CHAPTER IX
THE LITTLE OLD LADY IN THE RED HOUSE
The girl turned her head quickly aside, for there was something in theill-concealed admiration in the man's black eyes that caused the colorto rush in a wave to her cheeks. Several minutes later a careless glancein the man's direction, as she casually surveyed the other occupants ofthe store, impelled her to stare curiously, as she perceived a ratherpeculiar motion,--a sudden twitching shake of his head, repeated everymoment or so. Realizing that the man was the victim of some nervousaffliction, her eyes involuntarily softened with pity, and then notingthat there were several letters in her box, she hurried forward to getthem.
Slipping them into her bag, she hastened from the store, drawing quicklyback, however, as the man who had been staring at her brushed rudelyagainst her. Nathalie glanced up with annoyance, but as he begged herpardon, with a sweep of his cap in an exaggerated bow, and another bold,somewhat mocking glance from his eyes, the pink in her cheeks deepenedangrily.
Nathalie, irritated at the incident, walked slowly down the narrow pathleading to the flagging, but suddenly remembering her determination toexplore the little village set in the hollow of a hill, the unpleasantoccurrence passed from her mind. Attracted by the many flower-beds thatbloomed so luxuriantly with such vivid coloring in the door yards of thelittle New England cottages beyond the post-office, she turned about andslowly strolled in that direction.
Presently she came to a sudden pause to gaze admiringly across the roadat a white, gable-roofed house, with bright green blinds, on a grassyterrace, peeping from beneath a mass of vines and leaves. It wassurrounded by a garden from which came the gleam of many colors, in thetall, flowering rows of sweet peas that flanked its sides. But it wasnot so much their beauty that held her eyes as the small east wing ofthe building, where a wide, roomy porch was surmounted by the sign,
The Sweet Pea Tea-House _Come in and have a cup of tea_
Nathalie would have enjoyed going over and having a sip of that socialbeverage, lured by the daintiness of the house and its sweet-pea garden,but, on discovering that she had left her purse at home, she continuedher walk. A few steps down the road, and she was staring up at atimeless clock--looking as if its hands had been swept away in the madrush of the hours--in the steeple of a church some distance back fromthe road. Then she was watching a horseshoer pounding with a noisy"Clank, clank" on the hoof of a horse, patiently standing in front ofthe blacksmith shop.
A half-hour later, as she stood in front of a little neglected cemeteryat one end of the village, staring in melancholy mood at itstime-scarred stones, gleaming with a dulled whiteness from the rank andovergrown shrubbery, she heard the purr of an automobile.
Turning carelessly, she noticed a bright red car, with the glossy, shinylook of newness, coming slowly in her direction, and quickly perceivedthat its only occupant was the bold-eyed man who had annoyed her in thepost-office. She quickly glanced in another direction, but, to hersurprise, the car came to a sudden stop, and as the man threw away hiscigar, while doffing his cap, he said, pleasantly, "You have chosenrather a dreary place to linger, have you not, on this beautifulafternoon? Would you not like a little ride,--just a help up the hill,you know?"
For a moment Nathalie was tongue-tied with astonishment, and was aboutto walk quickly away, when sudden resentment at the man's impertinenceoverwhelmed her. Swinging about, with marked emphasis she answered instiff formality, "Possibly I might--with friends." The next second shewas hurrying down the road, without waiting to see the man's eyes darkenwith annoyance, as he emitted a low whistle. With the peculiar motion ofthe head already referred to, he started up the car, and a moment laterwhirled around the bend out of sight.
Nathalie in her haste, caused by her anger and annoyance at the man'simpertinence, was oblivious to the fact that the clouds had beengathering for a thunderstorm, until she heard a loud clap of thunder anda drop of rain swirled into her face. She was tempted to start and run,for she was an arrant coward in a thunderstorm, but remembering that aswiftly moving object is apt to attract the lightning, she curtailed herspeed, trying to make as much headway as she could by extra longstrides.
Oh, it was coming down in great big drops! What should she do? But withher heart thumping nervously, she kept resolutely on her way, coveringher face with her hands in a spasm of terror every time a streak oflightning zigzagged before her eyes. Oh, she had reached the tea-house!She would take refuge on the wide veranda.
The next instant she was racing across the road; but before she gainedthe desired haven, a deafening clap of thunder, followed by a blindingglare of red flame, came bolting through the trees, causing her to uttera loud, frightened scream, as she stumbled blindly up the steps. Anotherinstant and the door of the house was flung wide, as a sweet-faced lady,with pleasant, smiling eyes, hurriedly beckoned for her to hasten in.
Nathalie, with a little cry of relief, made a wild rush for the door. Asthe lady closed it, with shaking limbs and white lips, but with anattempt at a smile the girl cried, "Oh, you are very kind to let me comein, for I am just about drenched"; quickly pulling off her hat as shespoke, and then shaking her wet, clinging skirts.
"Oh, my dear child! you must come in and take off your wet things," atthis moment came in sudden call from an adjoining room, whose door wasstanding ajar. Nathalie started in surprise, for the voice wassingularly low and sweet, in strange contrast to the somewhathigh-sounding, rather unpleasant voices of the few villagers whom shehad heard conversing, when waiting for her mail in the post-office.
Fearing she would be intruding,--she had noticed that the lady who hadopened the door for her, although she smiled pleasantly, had notseconded the invitation,--she shook her head. "Oh, no," she protestedwith evident embarrassment, "I shall not take cold. I can stand hereuntil the storm is over. I am sure I shall be all dry in a moment orso."
But as the voice insisted that she come in, and the woman with thesmiling eyes laid her hand on her arm as if to lead her into the room,she reluctantly entered. As she attempted to stammer forth her thanks,and her fear of trespassing upon their kindness, she saw that the ownerof the voice was an elderly lady, evidently an invalid, for she sat in aMorris chair by the window, propped up with pillows. As she motioned forthe girl to come nearer, and slowly and awkwardly put forth her hand tofeel her wet skirts, Nathalie noticed that her hands were swathed withwhite cloths.
"Dear me," she murmured worriedly, "you are wet. I am afraid you willtake cold. But just take off your blouse and skirt, and Mona will drythem for you in a few moments by the kitchen fire."
Then, with a few strange motions of the bandaged hands to thesweet-faced woman,--which immediately revealed to Nathalie that she wasdeaf and dumb,--the wet garments were quickly removed and taken out tothe kitchen to dry. Presently the girl, with humorous amazement, foundherself snugly wrapped in a silk Japanese kimono, seated in a big chairby the invalid lady, gazing at her in silent admiration.
It was a face that could lay no real claim to beauty, and yet toNathalie there was a singular charm in the clear-cut outlines of thedelicate features, and the soft, warm tints of a complexion that,although many years past youth's fresh coloring, resembled a blush-rose.But it was the eyes that held Nathalie, black-lashed, deep-set, with acalm, peaceful expression in their deep blue; and the brown hair,slightly threaded with gray, parted in the middle, and curling in anatural wave on each side of her face, gave it the quaint sweetness ofsome old-time miniature.
Fascinated, as it were, by the charm of the lady's personality, the girlwas soon chatting volubly, as she told how she came to get caught in thestorm. "I am sure I should have reached home before the rain came," shecried in an aggrieved voice, "if it had not been for that _horrid_ man.For I intended going home by the road he took, which is much shorter,but he had made me so nervous by his rudeness that I took the longestway back, for I was afraid I should meet him again."
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"Oh, you must not feel annoyed at receiving an invitation to ride in anautomobile when trudging up these mountain roads," laughed the lady,"for it is quite the customary thing to give a pedestrian a lift up thehills. But I think, in your case," she added more soberly, "that you didright in refusing the man's offer, for he was rude, as you say, and allyoung girls should be careful."
Won by her companion's sympathetic interest, Nathalie told that theywere spending the summer at Seven Pillars, up near "Peckett's on SugarHill," but she was cautious not to tell of the peculiar conditions oftheir stay, or of her aunt's strange letter. Miss Whipple, as thatproved to be the lady's name, said that she had known her aunt, Mrs.Renwick, and considered her a very interesting woman, although, to besure, she was somewhat eccentric. Nathalie also told about her LibertyGirls, a subject that was always close to her heart, and how she wasgoing to try to teach liberty to the little settlement-boys, who werecoming up to stay with her for a few weeks.
The invalid, and also her sister, were both greatly interested inNathalie's merry chatter; for Mona had come from the kitchen and seatedherself on a low stool by the feet of her sister, who would interpret toher as the girl rattled on. In return for Nathalie's confidences shetold how she and her sister, although having been born in the WhiteMountains, had lived since childhood in Boston. On the death of theirparents, after meeting with some reverses, she explained, they haddetermined to come up to the old homestead and start a sweet-pea farm,as her sister was passionately fond of flowers.
It was delightful work, she said, and it meant so much that wasbeautiful and joyous to her sister, who, of course, on account of herinfirmity, was deprived of many pleasures that other people enjoyed.They had an old farm-hand who had lived with them when they were smallchildren, who did the rough gardening, and who made the farm pay byselling the flowers to the mountain hotels.
"The tea-house was my sister's inspiration," continued Miss Whipple,"and has always been a source of great enjoyment to us both, as so manyof the young people from the hotels and boarding-houses would drop in ofan afternoon for a cup of tea, or a little dance, as I always used tomake it a point to be on hand to play for them. My sister," she added alittle sadly, "although deprived herself of the joys of girlhood, hasalways been passionately devoted to the young, and has spent any amountof labor in trying to make our little tea-room attractive.
"But now, as I cannot play any more,--you see I am the victim ofinflammatory rheumatism,"--she held up her bandaged handspathetically,--"the young people do not come in as much as they did. Itis a great disappointment to us both," concluded the invalid dolefully,"although perhaps my sister is partly compensated by her work among herflowers.
"But I am wrong to complain in this way," she hastened to add, a suddenexpression of contrition darkening the sweetness of her glance, "forevery one has to endure disappointment and sorrow, sooner or later, asmy mother used to tell me when I was a girl; and, after all, ours mighthave been much worse. I try to comfort myself with the thought that allthese little jars of life are just 'helps' to fit one for the greaterlife beyond. Indeed," she added softly, "I grow ashamed of myself forthinking I am even disappointed, when I think of the renunciation, thesufferings, and the agony of the Man of Sorrows, that we might havejoy."
Nathalie made no reply, not only because she was at a loss for words toexpress her sympathy, but stilled, possibly, by the beautiful look ofcalm peace that had crept into the sweet eyes.
"But I am wearying you," smiled the invalid, her eyes lighting with awarm glow, "making you think I am a great martyr because I am deprivedof a few things that I think needful to my happiness. Perhaps I am in aparticularly rebellious mood to-day, for I am so anxious to read a booka friend sent me, but with my poor hands I cannot hold it, and it makesmy neck ache to read from the bookstand. But here comes Mona with yourdried clothing; yes, and to bring me off my cross of martyrdom by hersweet patience, for she is always cheery and smiling under _her_ greatdeprivations."
"Oh, and she can't even read to you!" lamented Nathalie impulsively,suddenly reminded of what it must mean to live with a person who couldnot talk to you.
"Yes, and that is one of the nails in the cross," said the shut-in, withwhimsical sweetness, "for I not only want some one to talk, to read tome, but sometimes I just yearn for the sound of a human voice. Oh, but Iam getting selfish again--for,--Yes, as soon as you get your gown on,you must go with Mona to see her sweet peas; she would love to show themto you."
"And I would love to see them," replied the girl as she dropped thekimono and slipped into her skirt, "for I, too, adore flowers." Andthen, as Nathalie fastened up her blouse, and put on her belt, MissWhipple made her sister understand that their guest wanted to see herbunches of sweet peas.
Mona's face lighted happily as she comprehended, and in a few momentsshe and Nathalie were standing in an outer shed, where masses of thedainty flowers were piled in heaps, waiting to be tied into bunches,their delicate odor filling the place with quite perceptible fragrance.Nathalie watched the deaf-and-dumb woman tie a few bunches, dimpling ingratified embarrassment as she softly touched the blossoms. She held abeautifully pink-tinted one against the girl's cheek, to indicate thatthey were of the same hue, and then smilingly fastened a big bunch toher waist.
By this time the worst of the storm was over, and Nathalie, seeing thatit had settled down to a slow drizzle, decided that she must hurry on,for fear her mother would worry. So, after thanking her kind hostesses,and declaring that she would return their umbrella very soon,--she hadpromised to make them a real visit, as Miss Whipple called it, in answerto their repeated urgings,--she hurried out into the rain and was soonon her homeward way.
It was not a pleasant walk, this plodding over a road deep with mud, andin some places running in tiny rivulets, for the girl had no rubbers on,but she kept up her cheer by whistling softly, for not a person was insight until she reached the road through the woods, leading to SevenPillars. Here she spied a queer-looking little figure in black, hobblingon ahead of her with a cane, but no umbrella.
Something, perhaps it was the basket the woman carried, suggested thatshe might be the old lady who had called the afternoon before, so thegirl hurried her steps, hoping, by the proffer of her umbrella, to atonefor the seeming rudeness of her reception of the previous day.
As she reached the black figure, she pantingly cried, "Oh, won't youcome under my umbrella, for I am sure you must be wet." As she spoke shepeered at the woman's face, almost hidden by the wide brim of an old,rusty-looking black bonnet. But the bright blue eyes in the witheredface, under its halo of black, only stared coldly, stonily, while thedrooping mouth, seamed with a network of fine wrinkles, and deep linesof worry and disappointment, narrowed into a tightly compressed slit ofred.
But Nathalie, notwithstanding the disdainful glare, and the woman'soppressive silence, pushed her umbrella over her head, and, somewhat toher own amusement, after a shuffle or two, was soon walking in step tothe old woman's hobble.
"It has been quite a storm, hasn't it?" ventured the girl, although hercheeks were flushed with embarrassment under the ill-timed silence ofthe woman, who acted not only as if she could dispense with the shelterof her umbrella, but with her company as well.
The only reply to the girl was a sniff,--sounding almost like asneer,--but, determined not to be daunted by the old woman's surliness,Nathalie kept up her chatter, telling how charmed they were with themountains, especially with Seven Pillars, with its magnificent view, andexpressed her regret that they had not been at home the afternoonbefore, explaining that her mother had been lying down and did not knowof her call.
Presently, with a sudden movement, the old lady came to a halt. BeforeNathalie could understand what she was stopping for,--her umbrella washeld so closely over her companion's head that she didn't perceive thesplash of red peeping from between the trees,--she had turned in at alittle gate and the girl suddenly realized that the queer old lady washer neighbor of the little red house!
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For a moment she was speechless; then a smile dawned in her eyes, as shesuddenly understood why her greeting had not been returned when passingby earlier in the afternoon. Quickly recovering her wits, however, shestepped forward, and as she held the gate open for her new-foundneighbor to pass through, she cried, "Oh, I am so glad I met you, andknow that we are near neighbors. Mother will be very pleased to meetyou, I am sure, and will soon run over to see you."
But no reply was forthcoming, and Nathalie, her patience at a boilingpoint, hurried on, inwardly vowing that she was never going to speak tothat cantankerous old woman again, for had she not done her best toapologize for an unintentional slight? As she reached the veranda withits magic seven pillars her eyes gleamed humorously, as she suddenlyrealized how funny she must have appeared, hobbling along with that oldwoman. What a funny way she had of sniffing, and _that_ old blackpoke-bonnet. Then she wondered if the rest of their neighbors were aspeculiar and queer as the old lady in the little red house.
The Liberty Girl Page 9
