CHAPTER VII
LIKE A DREAM
Smoothly and softly the limousine glided out from among the brickbuildings of Baring Junction--not a great many of them!--and along acountry road which was edged sometimes with a rail fence, and sometimeswith a stone wall, but always with a green wayside growth of blackberryand elderbush, alder, and in the low places, young shoots of willow.Pastures slipped by the windows of the car, and farm-yards, and meadows.Once they drove slowly over a wooden bridge, with a roof and sides thatmade a tunnel where their wheels echoed in a rumbling, hollow fashion;and Caroline wondered if Mildred were afraid.
Then they came to a wide street, with green lawns between the sidewalkand the road, and elms that almost met above them. The street wasbordered with big comfortable houses, white or cream or red, which wereset well apart in lawns and gardens, unlike the cramped suburban housesto which Caroline was accustomed.
"This is Longmeadow Street, dear," explained Aunt Eunice. "That brickhouse with the horse-chestnut trees before it, is the John Gildersleeveplace, where your father was born, and his father before him. And here'sthe William Gildersleeve place--our place--and we've got home."
A smooth white driveway carried them behind a tall hedge of box. Thecolor and fragrance of an old-fashioned garden were on the left hand,and on the right a plushy green lawn, and a white house, very square andbig and substantial, with windows set with many panes of glass.
"It's such an e-normous house," thought Caroline, in a panic.
Would there be a butler? In the motion pictures to which Cousin Deliahad sometimes taken Caroline, there were often butlers, and they werealways very proud and fat. And would she find a lot of knives and forksat her place at table and not know which one to use first? And would shebe found out at once and sent away in disgrace? She hoped not--at leastnot until to-morrow! She couldn't stand it to meet any more new peopletoday, now that she had found Aunt Eunice so kind.
They went from the porch through a wide doorway with a paneled door anda big brass knocker, into a long hall with a curving staircase. The darkfloor was as shiny as glass, and the white paint of the woodwork was asdazzling as snow. The furniture was of dark wood, with red winey gleamsbeneath its polished surface.
There was a tall case of drawers, which seemed by their weight to havebowed the slim legs on which they rested, and a table--no, half atable--against the wall. On the table were two brass candlesticks, andbetween them a dull blue bowl, which held some little, pale pink roses.Oh, if only Muzzy had not taught her that she simply must not stare!There was so much to see in this wonderful house!
At the top of the curved staircase was a long, cool hall, with creamwhite doors on either side. Aunt Eunice herself opened the third door onthe right.
"This will be your room, my dear," she said, and motioned for Carolineto follow her across the threshold.
To Caroline it seemed as if she stepped suddenly into a quiet greenpool, the room was so still and cool and goldeny green. There was a dullgreen border to the oyster white rug that covered the floor, and apattern of wreathed leaves picked out in green upon the pale grayfurniture. Green leaves where golden figures of canaries were halfhidden, made a deep frieze above the cool, pale paper with which thewalls were hung. The curtains at the windows and upon the lowbook-shelves, the cushions of the chairs, the covering upon the bed, allhad the same pattern of green leaves and gold canaries. Outside thewindow that was opposite the door, were the green, sibilant leaves of anelm, and through them came the late sunshine in a powdery dust of gold.
Caroline said nothing. She just stared, in spite of all that her motherhad taught her. Then she turned toward Aunt Eunice a quivering littleface.
"_My_ room?" she asked.
"Yes, darling."
"Doesn't anybody have to sleep with me?"
"Not in that narrow bed, child. You're not afraid to be alone?"
"Oh, no, no!" cried Caroline. "I like to be alone with my thoughts, andall last winter----"
She stopped. She could feel her heart beating fast with the terror of anarrow escape. For she had almost said that all last winter, in CousinDelia's little house, she hadn't had a corner to call her own, no, nor aminute of time.
"Never mind, dear," said Aunt Eunice and patted her shoulder gently.
But there was a little pucker between Aunt Eunice's eyebrows. She wasgoing to tell Penelope later just what she thought of this Aunt Edith(not on the Gildersleeve side of the family, thank goodness!) who hadpacked that shy little sensitive girl off to a boarding school!
"You'll want to rest a bit before dinner," Aunt Eunice filled up theawkward little pause, "and wash, too, after the train. There's the doorto the bathroom, over by the dressing-table. Can you manage by yourself,or shall I send Sallie to help you?"
"I can manage, thank you!" Caroline assured her.
To her own ears her voice sounded dry, and oh! she didn't want to seemungrateful, when her heart was just bursting with joy that was almostrapture. So, as Aunt Eunice turned away, Caroline slipped up to her sideand laid a hand on her arm.
"Thank you!" she whispered shyly. "It's--it's like a dream room andI--I'll take awful good care of everything. I can make my own bed," sheadded proudly. "And I can sweep and dust as nice as anybody."
Aunt Eunice beamed approvingly.
"Why, what a sensible school your aunt must have sent you to," she said."But you needn't do tasks in vacation, little girl. Sallie will takecare of your room. Now wash your hands and brush your hair, and bring agood appetite with you to the dinner table."
With a nod and a smile--and Aunt Eunice's smile was the kind that youwaited for eagerly, because it made her whole face brighten--Aunt Euniceleft the room and closed the door behind her. Very carefully Carolineput her coat (Jacqueline's coat that was!) and her hat and the satincandy box full of doll-clothes down upon a chair, and then, with Mildredin her arms, she walked slowly and almost a-tiptoe with reverence roundthe room.
There were pictures on the walls--lovely fairytale pictures, such as shehad seen in windows of gorgeous shops, with cobalt blue seas and airymountains, towered castles and dark thickets shot through with sunshine.There were pretty things on the dressing-table--little trays and boxesof thin china, patterned in green and gold, two slender perfume bottlesof cool green glass, a lovely little lady in brocaded silk, with herhair piled high, whose skirts when lifted revealed a hidden pin-cushion.On the writing-desk by the window there was a green blotter with goldand green leather corners, and a brass owl, which was an inkwell, and abrass turtle which miraculously was a stamp box. On the little shelvesof the desk were sheets of creamy paper, large and small, and engravedon each sheet was the legend: The Chimnies, Longmeadow, Massachusetts.
"Oh, dear," thought Caroline, "if only I could write to somebody on thisducky paper, but I mustn't ever, because my handwriting isn't Jackie's,and it would give us all away."
With a little sigh, she turned from the desk and looked out at thewindows. There were two of them. The western window looked into theelms. The northern window looked across some fields to a low mountain, agreat heap of dark trees and raw red cliffs, which humped itself like agigantic beast against the sky.
Caroline was gazing at the mountain, when there came a rap at the door,and a neat middle-aged maid, who must be Sallie, brought in her suitcase(Jacqueline's suitcase!) and the hatbox. Sallie also offered to helpCaroline wash her face. Dear me! If Sallie had known the little girl wasCaroline, and not Jacqueline, she would have known that at CousinDelia's Caroline had not only washed her own face, but several otherlittle faces besides.
After Sallie had gone, Caroline opened the door and went into thebathroom. It was not a bit like Cousin Delia's bathroom, with its goldenoak woodwork and its zinc tub which Caroline had so often scrubbed. Thisbathroom was all white tiles and shining nickel, and had a porcelain tubbig enough for half a dozen Carolines. On the nickel rods were bigtowels and little towels and middle-s
ized towels, thick towels and thintowels, rough towels and smooth towels, all marked with a beautiful bigG.
Caroline took off the henna-colored frock most particularly, and shewashed her face with some very faintly scented white soap, notforgetting to wash behind her ears, and she washed her neck and herhands and her knees, too, but she decided to let her feet go until afterdinner. Then she opened her suitcase (really Jacqueline's!) and feelinga little apologetic, even though it was Jacqueline's own plan that shewas carrying out, she took Jacqueline's pretty blue leathertraveling-case, with its ivory implements, and she made her hair smoothand her hands tidy.
Caroline, you see, was a gentle little girl, and in the haphazard monthsat Cousin Delia's she had not forgotten the careful teachings of hergentle little mother. If she had, her whole story might have turned outvery differently. She made herself now as fresh and tidy as possible.Then she sat down in the low rocker beside the bookcase, and looked atthe books--such a lot of books, not new ones, she could see, but new toher, bound volumes of St. Nicholas, and a whole set of Miss Alcott,books by Laura E. Richards, and Miss Molesworth, Kate Douglas Wiggin,and Juliana Ewing.
She was dipping into "We and the World" when she heard a knock at herdoor, and there on the threshold, not waiting to be asked in, stoodCousin Penelope. Now that her hat was off, Caroline saw that she hadpretty, fair hair, but she had also a forehead so high and white that itgave her rather a forbidding look.
"Day-dreaming, Jacqueline?" said Cousin Penelope briskly.
"I--I was looking at the books," Caroline explained, as she rosehastily. "I never saw so many."
Penelope pursed her lips. To herself she said that she must mention toher mother that "Aunt Edie" was evidently an outdoor sort, without anyclaim to culture. Didn't it prove the point, when Cousin Jack's poorlittle daughter was so unused to books that she was quite excited overthree shelves of old-fashioned, shabby juveniles?
But to Caroline, Penelope merely said:
"Those were my books, Jacqueline, when I was your age. Your father and Ioften read them together on rainy days. You'll have plenty of time toread them this summer; but you must come now, for dinner will bewaiting."
Penelope spoke crisply, coolly, and her tone made something insideCaroline curl up tight, like a sea-anemone when you touch it.
"Cousin Penelope doesn't like me," she told herself.
The Turned-About Girls Page 8
