The Opened Shutters: A Novel

by Clara Louise Burnham

  CHAPTER XI

  THINKRIGHT'S LETTER

  Back in the dingy offices of Calvin Trent the sunshine revealedtime-honored ink stains and other immovable relics which held their owndespite a thorough house-cleaning which Hannah had recently given therooms.

  The judge had apologized to Dunham at the time.

  "Until this affair of the Lacey girl is settled," he said, "Miss Marthais liable to come in upon us at any time, and we might as well beprepared."

  "By all means," Dunham had responded devoutly. "Unless there is achemical change brought about in the anteroom I shall be obliged to askyou to attend the door yourself."

  This particular sunshiny morning, as John was opening the mail, hefound a letter beginning, "Dear Cal:"

  It was postmarked Maine, and he passed it over to his employer insilence. Judge Trent was reading the morning paper at the time, andjust glancing at his cousin's writing, he clutched the sheet in hisleft hand and went on with his editorial.

  Dunham smiled down at his pile of correspondence. "Absence hasn't madethe heart grow any fonder," he reflected. "The governor's interest inCurly Head appears to be about where it was."

  Then he thought of Miss Lacey and the contrasting eagerness with whichshe would greet a letter from Maine. He breathed an involuntary sigh ofsatisfaction that whatever the bulletin his own responsibility in thematter was over, and that the lesson he had received concerning theunwisdom of rushing in where relatives feared to tread was likely tolast during his lifetime.

  "'M, h'm," breathed the judge at last, laying down the paper andsetting his hat a little farther back on his head. His thought wasevidently still busy with the morning news as his eyes moved vacantlyto the letter; but beginning to read, the corners of his lips drewdown, not in scorn, but with a movement habitual to him wheninterested.

  He read slowly; even read the letter twice. It ran as follows:--

  * * * * *

  "DEAR CAL,--Laura's little girl was very willing to come up here with me, and I was exceedingly glad to bring her, for poor influences in her life have made her a victim. I've had several talks with her. She has received only a desultory education, and isn't fitted for any life-work. She has been fed on froth mentally, and in Sam's worst straits has evidently never been obliged to do anything more severe in the way of manual labor than to mend her father's clothes; but withal she is innocent and honest, and not to blame, in the absence of a mother or any wise guidance, for not rising higher than her father's standards. You and Martha gave her heart and pride a great shock. Her mother used always to talk much about you in particular, and taught her little girl to kiss your picture good-night. So you can understand the surprise and disappointment of the sequel. You know what Laura meant to me, and while I would in any case do what I could for this child, it is my pleasure, and in your and Martha's default, seems to be my duty, to assume charge of her. I have determined upon this, for the girl is a starved specimen, and very needy. I tell you this in advance in case the new responsibility should take me away from the farm for any reason, so that all may be understood, and we may be guided. Edna Derwent looked in on us for one night. She says Martha is to be with her again this summer, and bade me beg you to take time to call on her the next time you are in Boston. She is exulting in her summer's prospect of sea, sky, and freedom, in her usual winning manner. Her parents are to travel with friends for some time, leaving Edna to be a child again. She says she is often tempted to feel old and tired."

  The rest of the letter was devoted to mention of the farm matters, andJudge Trent glanced through it with a careless frown. The increasingabsorption with which he had made his perusal roused Dunham'scuriosity. Twice the lawyer's feelings carried him to the pitch ofaudible expression. His exclamations were brief and monotonous. When hearrived at the point describing his niece's caressing his picture heslowly ejaculated, "_Get_ out." And when the matter concernedThinkright's renouncing his care of the farm the reader made use of thesame words, vigorously varying the emphasis thus: "Get _out_."

  John speculated upon the information Judge Trent was receiving. PerhapsSylvia had revolted against being immured on a New England farm and hadescaped to Nat.

  The judge dropped the letter and stared ahead of him. Thinkright'simplied accusation nettled him more than all Miss Martha's tearfulreproaches. For the first time his duty toward his niece presenteditself as so reasonable as to be impossible of escape.

  He looked at Dunham, who sedulously did not look at him. The young manwas thinking of a _mignonne_ face as he had last seen it with quiveringlips, trying to smile in response to his encouraging parting words. Atlast the judge spoke:--

  "Well, Thinkright took her up there."

  "Ah?" responded Dunham. Whatever his curiosity, he determined that hisconversation on this embarrassing subject should never exceedmonosyllables.

  "Sickly looking, is she?" pursued the lawyer after a pause.

  "Yes," replied John; then memory reminding him that this was notstrictly the case, he availed himself of the remainder of hisvocabulary: "and no," he added.

  "I should like to know what Thinkright means by her being starved,"said Judge Trent irritably.

  Silence from Dunham, frowning at his papers.

  "I believe I'll send you up there," began the lawyer after a minute.

  "I believe you won't," retorted his subordinate with surprisingpromptness.

  The older man stared. "I should like to know how the girl is carryingsail; how she eats, whether she seems contented. An eyewitness, now"--

  "Not me," said John briefly.

  "Lost your conceit, eh?" asked the judge, grinning.

  "No more family parties for me," returned Dunham doggedly.

  "Oh, come now, be good-natured and obliging."

  "Never again while I live," was the response.

  "I've never praised you half enough for your work on that job," saidthe judge ingratiatingly. "The more I think of it the more I wonderwhere we'd have brought up in the affair if it hadn't been for you."

  "You might as well flatter the Sphinx," remarked John impersonally.

  Judge Trent laughed. "Afraid of a little girl, eh?"

  Dunham shrugged his shoulders. "I shouldn't be the first man. Why don'tyou send Miss Lacey?"

  "H'm," grunted the judge thoughtfully.

  John smiled. "Provide her with a full suit of chain-armor and I fancyshe'd accept the detail."

  "I'm going in town to-morrow," soliloquized the judge aloud. "I mightgo and ask Edna Derwent."

  "Who?" demanded Dunham, looking up with sudden alertness.

  "Edna Derwent."

  "Of Commonwealth Avenue?"

  "Yes. What's the matter?"

  "Nothing. I am only surprised that your calling list includes her."

  "Well, now, why should you be?"

  "No reason, of course," returned John, smiling, "except that she's agirl; and girls,--I thought they were all under the ban. You'll have totake your hat off, you know."

  "H'm," grunted the judge again.

  "I'll tell you what," suggested John, "send me there. I'll go."

  "Do you know her?"

  "Used to--well. I haven't seen her for years. It's her family Ireferred to when I spoke of friends of mine going up into Casco Bay."

  "Yes. Hawk Island."

  "That's the place. I was invited there once, but couldn't accept."

  "Very nice girl, Edna," remarked the judge.

  Dunham emitted a noiseless whistle. "She must be a wonder," he replied."I didn't know there were any nice girls."

  "You think you're smart, don't you?" said the judge.

  "I shall if I get an errand to Miss Derwent to-morrow."

  "Then who's to go to the Tide Mill?" demanded the lawyer.

  "You and Miss Lacey, hand in hand. It's fitting that you should protectone another."

  "Miss Lacey lives with E
dna Derwent at the island in the summer,--keepshouse for her, plays watch-dog, and all that sort of thing."

  "Indeed? How small the world is! I knew I felt drawn to Miss Lacey. I'dforgotten until you mentioned it how I adore Miss Derwent. Do give methe detail, Judge."

  "Get out. You can't do that Boston business. I suppose you'd bettermail this letter to Miss Lacey," tossing the missive over to the youngman's desk.

  "I can take it to her house this evening. I have to go to thank her formy handkerchief that she sent back. Do you want me to--no!" with asudden turn back to his desk.

  "Do I want you to what?"

  "Nothing."

  "Don't be an idiot!" exclaimed the lawyer, exasperated by his ownindecision concerning this affair so foreign to his experience.

  "No, it's none of my business," said Dunham.

  "Do I want you to ask Miss Lacey if she'll go up to the farm? Yes, Ido. Tell her all expenses paid."

  After supper that night, for they had supper at six in this rural cityof Seaton, John Dunham took a trolley car for the tree-lined streetwhere Miss Lacey's cottage stood behind its row of poplars.

  "Utterly inappropriate," mused Dunham, smiling to himself as he glancedup at these "old maids of the forest." "They would be far better placedin front of Judge Trent's. He is a bachelor by conviction."

  Miss Lacey saw the young man coming up the walk, and herself opened thedoor, although she kept a little maid of fourteen, who attended schoolby day and assisted Miss Martha in her free hours for her board andlodging.

  "How do you do, Mr. Dunham?" she said, brow and voice anxious. "I hopenothing bad has brought you."

  "Do you call gratitude and admiration bad?" asked John, as she hastilyshook hands with him.

  "There's very little of either ever walks in this door," returned MissMartha dejectedly. "Step into the parlor, please. I'll pull up theshades in one minute."

  She suited the action to the word, and as she threw open a window thescent of lilacs floated into the room. "These are nice long evenings,aren't they?" she pursued lugubriously. "What are you grateful for, Mr.Dunham?"

  "My handkerchief, of course."

  "Law! Your handkerchief!" repeated Miss Lacey. "Do sit down."

  A swift glance at the spider-legged furniture caused John to choose thehaircloth sofa, whose shining surface bulged substantially. He wonderedwhere the judge used to sit. Any of the chairs would have held him, butperhaps they both used this sofa. If so, they must have led a migratoryexistence; and perhaps its slipperiness had infected and undermined thestability of the judge's affections.

  "You didn't need to make any fuss about the handkerchief," added MissMartha.

  "Indeed I should," replied Dunham, immediately conscious of beginningto glide, and anchoring himself with an arm across the mahogany back."It would be sacrilege ever to use such a miracle of whiteness andshine, with a cameo monogram."

  "How foolish," returned Miss Martha, visibly cheered.

  "No, indeed," continued John; "I'm going to have it framed and hungwhere my laundress can use it for a model."

  His companion emitted a faint laugh. "I'm glad you can joke," she said,"and it's real kind of you to come and thank me for such a trifle. Oh,Mr. Dunham, I haven't had a happy minute since that day we were inBoston. I was just now sitting down to write a letter to Thinkright. Hedoesn't know the suspense I'm in. I suppose she's told him how hatefulI was, and he thinks I don't care."

  "Yes, a letter came only to-day. Here it is. It was one of my errandsto bring it."

  "Good news? Oh, is it good news?" Miss Lacey's attitude changedalertly, and she seized the offered envelope.

  "I don't know," replied John. "She's there."

  His companion had already torn open the sheet, and was readinggreedily.

  "Oh, dear--_dear_!" she ejaculated above her breath. At last she lookedup. "The judge showed you this, of course?"

  "No."

  "Then"--

  "No, really, Miss Lacey, it's none of my business, you see."

  "None of your business, after you've been so _kind_ and taken such an_interest_? I should say it is! Listen."

  John brought his teeth together in a resigned sigh while his hostessread aloud, occasionally lifting her eyes to comment. At the close hespoke.

  "I was surprised to learn that you and Miss Derwent are friends."

  "Oh, you know her?" asked Miss Martha absently.

  "Up to a few years ago, I did, very well."

  "You can see what opinion Thinkright has of Judge Trent and me."

  "Yes," returned John, harking back to his monosyllables.

  "No doubt you have the same," said Miss Lacey dismally, "even though Iexplained to you fully"--

  "Well, your mind can be at rest now," returned Dunham. "The young ladyis provided for."

  "Thinkright is certainly a good man," said Miss Lacey, her brow stilldrawn, "although he isn't exactly what folks would call a professor. Noone that knows him has a particle of doubt that he means well, and Ifeel that his notions can't do Sylvia any real harm when he lives sucha good life."

  "What are his notions? Do you mean that he is a freethinker?"

  "Well," responded Miss Lacey, "I don't see how anybody could be _more_free. I should feel that I was tempting Providence to expect everythingwas coming my way, the way he does. I should expect a thunderboltinstead of prosperity. I told him so once, and he smiled and said thenI'd probably get the thunderbolt. He says it's all a matter of what youexpect and why you expect it. He asked me if the reason I expected thethunderbolt was because I believed that God was Love. He hasn't got aspark of the humility that most good folks know they must have. Why, ifevery Christian was like him there wouldn't be a professor left who'dcall himself a poor worm or a sinner. I don't agree with Thinkright,because I'd never be so presuming with my Creator as he is, nor becertain that my Father wouldn't see fit to send me any afflictions; butI must say he has as lively a dread of sin as anybody I ever knew.There's no mistake about his being a good soul, and that's why I don'tmind his notions; and, oh, I'm so glad he's got that flighty childunder his wing. She'll never get any harm from his example, howeverqueer his talk is. Edna Derwent, now, she sympathizes with him, andthinks she gets along a lot better since she's had his ideas to workon. So," Miss Lacey looked at her caller with a sudden speculativecuriosity, "so you're one of Miss Derwent's satellites, are you?"

  Dunham shrugged his shoulders. "I used to be, but I've been so frozenby years of her silence that now I might better be classed among herstalactites. She has a number. I've been trying to get Judge Trent tosend me to Boston on business to-morrow and to call on her. He wishesto ask some questions about his niece."

  "Does he, indeed?" Miss Martha sat up very straight and her eyessnapped. "Well, it's about time. I guess Thinkright's letter hurt _his_pride a little, too."

  "It did seem to stir him. Of course you are both pleased that thisfriend--this relative of yours has decided to adopt your niece."

  "It sounds awfully,--just awfully, doesn't it, Mr. Dunham?" returnedMiss Lacey, a nervous color mounting in her face. "_Our_ niece, andThinkright adopting her; partly from a romantic feeling which does himthe highest credit,--he adored poor Laura,--and partly from duty whichI should think would be a sermon to Cal--to Judge Trent." Sudden tearssprang to the speaker's eyes, and she touched them with herhandkerchief. "I've condemned myself, for, after all, while I thought Iwas justified, I certainly didn't stop to think enough from Sylvia'sstandpoint, I was so afraid I was going to be imposed upon. I'm sograteful to Thinkright, and so grateful to you, Mr. Dunham. What shouldwe have done without you!"

  "Oh, don't--don't mention it."

  "But I must, I'm so grateful. I wish Judge Trent would send you on somebusiness errand to the farm so that"--

  "No, indeed," interrupted John hastily; "but he does want to send you,Miss Martha. He empowered me to request that you take the trip,permitting him to be at all expense."

  "He did, did he?" retorted Miss Lacey, her eye
s drying and snappingagain. "Well, I should think it was about time he stopped sending folkson that errand," she continued, with a superior contempt forconsistency. "It's about time he went himself. I guess he feels prettysmall about the whole thing if the truth were known. Isn't thattouching about Sylvia's kissing his picture? How did he feel when heread that, Mr. Dunham?"

  "Impossible to tell. All he said was 'get out.'"

  Miss Lacey's nostrils dilated. "Well," she ejaculated, "all is I knowif I'd mar--that is," she added faintly, "I'm glad Laura didn't live tosee this day. He has a great deal less excuse than I have, Mr. Dunham,and I have little enough." Miss Martha finished with sincere feeling."You tell Judge Trent for me, Mr. Dunham, that he had better go to thatfarm himself."