Polly instantly went to her and held up her face to be kissed. Mrs. Comstock’s eyes twinkled and she made the greeting hearty.
The drink was compounded of the juices of oranges and berries from the garden. It was cool enough to frost glasses and pitcher and delicious to dusty tired travellers. Soon the pitcher was empty, and Elnora picked it up and went to refill it. While she was gone Henderson asked Philip about some trouble he was having with his car. They went to the woods and began a minute examination to find a defect which did not exist. Polly and Levering were having an animated conversation with Mrs. Comstock. Henderson saw Edith arise, follow the garden path next the woods and stand waiting under the willow which Elnora would pass on her return. It was for that meeting he had made the trip. He got down on the ground, tore up the car, worked, asked for help, and kept Philip busy screwing bolts and applying the oil can. All the time Henderson kept an eye on Edith and Elnora under the willow. But he took pains to lay the work he asked Philip to do where that scene would be out of his sight. When Elnora came around the corner with the pitcher, she found herself facing Edith Carr.
“I want a minute with you,” said Miss Carr.
“Very well,” replied Elnora, walking on.
“Set the pitcher on the bench there,” commanded Edith Carr, as if speaking to a servant.
“I prefer not to offer my visitors a warm drink,” said Elnora. “I’ll come back if you really wish to speak with me.”
“I came solely for that,” said Edith Carr.
“It would be a pity to travel so far in this dust and heat for nothing. I’ll only be gone a second.”
Elnora placed the pitcher before her mother. “Please serve this,” she said. “Miss Carr wishes to speak with me.”
“Don’t you pay the least attention to anything she says,” cried Polly. “Tom and I didn’t come here because we wanted to. We only came to checkmate her. I hoped I’d get the opportunity to say a word to you, and now she has given it to me. I just want to tell you that she threw Phil over in perfectly horrid way. She hasn’t any right to lay the ghost of a claim to him, has she, Tom?”
“Nary a claim,” said Tom Levering earnestly. “Why, even you, Polly, couldn’t serve me as she did Phil, and ever get me back again. If I were you, Miss Comstock, I’d send my mother to talk with her and I’d stay here.”
Tom had gauged Mrs. Comstock rightly. Polly put her arms around Elnora. “Let me go with you, dear,” she begged.
“I promised I would speak with her alone,” said Elnora, “and she must be considered. But thank you, very much.”
“How I shall love you!” exulted Polly, giving Elnora a parting hug.
The girl slowly and gravely walked back to the willow. She could not imagine what was coming, but she was promising herself that she would be very patient and control her temper.
“Will you be seated?” she asked politely.
Edith Carr glanced at the bench, while a shudder shook her.
“No. I prefer to stand,” she said. “Did Mr. Ammon give you the ring you are wearing, and do you consider yourself engaged to him?”
“By what right do you ask such personal questions as those?” inquired Elnora.
“By the right of a betrothed wife. I have been promised to Philip Ammon ever since I wore short skirts. All our lives we have expected to marry. An agreement of years cannot be broken in one insane moment. Always he has loved me devotedly. Give me ten minutes with him and he will be mine for all time.”
“I seriously doubt that,” said Elnora. “But I am willing that you should make the test. I will call him.”
“Stop!” commanded Edith Carr. “I told you that it was you I came to see.”
“I remember,” said Elnora.
“Mr. Ammon is my betrothed,” continued Edith Carr. “I expect to take him back to Chicago with me.”
“You expect considerable,” murmured Elnora. “I will raise no objection to your taking him, if you can—but, I tell you frankly, I don’t think it possible.”
“You are so sure of yourself as that,” scoffed Edith Carr. “One hour in my presence will bring back the old spell, full force. We belong to each other. I will not give him up.”
“Then it is untrue that you twice rejected his ring, repeatedly insulted him, and publicly renounced him?”
“That was through you!” cried Edith Carr. “Phil and I never had been so near and so happy as we were on that night. It was your clinging to him for things that caused him to desert me among his guests, while he tried to make me await your pleasure. I realize the spell of this place, for a summer season. I understand what you and your mother have done to inveigle him. I know that your hold on him is quite real. I can see just how you have worked to ensnare him!”
“Men would call that lying,” said Elnora calmly. “The second time I met Philip Ammon he told me of his engagement to you, and I respected it. I did by you as I would want you to do by me. He was here parts of each day, almost daily last summer. The Almighty is my witness that never once, by word or look, did I ever make the slightest attempt to interest him in my person or personality. He wrote you frequently in my presence. He forgot the violets for which he asked to send you. I gathered them and carried them to him. I sent him back to you in unswerving devotion, and the Almighty is also my witness that I could have changed his heart last summer, if I had tried. I wisely left that work for you. All my life I shall be glad that I lived and worked on the square. That he ever would come back to me free, by your act, I never dreamed. When he left me I did not hope or expect to see him again,” Elnora’s voice fell soft and low, “and, behold! You sent him—and free!”
“You exult in that!” cried Edith Carr. “Let me tell you he is not free! We have belonged for years. We always shall. If you cling to him, and hold him to rash things he has said and done, because he thought me still angry and unforgiving with him, you will ruin all our lives. If he married you, before a month you would read heart-hunger for me in his eyes. He could not love me as he has done, and give me up for a little scene like that!”
“There is a great poem,” said Elnora, “one line of which reads, ‘For each man kills the thing he loves.’ Let me tell you that a woman can do that also. He did love you—that I concede. But you killed his love everlastingly, when you disgraced him in public. Killed it so completely he does not even feel resentment toward you. To-day, he would do you a favour, if he could; but love you, no! That is over!”
Edith Carr stood truly regal and filled with scorn. “You are mistaken! Nothing on earth could kill that!” she cried, and Elnora saw that the girl really believed what she said.
“You are very sure of yourself!” said Elnora.
“I have reason to be sure,” answered Edith Carr. “We have lived and loved too long. I have had years with him to match against your days. He is mine! His work, his ambitions, his friends, his place in society are with me. You may have a summer charm for a sick man in the country; if he tried placing you in society, he soon would see you as others will. It takes birth to position, schooling, and endless practice to meet social demands gracefully. You would put him to shame in a week.”
“I scarcely think I should follow your example so far,” said Elnora dryly. “I have a feeling for Philip that would prevent my hurting him purposely, either in public or private. As for managing a social career for him he never mentioned that he desired such a thing. What he asked of me was that I should be his wife. I understood that to mean that he desired me to keep him a clean house, serve him digestible food, mother his children, and give him loving sympathy and tenderness.”
“Shameless!” cried Edith Carr.
“To which of us do you intend that adjective to apply?” inquired Elnora. “I never was less ashamed in all my life. Please remember I am in my own home, and your presence here is not on my invitation.”
Miss Carr lifted her head and struggled with her veil. She was very pale and trembling violently, while Elnora stood serene, a faint
smile on her lips.
“Such vulgarity!” panted Edith Carr. “How can a man like Philip endure it?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” inquired Elnora. “I can call him with one breath; but, if he judged us as we stand, I should not be the one to tremble at his decision. Miss Carr, you have been quite plain. You have told me in carefully selected words what you think of me. You insult my birth, education, appearance, and home. I assure you I am legitimate. I will pass a test examination with you on any high school or supplementary branch, or French or German. I will take a physical examination beside you. I will face any social emergency you can mention with you. I am acquainted with a whole world in which Philip Ammon is keenly interested, that you scarcely know exists. I am not afraid to face any audience you can get together anywhere with my violin. I am not repulsive to look at, and I have a wholesome regard for the proprieties and civilities of life. Philip Ammon never asked anything more of me, why should you?”
“It is plain to see,” cried Edith Carr, “that you took him when he was hurt and angry and kept his wound wide open. Oh, what have you not done against me?”
“I did not promise to marry him when an hour ago he asked me, and offered me this ring, because there was so much feeling in my heart for you, that I knew I never could be happy, if I felt that in any way I had failed in doing justice to your interests. I did slip on this ring, which he had just brought, because I never owned one, and it is very beautiful, but I made him no promise, nor shall I make any, until I am quite, quite sure, that you fully realize he never would marry you if I sent him away this hour.”
“You know perfectly that if your puny hold on him were broken, if he were back in his home, among his friends, and where he was meeting me, in one short week he would be mine again, as he always has been. In your heart you don’t believe what you say. You don’t dare trust him in my presence. You are afraid to allow him out of your sight, because you know what the results would be. Right or wrong, you have made up your mind to ruin him and me, and you are going to be selfish enough to do it. But—”
“That will do!” said Elnora. “Spare me the enumeration of how I will regret it. I shall regret nothing. I shall not act until I know there will be nothing to regret. I have decided on my course. You may return to your friends.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Edith Carr.
“That is my affair,” replied Elnora. “Only this! When your opportunity comes, seize it! Any time you are in Philip Ammon’s presence, exert the charms of which you boast, and take him. I grant you are justified in doing it if you can. I want nothing more than I want to see you marry Philip if he wants you. He is just across the fence under that automobile. Go spread your meshes and exert your wiles. I won’t stir to stop you. Take him to Onabasha, and to Chicago with you. Use every art you possess. If the old charm can be revived I will be the first to wish both of you well. Now, I must return to my visitors. Kindly excuse me.”
Elnora turned and went back to the arbour. Edith Carr followed the fence and passed through the gate into the west woods where she asked Henderson about the car. As she stood near him she whispered: “Take Phil back to Onabasha with us.”
“I say, Ammon, can’t you go to the city with us and help me find a shop where I can get this pinion fixed?” asked Henderson. “We want to lunch and start back by five. That will get us home about midnight. Why don’t you bring your automobile here?”
“I am a working man,” said Philip. “I have no time to be out motoring. I can’t see anything the matter with your car, myself; but, of course you don’t want to break down in the night, on strange roads, with women on your hands. I’ll see.”
Philip went into the arbour, where Polly took possession of his lap, fingered his hair, and kissed his forehead and lips.
“When are you coming to the cottage, Phil?” she asked. “Come soon, and bring Miss Comstock for a visit. All of us will be so glad to have her.”
Philip beamed on Polly. “I’ll see about that,” he said. “Sounds pretty good. Elnora, Henderson is in trouble with his automobile. He wants me to go to Onabasha with him to show him where the doctor lives, and make repairs so he can start back this evening. It will take about two hours. May I go?”
“Of course, you must go,” she said, laughing lightly. “You can’t leave your sister. Why don’t you return to Chicago with them? There is plenty of room, and you could have a fine visit.”
“I’ll be back in just two hours,” said Philip. “While I am gone, you be thinking over what we were talking of when the folks came.”
“Miss Comstock can go with us as well as not,” said Polly. “That back seat was made for three, and I can sit on your lap.”
“Come on! Do come!” urged Philip instantly, and Tom Levering joined him, but Henderson and Edith silently waited at the gate.
“No, thank you,” laughed Elnora. “That would crowd you, and it’s warm and dusty. We will say good-bye here.”
She offered her hand to all of them, and when she came to Philip she gave him one long steady look in the eyes, then shook hands with him also.
Chapter 23
Wherein Elnora Reaches a Decision, and Freckles and the Angel Appear
“Well, she came, didn’t she?” remarked Mrs. Comstock to Elnora as they watched the automobile speed down the road. As it turned the Limberlost corner, Philip arose and waved to them.
“She hasn’t got him yet, anyway,” said Mrs. Comstock, taking heart. “What’s that on your finger, and what did she say to you?”
Elnora explained about the ring as she drew it off.
“I have several letters to write, then I am going to change my dress and walk down toward Aunt Margaret’s for a little exercise. I may meet some of them, and I don’t want them to see this ring. You keep it until Philip comes,” said Elnora. “As for what Miss Carr said to me, many things, two of importance: one, that I lacked every social requirement necessary for the happiness of Philip Ammon, and that if I married him I would see inside a month that he was ashamed of me—”
“Aw, shockins!” scorned Mrs. Comstock. “Go on!”
“The other was that she has been engaged to him for years, that he belongs to her, and she refuses to give him up. She said that if he were in her presence one hour, she would have him under a mysterious thing she calls ‘her spell’ again; if he were where she could see him for one week, everything would be made up. It is her opinion that he is suffering from wounded pride, and that the slightest concession on her part will bring him to his knees before her.”
Mrs. Comstock giggled. “I do hope the boy isn’t weak-kneed,” she said. “I just happened to be passing the west window this afternoon—”
Elnora laughed. “Nothing save actual knowledge ever would have made me believe there was a girl in all this world so infatuated with herself. She speaks casually of her power over men, and boasts of ‘bringing a man to his knees’ as complacently as I would pick up a net and say: ‘I am going to take a butterfly.’ She honestly believes that if Philip were with her a short time she could rekindle his love for her and awaken in him every particle of the old devotion. Mother, the girl is honest! She is absolutely sincere! She so believes in herself and the strength of Phil’s love for her, that all her life she will believe in and brood over that thought, unless she is taught differently. So long as she thinks that, she will nurse wrong ideas and pine over her blighted life. She must be taught that Phil is absolutely free, and yet he will not go to her.”
“But how on earth are you proposing to teach her that?”
“The way will open.”
“Lookey here, Elnora!” cried Mrs. Comstock. “That Carr girl is the handsomest dark woman I ever saw. She’s got to the place where she won’t stop at anything. Her coming here proves that. I don’t believe there was a thing the matter with that automobile. I think that was a scheme she fixed up to get Phil where she could see him alone, as she worked to see you. If you are going deliberately to put Philip under her inf
luence again, you’ve got to brace yourself for the possibility that she may win. A man is a weak mortal, where a lovely woman is concerned, and he never denied that he loved her once. You may make yourself downright miserable.”
“But mother, if she won, it wouldn’t make me half so miserable as to marry Phil myself, and then read hunger for her in his eyes! Some one has got to suffer over this. If it proves to be me, I’ll bear it, and you’ll never hear a whisper of complaint from me. I know the real Philip Ammon better in our months of work in the fields than she knows him in all her years of society engagements. So she shall have the hour she asked, many, many of them, enough to make her acknowledge that she is wrong. Now I am going to write my letters and take my walk.”
Elnora threw her arms around her mother and kissed her repeatedly. “Don’t you worry about me,” she said. “I will get along all right, and whatever happens, I always will be your girl and you my darling mother.”
She left two sealed notes on her desk. Then she changed her dress, packed a small bundle which she dropped with her hat from the window beside the willow, and softly went down stairs. Mrs. Comstock was in the garden. Elnora picked up the hat and bundle, hurried down the road a few rods, then climbed the fence and entered the woods. She took a diagonal course, and after a long walk reached a road two miles west and one south. There she straightened her clothing, put on her hat and a thin dark veil and waited the passing of the next trolley. She left it at the first town and took a train for Fort Wayne. She made that point just in time to climb on the evening train north, as it pulled from the station. It was after midnight when she left the car at Grand Rapids, and went into the depot to await the coming of day.
Tired out, she laid her head on her bundle and fell asleep on a seat in the women’s waiting-room. Long after light she was awakened by the roar and rattle of trains. She washed, re-arranged her hair and clothing, and went into the general waiting-room to find her way to the street. She saw him as he entered the door. There was no mistaking the tall, lithe figure, the bright hair, the lean, brown-splotched face, the steady gray eyes. He was dressed for travelling, and carried a light overcoat and a bag. Straight to him Elnora went speeding.
The Best of Gene Stratton-Porter Page 56
