Sisters

by Grace May North

  CHAPTER VI. WANTED, A WAITRESS

  Such a supper as that had been. Etta's expression had so completelychanged that Grandma Sue decided that she was almost pretty with hercorn-colored hair and china blue eyes. It was the first time that Jennyhad seen her smile and she found herself wishing that Miss O'Hara couldsee it also. They made their plans. Etta was to remain with them allnight. Then early in the morning Granddad would drive both of the girlsto Santa Barbara and take the money from the bank, then they would go tothe railway station and buy a ticket, both for the train and the steamer.Jenny was sure that there were such tickets because she had heard herteacher, Miss Dearborn, tell about one that she purchased all the waythrough to Liverpool. Then there would be no fear that Etta would losethe money. When she reached Belgium, Etta promised, oh, so faithfully,that each month she would send back part of the hundred. She was sostrong. She would work the farm again. The women over there all worked inthe fields. She knew she would have money to send. Every time she thoughtof the great joy in store for the old couple, she began to cry and laughat the same time. But once she had a thought which brought onlyfrightened tears. What if this voyage should be like the other? What ifher loved ones would be dead?

  But Jenny had said that she must not think of that, though they all knewthat she would, poor girl, till the very moment that she reached the farmand saw her grandparents.

  "You'll write us all about it, won't you, dearie?" Grandma Sue said.

  The chocolate pudding was eaten, but no one seemed conscious of it. Theywere all thinking the same thing and yet with wide variations. Grandmaand Grandpa were being so thankful because they had Jenny, and thatlittle maid was deciding how she would tell Miss O'Hara when Etta wasgone.

  Everything happened just as they had planned. The next day dawned in thesilvery mist that so often veils the seaside mornings in California, butlater it burst into a glory of sunshine, as golden as the oranges, andsweetly, spicily fragrant with the breath of the lemon groves they passedas they drove to Santa Barbara. The money was drawn from the bank, theticket, a very long ticket, was procured. Etta, hardly able to believethat she was really awake, had expressed her thanks in all the ways thatshe knew, and the train at last bore her away.

  It was not until Jenny was back in her own farm home that she told whatshe planned doing next. "I must drive right over to the seminary and tellMiss O'Hara what has become of Etta. Of course she hasn't worried yet,because she knew that Etta was with us over here, but she'll be gettingimpatient if there's no one to pare the vegetables and help her getlunch."

  Grandmother Sue's eyes were opened wide. "But, dearie, this is your veryown Saturday. The one that's for you to do with as you please. I thoughtyou and Miss Dearborn were goin' to drive way up into the foothills.Wasn't that what you'd planned?"

  The girl nodded brightly. "Yes, it was," she said, "and maybe there'll betime for that later, but first, I must tell Miss O'Hara about Etta'shaving gone back to Belgium. I suppose she'll send up to the orphanagefor another helper, but that will take a day or two, maybe more."

  Granny Sue said no more and as Dobbin was not needed on the farm, Jennyagain drove up the winding tree-shaded lane to the crest of the low hillon the broad top of which stood the picturesque buildings and grounds ofthe fashionable school for girls. This time Jenny drew rein before sheentered the gate and gazed far across the valley to the range of circlingmountains, gray and rugged near the peaks, but green and tree-clad lowerdown. Jenny always felt, when she gazed at those majestic mountains, thesame awe that others do in a great cathedral, as though she were in thereal presence of the Creator. "Father, God," she whispered, "I thank Theethat at last Etta is really going home." Then she turned in at the gate.

  As Jenny had feared, Miss O'Hara was becoming very wrathful because ofthe delayed return of her helper, and when the kitchen door opened, shewhirled about, a carving knife in her hand and a most threateningexpression on her plain Irish face. When she saw who had entered, theexpression changed, but her sharp blue eyes were gazing back of the girlas though to find one whom she believed was purposely lingering outsideuntil a just wrath were somewhat appeased. But when Jenny turned andclosed the door, Miss O'Hara demanded: "Where's that wench? Are youtryin' to shield her? You can't do it! She'd ought to've been here twohours back. Me with all the silver to clean and the vegetables to pare."Then, noting a happiness like a morning glow in the face of the girl, thewoman concluded: "Well, say it out, whatever 'tis! But first let me tellyou, I'm _through_ with that ne'er-do-well. I set myself down right inthe middle of the mornin' and wrote to that orphanage place tellin' 'emthey'd have to find work elsewhere for Etta Heldt, and I'd be obliged to'em if they'd send me another girl as soon as they could. An' what'smore, I made it plain that I didn't want any sour face this time. I wantsomeone who's willin' and agreeable, that's what! So, if that minx iswaitin' to hear what I'm sayin', you might as well fetch her in and let'shave it out."

  To the amazement of the irate woman, Jenny clapped her hands girlishlyand then, skipping forward, gave Miss O'Hara an impulsive hug as shecried: "Oh, oh, I'm so glad you feel that way about it! Then you won'tmind so terribly because Etta Heldt is gone--gone for good, I mean?"

  Miss O'Hara stared blankly. "Gone?" she repeated. "Where's she gone to?"

  Jenny glanced at the clock. It was nearing noon and she knew that thecook had little time for idle visiting, and so she said briskly: "I'vecome over to help. I'll put on Etta's apron and do anything you wantdone, and while we're working, I'll tell you the whole sad story,because, Miss O'Hara, it is awfully sad, and I do believe if you hadknown it, you would have been sorrier for Etta, and maybe, a little morepatient." Then, fearing that this might offend her listener, the tactfulgirl hurried on with: "I know how kind you can be. No one knows better."

  The cook, who had turned back to the slicing of cold meat, which had beenthe reason for the carving knife, merely grunted at this. She was notsure but that a little of her own native blarney was being applied toher. But she answered in a pleasanter voice to the girl's repeatedinquiry: "What shall I do to help?"

  "Well, you might be fixin' the salad. You'll find the mixin's for it allin the icebox up top."

  "Oh, goodie!" Jenny skipped to the box as she spoke: "I adore makingthings pretty, and salads give one a chance more than most anything else,don't you think so, Miss O'Hara?" She had lifted the cover and waspeering in where, close to the ice, lay the cheesecloth bag of crispedlettuce and a bowl of tiny cooked beets. These she carried to the longwhite table as she asked: "May I prepare it just as I want to, MissO'Hara, or have you some special way of doing it?"

  "Fix it to suit yourself," was the ungrudgingly given response. "You'llfind all sort of bowls for it in the pantry, you'll need four, therebeing four tables."

  Jenny chose pretty glass bowls and set about making as artistic a saladas she could, and, while she worked, she told the whole story to alistener who at first was merely curious, but who gradually becameinterested and finally sympathetic. "Well, I sure certain wish I'd knownabout her comin' to this country and findin' her mother dead. Like as notI'd have tried some to cheer her up. As I look back on it now, I wasn'tany too patient with her. It'll be a lesson to me, that's what it will.When the next orphan comes to this kitchen, I'll try to make it ashome-like for her as I can." Then the cook recalled her own troubles."How-some-ever, I wish Etta Heldt had given me notice. Here I'll bewithout a helper for no one knows how long, a week maybe."

  Jenny, having heaped a glass bowl with a most appetizing salad, steppedback to admire it. Then she revealed her plan. "Miss O'Hara, if you'lllet me, I'll come right over after school every day and do Etta's workuntil you can get another helper."

  Miss O'Hara again turned, another knife in her hand, as she had beencutting bread. "Jenny Warner, are you meaning that? Will you help out fora few days? Well, the Saints bless the purty face of you as they've donealready. I only wish I could have a helper all the time
as cheery as youare. I could get on with after-school help. I'm thinkin', on a scratch."

  Then, glancing at the clock, she continued: "Well, if 'tisn'televen-thirty all ready. Here, cut the bread, will you, Jenny, while I goupstairs and see if one of the maids won't help with the servin' today? Ican't be in the kitchen dishin' up, an' in the dinin' room at the sametime."

  Jenny, glad to assist in any way, finished the task, and then wandered toa window near to await further orders. She heard a gong ringing somewherein the big school. Then a side door opened and a bevy of girls, about herown age, trooped out on the lawn for a half hour of recreation beforelunch. How pretty they were, nearly all of them, the watcher thought. Bytheir care-free, laughing faces she concluded that they had none of themknown a sorrow or felt a feather weight of responsibility. They had comefrom homes of wealth, Jenny knew, where they had had every pleasure andluxury their hearts could desire. But she did not envy them. Where in allthe wide world was there a home more picturesque than her very own oldadobe farmhouse, overgrown with blossoming vines, with the ever-changingocean and the rocky point in front, and at the back the orchard, which,all the year round, was such a delight. And who could they have in theirrich homes more lovable than Granny Sue and Grandpa Si? There couldn't beany one more lovable in all the land. Then the watcher wondered which oneof the girls was Harold P-J's sister. "Proud and domineering," MissO'Hara had said that she was. Maybe she was that tall girl who had drawnapart from the rest with two companions. She carried herself haughtilyand there was a smile on her face that Jenny did not like. It was asthough she were accompanying it with sarcastic comment about the othergirls. The two who were with her glanced in the direction which theirleader had indicated. Jenny did also and saw a shy-looking girl dressedfar simpler than the others, whose light brown hair hung straight down,fastened at her neck by a plain brown ribbon. "She must be a new pupil,too," Jenny decided, "for she doesn't seem to be acquainted with any ofthe girls."

  At that moment Miss O'Hara returned, more flustered than she had been anhour earlier, if that were possible. "The de'il himself is tryin' to fretme, I'm thinkin'," she announced. "That silly Peg Hanson's had a letterand there's somethin' in it that upset her so, she took a fit of cryin'and now she's got one of her blind headaches and can't stand. The othermaid's in the middle of the upstairs cleanin', being as she had to doPeg's work and her own. Now, I'd like to know _who_ is to wait on thatparcel of gigglin' girls this noon? That's what!"

  "O, Miss O'Hara, won't you let me? I'm just wild to have a chance to benear enough to them to hear what they say. It would be awfullyinteresting to me. Please say that I may?"

  The cook stared her amazement. "Well, now, what do _you_ know aboutwaitin'?" she inquired.

  "Nothing at all," was the merry reply, "but my teacher has often saidthat I have a good intelligence, and I do believe, if you'd tell me whatought to be done, I could remember enough to get through."

  The cook's troubled face broke into a pleased smile. "Jenny Warner," shecommented, "you're as good as a pinch of soda in sour milk. Somehowmountain-sized troubles dwindle down to less'n nothin' when you take ahand in them." She glanced at the clock.

  "Lunch is served at twelve-thirty," she continued. "We'll have to bothpitch in and get things on the table, and, while we're doin' it, I'lltell you what you'll have to know about servin'."

  * * * * * * * *

  Jenny was in a flutter of excitement half an hour later as she donned thewhite cap and apron of the waitress uniform. They were really verybecoming, and soft brown ringlets peeped out from under the daintyband-like cap which was tied about her head.

  "There's very little waitin'-on to be done at noon, thanks for that,"Miss O'Hara said. "Most things are on the table, but you'll have to goaround and pour the chocolate and do the things as I told you. There now!The bell's ringing and I hear those silly girls laughing, so they're allin the dining room. Here's the chocolate pot. I haven't filled it full,fearin' it might be too heavy. You'll have to come back and get more whenthat's gone."

  With cheeks flushed and eyes shining, as though she were about to dosomething which pleased her extremely, Jenny entered the dining room,where four tables, surrounded by girls, stood along the walls. Few therewere who even noticed her as she went from place to place filling thedainty cups with steaming liquid.

  At the first table the girls were chattering about a theatre party towhich they were going with Miss Granger, and not one of them gave thewaitress more than a fleeting glance. But at the second table Jenny foundthe girl she sought. The sister of Harold P-J, and the daughter of theproud owner of Rocky Point Farm.

  The little waitress knew at once which she was, for a companion spoke hername. Jenny was disappointed when she heard her speak. There was afretful, discontented note in her voice. And why should there be, shewondered, as she slowly approached the end of the table where GwynettePoindexter-Jones sat with an intimate friend from San Francisco at eachside.

  Surely she had everything her heart could desire. But evidently this wasnot true, for, as Jenny drew nearer, she could hear what was being said.

  "Patricia Sullivan, you make me weary! You certainly do!" she addressedthe girl on her right. "How can you say that this is a pleasant place?When I think of my mother in France luxuriating in the sort of life Imost enjoy, it makes me rebellious. Sometimes I feel that I just can'tforgive her. What right has a mother to send her daughter to anout-of-the-way country boarding school if the girl prefers to be educatedabroad?"

  The friend who had been called "Patricia" now put in, almostapologetically: "But I merely said that it is a beautiful country, and Irepeat that it is. I think that it is wonderful to be so high up on afoothill and have a sweeping view of the ocean from one side of theschool and a view of the mountains from the other side."

  A shrug, accompanied by an utterance of bored impatience, then Gwynette'sreply: "Scenery isn't what I want, and if I did, I prefer it in France."

  After glancing critically from one table to another, she continued:

  "There isn't a single girl in this room who belongs to our class, really.They are all our social inferiors."

  But Beulah Hollingsworth, the friend on Gwynette's left, leaned forwardto say in a low voice, which was audible to Jenny merely because she hadreached the trio and was filling Patricia's cup:

  "I've heard that there is a girl in this school whose father is a youngerson of some titled English family. She ought to be in our class, don'tyou think?"

  Patricia, whose back was toward the room, could not turn to look at theother pupils, but suddenly she recalled one of them, and so, leaningforward, she also said in a low voice:

  "Look at Clare Tasselwood. She's stiff enough at least to be a somebody."Gwynette and Beulah agreed.

  They both glanced at a tall blonde girl at the table across the room,whose manner was neither disagreeable nor pleasant, expressing merelybored endurance of her present existence. Gwynette's face brightened. "Ibelieve you are right. Let's cultivate her!"

  Jenny could hear no more of their conversation as she had to go back tothe kitchen to refill the silver pot, and when she returned she began tofill cups at a third table, the one at which sat the supposed daughter ofa "younger son." Clare Tasselwood was so deeply engrossed in her ownthoughts that she seemed scarce aware that the timid girl at her left wasoffering her a platter of cold meat. She took it finally with a briefnod; absently helped herself to a slice and passed it to the neighbor onher right.

  Jenny found herself feeling sorry for the little girl whom she hadnoticed at the recreation hour; the one so simply dressed in brown withwhom no one had been talking, and about whom Gwynette and her friends hadevidently been making uncomplimentary comment. When the new waitresspoured that girl's cup full of chocolate, the little maid smiled up ather and said, "Thank you."

  More than ever Jenny's heart warmed toward her. "Poor thing! I'd like tobe friends with her if she were not a pupil of this fashionable school.She look
s more like real folks than some of them do."

  Then, having completed the round with the chocolate pot, the waitresswent out to the kitchen to get the tray on which were to be heaped theplates after the first course had been finished. Jenny really dreadedthis task, fearing that she would break something, and was relieved tofind that the upstairs maid who had been cleaning had come down and wasready to assist.

  "Here, Jenny," Miss O'Hara said, "you follow and give each girl herdessert. Then you come out and eat your own lunch. After that you can go.Tomorrow, being Sunday, I can get along alone, and probably by Monday thenew helper'll be here."

  An hour later Jenny drove away, laughing to herself over her amusingadventure and eager to tell Grandma Sue and Granddad Si all about it.