already, seems if.”
“How can I be stern with Cassius’ little son? Every day I see more resemblance to his father in the childs face; yes, and in his nature, too. Nobody was ever fonder of fun than my husband, yet surely there never was a better man.”
“Oh! Neddy’s all right. Trouble is to keep him from thinkin’ so himself. But, there. Why don’t you eat your dinner? You haven’t more’n half touched it. It’s a shame to waste good victuals, and these are good. I fixed ’em myself.”
The other smiled again at the complacency visible upon her friend’s face, which so innocently dsplayed the same feeling that had just been deplored in Ned. However, Aunt Sally was too busy with her own food to notice anything else, and it seemed long to her companion before she had finished and risen, to call, sharply:
“Pas-qual! Oh, Pasqual-ly! Why aren’t you on hand to clear the table? Don’t you know I’ve got––and here followed a long list of things to be done, more than many could accomplish in several days.” Each had some reference to the coming holidays, 24 and the house boy understood this. He entered, more willingly than usual, grinning with the anticipation of the raisins he would have to stone, the nuts he must crack, and the goodly samples of each that he would surreptitiously procure.
Mrs. Trent asked him to put aside Miss Jessica’s dinner, till she came in, and to be sure that it was also kept nice and warm.
“All right, lady. I’ll do that good enough. Don’t mind what I has to do for ‘Lady Jess’;” and immediately seized the plate, which Aunt Sally had already filled, to place it in the warming oven.
Then the mother went out, and among the adobe buildings, which formed the “boys” quarters and the business part of the ranch, calling gently, as she went, in the brooding sort of note which had long been a signal between her and her child. But no Jessica responded; and, to her fancy, it seemed that the whole place was strangely silent.
“After all, that is not to be wondered at. The men are done with dinner, and gone about their work. The boys are asleep, and only Jessica would be anywhere near. What can keep her, I wonder?” and with this thought the lady again uttered the tender call which would summon her daughter, if she were within hearing.
Then she returned to the house and tried to accept Aunt Sally’s theory that, likely some of them ‘boys’ is in trouble about his job, and wants his ‘captain’ to go oversee. ’Mazin’ strange, Gabriella, what a influence that child has over ’em. “They ’pear to think, the whole lot of ’em, that she can straighten out all the kinks that get into brains or business.”
“She is quick to understand,” said the mother, proudly.
25
“Course. Nothin’ strange, is it, seeing who her folks was? Best go take a nap, honey.”
“Oh, no! Thank you for suggesting it, but I’m too wakeful.”
“Well, then, I’ll fetch them kerns and citron right out here on the kitchen porch. The sun’s off it now, and there ain’t a prettier spot on earth where to prepare Christmas fixin’s. I’ll fetch the raisins and stone ’em myself. That Pasky boy’d eat more’n half of ’em, if I left ’em to him. Then we can visit right sociable; and I can free my mind. The truth is, Gabriella Trent, that I ought to be harnessin’ Rosetty an’ Balaam this minute, and be startin’ for ‘Boston.’ ”
“Oh, Aunt Sally!” protested the ranch mistress, in real distress.
“There, dearie, hush! Don’t worry. I said ‘I ought,’ I didn’t say I was goin’. Seem’s if I couldn’t just tear myself away from Sobrante. If Sarah Ma’sh, she that was a Harrison, and married Methuel, hasn’t got gumption enough to bile her own plum puddin’, I ’most feel as if she’d ought to go without. Though I don’t know as that’s real Christian in me.”
“Dear Mrs. Benton, I wish everybody was as sincere a Christian as you are.”
In her surprise, Aunt Sally tipped her rocker so far back that she just escaped upset.
“Why, Gabriella Trent! Me! Me! Don’t say that, and make me feel meaner’n dirt. It’s you, honey, is that–––”
Mrs. Trent laughed as she answered:
“We make a mutual admiration society, don’t we? But Aunt Sally, you mustn’t think of leaving Sobrante before the holidays are past. I can’t spare 26 you. I need the help of your head, as well as your hands, and what would Christmas be to the children, if you weren’t here to cuddle and scold them after their greediness has made them ill.”
“Well, well, child, say no more. Here I am, and here I’ll stay, if Sarah Ma’sh don’t get a stiver of pudding or fowl. Here, honey, I reckon you best slice this citron. You’ve got a dainty hand for such work and––my sake’s alive! That fruit cake’d ought to been made weeks ago, if it was to get any sort of ripeness into it before it was et! Hurry up, do. We haven’t a minute to waste.”
This adjuration had the good result of amusing Mrs. Trent so that, for an hour at least, she forgot to be anxious over her daughter’s unexplained absence. Aunt Sally was a person who was always “driven to death” by the mere thought of tasks for which there was, in reality, ample time. But now that she had decided to remain at the ranch for a further indefinite stay, her spirits rose and her brain busied itself with a thousand plans for the comfort or amusement of the household, over which she domineered, yet so ardently loved.
“We haven’t got much money for presents, I know. So I’ll just get out the piece-bag to-night, and press off them canton flannel scraps. They’ll make splended ducks for the youngsters–––”
“I fear that would be wasted labor, friend. The little lads have outgrown homemade toys. Nothin that will not make a noise is acceptable to them. I’d thought of sending over to Marion for drums and whistles, if the stores there can furnish them.”
“Well, Gabriella Trent! I declare you are the benightenest woman that ever set out to raise children! Drums! For them two? My, my! But 27 what won’t a mother do for her little ones, I’d like to know!”
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