Remember the Alamo [39]
Then Antonia warned and
strengthened Isabel. She told her all her fears. She
persuaded her to control her wilfulness, to be obedient, and
to assume the childlike thoughtlessness which best satisfied
Fray Ignatius. "He told you to-day to be happy, that he would
think for you. My darling, let him believe that is the thing
you want," said Antonia. "I assure you we shall be the safer
for it."
"He said to me yesterday, when I asked him about the war, `Do
not inquire, child, into things you do not understand. That
is to be irreligious,' and then he made the cross on his
breast, as if I had put a bad thought into his heart. We are
afraid all day, and we sit whispering all night about our
fears; that is the state we are in. The Lord sends us nothing
but misfortunes, Antonia."
"My darling, tell the Lord your sorrow, then, but do not
repine to Rachela or Fray Ignatius. That is to complain to
the merciless of the All-Merciful."
"Do you think I am wicked, Antonia? What excuse could I offer
to His Divine Majesty, if I spoke evil to him of Rachela and
Fray Ignatius?"
"Neither of them are our friends; do you think so?"
"Fray Ignatius looks like a goblin; he gives me a shiver when
he looks at me; and as for Rachela--I already hate her!"
"Do not trust her. You need not hate her, Isabel."
"Antonia, I know that I shall eternally hate her; for I am
sure that our angels are at variance."
In conversations like these the anxious girls passed the long,
and often very cold, nights. The days were still worse, for
as November went slowly away the circumstances which
surrounded their lives appeared to constantly gather a more
decided and a bitterer tone. December, that had always been
such a month of happiness, bright with Christmas expectations
and Christmas joys, came in with a terribly severe, wet
norther. The great log fires only warmed the atmosphere
immediately surrounding them, and Isabel and Antonia sat
gloomily within it all day. It seemed to Antonia as if her
heart had come to the very end of hope; and that something
must happen.
The rain lashed the earth; the wind roared around the house,
and filled it with unusual noises. The cold was a torture
that few found themselves able to endure. But it brought a
compensation. Fray Ignatius did not leave the Mission
comforts; and Rachela could not bear to go prowling about the
corridors and passages. She established herself in the
Senora's room, and remained there. And very early in the
evening she said "she had an outrageous headache," and went to
her room.
Then Antonia and Isabel sat awhile by their mother's bed.
They talked in whispers of their father and brothers, and when
the Senora cried, they kissed her sobs into silence and wiped
her tears away. In that hour, if Fray Ignatius had known it,
they undid, in a great measure, the work to which he had given
more than a month of patient and deeply-reflective labor. For
with the girls, there was the wondrous charm of love and
nature; but with the priest, only a splendid ideal of a Church
universal that was to swallow up all the claims of love and
all the ties of nature.
It was nearly nine o'clock when Antonia and Isabel returned to
the parlor fire. Their hearts were full of sorrow for
their mother, and of fears for their own future. For this
confidence had shown them how firmly the refuge of the convent
had been planted in the anxious ideas of the Senora.
Fortunately, the cold had driven the servants either to the
kitchen fire or to their beds, and they could talk over the
subject without fear of interference.
"Are you sleepy, queridita?"--(little dear).
"I think I shall never go to sleep again, Antonia. If I shut
my eyes I shall find myself in the convent; and I do not want
to go there even in a dream. Do you know Mother Teresa? Well
then, I could tell you things. And she does not like me, I am
sure of that; quite sure."
"My darling, I am going to make us a cup of tea. It will do
us good."
"If indeed it were chocolate!"
strengthened Isabel. She told her all her fears. She
persuaded her to control her wilfulness, to be obedient, and
to assume the childlike thoughtlessness which best satisfied
Fray Ignatius. "He told you to-day to be happy, that he would
think for you. My darling, let him believe that is the thing
you want," said Antonia. "I assure you we shall be the safer
for it."
"He said to me yesterday, when I asked him about the war, `Do
not inquire, child, into things you do not understand. That
is to be irreligious,' and then he made the cross on his
breast, as if I had put a bad thought into his heart. We are
afraid all day, and we sit whispering all night about our
fears; that is the state we are in. The Lord sends us nothing
but misfortunes, Antonia."
"My darling, tell the Lord your sorrow, then, but do not
repine to Rachela or Fray Ignatius. That is to complain to
the merciless of the All-Merciful."
"Do you think I am wicked, Antonia? What excuse could I offer
to His Divine Majesty, if I spoke evil to him of Rachela and
Fray Ignatius?"
"Neither of them are our friends; do you think so?"
"Fray Ignatius looks like a goblin; he gives me a shiver when
he looks at me; and as for Rachela--I already hate her!"
"Do not trust her. You need not hate her, Isabel."
"Antonia, I know that I shall eternally hate her; for I am
sure that our angels are at variance."
In conversations like these the anxious girls passed the long,
and often very cold, nights. The days were still worse, for
as November went slowly away the circumstances which
surrounded their lives appeared to constantly gather a more
decided and a bitterer tone. December, that had always been
such a month of happiness, bright with Christmas expectations
and Christmas joys, came in with a terribly severe, wet
norther. The great log fires only warmed the atmosphere
immediately surrounding them, and Isabel and Antonia sat
gloomily within it all day. It seemed to Antonia as if her
heart had come to the very end of hope; and that something
must happen.
The rain lashed the earth; the wind roared around the house,
and filled it with unusual noises. The cold was a torture
that few found themselves able to endure. But it brought a
compensation. Fray Ignatius did not leave the Mission
comforts; and Rachela could not bear to go prowling about the
corridors and passages. She established herself in the
Senora's room, and remained there. And very early in the
evening she said "she had an outrageous headache," and went to
her room.
Then Antonia and Isabel sat awhile by their mother's bed.
They talked in whispers of their father and brothers, and when
the Senora cried, they kissed her sobs into silence and wiped
her tears away. In that hour, if Fray Ignatius had known it,
they undid, in a great measure, the work to which he had given
more than a month of patient and deeply-reflective labor. For
with the girls, there was the wondrous charm of love and
nature; but with the priest, only a splendid ideal of a Church
universal that was to swallow up all the claims of love and
all the ties of nature.
It was nearly nine o'clock when Antonia and Isabel returned to
the parlor fire. Their hearts were full of sorrow for
their mother, and of fears for their own future. For this
confidence had shown them how firmly the refuge of the convent
had been planted in the anxious ideas of the Senora.
Fortunately, the cold had driven the servants either to the
kitchen fire or to their beds, and they could talk over the
subject without fear of interference.
"Are you sleepy, queridita?"--(little dear).
"I think I shall never go to sleep again, Antonia. If I shut
my eyes I shall find myself in the convent; and I do not want
to go there even in a dream. Do you know Mother Teresa? Well
then, I could tell you things. And she does not like me, I am
sure of that; quite sure."
"My darling, I am going to make us a cup of tea. It will do
us good."
"If indeed it were chocolate!"