Six Girls and the Tea Room

by Marion Ames Taggart

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A SIEGESLIED

  ALL the remaining force of winter had gathered itself together in thesnow-storm in which Miss Bradbury's party had left Crestville. When thestorm was over the sun came out with such warmth that the streets ranin rivulets before the snow could be shoveled into carts, and peoplepaddled about in rubbers hardly high enough, but with furs swingingwell back on over-burdened shoulders.

  Spring was anticipating the equinoxial date by nearly two weeks, andmore than the disturbance of spring unrest was in the air.

  Miss Bradbury was eagerly pressing her claim to a home of her own,a house which could be possible only as Mrs. Scollard consented toshare it with her, and which should take the place of Miss Keren's owndestroyed apartment and of the Patty-Pans.

  "By and by Margery will be married," Miss Keren reminded her adoptedfamily. "When that day comes there won't be room in the Patty-Pans forher to make the promises! And Happie must grow up into her own placein the world, the place to which she was born. You can't entertain inthe Patty-Pans. I need you and you need me, Charlotte. I want you tolet me legally adopt Happie as my heir, and I want you to bring yourchildren into a house which shall be equally the home of us all. Idon't see how you _can_ hesitate! I could be happy as I never was inall my life before. It has been my lifelong dream to share a home andhave a family--how _can_ you hesitate, Charlotte?"

  But Mrs. Scollard hesitated. The advantages to her little brood wereso great in this arrangement, the consequences of the experiment'sending badly, if thus it should end, would be so tragic, that she darednot agree to the tempting proposal until she had weighed it long andcarefully.

  While it pended, the unsettled feeling of spring made the Patty-Pansits headquarters.

  "I never felt so queer and upset in all my life!" Happie declared toGretta. "I feel as though I were a thin muslin gown hung out in a veryhigh wind by only one clothes pin--I can't tell what minute, nor whereI'm going to drop."

  Gretta laughed. "As long as you see nothing but soft grass all around,it doesn't matter much," she said.

  There was no little excitement in the flat across the hall during thesedays of untimely warmth. The Gordons had been to see Mrs. Jones-Dexterby special invitation. Mrs. Gordon dreaded going on one ground, andremembered the visit painfully on another. It had seemed formidable tocall on an aunt whom she had never known except by forbidding repute,but it was almost worse to find that stern person crushed, patheticallyeager to make amends for the bitterness she had sown and fostered, andto do for Ralph all that lay in her power. The boy stood to her less asher grandnephew than as the legacy of little Serena, the "kind big boy"in whose strong arms her frail life had ended.

  Another visit had followed the first one, in which Mrs. Gordon and herelder boy were bidden to meet Mrs. Jones-Dexter's lawyers, to receivethe principal which Mrs. Jones-Dexter had set aside for Serena'smaintenance. The interest of this money would enable Ralph to gothrough college without a care as to his expenses, and next year hewould enter Columbia.

  Ralph had been ready to face the self-denials, the effort of workinghis way through the four years that lay ahead of him, but it was nota little thing suddenly to be freed from this necessity. It meant agreat deal to the mother and to both boys, and the flat across from thePatty-Pans was full of grateful excitement as the March days went by inwhich these important happenings were perfecting.

  Easter fell on an early date that year, and little Mrs. Stewart wasbusy preparing for her spring exhibition. More than the languor ofspring was in the delicate little woman's eye and carriage. Lassitudethat was rather mental than bodily weariness was betrayed by her everymotion. She came oftener into the tea room in the morning and Margeryand she became great friends. The young girl's confident happinessdrew the older woman to her, and she won Margery to talk of her hopesand plans. It was not hard for Margery to see that she listened tothem much as one reads and re-reads a poem that brings the tears whichcomfort in their shedding.

  Mrs. Stewart did not return Margery's confidences on her own youngromance by the story of her unhappy life, nor did she preciselywithhold such confidence. By a word here and there the girls learnedthat the little dancing mistress with the lovely face and graciousmanners, was one of those pathetic creatures, a lady cut off fromher proper setting in life, deprived of the support that should havebeen hers and without which she was peculiarly unfitted to exist.Physically and instinctively Mrs. Stewart was ill-adapted to combatthe world. Margery knew without being told in so many words, that thelittle dancing mistress' husband had been a German, an extraordinarymusician who had given up, for his art's sake, his family, which wasone among the lesser nobility of the Fatherland. But she knew also thathe had selfishly sacrificed to his music the frail American wife he hadmarried after coming to the United States, and that in some manner thatMargery did not understand, he had neglected her, been cruel to her,and that his one child had died because the heart-broken mother couldnot give him what he required.

  Margery's heart went out to Mrs. Stewart more than ever when this storyhad been learned piecemeal. She and Happie discussed it night afternight when they should have been asleep. Happie was enraged by it andpointed out to Margery the dangers of marriage, but Margery wept overit without so much indignation. She could not help pitying the manwho had been guilty of thus wronging such a lovable creature as Mrs.Stewart. Both girls wondered, but never discovered, whether he werealive or dead. Margery felt sure he must be dead, or he would havereturned, but Happie was equally certain that he was alive, basing heropinion on the general feeling that an out-and-out wretch is likely tobe long for this world.

  One thing was clear: if her husband had been a German Mrs. Stewart'sname could not be Stewart. What, then, was it? It was most interesting,and rather exciting, to feel that they knew the heroine of a patheticstory, a story that included an _incognita_ for its heroine!

  In the meantime this heroine was preparing for the Eastertideexhibition of her school. Little Serena's death cast a shade ofmelancholy over the remaining weeks. Mistress and pupils alike, missedand mourned the exquisite little child whose pretty ways had pervadedevery hour of the winter. Serena was to have danced the solo dance,and now the honor was to be Penny's. Penny was beside herself withdelight. There hardly could have been a sharper contrast to etherealSerena than Penny was, Penny, all color and life and decision. Shedanced well, with animation, gaiety, abandonment, to the pleasure ofthe moment. Serena had danced like the milkweed silk to which Laura hadcompared her, floatingly, dreamily, as if swayed by the breeze. Dearlittle white Serena, who had floated away as softly as the milkweedfloats heavenward in the soft winds of September!

  The tea room seemed to be more popular than it had been during thewinter, now that the warm days made people weary, ready to rest and tosip tea on the slightest pretext. The girls were so much interested inthe preparations up-stairs that it was a trial to them to be kept fromslipping up to the rehearsals. Only Laura contrived to go, no matterhow busy they were in the tea room. It was Laura's way to do preciselywhat she pleased, though the sky fell.

  It was the Wednesday after Easter, and the exhibition was to be onFriday afternoon. Polly and Penny were up-stairs with Mrs. Stewart,having come down with the older girls that morning for the lastrehearsal of their dances. The tea room was unusually full for aforenoon. Gretta and Happie were flying about, while Margery waspatiently discussing novels with a succession of people who wanted toborrow--not merely a book from the shelves, but guidance from the SixMaidens as to their choice. It was somewhat trying to be forced to meetbook talk so early in the morning, to match adjective with adjective,and to respond interestedly to commonplaces. Margery acquitted herselfperfectly, but Happie caught her eye and nearly upset her with thegleam in her own, as, passing, she heard a lady declare for modernwriters in preference to mid-Victorian novelists--"Thackeray andDickens were so tiresome!" she said.

  Herr Lieder came in just
then, and Happie surprised herself by hailinghim with sincere pleasure. He wore his great coat thrown far backbecause of the heat, but he atoned for this by having his hat more thanever drooping over his face. A look of gloom, beyond the ordinary, hewore, and he went straight to the piano as if for that only he werethere.

  Laura followed him, inevitably. He threw down hat and cloak tragically,and seated himself without a morning salutation to his "little ClaraSchumann."

  Bending over the keys he sat in silence for a few moments, then hebegan to play Chopin's Marche Funebre, played it as it is rarelyplayed, until the awful throbs of the first theme seemed to his hearerslike the suffocating beating of their own hearts.

  As he ended his head fell forward again upon his breast, and Laura,turning to him with her face as pale as emotion could make it, cried:"Herr Lieder, Herr Lieder, don't play--like that!"

  Hans Lieder glanced at her. "This is the third of April. Fourteen yearsago to-day my only child was born," he said.

  "Is he dead?" Laura managed to ask.

  "He is dead, through my own fault. Even Chopin could not express thedespair this day brings to me. I have no right to be here, but thispiano is so like my own, and I was so miserable that I rose up, andcame," said this strange man. His hands on the keys wandered into moreof Chopin's despairing music, and Laura did not venture to protest,though it suffocated her with a sense of misery that she could notunderstand.

  Up-stairs little Mrs. Stewart was in despair of another sort. Again herpianist had failed her. She knew no way out of her difficulty exceptonce more to appeal to Laura for help. She disliked to do this, knowingthat the little girl was needed in the tea room. Polly eagerly offeredher sister's aid, and volunteered to go down to fetch her, but Mrs.Stewart said that if she must bother her dear little neighbors shewould go herself to explain matters, and so it came about that she went.

  As she came lightly down the stairs the music of Herr Lieder's makingcame towards her. At first she heard it indistinctly, but as sheproceeded it reached her ears plainly, and she stopped. Her handpressed her side and her lips parted.

  "No one else ever played like that, played THAT like that!"she murmured half aloud. With hardly a pause, as the Nocturne endedHans Lieder had passed into the Rondo of Beethoven's Sonata Pathetique.The little dancing mistress groaned.

  "Oh, I mustn't listen! It is the day that makes me imaginative. It isthe Herr Lieder of whom the children have told me! But I have neverbeen reminded of his playing before----" She shook herself together,proceeded down the few remaining stairs, and went around to the reardoor that opened on the hall, entering the tea room by that way.

  Her face was so ghastly white that Gretta, turning from the gas stoveon which she was making tea, set down the teapot she held and sprangtowards her.

  "Mrs. Stewart! Are you sick?" she cried.

  "No, not at all; only tired," replied Mrs. Stewart. "Gretta, are youvery busy here this morning? My pianist has not come, and I wanted tobeg Laura to take pity on me again. But if you can't spare her say sohonestly, and I'll slip back the way I came without speaking to Margeryor Hap---- Gretta, who is playing?"

  She stopped herself so abruptly, turning, if possible, paler thanbefore as Herr Lieder drifted into a heart breaking little Russiansong, that Gretta was frightened.

  "That is Herr Lieder, who plays for us sometimes, plays sowonderfully," she said. "We are busy, Mrs. Stewart, but I am sure wecan get on very well without Laura. When Herr Lieder plays she is nouse anyway. Come through with me to the front, and speak to the girls."

  Gretta led the way through "the portiere that hung between the tea andthe room," as Happie had once said. She heard a sound like a sob thatwas half a stifled cry, and turned to see Mrs. Stewart fallen backagainst the wall, her hands clutching her throat, her wide eyes staringat Herr Lieder with indescribable terror.

  Gretta's little teapot fell to the floor with a crash as she sprang tocatch the swaying woman. But Mrs. Stewart was not swooning. She pushedGretta away with both hands as the girl came between her and the piano,at which she still gazed with fixed, dilated eyes.

  The breaking china and Gretta's exclamation as she turned back to Mrs.Stewart, drew towards them every one's attention. Margery and Happiehastened to Gretta's assistance and the ladies grouped about at thedifferent tables pushed back their chairs, or arose, ready to offerhelp.

  The stir reached Herr Lieder at the piano. He glanced over his shouldercarelessly, not interested in tea room events. Margery was between himand a clear sight of Mrs. Stewart, but as he turned away again Margerymoved to one side, and he hastily looked a second time at the littledancing teacher standing motionless with her hands still clasping herthroat, her white face thrown into relief against the dark red curtain.

  Herr Lieder leaped to his feet, overturning the piano stool. He,too, stood motionless, staring at that white face which stared athim. He began to shake in every muscle of his tall figure. Then onelong-fingered, thin hand reached out and clutched frightened Laura'sarm, though Herr Lieder's eyes did not waver from the eyes that heldthem across the room. He twice tried to speak but failed. Then hewhispered hoarsely: "Wer ist--who is that?"

  "Mrs. Stewart"--Laura had begun, when Mrs. Stewart sprang forward witha cry that brought all to their feet and made them fall away to allowher passage. "Gaspar!" she screamed, and fell fainting at the feet ofthe mysterious Herr Lieder. The tall man stooped and tried to raiseher, but he was himself in too much need of support to accomplish it.Gretta came to help him with her strong young arms, and several ladiespresent, who were immensely excited at finding themselves witnesses toa drama they did not understand, in turn helped Gretta, and betweenthem they got Mrs. Stewart into a great chair.

  "Where am I to take her? We cannot stay here among so many," asked HerrLieder abruptly.

  "Her own rooms are above this," said Happie. "But the children arethere for a rehearsal. I don't know----"

  "She has her living rooms above that. Do you forget, Happie?"suggested Margery. "We will carry her there. I will tell her pupilsthat Mrs. Stewart has been suddenly taken ill, and dismiss them. Let usget her up-stairs before she becomes conscious; it will be easier forher. You are her husband, Herr Lieder?"

  "You have guessed right, Miss Scollard. I am her husband who neverexpected to see her face again--nor deserved to, nor deserved to! Iam Gaspar von Siegeslied." Herr Lieder turned away from Margery witha groan, but he turned to little Mrs. Stewart as she lay unconsciousin the chair and took her up in his arms, the expression of his faceplainly declaring that if he had neither expected nor deserved to seehis wife again, he had hungrily longed to see her.

  Margery and Gretta went with Herr Lieder--Herr von Siegeslied--to dowhat they could for his wife, leaving Happie and Laura disturbed beyondall possibility of tea room duties being properly attended to for therest of that morning.

  It was more than an hour before Margery and Gretta came down. Inthe meantime Polly and Penny had arrived, disappointed by Margery'sannouncement that there was to be no rehearsal that day, and full ofeager questions as to Mrs. Stewart's sudden illness. "Because, Happie,it really might make it seem as if the tea room had something unhealthyin its tea," said Polly solemnly. "She came down here to get Laura toplay, and she was perfectly well. And then she came back too ill tocome back--I mean she had to send Margery to dismiss us. I hoped thegirls wouldn't think anything."

  "I'll attend to that dark green lady," said Gretta when she and Margerycame back. "You let Margery tell you about it. It's more wonderful thanfinding grandmother's will in the Bittenbender trunk! Polly will helpme. I suppose Laura will have to hear what Margery tells you."

  "Come over in the corner, Hapsie and Laura," said Margery breathlessly."I must make it short, because there's so much to do here. Mrs.Stewart--Mrs. von Siegeslied--is all right now; she won't be ill. Justto think that this mysterious Hans Lieder has been coming and cominghere because that piano which Mrs. Stewart--his wife, I mean--lefthere reminded him so much of his own! And it
was his own! And he hadno idea what had become of her, and there she was right above his headall this time! And to-day is their little boy's birthday, and she camedown--never came once before when he was here!--and they met. I nevercan tell you just what happened when she came out of that swoon. Itwas the loveliest, most painful scene--Gretta and I cried with themboth. But Herr Lieder is plainly as sorry as he can be for the wronghe has done, and she is so glad to see him again that I don't believeshe knows he has ever done wrong--yes, she does! She knows it justenough to rejoice more in his return! Women are like angels; they aremore glad of one sinner that repents than of ninety-nine who need norepentance."

  "Would you rather Robert were just reforming from something awful?"inquired Happie.

  "Girls like stainless heroes," retorted Margery with a tiny laugh."Wait till I'm a woman, Happie! No, I shall always be thankful forRobert's goodness. But our dear little lady up-stairs is in ecstasyat being able to forgive her husband, that's plain. Gretta and I feltdreadfully at being present when Mrs. Stewart opened her eyes andsaw that her husband actually was there. She thought it could not betrue. But we need not have minded, for neither of them remembered us.We sat and cried and held on to each other quite unnoticed. After awhile the two von Siegeslieds were able to talk rationally. Mr. vonSiegeslied told his wife that he had succeeded to the family estateand title--he's a baron, it seems--because his elder brother was dead,but that he had felt no desire to go to Germany. He had no heart,he said, for life anywhere. But here where he had lost knowledge ofhis wife, and where she must be, if she still lived, he would ratherlinger. He had enough to maintain him, he said; his wants were few,his tastes simple. But now that he had found her, he cried, he wouldgo back to Germany and live among his own people, resume his own name,give her the place and the comforts that should have been hers. Thenhe remembered us, and he turned to us with his face transfigured.You never could imagine our mysterious and rather fearful Hans Liederlooking like that! 'Margery!' he said. 'It has all come about throughyour fortunate little tea room. There is no more a Hans Lieder toplay for you. In his stead behold the Herr Baron von Siegeslied. Isit not suitable, little maid, that I should be resuming my own nameand that it means a _song of victory_? Soon there will be no Baronvon Siegeslied, either, to play for you, nor any longer your Mrs.Stewart so bravely to fight her hard battle alone, teaching the littleones on top of your heads.' He grew more German, Happie, as he grewmore excited. 'We are rich people now, little maid, and people ofconsequence in the Fatherland. Will you allow us to wait on your motherat your home to beg of her a great favor? I want her to lend me mylittle Clara Schumann. She will trust her Laura to my wife, the best,the saintliest, the sweetest of women! I want to take Laura with me toGermany, into my own home, and I want to give her the musical educationthat shall prepare her to use the talent God has given her."

  Margery paused and looked at Laura who gazed at her blankly, silentlyfor a moment as if she could not understand. Then the color rushed toher face and she began to tremble. "Me? Me to go to Germany? To studymusic? He wants me?" she screamed.

  "Hush-sh, sh!" whispered Margery laying her hand on Laura's arm toquiet her, with her eyes on Happie's eyes questioningly. "Yes, dear, hewants to take you away for a long, long time, to train you as he thinksyou should be trained. It is a serious proposition, but Mrs. Stew--vonSiegeslied is so lovely that perhaps mother will be willing. Isn't itamazing, Happie? What do you say?"

  Happy looked totally unable to say half she thought or felt. "I don'tbelieve Laura will ever be good for anything else," she said sincerely."And it is too good an offer to refuse--Mrs. Stewart being herself, anda woman to whom mother would trust Laura."

  "If I went," said Laura speaking rapidly and only half articulately inher excitement, "I would do everything Mrs. von Siegeslied bade me, andbe far better than I was here to deserve it. Girls, you don't know whatit means! Don't let mamma say no! Beg for me to be allowed to go."