“Take that buffalo robe of Uncle Luke’s. He wasn’t our uncle, really. An old man with chin whiskers, awfully grim. He was sort of a missionary for the Presbyterian church and used to drive around in all kinds of weather, from forty below to a hundred above…in the early days, of course. He was retired when we knew him, and he died ages ago.” She looked thoughtful. “I suppose he was typical of the men who started churches of all denominations.”
Jerry spoke suddenly. “See that Civil War cap? It belonged to my Uncle Aaron. He fought with the First Minnesota. I suppose you know about that.”
“I don’t believe I do,” Isobel replied.
“The charge of the First Minnesota at Gettysburg ought to be as famous as the charge of the British at Balaklava. General Hancock said there was no more gallant deed in history.”
“Tell me about it,” said Isobel. She had not heard Jerry talk so much since she arrived.
“Well,” he began, “the Confederates were winning. If they hadn’t been stopped they might have won the battle and the whole Civil War. Our troops were outnumbered. Reserves were coming up on the run but the Rebs had to be delayed five minutes.
“The First Minnesota was resting after a forced march. General Hancock came at a gallop and ordered them to charge. They had to cross a field and go up a little hill in plain sight of the enemy. Everyone knew it was just a sacrifice…to gain five minutes…but they went forward like…like…lions. Out of two hundred and sixty-two, only forty-seven came back.” He paused. “I learned those figures because I was proud of my Uncle Aaron being there.”
“I should think you would be,” Bonnie replied.
“My grandfather fought in the Civil War,” said Isobel soberly.
“Gosh, Jerry, that’s a swell story!” cried Hunter. Bobbie put on Uncle Aaron’s cap. He stalked about the attic, looking stern.
Carney took down a faded parasol. “This belonged to Aunt Lily, who was stolen by the Indians during the Sioux Rebellion.”
“Stolen by the Indians!” Isobel cried.
“Yes. She saw her parents killed before her eyes. She hid in a cornfield but the Indians found her and held her captive for months. She came back and married Uncle George.”
Bonnie had found a faded paper. “‘Reward of Merit,’” she chanted.
“By knowledge do we learn
Ourselves to know
And what to man
And what to God we owe.”
“‘This certifies that Laurenza Parke by diligence and good behavior merits the approbation of her friend and instructress. S. Burgess.”
“That’s from the Chester Academy back in Vermont,” Carney said. “Laurenza is Grandmother Hunter. She and mother both went there. Deep Valley attics are full of things like that.”
Isobel looked up from the trunk in which she was delving. “I’m surprised to find such elegant things here. There are beautiful shawls, and fans, and satin shoes.”
“Why,” said Carney, “the pioneer women came from civilized towns in the East. They brought their best and wore it, too, although they nearly froze in unheated homes and churches.”
“But I thought they milked cows.”
“Some of them did, and made soap and wove cloth and washed and ironed and baked. But some of them taught school and gave music lessons and started singing schools and lyceums.” She laughed. “What a topic! Wouldn’t Miss Salmon be proud of me?”
Turning to the trunk she lifted out a dress of changeable green taffeta.
“I know this!” she cried. “It’s Grandmother Hunter’s wedding dress. There’s a picture of her wearing it. She wore it over hoops with a black lace shawl, and the cameo brooch and earrings she wears all the time.”
“There’s your costume for the masquerade, Carney,” Isobel said.
“I believe it is!” Carney jumped up. “I’ll copy the picture.”
Isobel chose a pink satin covered with cobwebby lace. She would go as the Pink Lady, she said. She and Carney had seen the light opera in New York. Bonnie decided on a costume Carney had once worn to a school entertainment. She would be a Sunbonnet Baby.
Jerry took no interest in the party; he just liked to rummage. But Bobbie wouldn’t let go of Uncle Aaron’s cap; he declared he would go as a soldier. Hunter settled on a cowboy outfit. He grinned with pleasure while Isobel knotted a red bandana around his throat.
She stepped back to survey the effect. “Good looking!” she exclaimed.
“Ellen will be crazy about you,” cried Carney.
But Hunter didn’t seem to like the reference to Ellen.
Downstairs they all tried on what they had chosen. Then they started ripping and sewing, mending and pressing, dashing off now and then to Front Street for ribbons or buttons.
“It’s really more fun than the kind of masquerade where the costumer does all the work,” Isobel said.
After supper the rooms were cleared for dancing. The girls went upstairs and hurried into their costumes. They tinted one another’s cheeks and lips, darkened their eyebrows and lashes.
“Isobel, you look lovely!”
“Is my sunbonnet straight?”
“Grandmother Hunter loaned me the brooch and earrings,” Carney said. She had loaned the black shawl, too, and Carney had found hoop skirts in the attic. They made her waist look flower slim.
They were adjusting their masks when music rose from the parlor. The aunt who had promised to play the piano was trying to catch the rhythm of “Alexander’s Ragtime Band.”
“Come on and hear, come on and hear…” the girls hummed as they started down the stairs. Carney’s hoop skirt swung from side to side in time to the music.
They were none too early. A gypsy was just coming in the door, closely followed by a blond-haired flower girl and Uncle Sam with bunting twisted around his stove-pipe hat. Presently Carney recognized Winona, who always wore the same Scottish kilts to masquerades. She could always be recognized anyway, being taller than the other girls.
Very few people could deceive anyone long. They knew each other too well. Moving with dignity in her hoop skirt now, Carney went up to a burly unshaved Pirate.
“Howdy, Sam!”
“G-r-r-r! Don’t you know I eat little girls?”
“Not grandmothers,” said Carney. She revolved delightedly. “This is my grandmother’s wedding dress.”
“Looks nice on you,” Sam said.
“Have you guessed anyone?”
“Isobel’s the Pink Lady.”
“And pink’s your favorite color.”
He turned to look at her. “It was you I told that to,” he said. He took hold of her arm. “Now sit down and tell me who everyone is.”
“It isn’t fair,” said Carney. “But everyone else knows, and I want to get my mask off. Don’t you? Tom is the Indian Chief. Lloyd is Uncle Sam and Dennie is the Irishman.”
“And Cab is Buster Brown?”
“Yes. And Alice is the Flower Girl. Doesn’t she look pretty tonight? The Gypsy is Ellen, Hunter’s girl.”
“Who’s the Valentine?”
“The Valentine? Why…who can it be?” Carney stared, puzzled, at a tall slender girl whose white dress and wide hat were covered with Valentines, old and new, bright and faded, comic and sentimental. “Mother must have invited one of my cousins, but I don’t remember a cousin who looks like that.”
“Let’s go up and talk with her. How do you talk to a Valentine, anyway? Let’s see! ‘If you love me, as I love you,’” he chanted.
Carney chuckled gleefully. “Roses are red, violets are blue…”
But the Valentine didn’t reply.
“This Valentine is as dumb as an oyster,” said Buster Brown.
“We’ve all been trying to make her talk,” said the Gypsy.
“Please speak to us, Valentine…just say anything,” they urged.
There was a faint squeak. “Won’t you be my Valentine?”
“Oh, come now,” said Sam. “You’ll have to speak up a
little.”
“I don’t know you,” squeaked the Valentine.
“You don’t know me?”
“A clue! She doesn’t know Sam Hutchinson. That means she hasn’t been around lately.”
The Valentine seemed disturbed by this. She hurried away but they pursued her.
“Do you know me?” demanded Carney.
“Certainly,” came the squeak.
“Do you know me?…And me?…And me?”
“All too well, all too well.”
“See here!” said Carney. “I wrote all the invitations myself. I know everyone on the list and you’re not on it.”
The Valentine squeaked indignantly. “What an insult! I’m a member of your house party!”
“What!” Carney cried. “Mother, I can’t stand this suspense. When do we unmask?”
“At midnight,” said Mrs. Sibley, smiling from the doorway.
“But these masks are hot, and everyone knows everyone else except for this Valentine who will probably turn out to be Grandmother Hunter or one of the boys.”
“I’m not a grandmother and I’m not a boy,” came the voice like a squeaky pencil.
“Give us some clues then. What are you like?”
“Oh, I’m beautiful…and very bright.” A smile she could not repress curved the Valentine’s mouth beneath her mask. Her teeth were parted in the middle.
“Betsy! Betsy Ray!” There was a volley of shouts. There was a flying barrage of hands trying to tear off the mask. It fell to the floor, and all the masks went whirling in every direction. The Valentine was Betsy Ray.
The girls in the Crowd fell upon her with kisses, and so did some of the boys. Her dark hair shook loose about a smiling face lighted by hazel eyes. She was breathless with laughter.
“When did you get back?”
“To Minneapolis? Last week.”
“How do you happen to be here?”
“Mrs. Sibley invited me.”
Mrs. Sibley stood very straight as though to atone by the dignity of her erect carriage for the dancing of her eyes.
“Mr. Root told me that Betsy was home.”
“Then you knew, Winona!” Carney cried.
“Yep,” said Winona. “Power of the press. The distinguished ex-Californian and near-author arrived this morning. We’ve been sewing on those darn Valentines all afternoon. A good thing I didn’t have to worry about my own costume.”
“And I’m really invited to your house party!” cried Betsy. “You’d just better want me.”
She and Carney hugged. Then she held Carney at arm’s length.
“Turn around. Let me see your air of academic distinction.”
“I represent Vassar on every occasion,” said Carney, whirling.
“And Bonnie!” Betsy flew to her arms. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Betsy, I want you to meet Isobel. And this is Sam Hutchinson…”
But the piano-playing aunt cut in. “You really must get to dancing.” She started to play “Chinatown,” and everyone found partners.
Betsy Ray was dancing with Cab. They had been next-door neighbors when the Rays lived in Deep Valley. Isobel was dancing with Hunter whose handsome face glowed with admiration. Little Ellen didn’t like it too well, although Lloyd whirled her in his very best manner. Carney watched them as she two-stepped with Sam. He was surprisingly light and deft.
They danced in the front and back parlors and out on the porch, in sight of the warm summer stars. They danced the two-step and the waltz, the barn dance and the graceful Boston, the new Cubanola Glide.
They sang as they danced, “Call Me Up Some Rainy Afternoon,” and “Come, Josephine, in My Flying Machine,” and “Down by the Old Mill Stream.” They sang that one in parts.
“Not much like a Vassar dance,” Carney whispered to Isobel.
At midnight there were no masks to remove but Mrs. Sibley served ice cream and cake.
Carney and Betsy slept in Carney’s room. Carney had said frankly that she wanted to talk. After they were undressed and ready for bed, she asked briskly, “Did you see any more of Larry?”
“Yes,” said Betsy. “He was at home for spring vacation and again after college closed in June. He’s very…personable. Not exactly handsome, but fascinating.”
She burst out laughing. “He was cautious even with me. He acted as though we had just been introduced, talked about the climate and his school and things like that. I didn’t have designs on the boy. I didn’t have a marriage license in my pocket, but he wasn’t taking any chances.”
Carney whooped with laughter. “Didn’t he know about Joe?” she asked. Betsy Ray went with Joe Willard, who attended the University and worked part time as a reporter on the Minneapolis Tribune.
“I told Herbert about Joe. But I didn’t confide in Larry and he didn’t confide in me. His mother did, though.”
“His mother?” Carney asked quickly.
“I had quite a heart-to-heart talk with Mrs. Humphreys. She’s my godmother, you know. She gave a party for me when the boys were home for spring vacation, so I met their crowd. And the general impression—both with Mrs. Humphreys and the crowd—seems to be that you and Larry have been as true as steel and that you’re both pining for the day when your hearts can be reunited.”
“Betsy!” said Carney. “You’re just being silly!”
“No, I’m not,” said Betsy. “Larry scorned every girl in San Diego High School, and he’s doing the same at Leland Stanford, and they all lay the blame on your shoulders.
“His mother is really anxious for Larry to make a visit here. She thinks it would be better for him…and for you, too…to see each other again. Then, if you don’t like each other, you can find it out. And if you do…” Betsy paused.
“When do you think he will come?” Carney asked.
“I don’t know,” said Betsy. “I know he’s working in the post office this summer to save money for the trip. Hasn’t he told you that?”
“I knew he was working.”
“Well, now you know why,” Betsy said.
“How is Joe?”
“He’s wonderful! He’s nicer than ever! Don’t get me started on Joe or we’ll never get to sleep.”
“We’d better get to sleep,” said Carney, “for we’re going out to Murmuring Lake tomorrow. That Sam Hutchinson has invited the house party and some boys out for the day. They bought the old Dwyer place, you know.”
“Is he one of the Hutchinsons?” asked Betsy. “The New Town Hutchinsons?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s he like?”
“Nice, but isn’t he a baby hippo?”
And Carney got up and turned out the gas. The windows were open and darkness flooded the bedroom. Presently Betsy fell asleep, but Carney lay awake thinking about what Betsy had told her.
“If he’s coming, I wish he would come,” she thought. “Well, wishing can’t bring him!” She turned over determinedly, tucking her pillow underneath her cheek.
“As true as steel…scorned every girl in San Diego High School…doing the same at Leland Stanford, and they all lay the blame on your shoulders…”
Although the darkness hid it, the dimple flickered in Carney’s cheek.
8
Purple and Dove Gray
THE HOUSE PARTY WAS still at breakfast, gossiping over pancakes, while Olga, in the kitchen, stood by her griddle and Bobbie pushed through the swinging door delivering fragrant, steaming, golden-brown stacks.
The girls were dressed in the middies and sailor suits they would wear to the lake. Their bags were packed with bathing suits, for Sam had invited them to stay all day.
“Come for lunch,” he had said, and Isobel had smiled slyly at Carney. The girls teased one another about dinner-and-supper versus lunch-and-dinner.
“Sam Hutchinson!” Carney had cried. “How can I educate Isobel in Middle Westania if you bring in effete eastern customs like lunch in the middle of the day?”
“Gosh, I
apologize! That was a bad slip,” he grinned.
“Who’s coming?”
“Well, most of the fellows are working, but Lloyd and Tom can come, and Hunter…enough to protect me from you girls.”
“Until you shave,” Carney had bubbled with laughter, “you won’t need any protection against me.”
“Isobel, does she nag all the time?”
“A common scold! In New England we’d put her in the stocks.”
“I’m glad I won’t be in the stocks tomorrow,” Carney had said. “Jinks, Sam! It sounds like a wonderful day.”
She thought it again, looking around the chattering table, and when the doorbell rang she ran eagerly to answer it. But for a moment the immaculate figure on the threshold seemed completely strange. Then she found something familiar in it.
“Sam Hutchinson!” she cried.
It was Sam, and he was shaved. His cheeks were pink from the recent scraping of a razor, and below his firm smiling mouth she saw clearly that dimple in his chin. His soft brown hair was brushed back into a shining pompadour. He was wearing sailing blues, and his white canvas shoes were as spotless as her own.
Carney burst into laughter. “Why, you’re very good-looking!”
“Of course,” answered Sam.
“Come in! Turn around!”
“Why all the fuss? I clean up sometimes. Just a whim I get now and then. Nothing to do with the impertinent remarks of impertinent little girls.”
But he smiled at her, his blue eyes crinkling.
“You look nice yourself,” he said, and inspected the red ribbon binding her hair, the snowy middy. “You always look so clean…as though you’d just come from that Spotless Town in the Sapolio ads.”
“What a compliment! Come on into the dining room. I can’t wait for Isobel to see you. Besides, there are pancakes, and Mother gets the maple syrup from Vermont.”
She watched Isobel’s face as they entered. A look of astonishment was quickly concealed as Sam drew up a chair beside her.
“Why don’t you speak up and praise me, the way Carney does?” he asked.
“I don’t object so violently to your beard.”
“You look lovely,” Bonnie giggled.
Carney's House Party and Winona's Pony Cart Page 7
