by Gwen Bristow
“I’ll buy the clothes,” said Garnet. “I seem to remember a shop on Royal Street that had widow’s weeds on display.”
Oliver said he would be back in a few minutes, and told Garnet to wait for him. She began making a list of the things Florinda would need. A mourning costume, toilet articles, black cotton stockings. Florinda had on black shoes, which would do, but her stockings were silk, and Garnet had to explain that ladies in deep mourning did not adorn their ankles with silk stockings. “And some baggage,” she added, “Oliver can get that. What are you laughing at?”
“You,” said Florinda. “Me. All this.”
She linked her hands behind her head and stretched out. Garnet’s gaze went admiringly along her perfect profile. Florinda said,
“Garnet, there are some nice folks down at the Flower Garden and I don’t guess I’ll ever see them again. I’d like to tell them goodby. If I write a letter, will you keep it and drop it in the post office after I’m gone?”
“Why yes, I’ll be glad to.”
“Thanks.” Florinda bit her lip regretfully. “I wonder what they’re going to do without me tonight. I never walked out of a show before. I feel like a traitor.”
“But it’s not your fault!”
“It is too, in a way. I should have kept out of trouble.”
She looked so remorseful that Garnet searched for something to catch her interest. “Now don’t sit here worrying while we’re out,” she said briskly. “You can write your letter—here’s a pen, and there’s some paper and sealing-wax in the table drawer. And I have several good books.” She picked up a copy of Two Years Before the Mast, which she had bought because it told about a voyage to California.
Florinda took the book and turned it over in her hands, examining the cover and opening it tentatively in the middle. She handled it with such artless unfamiliarity that Garnet exclaimed,
“Florinda, didn’t you ever read a book?”
Florinda tried to remember. “You mean, start at page one and read every page right through to the end?” She shook her head. “Why no, I don’t believe I ever did.”
Garnet could not think of anything tactful to say. She changed the subject by telling Florinda that if she got hungry, there was a bowl of fruit in the other room. Fortunately, just then Oliver came in.
“There’s a boat leaving tonight for St. Louis,” he said. “It stops at Natchez, Vicksburg, and several other towns on the way.”
“Just what I need. Get a stateroom all the way to St. Louis. I can leave the boat sooner if I need to.”
“In the name of Mrs. Florinda Grove?”
Florinda agreed. Oliver did not comment that this name was safe because she had never used it till last night. He had meant what he said when he told Garnet that people’s names were their own business. He said he had a carriage waiting to take Garnet and himself on their various errands, but before he could open the door again Florinda interposed.
“Just a minute, dear people.” She was gathering up her skirts. “Oliver, take a look out of the window.”
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I told you this wasn’t going to cost you anything. When I said I had money where I could get it, I meant I had it under my petticoats.”
“That’s not necessary. You’ll need whatever you’ve got. I’m not very much attached to money,” he answered smiling. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Oh, stop going on like a charity worker. I’ve got lots of money. Look at the scenery, Oliver.”
As she evidently had her mind made up, he yielded and looked out of the window. Beckoning to Garnet, Florinda rested her foot on a chair and raised her skirts.
Her stockings were held by pink ribbon garters embroidered with rosebuds and fastened with gold clasps. Her drawers and petticoats were made of such excellent muslin that Garnet felt a pang of regret for the other clothes she would have to leave in her room. Stitched to the lower edge of her corset was a strong fat canvas purse.
Taking out a roll of banknotes, Florinda put her foot back on the floor and shook her skirts into place. “Here, Garnet,” she said. “If it’s not enough, let me know.”
Garnet took the bills. Oliver turned around. Florinda added,
“You’re the nicest people I ever knew. I love you both.”
She kissed her hand to them as they went out.
Florinda’s roll of bills amounted to a hundred and ten dollars. Oliver said this would not be enough, but they agreed to tell her it was. He told Garnet to buy the clothes, while he got the steamboat ticket and a couple of carpetbags. He would leave those with Florinda. Then he had to go down to the warehouse, but he would be back at six o’clock to escort his afflicted cousin to the boat.
Garnet told the dressmaker she was buying an outfit for a friend whose husband had been killed that morning in an accident. The good lady did not think of doubting the story. Her business was run for just such emergencies.
It was all very exciting. When she came back to the hotel, laden with bundles and boxes, Garnet looked like a bride glowing with the joy of a shopping spree. Florinda said Oliver had already brought the bags and steamboat ticket. “Now show me what you’ve got,” she added eagerly.
Gathering up her skirts, she sat on the floor before the pile of bundles. Garnet stirred up nests of tissue paper and brought out the sad black garments. Florinda went off into gales of laughter at the sight of them. While Garnet spread the dress on the bed, Florinda rummaged in the other boxes, delighted to find that Garnet had provided her with a hairbrush and a looking-glass and some clean towels.
“You darling. I’ll travel in luxury. Oh my soul, look at all these black cotton stockings.”
“Well, you can’t wear the same pair all the way to St. Louis,” said Garnet. She opened a bureau drawer. “I couldn’t find any readymade underclothes, so I’m going to give you a nightgown—”
“Oh Garnet, I couldn’t!”
“Yes you can, so be quiet. And some chemises and drawers.” Garnet smiled over her shoulder. “When you picked up your skirts, I noticed that everything you had on was perfectly immaculate. So you’re not going on a long journey with no change.”
“Imagine,” said Florinda softly, “you thinking about my pants. Thanks, angel.”
“Don’t you want me to help you pack?”
“Oh no. When you’ve been on the stage, you get so used to packing you can do it with no trouble at all.” She was taking handfuls of tissue paper out of the boxes. “This will be fine to keep the clothes from rumpling. I’ll put in the marten cape first. Lucky I was wearing it today.”
“When you change your dress,” said Garnet, “you’d better take off some of your petticoats. A widow’s dress isn’t very full. How many petticoats are you wearing?”
“Seven.”
“Put four of them into the bags.”
“All right, I’ll leave room for them.”
Florinda began folding the fur over her knees. Garnet noticed that she was still wearing her gloves. She wondered if all actresses took such care of their hands. It must be awkward to work with gloves on, she thought, but Florinda did not seem to find it so. Garnet curled up on the bed and gave her some instructions about the journey.
“If you stay in your cabin most of the time,” she concluded, “nobody will think anything of it. But it’s all right to sit on deck when you need fresh air.”
“Yes. I understand.” Florinda curled up a corner of the tissue paper between her thumb and forefinger. “Garnet,” she said gently, “aren’t you going to give me a chance to tell you how I feel? I don’t know just how to say it, but all this—it makes me so warm and lovely inside.”
For a moment Garnet did not answer. Then she said, “You don’t need to thank me.”
“Why not, baby?”
“Because I’ve had such a wonderful time doing it. I guess you wouldn’t have thought of that,” Garnet said shyly. “You’ve had such a sparkling sort of life. Theaters, and the way
you look, and everybody cheering.”
Florinda tucked the fur into the carpetbag, and paused to reflect on what Garnet had said. She looked around. “What are you used to doing, Garnet?” she asked.
“Why, the usual things girls do. You know.”
“But I don’t know. Sometimes I’ve wondered.”
“Wondered? What do you mean?”
“About girls like you. Girls who live on Bleecker Street and Union Square. I’ve seen them shopping in Stewart’s, and walking on the street with their mothers. I wondered what they did all day.”
Garnet heard her with astonishment. She had not dreamed that Florinda might be as curious about her as she was about Florinda. “Haven’t you ever known anybody from my part of town?” she asked.
Florinda was folding her supply of clean towels. “Gents,” she answered. “Lots of gents. But not ladies. You’re the first one I ever talked to. Tell me about you.”
So Garnet told her about day school and dancing school, and Miss Wayne’s Select Academy, and then how she had met Oliver when he came to New York to buy merchandise for the California trade. Florinda put her head down on her hand, laughing.
“Oh dear, it does sound so sweet. And you’re really going to take a trip to that strange country?”
Garnet nodded.
“Gee, it sounds like a long way. You’re awfully brave.”
“I’m not as brave as you are,” said Garnet.
“Me? I’m not going out to the last end of nothing.”
“No,” said Garnet, “but you don’t even know where you’re going. And you’re all alone.”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” Florinda said as she folded up Garnet’s nightgown. “I’ll be in a civilized country, at least. And I won’t be alone long. I’ll get settled somewhere, and I’ll make friends.”
She put in the nightgown and began folding the extra chemises. Garnet clasped her hands around her knees and watched.
In spite of that casual answer, she thought Florinda was very brave indeed. Only yesterday she had been the star of a brilliant show. And today she was leaving all that, and leaving everything she owned except what she had happened to have with her when she started for rehearsal this morning. But she was doing it so cheerfully, as though it were no more difficult than memorizing a new song. Garnet looked over Florinda’s gaudy dress and her emerald earrings and her jeweled watch, and wondered where she had learned such courage.
“How were you brought up, Florinda?” she asked abruptly.
Florinda put the chemises into the bag. She replied good-humoredly.
“Well, dear, I can’t say I was brought up, not if that means select academies and medals for politeness. I guess I just raised myself.”
“But—” Garnet began, and hesitated. She did not want to be prying. But she did want very much to know what Florinda meant.
“I don’t mean my mother wasn’t good to me,” Florinda amended, as though she thought she had sounded disloyal. “But she had to work, you see, and then she was sick a long time. She fell off a scaffolding backstage, and she couldn’t work after that. She died when I was thirteen.”
“You mean she had to work all the time you were a little girl? What a shame. Didn’t she have any people to help her?”
“No, she’d been raised by an uncle, but he was dead. She sang in theaters. She had a nice voice, and she was quite pretty. We got along all right when I was a child. I could work too, you see.”
“You could work? But not when you were a little girl!”
“Oh yes I could, dearie. They used me in some baby scenes before I could talk. And when I was eight years old I got a part with lines. I never had any trouble getting parts in those days, I was a beautiful child.” Florinda began to laugh. “Really, Garnet, you needn’t sit there with your mouth open like it was something awful! I never minded.”
“Then you’ve been working all your life, literally.”
“Why yes, dear. If you’re too polite to ask how long that’s been, I’m twenty-three.”
“I’ve seen plays with child actors in them,” Garnet said slowly. “But I never thought the children were supporting their parents.”
“Most of ’em are, dearie,” Florinda said dryly. She began putting away the extra pairs of black cotton stockings.
“But your father!” Garnet exclaimed. “Why didn’t he make a living for you? Or did he die early?”
Florinda was wrapping up her looking-glass so it would not be broken in travel. “I never laid eyes on my father,” she answered without raising her head. “He went off before I was born.”
Garnet clapped her hand to her mouth. “Please forgive me! It’s none of my business. I’m so sorry I asked.”
“Oh for pity’s sake,” Florinda said. “You’re such a nice girl.” She laughed shortly, and explained. “My father was a Norwegian sailor. One night when he had shore leave he came to the theater where my mother was singing. He liked her, and not long afterward they were married. She was madly in love with him. But he turned out to be a gilt-edged weasel. He went to sea again, and she never saw him any more.”
Garnet heard her with dismay. “But Florinda,” she protested, “maybe he didn’t mean to desert her. Maybe the ship was lost. Didn’t she try to find out if the ship was lost?”
Florinda smiled ironically over her shoulder. “You’d have found out, Garnet, and I would. But she didn’t. She was one of those trusting helpless people who wouldn’t know how to go about it.” Florinda tucked the looking-glass into place, and after a moment she added, “To tell you the truth, she didn’t want to find out. She kept trying to believe he was going to come back.”
“Then—she never knew?”
“Oh yes, she knew at last. An old actor in a show she was working in got sorry for her. I suppose he thought it would be easier on her to hear the truth, whatever it was. So he went down to the shipping company and inquired. The ship wasn’t lost. Nice safe voyage to Brazil, and then back to the home port in Norway. Town called Trondheim, or some such name.”
“But—” Garnet was thinking hard. She had just been married herself, and she wanted to dissent. “Maybe something happened to him in Trondheim. Maybe he wanted to come back to her, and couldn’t.”
“No, dear, he didn’t want to come back,” Florinda said coolly. “His ship had touched at New York on the way home from Brazil. He was in port for two weeks. But he didn’t come near my mother. She didn’t know he’d been in New York again until that actor found out about the voyage.”
“Oh Florinda, how could he!”
“I don’t know, dearie. I don’t know how any man could leave anybody sweet and helpless like her with a baby coming. But he did.”
She picked up a pile of black-bordered handkerchiefs, laid aside one to be carried this evening, and put the others into the bag. Garnet asked,
“What did she do, when she really couldn’t doubt the truth any longer?”
Florinda picked up a box of toilet soap. Her answer was simple.
“She fell off the scaffolding.”
“She—you mean she did it on purpose?”
Florinda paused, holding the box of soap. “No, I don’t think she did it on purpose,” she answered slowly. “I think, when she found out what sort of man she’d been loving all those years, she just didn’t care what became of her. She wasn’t interested enough to be careful.”
Garnet felt a pain all over. “And you were only thirteen?”
“I was twelve. It took her a year to die.” Florinda was looking down. Her eyes followed the design printed on the box.
“And you went on working in theaters, all the time she was dying?” Garnet asked.
Florinda was still examining the box. But she did not seem to be looking at it; she seemed to be looking through it, toward something a long way off.
“Not all the time. I couldn’t get parts. I’d always had parts when I was a little girl, because I was so pretty, and I knew how to act. But when my mother had her f
all, I was getting too big for child parts and not grown up enough to play ladies. The gawky age, you know, when your hands and feet get too big and you’re out of balance all over and nobody wants to look at you. I worked, of course, I had to work. I got a job sweeping out a saloon. I served drinks too, and sang for the customers, but I couldn’t earn very much. It wouldn’t have been too bad, though, except for seeing my mother. She suffered so much pain.”
Florinda was briefly silent, remembering. Without lifting her eyes, she went on.
“Sometimes I thought I couldn’t stand watching her. I can take what happens to me, but I can’t stand seeing other people suffer. I used to hope, every time I went out to work, that she’d be dead when I got back.”
Garnet saw her give a strange little smile, sideways.
“There was a horrible old man who peddled dope around the saloon. He had the jerks and I was scared of him. But he was very kind to me. He gave me some stuff to give her sometimes. It looked like a white powder. I don’t know what it was. But it put her to sleep. He never charged me anything for it, he just gave it to me. Sometimes the strangest people are so good. Later on, when I was working at the Jewel Box and had lots of money, I went back down there and found him. I thought maybe he’d want to go to an old folks’ home and be comfortable, but he didn’t want to. So I gave him three hundred dollars so he could get as coked up as he pleased.”
Garnet swallowed hard. A sad story usually brought tears to her eyes. But this did not make her feel like tears; this was deeper than sadness. She asked,
“And you’ve never heard anything of your father?”
Florinda shook her head.
“Do you suppose he’s dead now?”
“I hope he is,” said Florinda. She spoke with a quiet rage. “I hope he died screaming, like my mother died. I hope he died in a tenement four flights up, with no water except what you could lug up in a bucket, and rags stuffed in the window to keep out the snow.”
