CHAPTER XIX
A QUESTION OF APPAREL
“The master.”
“He wants me?”
Joe nodded and went out of doors. But it was noticeable that he merely walked around to the rear of the sick room and stationed himself beside the open window. Not that he might overhear the conversation within, but to be near if he were needed. He cast one stern look upon Margot, as he summoned her, and was evidently reassured by her own calmness.
Three days had passed since she had been given that fateful letter, and she had had time to think over its startling contents in every connection. There was now not the slightest blame of her guardian for having so long kept her in ignorance of her father’s existence; and, indeed, her love had been strengthened, if that were possible. The sick man had gained somewhat, though he was yet very weak and recovery was still a question. But, with improvement, came again the terrible restlessness and impatience with the circumstances which kept him a prisoner in bed, when, of all times in the year, he would be up and abroad.
When the child entered the room he was watching for her, eagerly, anxiously. How had she borne his news? How would she greet him?
Her first glance answered him. It was so tender, so pitiful, so strong.
“My darling! My own Margot! I – need not – have feared.”
“There is nothing to fear, dearest uncle. Fear must have been done with years ago, when – when – it happened. Now, now, it is time for hope, for confidence.”
He shook his head mournfully. Then he asked:
“You will let it make no difference in your love, your loyalty to him, when – when he comes? If he lives to come?”
“If he had been a father who did not come because he would not, then, maybe, I don’t know. But a father who could not come, who has been so cruelly, frightfully wronged – why, uncle! all my life, no matter how long, all my care and devotion, no matter how great, will never, never be able to express one-half of my love. And I bless you more for your faithfulness to him than for all you’ve ever done for me – yet even my debt to you is boundless.”
“My own impulsive, overgrateful Margot! As if it had not been also all my life, my happiness. Well, since I cannot go, you must write to him. For me and for yourself. Explaining why I cannot come, just yet, but that I will as soon as may be. Make it a letter such as you have talked just now and it will be better to his hungry heart than even a sight of his old friend and brother.”
“I will write as many letters for you as you please, but – I will deliver them in person.”
He did not get the full import of her words, at first, but when he did he frowned. It hurt him beyond expression that she should jest on such a subject, even for the laudable purpose of cheering himself.
Then he felt her cool hand on his wrist.
“Uncle, I mean it. I have thought it over and over. I have thought of nothing else, except that you were getting better, and I know I am right. I am going to see my father. I am going to get my father. I shall never come back without him. But I shall certainly come, and he with me. You cannot go. I can, I want to, beyond telling. I must.”
A thousand objections flashed through his mind and the struggle to comprehend just what were and were not valid ones wearied him. For some time neither of them spoke again, but clasped hands until he fell into a sudden sleep. Even then Margot did not release her hold, though her cramped position numbed her arm, and her impatience to make him see matters from her point of view was hard to control. But he awoke almost as suddenly as he had dozed, and with a clear idea of her meaning. After all, how simple it was! and what an infinite relief to his anxiety.
“Tell me what you think.”
“This: My father must not be disappointed. Your visit, the one link that connects him with his old life and happiness, is impossible. Each year you have taken him reports of me and how I grew. I’m going to show him whether you represented me as I am or as your partial eyes behold me. More than that, I must go. I must see him. I must put my arms about his neck and tell him that I love him, as my mother loved him, with all his child’s affection added. I must. It is my right.”
“But – how. You’ve never been beyond the forest. You are so young and ignorant of – everything.”
“Maybe I shall do all the better for that reason. ‘Know nothing, fear nothing,’ and I certainly am not afraid. We are looking for Pierre to come home, any day. He should have been here long ago. As soon as he comes I will start. Old Joseph shall go with me. He knows what I do not, of towns and routes, and all those troublesome things. You will give us the money it will cost; and enough to pay for my father’s coming home. I have made his room ready. There isn’t a speck or spot in it, and there are fresh flowers every day. There have been ever since I knew that room was his. I shall go to that city of New York where – where it happened, and I shall find out the truth. I shall certainly bring him home with me.”
It was absurd. He said that to himself, not once but many times; yet despite his common sense and his bitter experience, he could not but catch something of her hopefulness. Yet so much the more hard to bear would be her disappointment.
“Dear, I have no right, it may be, to stop you. It was agreed upon between us that, when you were sixteen years old, if nothing happened to make it unnecessary, you should be told. That is, if I believed you had a character which could endure sorrow and not turn bitter under it. I do so believe, I know. But though you may make the journey, if you wish and it can be arranged safely, you must not even hope to do more than see your father and that only for a brief time.”
Margot smiled. The same bright, unconvinced smile with which she had always received any astonishing statement. When, not much more than a baby, she had been told that fire would burn, she had laughed her unbelief that fire would burn, and had thrust her small hand into the flame. The fire had burned, but she had still smiled, and bravely, though her lips trembled and there were tears upon her cheeks.
“I must go, uncle. It is my right, and his. I must try this matter for myself. I shall never be happy else and I shall succeed. I shall. I trust in God. You have taught me that He never fails those who trust in Him.”
“Have I not trusted? Have I not prayed? Did I not labor till labor was useless? But, there, child. Not for me to darken your faith. His ways are not as our ways, else this had never come. But you shall go. You are right; and may He prosper your devotion!”
She saw that he was tired and, having gained his consent, went gladly away to Angelique, to consult with that disturbed person concerning her journey.
Angelique heard this strange announcement with incredulity. The master was delirious again. That was the explanation. Else he would never, never have consented for this outrageous journey from Pontius to Pilate, with only a never-say-anything old Indian for escort.
“But you’re part Indian yourself, sweet Angelique, so don’t abuse your own race. As for knowing nothing, who but Joe could have brought my uncle through this dreadful sickness so well? I believe it is all a beautiful plan.
“Well, we’ll see. If Adrian had not come, maybe my uncle would never have told me all he has. The letter was written, you know that, because he feared he might not live to tell it with his lips. And even when he was getting better he thought I still should learn the truth, and the written pages held it all. I’m so glad I know. Oh! Angelique, think! How happy, how happy we shall be when my father comes home!”
“’Tis that bad Pierre who should be comin’, yes. Wait till I get my hands about his ears.”
“Pierre’s too big to have his ears boxed. I don’t wonder he hates it. I think I would – would box back again if anybody treated me to that indignity.”
“Pst. Pouf! you are you, and Pierre is Pierre; and as long as he is in the world and I am, if his ears need boxin’, I shall box them. I, his mother.”
“Oh! very well. Suit yourself. But now, Angelique!”
“Well? I must go set the churn. Yes, I’ve wasted too much time, already, bein’ taught my manners by a chit of a thing like you. Yes. I have so. Indeed, yes.”
“Come, Angelique. Be good. When you were young, and lived in the towns, did the girls who went a-journeying wear bonnets?”
“Did they not? And the good Book that the master reads o’ nights, sayin’ the women must cover their heads. Hmm. I’ve thought a many time how his readin’ and his rearin’ didn’t go hand in glove. Bonnets, indeed! Have I not the very one I wore when I came to Peace Island. A charmin’ thing, all green ribbons and red roses. I shall wear it again, to my Pierre’s weddin’. ’Tis for that I’ve been savin’ it. And, well, because a body has no need to wear out bonnets on this bit of land in water. No.”
But Angelique was a true woman; and once upon the subject of dress her mind refused to be drawn thence. She recalled items of what had been her own trousseau, ignoring Margot’s ridicule of the clumsy Pierre as a bridegroom, and even her assertion that: “I should pity his wife, for I expect her ears would have to be boxed, also.”
“Come yon. I’ve that I will show you. ’Tis your mother’s own lovely clothes. Just as she wore them here, and carefully folded away for you till you needed them. Well, that is now, I suppose, if you’re to be let gad all over the earth, with as good a home as girl ever had right here in the peaceful woods.”
“Oh! show them to me, Angelique. Quick. Why have you never before? Of course, I shall need them now. And, Angelique! That is some more of the beautiful plan. The working out of the pattern. Else why should there be the clothes here when I need clothes? Answer me that, good Angelique, if you can.”
“Pst. ’Twas always a bothersome child for questions. But answer one yourself. If you had had them before would you have had them ready now, and the pleasure of them? No. No, indeed. But come. The clothes and then the churnin’. If that Pierre were here, ’twould not be my arms would have to ache this night with the dash, dash, dashin’. No. No, indeed, no. But come.”
Alas! Of all the carefully preserved and dainty garments there was not one which Margot could wear.
“Why, Angelique! What a tiny thing she must have been! I can’t get even my hand through the wrist of this sleeve. And look here. This skirt is away up as short as my own. If I’ve to wear short ones I’ll not change at all. In the pictures, I’ve seen lovely ladies with skirts on the ground and I thought that was the way I should look if I ever went into the world.”
“Eh? What? Lovely? You? Hmm. Lovely is that lovely does. Vanity is a disgrace to any woman. Has not the master said that often and often?”
Margot flushed. She was not conscious of vanity, yet she did not question Angelique’s opinion. But she rallied.
“I don’t think I should feel at all vain if I put on any of these things. That is, if I could even get them on. I should all the time be thinking how uncomfortable I was. Well, that’s settled. I wear my own clothes, and not even my dear mother’s. Hers I will always keep for her sake; but to her great daughter they are useless. And I’ll go bareheaded just as here. Why not? I certainly don’t need a bonnet, with all this hair.”
Now Margot’s hair was Angelique’s especial pride. Indeed, it was a wonderful glory upon that shapely young head; but again this was not to be admitted.
“Hair! What’s hair? Not but you’ve enough of it for three women, for that matter. But it will not do to go that way. It must be braided and pinned fast. Here is a bonnet, not so gay as mine, and I would trust you with that – only – ”
“I wouldn’t wear it, dear Angelique. It’s lovely and kind for you to even think of offering. You must keep that for Pierre’s wife, and – ”
“I should like to see her with it on! Huh! Indeed! Pouf!”
“There are hats enough of my own mother’s, and to wear one may be another piece of your ‘good luck.’ I shall wear this one. It is all blue like my frocks, and the little brown ribbon is the color of my shoes. Adrian would say that was ‘artistic,’ if he were here. Oh! Angelique! When I go to that far city, do you suppose I shall see Adrian? Do you?”
“Do you go there to break your uncle’s heart again? ’Tis not Adrian you will see, ever again, I hope. No. Indeed, no. See. This shawl. It goes so;” and Angelique adjusted the soft, rich fabric around her own shoulders, put a hat jauntily upon her head, and surveyed the effect with undisguised admiration, as reflected in the little mirror in the lid of the big trunk.
“Angelique! Angelique, take care! ‘Vanity is a disgrace to any woman!’ What if that misguided Pierre should see you now? What would he think of his – ”
Hark! What was that? How dared old Joseph tramp through the house at such a pace, with such a noise? and the master still so weak. Why —
The indignant house-mistress disappeared with indignation blazing in her eyes.
Margot, also, stood still in the midst of her finery, listening and almost as angry as the other; till there came back to her another sound so familiar and reassuring that her fears were promptly banished, while one more anxiety was lifted from her heart.
CHAPTER XX
COMING AND GOING
“Pierre! and Angelique is boxing his ears! My, what a whack, that I can hear it way in here! I must to the rescue, but his coming makes right for me to go. Angelique, Angelique, don’t! Heigho, Pierre! I’m glad you’re back!”
But if he heard this welcome he did not heed it, and Margot stood amazed at the ridiculous scene upon which she had entered.
There was Angelique, still arrayed in her own flower-bedecked bonnet and her mistress’ India shawl, being whirled about the big kitchen in a crazy sort of waltz which seemed to suit the son’s excited mood. Her bonnet sat rakishly on one side and the rich shawl dragged over the floor, which, fortunately, was too clean to harm it; but amidst her enforced exercises, the mother continued to aim those resounding blows at her son’s great ears. Sometimes they hit the mark, but at others fell harmlessly upon his broad shoulders. In any case, they seemed not to disturb him but rather to add to the homelikeness of his return.
At length, however, he released his irate parent and held out his hand to Margot.
“Done the old lady heap of good. How’s things? How’s the menagerie? and the master?”
“Hey? Where’s the manners I’ve always taught you? Askin’ for the master last when ’tis he is always first. Yes. Yes, indeed. But, Pierre, ’twas nigh no master at all you came home to. He’s been at death’s door for weeks. Even yet – ”
Then Angelique turned and saw Margot, whose presence she had not before observed. But she rallied instantly, turning her sentence into a brisk command:
“Even yet, the churnin’ not done and it goin’ on to measure nine o’clock. Get to the dasher, lad, and tie this big apron round your neck. Then change that dirty shirt. That a child of mine should wear such filthy things. Pouf! you were always the torment; that is so.”
“Just the same, Angelique, dear, your eyes are shining like stars, and you are happier than you have been a single minute since that bad boy of yours paddled away in the night. If he’s to churn I’m to sit beside him and hear all his long story first. Come on, Pierre! Oh! how good it is to have you back!”
It was, also, most delightful to the mother, even though her happiness expressed itself in a peculiar way, by grumbling and scolding as she had not done once since real trouble fell upon that home, with the illness of its master.
The churn stood outside the kitchen door, for Angelique would allow no chance of spilled cream on her scoured boards; so Margot settled herself on the door-step and listened while the wanderer gave her a long and detailed account of his journey. Meanwhile, and at every few minutes, his mother would step to his side, take the dasher from his hand and force a bit of food within it. He devoured this greedily, though he made no comment, and resumed his churning as soon as the tid-bit was consumed. Through all, Angelique’s face was beaming and her lips fretting, till Margot laughed aloud.
“Oh! Angelique Ricord! Of all the odd people you are the oddest!”
“So? Well, then. How many odd people have you seen, my child that you should be so fine a judge? So that evil-come departed to his own, he did? May his shadow never darken this door again! ’Twas all along of him the trouble came.”
“No, Angelique, you forget. It must have been the broken glass! How could it possibly have been anything else? Never mind, sweetheart; when I come home from my long journey I will bring you a new one, big and clear, and that has the power to make even plain folks look lovely. If my uncle will let me. Dear, but I do wish you had a bit, this minute, to see how silly you look with that big bonnet on!”
Angelique’s hand flew to her head in comic dismay. She had carefully removed and refolded the beautiful shawl, but had quite forgotten her other adornment, which she now tore off in a haste that threatened damage to the precious possession.
“Pierre, bid her be careful. That is your wife’s bonnet!”
Even the housekeeper had to smile at this and listen patiently while Margot made much of the incident. Indeed, she would have willingly been laughed at indefinitely, if thus she could herself hear these young voices gay with the old-time unconcern.
“And Adrian was good to the poor, wild things. Well, I have hopes of Adrian. He didn’t have the right sort of rearing to know how the forest people feel, but he learned fast. I’m thankful, thankful, Pierre Ricord, that you had to lose those fine antlers. If you’d sold them and made a lot of money by it, you would have forgotten that the moose could suffer and have killed many more. As it is, better one should die than many. And Pierre, I’m going away myself. Now that you’ve come home, I’m going at once. Old Joseph and I. Clear to that far away New York where Adrian has gone, and to many other places, too.”
Pierre dropped the dasher with such force that the “half-brought” butter, which Angelique was opening the churn to “scrape down together,” splashed out over the step, Margot’s lap, and the ground.
Angelique was too indignant to speak, but Margot cried:
“Oh! Pierre! How careless and wasteful. We’ve none too much butter, anyway.”
The lad still stared, open-mouthed. After a minute he asked:
“What’s that you said? About that New York?”
“I’m going to New York. I’m going in my uncle’s place, to attend to my uncle’s business. Old Joe is to go with me to take care of me – or I of him – and you are to stay here with the master and your mother. You may bring King Madoc over if you wish; and, by the way, how did you get here, if you have lost your own canoe?”
“Helped myself to one of Joe’s. Helped myself to a breakfast, too. Joe’s stocked up for winter, already. But, I say, Margot. He’s no use in a big city. Better take me. I was goin’ anyway, only after that – well, that grave, I made up my mind I’d just step back here a spell and take a fresh start. I’m ready, any minute, and Joe hates it. Hey?”
“I wouldn’t trust myself with you a dozen miles. You’re too foolish and fickle. Joe is steady and faithful. It’s settled. I think, Angelique, that we can start to-morrow. Don’t you?”
Angelique sighed. All her happiness was once more overclouded. Why couldn’t well enough be let alone? However, she answered nothing. She had sometimes ventured to grumble even at the master but she had never questioned his decisions. If it was by his will that her inexperienced darling was to face the dangers of an unknown world, with nobody but a glum old Indian to serve her, of course, there was nothing for it but submission.
At daybreak the next morning, Margot stood beside her uncle’s bed, clasping his thin hands in parting. His eyes were sad and anxious, but hers were bright and full of confidence. He had given his last advice; she had ample money for all possible needs, with directions upon whom to call for more, should anything arise for which they had not prepared, and she had, also, her route marked out on paper, with innumerable suggestions about this or that stop; and now, there was nothing more to do or say but add his blessing and farewell.
“Good-bye, Margot. Into God’s hands I give you.”
“The same Hands, uncle, which have cared for me always. I shall come back and bring our loved one with me. Get well fast, to make him happy when he comes.”
A hasty kiss to Angelique who was sobbing herself ill, a clasp of Pierre’s hand, and she was gone. Joe’s birch was pulling steadily away from the Island of Peace into that outside world of strife and contention, of which the young voyager was so wholly ignorant.
Her eyes were wet and her heart ached, with that same sort of physical distress which had assailed her when Adrian went away, but now much sharper. Yet her lips still smiled and Joseph, furtively regarding her, was satisfied. She would give him no trouble.
A few miles’ journey and she had entered what seemed like fairyland. She had then no time for looking back or remembering. The towns were wonderful, and the first time that she saw a young girl of her own age she stared until the stranger made a grimace toward her. This perplexed and annoyed her, but taught her a lesson: she stared no more.
Yet she saw everything; and in that little book her uncle had provided for this object made notes of her impressions, to be discussed with him upon her return. Her first ride behind horses made her laugh aloud. They were so beautiful and graceful and their strength so appealed to her animal-loving heart. The ricketty buck-board, which was their first vehicle, seemed luxurious, though after a few miles’ jogging over a corduroy-road she confided to Joseph that she preferred a canoe.
“Umm. No shakeum up.”
A stage drawn by four steeds, rather the worse for wear, yet with the accompaniment of fellow-travelers and a musical horn, brought memories of Cinderella and other childish heroines, and made the old tales real; but when they reached the railway and stepped into a car her interest grew painfully intense. When the conductor paused to take their tickets, obligingly procured for this odd pair by the stage-driver, Margot immediately requested to be put upon the engine.
“The engine! Well, upon my word!”
“Yes, I’ve never seen one, except the one in front of this car-train. I know how they operate but I would so dearly like to see them working close at hand. Can’t I?”
The brass-buttoned official made no reply, save to purse his lips and utter another low whistle; but he gave Margot and Joe a critical survey and reflected that of all the passengers he had ever carried these were the most unique. There was something in the girl’s intelligent face that was hard to deny, and for all his silence, perhaps because of it, a certain dignity about the Indian that won favor even for him.
It was a way-train on a branch road; one of the connecting links between the wilderness and the land of the “through express” else it might not have happened that, after so long a time had elapsed that Margot felt her request was indeed refused, the conductor returned and whispered in her ear. It was a concession, not to be made general; but she was informed:
“I’ve spoken to the engineer and he says he doesn’t mind. Not if you’ll ask no questions and won’t bother.”
“I’ll not. And I thank you very much.”
“Hmm. She may be a backwoods girl but she can give a lesson in manners to many a city miss,” thought the obliging guide, as he led Margot forward through the few cars toward the front; and, at the next stop, helped her to the ground and up again into the little shut-in space beside the grimy driver of this wonderful iron horse.
Margot never forgot that ride; nor the man at the lever his unknown passenger. She had left her obnoxious bonnet upon the seat beside old Joseph and her hair had broken from its unaccustomed braid to its habitual freedom, so that it enveloped her and streamed behind her like a cloud. Her trim short skirt, her heelless shoes, her absence of “flummery” aroused the engineer’s admiration and he volunteered, what he had previously declined to give, all possible information concerning his beloved locomotive. He even allowed her, for one brief moment to put her own hand on the lever and feel the thrill of that resistless plunging forward into space.
It was only when they stopped again and she knew she ought to go back to Joe that she ventured to speak.
“I never enjoyed anything so much in my life, nor learned so much in so short a time. I wish – I wish – have you a sister, or a little girl? Or anybody you love very much?”
“Why, yes. I’ve got the nicest little girl in the United States. She’s three years old and as cute as they make ’em.”
“You’ve given me pleasure, I’d like to give her as much. May she have this from me, to get – whatever a town child would like?”
“Sure, miss, it’s too much; but – ”
Margot was gone, and on the engineer’s palm shone a bright gold coin. All Mr. Dutton’s money was in specie and he had given Margot a liberal amount of “spending money” for her trip. Money being a thing she knew as little about as she did traveling he had determined to let her learn its value by experience; yet even he might have been a trifle shocked by the liberality of this, her first “tip.” However, she saw only the gratitude that leaped into the trainman’s eyes and was glad that she had had the piece handy in her pocket.
Yet, delightful as the novelty of their long journey was, Margot found it wearisome; and the nearer she reached its end the more a new and uncomfortable anxiety beset her. Joseph said nothing. He had never complained nor admired, and as far as sociability was concerned he might have been one of those other, wooden Indians which began to appear on the streets of the towns, before shops where tobacco was sold. She looked at Joe, sometimes, wondering if he saw these effigies of his race and what were his opinions on the matter. But his face remained stolid and she decided that he was indifferent to all such slight affairs.
It was when they first stepped out of their train into the great station at New York, that the full realization of her undertaking came to her. Even Joseph’s face now showed some emotion, of dismay and bewilderment, and her own courage died in that babel of noises and the crowding rush of people, everywhere.
“Why, what has happened? Surely, there must have been some fearful accident, or they would not all hurry so.”
Then she saw among the crowd, men in a uniform she recognized, from the description her uncle had once given her, and remembered that he had then told her if ever she were in a strange place and needed help it was to such officers she should apply. When this advice had been given, a year before, neither had imagined it would so soon be useful. But it was with infinite relief that she now clutched Joseph’s hand and impelled him to go with her. Gaining the side of an officer, she caught his arm and demanded:
“What is the matter? Where are all the people hurrying to?”
“Why – nowhere, in special. Why?”
The policeman had, also, been hastening forward as if his life depended upon his reaching a certain spot at a certain time, but now he slackened his speed and walked quietly along beside this odd girl, at the same moment keeping his eye upon a distant group of gamins bent on mischief. It had been toward them he had made such speed, but a brother officer appearing near them he turned his attention upon Margot and her escort.
“Oh! I thought there was something wrong. Is it always such a racketty place? This New York?”
“Always. Why, ’tis quiet here to-day, compared to some.”
“Are you an officer of the law? Is it your business to take care of strangers?”
“Why, yes. I suppose so.”
“Can I trust you? Somebody must direct me. I was to take a cab and go – to this address. But I don’t know what a cab is from any other sort of wagon. Will you help me?”
“Certainly. Give me the card.”
Margot handed him the paper with the address of the old friend with whom her uncle wished her to stop while she was in the city; but the moment the policeman looked at it his face fell.
“Why, there isn’t any such place, now. All them houses has been torn down to put up a sky-scraper. They were torn down six months ago.”
“Why, how can that be? This lady has lived in that house all her life, my uncle said. She is a widow, very gentle and refined: she was quite poor; though once she had plenty of money. She took boarders, to keep a roof over her head; and it isn’t at all likely that she would tear it down and so destroy her only income. You must be mistaken. Won’t you ask somebody else, who knows more about the city, please?”
The officer bridled, and puffed out his mighty chest. Was not he “one of the finest”? as the picked policemen are termed. If he didn’t know the streets of the metropolis, who did?
Margot saw that she had made a serious mistake. Her head turned giddy, the crowd seemed to surge and close about her, and with a sense of utter failure and homesickness she fainted away.