The Best of Gene Stratton-Porter

by Gene Stratton-Porter

  “Oh, I was just starting to find you!” she cried.

  “Thank you!” he said.

  “You are going away?” she panted.

  “Not if I am needed. I have a few minutes. Can you be telling me briefly?”

  “I am the Limberlost girl to whom your wife gave the dress for Commencement last spring, and both of you sent lovely gifts. There is a reason, a very good reason, why I must be hidden for a time, and I came straight to you—as if I had a right.”

  “You have!” answered Freckles. “Any boy or girl who ever suffered one pang in the Limberlost has a claim to the best drop of blood in my heart. You needn’t be telling me anything more. The Angel is at our cottage on Mackinac. You shall tell her and play with the babies while you want shelter. This way!”

  They breakfasted in a luxurious car, talked over the swamp, the work of the Bird Woman; Elnora told of her nature lectures in the schools, and soon they were good friends. In the evening they left the train at Mackinaw City and crossed the Straits by boat. Sheets of white moonlight flooded the water and paved a molten path across the breast of it straight to the face of the moon.

  The island lay a dark spot on the silver surface, its tall trees sharply outlined on the summit, and a million lights blinked around the shore. The night guns boomed from the white fort and a dark sentinel paced the ramparts above the little city tucked down close to the water. A great tenor summering in the north came out on the upper deck of the big boat, and baring his head, faced the moon and sang: “Oh, the moon shines bright on my old Kentucky home!” Elnora thought of the Limberlost, of Philip, and her mother, and almost choked with the sobs that would arise in her throat. On the dock a woman of exquisite beauty swept into the arms of Terence O’More.

  “Oh, Freckles!” she cried. “You’ve been gone a month!”

  “Four days, Angel, only four days by the clock,” remonstrated Freckles. “Where are the children?”

  “Asleep! Thank goodness! I’m worn to a thread. I never saw such inventive, active children. I can’t keep track of them!”

  “I have brought you help,” said Freckles. “Here is the Limberlost girl in whom the Bird Woman is interested. Miss Comstock needs a rest before beginning her school work for next year, so she came to us.”

  “You dear thing! How good of you!” cried the Angel. “We shall be so happy to have you!”

  In her room that night, in a beautiful cottage furnished with every luxury, Elnora lifted a tired face to the Angel.

  “Of course, you understand there is something back of this?” she said. “I must tell you.”

  “Yes,” agreed the Angel. “Tell me! If you get it out of your system, you will stand a better chance of sleeping.”

  Elnora stood brushing the copper-bright masses of her hair as she talked. When she finished the Angel was almost hysterical.

  “You insane creature!” she cried. “How crazy of you to leave him to her! I know both of them. I have met them often. She may be able to make good her boast. But it is perfectly splendid of you! And, after all, really it is the only way. I can see that. I think it is what I should have done myself, or tried to do. I don’t know that I could have done it! When I think of walking away and leaving Freckles with a woman he once loved, to let her see if she can make him love her again, oh, it gives me a graveyard heart. No, I never could have done it! You are bigger than I ever was. I should have turned coward, sure.”

  “I am a coward,” admitted Elnora. “I am soul-sick! I am afraid I shall lose my senses before this is over. I didn’t want to come! I wanted to stay, to go straight into his arms, to bind myself with his ring, to love him with all my heart. It wasn’t my fault that I came. There was something inside that just pushed me. She is beautiful—”

  “I quite agree with you!”

  “You can imagine how fascinating she can be. She used no arts on me. Her purpose was to cower me. She found she could not do that, but she did a thing which helped her more: she proved that she was honest, perfectly sincere in what she thought. She believes that if she merely beckons to Philip, he will go to her. So I am giving her the opportunity to learn from him what he will do. She never will believe it from any one else. When she is satisfied, I shall be also.”

  “But, child! Suppose she wins him back!”

  “That is the supposition with which I shall eat and sleep for the coming few weeks. Would one dare ask for a peep at the babies before going to bed?”

  “Now, you are perfect!” announced the Angel. “I never should have liked you all I can, if you had been content to go to sleep in this house without asking to see the babies. Come this way. We named the first boy for his father, of course, and the girl for Aunt Alice. The next boy is named for my father, and the baby for the Bird Woman. After this we are going to branch out.”

  Elnora began to laugh.

  “Oh, I suspect there will be quite a number of them,” said the Angel serenely. “I am told the more there are the less trouble they make. The big ones take care of the little ones. We want a large family. This is our start.”

  She entered a dark room and held aloft a candle. She went to the side of a small white iron bed in which lay a boy of eight and another of three. They were perfectly formed, rosy children, the elder a replica of his mother, the other very like. Then they came to a cradle where a baby girl of almost two slept soundly, and made a picture.

  “But just see here!” said the Angel. She threw the light on a sleeping girl of six. A mass of red curls swept the pillow. Line and feature the face was that of Freckles. Without asking, Elnora knew the colour and expression of the closed eyes. The Angel handed Elnora the candle, and stooping, straightened the child’s body. She ran her fingers through the bright curls, and lightly touched the aristocratic little nose.

  “The supply of freckles holds out in my family, you see!” she said. “Both of the girls will have them, and the second boy a few.”

  She stood an instant longer, then bending, ran her hand caressingly down a rosy bare leg, while she kissed the babyish red mouth. There had been some reason for touching all of them, the kiss fell on the lips which were like Freckles’s.

  To Elnora she said a tender good-night, whispering brave words of encouragement and making plans to fill the days to come. Then she went away. An hour later there was a light tap on the girl’s door.

  “Come!” she called as she lay staring into the dark.

  The Angel felt her way to the bedside, sat down and took Elnora’s hands.

  “I just had to come back to you,” she said. “I have been telling Freckles, and he is almost hurting himself with laughing. I didn’t think it was funny, but he does. He thinks it’s the funniest thing that ever happened. He says that to run away from Mr. Ammon, when you had made him no promise at all, when he wasn’t sure of you, won’t send him home to her; it will set him hunting you! He says if you had combined the wisdom of Solomon, Socrates, and all the remainder of the wise men, you couldn’t have chosen any course that would have sealed him to you so surely. He feels that now Mr. Ammon will perfectly hate her for coming down there and driving you away. And you went to give her the chance she wanted. Oh, Elnora! It is becoming funny! I see it, too!”

  The Angel rocked on the bedside. Elnora faced the dark in silence.

  “Forgive me,” gulped the Angel. “I didn’t mean to laugh. I didn’t think it was funny, until all at once it came to me. Oh, dear! Elnora, it is funny! I’ve got to laugh!”

  “Maybe it is,” admitted Elnora, “to others; but it isn’t very funny to me. And it won’t be to Philip, or to mother.”

  That was very true. Mrs. Comstock had been slightly prepared for stringent action of some kind, by what Elnora had said. The mother instantly had guessed where the girl would go, but nothing was said to Philip. That would have been to invalidate Elnora’s test in the beginning, and Mrs. Comstock knew her child well enough to know that she never would marry Philip unless she felt it right that she should. The only way was to f
ind out, and Elnora had gone to seek the information. There was nothing to do but wait until she came back, and her mother was not in the least uneasy but that the girl would return brave and self-reliant, as always.

  Philip Ammon hurried back to the Limberlost, strong in the hope that now he might take Elnora into his arms and receive her promise to become his wife. His first shock of disappointment came when he found her gone. In talking with Mrs. Comstock he learned that Edith Carr had made an opportunity to speak with Elnora alone. He hastened down the road to meet her, coming back alone, an agitated man. Then search revealed the notes. His read:

  DEAR PHILIP:

  I find that I am never going to be able to answer your question of this afternoon fairly to all of us, when you are with me. So I am going away a few weeks to think over matters alone. I shall not tell you, or even mother, where I am going, but I shall be safe, well cared for, and happy. Please go back home and live among your friends, just as you always have done, and on or before the first of September, I will write you where I am, and what I have decided. Please do not blame Edith Carr for this, and do not avoid her. I hope you will call on her and be friends. I think she is very sorry, and covets your friendship at least. Until September, then, as ever,

  ELNORA.

  Mrs. Comstock’s note was much the same. Philip was ill with disappointment. In the arbour he laid his head on the table, among the implements of Elnora’s loved work, and gulped down dry sobs he could not restrain. Mrs. Comstock never had liked him so well. Her hand involuntarily crept toward his dark head, then she drew back. Elnora would not want her to do anything whatever to influence him.

  “What am I going to do to convince Edith Carr that I do not love her, and Elnora that I am hers?” he demanded.

  “I guess you have to figure that out yourself,” said Mrs. Comstock. “I’d be glad to help you if I could, but it seems to be up to you.”

  Philip sat a long time in silence. “Well, I have decided!” he said abruptly. “Are you perfectly sure Elnora had plenty of money and a safe place to go?”

  “Absolutely!” answered Mrs. Comstock. “She has been taking care of herself ever since she was born, and she always has come out all right, so far; I’ll stake all I’m worth on it, that she always will. I don’t know where she is, but I’m not going to worry about her safety.”

  “I can’t help worrying!” cried Philip. “I can think of fifty things that may happen to her when she thinks she is safe. This is distracting! First, I am going to run up to see my father. Then, I’ll let you know what we have decided. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Nothing!” said Mrs. Comstock.

  But the desire to do something for him was so strong with her she scarcely could keep her lips closed or her hands quiet. She longed to tell him what Edith Carr had said, how it had affected Elnora, and to comfort him as she felt she could. But loyalty to the girl held her. If Elnora truly felt that she could not decide until Edith Carr was convinced, then Edith Carr would have to yield or triumph. It rested with Philip. So Mrs. Comstock kept silent, while Philip took the night limited, a bitterly disappointed man.

  By noon the next day he was in his father’s offices. They had a long conference, but did not arrive at much until the elder Ammon suggested sending for Polly. Anything that might have happened could be explained after Polly had told of the private conference between Edith and Elnora.

  “Talk about lovely woman!” cried Philip Ammon. “One would think that after such a dose as Edith gave me, she would be satisfied to let me go my way, but no! Not caring for me enough herself to save me from public disgrace, she must now pursue me to keep any other woman from loving me. I call that too much! I am going to see her, and I want you to go with me, father.”

  “Very well,” said Mr. Ammon, “I will go.”

  When Edith Carr came into her reception-room that afternoon, gowned for conquest, she expected only Philip, and him penitent. She came hurrying toward him, smiling, radiant, ready to use every allurement she possessed, and paused in dismay when she saw his cold face and his father. “Why, Phil!” she cried. “When did you come home?”

  “I am not at home,” answered Philip. “I merely ran up to see my father on business, and to inquire of you what it was you said to Miss Comstock yesterday that caused her to disappear before I could return to the Limberlost.”

  “Miss Comstock disappear! Impossible!” cried Edith Carr. “Where could she go?”

  “I thought perhaps you could answer that, since it was through you that she went.”

  “Phil, I haven’t the faintest idea where she is,” said the girl gently.

  “But you know perfectly why she went! Kindly tell me that.”

  “Let me see you alone, and I will.”

  “Here and now, or not at all.”

  “Phil!”

  “What did you say to the girl I love?”

  Then Edith Carr stretched out her arms.

  “Phil, I am the girl you love!” she cried. “All your life you have loved me. Surely it cannot be all gone in a few weeks of misunderstanding. I was jealous of her! I did not want you to leave me an instant that night for any other girl living. That was the moth I was representing. Every one knew it! I wanted you to bring it to me. When you did not, I knew instantly it had been for her that you worked last summer, she who suggested my dress, she who had power to take you from me, when I wanted you most. The thought drove me mad, and I said and did those insane things. Phil, I beg your pardon! I ask your forgiveness. Yesterday she said that you had told her of me at once. She vowed both of you had been true to me and Phil, I couldn’t look into her eyes and not see that it was the truth. Oh, Phil, if you understood how I have suffered you would forgive me. Phil, I never knew how much I cared for you! I will do anything—anything!”

  “Then tell me what you said to Elnora yesterday that drove her, alone and friendless, into the night, heaven knows where!”

  “You have no thought for any one save her?”

  “Yes,” said Philip. “I have. Because I once loved you, and believed in you, my heart aches for you. I will gladly forgive anything you ask. I will do anything you want, except to resume our former relations. That is impossible. It is hopeless and useless to ask it.”

  “You truly mean that!”

  “Yes.”

  “Then find out from her what I said!”

  “Come, father,” said Philip, rising.

  “You were going to show Miss Comstock’s letter to Edith!” suggested Mr. Ammon.

  “I have not the slightest interest in Miss Comstock’s letter,” said Edith Carr.

  “You are not even interested in the fact that she says you are not responsible for her going, and that I am to call on you and be friends with you?”

  “That is interesting, indeed!” sneered Miss Carr.

  She took the letter, read, and returned it.

  “She has done what she could for my cause, it seems,” she said coldly. “How very generous of her! Do you propose calling out Pinkertons and instituting a general search?”

  “No,” replied Philip. “I simply propose to go back to the Limberlost and live with her mother, until Elnora becomes convinced that I am not courting you, and never shall be. Then, perhaps, she will come home to us. Good-bye. Good luck to you always!”

  Chapter 24

  Wherein Edith Carr Wages a Battle, and Hart Henderson Stands Guard

  Many people looked, a few followed, when Edith Carr slowly came down the main street of Mackinac, pausing here and there to note the glow of colour in one small booth after another, overflowing with gay curios. That street of packed white sand, winding with the curves of the shore, outlined with brilliant shops, and thronged with laughing, bare-headed people in outing costumes was a picturesque and fascinating sight. Thousands annually made long journeys and paid exorbitant prices to take part in that pageant.

  As Edith Carr passed, she was the most distinguished figure of the old street. Her clinging black
gown was sufficiently elaborate for a dinner dress. On her head was a large, wide, drooping-brimmed black hat, with immense floating black plumes, while on the brim, and among the laces on her breast glowed velvety, deep red roses. Some way these made up for the lack of colour in her cheeks and lips, and while her eyes seemed unnaturally bright, to a close observer they appeared weary. Despite the effort she made to move lightly she was very tired, and dragged her heavy feet with an effort.

  She turned at the little street leading to the dock, and went to meet the big lake steamer ploughing up the Straits from Chicago. Past the landing place, on to the very end of the pier she went, then sat down, leaned against a dock support and closed her tired eyes. When the steamer came very close she languidly watched the people lining the railing. Instantly she marked one lean anxious face turned toward hers, and with a throb of pity she lifted a hand and waved to Hart Henderson. He was the first man to leave the boat, coming to her instantly. She spread her trailing skirts and motioned him to sit beside her. Silently they looked across the softly lapping water. At last she forced herself to speak to him.

  “Did you have a successful trip?”

  “I accomplished my purpose.”

  “You didn’t lose any time getting back.”

  “I never do when I am coming to you.”

  “Do you want to go to the cottage for anything?”

  “No.”

  “Then let us sit here and wait until the Petoskey steamer comes in. I like to watch the boats. Sometimes I study the faces, if I am not too tired.”

  “Have you seen any new types to-day?”

  She shook her head. “This has not been an easy day, Hart.”

  “And it’s going to be worse,” said Henderson bitterly. “There’s no use putting it off. Edith, I saw some one to-day.”