The Turned-About Girls

by Beulah Marie Dix

  CHAPTER XXV

  ON A NIGHT OF TEMPEST

  The party was almost as wonderful as Caroline expected it to be, so youmay judge for yourself that it was a very wonderful party indeed. Thecaterer way down in Boston didn't forget to send the ices and the cakes,as Caroline in a private agony had feared that he might, and Frankdidn't puncture a tire or run into a ditch when he fetched them from thetrain at Baring Junction. Eleanor Trowbridge, the little girl next door,didn't come down with rash, as a subterranean rumor said that she wascoming, and Judge Holden's youngest granddaughter didn't go into atantrum and throw things, as she did (according to gossipy Sallie) tothe serious disturbance of little Patty Wheeler's Fourth of July party.

  Caroline wore a frock (Jacqueline's frock!) the color of creamyhoneysuckle, hand-made and hem-stitched, with two rosettes of narrowblack velvet ribbon and gold tissue at the high waist line. Her guestsfluttered crisply in lavender and pale blue, shell pink and lemonyellow. It was as if the posy bed had come alive and found sweet, shrillvoices in which to talk and laugh and call across the scented spaces.

  They hunted peanuts, and they played at grace-hoops and ring-toss on thelawn, where the shadows grew longer with the passing hours. Everybodywon a prize at something. They sat at the flower-decked table, and atethe tiniest buttered rolls and creamed chicken in little shells ofpastry, ices that were so lovely Caroline wished she could keep hersforever, and cakes so good to the eye and the taste that they justbewitched you into taking another and another.

  Then they played again among the shrubbery, hide and seek, and run,sheep, run! You see, they all felt very well acquainted now. They weremuch noisier than they had been before the refreshments, and theyoungest Holden began to show off and turn cart wheels.

  "Our little girl has really the sweetest manners of them all," said AuntEunice, as she looked down on the games from the shaded porch.

  "She has more than manners," Cousin Penelope answered. "She has_manner_. But of course," she added proudly, "blood will always tell."

  The nicest party that ever was, the seven little girls said, when theybade Aunt Eunice and Cousin Penelope and Caroline good-night and askedCaroline to come soon and play with them. But in Longmeadow annals thatred-letter day of Caroline's life was to be remembered, not as the dateof Mrs. William Gildersleeve's grandniece's party, but as the date ofthe worst tempest that had swept through the township in years.

  "Jacqueline! It's I. Cousin Penelope. Don't befrightened."]

  Caroline waked in her bed just as a great cart-load of rocks--or so itseemed to her--was dumped upon the roof. She could see the furniture,the hangings, the very pictures on the walls ghastly and unfamiliar inthe glare of what must be a gigantic searchlight, which was shut offsuddenly and left the room in smothery, thick blackness.

  Caroline ducked beneath the coverings and hugged Mildred tight in herarms. A second crash shook the bed beneath her--a second burst offlaming light searched her out, even beneath the sheet and the softblanket. She thought she was going to die with terror, when she heard alittle faint click, and a voice spoke right above her:

  "Jacqueline! It's I--Cousin Penelope. Don't be frightened!"

  Hesitatingly, Caroline put aside the coverings and sat up. The light onthe little table at her bedside had been switched on, and in the shadedbrightness stood Cousin Penelope. She wore a silk dressing-gown of palelavender, embroidered with clusters of purple wistaria. Her hair hung ina long braid at either side of her pale face. She looked gentler thanever Caroline had known her or dreamed that she could be. When shesmiled, Caroline smiled back.

  "Mildred was a little frightened," said Caroline. "I'm glad you came in,Cousin Penelope. Will you stay--or does Aunt Eunice want you?"

  "Mother has lived through so many tempests that she doesn't mind themnow," said Cousin Penelope. She drew up the low rocker and sat down. "Idon't think they can be worse than your California earthquakes."

  My conscience! How Jacqueline would have resented the suggestion thatthere were ever earthquakes in California! But Caroline was too ignorantof the proper attitude of a Native Daughter to be indignant. She onlyheld Mildred tighter and gasped a little, as the room once more wasirradiated with white and awesome light. She looked gratefully at CousinPenelope.

  "I don't mind it much," she quavered, "now that you are here. It--itdoes make you think of poetry, doesn't it?

  "'The heavens are veined with fire, And the thunder--how it rolls! In the lulling of the storm----'"

  Down came another cartload on the roof, only this time it didn't soundlike mere rocks, but like metal rails.

  "Ow!" squeaked Caroline. "Do you think that hit anything? Of course I'mnot frightened, but Mildred is downright hectic."

  Cousin Penelope rose and pulled down the blinds, and drew the chintzcurtains across the windows. The fearsome glare of the lightning wasshut out, but the thunder still thumped and thudded overhead. Carolinewas glad that when Cousin Penelope sat down again, she drew the chairquite close to the bedside.

  "It's very comforting to have you here, Cousin Penelope," she murmured.

  "We're company for each other, Jacqueline. Now lie down and go to sleepagain. I won't leave you till the storm is over."

  So Caroline nestled down in her bed and closed her eyes, and thought ofher party. She opened her eyes again, as the thunder crashed angrily,and saw Cousin Penelope sitting in the soft lamplight, so different fromCousin Penelope by day.

  "I like you with your hair down, Cousin Penelope," Caroline saidsleepily. "I wish you wore it always that way. You are so pretty withyour hair down."

  Cousin Penelope actually flushed, cheek and throat, but she wasn'tangry, for her eyes were smiling.

  Then Caroline shifted Mildred in her arms, and closed her eyes oncemore. Presently she realized that there had been silence for a spacethat was long enough to be felt--silence except for the roar of rainupon the roof, and that was nothing to the anvil clang of the thunderthat for so long had deafened them.

  "Mildred is going to sleep," said Caroline, without opening her eyes."She thinks the storm is most over."

  The thunder rolled, but it was far away, like a noise in dreams, andpresently it was only in dreams, for Caroline, that the thunder rolled.When she opened her eyes again, there was no light in the room, exceptthe pale light that came from the rain-washed out-of-doors. Against thenight Cousin Penelope's form was outlined, as she finished putting upthe blinds and opening the windows. Then she came softly across theroom, in the fresh, sweet air and bent and drew the coverlet overCaroline's shoulders.

  "Good-night, Cousin Penelope," Caroline whispered sleepily. "Go back tobed now--or you'll take cold."

  In the darkness Cousin Penelope bent suddenly, and the faint scent ofviolets came with her. She kissed Caroline's forehead, and Caroline putup her arms, and caught her round the neck, and kissed her cheek.

  "You're so good, Cousin Penelope," she whispered. "I'm so glad you likeme."

  For a moment Cousin Penelope held her close.

  "Of course I--like you, Jacqueline."

  The naming of the name that was not hers made Caroline shrink in thearms that held her.

  "I want you to like me always!" she cried from her very heart.

  "Silly little girl!" Cousin Penelope whispered tenderly--think of CousinPenelope being tender!--and kissed her again. Then she tucked her insnugly, and bade her sleep, for the storm was over, and went away.

  But Caroline lay wide awake, until the rain had dwindled to the meredribble of water from the roof, and when she slept at last, her dreamswere troubled.

  For Jacqueline at that hour, there were no dreams. All the first part ofthe night she had slept soundly. She was really tired, for she hadworked hard all day, in an honest effort to make up for the naughtinessof the day before, and to show that she appreciated the way in which noone, not even Neil, alluded to it. (Neil had actually come forwa
rd, andoffered to help wash the dinner dishes!)

  But when the first crash of thunder reverberated from the easternmountains to the hills across the river, Jacqueline sat right up in bed.Where was she? What was happening? A white blaze lit the topsy-turvybaskets of roses on the wall-paper, so that she clapped her hands to hereyes and thought she was blind for life. Then she felt the clutch offrightened little arms flung round her, and heard Nellie sob:

  "Oh, Jackie! I'm so scared!"

  "Thunder can't hurt you, goosey!" quavered Jacqueline, with her armpressed tight across her eyes. The roof would fall upon their heads nextmoment, she was sure. The whole house would go up in a blaze of fire.Oh, why didn't Aunt Martha come to rescue them?

  But Aunt Martha didn't come. Nobody came! The thunder shook the roofbeams. The lightning sheathed the room in molten flame. Nellie sobbed,and choked, and clung round Jacqueline's neck.

  "Mammy! Mammy!" she gasped.

  "Keep still!" Jacqueline scolded. "Your mother isn't coming--nobody'scoming--and _I've_ got to get up and shut those windows."

  Yes, that was just what she must do. For the rain, driven by the wind,was drenching their bed, and doing nobody knew what damage besides. Shemust get up--and she did get up! It wouldn't do ever to let Nellie thinkthat ten years old could be as scared as six years old.

  Jacqueline struggled with the windows that stuck, while the rain soakedthrough her thin nightdress, clear to her skin, and the thunder boomedin her ears, and the lightning seemed aimed in all the universe at herone poor little head. She remembered every dreary story she had everheard of people killed by lightning. She thought she _was_ killed, halfa dozen times at least. But she closed the windows and yanked down theblinds, to shut out the glare. Then she made one flying leap into thebed and clutched Nellie as tight as Nellie clutched her, and vowed toherself that nothing--nothing in the wide world!--should tear her fromthe protection of that bed, until the storm was over.

  Just as she made that vow, there came from Aunt Martha's room a thin,high-pitched wail that made both little girls catch their breath.

  "What's Freddie crying for?" asked Nellie.

  "He'll stop in half a jiffy," said Jacqueline. "Aunt Martha'll wake upand take him. Why can't she hear him? He's crying loud enough."

  He was indeed, strangling, gasping, screaming with fright, and as shelistened to him, Jacqueline grew frightened, too. For if Aunt Marthawere in her room, she would surely wake and go to Freddie, and if shewere _not_ in her room, oh, _where_ could Aunt Martha be? The night thathad been terrible before with ear-splitting noises and unearthly fireswas doubly terrible now, with the fear of unknown, ghastly things.Jacqueline's breath came in uneven gasps, while she listened agonizedlyto hear Aunt Martha moving about, and heard only Freddie's cries.

  But she couldn't let him cry like that, she realized. She would have togo and get him--leave her snug bed--cross her room--the hall--AuntMartha's room--in that dreadful light and darkness, with the thunderroaring round her, and the fear of unspoken things turning her blood toice.

  "I can't--I can't!" Jacqueline's spirit fairly chittered within her. ButFreddie kept on crying--and he was just a baby. She couldn't let himsuffer there alone in the storm.

  "Be a sport!" she told herself, through chattering teeth, and: "Nellie,you shut up!" she said aloud, in a harsh, snappy voice.

  Out of the bed she got, and she set her teeth tight, and she madeherself run straight into the next room. By a flash of lightning shecould see poor Freddie, with his face dark and convulsed, as he satscreaming in his crib, and she could see Aunt Martha's bed, with thecoverings turned back, and Aunt Martha--gone. She didn't dare stop toask questions. She just caught up Freddie, who clawed her neck as heclung like a terrified kitten, and she ran staggering with him back intoher own room. She plumped him into the bed beside Nellie, and scuttledin beneath the coverings. She had thought confusedly that once she wassafe back in bed, she would have a good old cry to relieve her feelings.But she couldn't cry. She had to quiet the two children.

  "Hush up now!" she heard herself saying stoutly. "You're allsafe--you're here with Jackie--_I'll_ take care of you."

  The thunder volleyed. The lightning flamed. The storm had lasted aneternity. It would last, she felt, forever. Then, without warning, therewas Aunt Martha coming in at the door, a dark, indistinct figure, butwith Aunt Martha's footsteps that made Jacqueline, at the first sound,cry out with relief.

  "You've got Freddie?" Aunt Martha spoke in a strained, tired voice, notlike hers at all. "I knew I could trust you, Jackie. Look out for himtill morning. I've got to stay downstairs."

  "What's happened?" whispered Jacqueline.

  "I went down to close the windows," Aunt Martha went on, in that queer,deadened voice. "I'd left them open because of the heat. Grandma had gotup to see to them. Somehow she must have lost her bearings, and slippedand fallen. The phone won't work. Maybe the wires are down. Ralph'sgoing to get out the car and fetch the doctor right away."

  "Oh, Aunt Martha!" Jacqueline cried aloud.

  "Grandma isn't----"

  "I'm afraid," said Aunt Martha brokenly, "I'm afraid she's hurt herselfpretty bad."