California -- Fiction; San Francisco (Calif.) -- Fiction; Upper class -- Fiction; Western stories
"Let Fair Oaks! Fair Oaks?"
"Yes."
"And where are we to go this summer?"
"We stay here."
"Robert! You cannot mean that. No one stays here in summer. The city is
impossible--those trade-winds--those fogs--"
"Need not go out. Can stay in the house." And Don Roberto returned to
his ledger.
Mrs. Yorba went straight to Magdalena's room, and for the first time in
her daughter's experience of her, wept.
"To think of spending a summer in San Francisco! How I have looked
forward to the summer! Things are always bright and cheerful in Menlo
even with the house shut up, for one can sit on the verandah. But here!
And not a soul in town! And the house like a prison! What in Heaven's
name ails your father? He's not crazy. He's reading his ledgers, and
what he says is to the point, goodness knows! But I shall follow Hiram
if this keeps up. You're a real comfort to me, 'Lena. I don't know what
I should do without you."
Magdalena said what she could to console her mother. The two had drawn
together during these trying months. She was bitterly disappointed that
she could not go to Menlo Park. She was tired of its efforts to amuse
itself, but she could live in its woods, its soft gracious air, find
companionship in the distant redwoods swimming in their dark-blue mists.
The girls all invited her to visit them, but she would not leave her
mother, even could her father's consent be obtained. Mrs. Yorba was
genuinely unhappy. Without mental resources, and deprived of even an
occasional hour with her friends, she was further harassed by the fear
that her husband would die and leave her with a pittance: he certainly
appeared to hate the sight of his family. It consoled her somewhat to
reflect that wills were easily broken in California. Why had her brother
left her nothing? With a full purse she could at least have the
distractions of philanthropy. She took to novel-reading with a voracious
appetite, and her taste grew so exacting that she would have nothing
that was not magnificently sensational. She thought on Boston with a
shudder, but concluded that it was enough to have been intellectual when
young.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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