CHAPTER XII
WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK
It was a long letter that went to Mrs. Northmore the next morning.Indeed, there were three; for Stella, in her delight over the prospectof keeping Esther, filled a sheet with an ecstatic picture of the joyswhich a winter in Boston would surely furnish, and Ruel Saxon suppliedanother, impressing upon his daughter his own deep satisfaction in thethought of having one of her children with him a little longer, andadding tenderly that since she herself went out of the home so long ago,no young presence there had been as dear and comforting to him as thisof Esther.
He had been amazed when the girl brought the news of Aunt Katharine'sproposal, and certainly nothing in his sister's behavior for years hadpleased him as much. He visited her promptly the next morning to assureher of his approval, and congratulate her (as he told Aunt Elsie) onhaving for once acted with such eminent good sense. But either he didnot do it in the most tactful manner, or he found his sister in anunfortunate mood, for it appeared from his own account of it that, afterthe brightest preliminaries, she had proceeded to air her most obnoxiousviews; views which, as he pensively declared, he had smitten hip andthigh and put utterly to rout more than once; and he ended his report ofthe interview with an expression of irritated wonder as to how soamiable a girl as Esther Northmore ever came to be a favorite with herAunt Katharine Saxon.
But there was one person who found it even harder than he to understandthe partiality. This was Kate; and in her the wonder was mingled with asort of resentment which she could not throw off. She alone of thehousehold had not rejoiced when her sister came in that night with theannouncement of the invitation which seemed to her such great goodfortune. There was no touch of envy in it. To the exclamation of all,"If Kate could only stay, too!" she had responded with perfect honesty,"I don't want to. I've had a splendid time here; but I'm about ready togo home now, and I wouldn't stay away longer than we planned if Icould."
It was none of her business perhaps,--she said it to herself again andagain,--but she did not like the growing influence which Aunt Katharinewas gaining over Esther. It did not matter so much while the intimacywas thought to be only passing, and going home lay in the near distance,but to leave her sister behind, within touch of this masterful spirit,and all the more open to her influence through receiving her favors,_this_ was a prospect before which Kate chafed with a growinguneasiness. That thing which Tom had told her so long ago, which hadonly amused her then, that Aunt Katharine had said she would leave hermoney to that one of her female relatives who would promise never tomarry, came back to her now to vex and trouble her. That the woman woulddefinitely make so bald a proposal, or that the girl would definitelyaccept it, were suggestions which at moments seemed too foolish toentertain; she could brush them aside with scorn; and then, in some newform, they would come creeping back. If not a definite proposal, aformal promise, there might be tacit understanding, something whichwould rest upon the girl and bind her as subtly as any pledge. PoorKate! She could not even understand her own state of mind. Was it loveof Esther? Was it thought of Morton Elwell, and a haunting sense of ahope which she felt sure he carried deep in his heart? Or was it simplythe revolt of a spirit as stout as Aunt Katharine's own against thepossibility of any bondage, for her sister as for herself?
As the days went on--the days before the letter came from home whichfinally settled the question--she grew restless and depressed. Even thedisputes with Tom fell off, and he rallied her sometimes on her lack ofspirit.
"I believe it's the notion of going West again that makes you so down inthe mouth, for all you pretend you're so keen to go," he said to heronce, as they were tramping home in the late afternoon from thewood-lot, where they had gone in search of sassafras.
She tossed her head. "You know better," she said, "and between ourselvesand the post you aren't so very lively yourself lately. I believe you'dlike to go home with me and grow up with the West a while."
They exchanged a good-natured laugh. There was no denying that therewere moments when the thought of parting with his cousin Kate reallydepressed Tom Saxon. She had the next word, and she said it withunaffected seriousness.
"Honestly, Tom, I don't know what ails me. If I could have a goodout-and-out cry I believe I could get over it; but there isn't anythingreally to cry about. I'll tell you how I do sometimes at home, when Ifeel blue. I get down Dickens, and read, the death of little Nell, orhow they killed Sydney Carton, or something awfully harrowing like that,you know, and then I have it out and feel better. But you haven't gotDickens here," she added ruefully.
"Grandfather's got Foxe's 'Book of Martyrs,'" said Tom, grinning, andthen he added, in a tone of curiosity, "Do _you_ cry over books?" It wasa feminine weakness which he had not suspected of Kate.
"Cry!" she repeated. "Yes, I do; and I don't care who knows it. I'lltell you how I got through 'Nicholas Nickleby.' It used me up so everytime I read how Squeers treated those poor fellows in his school that Icouldn't stand it. Well, I knew he got his come-up-ance from Nicholas inthe end, so every time I read one of those mean places, I'd just turnahead and read how Nicholas flogged him. I reckon I must have read thatscene a dozen times before I fairly came to it, and it did me more goodevery time. I believe that story would have killed me if I hadn't."
There was plenty of fight in Kate. Tom had known that for some time.That there were tears, too, need not have surprised any one but a boy,and he liked her none the less for it. She gave a long sigh, and cameback to her own troubles. The sympathetic tone in which Tom said, "Iwish I could do something for you," was a comfort in itself, and theneed of talking to some one drew her on.
"Right down at the bottom of it, Tom, I suppose it's the thought ofgoing home without Esther; and yet it isn't because I hate to leave herbehind. I shall miss her, of course; but I could stand that. She was offat school a whole year and I didn't pine for her so dreadfully much.But--but it's Aunt Katharine! Tom, I can't bear to have Esther get sointimate with Aunt Katharine."
She had actually said it now, and for the rest of the way home shepoured out her heart with a girlish freedom. Perhaps her feelings grewmore clear to herself as she tried to make them plain to him. Heunderstood better than she expected, and fully agreed with her as to theundesirability of Aunt Katharine's "making a slave of Esther"; but hethought her fears on this point much exaggerated, and it was good advicethat he gave her as they neared the house.
"If I was in your place I wouldn't worry about it. I guess AuntKatharine's got some sense if she _is_ so cranky. And Esther's oldenough to know what she's about. Just leave her alone to get sick ofsome of those notions herself before she's done with 'em, and you easeup on the fretting. It doesn't do a bit of good, anyhow."
She really meant to "ease up." Tom's opinion on the last point wasdistinctly sound, but the old disquiet had possession of her againwithin five minutes from the time that conversation ended. The letterhad come from home--she learned it as she entered the house--giving heartyconsent that Esther should remain in New England, and the girl wasalready off to carry the word to Aunt Katharine. She had said she wouldbe back soon, but no one really expected it, and supper was over beforethey saw her coming across the fields. Kate, who was watching, saw herfirst, and slipping out of the house hurried to meet her.
She had brought happy thoughts from Aunt Katharine's, happy and serioustoo, it would seem from the look in her face, and they occupied her sointently that she had almost met her sister before she saw her coming.Then she put out both her hands with an eager greeting.
"I'm so glad you've come," she said. "I wanted to talk it over a littleby ourselves." She slipped her arm through Kate's, and turned back intothe darkening fields. "You weren't surprised at what the letter said,were you? I was sorry you weren't there when it came; but I had to takeit down to Aunt Katharine, for it was partly to her, and I couldn'twait."
"No, I wasn't surprised. I felt sure they'd let you stay," said Kate,and then she added, "I do hope you'll have a good time, Esthe
r, andenjoy everything as much as you expect to."
She had made an effort to speak heartily, but there was such a sobernote in her voice that Esther's face clouded, and she looked quickly ather sister. "If you were only going to be here too, Kate, it would beperfect," she said. "I shall be wishing all the way along that you werein the good times with me. And if you hadn't said so positively that youwanted to go home, I should have felt like proposing to Aunt Katharineto cut my time in Boston in two and let us be there together for alittle while."
"I shouldn't have thanked you for it if you had," said Kate, a suddenimpatience leaping into her voice. Then, with a bitterness she ought tohave kept down, she added, "I don't like Aunt Katharine, and I don'twant her favors."
The look in Esther's face changed. "You don't do Aunt Katharine justice,Kate," she said. "Nobody does here. She isn't hateful and hard-hearted,as you all seem to think. She's good and kind and true--oh, so true! Ibelieve she'd do more and give more than any other person I ever saw tobring about what she thinks is right. I don't know, I'm sure, how shecame to like me, but I know why I like her. I admire her and I love her,and there's nobody in the world I'd rather take a favor from than AuntKatharine."
Kate set her teeth hard. She had prejudiced everything she had meant tosay by the heat with which she had spoken. She was silent a moment, thenshe said almost piteously: "I don't wonder she likes you. But I may aswell be honest, Esther; I do hate to see her getting such an influenceover you. It's all well enough to admire her for standing up for her ownopinions, but I don't see how _you_ can fall in with some of them. Idon't see how you can bear it to hear her talk so bitterly against theways we've always been used to. And especially I don't see how you canstand it to hear her run down the men as she does."
"I don't agree with all her opinions," said Esther, quickly, "but I cansee how she comes to hold them, and she doesn't always talk as harshlyas you think. But it isn't her opinions any way; it's her own self thatI care about."
"And you'll end by wanting to look at everything just as she does,because you like her so much and feel so indebted to her," said Kate.Then, with an accent that was fairly tragic, she added: "Oh, she knowsit, she knows it, and that's what she wants to keep you here for! She'llend by wanting you never to marry, and offering to leave you all hermoney if you'll promise not to do it."
Esther drew her arm away from her sister, and the flush that swept overher face was plain even in the twilight. "I think you'd better leave allthat to Aunt Katharine and me. It doesn't strike me as coming under yourcharge," she said proudly. And then the coldness in her voice meltedwith a sudden heat as she added: "But suppose I _should_ come to seethings as she does--suppose I _should_ come to take a different view oflife from what I did once, what then? I'll go where my honestconvictions lead me. It's my right and my duty, and I shall do it."
It sounded very brave and solemn in the twilight. A whippoorwill fromthe woods behind Aunt Katharine's house had the only word that followed,and he called it across the stillness with a long soft cadence thatsounded like a wail.
They turned their faces to the house and walked toward it withoutspeaking. It was a relief to both when Stella came out to meet them.
"I thought you were never coming," she said to Esther. "Dear me, I shallbe glad when I get you in Boston, with Aunt Katharine too far away touse her magnet on you."
A half hour later Kate was in conference with Tom again. She had calledhim into the shadows of the barn, and her voice was almost a whisper asshe said:--
"Tom, I want you to wake me up to-morrow morning when you come down todo the milking. I'm going to make a call before breakfast."
Tom gave a low whistle. "At that time in the morning! Where are yougoing?" he demanded.
"To Aunt Katharine's," she said.
Tom gave another whistle, this time a louder one. "Great Scott!" heejaculated. "So you're going to keep it right up, are you?"
"I'm going to keep it up till I've had one good square talk with her,"said Kate, with decision. "Very likely it's none of my business,--you'vetold me that, and so has Esther,--but she's tremendously clear that she'sgot to follow her conscience where it leads her, and mine leads _me_right down there to Aunt Katharine's. I can't go home without doing it,and there's only a week longer for me to stay, so I may as well taketime by the forelock."
"I should think it was taking time by the forelock with a vengeance togo down there at five o'clock. Why don't you go at a reasonable hour?"growled Tom.
Kate was losing patience. "Because I don't want Esther to know I'mgoing," she said. "If I go later she might happen to come in while I'mthere, or she might ask me where I'd been. No, I've made up my mind togo before breakfast, and all you have to do is to wake me up."
"I'd like to know how I'm going to do it without waking her, too," hesaid.
"Oh, I'll fix that part," she replied, beginning to smile a little. "Ofcourse you can't pound on the door; but I've got a trick worth two ofthat. I'll tie a string round my wrist and let the end hang out of thewindow. Then, when you come by, you can pull it and that'll wake me up.I waked a girl that way once, on Fourth of July (only the string wasround her ankle), and she slept so like a log that she said I almostpulled her out of the window before she was fairly awake. But youneedn't be afraid of pulling me out. Just give a twitch and I shall feelit. I sleep on the front side."
"All right," said Tom, and then he could not help adding, "but I'll tellyou now that your going down there won't do a bit of good, and you'dbetter keep out of it."
"It'll do _me_ good to free my mind," said Kate. "And after that I meanto take your advice, Tom, and quit worrying."
The allusion to his advice was gratifying. Tom agreed to administer thetwitch at half-past four the next morning, and they separated, feelinglike a pair of conspirators, Kate at least clear in the opinion that shewas conspiring for the good of humanity.
She lay awake so long that night, turning in her mind what she would sayto Aunt Katharine, and never getting it settled, for the singular reasonthat she could never foresee what Aunt Katharine would say next, that itseemed to her she had not been asleep at all when there came theappointed signal in the cool of the morning. For a moment she had apassing dream that some one was trying to amputate her hand with awood-saw, then it all came back to her. Her eyes flew open, and shecrept stealthily out of bed. A flutter of the curtain showed Tom she wasastir, but after that there was as little flutter as possible.
She slipped into her clothes as noiselessly as a ghost, with fearfulglances at Esther, who slept on in serene oblivion of the plot againsther, carried her shoes in her hand to the foot of the stairs, and wentout through the kitchen, where even Aunt Elsie had not yet made herappearance. At the barn she paused a minute for a word with Tom and acup of new milk, then flew down the lane, anxious still lest some one,looking unseasonably from the house, should see her, till the bend ofthe first hill hid her from view.
Some one has acutely remarked that people who break their usual habitsby rising very early in the morning are apt to be a little conceited inthe first part of the day and somewhat stupid in the last. There wascertainly no lack of self-assurance in Kate Northmore, as she took thatwalk across the dewy fields, with the fresh air blowing on her face, andthe twitter of birds sounding from the woods. Not till she actuallystood at Aunt Katharine's threshold was there any tremor of her nervesor any flutter at her heart.
Miss Saxon herself answered the knock, and a look of something likealarm came into her face as she saw the caller. "Is anybody sick at yourhouse?" she asked quickly.
Kate had not foreseen the question. "No," she said, taken a littleaback. "Nobody's sick, but I wanted to see you, and I thought I'd comeearly."
"I should think so," ejaculated the old woman, her face relaxing into agrim sort of a smile. "Well, come in and se' down."
She had no notion of preparing the way for the announcement of apressing errand, or of hindering it by any observations of her own, andshe took the chair opposite
Kate's with her hands clasped on the top ofher cane, waiting in perfect silence for the girl to begin.
Kate's heart began to thump now, and her mouth felt suddenly dry. "I'mgoing home in a week," she said, "and I--I wanted to talk about somethingwith you before I went." And then suddenly she stopped. There was aqueer sort of clutch at her throat, and for a minute she could not goon.
The old woman's eyebrows bent themselves into a puzzled frown. "Well,"she said at last, "you hain't favored me with much of your company thissummer. If you've got any particular reason for coming now, I s'pose youknow what 'tis."
The sharpness of her tone brought Kate back to herself. "Yes'm I do,"she said, "and it's about Esther. You've asked her to stay here andshe's going to do it--no, I don't want to stay myself,"--she threw inquickly. "I'm ready to go home; but _she_ wants to. She thinks it'sglorious." And then she stopped again, that unaccountable clutch at thethroat coming for a second time.
"And you don't want her to do it? Is that what you're driving at?" saidAunt Katharine. She was in no mood now for delays.
"I should just as lief she'd do it as not--I want her to have a goodtime," cried Kate, "if--if you only wouldn't try to make her think as youdo about some things."
It was out now, and the clutch at her throat relaxed.
"Oh," said Miss Saxon. There was a volume of meaning in the monosyllableas she spoke it, and then her face grew cold and sharp as an icicle."What things?"
It was really a pity that Kate was not better informed as to her aunt'speculiar views. But she caught at the one which had offended her most,and thrust it forward roughly. "About hating everything, especially themen," she cried, "and not wanting girls to be married. They say you wantto leave your money to somebody who'll promise to stay single all herlife."
Miss Saxon started, and a faint pink color rose in her cheeks, old andwrinkled as they were. "Did your sister tell you that?" she demanded.
"No," said Kate, "I don't know as she ever heard of it till I told her.I told her last night, and how I felt about it, too."
"And she said--?" queried Miss Saxon. The pink was still in her cheeks.
"Well," said Kate--she hesitated a moment and then looked straight at thequestioner--"she as good as said it was none of my business, and she'd dowhat she thought was right whatever came of it."
"Ah!" said Aunt Katharine, with an accent of relief. "And I presume youdidn't tell her that you were coming here this morning. I see now whyyou came so early." She looked at her niece with a faint sarcasticsmile, then said coldly, "I am very fond of your sister."
The words sounded somehow like a threat. The blood mounted in Kate'sface, and she clinched her hands on the sides of her chair. "I know it,"she said, "and so is every one else fond of her. Grandfather likes herjust as much as you do. Perhaps it's new for you to care for a girl asyou care for her, but it's no new thing for Esther. It's been the wayever since she was little."
The bearing of the fact on Kate's ground of quarrel with her aunt wasperhaps not clear, but some fine wrinkles gathered in Miss Saxon'sforehead.
"And does Esther like everybody?" she asked, with a returning sharpness.
"She keeps it to herself if she doesn't," said Kate. "She's kind toeverybody--most everybody," she added, with a sudden remembrance of theone person to whom Esther had not of late seemed always kind. "Andthat's how she gets into trouble, making everybody like her, with hersoft pleasant ways and saying nice things. Oh, I've had to stand up forher so many times to keep her from being imposed on! I'm standing up forher now," she went on passionately. "It's your _ideas_ you care about,and you want her to take up with them, whether they'll make her happy ornot. But I care for _her_, and I want to make you stop."
The old woman's face had grown as tense as a drawn bow. "So you think myideas are getting hold of her, do you?" she asked.
"_She_ thinks they are," cried Kate, "but I don't believe it. I believeit's just because she thinks so much of you. But if she _should_ come tofeel as you do about all those things, what good would it do? Shecouldn't fight for them. Do you think there's any fight in EstherNorthmore?" She threw out her hand with an impatient gesture. "Oh, theysay you're so clever! But you're not clever at all if you think _that_.She'd bear things till they broke her heart before she'd fight."
Miss Saxon's lips were drawn tight, and her eyes narrowed to a brightdark line, as if these side-lights that Kate had been throwing onEsther's character had blinded her a little. She did not speak for amoment, and the girl went on hotly, even fiercely.
"You talk about wanting women to be so free and independent, but youwant to bind Esther to those ideas of yours and make her carry them out.I'll tell you what would be the end of it if she should come into yourplan. She'd stand by what she promised, but 'twould kill her. She's madefor loving, and for caring about the things we've always cared about,and she wouldn't be happy any other way. She isn't that kind."
Aunt Katharine's lips parted now. They seemed to be as dry as Kate's hadbeen a little while ago. She leaned forward on her cane and asked aquestion slowly. "You pretend to know so much about your sister, tellme, do you think there's anybody she cares for now?"
Kate dropped her head for a moment, but it was no time for evasions. Theexcitement and strain of the situation were too much for her at last."No, I don't," she said, with the tears springing into her eyes. "Butthere's somebody that cares a sight for her; and if she should ever cometo care for him she'd be a thousand times happier than she'd ever bewith anything _you_ could do for her. Oh, if you should make herpromise--if you should leave your money to her--I should hate you as longas I live, and she would hate you, too, after a while."
Miss Katharine Saxon rose from her seat. She had not been as straight inyears, but she trembled from head to foot as she stood there facing thegirl.
"Katharine Northmore,--for you're my namesake, if you do hate me,--" shesaid slowly, "you've said enough. You took upon yourself to do a veryimpertinent thing when you came down here to give instructions to me. Ishall walk by the light I've got, and do my duty as I see it, by myselfand your sister too. Now go home. And you needn't be afraid I shall tellEsther you were here. I shan't shame her nor myself by ever speaking ofit."
But when she was left alone she sank back in her chair, and there wasalmost a sob in her voice as she said, "If it were only _that_ girl whosaw things as I see them!"
Wheat and Huckleberries; Or, Dr. Northmore's Daughters Page 12