Mary Ware in Texas

by Annie F. Johnston

  CHAPTER IV

  MARY FINDS GAY

  THE day before Thanksgiving saw the Ware family fully settled in theirnew home. The trunks had been unpacked and their contents disposed of tomake the little cottage look as homelike as possible. Even thepreparations for their Thanksgiving dinner were all made. They had beensimplified by Mrs. Barnaby's gift of a jar of mince-meat, and the plumphen, which was to take the place of a turkey, had been bought alreadydressed.

  Now at only nine o'clock the morning work was all done, and Mrs. Waresat sewing on the south gallery where Jack had wheeled himself into thesunshine. Mary came and stood in the doorway.

  "Things stay so clean here," she grumbled in a laughing way. "I could doeverything there is to be done with one hand and not half try, and whenyou all help we get through so fast it makes me dizzy. Then there'snothing left to do but sit in the sun and wait till time to get the nextmeal ready. I wish I hadn't been in such a hurry to put everything inorder. I wouldn't be so restless and idle now. It makes me fidgety tohave nothing to do."

  "Take the basket and dishes back to the rectory," suggested Mrs. Ware,after Jack had proposed several occupations to no purpose.

  "But I've never met Mrs. Rochester yet," objected Mary, "and it would besort of awkward, going in and introducing myself."

  "No more awkward than it was for Mr. Rochester to come here andintroduce himself," said Jack. "You can tell her for me that thatcharlotte russe was perfection."

  "I wonder what she is like," mused Mary, half persuaded to go and see."If I thought she'd be approachable and easy to talk to--but--"

  "Oh, you know she's all right," urged Jack, "or she never would havebeen so good to a family of strangers. I'll bet she's a dear, motherlyold soul, in a checked apron, with gray hair and a double chin."

  "Why, she couldn't be!" cried Mary. "Not and be Mr. Rochester's wife. Hedoesn't look much older than you do, and for all he's so dignifiedthere's something so boyish and likable about him that I felt chummywith him right away."

  "Well, the things she cooked tasted as if she were the kind of woman Isaid," persisted Jack, "and I shall keep on thinking of her as that kinduntil it's proved that my guess is wrong. I should think that anybodywith as much curiosity as you have would go just to satisfy it."

  "You mean you want yours satisfied," retorted Mary. "Well, she'll do itherself in a few days. She sent word that she'd call soon, so I believethat I'll wait."

  Coming out she stood leaning idly against one of the gallery posts, arestless, dissatisfied little figure. Then she strolled out to the frontgate and stood there awhile, looking down the deserted road. Jack's gazefollowed her sympathetically, and he said to his mother in a low tone,"Poor little kid, it's going to be a dull winter for her I'm afraid. Shewas never cut out for solitude. She'd 'rather dwell in the midst ofalarms,' and this place isn't much more diverting than a countrygraveyard."

  Mrs. Ware's glance followed his, then she replied confidently as shelooked down to thread her needle, "Oh, she'll soon adjust herself.She'll find something that will not only keep her busy but will amuseall the rest of us."

  Jack picked up the magazine from which he had been reading aloud theevening before and resumed the story, but he was conscious all the timeof the little figure at the gate, and saw her without seeming to noticewhen she slipped around the corner of the house presently to the backyard. Then he looked up with a smile when he heard the creaking of thewindmill crank at the back of the house.

  "She's stopping the wheel," said Mrs. Ware, "so that she can climb tothe top of the tower again. It seems to have some sort of fascinationfor her."

  Jack went on with his story, and Mary, perched on her watch-tower, clungto the bar above and looked down over the town. The currents of air werestronger up at the height to which she had climbed. Down below scarcelya breath was stirring, but here a fresh breeze blew the hair into hereyes and began to blow the discontent out of her mind. Her wish thatJack could see the view was followed instantly by the thought that hecould never, never have any other outlook than the one the wheeled chairafforded.

  "It's wicked of me to be discontented one single minute," she thoughtremorsefully. "There I was fussing right before him about having nothingto do, when he'd give worlds just to be foot loose--to climb up here andwalk about the place. And he was so dear and considerate, never oncereminded me how much harder it is for him than me, and that he hasnothing else to look forward to as long as he lives."

  The yellow walls of the rectory gleamed through the trees at the northend of the little hamlet, reminding her of Jack's laughing wish to knowwhat Mrs. Rochester was like.

  "It's as little as I can do to go and find out for him," she thought,"even if he did ask it in a joke. I ought to be willing to do anythingin the world he expresses a wish for, poor boy. There's little enoughhere to amuse him."

  A few minutes later, in her travelling suit and hat, with Mrs.Rochester's basket on her arm, she interrupted the reading on thegallery.

  "I'm going to see your motherly friend," she announced--"to find out ifshe is gray-haired and double-chinned. Maybe I'll tell her how youdescribed her."

  "Don't you dare," warned Jack, laughingly. "I'll get even with you ifyou do."

  "You've already done that on a dozen old scores," answered Mary gaily."Good-bye, my friends and kinsmen dear! As the story books say, 'weshall see what we shall see.'"

  What she saw when she rang the bell at the rectory was the exactopposite of the motherly creature whom Jack had pictured; for Mrs.Rochester, who came to the door herself, was tall and slim and veryyoung, with the delicate, spirituelle kind of beauty that had alwaysbeen plump little Mary's greatest admiration and desire. One part ofJack's guess was correct, however. She wore a big checked apron, for shewas making cake, and she invited Mary into the dining-room where thematerials were all spread out on the table.

  With the girlish cordiality that had won her so many friends even inunsociable Bauer, she made Mary feel so much at home, that in a fewmoments she was insisting on helping with the cake. It seemed a matterof course that Mrs. Rochester should hand her the egg-beater, and beforethe eggs were whipped into a stiff white mountain of snow, they wereexchanging experiences like old friends. Mrs. Rochester had found Bauera lonely place too, at first.

  "Jack says there was some great mix-up made when I alighted on thisplanet," said Mary. "I should have dropped down some place where 'thebreaking waves dashed high on a stern and rock-bound coast.' He says Iwasn't meant for a quiet fish-pond existence."

  "I know," laughed her hostess. "You feel as if you were bound into thewrong book. You'd be perfectly satisfied to find yourself in one ofScott's novels, in a jumble of knights and tourneys and border wars, butyou would be bored beyond endurance to have to be one of the charactersin Jane Austen's stories."

  "Oh, you _do_ know," cried Mary eagerly, emphasizing her pleasure with aharder bang of the egg-beater. "You understand exactly. There's nothingtamer than Miss Austen's stories. Why, there's pages and pages taken upwith just discussing the weather and each other's health; and they dosuch trivial, inane things and go around and around in such a deadlymonotonous circle that sometimes I've been so out of patience with themthat I wanted to throw the book into a corner."

  "But you never did throw it down," answered Mrs. Rochester, "you read onto the end and in spite of yourself you were interested in those samecommonplace happenings and conversations, just as readers before youhave been interested in them and always will be as long as those bookslive. And I'll tell you why. You read them to the end because they aretrue pictures of the lives of average people. The majority of us have toput up with the humdrum, no matter how much we long for the heroic, andit's a good thing to read such books as 'Emma' and 'Pride and Prejudice'every now and then, as a sort of spirit-level. We're more satisfied toamble along the road if everybody else drives a slow nag too."

  "I'm not," declared Mary. "I want to whizz past everything in sight thatis poky and slow. I know it would be lots
easier for me if I could onlymake up my mind to the fact that nothing exciting and important is evergoing to happen to me, but I can't break myself of the habit ofexpecting it. I've felt that way as far back as I can remember. I'malways looking for something grand and unexpected, and every morningwhen I wake up it gives me a sort of thrill to think, maybe it will cometo-day."

  "Well, if you're going to stay in Bauer for awhile you certainly do needanother dose of 'Emma,'" answered Mrs. Rochester, nodding to the shelvesin the adjoining library, where stood a well thumbed edition of MissAusten's works. "Take her home with you, and any of the books you thinkyour brother would like. We are glad to make our library a circulatingone."

  Mary's face showed her pleasure quite as much as her words, as she lefther seat by the table to slip into the great book-lined room and glancearound it.

  "You've made up for one of my disappointments," she called back. "I hadcounted so much on having the library in San Antonio to draw on thiswinter, and this is even better, for I'm sure that they haven't allthese rare old prints and first editions that I see here."

  Her five minutes' call stretched into an hour, when she found that Mrs.Rochester had been brought up in Washington and had spent her schooldays there. Then it stretched into two, for some one drove in from thecountry with a carriage load of autumn leaves, and Mary stayed to helparrange them in the little church for the Thanksgiving service next day.It was nearly noon when she finally started home with several booksunder her arm, her usual hopefulness and buoyancy of spirits quiterestored.

  "Mamma and I can't both be away from Jack at the same time," she said inresponse to Mrs. Rochester's invitation to attend the service next day."I want her to come. I've already had my share of Thanksgiving. I'vebeen thankful every minute while I've been here that I discovered you.It's been a beautiful morning."

  "Come over often," urged Mrs. Rochester cordially. "I can always findsomething for you to do, and I'd love to have you come."

  Mary's wave of the hand as she turned to latch the gate at the end ofthe walk was answered by a flutter of Mrs. Rochester's apron in thedoorway, and each went her way smiling over the recollection of theother.

  "She's a diverting little piece," Mrs. Rochester reported to her husbandat noon. "I laughed all the time she was here."

  "She's a darling," Mary reported at home, and quoted her at intervalsfor several days.

  "She's promised to take me with her sometime when she drives out to callat the ranches. Nearly all the members of St. Boniface are out-of-townpeople, so they'll probably not call on us she says. But she's coming assoon as she can get around to it. I saw our name on a list she hashanging beside her calendar. But there's nearly a week full of thingsfor her to do before she gets to us. I wish that I had a list of dutiesand engagements that would keep me going every minute, the way she hasto go."

  "You can easily fill out a list that will keep you busy for awhile,"answered her mother. "While you were gone Jack and I got to discussingdates, and it was somewhat of a shock to find that Christmas will behere so soon. One forgets the calendar in this summer-like climate.Whatever we send to Holland and Joyce must be started from here in lessthan three weeks, and as our gifts must be all home-made we cannotafford to lose any time in beginning."

  The problem of Christmas giving had always been a knotty one in the Warehousehold, but it was especially hard this year. Mary spent nearly allafternoon making her list of names with the accompanying list of giftsthat seemed suitable for each one. There were so many to whom she longedto send little remembrances that the length of it was appalling. Thenshe revised it, putting in one column such people as Madam Chartley andMrs. Lee, to whom she decided to write letters--the gayest, brightestgreetings she could think of. Still there were a goodly number left toprovide with gifts, no matter how simple, and she was busy tillbed-time measuring and figuring over the amount of material she wouldneed for each, and how much it would cost. It had been decided that sheshould go to San Antonio for a day to attend to the family shopping.

  "The trouble is," she sighed next morning, "it's the simplest thingsthat are always the hardest to get. Don't you remember, in the story ofBeauty and the Beast, the father had no difficulty in buying ropes ofjewels and costly things for his oldest daughters, but it almost costhim his life to get the one common little white rose that his youngestdaughter so modestly asked for. I could do this shopping in a few hoursif I did not have to stop to consider pennies, but there are severallittle things that may take me all day to find. I'm sure that thatparticular kind of narrow beading that I need for Lloyd's present willprove to be the fatal white rose. I can't make it without and thereisn't time to send back East for it."

  "Maybe you'd better arrange to stay over night," suggested her mother,"and take two days to look around for what you want. Of course youcouldn't go to a hotel alone, and it would be too expensive even if youhad company, but Mrs. Rochester might be able to recommend some privatefamily who has rooms for transients."

  Mary caught at the idea so eagerly that had it not been Thanksgiving Dayand she feared to intrude, she would have gone that very hour to ask ifthe Rochesters knew of such a place. She remembered that they were tohave guests to dinner. Fortunately for her peace of mind the rector andhis wife called for a few moments just before dusk. Mrs. Rochester didknow of a quiet inexpensive place where she could spend the night, andthen and there slipped off her gloves to write a cordial note ofintroduction.

  It rained the Friday after Thanksgiving, but the next day was fair, andMary insisted on doing the week's washing Saturday morning, and as muchof the ironing as she could accomplish in the afternoon, in order to beable to start early Monday morning. Several times she left her tubs torun into the house and jot down some small items on her memorandum,which she remembered would be indispensable in making up their Christmaspackages. Once she thought of something in the night, when the barkingof a neighbor's dog awakened her.

  If she had been alone in the room she would have lighted a candle andmade a note of it. As it was she was afraid to do so lest she waken hermother, and afraid not to lest it should slip her mind before morning.Finally she settled the difficulty by putting her hand to her head andpulling out several hairs which she twisted together and tied around herfinger.

  "There!" she said to herself. "Hair will make me think of herring, andthen ring will make me think of the little white celluloid rings that Imust get for those safety-pin holders."

  Armed with Mrs. Rochester's letter she started off gaily on the Mondaymorning train. It was not due in the city till nearly ten, so shedecided that it would save time to go at once to the largest departmentstore, check her suit-case and wait until shopping hours were overbefore going out to the boarding-house which Mrs. Rochester hadrecommended.

  She had thought San Antonio charming the first time she saw it, but itseemed doubly so now that she came back to it, as one familiar with itsprincipal streets and landmarks. The life, the color, the holiday air ofthe crowds, the fete day atmosphere of the old town itself, exhilaratedher till her cheeks glowed like roses, and several times, both on thestreet and in the stores, she caught herself whistling half under herbreath.

  Although the usual Monday morning bargain hunters were out in throngs,she found no trouble in making her purchases. Everything seemed to be inher favor this morning. The shop girls were unusually responsive andhelpful, showed her just what she wanted or suggested something betterthan she had thought of. Only once or twice did the prices go above thelimit she had set for them, and several times they were lower. Byquarter to twelve she had checked off two thirds of the articles on herlist.

  Elated by this success, she stood waiting at the transfer desk for herchange, looking around with unabated interest. Suddenly her attentionwas attracted to a girl in a brown tailor suit, standing in the nextaisle. Her back was turned towards Mary, but there was somethingfamiliar looking in the poise of the graceful head; something veryfamiliar looking in the puffs of soft auburn-bronze hair held by ambercomb
s, and arranged so becomingly under the big brown hat.

  Mary had been on the look-out all morning for the girl whom Jack hadrecognized at the hotel as Gay Melville. She might have missed her hadGay been an ordinary blonde or brunette, but as Jack said, there was nomistaking that glorious hair. Snatching up the proffered change, whichthe cashier put through the cage window, she pushed her way into thenext aisle. The girl turned. The big plumed hat drooped over her face,still Mary recognized the delicate profile, the slight tilt of theslender chin. It was an opportunity which she could not afford to lose,and as the girl turned her back again to receive a package held out toher by a clerk, and started slowly to the door, Mary hurried after her.

  Almost breathless in her eagerness she exclaimed impulsively, "I begyour pardon--but aren't you _Gay_?"

  There was an instant of freezing silence as the eyes of the girl inbrown swept Mary from head to foot.

  "Well, not particularly," was the indignant reply.

  The roll of her r's emphasized Mary's mistake. It was evidently somestranger from the North whom she had accosted. One glance into her fullface made Mary see how dire her mistake had been. There was noresemblance whatever in that to Gay. Wishing that she could drop out ofsight through the floor, she hastily apologized and hurried out intothe street, her cheeks burning, as she smarted under the recollection ofthe stranger's supercilious glance.

  "She needn't have been so snippy," Mary thought. "_Any_body is liable tomake such mistakes."

  Not until she had crossed the street and was stopped short by her ownreflection in a mirror in the show window opposite, did she realize howher question might have sounded.

  "Oh, she must have thought that I was asking her if she wasn't _gay_!_Gay with a little g!_" she gasped. "No wonder she looked at me sofreezingly."

  She was so perturbed by this discovery, that she walked on, unmindful ofthe direction. When a group of children crowded past her on the narrowpavement, she turned into a side street to avoid being jostled, andwalked aimlessly for some distance. It was the sight of a green kettleswinging above a door which she was approaching that brought her toherself with a start. Mrs. Rochester had told her to stop at the Sign ofthe Green Kettle for lunch, and had given her directions for finding it.Here she had stumbled upon it unaware, just as the city bells werebeginning to clang for noon.

  At the next glance her heart went to thumping so hard that she couldplainly hear it. There on the step leading up to the door of the GreenKettle, stood Gay Melville; the real Gay this time. There was no shadowof doubt about it. As she looked, Mary wondered how she ever could havemistaken the other girl for her, although each had hair wonderfully likethe other.

  This one carried a violin case. She had paused on her way in to callback something to the girl in the carriage, who had brought her downtown. And the girl in the carriage was Roberta--Roberta of the boyishspeech and coquettish eyelashes, whose laughing question held the girlon the step long enough for Mary to reach it too, and stand there besideher while she gathered courage to speak.

  It was the little pin thrust through Gay's tie which finally brought thewords trembling to Mary's lips, for it was the Warwick Hall pin whichonly its alumni might wear; those who had kept the four years' trystwith all its requirements. It was a mailed hand rising from a heart tograsp a spear, the motto and the crest of Edryn.

  All diffidence fled at that familiar sight, but this time Mary did notask if the girl were gay. With a gesture toward the pin she criedbreathlessly, "Oh, I know by _that_ that you are Miss Melville. _Aren't_you!" Gay after one look into the eager gray eyes said quite ascordially, "And you're Mary Ware! I had a letter from Betty Lewis thisvery morning telling me to be sure to find you."

  She gave a quick glance at the chatelaine watch she wore. "I haven't aminute to stop--I'm to play an obligato for the great prima donna,Madame de Martel, and she has a beast of a temper which she lets looseif a person is one second late at rehearsal. But I must take time to sayone thing if she wipes me off the face of the earth for it. The girls'letters have made me wild to know you. At what hotel can I find you?I'll call this very day."

  "We've taken a cottage in Bauer," Mary answered hastily. "I came down ona little shopping expedition, and am on my way in here for luncheon."

  The heavy chords of a piano accompaniment rolled threateningly throughthe music rooms up-stairs, and Gay shrugged her shoulders impatiently."Do be a long time over it," she begged as she turned towards thestairs. "I'll get through as quickly as possible and hurry back foranother word with you."

  Mary watched her out of sight before starting into the dining-room ofthe Green Kettle, and then deliberately pinched herself to make surethat she was awake. It was a good hard nip, which hurt, and smiling toherself because it proved that she was not dreaming, she sat down at atable near the window to gloat over the fact that one of her best dreamshad come true at last. She had met Gay Melville.

  The lunch was a good one, but it would have made no difference to Marywhat was put before her that day. Anything would have been nectar andambrosia served to the accompaniment of the music overhead. A chorus ofcherubim and seraphim could not have left her more uplifted. Madame deMartel might have the temper of a beast at times, but she had a voice ofrare sweetness and power, and the knowledge that it was Gay's violinpouring out that tremulous, tender, heartbreaking obligato, enhancedMary's enjoyment of every note.

  The rehearsal was a short one. All that the famous visiting singerwanted was to make sure, since her own accompanists had failed her,that the local ones were satisfactory. It came to an end just as Marybegan her dessert, and almost instantly it seemed Gay was at her elbow,and seating herself in the chair beside her.

  "Isn't it a shame I haven't more than two minutes to stay," she began."This is like having Warwick Hall and Lloydsboro Valley rolled into one,to find somebody who loves them both as much as I do. I could talk aweek without stopping about each place, and ask a thousand questions,but I'm due at a luncheon out on Government Hill by the time the nextcar can put me there. Immediately after that is over we're all going tothe polo tournament. All during rehearsal I kept trying to think of someway I could arrange to see you, and there's only one. You've simply gotto come home with me to stay all night. Go on and finish your shopping,and I'll come down for you after the tournament and meet you anywhereyou say."

  The invitation, as cordial as it was sudden, was gladly accepted and Gayexclaimed, "Oh, I'm so delighted to think I've found you at last! You'veno idea how often you were quoted the summer I was in the Valley. Lloydand Betty and the old Colonel and Dr. Alex Shelby were always saying'as little Mary Ware says.' I feel as if I'd known you from babyhoodup."

  "And I know all about your past," laughed Mary. She was about to mentionseveral incidents to prove her claim, when Gay stopped her by a glanceat the clock and the question: "Wouldn't you like to see the dressparade at the Post this evening? Most people do, and it's well worthseeing."

  Would she _like_ it! Mary's beaming face answered the question beforeher usually ready tongue found a word, and Gay smiled as she hastilydrew on her gloves and picked up her violin case.

  "I'd like to keep you all to myself to-night," she said, "but I do wantyou to meet some of the people that Kitty Walton liked best when shevisited me last year. I'll pick up Roberta and Lieutenant Boglin to takedinner with us if I can get them. They're always so nice to my WarwickHall friends. They were both wild about Kitty. Well, at quarter to five,then, I'll meet you--where?"

  Finally the glove counter at Joske's was agreed upon as a meeting place,and with a friendly pat on the shoulder in passing, Gay hurried away tokeep her engagement. Smiling blissfully after her, Mary whispered toherself with one of her old childish wriggles of pleasure, "And _Bogey_,too."