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Authors: Jane Toombs
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forever.
Esteban handed them each a glass and, the mood broken, they stood awkwardly sipping the white wine. With the first excitement of their meeting past, there seemed to be nothing to say. Esteban finally broke the silence.
"The wedding will be held in five days' time," he told Jordan. "We had to delay making our plans until we learned of your arrival."
"Guests are coming from all of California," Margarita said. "Don Francisco Ortega, Don Pablo Grijalva, Don Mario Vallejo and so many others. All with their wives, of course."
"As usual," Esteban said, "my sister is more enthusiastic than accurate." Jordan, seeing Esteban smile fondly at Margarita, felt a grudging warmth for his future brother-in-law.
"They are journeying from as far away as Santa Ana," Esteban went on, "the pueblo of Los Angeles, San Luis Obispo and, perhaps, from the capital at Monterey as well."
"And after the ceremony," Margarita told Jordan breathlessly, "there will be a magnificent fandango here at the casa , with dancing and feasting for many days and a fight between a wild bear and a brave bull and the vaqueros will race their horses and draw the cock."
Jordan nodded. He had seen them draw the cock on his last visit, the vaqueros burying a live rooster in the ground and, one at a time, riding by as fast as they could, hanging one-handed from their horses to grasp the cock's neck and try to pull him from the ground.
"Padre Luis has given us permission to use the mission church for the ceremony," Esteban said, "even though the work on the tower isn't finished. This time they intend to build a church that will withstand the most violent of earthquakes."
"I expected to find the church finished," Jordan said. All of the day's irritations rose to his mind--his impatience with the elaborate Spanish courtesies, having to wait another five days before he and Margarita could marry, the antagonism he suspected Esteban felt toward him. "Surely they have enough Indian slaves for the work," he said.
There was complete silence.
"Slaves?" Esteban asked quietly. "The Indians are not slaves. You are, perhaps, confusing California with one of your Southern states. This is not Georgia, not Virginia. The Indians are neophytes, as you know, who are being taught Christianity by the padres. They were savages when we Spanish came to California, living in the wilds, eating acorns and grass."
"And wearing no clothing at all," Margarita broke in. Her brother glared at her and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. When Esteban looked away, she winked at Jordan.
"They were pagans who worshipped the sun, the moon, the earth and the mountains. They had no sense of sin, they did not know the difference between right and wrong. The padres are instructing them in the meaning of sin."
"By flogging them? Or did they get the stripes on their backs in some other way?"
'They are like children. As a child must be punished by his parents when he disobeys, so must the Indians be punished. The padres love them as though they were the sons and daughters they themselves can never have. They feed and clothe and house them."
"And pay them nothing for their work."
"If the Indians were given money, they would buy aguardiente and drink and quarrel for days."
"And be unable to carry mortar or work in the mission fields or tend the mission cattle," Jordan put in.
"The Indians are happy living at the mission," Esteban said.
"Is that why they come there only in the winter, sheltering from the rain and cold, and then in the spring steal whatever horses and cattle they can find and try to escape to their homes in the mountains?"
"As I say, they are children. They think as children think and act as children act. Like a child, an Indian sees no farther than a day or two into the future. In many ways, however," Esteban said, "I agree with you, Senor Quinn. The days of the missions are nearing an end. The priests are too little concerned with Christianity. They have become too
Esteban handed them each a glass and, the mood broken, they stood awkwardly sipping the white wine. With the first excitement of their meeting past, there seemed to be nothing to say. Esteban finally broke the silence.
"The wedding will be held in five days' time," he told Jordan. "We had to delay making our plans until we learned of your arrival."
"Guests are coming from all of California," Margarita said. "Don Francisco Ortega, Don Pablo Grijalva, Don Mario Vallejo and so many others. All with their wives, of course."
"As usual," Esteban said, "my sister is more enthusiastic than accurate." Jordan, seeing Esteban smile fondly at Margarita, felt a grudging warmth for his future brother-in-law.
"They are journeying from as far away as Santa Ana," Esteban went on, "the pueblo of Los Angeles, San Luis Obispo and, perhaps, from the capital at Monterey as well."
"And after the ceremony," Margarita told Jordan breathlessly, "there will be a magnificent fandango here at the casa , with dancing and feasting for many days and a fight between a wild bear and a brave bull and the vaqueros will race their horses and draw the cock."
Jordan nodded. He had seen them draw the cock on his last visit, the vaqueros burying a live rooster in the ground and, one at a time, riding by as fast as they could, hanging one-handed from their horses to grasp the cock's neck and try to pull him from the ground.
"Padre Luis has given us permission to use the mission church for the ceremony," Esteban said, "even though the work on the tower isn't finished. This time they intend to build a church that will withstand the most violent of earthquakes."
"I expected to find the church finished," Jordan said. All of the day's irritations rose to his mind--his impatience with the elaborate Spanish courtesies, having to wait another five days before he and Margarita could marry, the antagonism he suspected Esteban felt toward him. "Surely they have enough Indian slaves for the work," he said.
There was complete silence.
"Slaves?" Esteban asked quietly. "The Indians are not slaves. You are, perhaps, confusing California with one of your Southern states. This is not Georgia, not Virginia. The Indians are neophytes, as you know, who are being taught Christianity by the padres. They were savages when we Spanish came to California, living in the wilds, eating acorns and grass."
"And wearing no clothing at all," Margarita broke in. Her brother glared at her and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. When Esteban looked away, she winked at Jordan.
"They were pagans who worshipped the sun, the moon, the earth and the mountains. They had no sense of sin, they did not know the difference between right and wrong. The padres are instructing them in the meaning of sin."
"By flogging them? Or did they get the stripes on their backs in some other way?"
'They are like children. As a child must be punished by his parents when he disobeys, so must the Indians be punished. The padres love them as though they were the sons and daughters they themselves can never have. They feed and clothe and house them."
"And pay them nothing for their work."
"If the Indians were given money, they would buy aguardiente and drink and quarrel for days."
"And be unable to carry mortar or work in the mission fields or tend the mission cattle," Jordan put in.
"The Indians are happy living at the mission," Esteban said.
"Is that why they come there only in the winter, sheltering from the rain and cold, and then in the spring steal whatever horses and cattle they can find and try to escape to their homes in the mountains?"
"As I say, they are children. They think as children think and act as children act. Like a child, an Indian sees no farther than a day or two into the future. In many ways, however," Esteban said, "I agree with you, Senor Quinn. The days of the missions are nearing an end. The priests are too little concerned with Christianity. They have become too
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