She descended to pleading: “Now, Edward Briggs, do let me by! Laura, can’t you persuade him?”
The minutes were flying fast. She heard more steps above and men’s voices. In spite of her distracted conviction that she must get up to Margaret at any price and warn her, she was still restrained by the thought that a too wild insistence might arouse at least curiosity.
“Do sit down, Mary!” was all she got out of Mrs. Briggs, from behind the back of Daisy, whose gown she was fastening. And then Dr. Newcome and Dr. Armstrong appeared above, and came down.
Then did Mr. Briggs withdraw his hands and step aside, his hospitable soul well pleased.
“These are old friends of yours, Miss Yale — you remember our pleasant summer in Notchville, surely? Dr. Newcome, and Dr. Armstrong — Miss Yale. Such a pleasure, these reunions! Such a pleasure!”
He stood there smiling cordially, rubbing his large hands together, while Dr. Newcome shook hands warmly — he had always liked Miss Yale; and Dr. Armstrong was at least urbane in his greeting — which was more than could be said for her.
Mrs. Briggs was watching rather nervously, but her husband seemed as pleased as if he had devised a special treat for his friends. Then Dolly’s eager little voice was heard, with soft steps behind her, and Miss Yale cast an anguished look above, but could not even catch Margaret’s eye — she was looking at the child — and they all silently watched the picture of the two descending. Not till they reached the lower landing and turned to face them did she see what was before her.
For one swift instant a shudder ran through her from head to heel; she caught at the newels on either side and stood motionless, a little fixed smile on her lips, her color ebbing. But it was only a second; her eyes never wavered; her cheeks warmed again; she drew Dolly more closely to her and came down serenely.
Miss Yale was dumb, first with sheer terror, then with breathless admiration. Daisy and her mother came forward to make introductions, but Mr. Briggs anticipated them all.
“Let me have the pleasure, Dr. Yale,” he cried. “Allow me to present Dr. Henry Newcome, of Boston, and Dr. Dick Armstrong, of the same city. What a fine time all you distinguished professionals will have, to be sure! Talking shop! Talking shop!”
In the back of Miss Yale’s mind burned a sudden wish that the Reverend Edward Briggs might be mercifully removed — at once — to a great distance. But Margaret came forward, calmly, graciously, making her graceful foreign little bow, speaking with her scarcely perceptible foreign little accent:
“I have heard of Dr. Newcome’s beautiful work with children, and Dr. Armstrong’s name is also familiar. But I think I can promise not to talk shop.”
She stood there, quiet, queenly, all eyes admiring her, even to Dolly’s, whose young heart had been rewon by loving gifts; and then the situation was relieved by the soft, chiming gong.
“Now we’ll go to dinner,” their hostess announced. “Edward, will you take Dr. Yale? And Dr. Newcome — Miss Yale.”
Dr. Armstrong followed with Daisy, and Mrs. Briggs, still anxious lest her friend should be impolite to her possible son-in-law, followed them out.
9. Developments
The dinner was an excellent one, but the appetites of the ladies last arrived proved disappointing. Their amiable host, carving lavishly, grieved at their indifference.
“Don’t worry them, Edward,” his wife protested. “I don’t doubt they’re too tired to eat. I’m sure I should be.”
“That is often the case,” Dr. Newcome agreed. “A few days in this air will make a change, though. You’ve not been here in a long time, Miss Yale, have you?”
Margaret cast a swift, grateful glance at him, but he was looking only at his neighbor.
“Not for several years,” she admitted briefly, seeming hardly better able to talk than to eat. Never in her fifty-odd years had she been placed in a position of such sharp anxiety, and if she felt it so keenly, what must it be for her beloved daughter! She watched her with feverish anxiety, yet tried not to appear watching.
Only Daisy was between Margaret and Dr. Armstrong. Miss Yale was opposite, and as she observed the two young women, with that man sitting between Daisy and her mother, a welcome guest, her long-felt sense of horror at ordinary social standards increased momently.
Daisy chattered sweetly, evidently favorably impressed with the young visitor, and Margaret responded with such steady quiet and good cheer that the heart of her adoptive mother lightened somewhat. Mrs. Briggs was studying Margaret; that, Miss Yale had expected. She knew her friend well enough to almost read her mind, and could note with pleasure its guarded approval — approval of the girl’s quiet dress, her lack of jewels, her smooth hair that evidently sought to diminish its own beauty. She by no means outshone Daisy, who was particularly well dressed that night, and wore a flush of happiness that was most becoming to her. Neither did the distinguished young woman bear herself with any hint of the honors which had befallen her, nor yet — and here Mrs. Briggs kept careful watch — did she seek in the least to converse with either of the younger men, but devoted herself with gentle courtesy to Mr. Briggs on her left, and to Daisy on her right with real cordiality.
Daisy was unusually brilliant, too, her mother thought; unusually pleasant and gay with Dr. Armstrong and with Dr. Newcome as well; but her mother’s satisfaction in this cheerfulness was not wholly unalloyed. Her main concern was with Mary Yale. She had not spoken once to Dr. Armstrong, but then, neither had he to her — it might be an accident. She was occupying herself in the main with Dolly, who sat beside her, and with Dr. Newcome, her other neighbor.
But good Mr. Briggs had no mind to let slip what seemed to him a delightful coincidence.
“To think ten years ago we were all around one table!” said he, smiling broadcast. “That is — all but these young ladies beside me.”
Dolly gazed at him seriously over her spoon; Margaret met his eyes with a quiet smile. Miss Yale’s heart gave a bound and sank ominously.
“Ten years is a long time,” said Margaret, pleasantly. “And have you never been together since?”
“Not all of us, my dear young lady, not all of us. And there was one other — Gerald was with us then. It was a pity we could not ask him in, was it not, my dear?”
“Oh, Gerald understood. He always was a sensible boy,” answered Daisy eagerly — too eagerly, her mother thought.
“Ten years ago!” persisted their host, beaming upon them like a well-fed Buddha. “And we were all eating huckleberries together!”
“Did you have huckleberries in Europe, Dr. Yale?” suddenly asked Newcome. “I have heard that the real huckleberry of our New England hills is found only in this country.”
Margaret was not sure, but at least she thought he was right; still there were such abundant himmelberreen — and erdberreen —
“And gooseberries in England,” Miss Yale broke in firmly. “Such gooseberries as you never saw! I remember a costermonger’s cartful — purple and big as plums.”
“In northern Siberia,” said Dr. Newcome, “up there on the tundra, they have three kinds of berries at once — I forget their names — it’s a regular bird boardinghouse. Did you ever hear of that inquisitive Englishman who tracked the migrating birds up there?”
They never had, and he launched forth upon that tale and many others, winning the heartfelt gratitude of two of his hearers, at least.
For an hour that dinner lasted. Margaret continued cheerful and ready; Dr. Newcome kept the conversation well diversified; Daisy, vivacious and friendly, tried to rouse her beloved “Aunt Mary” with affectionate pleasantries; but Dr. Armstrong seemed rather quieter than usual. Mrs. Briggs endeavored to cheer him, and to draw Daisy’s attention in his direction, while Miss Yale, in the seclusion of her own mind, kept up a running fight over the incredibility of the situation. She answered questions at haphazard, making little Dolly gurgle in her glass of milk when Mr. Briggs asked how long she had been in crossing and Miss Yale repl
ied tragically: “Ten years!”
Margaret darted a sympathetic glance at her and soothingly added: “I’m sure it seemed ten years to both of us. We had head winds — and something ailed one of the propellers, I believe. Do you enjoy ocean travel, Mr. Briggs?”
Mr. Briggs rejoined at considerable length that he did; that, furthermore, one could enjoy everything if one gave one’s mind to it; and, lastly, that it was a duty — one of our chiefest duties — to enjoy life. “Except on occasions like the present,” he added blandly, “when enjoyment is so inevitable that it can hardly be called a duty.” This remark fell rather flat.
Then Newcome started a defense of Stoicism as against Hedonism, Armstrong in opposition, Daisy hopping from one side to the other with commendable agility, and Margaret partly siding with Armstrong, to Miss Yale’s amazement. Around and around in that lady’s mind ran the question: “Does he know her?” Generally she applied it to Armstrong, watching him, lynx-eyed; studying every glance, every tone, every gesture; trying to read his thoughts by what he said and what he did not say. Occasionally she turned her searchlight on Dr. Newcome, but he was so steadily cheerful and conversational that he gave her but little anxiety. Now and then the reverend gentleman at the head of the table made some remark that set an unerring finger upon the uneasy center of her thoughts, and she would fix her eyes on him in sudden terror.
But no, he was as bland and calm as a Hindu idol; his well-meant words fell upon spots sensitive and insensitive, guiltless of intention.
Mrs. Briggs was plainly unknowing; that was to be seen even in her evident watch on Margaret. She was not watching her with suspicion, but with the full acceptance of her present place, and a jealous fear lest she prove too attractive.
Daisy was evidently in the clutch of a swift and growing admiration. She listened appreciatively to Margaret’s words, and as appreciatively studied her beauty, her changing color that paled and glowed with the shifting talk, her rich hair, her quietly perfect gown.
And Miss Yale, watching her also, caught her breath in aching sympathy again and again, as she saw her sitting there, confronted with all these she had known before in the crisis of her bitter girlhood, with her child, and the father of her child, unknown, at the same table.
It was a terrible dinner — for two, at least — but dragged on to its replete and decorous end. At last Mrs. Briggs rose, pushing back her chair, and they left the men to smoke. With a keen sense of relief the door closed between them; it was only a moment, but that was something.
They spread and moved here and there in the pleasant hall, Daisy still admiringly close to Margaret, while Mrs. Briggs made a place for the coffee tray, and Miss Yale planned for a way of escape. Dolly softly seized a book and sought the shelter of the corner beyond the stair, but without avail.
“Now Dolly,” said Mrs. Briggs. “Here’s your lump of sugar. Come and get it, my dear.”
The child slid from the seat and came forward.
“Be sure and brush your teeth well,” pursued the lady, “and then, bed!”
Margaret gave a little start. She had been meaning to go and sit in that corner, too, and continue her siege to the child’s heart. “So soon?” she said, in spite of herself.
“Now, Dr. Yale, do not upset the child’s excellent habits. It is kind of you, of course — but I must think of her.”
“But it is such a pleasure to have her with us.” It seemed to Margaret that she could not bear to have that little face look grieved, to have her go.
Mrs. Briggs smiled politely, but remained firm. “Ah!” she replied. “You see you are not a mother — we must think of the child’s good.”
Miss Yale leaned forward as if to shield Margaret from a blow. “Come, come, Laura! It won’t hurt Dolly to sit up a bit longer. This is an unusual occasion. Come here, Dorothy — wouldn’t you like to sit up a little longer, just for tonight?”
Miss Dorothy was greatly pleased with the situation. It was tempting to be allowed to sit up for a while longer, but it was also tempting to show how nobly virtuous was her soul. She looked from one to the other and calmly announced: “I’m going to bed. I can go by the clock, even if you don’t tell me. And I can undress in one minute, if I don’t have to wash.”
“Good girl!” approved Mrs. Briggs. “You can call Eliza to help you.”
“Do let me!” offered Margaret, starting forward. “I’ll go with her — I’d love to.”
“Oh, not at all,” Mrs. Briggs insisted. “It’s entirely unnecessary.”
“I don’t need anybody,” proclaimed the superior young person from the stairs. “I can do it all myself.”
“But you’ll let — Margaret come — this time?” Her young mother stood below her, trying to keep her voice quite gentle and steady, and Miss Dolly graciously consented:
“Oh, yes, you can come if you want to.” She began to ascend, taking two slow steps at a time.
Miss Yale, who had been walking up and down uncertainly, came forward to accompany them, but Margaret’s murmured “No, dear — please — I want her so!” held her back. She nodded and stood still, watching the two go up together.
Mrs. Briggs stirred her coffee. “Well, Mary, I am glad to see that you have picked two successes — out of your procession of failures. Though Dolly is young yet to call her a success,” she added.
“Why, Mother,” Daisy protested, coming to sit on the arm of a big chair and dragging Miss Yale into it. “I’m sure Aunt Mary’s Polish musician was very interesting — and that little girl who was so sure she could paint.”
“And couldn’t! Your mother is right, Daisy. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. But these two are good enough to make up for it. Margaret alone is.”
“She is, indeed! I think she is just lovely, Aunt Mary. I like her immensely. I don’t wonder you’re proud of her. But you don’t look as happy as you ought to, tonight, seems to me.”
Miss Yale sat straighter at this, and laboriously brightened up. “Don’t I?” she inquired. “I’m sure I ought to!” and she laughed rather grimly.
“She’s tired, of course, Daisy,” her mother interposed. “They are both tired. It is a very tiring trip up here — we will all go to bed early.”
“I don’t think Dr. Yale is tired,” the girl persisted. “I never saw anybody so brilliant.”
“A very clever young woman, undoubtedly,” her mother agreed. “You must remember that she has had a good deal of experience, my dear.”
“I wish I’d had some of her experience, then,” protested Daisy.
“Time enough, child. You are young yet.”
At which Miss Yale promptly responded: “So is Margaret!”
“Oh, well, Mary, you can’t compare the two. Daisy has been so sheltered. Of course you have done what you could for Margaret, and done well — very well, indeed; but she was seventeen when you adopted her, wasn’t she?”
“Near it,” admitted her friend.
“And character is often pretty well formed at that age,” Mrs. Briggs pursued. In the back of her mind rose the proverb: “You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear,” and that horticultural difficulty about figs and thistles which Mr. Burbank had robbed of its terrors, but she did not in the least wish to offend Miss Yale, and neither did she consider Margaret as resembling either the animal or vegetable illustration.
Daisy was still a warm protagonist. “It must have been formed uncommonly well, then. I think she’s just splendid, Aunt Mary. I’m in love with her already.”
Miss Yale at this gave her an approving kiss. “You are a good child, Daisy — you always were. I thought you’d like Margaret — and I know she likes you.”
The girl rose from her perch and flitted here and there from window to door.
“Let’s come out on the porch for a while,” she suggested. “There’s a moon coming up — it’s going to be lovely.”
“Take a wrap, then,” urged her mother. “And get one for me and your aunt. Right there in the window seat�
�”
Miss Yale stopped her. “Not for me,” she said. “You two can parade there — I want some more coffee. No, Laura — I’ll help myself — I’d rather — go along, do!” She put the shawl around Mrs. Briggs’s shoulders and closed the door on them.
“I’ve got to breathe!” she said to herself, stirring her coffee with mechanical precision. “And I’ve got to get hold of Margaret — now’s my time!” She set down her cup on the corner of the mantelpiece, and went swiftly but softly to the stairs, but a sound from above arrested her — a sweet and simple sound, low-toned and tender — a mother’s lullaby to her child. The tears sprang to Miss Yale’s eyes. “Oh, the poor thing!” she murmured. “It’s harder when she’s with her than when she isn’t, I do believe!”
It was hard. Margaret had gone up with the sedate child; had tried to help her undress and found her offers disdained. Dorothy was friendly but firm.
“I can do it,” she insisted. “I can do it all. I’ve been able to button and unbutton in the back since I was five — don’t you remember?”
So her mother sat and watched her hungrily, admiring the erect, vigorous little figure, the neat attire so dexterously wiggled out of and hung upon chairs, and by no means appreciative of the child’s evident desire to make a record.
“There!” said Miss Dolly, bouncing into bed with her nightdress still unbuttoned. “I’m in — and it wasn’t two minutes, was it?”
It was two minutes and five seconds by the morsel of a watch Margaret had bought her, and she now solemnly wound it, delighted with the faint clicking and the “feel” of the little winder. Her mother showed her how to set it, in case it should happen to stop:
“But you must learn to wind it regularly, dear — every night or every morning — morning is really best.”
“Why?”
“Because we get up at about the same time, but we go to bed more irregularly. Still you go to bed regularly enough, don’t you, precious? So you can do it at night. You’ll remember better perhaps when you take it off.”
Complete Works of Charlotte Perkins Gilman Page 61