To: The Guy Williams Friends List
The Continuation of My Adventure
Episode 4: Diego or a Convent?
Don Francisco, my “father”, seemed older when I entered his study. He stood at his desk and allowed me to kiss his hand before he waved it at me to sit down. This house was dark. Or maybe I thought so because there wasn’t electric light, just the candles. Even that wasn’t like the TV series. Light a candle on the Disney Zorro set, and the whole room lights up. Remember when the Eagle lit the candle in the study, and the room lit up right away? Remember when Capitan Arrellanos called out to the de la Vegas and a light went on in Diego’s room? It was like a light switch – poof – and the whole room was bright.
Well, I couldn’t speak for the de la Vega house. Maybe they had electricity. Well, actually, they did have it in some form! But here, the candle light penetrated the darkness slowly, casting shadows on anything in its path. It was just like any restaurant. And the dark wood and the small windows did not help.
Father hadn’t spent much time here. He had re-married after my mother died, but that lady also died soon after in childbirth. He never remarried, and traveled to and from the continent on his business, and I couldn’t quite remember what that was. Anyway, nothing relieved the stern ancestors hanging on the wall or the hardly lived in formality of the house.
How did I know these things? Because I was Magdalena. Silly question. But I kept asking it. Don Francisco looked at me across his desk, and I saw the frowning shape of his eyes and his unsmiling lips. I tried to guess his age through his frailness and his wrinkles. It was hard to tell in the darkness. Not that I remembered much about how he looked. (Does anyone remember what Don Francisco looked like? Quick. Can you? Exactly. Poor fellow.)
“I am glad you are home, Magdalena,” he said. His fingers shook, like his voice. He folded his hands on his desk. Poor man. “You have disappointed me,” he said, softly. “Your aunt tells me that you disregarded all rules in Mexico City. That you ran about with any young man who asked you.” He paused, as if to collect his thoughts. I held my tongue, thinking that my running about meant only that I talked to men and went about without Aunt Inez in tow. “It is partly my fault,” he continued. “Inez was no match for you. Poor woman.”
Did I imagine that he smiled just a little?
"She was not like her sister, your mother. You are. How beautiful you are, my daughter. Just like her. Full of life. Just like her.”
Poor man
“I am old,” he said. “When I die, if I have no grandchild, my land will go to your cousin Sanchez in Spain. He will not care for it. My hopes lie in you, my daughter.” Then he launched into a sort of Montez family geneology. I caught the rhythm of the spiel, but I didn’t listen, so I hope no one minds if I don’t supply it. It ended up on my mental cutting room floor. I should have listened.
“I have made an agreement with Don Alejandro de la Vega –“
Now he had my attention.
“He and I have drawn up a contract, and a major part of the contract is that you will marry his oldest son, Diego.”
Then his voice grew firm.
“You do have a choice.”
I needed a choice? Let's see. Marriage at the hacienda or at the mission? Marriage at the mission would be nice. Near the bench. Not that it was there yet.
“If you do not choose to marry Diego, then, I will have no choice but to send you to the convent at San Luis Rey.”
Believe it or not, I bristled at the patriarchal command. I think we both did.
"Does Don Diego know about your agreement with his father?" I asked.
My father shrugged. “He will do what his father wants. It does not matter.” He smiled. “Once he sees you, he will not need pushing.”
Diego or a convent.
I tried the convent, Father, and the nuns would not have anything to do with me. I wanted them to take me in, I was desperate, but those holy women showed me the door.
Then I remembered. I remembered galloping on a horse through a forest and out onto a meadow. I was laughing. My riding skirt blew about my legs and my hair flew back of me, pinned on top with a hat so it wouldn’t fly off! Hold onto your haaiiir! I heard a voice cry, behind me. And hoof beats pounding. I could only laugh. I pulled up on the reins and patted my beautiful white satin colored horse – White Satin! That was his name! – and from my perch I looked about on the valley. Mexico City lay below on one side and on the other, the great pasture lands.
A man rode up beside me, and I heard his voice.
“You are too good a rider to be a lady, Magdalena. But you are good enough to be a vaquero’s woman!”
I laughed and looked over at him, but his face was obscured by the bright sunlight. I could not think of his name.
I remembered sitting beneath the olive trees, and his head lay in my lap. He was talking away while I stroked his brown hair. He was wild, wiry, agitated. He would not stay down. So I pushed his head down and giggled.
“Spain does not care what we do here. It hands out the land to the rich, while we poor non noble souls must grovel and work their land.”
“Stop talking,” I remembered saying. "Isn't it a lovely day? Enjoy it. Enjoy it with me."
“You believe me, don’t you?” he asked, but he sat up, evading my efforts, and looked into my eyes.
“I believe that you can do anything you want. The people love you. This country will help you.”
“No, how can they? I have too many soldiers on my trail. I’ve robbed a few too many rich men. And you – you will marry some handsome nobleman.”
“Never!” I cried.
“Magdalena!” said a sharp voice. The acute memory faded. I was confused. What on earth did it mean? Was Magdalena in love with a vaquero? A bandit? That couldn’t be. That was Elena’s story – or perhaps Teresa’s. What did we know about Magdalena’s past? Just that she kept men’s tongues wagging.
“Yes, Father,” I said.
“You do not look happy,” he said.
“No, no, you misunderstand,” I said.
His features relaxed. “Magdalena, you are a spirited, intelligent lady, and I may add, very beautiful.”
You may add.
“Every man’s head in California will turn at the sight of you. It would be good if you would marry a good man right away and not go looking for trouble.”
“Father,” I said, “I am sorry for any trouble I have caused you.”
He paused at that, looking greatly moved. He took a moment to calm what seemed to be vivid emotions. I wondered what he thought I had done.
“Diego returned from Spain a few months ago. And I must say that he is a handsome young man, and sure to please your eyes.”
That helped my anxieties, but then again, this was Don Francisco talking.
“He is intelligent, well traveled, loves the arts, fancies himself a composer. He shows little interest in running the rancho, and his father is most concerned. We feel a wife and family will encourage him to take an interest in his family’s business. In our family’s business.”
The two fathers had decided. And they knew they would have their way. I wanted to say, “I want to marry your head vaquero.” Just to tell him he really shouldn’t assume he could order me around.
Why did I feel so sad, though? And something else. I felt determination. You play right into my hands!
Just a moment here. What is going on, Magdalena? What can I do to make you happy?
“You will meet Diego tomorrow,” said my father. “You must make all this seem to be Diego’s idea, too. I know you can do that.”
Be happy, I thought. This is happy. It will be all right.
“I shall do what you ask, Father,” I said.
He smiled at me.
He looked so relieved.
It was settled.
Don’t worry, Magdalena. Everything will work out. Trust me. I know the whole script. Tomorrow we would seduce Diego.
