The Opened Shutters: A Novel

by Clara Louise Burnham

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE LITTLE RIFT

  When Sylvia reappeared that noon she carried a pillowcase, which sheheld before her by its corners with care. She thought to slip aroundthe house to the back door, but Edna and John rose from a corner of thepiazza and greeted her.

  Dunham viewed the graceful bare head and warm, demurely smiling face inits tree setting as the girl approached.

  "Doesn't she look like a dryad?" he said to his companion.

  "Oh," cried Edna, "so it was fir balsam you wanted to get, Sylvia. Youweren't very successful, I'm afraid. Your bag looks flat."

  "Serves you right for not begging me to go with you," added John. "Ednahas been swallowed up all the morning. I think it was very careless ofyou not to realize what a help I should have been."

  Sylvia shook her sunny head. "No, I needed to be alone," she returned.

  "Fir balsam, Edna!" exclaimed Dunham with sudden scorn. "What she hasbeen after is herbs and simples for the caldron. I've always yearned toknow what a simple is. Here is my grand opportunity." The young mancame toward the girl with outstretched hands. Sylvia stepped back.

  "Don't touch this bag, Mr. Dunham," she said, her fingers closing moretightly upon it.

  He laughed and seized the case.

  Her lips set and her eyes dilated. "I mean it!" she exclaimed. "Don'ttouch it."

  Her face had changed to intense seriousness, and under her flashinggaze his laughter died.

  "Just a peep," he said in surprise.

  "No, no," cried Sylvia acutely.

  He could see that her breath was coming fast, and Edna observed italso, looking on at the little scene with a sense of perplexity anddisapproval.

  Dunham dropped his hands, and there was a disarming break in the girl'svoice as she thanked him and ran into the house.

  She gave Edna a look as she passed, and brief as it was there was anappeal and a confiding in that look.

  Dunham shrugged his shoulders. "What now, I wonder?" he said, as herejoined her.

  "Sylvia doesn't seem to have outgrown a love of schoolgirl mysteries,"returned Edna coolly.

  In a few minutes the family were called to dinner, and Sylvia was againthe happiest of the company. The sparkle in her eyes seemed to havepermeated her voice as well. By comparison the hostess's manner seemedunresponsive and preoccupied.

  "What a pity you can't come over to the Tide Mill this afternoon,Edna," said Sylvia. "We couldn't have a better breeze."

  Edna gathered her straying thoughts. "I know it," she replied, "but thebird in the hand is the only one worth anything here. I have mycarpenters now, so business must come before pleasure. See if you can'tbring back Thinkright or Judge Trent with you, to lend dignity to ourhouse party. You'd better get an early start so you won't have MissLacey patrolling the shore to-night and looking for a sail."

  Edna did not meet Sylvia's gaze as she spoke, and the latter gained animpression of strangeness in her friend's manner. As they all strolledaway from the table and out of doors, Sylvia made a movement to linkher arm in Edna's. Was it a coincidence that the latter suddenly drewaway, saying, "I'm going to get my golf cape for you, Sylvia. It willbe very cool coming back."

  "I have my sweater," replied the girl, her gay face sobering.

  "Yes, but you'll like the golf cape, too, I'm sure, as the sun goesdown."

  Sylvia thought she perceived a new note in Edna's tone, a courtesy, aperfunctoriness, that chilled her. When did it commence? Her thoughtsflew back over the past twenty-four hours, and it recurred to her thatlast evening Edna, for the first time, left her room with a pleasantword, but without kissing her good-night. At the time she had notthought twice of the omission, but now to her awakened suspicion itseemed ominous. Edna had up to this time treated her with a frankdemonstrativeness very sweet to Sylvia. Twenty-four hours ago she wouldhave been certain that in departing even for this little trip of half aday her friend would have given her some slight caress. She watched nowintently for the opportunity, but Edna brought the golf cape and put iton John's arm. "Be sure you take Benny with you," she said. "You aren'ta sufficiently ancient mariner yet for these parts. Now I must fly tothe carpenters, good people. _Au revoir._"

  "Oh, Edna!" cried Sylvia earnestly, taking an involuntary step afterthe girl. "Couldn't I possibly stay and help the carpenters and haveyou go? I'd a thousand times rather. I hate to leave the island."

  "Nonsense," laughed Edna. "Where is your loyalty to the Mill Farm?Good-by," and she disappeared.

  It was not the reply she would have made yesterday. Sylvia was certainof it, and it was a grave maiden who stepped sedately by Dunham's sideas they struck across the field toward the dock. It never occurred toher that if something had happened to offend Edna the matter couldconcern anybody or anything but Dunham.

  Oh, how lovely the day was! How happy her morning had been! Howwondrous would be this world of fragrant land and sparkling water ifonly Edna would have kissed her good-by! And to be going sailing amidthis paradise with John Dunham! It was cruel that the very crown of allthe blessed situation must be put from her as a joy, and accepted onlyas a utilitarian measure. For had she not already in some way steppedoutside her rightful place?

  Benny Merritt's stolid countenance grew still graver as the two drewnear the floating dock.

  "Where's Miss Edna?" he asked.

  "Not coming," replied Dunham. "Yes, I know it's an outrage, Benny, butshe has the carpenters. It seems to be an island ailment as bad as themeasles for confining people to the house; but cheer up, you have MissSylvia and me."

  "Got a real good chance to-day," grumbled Benny; "Miss Edna'd like it."

  "Oh, don't say any more about it," exclaimed Sylvia. "I'm wretchedbecause she couldn't come."

  Dunham looked at the speaker in surprise at the acute tone. He couldhave sworn that a sudden mist veiled her eyes.

  "Oh, go on," he said. "Trample on my feelings as much as you like," andas he arranged Sylvia's cushions he gave a second sharp glance at herface. What had become of the sparkle and effervescence of the morning?

  "Ain't you goin' to sail, Mr. Dunham?" asked Benny, amazed to see Johnsettle down near Sylvia.

  "Thought I wouldn't, going over," replied John.

  Benny gave a sniff which was eminently cynical, as he grasped thetiller and the situation.

  "Well, I know which one it is now, anyway," he soliloquized, as theboat crept forth across the harbor.

  Sylvia was surprised too. Her heart beat a little faster.

  "Oh, I'm sure you'd better sail," she said. "I want to think."

  John laughed. "This is evidently not my lucky day," he remarked. "Ithink even now we ought to go back for the bottle."

  "What bottle?"

  "The one you were clutching so closely with that white bag this noon.That certainly must have been the real stuff. You remember we noticedthe effect at breakfast. Then instead of taking me with you to thewoods and drinking fair, you went alone, and at dinner were still moreilluminated; but the last dose seems to have worn off. I'm in favor ofgoing back for the bottle. Say the word and I'll tell Benny."

  Sylvia averted her face and smiled. "Yes, that was a good tonic," shesaid.

  John looked at her curiously.

  "But you must concoct something with more staying power," he went on."At dinner you were scintillating. Crossing the field just now thelight had all gone out."

  Sylvia shook her head slightly. What a comfort it would be if she couldtalk out her perplexities to him and with him.

  "You know," she returned, "it is only good friends who can indulge inthe luxury of silence when they are together."

  "Very pretty," he replied. "It's very gratifying to believe myself more_en rapport_ with you than either Edna or your aunt."

  "I wish you'd go and sail the boat," said Sylvia suddenly.

  "I will, coming back," returned Dunham tranquilly, "for we shallprobably have another passenger. This is our first tete-a-tete,remember."

  "No, our secon
d. I do remember," replied Sylvia.

  In those forlorn days at the Association when he was always in herthought, what would have been her pleasure to look forward certainly tothe present situation. The boat had left the harbor now and wasbounding along its liquid path with the speed which made it the prideof Benny's heart.

  John, leaning against the gunwale, continued to regard her.

  "We don't need to recall that day," he said. "Why remember thechrysalis after the butterfly is in the air?"

  "Oh, it's good for the butterfly;--keeps her grateful. However, I'm nota butterfly. I'm a bee."

  "What? The busy kind?"

  Sylvia nodded.

  "You don't look it. At this moment you convey a purely ornamentalidea."

  "I know better, for my nose is sunburned. Besides, Mr. Dunham," thegirl looked squarely into the amused eyes, "you mustn't flirt with me."

  "Perish the thought. But for argument, why not?"

  "Because I can't flirt back."

  Dunham smiled. "Can't or shan't?"

  "Well, shan't," she returned.

  "But why?" protested her companion mildly. "Surely you see that thesituation demands it. The stage is all set. I'll admit we shall have amoon coming back, but Judge Trent's hat may eclipse it."

  "I have given up the stage," replied Sylvia.

  "Never mind. You can still be an amateur. You can't be a summer girlwithout accepting her responsibilities."

  "I'm not a summer girl. I just told you I'm a bee, and not abutterfly."

  "But even bees are keen for the flowers of life. You're not a thriftybee unless you investigate and see how much honey you can get out ofme."

  Sylvia laughed reluctantly. "No wonder Edna calls you a shy flower,"she replied. Her heart had a sudden pang of remembrance. "How beautifulEdna is," she said, meeting her companion's lazy eyes.

  "Yes. You say she sings well?"

  "Enchantingly."

  "Does she sing Schubert?"

  "Ye-yes. I think he is the one, isn't he, who wrote 'Death and theMaiden'? She sang that Sunday morning before we went down in the woods.How long ago it seems!" Sylvia spoke wistfully and looked away, andagain a mist stole across her vision.

  "Oh, let 'Death and the Maiden' go to--I was thinking of 'Who isSylvia? What is she, that all the swains adore her?'"

  "I told you, Mr. Dunham, that you mustn't."

  "I'm only offering the bee a sample of my goods."

  "That isn't the sort that it pays to store. That's only fit for abutterfly's luncheon."

  "What is your special brand, then? You're rather a puzzle to me."

  It was true. Sylvia did puzzle this young man, accustomed to being acentre of social attraction wherever he went. Her exceptionalprettiness and naivete had at first promised a _sauce piquante_ to hisgolden vacation hours. The sauce had indeed proved piquant, but byreason of its difficulty of access. Most girls he had known would havebeen more interested in himself than in the blueberries on the day oftheir picnic, but Sylvia had been unaffectedly and convincinglyabsorbed. Most girls would have picked up the metaphorical handkerchiefhe had thrown last evening, and remained on the piazza with him for atime. Most girls would have secured instead of eluded his escort to thewoods this morning, and under the present circumstances would have madehay in the exhilarating sunshine with a grace and vigor which wouldhave absolved him from all effort.

  He was quiet so long that Sylvia stole a glance at him. His eyes wereclosed, and she thought he had fallen asleep; so she let her gaze rest.The effect of strength and repose in his attitude made her long forpencil and paper, but she had none. Never mind, she could sketch himlater from memory; and to do so she must study him now. With a purelyartistic intent surely it was no harm to dwell upon the lines of hisstrong nose and chin, the humorous curves of his lips, and enjoy theeffect of the warm, wind-rumpled hair around his forehead; and so hereyes remained fixed and she was unconscious of the light that began towarm and glow softly within them.