The Expedition of the Donner Party and its Tragic Fate Part 25

I know that you saw grandfather in Sacramento; he saw you and knew you well too. Why did you not go and speak to him?

The roses you planted on Jacob's grave are growing beautifully, and our garden looks well. Grandfather and myself enjoy good health, and we wish you the same for all time to come. We give you our love, and remain,

In parental affection, MARY AND CHRISTIAN BRUNNER.

(Give our love also to Georgia.)

Georgia was as much gratified by the contents of the letter as I, and we each sent an immediate answer, addressed to grandpa and grandma, expressing our appreciation of their forgiving words, regret for trouble and annoyances we had caused them, thanks for their past kindness, and the hope that they would write to us again when convenient. We referred to our contentment in our new home, and avoided any words which they might construe as a wish to return.

There was no long waiting for the second letter, nor mistake in address. It was dated just three days prior to the first anniversary of our leaving Sonoma, and here speaks for itself:

SONOMA, _Sept. 11, 1856_ GEORGIA AND ELIZA DONNER.

MY DEAR CHILDREN:

Your two letters dated August thirty-first reached us in due season.

We were glad to hear from you, and it is our wish that you do well.

Whenever you are disposed to come to us again our doors shall be open to you, and we will rejoice to see you.

We are glad to see that you acknowledge your errors, for it shows good hearts, and the right kind of principles; for you should always remember that in showing respect to old age you are doing yourself honor, and those who know you will respect you. All your cows are doing well.

I am inclined to think that the last letter we wrote you, you did not get. We mention this to show you that we always write to you.

Your mother desires to know if you have forgotten the time when she used to have you sleep with her, each in one arm, showing the great love and care she had for you; she remembers, and can't forget.

Your grandfather informs you that he still keeps the butcher shop, and bar-room, and that scarcely a day pa.s.ses without his thinking of you. He still feels very bad that you did not, before going away, come to him and say "Good-bye grandfather." He forgives you, however, and hopes you will come and see him. When you get this letter you must write.

Yours affectionately,

CHRISTIAN BRUNNER, MARY BRUNNER.

Letters following the foregoing a.s.sured us that grandma had become fully satisfied that the stories told her by Mrs. Stein were untrue.

She freely acknowledged that she was miserable and forlorn without us, and begged us to return to the love and trust which awaited us at our old home. This, however, we could not do.

Before the close of the Winter, Frances and Georgia began preparations for boarding school in Sacramento, and I being promised like opportunities for myself later, wrote all about them to grandma, trusting that this course would convince her that we were permanently separated from her, and that Elitha and her husband had definite plans for our future. I received no response to this, but Georgia's first communication from school contained the following paragraph:

I saw Sallie Keiberg last week, who told me that her mother had a letter from the old lady (Grandma Brunner) five weeks ago. A man brought it. And that the old lady had sent us by him some jewellery, gold breast-pins, earrings, and wristlets. He stopped at the William Tell Hotel. And that is all they know about him and the presents.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

TRAGEDY IN SONOMA--CHRISTIAN BRUNNER IN A PRISON CELL--ST. CATHERINE'S CONVENT AT BENICIA--ROMANCE OF SPANISH CALIFORNIA--THE BEAUTIFUL ANGEL IN BLACK--THE PRAYER OF DONA CONCEPCION ARGUELLO REALIZED--MONASTIC BITES.

Time pa.s.sed. Not a word had come to me from Sonoma in months, when Benjamin handed me the _Union_, and with horror I read the headlines to which he pointed: "TRAGEDY IN SONOMA. CHRISTIAN BRUNNER, AN OLD RESIDENT, SLAYS HIS OWN NEPHEW!"

From the lurid details published, I learned that the Brunners had asked this nephew to come to them, and had sent him money to defray his expenses from Switzerland to California. Upon his arrival in Sonoma, he had settled himself in the proffered home, and at once begun a life of extravagance, at the expense of his relatives. He was repeatedly warned against trifling with their affection, and wasting their hard-earned riches. Then patience ceased, and he was forbidden the house of his uncle.

Meanwhile, his aunt became seriously ill, and the young man visited her secretly, and prevailed upon her to give him, in the event of her death, certain cattle and other property which stood in her name. She, however, recovered health; and he in the presence of his uncle, insisted that she had given him the property outright, and he wanted possession. This made trouble between the old couple, and the wife took refuge with friends in San Francisco. The night after her departure, the husband entered his own room and found the nephew in his bed.

Thoroughly enraged, he ordered him up and out of his sight, and was insolently told by the young man that he was owner of that property and in rightful possession of the same. At this, his uncle s.n.a.t.c.hed his pistol from the table at the bedside, and fired the fatal shot.

This almost incredible news was so harrowing that I could scarcely think of anything, except grandpa chained in a prison cell, grandma in hiding away from home, and excited groups of people gathering about the thoroughfares of Sonoma discussing the tragedy.

I was not sorry that at this time an epidemic of measles broke out in Sacramento, and Georgia became one of its early victims. This brought both girls back to the ranch, and during Georgia's convalescence, we had many serious talks about the Brunners' troubles. We wrote to grandma, but received no answer, and could only wait to learn what would be done with grandpa. He was arraigned and held; but the date set for trial was not fixed before Benjamin took Frances and Georgia to Benicia, to enter the September term of St. Catherine's Convent School.

Upon Ben's return, I observed that he and Elitha were keeping from me some mysterious but pleasurable secret. It came out a few days later when Elitha began making a black and a white uniform which would fit no one except me. When ready to try them on, she informed me that we would have to sew early and late, that I might be ready to enter the convent by the first of October, and thereby reap the benefit of the inst.i.tution's established custom--"That when more than two of a family become pupils the same term, the third one shall be received free of charge (except incidentals) with the understanding that the family thus favored shall exert its influence toward bringing an additional pupil into the school."

Friends who had religious prejudices advised Ben against putting us under Catholic influence, but he replied good-naturedly: "The school is excellent, the girls are Protestants, and I am not afraid. Besides, I have told them all the horrible and uncanny stories that I have heard about convents, and they will not care to meddle with anything outside of the prescribed course of study."

He was twenty years older than I, and had such conservative and dignified ways, that I often stood in awe of him. So when he let the convent gate close behind us with a loud click and said, "Now, you are a goner," I scanned his face apprehensively, but seeing nothing very alarming, silently followed him through the ma.s.sive door which was in charge of a white-robed nun of the Dominican order.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ST. CATHERINE'S CONVENT AT BENICIA, CALIFORNIA]

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHAPEL, ST. CATHERINE'S CONVENT]

Presently Mother Mary Superior and my two sisters came to us in the reception room and my brother deposited the fund for my school incidentals, and after a brief conversation, departed. The preparations in connection with my coming had been so rapidly carried out that I had had little time in which to question or antic.i.p.ate what my reception at the convent might be. Now, however, Mother Mary, with open watch in hand, stood before me, saying,

"Your sister Georgia cried twice as long as expected when she came; still I will allow you the regular five minutes."

"I don't wish to cry," was my timid response.

"But," she insisted, "you must shed a few entrance tears to--" Before she finished her sentence, and without thinking that it would be overreaching a stranger's privilege, I impulsively threw my arms around her neck, laid my cheek against hers, and whispered, "Please don't make me cry."

She drew me closer to her, and her lips touched my forehead, and she said, "No, child, you need not." Then she bade me go with my sisters and become acquainted with my new surroundings.

I was at once made to feel that I was welcome to every advantage and privilege accorded to Frances and Georgia. The following Monday, soon after breakfast, I slipped un.o.bserved from the recreation room and made my way to the children's dormitory, where Sister Mary Joseph was busily engaged. I told her that I had come to help make beds and that I hoped she would also let me wash or wipe the silverware used at the noon and evening meals. She would not accept my services until she became thoroughly satisfied that I had not offered them because I felt that I was expected to do so, but because I earnestly desired to do whatever I could in return for the educational and cultural advantages so freely tendered me by the convent.

By the end of the week I knew the way to parts of the buildings not usually open to pupils. Up in the clothes room, I found Sister Mary Frances, and on a.s.suring her that I only wanted occupation for part of my leisure time, she let me help her to sort and distribute the clothing of the small girls, on Sat.u.r.days. Sister Rose let me come to her in the kitchen an hour on Sundays, and other light tasks were a.s.signed me at my request.

Then did I eat the bread of independence, take a wholesome interest in my studies, and enjoy the friends I gained!

My seat in the refectory was between my sister Georgia and Miss Cayitana Payne, a wealthy Spanish girl. Near neighbors were the two Estudillo sisters, who were prouder of their Castilian lineage than of the princely estate which they had inherited through it. To them I was in a measure indebted for pleasing conversation at table. My abundant glossy black hair and brunette type had first attracted their attention, and suggested the probability of Spanish blood in my veins.

After they had learned otherwise, those points of resemblance still awoke in them an un.o.btrusive interest in my welfare. I became aware of its depth one evening in the recreation room while Georgia was home for a month on sick leave.

I was near Miss Dolores Estudillo, and overheard her say quietly to her sister, in Spanish, "Magdalena, see how care-free the young girl at my side seems tonight. The far-away look so often in her eyes leads me to think that our dear Lord has given her many crosses to bear. Her hands show marks of hard work and her clothing is inexpensive, yet she appears of good birth and when I can throw pleasure in her way, I mean to do it."

Whereupon Miss Magdalena turned to me and asked, "Do you live in Sacramento, Miss Donner?"

"No, I live on a ranch twenty miles from the city."

"Do your parents like it there?"

"I have no parents, they died when I was four years old."

She did not ask another question, nor did she know that I had caught the note of sympathy in her apology as she turned away. From that time on, she and her coterie of young friends showed me many delicate attentions.

While still a new pupil, I not infrequently met Sister Dominica resting at the foot of the steps after her walk in the suns.h.i.+ne, and with a gracious, "Thank you," she would permit me to a.s.sist her up the flight of stairs leading to her apartment. Bowed by age, and wasted by disease, she was patiently awaiting the final summons. I became deeply interested in her before I learned that this wan bit of humanity was the once winsome daughter of Commandante Arguello, and the heroine of a pathetic romance of Spanish California's day.[17]