CHAPTER XXVII
AGAINST A CLOSED DOOR
Jacqueline laid Grandma down, very gently, and put away the rejectedbroth, which was too precious to be thrown out, and rinsed the thickcup. As she stood drying it, she found that she was softly crying.
Oh, it was too dreadful! Poor little old Grandma, who had never beenable to relish tea drunk from thick crockery, was begging now in herillness for the delicate green cup that had been all that was left ofher precious wedding china--and it was Jacqueline, in her moment of badtemper, who had broken it! Once more Jacqueline felt as she had feltlong ago, when she had struck the little lap dog. Quite frankly she weptinto the dish towel that she was using.
But now she _must_ see Caroline right away. Whatever else they wentwithout, there at the farm, Grandma must have the thin china for whichshe pined. Wildly Jacqueline thought of running away to Longmeadow thatvery night. But sober second thought showed her the folly of such aplan. Even if Aunt Martha were willing to let her go, she hadn't thecourage, after her former experience, to trudge through the onion fieldsalone, in the dark.
A very subdued Jacqueline, she greeted Aunt Martha on her return.
"Grandma's been all right," she said. "Only I couldn't get her to takeher broth."
Aunt Martha clicked her tongue against her teeth. Black smudges ofweariness showed beneath her unsmiling eyes.
"It's that way, half the time," she told Jacqueline. "Sick folks getnotions. I'll see if I can coax her to take it."
But when Aunt Martha came out of the parlor, Jacqueline knew, by theworried look she wore, that she hadn't been successful.
Jacqueline ran to her--she couldn't help it!--and threw her arms abouther.
"Oh, Aunt Martha!" she whimpered. "It's all my fault. She wants hergreen-dragon cup--and I broke it. I've just _got_ to go to the villageto-morrow and get her another."
Aunt Martha held Jacqueline close.
"There, there," she said, and patted her. "No use crying over spiltmilk, child. There isn't another of those old green-dragon cups to behad for love nor money."
"But I can get her a thin cup, I know I can," begged Jacqueline."_Please_ let me go try!"
"You haven't the money, Jackie."
The words were on Jacqueline's tongue: "I know how to get it!" She bitthem back just in time.
"Grandma'll get over the notion," Aunt Martha comforted. "Just put thewhole thing out of your mind, now."
But Jacqueline didn't. She dreamed all night of green dragons off thecup that were chasing her, and the green dragons turned into greenbanknotes, and she wheeled a barrowful of them home to Aunt Martha andGrandma.
She woke in the morning, quite determined.
"It's a pretty cool day," she told Aunt Martha. "I could walk toLongmeadow easy as not. Honest, it wouldn't tire me a bit, and I'll beback in time to get supper."
Aunt Martha smiled, as if in spite of herself. "If you aren't the mostpersistent young one!" she said.
"Can't I?" begged Jacqueline.
Aunt Martha hesitated.
"You've worked real faithful," she said at last. "I guess if it's anytreat to go to Longmeadow, you ought to have it."
"Oh goody, Aunt Martha!"
"Don't crack my ribs, Jackie! You hug like a young bear."
"I'll start right after dinner----"
"No, you won't, child. Ralph's got to drive up to the north end of town.You can ride up with him 'bout two o'clock. He'll pick you up at thePost Office long 'bout five. The library's open to-day. You can sit inthere when you get tired looking for cups in Miss Crevey's, and CyrusHatton's, and the Post Office. I suppose that's what you're calculatingto do?"
"Y-yes," Jacqueline admitted.
Privately she assured herself that it was no lie that she told. Shecertainly would go and hunt for cups in the three Longmeadow shops, butshe would go only _after_ she had seen Caroline.
At half past one by the kitchen clock, Jacqueline cast a proud glance atthe bowl of stewed goose-berries, cooling on the table by the window, atthe well-brushed floor, and the well-scrubbed sink, all the work of herhands. Then she skipped happily up the narrow stair, but softly, not todisturb Grandma, and in her old room, over the parlor, made ready forher trip to Longmeadow. She felt that bare ankles and Peggy Janes didnot quite fit with the importance of her mission. She put on a pair ofCaroline's cotton socks, and the identical pink and white checkedgingham in which she first had seen Caroline on the train.
As a last touch of elegance, she hunted for a hair-ribbon, and duringthe search in a top drawer, not so tidy as it might be, she came uponthe box of Japanese lacquer, which she had half forgotten. Caroline'streasures were in that box--the trinkets, the letters, thephotograph--but of far more interest to Jacqueline was the old pinkhair-ribbon bound round the box. She slipped it off, smoothed it acrossher knee, and tied her hair with a rather lop-sided bow. She didn'taltogether admire the effect, when she looked at herself in the mirror,but it was the best she could do, and as Grandma liked to say: "Angelscould do no more."
The drive into Longmeadow was not the jolliest pleasure trip imaginable.The road was dusty, and the little old car wheezed till you pitied italmost as if it were human. Besides, Ralph let it be clearly understoodthat he didn't see the need for a girl, who did nothing but putter roundthe house, to take an afternoon off, and leave his mother to doeverything. If Dickie, or Neil, now, had wanted a holiday, that would bedifferent. Ralph, you see, was quite on the way to being a man.
"You make me tired," Jacqueline told him loftily.
"Is that so?" retorted Ralph. "Then it's more than the work you do willever make you."
After that, no more words passed between them. With chill dignity, forall the scantness of her faded skirts, Jacqueline descended from the carat the foot of Longmeadow Street.
"I'll be at the Post Office at five o'clock," she said, in the tone inwhich haughty society ladies are supposed to say: "Home, James!"
"You'd better be, for I shan't wait for you," Ralph called back, beforehe rattled away in a cloud of dust.
Well, maybe he'd behave a little more respectfully by and bye,Jacqueline told herself darkly, as she trudged up the street. When hesaw her hiring two nurses--and having huge baskets of grapes sent upfrom Boston for Grandma--and a lovely silk dressing-gown--and awheelchair--and a down coverlet--and a darling invalid's table, withegg-shell china!
Once more Jacqueline lost herself in gorgeous dreams of what she wasgoing to do--dreams that blew up like a burst balloon, as she foundherself actually within sight of the Gildersleeve place. She haltedshort. The house looked so big, above its surrounding elms, and she feltso little, all at once, in Caroline's skimpy gingham. Perhaps she hadbetter not go in at the front gate. Perhaps she had better slip inthrough the gap in the hedge, as she had done that earlier time. Perhapsby great good luck she might find Caroline in the summer house.
But she found the summer house quite orderly and empty, and the gardenwas very still. Perhaps Aunt Eunice was taking a nap. She could seethrough the branches of the trees that the shutters were closed at thewindows--all the windows at that side of the house. Or perhaps, betterstill, Aunt Eunice and Cousin Penelope had gone out to pay calls. Ifonly they had gone out, and left Caroline at home!
Buoyed up with this hope, Jacqueline scurried along the neat paththrough the gay-colored, sweet-scented garden, threaded the shrubbery,crossed the lawn, and ran lightly up the steps of the cool, wide porch.The white paneled door, with its ancient fan-light, was firmly closed.She grasped the big shining brass knocker, and without waiting for hercourage to ooze, rapped loudly.
She waited. She grew very conscious of her skimpy dress and her rumpledhair-ribbon. She wondered what she should say, if the maid, when shecame, refused to call "Miss Jacqueline," and went and summoned CousinPenelope.
She knocked again timidly.
No one came. The lawn and the garden were very still. She heard a pearfall ripely from a tre
e. A car drove by on the road. Moments passed. Shefelt her cheeks begin to burn. She was as angry as if she had known thatpeople stood behind the door, deliberately letting her knock and knock,unanswered, because her dress was faded and scant. She grabbed thatknocker, and she beat such a tattoo on the old door as surely it hadseldom known in its venerable life.
Rat-tat-tat banged the knocker, with horrid brazen clangor, untilJacqueline had to stop for breath. She was now more white than red. Ofcourse they must be there--the maids, at least. Off their job, becauseAunt Eunice had gone out. She'd show 'em.
Rat-tat-tat went the knocker, and then Jacqueline's feet, in the scuffedsneakers, were kicking at the door, and Jacqueline's hands were thumpingfutilely upon the smooth white panels.
"Let me in!" cried Jacqueline, afraid, she hardly knew of what. "Let mein--in--IN!"
She stopped suddenly. She had heard footsteps on the walk below theporch. She turned, and there stood a stout, solemn little girl, withtow-colored hair, in a neat white frock and sandals.
"That won't do a bit of good," said the little girl.
"Smarty!" said Jacqueline. "How do you know?"
"Smarty yourself," answered the little girl. "I know 'cause I live nextdoor. I'm Eleanor Trowbridge, and Jacqueline told me to come here andplay in her summer house while they're gone."
"Gone?" Jacqueline echoed foolishly.
"Sure," said Eleanor. "Don't you suppose they'd come out and tell you tostop banging that knocker, if they were here? They all went offyesterday, and Jacqueline took Mildred with her. They've gone way off tothe seashore, and they won't be back till it's time for school again."
The Turned-About Girls Page 28
