CHAPTER X
THE SWEET-PEA LADIES
Nathalie, with girlish eagerness, hurried into the house, and was soontelling her mother about her "adventure day," as she called it, dwellingat length upon her experiences at the Sweet Pea Tea-House, and, withsome show of resentment, on her encounter with their neighbor in thelittle red house.
Mrs. Page became intensely interested in the Sweet-Pea ladies, as herdaughter designated them, but cautioned her against cherishing anyresentment at the rudeness of the little old lady in black, as,naturally, she was offended that her overtures of friendliness had beenslighted by the city folks. She and Nathalie would go very shortly andcall upon her; she did not doubt but that her apologies would beaccepted, and that the unpleasant incident would be forgotten.
The next morning, while Nathalie was gathering some lettuce in thegarden near the barn, she met Sam, the tow-headed young farm-hand, wholooked after the place, and who, with his buxom young wife, lived in asmall white house a short distance down the road. He was a thick-set,sturdy, young fellow, with a broad, good-natured face, from whichwhite-lashed, piglike blue eyes peered bashfully out above his shiny redcheeks. When he met any of the city folks, as he called the inhabitantsof Seven Pillars, he would grin bashfully, and slowly drag off his oldstraw hat in a greeting, growing very red from embarrassed shyness ifcalled upon to engage in conversation with any of them.
But Nathalie, who had had to depend upon Sam for a certain amount ofnecessary knowledge in relation to the house and garden, had not onlygrown to depend upon him in many ways, but had become quite friendlywith him. She had learned that he was a level-headed, well-meaning youngman and that his eyes could twinkle responsively, even if he wassomewhat slow of tongue.
As he began to show Nathalie how to select the heads with the soundesthearts, she told him how she had been caught in the thunderstorm theafternoon before and the kindness of the inmates of the Sweet PeaTea-House.
"Sure, Miss, they be nice ladies," assented Sam. "I've knowed them thislong time. They were born in that old house, but when the old manWhipple growed rich--some relative or t'other left him a pile o'money--they went skylarking down to Boston--thought we country folksweren't smart enough fur them, I reckon. But when the old man's luckwent agin him and he died, them gals come home to roost. I feel rightsorry for them, for the Lord knows they don't have no stuffin's to theirturkey these days. Too bad about the tea-house er goin' to shucks, forsure it use ter bring in er penny er two in the sellin' o' them posies.
"I see ole Jakes, with his old flivver a wheezin' and blowin' up theseere hills, er takin' them to the hotels er pile er times. By Gosh, thatJakes sure is ole, fer he's been er luggin' round these parts with onefoot half-buried fer the last ten years. When he goes off the handlewhat'll become of the poor ole ladies--the folks hereabouts are erguessin'. That deaf-and-dumb one--she makes me feel sort er lonesome."Sam suddenly confided, "with no gift of gab to er, and t'other one withthe rheumatics, sure they do be afflicted."
Nathalie also told Sam about meeting their neighbor in the little redhouse. But when she questioned him as to who she was, and if she livedthere all alone, his face became impassive and he grew evasive in hisanswers. Surmising that he might possibly be a relative of hers--as shehad seen him working about the place, she said no more, but hurried intothe house, her mind intent on the Sweet-Pea ladies and their patheticlittle story, as told by Sam.
"What a misfortune," she mused, "to be poor, an invalid, and with only adeaf-and-dumb sister to depend upon. O dear! what terrible things peoplehave to suffer when they grow old. Well, I shall have to go thisafternoon and return that umbrella, and--yes, I just wish I could dosomething to help them in some way, for Miss Whipple is a dear!"
But, as she hastened to her room to make her customary entry in herdiary, the two ladies were forgotten. This daily duty the girl foundquite irksome, especially when she had forgotten, and had to make herentry at night when she was tired and wanted to tumble right into bed;and then, too, she did not see how the everyday doings of _her_ lifecould interest any one. And as for searching for the most valuable thingin the house, this she had never found time to do. Possibly she had nottried very hard to find time, as deep within her heart she consideredthe whole thing sheer nonsense. And how was she going to judge the valueof the things in the house, anyway, she questioned rebelliously, for wasit not just an old curio shop filled with strange, odd junk, that heraunt had brought from the other side?
But when she hinted this to her mother, she had been duly rebuked,although Mrs. Page agreed with her daughter that it would be a difficulttask to determine the value of anything she might select. She said,however, that she considered that Nathalie, as a courtesy to her aunt,who was giving them such a delightful summer up in those beautifulmountains, should do all that she could to comply with her request, evenif she thought it absurd.
"I doubt if the finding of this very mysterious valuable thing wouldbring either money or property to any one," continued the lady, "as Iunderstand that Aunt Mary left the bulk of her estate to some charitableinstitution as long as no near relative or heir appeared. But she was,as I have told you before, very queer in some ways, and probably tookthis method of giving away some of her personal effects. It is not atall likely, Nathalie, that you will be the lucky finder,"--there was asmile in Mrs. Page's eyes,--"but still you should make it a point tosearch for it, no matter how you feel."
"Oh I intended to hunt for the old thing, anyway," returned Nathalieexcusingly, "but I have been a little slow, perhaps, because Cynthia hasbeen so obsessed with the idea, that I hate to be as silly. Jan says shespends most of the day hunting in the attic and through the house whenwe are down-stairs. She is wild to get into that mystery room, for shethinks it is hidden there.
"But you should have seen her last night, mother," giggled Nathalie. "Iwas coming through the hall and suddenly saw a flash of light on thestairs. And there was Cynthia, down on her knees, peering under thestair-carpet and poking about with her flash-light. She seemed quiteannoyed when she saw that she was discovered, and, jumping up quickly,scurried down the hall. Dear me! she is the queerest thing."
"Well, let her look," replied Mrs. Page kindly. "Perhaps her effortswill be rewarded, for, as I understand, she is engaged to a Mr. Buddie,and he is very poor, Janet says. I presume it would make them both veryhappy if Cynthia came into a little money, or found something of value,for perhaps they could be married."
"But, mother, Janet hasn't looked once. She hates this mystery prowl, asshe calls it, as much as I do," emphasized Nathalie, "and I have hardwork making her write in her diary. She is busy writing a speech onsuffrage, which she expects to deliver this fall. Just imagine, mother,Janet making a speech," and Nathalie smiled at the thought.
Later in the day, dust-begrimed and with her hair all of a frowse,Nathalie came trudging wearily up the staircase. She had been searchingfor two hours in the library, a great dark room, lined with bookcases,and whose wainscoted walls were hung with family portraits,--Nathaliecalled them the Renwicks' Honor Roll,--interspersed with medallions ofgreat authors and musicians, and valuable etchings.
The girl had laughed at Cynthia for prowling about, but as she threwherself on her bed, tired and aching from stretching her arms andclimbing step-ladders, in order to peer behind the pictures andcornices, she felt that she would never laugh at her again. For the moreshe had searched, the more her interest had increased, and with it theconclusion that her aunt, for contrariness, had _really hidden_something of great value, in order to try the patience of the searchers,in some eerie corner or nook.
But was Mrs. Renwick really dead? This was a question that assailed thegirl whenever she passed the mystery room, whose door loomed big anddark, with its heavy crimson curtain, in the long hall. Somehow, she hadconfessed to Janet, whenever she hurried by that door she had a strangefeeling, a feeling of nearness to some one,--the way one would feel, sheimagined, if they
looked up suddenly and found some one watching themwith a strange, fixed stare.
Could it be that some one was hidden in that room? But she alwaysdismissed the thought with a half-laugh, as being very silly.Nevertheless she always raced by that door, especially at night, whenthe hall was wrapped in an uncanny gloominess from the dark shadows thatcame from the big grandfather's clock, the heavy, black-looking wardrobeat one end, and other ponderous and carved pieces of mahogany restingagainst the wall.
The following afternoon Nathalie set forth to return the umbrella to itsowners, laden with a basket of fruit, in appreciation of their kindnessto her. As she walked cheerily along, a sudden thought loomed big in hermind; she had been thinking how she was going to live up to herwatchword, "Liberty and humanity--our best," when it had occurred to herthat one way would be to offer to read to Miss Whipple every day. Thegirl's eyes glowed, and then she wavered. "Oh, no, I don't see how I cando _that_, for I have so much to do at home, and I do not want to missmy walks." Her face clouded as she silently struggled with herself,divided with the desire to cheer her new friend, and yet not to have toforego her walks.
She found the invalid lying back in her chair, looking pale and wan, butwhen Nathalie inquired if she was suffering, she hastily answered, "Oh,no, I am just pure tired, for I have been trying to read my newwar-book, and it has made me ache all over."
"Oh, Miss Whipple," broke from the girl impulsively,--somehow she couldnot be selfish,--"wouldn't you like to have me come and read to you fora little while each day?"
"Oh, you dear child, that is most kind of you," the lady's eyesbrightened. "Indeed, I should be delighted, but it would be selfish tokeep you indoors on these beautiful mountain days." A little sigh endedthe sentence.
"But you would not be keeping me in," insisted her companion, "for Ishould just love to read to you, and I know I shall find plenty of timeto walk somewhere every day." And then, as an added plea to her request,she told of her mornings with Nita Van Vorst, and how their taking turnsat reading to one another had been a source of great instruction to themboth.
In a short time Nathalie was happily reading to her friend, who listenedwith keen enjoyment. After a time, fearing the girl would tire, theystopped for a little chat, and it was during one of these chats thatNathalie told of meeting their queer neighbor who lived in the redhouse, and how rudely she had been repulsed by the old lady, when shehad tried to atone for her reception of the day before.
"A little old woman in a black bonnet, with a basket?" repeated MissWhipple in a puzzled tone. "Why, that is strange, for I didn't know thatany one lived in that little red house. Some years past Mrs. Renwickallowed a poor old woman to live there rent free, but she died a fewyears ago. I shall have to ask Jakes about it, for he knows every man,woman, or child who lives on these mountains."
During one of these pauses Mona came in, and her sister, noting thewistful look in the patient brown eyes, surmised that she, too, wouldlike to enjoy Nathalie's youth and charm. And so, in a few moments, thegirl was out in the sweet-pea garden, delighting Mona with herenthusiastic interest in the delicately tinted flowers that grew intall, long lines on each side of the house.
Here, too, she met Jakes, an old white-haired man, bent almost doublewith age. He made up for her companion's enforced silence, by showingthe many different varieties of these exquisite flowers, which, on theirrough stems, with their tendril-bearing leaves, peeped coyly at her, inalmost every tint of their varying colors.
But the girl glanced up with quick surprise, when she heard the old man,in his quavering, broken voice, softly repeat:
"Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight; With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings."
As the old man saw Nathalie glance up at him in ill-concealedastonishment at his aptness in repeating the poetic quotation, he smiledand said, "Ah, Miss, I have planted, transplanted, trained, tended, andwatched these sweet posies for many a long year as carefully as amother-hen tends her tiny chicks. But it was my dear lady, herself, whotaught me that verse, and sure I have never forgotten it, although I donot know the name of the poet-man who wrote it."
Nathalie, with her hand in Mona's, who seemed to love to hold it, wasnow led by her into the little shed, where she was soon busily employedin helping her tie the sweet peas into bunches, to be delivered the nextmorning to the hotels by Jakes.
From the making of bouquets she wandered into the tea-room, where Monahad hurried, on seeing a couple of young ladies come in, who wanted tobuy some post-cards. While they were selecting them the deaf-and-dumbwoman hastened into the kitchen for her tea-tray. Nathalie, meanwhile,waited by the little glass case in one corner of the room, carelesslystudying the mountain-views that lined it, and where boxes of maplesugar, pine pillows, and various knick-knacks that Miss Whipple said shehad made before her hands had become so helpless, lay scattered aboutfor sale.
As she turned restlessly away from the case, her glance fell on the twogirls, who stood examining the cards on the wall near, and she halfsmiled at their grotesqueness, as she called their modish style ofapparel. For the girls, fair samples of the average fashionable summergirls, wore their hair plastered down on the sides of their faces indeep scallops, while their cheeks were carmine-tinted, and their noseswhitewashed with powder. With their long, thin necks rising in kangaroofashion from their turn-over, low-necked collars, and with theirshort-waisted belts and narrow skirts, high above their high-heeled,white boots, they reminded Nathalie of some funny French dolls that shehad seen once in a museum in New York.
She was wondering why so many girls of the present day thought itimproved them to make themselves so ungainly and painted-looking, whenone of the girls suddenly turned her face to her. A sudden exclamation,and she had stepped towards Nathalie, who was now staring at her inpuzzled recognition.
"I declare, if it isn't Nathalie Page. Why, don't you remember me?" sheshrilled excitedly. "I'm Nelda Sackett. You remember we used to bedeskmates at Madame Chemidlin's?"
"Why, Nelda, how do you do? Yes, I remember you now," smiled Nathaliecordially. "How stupid of me not to have recognized you before. But dearme, you have changed!" And then, fearing that the girl might detect herlack of admiration for her modish appearance, she hastily added, "Oh,you have grown to be quite a young lady."
"Young lady! Well, I should say that I was," flashed the girl in aslightly aggrieved tone. "Why, I'm eighteen, and Justine,--you rememberJustine Guertin,--she is nineteen."
By this time Justine had joined them, and after greeting Nathalie withcondescending graciousness, the three girls were soon chatting abouttheir school-days and former friends. The girls were both very curiousas to their old schoolmate's life in her new home. Nathalie determinedto hold her own and not be cowed by their ultra-fashionableness, and,despite the jarring realization of the fact that they knew of herchanged circumstances since her father's death, bravely told about hernew life in their little home on Main Street, in the old-fashioned LongIsland town. She not only dwelt with persistent minuteness on the manydetails of her more humble life, but told of her connection with theGirl Pioneers, the pleasure it had brought her, the fineness of its aimsand purposes, and the wholesomeness of a life lived in the open, withits knowledge of bird and tree lore, and the many new avenues ofknowledge it opened to a girl.
This sort of thing, however, did not seem to appeal to these New Yorkgirls, and they stared somewhat coldly, although a bit curiously, atNathalie during her recital, and then abruptly changed the subject bytelling of their own gay life in the city. Oh, and what a time they werehaving at the Sunset Hill House, playing golf and tennis, and dancing inthe evening with gay college boys and other young men.
By this time Mona had returned, and, as Nathalie saw her trying to wheela small tea-table into the room with both hands full, she hastily flewto her aid. And later, when she returned for some needed articles in thekit
chen, the young girl arranged the teacups and saucers on the traybefore the girls, as they had asked that they might be served with a cupof tea a la Russe.
The girls continued to chatter in a desultory fashion for awhile,although Nathalie, whose intuitions were keen, sensed that they hadgrown a little less cordial in their manner towards her. Presently,finishing their tea and paying for it, they nodded Nathalie a carelessgood-by and hurried out, somewhat to the girl's surprise, who hadnaturally supposed that they would invite her to come and see them atthe hotel, or express a desire to visit her at her home.
With reddened cheeks and a disappointed expression in her eyes Nathaliewatched them as they crossed the road to the flagged walk opposite. Itwas true, she was lonely up there in her new surroundings, with nospecial friend to run in and chat with, as she had been accustomed to dowith her friend Helen. She wanted young company, and the meeting withher former schoolmates had revived old memories and worn-out longings.
Although she did not approve of their style of dress, or their airymanners, still they were something that belonged to her former life inNew York, and she would have enjoyed having a chat with them once in awhile for the sake of "Auld Lang Syne."
With the quick thought that they were not worth a pang of regret, forthey had shown that they had become very snobbish, she turned away, andaimlessly wandered over to an old piano that stood on one side of theroom. As if to ease the hurt feeling that still jarred hersensitiveness, she sat down and carelessly ran her fingers over the oldyellow keys. A sudden call from the invalid in the adjoining room,--thedoor stood open,--for Nathalie to play something, brought the girl toherself with a sudden start.
"Oh, I do not know anything to play," she weakly pleaded, "for I am nomusician." Nathalie spoke the truth, for she not only had no specialtalent for music, but the little accomplishment that she had acquired inthat line had been sadly neglected since she had taken up housework.
But as the invalid's plea was insistent, and the girl did not want to bedisagreeable, she again swept her hands over the keyboard, this timeunconsciously falling into one of Chopin's waltzes, something that shesupposed she had forgotten. From this she wandered into a few rag-timeairs, and then came snatches of old-time melodies, until finally she wasplaying a well-known reverie by a noted composer.
But suddenly realizing that she had heard nothing from the next room,and fearing that she had wearied Miss Whipple, she hastily arose andhurried to her side, to find her lying back in her chair with a strangerestful expression on her face, but with closed eye lids, through whichtears were slowly trickling.
"Oh, Miss Whipple, I should not have played so long," exclaimed the girlremorsefully. "Perhaps I have made you feel sad."
"No, no, my child! Your playing has brightened me up." The invalid satup quickly, as she shamefacedly wiped away the stray tears. "Indeed, mydear, I pay you a compliment when I cry, for if the music did not goright to my heart the tears would not have come. No, I would neverregret being an old shut-in if I could hear music once in a while. Butthat was a lovely little thing you played last; it is one of myfavorites."
"Oh, I must try to get Janet to come down and play for you," criedNathalie with a relieved sigh, "for she is a _real_ musician, and playsfor us every evening as we sit on the veranda in the moonlight. But itis getting late and I must go, for I have supper to get. When my boyscome, perhaps I shall have more time, for, you know, I am going to putthem through their paces and teach them to be helpful."
After a hasty good-by, Nathalie was hurrying across the road, whilewaving her hand to the sweet, patient face smiling at her from thewindow. Some twenty minutes later she arrived at Seven Pillars, her eyeshappily aglow, as she told her mother of the readings to be, to helplighten the burdens of her new friend, the shut-in.
Several days later Nathalie, with her mother, walked slowly down thegarden-path, with its border of oldtime hollyhocks and peonies and whitestones, to the gate-posts. A step or two, and they stood before the doorof the little red house, as the girl, with pleased eyes, cried, "Well,mother, she's in, for I saw her sitting at the window as we came up thepath, so we can get this ordeal over."
But unfortunately she reckoned without her host, for although theyknocked and knocked, Nathalie even pounding on the door with herparasol-handle, for she had planned to take a walk after the call, noone came to the door. After a time she peered at the window, but someone had drawn the shades down so that nothing was to be seen.
"Mother, she is _so angry_ she just won't let us in," cried the youngcaller with flushed cheeks. "Oh, I think she must be a very disagreeableold lady, and I do not think there is any use in trying to be nice toher."
Mrs. Page had evidently come to the same conclusion, so they slowlyturned and retraced their steps back to the house, and in a short spaceshe was seated on the veranda with her darning, as Nathalie started fora walk. As she passed the red house, and caught sight of thesilver-haired old lady knitting at the window she quickly turned herhead away, determined to ignore her in the future. "And so this is theend of our acquaintance with our next-door neighbor," she musedruefully, as she passed on down the road. "Well, it certainly did notprove very progressive. Of course I don't really care,--she's just anold lady,--but still I do wish Cynthia Loretto had stayed up in her oldstudio, and not made trouble for us by her unkind ways."
The Liberty Girl Page 10
