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He arrogated their powers to himself struggled to be, of his own unaided might, stronger than death, more powerful than the grave. He had demanded of Sarria that God should restore Angele to him, but now he appealed directly to Angele herself. As he lay there, his arms clasped about her grave, she seemed so near to him that he fancied she MUST hear.
One of these doors, on the pulpit side of the church, stood ajar, and stepping to it and pushing it wide open, Vanamee looked diagonally across a little patch of vegetables beets, radishes, and lettuce to the rear of the building that had once contained the cloisters, and through an open window saw Father Sarria diligently polishing the silver crucifix that usually stood on the high altar.
The barn fowls were roosting in the trees near the stable, the horses crunching their fodder in the stalls, the day's work ceasing by slow degrees; and the priest, the Spanish churchman, Father Sarria, relic of a departed regime, kindly, benign, believing in all goodness, a lover of his fellows and of dumb animals, yet, for all that, hurrying away in confusion and discomfiture, carrying in one hand the vessels of the Holy Communion and in the other a basket of game cocks.
Father Vicente Sarria, a venerable and saintly missionary in charge of Mission Nuestra Senora de la Soledad at the time the first two acts of Secularization were passed, was one of the keenest sufferers from the injustices of the times, undergoing untold labors and hardships, which in no small degree contributed to his death in 1833, which found him at his post of duty at the mission.
On December 14, Padre Sarría, assisted by several other priests, conducted the ceremony of dedication to San Rafael Arcángel. It was originally intended to be an asistencia of San Francisco, but although there is no record that it was ever formally raised to the dignity of an independent Mission, it is called and enumerated as such from the year 1823 in all the reports of the Fathers.
Vanamee started up, coming, as it were, to himself, looking wildly about him. Sarria was there. "I saw her," said the priest. "It was Angele, the little girl, your Angele's daughter. She is like her mother." But Vanamee scarcely heard. He walked as if in a trance, pushing by Sarria, going forth from the garden. Angele or Angele's daughter, it was all one with him. It was She. Death was overcome.
Mission Anecdotes and Hymns Told of Father Vicente Sarria
Upon his inquiry, Sarria became confused. "It was a basket that he had had sent down to him from the city." "Well, I know but what's in it?" "Why I'm sure ah, poultry a chicken or two." "Fancy breed?" "Yes, yes, that's it, a fancy breed." At the ranch house, where they arrived toward five o'clock, Annixter insisted that the priest should stop long enough for a glass of sherry.
Sarria left the basket and his small black valise at the foot of the porch steps, and sat down in a rocker on the porch itself, fanning himself with his broad-brimmed hat, and shaking the dust from his cassock. Annixter brought out the decanter of sherry and glasses, and the two drank to each other's health.
The place, but for this noise, was shrouded in a Sunday stillness, an absolute repose. Only at intervals, one heard the trickle of the unseen fountain, and the liquid cooing of doves in the garden. Father Sarria opened the door. He was a small man, somewhat stout, with a smooth and shiny face.
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