Sandy

by Alice Caldwell Hegan Rice

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE NELSON HOME

  Willowvale, the Nelson homestead, lay in the last curve of the river,just before it left the restrictions of town for the freedom of fieldsand meadows.

  It was a quaint old house, all over honeysuckles and bow-windows andverandas, approached by an oleander-bordered walk, and sheltered by awide circle of poplar-and oak-trees that had nodded both approval anddisapproval over many generations of Nelsons.

  In the dining-room, on the massive mahogany table, lunch was laid forthree. Carter sat at the foot, absorbed in a newspaper, while at thehead Mrs. Nelson languidly partook of her second biscuit. It wasvulgar, in her estimation, for a lady to indulge in more than twobiscuits at a meal.

  When old Evan Nelson died six years before, he had left the bulk ofhis fortune to his two grandchildren, and a handsome allowance to hiseldest son's widow, with the understanding that she was to take chargeof Ruth until that young lady should become of age.

  Mrs. Nelson accepted the trust with becoming resignation. The prospectof guiding a wealthy and obedient young person through the sociallabyrinth to an eligible marriage wakened certain faculties that hadlong lain dormant. It was not until the wealthy and obedient youngperson began to develop tastes of her own that she found the burdenirksome.

  Nine months of the year Ruth was at boarding-school, and the remainingthree she insisted upon spending in the old home at Clayton, whereCarter kept his dogs and horses and spent his summers. Hitherto Mrs.Nelson had compromised with her. By adroit management she contrivedto keep her, for weeks at a time, at various summer resorts, where sheexpected her to serve a sort of social apprenticeship which would fither for her future career.

  At nineteen Ruth developed alarming symptoms of obstinacy. Mrs. Nelsonconfessed tearfully to the rest of the family that it had existed inembryo for years. Instead of making the most of her first summer outof school, the foolish girl announced her intention of going toWillowvale for an indefinite stay.

  It was indignation at this state of affairs that caused Mrs. Nelson tolose her appetite. Clayton was to her the limit of civilization; therewas too much sunshine, too much fresh air, too much out of doors. Shedisliked nature in its crude state; she preferred it softened andtoned down to drawing-room pitch.

  She glanced up in disapproval as Ruth's laugh sounded in the hall.

  "Rachel, tell her that lunch is waiting," she said to the coloredgirl at her side.

  Carter looked up as Ruth came breezily into the room. She wore herriding-habit, and her hair was tossed by her brisk morning canter.

  "You don't look as if you had danced all night," he said. "Did themare behave herself?"

  "She's a perfect beauty, Carter. I rode her round the old mill-dam,'cross the ford, and back by the Hollises'. Now I'm perfectlyfamished. Some hot rolls, Rachel, and another croquette, and--andeverything you have."

  Mrs. Nelson picked several crumbs from the cloth and laid themcarefully on her plate. "When I was a young lady I always slept afterbeing out in the evening. I had a half-cup of coffee and one rollbrought to me in bed, and I never rose until noon."

  "But I hate to stay in bed," said Ruth; "and, besides, I hate to missa half-day."

  "Is there anything on for this afternoon?" asked Carter.

  "Why, yes--" Ruth began, but her aunt finished for her:

  "Now, Carter, it's too warm to be proposing anything more. You aren'twell, and Ruth ought to stay at home and put cold cream on her face.It is getting so burned that her pink evening-dresses will be worsethan useless. Besides, there is absolutely nothing to do in thisstupid place. I feel as if I couldn't stand it all summer."

  This being a familiar opening to a disagreeable subject, the two youngpeople lapsed into silence, and Mrs. Nelson was constrained to addressher communications to the tea-pot. She glanced about the big,old-fashioned room and sighed.

  "It's nothing short of criminal to keep all this old mahogany buriedhere in the country, and the cut-glass and silver. And to think thatthe house cannot be sold for two more years! Not until Ruth is of age!What _do_ you suppose your dear grandfather _could_ have beenthinking of?"

  This question, eliciting no reply from the tea-pot, remained suspendedin the air until it attracted Ruth's wandering attention.

  "I beg your pardon, aunt. What grandfather was thinking of? About theplace? Why, I guess he hoped that Carter and I would keep it."

  Carter looked over his paper. "Keep this old cemetery? Not I! The dayit is sold I start for Europe. If one lung is gone and the othergoing, I intend to enjoy myself while it goes."

  "Carter!" begged Ruth, appealingly.

  He laughed. "You ought to be glad to get rid of me, Ruth. You'vebothered your head about me ever since you were born."

  She slipped her hand into his as it lay on the table, and looked athim wistfully.

  "The idea of the old governor thinking we'd want to stay here!" hesaid, with a curl of the lip.

  "Perfectly ridiculous!" echoed Mrs. Nelson.

  "I don't know," said Ruth; "it's more like home than any place else. Idon't think I could ever bear to sell it."

  "Now, my dear Ruth," said Mrs. Nelson, in genuine alarm, "don't besentimental, I beg of you. When once you make your debut, you'll feelvery different about things. Of course the place must be sold: itcan't be rented, and I'm sure you will never get me to spend anothersummer in Clayton. You could not stay here alone."

  Ruth sat with her chin in her hands and gazed absently out of thewindow. She remembered when that yard was to her as the garden ofEden. As a child she had been brought here, a delicate, faded littlehot-house plant, and for three wonderful years had been allowed togrow and blossom at will in the freedom of outdoor life. The glamourof those old days still clung to the place, and made her loveeverything connected with it. The front gate, with its wide whiteposts, still held the records of her growth, for each year hergrandfather had stood her against it and marked her progress. The hugegreen tub holding the crape myrtle was once a park where she andAnnette had played dolls, and once it had served as a burying-groundwhen Carter's sling brought down a sparrow. The ice house, with itssteep roof, recalled a thrilling tobogganing experience when she wassix. Grandfather had laughed over the torn gown, and bade her do itagain.

  It was the trees, though, that she loved best of all; for they werefriendly old poplar-trees on which the bark formed itself into allsorts of curious eyes. One was a wicked old stepfather eye with aheavy lid; she remembered how she used to tiptoe past it and pretendto be afraid. Beyond, by the arbor, were two smaller trees, where acoquettish eye on one looked up to an adoring eye on the other. Shehad often built a romance about them as she watched them peeping ateach other through the leaves.

  Down behind the house the waving fields of blue-grass rippled away tothe little river, where weeping willows hung their heads above thelazy water, and ferns reached up the banks to catch the flowers. Andthe fields and the river and the house and the trees were hers,--hersand Carter's,--and neither could sell without the consent of theother. She took a deep breath of satisfaction. The prospect of livingalone in the old homestead failed to appal her.

  "A letter came this morning," said Mrs. Nelson, tracing the crest onthe silver creamer. "It's from your Aunt Elizabeth. She wants us tospend ten days with her at the shore. They have taken a handsomecottage next to the Warrentons. You remember young Mr. Warrenton,Ruth? He is a grandson of Commodore Warrenton."

  "Warrenton? Oh, yes, I do remember him--the one that didn't have anyneck."

  Mrs. Nelson closed her eyes for a moment, as if praying for patience;then she went on: "Your Aunt Elizabeth thinks, as I do, that it isabsurd for you to bury yourself down here. She wants you to meetpeople of your own class. Do you think you can be ready to start onWednesday?"

  "Why, we have been here only a week!" cried Ruth. "I am having such agood time, and--" she broke off impulsively. "But I know it's dull foryou, Aunt Clara. You go, and leave me here with Carter. I'll doeverything you say
if you will only let me stay."

  Carter laughed. "One would think that Ruth's sole aim in life was tocultivate Clayton--the distinguished, exclusive, aristocratic societyof Clayton."

  She put her hand on his arm and looked at him pleadingly: "Pleasedon't laugh at me, Carter! I love it here, and I want to stay. Youknow Aunt Elizabeth; you know what her friends are like. They think Iam queer. I can't be happy where they are."

  Mrs. Nelson resorted to her smelling-bottle. "Of course my opinionsare of no weight. I only wish to remind you that it would be mostimpolitic to offend your Aunt Elizabeth. She could introduce you intothe most desirable set; and even if she is a little--" she searched amoment for a word--"a little liberal in her views, one can overlookthat on account of her generosity. She is a very influential woman,Ruth, and a very wealthy one."

  Ruth made a quick, impatient gesture. "I don't like her, Aunt Clara;and I don't want you to ask me to go there."

  Mrs. Nelson folded her napkin with tragic deliberation. "Very well,"she said; "it is not my place to urge it. I can only point out yourduty and leave the rest to you. One thing I must speak about, and thatis your associating so familiarly with these townspeople. They areimpertinent; they take advantages, and forget who we are. Why, theblacksmith had the audacity to refer to the dear major as 'Bob.'"

  "Old Uncle Dan?" asked Ruth, laughing. "I saw him yesterday, and heshook hands with me and said: 'Golly, sissy, how you've growed!'"

  "Ruth," cried Mrs. Nelson, "how can you! Haven't you _any_ familypride?" The tears came to her eyes, for the invitation to visit theHunter-Nelsons was one for which she had angled skilfully, and itssummary dismissal was a sore trial to her.

  In a moment Ruth was at her side, all contrition: "I'm sorry, AuntClara; I know I'm a disappointment to you. I'll try--"

  Mrs. Nelson withdrew her hand and directed her injured reply toCarter. "I have done my duty by your sister. She has been given everyadvantage a young lady could desire. If she insists upon throwing awayher opportunities, I can't help it. I suppose I am no longer to beconsulted--no longer to be considered." She sought the seclusion ofher pocket-handkerchief, and her pompadour swayed with emotion.

  Ruth stood at the table, miserably pulling a rose to pieces. Thisdiscussion was an old one, but it lost none of its sting byrepetition. Was she queer and obstinate and unreasonable?

  "Ruth's all right," said Carter, seeing her discomfort. "She will havemore sense when she is older. She's just got her little head turned byall the attention she has had since coming home. There isn't a boy inthe county who wouldn't make love to her at the drop of her eyelash.She was the belle of the hop last night; had the boys about her threedeep most of the time."

  "The hop!" Mrs. Nelson so far forgot herself as to uncover one eye."Don't speak of that wretched affair! The idea of her going! What doyou suppose your Aunt Elizabeth would say? A country dance in a publichall!"

  "I only dropped in for the last few dances," said Carter, pouringhimself another glass of wine. "It was beastly hot and stupid."

  "I danced every minute the music played," cried Ruth; "and when theyplayed, 'Home, Sweet Home,' I could have begun and gone right throughit again."

  "By the way," said her brother, "didn't I see you dancing with thatKilday boy?"

  "The last dance," said Ruth. "Why?"

  "Oh, I was a little surprised, that's all."

  Mrs. Nelson, scenting the suggestion in Carter's voice, was instantlyalert.

  "Who, pray, is Kilday?"

  "Oh, Kilday isn't anybody; that's the trouble. If he had been, hewould never have stayed with that old crank Judge Hollis. The judgethinks he is appointed by Providence to control this bright particularburg. He is even attempting to regulate me of late. The next time heinterferes he'll hear from me."

  "But Kilday?" urged Mrs. Nelson, feebly persistent.

  "Oh, Kilday is good enough in his place. He's a first-class athlete,and has made a record up at the academy. But he was a peddler, youknow--an Irish peddler; came here three or four years ago with a packon his back."

  "And Ruth danced with him!" Mrs. Nelson's words were punctuated withhorror.

  Ruth looked up with blazing eyes. "Yes, I danced with him; whyshouldn't I? You made me dance with Mr. Warrenton, last summer, when Itold you he was drinking."

  "But, my dear child, you forget who Mr. Warrenton is. And you actuallydanced with a peddler!" Her voice grew faint. "My dear, this mustnever occur again. You are young and easily imposed upon. I willaccompany you everywhere in the future. Of course you need neverrecognize him hereafter. The impertinence of his addressing you!"

  A step sounded on the gravel outside. Ruth ran to the window and spoketo some one below. "I'll be there as soon as I change my habit," shecalled.

  "Who is it?" asked her aunt, hastily arranging her disturbed locks.

  Ruth paused at the door. There was a slight tremor about her lips,but her eyes flashed their first open declaration of independence.

  "It's Mr. Kilday," she said; "we are going out on the river."

  There was an oppressive silence of ten minutes after she left, duringwhich Carter smiled behind his paper and Mrs. Nelson gazed indignantlyat the tea-pot. Then she tapped the bell.

  "Rachel," she said impressively, "go to Miss Ruth's room and get herveil and gloves and sun-shade. Have Thomas take them to the boat-houseat once."