The Opened Shutters: A Novel

by Clara Louise Burnham

  CHAPTER XXIX

  THE WHITE BAG

  Edna's responsibilities and nap-time came to an end simultaneously, andDunham proposed that they take their book to the Fir Ledges, as a spotwhere the waves were not too noisy and the outlook was superb for suchluxurious mortals as need lend their ears only, and not their eyes, tothe story.

  They came into the living-room as he made his suggestion, and saw MissLacey just coming downstairs.

  "Where is Sylvia?" asked Edna.

  "I don't believe she's up yet," replied Miss Martha. "She went to herroom at the same time I did, and she certainly did look tired out. Ibegged her to show common sense and not run around so incessantly. Itold her to lie down and not move until she was rested. Foolish child!She's so in love with this place she seems to think she's wasting timeunless she's on the keen jump from morning until night."

  "Wouldn't it rest her to come with us?" asked Dunham. "We're going tothe Fir Ledges to read."

  "Well, I don't know,"--Miss Lacey tossed her head doubtfully,--"it'squite a walk down there, and her door is tight shut."

  John looked at Edna.

  "I suppose the kindest thing to do would be to let her alone," saidEdna. "When she comes down. Miss Martha, please tell her where we are,and ask her to join us. Perhaps she can bring you and Judge Trent withher. I see he is still motionless in that hammock."

  "Yes, tell her to be sure to come," said Dunham; and the two left thehouse and started off through the wood road.

  Edna did not regret her words to Sylvia, but she could not helpconnecting them with Miss Lacey's description of the girl's faggedappearance. So temperamental a creature as Sylvia would be prone toexaggerate a situation. Very well, Edna would take the earliestopportunity--bedtime this evening--for an open talk with her. Perhapsit was the excitement of having given John that which she had preparedfor him which had left her pale by the time her aunt met her,--that andthe sudden realization that her hostess understood her motives andactions. What a mercy that big, blundering, honest John Dunham had notconnected himself with Sylvia's fantasies, although his joking hadfitted in so well with her plans!

  In the absence of other interests, and the idleness of pleasant hours,John had shown considerable interest in Sylvia. Edna had on severaloccasions resented the trifling signs of his admiration, fearing theymight mislead so inexperienced a girl as her guest, even supposing thegirl were not already making a hero of him, and bent upon hissubjugation.

  The thoughts of the pair were running along parallel lines as theypursued the woodland path, and at last John came to himself.

  "Pardon my stupidity, Edna. Sylvia says it's a great proof offriendship for two people to be silent when together."

  "Especially if they tell their thoughts afterward," rejoined the girl."What were yours?"

  Dunham hesitated a moment. "I was thinking it was a pity if Miss Sylviahas overtired herself."

  "And I," said Edna, "was thinking it was a pity for you to pursue evena mild flirtation with her. She hasn't met many men of your stamp,--sheis only a grown-up child, as you have seen."

  "I don't know," replied John deliberately. "I'm making up my mindslowly but surely that she is a jewel."

  Surprise and something like contempt flashed over Edna's face. "Is itsince you drank the blueberry juice?" she asked, and the next momentcould have bitten her tongue for its rashness.

  Dunham showed no surprise. "Oh, it's a gradual estimate," he said.

  The girl laughed. "Very gradual. Is it three days or four?"

  "Time doesn't enter much into that sort of impression."

  "Well, it should," responded Edna decidedly.

  They said no more, but reaching the ledges seated themselves in the leeof a sheltering rock, and read, and gazed, until the swift passinghours brought them to a realizing sense that the anxious housekeeperwould begin to be on the lookout.

  "Well," remarked John with a luxurious sigh, "our friends don't knowwhat they missed by scorning our invitation."

  Edna said nothing, but the memory of her parting words with Sylviabegan to be an uncomfortable one. The situation was emphasized by herguests' failure to join them here. She had not really supposed thatSylvia could feel easy to be with her again until they had been able totalk alone, but she told herself that she could not have left John tohis own devices this afternoon. This evening she would surely makeeverything understood with Sylvia, show the girl how her behavior hadappeared, and, she hoped, give her a new standard.

  Miss Lacey and Judge Trent were seated on the piazza when theyapproached.

  "Just in time," said Miss Martha.

  "Where's that lazy Sylvia? Not down yet?" asked Edna.

  "No," replied Judge Trent; "I was just telling Miss Lacey I should goup and knock on her door. She assures me that laziness is not one of myniece's characteristics."

  "Decidedly not," returned Edna.

  "Quite the opposite," said Miss Martha. "That is why, if she sleepsright through supper time, I knew Edna would excuse her. I can't forgethow she looked when she came upstairs. All the life seemed gone out ofher. Folks come to those spots, if they will keep themselves keyed upall the time."

  Edna began to have very uncomfortable sensations. She passed into thehouse and upstairs. Pausing before Sylvia's door, she listened. Therewas a little rapping sound within, all else was still. The girl knockedsoftly. There was no response. She turned the handle quietly. If,possibly, her guest were asleep, she would not awaken her. Slowly,slowly she opened the unresisting door, and her expression changed fromexpectancy to blankness as she perceived that the room was empty. Thefair white pillow bore no imprint of a curly head. The curtain ring wasstriking rhythmically against the window sill in the breeze.

  Edna walked in, and looked about the orderly apartment. An envelope onthe dresser caught her eye. It was addressed to herself, and thecontents were as follows:

  DEAR EDNA,--With a thousand thanks for the hospitality you have shown me here, I am going back to the Mill Farm. I have known since yesterday that something was wrong, but I am glad I came back last evening to learn how wrong. There is no question of staying now, because no good could come of our attempting to talk. My thoughts are my own; no one else can have jurisdiction over them. I cannot think of one act of mine as your guest which you could disapprove. Therefore there is nothing to discuss; but the grief it is to me to have offended you, you will never know. You can tell the others that this note confesses to you that I was suddenly overwhelmed with homesickness and felt I could not stay for argument. It will be the simple truth. They will set it down to my bad manners, and let it go.

  We may never meet again intimately, and I want my last word to you to be heartfelt thanks for giving me the happiest experience of my life. We both know that Love will heal every hurt. I hope it isn't wrong for me to go in this way. I cannot stay.

  SYLVIA.

  Edna read the letter twice before she laid it down. She caught thereflection of her own face in the glass. More than anything else, itexpressed vexation. Sylvia had crowned her unconventional behavior bythe most annoying move of all. To a girl of Edna's traditions it wasexcessively mortifying to be obliged to own to others that her friendand guest had fled from her roof, even though they would have nosuspicion that Sylvia had been driven away. In an instant she made upher mind not to destroy the comfort of the supper hour with the news,but to wait until later.

  Hastening out into the hall, she softly closed the door again, andproceeded to make her own preparations for the evening meal. She couldhear Dunham moving about in his room, and knew that he was forbearingon Sylvia's account from the whistling obligato which usuallyaccompanied his toilet.

  It would have been difficult for any average man to expressirritability while discussing the appetizing dishes which Miss Laceyand Jenny had placed on that supper table, but the judge was displeasedby his niece's non-appearance, and made it evident.

  "I hope you're not spoiling
the girl, Martha," he said. "If she's ill,say so; but if she isn't, don't let there be any carrying up of traysor nonsense of that kind."

  Edna feared from Miss Martha's look that she was going to rise from thetable and call the absent one, and she hastily interposed:--

  "I assure you, Judge Trent, Sylvia is promptness itself. This is theexception that proves the rule."

  "It seems to me that my niece is always proving rules in that fashion,"he returned, glancing at Dunham. "Of course, you are a polite hostess,Edna, and wouldn't allow a crumpled rose leaf to annoy a guest ofyours."

  At these words Sylvia's note seemed to burn in Edna's pocket, and hercheeks grew warm.

  "The fact is, I'd like to see something of the girl," went on thejudge.

  "I shall go up to her room the instant supper is over," responded Edna."Do have some more lobster Newburg, Judge Trent. Don't you think it'spretty good?"

  "I think it's perfect; but I'd better not tempt Fate with any more."

  "Oh, lobster here isn't the same as anywhere else. You can eat it rightout of this sea as you can ripe apples out of an orchard."

  "Indeed? The more the merrier, instead of the sadder?"

  "Certainly," replied Edna with conviction, and the judge allowed hisplate to be replenished. "You shall go out after supper to see myalterations," went on Edna. "Willis is going to let the other man cometo-morrrow to finish up, for he told me he 'couldn't put off no longergoin' to Portland to have a tooth hauled.'"

  The girl continued to keep the conversation in safe channels until thetrying hour was over, then, asking Miss Martha to take the men aroundthe house to exhibit her improvements, she ran upstairs again toSylvia's room. Shutting herself in, she stood considering in what formshe should put the news to those below. The gulf between herself andher guest still yawned; and, while she regretted to have hurt her, shefelt that her words had not been unwarranted.

  It was hard to forgive Sylvia for being so different from any girl ofher own world, and yet to have strongly attracted so fastidious a manas John Dunham.

  Edna caught herself up sharply. Was it possible that the least shadowof jealousy had influenced her treatment of Sylvia? She was given touncompromising self-examination, and she knew that it had been asurprise to her to discover in the past days that she was not John'schief interest. She accused herself now of a snobbish inclinationtoward Sylvia, entirely aside from the perplexity and disapproval thegirl had caused her. Edna knew herself to be accustomed to a pedestal.She feared that she had come to taking it for granted that even amongher peers she should be preeminent, and that, as for this Westernprotegee whom she had patronized for Thinkright's sake, it had been asurprise to find her considered, socially speaking.

  Edna set aside the tangled web of unsatisfactory thought, to bestraightened and corrected at a more convenient season. Miss Marthamight come upstairs at any moment. She must decide what to say to themall.

  She wondered if Sylvia had fled too hastily to take her few belongings.She crossed the room to the closet, and opened the door. It was empty,but on the floor lay the pillow slip which Sylvia had defended fromJohn so heatedly. Edna looked at the white bag with some repugnance.There recurred to her the appealing look in the girl's eyes as she hadhurried into the house yesterday noon. Edna stooped and lifted the bag.It was heavy and stiff. She brought it out into the room, and opened itwith some shrinking. What met her eyes were a number of sheets of brownwrapping-paper. She drew one partly out. It was apparently smeared withdark paint. Hastily pulling the paper from the bag, she beheld a sketchof Beacon Island. She hurried over to the bed, and with eager handsdrew sheet after sheet from the bag and spread them out. They formedthree rows of sketches on the white coverlet, and Edna's eyes sparkledwith interest as she recognized the subjects. The work had apparentlybeen done with some blunt instrument instead of a brush. The effectswere broad, after the manner of a charcoal drawing.

  Edna compressed her lips as she gazed. Suddenly she crossed to an openwindow and leaned out. Fortune favored her. John Dunham was strollingin sight beyond the piazza. She called him softly. He heard, and shebeckoned him beneath the window. "Can you come up here," she asked,"without letting the others know?"

  Dunham assented with alacrity; but thought flies fast, and he had timefor many misgivings as he mounted the stairs in bounds. Was Edna aboutto have it out with Sylvia, and was he being called as a witness toface a culprit and prove a position? If so, he promptly decided to havean acute attack of paresis.

  Sylvia's door was ajar, and Edna standing by the bedside. "I neededsomebody, and I chose you," she said over her shoulder. "Come and seewhat Sylvia has done."

  Her tone was excited, and Dunham's heart beat fast as he paused at thedoor. What had Sylvia done?