Delphi Complete Works of William Dean Howells

by William Dean Howells

  Lander wandered about looking for the girl through the parlors and the piazzas, and then went to the office to ask what had become of her.

  The landlord came out of his room at his question to the clerk. “Oh, I guess she’s round in my wife’s room, Mr. Landa. She always likes to see Clementina, and I guess they all do. She’s a so’t o’ pet amongst ‘em.”

  “No hurry,” said Lander, “I guess my wife ain’t quite ready for her yet.”

  “Well, she’ll be right out, in a minute or so,” said the landlord.

  The old man tilted his hat forward over his eyes, and went to sit on the veranda and look at the landscape while he waited. It was one of the loveliest landscapes in the mountains; the river flowed at the foot of an abrupt slope from the road before the hotel, stealing into and out of the valley, and the mountains, gray in the farther distance, were draped with folds of cloud hanging upon their flanks and tops. But Lander was tired of nearly all kinds of views and prospects, though he put’ up with them, in his perpetual movement from place to place, in the same resignation that he suffered the limitations of comfort in parlor cars and sleepers, and the unwholesomeness of hotel tables. He was chained to the restless pursuit of an ideal not his own, but doomed to suffer for its impossibility as if he contrived each of his wife’s disappointments from it. He did not philosophize his situation, but accepted it as in an order of Providence which it would be useless for him to oppose; though there were moments when he permitted himself to feel a modest doubt of its justice. He was aware that when he had a house of his own he was master in it, after a fashion, and that as long as he was in business he was in some sort of authority. He perceived that now he was a slave to the wishes of a mistress who did not know what she wanted, and that he was never farther from pleasing her than when he tried to do what she asked. He could not have told how all initiative had been taken from him, and he had fallen into the mere follower of a woman guided only by her whims, who had no object in life except to deprive it of all object. He felt no rancor toward her for this; he knew that she had a tender regard for him, and that she believed she was considering him first in her most selfish arrangements. He always hoped that sometime she would get tired of her restlessness, and be willing to settle down again in some stated place; and wherever it was, he meant to get into some kind of business again. Till this should happen he waited with an apathetic patience of which his present abeyance was a detail. He would hardly have thought it anything unfit, and certainly nothing surprising, that the landlady should have taken the young girl away from where he had left her, and then in the pleasure of talking with her, and finding her a centre of interest for the whole domestic force of the hotel, should have forgotten to bring her back.

  The Middlemount House had just been organized on the scale of a first class hotel, with prices that had risen a little in anticipation of the other improvements. The landlord had hitherto united in himself the functions of clerk and head waiter, but he had now got a senior, who was working his way through college, to take charge of the dining-room, and had put in the office a youth of a year’s experience as under clerk at a city hotel. But he meant to relinquish no more authority than his wife who frankly kept the name as well as duty of house-keeper. It was in making her morning inspection of the dusting that she found Clementina in the parlor where Lander had told her to sit down till he should come for her.

  “Why, Clem!” she said, “I didn’t know you! You have grown so! Youa folks all well? I decla’e you ah’ quite a woman now,” she added, as the girl stood up in her slender, graceful height. “You look as pretty as a pink in that hat. Make that dress youaself? Well, you do beat the witch! I want you should come to my room with me.”

  Mrs. Atwell showered other questions and exclamations on the girl, who explained how she happened to be there, and said that she supposed she must stay where she was for fear Mr. Lander should come back and find her gone; but Mrs. Atwell overruled her with the fact that Mrs. Lander’s breakfast had just gone up to her; and she made her come out and see the new features of the enlarged house-keeping. In the dining-room there were some of the waitresses who had been there the summer before, and recognitions of more or less dignity passed between them and Clementina. The place was now shut against guests, and the head-waiter was having it put in order for the one o’clock dinner. As they came near him, Mrs. Atwell introduced him to Clementina, and he behaved deferentially, as if she were some young lady visitor whom Mrs. Atwell was showing the improvements, but he seemed harassed and impatient, as if he were anxious about his duties, and eager to get at them again. He was a handsome little fellow, with hair lighter than Clementina’s and a sanguine complexion, and the color coming and going.

  “He’s smaht,” said Mrs. Atwell, when they had left him — he held the dining-room door open for them, and bowed them out. “I don’t know but he worries almost too much. That’ll wear off when he gets things runnin’ to suit him. He’s pretty p’tic’la’. Now I’ll show you how they’ve made the office over, and built in a room for Mr. Atwell behind it.”

  The landlord welcomed Clementina as if she had been some acceptable class of custom, and when the tall young clerk came in to ask him something, and Mrs. Atwell said, “I want to introduce you to Miss Claxon, Mr. Fane,” the clerk smiled down upon her from the height of his smooth, acquiline young face, which he held bent encouragingly upon one side.

  “Now, I want you should come in and see where I live, a minute,” said Mrs. Atwell. She took the girl from the clerk, and led her to the official housekeeper’s room which she said had been prepared for her so that folks need not keep running to her in her private room where she wanted to be alone with her children, when she was there. “Why, you a’n’t much moa than a child youaself, Clem, and here I be talkin’ to you as if you was a mother in Israel. How old ah’ you, this summa? Time does go so!”

  “I’m sixteen now,” said Clementina, smiling.

  “You be? Well, I don’t see why I say that, eitha! You’re full lahge enough for your age, but not seein’ you in long dresses before, I didn’t realize your age so much. My, but you do all of you know how to do things!”

  “I’m about the only one that don’t, Mrs. Atwell,” said the girl. “If it hadn’t been for mother, I don’t believe I could have eva finished this dress.” She began to laugh at something passing in her mind, and Mrs. Atwell laughed too, in sympathy, though she did not know what at till Clementina said, “Why, Mrs. Atwell, nea’ly the whole family wo’ked on this dress. Jim drew the patte’n of it from the dress of one of the summa boa’das that he took a fancy to at the Centa, and fatha cut it out, and I helped motha make it. I guess every one of the children helped a little.”

  “Well, it’s just as I said, you can all of you do things,” said Mrs. Atwell. “But I guess you ah’ the one that keeps ’em straight. What did you say Mr. Landa said his wife wanted of you?”

  “He said some kind of sewing that motha could do.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what! Now, if she ha’n’t really got anything that your motha’ll want you to help with, I wish you’d come here again and help me. I tuned my foot, here, two-three weeks back, and I feel it, times, and I should like some one to do about half my steppin’ for me. I don’t want to take you away from her, but IF. You sha’n’t go int’ the dinin’room, or be under anybody’s oddas but mine. Now, will you?”

  “I’ll see, Mrs. Atwell. I don’t like to say anything till I know what Mrs. Landa wants.”

  “Well, that’s right. I decla’e, you’ve got moa judgment! That’s what I used to say about you last summa to my husband: she’s got judgment. Well, what’s wanted?” Mrs. Atwell spoke to her husband, who had opened her door and looked in, and she stopped rocking, while she waited his answer.

  “I guess you don’t want to keep Clementina from Mr. Landa much longa. He’s settin’ out there on the front piazza waitin’ for her.”

  “Well, the’a!” cried Mrs. Atwell. “Ain’t that just lik
e me? Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Alonzo? Don’t you forgit what I said, Clem!”

  IV.

  Mrs. Lander had taken twice of a specific for what she called her nerve-fag before her husband came with Clementina, and had rehearsed aloud many of the things she meant to say to the girl. In spite of her preparation, they were all driven out of her head when Clementina actually appeared, and gave her a bow like a young birch’s obeisance in the wind.

  “Take a chaia,” said Lander, pushing her one, and the girl tilted over toward him, before she sank into it. He went out of the room, and left Mrs. Lander to deal with the problem alone. She apologized for being in bed, but Clementina said so sweetly, “Mr. Landa told me you were not feeling very well, ‘m,” that she began to be proud of her ailments, and bragged of them at length, and of the different doctors who had treated her for them. While she talked she missed one thing or another, and Clementina seemed to divine what it was she wanted, and got it for her, with a gentle deference which made the elder feel her age cushioned by the girl’s youth. When she grew a little heated from the interest she took in her personal annals, and cast off one of the folds of her bed clothing, Clementina got her a fan, and asked her if she should put up one of the windows a little.

  “How you do think of things!” said Mrs. Lander. “I guess I will let you. I presume you get used to thinkin’ of othas in a lahge family like youas. I don’t suppose they could get along without you very well,” she suggested.

  “I’ve neva been away except last summa, for a little while.”

  “And where was you then?”

  “I was helping Mrs. Atwell.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “I don’t know,” said Clementina. “It’s pleasant to be whe’e things ah’ going on.”

  “Yes — for young folks,” said Mrs. Lander, whom the going on of things had long ceased to bring pleasure.

  “It’s real nice at home, too,” said Clementina. “We have very good times — evenings in the winta; in the summer it’s very nice in the woods, around there. It’s safe for the children, and they enjoy it, and fatha likes to have them. Motha don’t ca’e so much about it. I guess she’d ratha have the house fixed up more, and the place. Fatha’s going to do it pretty soon. He thinks the’e’s time enough.”

  “That’s the way with men,” said Mrs. Lander. “They always think the’s time enough; but I like to have things over and done with. What chuhch do you ‘tend?”

  “Well, there isn’t any but the Episcopal,” Clementina answered. “I go to that, and some of the children go to the Sunday School. I don’t believe fatha ca’es very much for going to chuhch, but he likes Mr. Richling; he’s the recta. They take walks in the woods; and they go up the mountains togetha.”

  “They want,” said Mrs. Lander, severely, “to be ca’eful how they drink of them cold brooks when they’re heated. Mr. Richling a married man?”

  “Oh, yes’m! But they haven’t got any family.”

  “If I could see his wife, I sh’d caution her about lettin’ him climb mountains too much. A’n’t your father afraid he’ll ovado?”

  “I don’t know. He thinks he can’t be too much in the open air on the mountains.”

  “Well, he may not have the same complaint as Mr. Landa; but I know if I was to climb a mountain,’ it would lay me up for a yea’.”

  The girl did not urge anything against this conviction. She smiled politely and waited patiently for the next turn Mrs. Lander’s talk should take, which was oddly enough toward the business Clementina had come upon.

  “I declare I most forgot about my polonaise. Mr. Landa said your motha thought she could do something to it for me.”

  “Yes’m.”

  “Well, I may as well let you see it. If you’ll reach into that fuhthest closet, you’ll find it on the last uppa hook on the right hand, and if you’ll give it to me, I’ll show you what I want done. Don’t mind the looks of that closet; I’ve just tossed my things in, till I could get a little time and stren’th to put ’em in odda.”

  Clementina brought the polonaise to Mrs. Lander, who sat up and spread it before her on the bed, and had a happy half hour in telling the girl where she had bought the material and where she had it made up, and how it came home just as she was going away, and she did not find out that it was all wrong till a week afterwards when she tried it on. By the end of this time the girl had commended herself so much by judicious and sympathetic assent, that Mrs. Lander learned with a shock of disappointment that her mother expected her to bring the garment home with her, where Mrs. Lander was to come and have it fitted over for the alterations she wanted made.

  “But I supposed, from what Mr. Landa said, that your motha would come here and fit me!” she lamented.

  “I guess he didn’t undastand, ‘m. Motha doesn’t eva go out to do wo’k,” said Clementina gently but firmly.

  “Well, I might have known Mr. Landa would mix it up, if it could be mixed;” Mrs. Lander’s sense of injury was aggravated by her suspicion that he had brought the girl in the hope of pleasing her, and confirming her in the wish to have her with them; she was not a woman who liked to have her way in spite of herself; she wished at every step to realize that she was taking it, and that no one else was taking it for her.

  “Well,” she said dryly, “I shall have to see about it. I’m a good deal of an invalid, and I don’t know as I could go back and fo’th to try on. I’m moa used to havin’ the things brought to me.”

  “Yes’m,” said Clementina. She moved a little from the bed, on her way to the door, to be ready for Mrs. Lander in leave-taking.

  “I’m real sorry,” said Mrs. Lander. “I presume it’s a disappointment for you, too.”

  “Oh, not at all,” answered Clementina. “I’m sorry we can’t do the wo’k he’a; but I know mocha wouldn’t like to. Good-mo’ning,’m!”

  “No, no! Don’t go yet a minute! Won’t you just give me my hand bag off the bureau the’a?” Mrs. Lander entreated, and when the girl gave her the bag she felt about among the bank-notes which she seemed to have loose in it, and drew out a handful of them without regard to their value. “He’a!” she said, and she tried to put the notes into Clementina’s hand, “I want you should get yourself something.”

  The girl shrank back. “Oh, no’m,” she said, with an effect of seeming to know that her refusal would hurt, and with the wish to soften it. “I — couldn’t; indeed I couldn’t.”

  “Why couldn’t you? Now you must! If I can’t let you have the wo’k the way you want, I don’t think it’s fair, and you ought to have the money for it just the same.”

  Clementina shook her head smiling. “I don’t believe motha would like to have me take it.”

  “Oh, now, pshaw!” said Mrs. Lander, inadequately. “I want you should take this for youaself; and if you don’t want to buy anything to wea’, you can get something to fix your room up with. Don’t you be afraid of robbin’ us. Land! We got moa money! Now you take this.”

  Mrs. Lander reached the money as far toward Clementina as she could and shook it in the vehemence of her desire.

  “Thank you, I couldn’t take it,” Clementina persisted. “I’m afraid I must be going; I guess I must bid you good-mo’ning.”

  “Why, I believe the child’s sca’ed of me! But you needn’t be. Don’t you suppose I know how you feel? You set down in that chai’a there, and I’ll tell you how you feel. I guess we’ve been pooa, too — I don’t mean anything that a’n’t exactly right — and I guess I’ve had the same feelin’s. You think it’s demeanin’ to you to take it. A’n’t that it?” Clementina sank provisionally upon the edge of the chair. “Well, it did use to be so consid’ed. But it’s all changed, nowadays. We travel pretty nee’ the whole while, Mr. Lander and me, and we see folks everywhere, and it a’n’t the custom to refuse any moa. Now, a’n’t there any little thing for your own room, there in your nice new house? Or something your motha’s got her heat set on? Or one of your brothas? My, if
you don’t have it, some one else will! Do take it!”

  The girl kept slipping toward the door. “I shouldn’t know what to tell them, when I got home. They would think I must be — out of my senses.”

  “I guess you mean they’d think I was. Now, listen to me a minute!” Mrs. Lander persisted.

  “You just take this money, and when you get home, you tell your mother every word about it, and if she says, you bring it right straight back to me. Now, can’t you do that?”

  “I don’t know but I can,” Clementina faltered. “Well, then take it!” Mrs. Lander put the bills into her hand but she did not release her at once. She pulled Clementina down and herself up till she could lay her other arm on her neck. “I want you should let me kiss you. Will you?”

  “Why, certainly,” said Clementina, and she kissed the old woman.

  “You tell your mother I’m comin’ to see her before I go; and I guess,” said Mrs. Lander in instant expression of the idea that came into her mind, “we shall be goin’ pretty soon, now.”