The Wyndham Girls

by Marion Ames Taggart

  CHAPTER II

  FRIENDS, COUNSELORS, AND PLANS

  The evening turned cool and damp, with the unreliability of May. Mrs.Wyndham was too ill to rise; the doctor had given her sedatives, andshe slept in utter exhaustion. Jessamy, Phyllis, and Barbara dinedlightly alone; no one had any desire for food, although the cook sentup the dishes dearest to each young palate, hoping to tempt her youngladies to forget sorrow enough to eat. But this very kindness on thepart of Sally below stairs, combined with Violet's positively tragicefforts to be cheerful while she served them, brought sobs into thethree throats, and defeated the end of their good will.

  After dinner the three girls carried their burdens to Jessamy's room,where an acceptable wood fire was burning. The great house was amplylarge enough to afford a room for each of the young Wyndhams to occupyunshared. Phyllis's and Bab's were on the third floor, connected bydressing-rooms; Jessamy's was next her mother's, over the dining-room,on the second. Each room expressed, as rooms always do, the characterof its occupant. Phyllis's was cheery, yet beautiful, with simpleelegance and plenty of space. Her pictures were good, but not all thevery highest art; "literary pictures," those which told a story, werenot lacking, and many of the photographs, abounding everywhere, wereportraits of literary people. The room was lined with low bookcases,and books crowded the tables and the desk.

  Barbara's room was an anomaly. Bright Eastern colors gave the generaleffect of a field of poppies on entering. Pictures of animals, castsof Barye's splendid beasts abounded, with Luca della Robbia's happycherubs, and a copy of D?rer's portrait of Stephan Paumg?rtner, andRembrandt's "Lesson in Anatomy" to prove how many-sided little Bab wasthus far in her development. A small upright piano, with a guitar andmandolin lying on its top, between busts of Paderewski and Beethoven,testified truly that she was the most musical girl of the three.

  Jessamy's room was all soft greens and moss browns as to color.Her pictures were chosen for beauty alone, and that of the highestsort. Copies of Botticelli's "Triumph of Spring," his lovely Madonnain the National Gallery, some of Holbein's glorious portraits, twoCorots, Carpaccio's "Dream of St. Ursula," Donatello casts, as well asantiques, demonstrated at a glance that the eye of an artist had chosenthem to rest upon. But, revealing the corresponding side of Jessamy'snature, were softest down cushions heaped on a divan, dainty toiletaccessories in ivory and gold, carved chairs of slumbrous depths,flowers in delicate green Venetian glasses, and, above all, volumesof poems, with Thomas ? Kempis and the "Celestial City" on the standnearest the bed; for Jessamy loved perfect beauty, and turned naturallyto its highest ideals and expression.

  Into this half-studio, half-chamber, and wholly beautiful room thethree girls crept after dinner, drawing their chairs close to the fireand speaking softly, not to disturb Mrs. Wyndham in the next room.

  "The only thing for us to do is to find out what we can live on, andthen make our plans. If we haven't quite enough money, we must earn itin some way," said Jessamy, with her most mature and responsible air.

  "I think the very first thing of all is to find out what that incomewill be, and Mr. Hurd says we can't know positively until after thesale," said practical Phyllis. "And the next and most awful thing is tofind out what we can do. I doubt if we know anything thoroughly enoughto earn money by it."

  "Do? Why, we'll do anything!" cried Bab. "Jessamy draws and paintsbeautifully, you are all kinds of a genius, and I--oh, there are lotsof things I could do if I tried. Some girls make ever so much money;I'm sure we sha'n't have any trouble when we are once started."

  "We have some talents between us, but I am afraid they're trainedonly well enough for the admiration of ourselves and our friends;when it comes to getting something more solid than flattery for ourcleverness--well, I'm afraid! I can't help seeing that Jessamy's work,though it is talented, is amateurish. Bab plays, and burns things withher pokers, to our delight; but she can't play like a person who hasbeen grinding at music in earnest six or eight hours a day. And as tome, when I write a story you think it is great, but I see it lackssomething. It may be correct English and a good idea, but it is notworth money because of the thing that isn't in it; and I suspect thatquality is the mark of training and experience," said Phyllis, sadly.

  "I don't see why you try to discourage us, Phyl," said Bab, in anaggrieved tone. "I think we ought to bolster each other up."

  "And I think we ought to face facts, and that as soon as we can," saidPhyllis, firmly. "We've lived so far in a dream. I've been thinkinghard all the afternoon, and I've realized how cruel such cases as oursare. There was auntie, left with great wealth and no more businessknowledge than a baby. And here are we, three girls with brains enoughto be useful and enough money to have had a practical training in somedirection, no more ready to meet emergencies than so many kittens. Wecouldn't compete with tenement-house girls, with all our advantages andtheir drawbacks."

  "Phyllis is right," said Jessamy, with conviction. "Still, we mustcompete if we must."

  "She is not right; I'm sure we can make lots of money with no specialtraining," said Bab, indignantly. "Good gracious! There's 'ourinheritance'! We never once thought of it!"

  Six years before, an aunt of Mr. Wyndham, dying on her New Hampshirefarm, had left each of her grand-nieces five thousand dollars. Theyhad rather laughed at it, and never alluded to it save as "theirinheritance"; yet now, recalled suddenly by Bab, it shone across theirpath like a ray of sunshine. Taken from the bank where it lay andreinvested at higher interest, it would materially help them in an hourwhen a thousand dollars had assumed new proportions.

  "Mercy, yes! I quite forgot it," cried Jessamy, her face brightening."At six per cent., what would that be a year?"

  This was too great a mental problem for these would-be business women,whose arithmetic was that of most pupils of fashionable schools forgirls. Bab sprang up for pencil and paper. "Nine hundred dollars!" sheannounced triumphantly. "That is quite an addition to our fortune,isn't it?"

  "I suppose there isn't much good in making plans," said Jessamy."We've got to trust Mr. Hurd to guide us. If we are no use, as Phyllisbelieves--and probably is right in believing--we had better live quitepoorly for a while, and fit ourselves to do something well. I don'twant to rush into any kind of half-good employment, if by self-denial,perhaps even hardship, at first, we might amount to something in theend."

  "Hail Minerva!" cried Phyllis. "You'll be as thoroughbred a workinggirl, if you must, as you were fine lady; and that's what I love youfor, Jasmine blossom."

  "My poor, unfortunate children, are you sitting here in the dark?"said a voice. "Violet told me I should find you up-stairs. I saw thatdreadful item in 'The Evening Post,' Is it true?"

  "How do you do, Aunt Henrietta?" said Jessamy, rising, while Bab barelystifled a groan. "About the failure? Yes, I am afraid it is quite true."

  Mrs. Hewlett was Mr. Wyndham's aunt; he had been her favorite nephewbecause he was her namesake. Her nieces did not love their great-aunt;she had a strong tendency to speak her opinions, if they wereunpleasant to the hearer; sincerity and a profound conviction that shewas infallible in judgment being Mrs. Henrietta Hewlett's most markedcharacteristics. Jessamy, Phyllis, and Barbara recognized in her comingan added hardship at the end of their hard day.

  "I always knew it would end this way," said Aunt Henrietta, droppinginto an easy-chair and letting her cloak slip to the floor whileshe untied her bonnet strings. "Your mother has no business abilitywhatever. Poor Henry!"

  "Mama did not make the iron company fail, aunt; and papa can't needpity now as much as she does," said Bab, losing her temper instantly,as she always did on encountering "the drum-major," as she irreverentlycalled her great-aunt.

  "How are you left?" demanded Aunt Henrietta, ignoring Bab, to Jessamy'sprofound gratitude.

  "We shall have only what the contents of this house will bring, besidesthe five thousand apiece left us by Aunt Amelia," said Jessamy.

  Aunt Henrietta held up both hands in genuine horror. "My poor
sisterhad no notion that her little legacy would be your all,--for of courseyou can't get anything for second-hand furniture. So you are actuallybeggared! Well, it is even worse than I expected."

  "Not quite beggars, aunt," said Phyllis. "We expect to have twothousand a year. And if you foresaw Mr. Abbott's dishonesty, you arethe only one who mistrusted him. Uncle Henry believed in him as firmlyas in himself. Of course, if you read the papers, you know no one is toblame for anything, unless for trusting Mr. Abbott."

  "Two thousand for such a family as you!" ejaculated Aunt Henrietta,characteristically passing over the less disagreeable points inPhyllis's remarks. "It is practically beggary. You have been broughtup in the most extravagant way--never taught the value of money. Yourmother has spoiled you from the cradle. I suppose you will run throughwhat little ready money you have, and then expect to be helped by yourfriends."

  "Really, Aunt Henrietta, I cannot see why you assume us entirely tolack common sense, principles, and pride," said Jessamy, strugglinghard to keep her voice steady. "We have already determined to make ourincome suffice us, investing our little capital."

  "H'm! Two thousand suffice! You're exactly like your mother--absolutelyunpractical. If poor Henry--" began Mrs. Hewlett.

  "Now, Aunt Henrietta, just drop mama, if you please," said Barbara,hotly. "She is the dearest mother in the world, and papa loved her withall his heart. I don't see what good there can be in trying to blamesome one for this trouble; but if any one were to blame, it was dearpapa himself, and not mama, for he left her all his wealth and allhis trust in Mr. Abbott, and never taught her the least thing aboutbusiness. Mama never said nor did an unkind thing in all her gentlelife, and I won't have her abused. And, in spite of what you say now,you were always very proud of her lovely face and manners, and gladenough to point out your niece, Mrs. Henry Wyndham. And you've boastedabout all of us while we were rich, and now you talk as if this troublewas the punishment of our sins, especially mama's. And I won't have youmention her--dear, crushed mama--lying in there heartbroken for oursakes!"

  Bab's cheeks had been getting redder and her voice higher through thisspeech, until at this point she burst into tempestuous tears.

  "Hoity-toity, miss! Don't be impertinent," said the old lady. "You'llbe dependent on your friends' charity in six months, and you will bewise not to offend them."

  "I won't! I'll beg from door to door or be a cashgirl at Macy'sfirst," sobbed Bab. "Besides, I'm not impertinent; I'm only firm."

  The idea of Bab firm on the verge of hysterics made Phyllis andJessamy smile faintly. "Don't say any more, Bab; you know it's nouse," whispered Phyllis, stroking the hot cheek, while Jessamy said:"You must not mind Bab, aunt. We are all somewhat overwrought, but Iagree with her that, if you please, we will leave our mother out of thediscussion."

  "I don't mind that flighty child; she never had a particle ofstability, and has not been taught self-control or respect," said AuntHenrietta, with what in a less dignified person would have been asniff. "What kind of work are you going to take up? For of course it isridiculous to talk of living on two thousand a year, and you must earnyour living."

  "We have not decided anything yet, aunt; we've had only a few hours toget used to being poor," replied Phyllis.

  "Well, I've been considering your case, and I don't believe there isanything you can do decently; your education has been the thistle-downveneer girls get, nowadays," said their aunt, disregarding the factthat she would have been still less prepared to meet misfortune thanher nieces at their age.

  "Veneer!" echoed Jessamy. "I hope not, though I don't know whatthistle-down veneer is. I wouldn't mind being honest white pine, but Ishould despise the best veneer."

  "As far as I can see, you would do well to go out as a nurse girl.There are many who would be glad to get a young woman of refinement,and you would be treated nicely in a good place," said Aunt Henrietta.

  Bab gasped. Phyllis cried: "A nurse girl! Jessamy!" But Jessamy turnedwhite to her lips. "Will you allow me to sit on your steps and sunmy young charge, if I take care to keep my aprons clean?" she askedslowly, her voice low and ominously steady.

  "Don't be a fool, Jessamy, and have high-flown notions. Any work ishonorable, and you are not trained to skilled labor," said her aunt.

  "All labor is certainly honorable, aunt," said Phyllis, seeingthat Jessamy dared not speak again. "But there are degrees in itsattractiveness. It would be short-sighted wisdom to put a talentedcreature like our princess to doing what the humblest emigrant canperform, wasting all her opportunities. I am afraid I cannot understandhow you could consent to pushing any of us down, instead of helping usup."

  "We shall not need help," said Jessamy, her head up like a young racer."I hope to manage quite well alone. Will you excuse us from more ofthis sort of talk, aunt? We have had a hard day, and are tired."

  Mrs. Hewlett rose; her eldest niece always overawed her, in spite ofher determination not to mind what she to herself called "Jessamy'saffected airs."

  "I felt sure I should not find you chastened by misfortune," shesaid. "You should take your downfall in a more Christian spirit.I trust you will heed me in one point, at least. Sell your bestclothes and ornaments. It will be most unbecoming if, in your alteredcircumstances, you dress in articles bought for Henry Wyndham'sdaughters. People will make the most unkind comments if you do."

  Barbara had recovered by this time. "Aren't we still Henry Wyndham'sdaughters, aunt?" she asked guilelessly. "I didn't realize parentage aswell as inheritance was vested in the business. What a calamity thatit failed! As to unkind remarks, no mere acquaintances will make them;all but our relatives will understand that we could afford fine thingswhen we had them, and that failure naturally did not destroy them. Igive you fair warning, I mean to look my best, whatever the rest do,else I may be defeated in my plan to get back to luxury by a brilliantmarriage."

  "Bab, how could you?" said Jessamy, reproachfully, as their auntdisappeared. "She will take that for solemn truth and despise you.There's no use in making her worse than she is."

  "I couldn't, Lady Jessamy; nature is perfect in her works. And I'lltell you one thing for your edification: If I did mean it, and didsucceed in marrying for money, so far from despising me, she would beproud of me, and talk to every one about 'my charming niece, Barbara,'"said Bab, venomously.

  "Oh, don't, Bab!" cried Phyllis, distressed. "We've been poor only oneday, and here are you growing bitter! That's the worst of this sort ofmisfortune, I feel sure in advance. It shows people in such a horridlight that the victims get cynical and nasty. Do let us keep sweetand wholesome through it all, for if we're that, and have each other,nothing else matters seriously."

  "You dear little saint Phyllis!" cried Bab. "My bitterness so far isshallow, so don't worry. You're better than bicarbonate of soda tosweeten what Sally calls 'a sour risin'.'"

  An hour later Violet brought up a note that came opportunely tocounteract the disagreeable effect of Mrs. Hewlett's visit. It was froman old friend of their mother, and ran thus:

  "MY DEAREST LITTLE GIRLS: I am not going to bother poor Emily to-night, but I cannot sleep unless I write you. I read that horrible item in 'The Sun' about the Wyndham Iron Company, and I am wretched. Maybe it will be less bad than it now seems--I pray it may! But I want you to realize that my house, my love, are entirely yours. You are all coming to spend the summer with me at Mount Desert--there is plenty of room in my house--so that is settled. And in the fall we shall see. If there is to be a sale, I shall attend to it myself, with Mr. Hurd's help, for I am a good business woman. And don't make too heroic resolves just now. If you must earn your living, some of us will see that it is done in ways in which your sweetness, cleverness, and delicacy will not be wasted. But I should try very hard not to be pushed out into a world unfit for women to fight in. And don't forget how much is left, how much you are blessed in yourselves--I know you do remember it--and be sure you are going to be perfectly happy again. Dear little girls, I'm cr
ying as I write, but that is because I love you so much, and am so sorry. We won't let you do anything too bitter, and I know how splendidly you are meeting trouble, because I know your dear, good mother, and how truly well you have been taught. Tell my old friend I am coming to her in the morning--to refuse me if she likes, but I hope to comfort her. Good night, my poor little chickens, out in your first storm. There is sunshine ahead, but I wish that I could gather you all under my wings.

  "Your old, loving friend, "MARY VAN ALYN."

  The girls cried on one another's shoulders after they had read thiswarm message, full of loving comprehension of their needs and natures;but they were tears which did them good and sent them to bed refreshedand comforted.

  In the morning Bab started off early to see Ruth Wells, as she hadplanned. Ruth was a brisk little creature of the same age as Bab, whohad been the Wyndhams' schoolmate for a short time, but who had metwith misfortune too, and had left school and dropped almost entirelyout of their lives; only Bab had kept up a desultory friendshipwith her.

  Ruth lived with her mother in a little flat--apartment is too dignifieda word--not far from Morningside Heights. She was skilful with herneedle, as at any work of her hands, and earned, by embroidering fortwo wholesale houses, enough to supplement sufficiently an incomehardly large enough to pay their low rent.

  Bab had always wondered to find her so blithe and happy; to-day shecame determined to solve, if possible, the secret of her content.

  As she pressed the electric button under the speaking-tube over whichthe name "Wells" shone on a narrow strip of brass, the latch of thefront door clicked, and, pushing it open, Barbara mounted the threeflights of stairs and rang the bell by the door at their head.

  Ruth herself answered the summons, and uttered an exclamation ofpleasure on seeing Bab. "Oh, Babbie, dear, it does affect you, doesn'tit?" she cried at once. "I saw an account of the Wyndham Iron Worksfailure in this morning's 'Times.'"

  "It affects us so much, Ruth, that I came up here the first thing toget your advice; you have had experience in coming down in the world.And I want to say just here," Barbara added, with heightened color,"that I wish I had been here oftener, and that Phyl and Jessamy hadbeen with me. We never realized how lonely you must have been atfirst." And Bab looked around the little parlor with new interest.

  "Oh, I was so much younger than we are now when our troubles came thatit was easier to bear," said Ruth, brightly. "Besides, I never hadnearly as much as you to lose. And as to coming to see me, you havealways been a good friend, Bab. We lived too far apart in every senseto meet often. When one is poor one cannot be intimate with those whoare living luxuriously; it is so stupid for those who have fallenfrom past glories to expect old friendships kept up, and call oldacquaintances snobs when they are not. It is impossible for extremes tomeet often or agreeably, for one doesn't care to know the very wealthy;they are not half as interesting as those whose faculties have beensharpened--they don't know facts, and it is not their fault that theydon't. Even you, Babbie, have not understood words in the sense I didwhen we have talked lately, and I saw it. Then a busy person hasn'ttime for people who don't know what _must_ means. It is far nicer tohave friends who are busy too, and don't waste precious time. Butgoodness! You see, I talk just as fast as ever; and maybe you are notgoing to be poor, after all! Is the loss as heavy as the papers hadit?" While Ruth had talked she had gotten off Bab's outer garments,and now seated herself at her embroidery frame, while Bab drew a chairin front of it and shook her head. "Quite as bad; worse, in fact," shesaid, and proceeded to tell Ruth the whole story.

  "Now, what I want to know, Ruth, is whether four persons can possiblylive on two thousand a year--supposing we have that--until we can learnto be useful?" she said in conclusion.

  "Of course they can," said Ruth, with cheerful decision; she did notseem to think the case very bad. Taking a pencil and paper from thewindow-sill at her side, she began to reckon.

  "Do you think you could take a little flat and do your own work?" sheasked.

  "Mercy, no!" cried Bab, in horror. "Why, we'd starve! We can't doanything; we must board."

  "That's a pity, for cheap boarding is unwholesome, vulgar, andgenerally horrid," said Ruth. "However, if you must, you must; butI'm sure you'll be taught better. Mama and I began that way, but wewere soon cured. You can get two rooms, and pay--let's see--two in aroom--say seven dollars each--twenty-eight dollars a week. Twenty-eighttimes fifty-two--fourteen hundred and fifty-six dollars a year. Thatleaves you five hundred for washing, clothes, possible doctor's bill,and so on."

  "Can we board for seven dollars apiece?" asked Bab, rather awed byRuth's businesslike methods.

  "You can; it will be pretty horrid, but, honestly, I wouldn't spendmore till you increase your income. Your mother isn't well, and youwill need extra dainties for her, no matter where you board nor whatyou pay. Mama and I ran too close to our margin once, and then she gotill. It taught me a lesson I did not forget," said Ruth.

  "You have been very kind and interested, Ruth; and you have helped mea lot in more than advice," said Bab, rising to go. "I shouldn't mindbeing poor if I could be like you."

  "Well, I believe I have a talent for poverty; it has its good side,"laughed Ruth. "And I'll tell you one thing, Babbie. Real troubles keepone from imagining affliction, and that is no small gain. I am happybecause I am busy, and my mind is too full of my responsibilities andcares to let me worry over shadows; I haven't time to consider how Ifeel, even; and sometimes, when I suspect I might be a tiny bit illif I thought about it, I go to work and drive it away. You don't knowwhat a good thing it is for girls to have lots that must be done. Comesee our flat," added brave Ruth, leading the way into a bedroom offthe parlor. "This is mama's room; next it is mine. Then, here is thebath-room--you see, it is quite large--for a flat! And isn't this anice little dining-room? Sunny too! And here is the kitchen. Mama, thisis Barbara Wyndham."

  Mrs. Wells was bending over a double boiler set on the gas-range; shewas plainly dressed in black, shielded by a large apron. She lifteda sweet, well-bred face to smile at Bab, and held out a delicate,daintily formed hand to greet her, with no apology for her employment."The maid's room is our store-room, for we do our own work, with awoman coming in to wash and iron and sweep. Now, isn't this a niceflat? And we pay only twenty-eight dollars a month for it!" cried Ruth,triumphantly.

  Bab looked at the rooms, as they were shown to her, with newlyperceptive eyes. Everything was of the plainest, yet so refined anddainty it could but be pretty. She began to suspect there were manythings in life to learn which would not be unpleasant knowledge. Shewondered, coming from the spacious rooms of her home, how Ruth and hermother managed to move about without seriously damaging their anatomy;the chambers, with the furniture in them, looked hardly larger than agood-sized napkin.

  But Ruth was so proud of it all, so unconscious of any defects in herhome, that Bab could only envy her, though the tiny box of a placedid look rather meager in her eyes, and Ruth worked hard all day tomaintain it.

  "Thank you again, Ruth," she said, as her friend hugged her at the headof the stairs, letting the pity which she had not dared express show inthe warmth of the embrace and the tears in her eyes as she kissed her."I'm coming often, please, for advice and courage. You have alreadyshown me that I need not fear. I suspect our first additional revenuewill come from the sale of my book, 'How to be Happy Though Ruined,'illustrated by Ruth Wells."