CHAPTER VI.
"Helen Reed was born on the tenth of July. When's my birthday, Adee?"
Eliza had never foreseen such a question. She could not reply at first.
"When was I born, Adee?"
Eliza was not one given to evasion. To her there could be but aye ornay.
"I do not know," she replied.
"Why do you not know, Adee? Helen's mother knows the very day that Helenwas born. I think you would remember about me."
"But, Beth dearest, you were not a tiny baby when you were sent to me. Ido not know how old you were. I think almost two years old. No one toldme about your birthday."
"They kept me in heaven longer than most babies, then," said Bethsententiously. "Most babies are just a minute old when they are sentdown on earth. The angels must have liked me very much. Don't you thinkso, Adee?"
"I am sure they did," Eliza assured her. This comforted Beth somewhat.It is nice to feel that the angels feel pleasure in one's society. Yetit had its disadvantages too. One could not be quite sure of one'sbirthday; and thereby one was short of presents and festivities ofvarious kinds.
"I should think, Adee, that you would have asked them," she said aftersome time. Eliza had let her thoughts go back to her household dutiesand, some time having elapsed between this question and the remarkswhich had preceded it, she had forgotten the subject of conversation.
"Asked what--of whom?"
"My birthday--of the angels when they brought me."
"You were not brought directly to me. I am not your real mother."
"Not my real one?" Beth dropped her play-things and came close to Elizaand leaned against her knee. There was surprise, consternation, pathosin her face and voice, as she leaned her head against Adee's arm.
"Not my real one? I don't see any different, Adee. You're just likeHelen's mother, only you're a good deal nicer. She's a real mother, whyhain't you?"
"I mean, you are not my child by birth."
"Wasn't I born your little girl?"
"No," said Adee. "When you were born you did not belong to me."
There was nothing more to be said. Beth was quiet--too quiet, Elizathought, and turned to look at the child. Beth's lips were quivering andtrembling, but she was pressing them hard so as to make no outcry. Thetears were very near the surface, but Beth would not let them fall. Oneglance at the brave little face, and Eliza turned and, throwing her armabout here impulsively, hugged her tight to her bosom.
"What is it, Beth?"
"I want to be some one's born child," she said. "I want to be your bornchild."
Eliza hesitated. What was conventionality in comparison to the littlegirl's peace of mind? She would put aside her own sense of the fitnessof some things and make the child happy. "You may be my born child,then," she said. "You may be born in my love, in my heart. You may be myown little girl, exactly as Helen is her mother's little girl. Will thatplease you?"
"Yes, now what about my birthday?" asked Beth. "Every one of the Reedshave birthdays, and they are always talking about pulling ears and whatpresents they got. They don't have their birthdays all the same time.They've scattered them about so that one comes after each pay-day."
"Not a bad idea", said Eliza, "especially when there is a birthday withcandles. You may have a birthday, too, just like the other girls. Youcame to my house the first day of July. We'll celebrate that; so far asyou and I are concerned that day is correct."
Beth gave a sigh of satisfaction. That was the only trouble she had hadin her life. It was nice that it was disposed of so satisfactorily.
"We'll have a cake too, Adee, with candles. How many candles?"
"Seven," replied Eliza promptly.
Beth had come to the years when a child questions and begins to reachout for the reason of things. She was not at all stupid. She was quickto see how people conducted themselves; how they spoke and dressed. Shewas always attracted toward the refined and gentle. Eliza's heartrejoiced at this. She believed that 'blood would tell', and all Beth'sattributes and natural tendencies were proof that her people wereself-respecting gentlefolk.
Eliza had long since given up wearing black silk and little bits ofbonnets perched on her head, too small for grace or beauty. Beth had notliked them. Beth had declared them not 'pitty', and Eliza had acceptedher decision. There were white dresses and cheap thin prints, but theywere artistic and suited Eliza far better than the dark, somber colors.Perhaps it was easy to follow Beth's wishes in regard to the matter ofclothes, for Eliza's heart had always hungered after daintiness andbrightness. Yet she had never felt herself equal to going against theconventions and unwritten laws of the narrow little hamlet; but withBeth's encouragement, it was easier to follow the dictates of her owndesires.
Eliza was really a handsome woman, but she never suspected that herself;nor did the people of Shintown. Their taste was inclined toward buxomfigures, red cheeks, and black, curly hair. Years before, some one haddeclared this the type of beauty, and the folk of Shintown had acceptedit then, and their grand-children looked upon it as a matter of courseeven now. So to them Eliza Wells was not beautiful. Her broad, whiteforehead with the soft, smooth chestnut hair like a band of velvet; herbig, clear, gray eyes, serene and calm until she was vexed or excited,when they glowed like embers; her lithe, willowy form, all this meantnothing to them.
"Eliza's got a big mouth. Did you ever see the like of it," had been SamHouston's comment on her appearance for years, and everyone grinned thenand ever afterward whenever he repeated it. It was large, perhaps, butit displayed beautiful teeth, and its curves were exquisite. There wasstrength and sweetness both in it. Yet, in Shintown, she was not evenconsidered fine looking. It was merely a difference of standards, andsomehow all about her was bigger than their measure.
Beth was arriving at the age when she asked questions and had thoughtsall her own. One afternoon during the heat of summer, Eliza sat in theliving room, taking a few stitches in her weekly mending. The room hadbeen darkened save where she had raised the blinds sufficiently to letthe light fall on her work. Her profile was distinct against the whitedraperies of the inner hangings.
Beth was taking her afternoon nap on the davenport at the end of theroom. It was the same big old affair of mahogany on which Sam Houstonhad placed her when Prince had run away--five years before. It was bigand cozy and comfortable. Beth had slept soundly and long. When at lastshe opened her eyes, she was dazed and just a little dull. She laylooking at Adee's profile against the window draperies.
What was in her mind, what shadow of a far-off dream had come to her, noone could tell. She watched her foster-mother, and at last said, "Youdon't wear your hair like you used to, Adee. Why don't you? It wasprettier, much prettier the other way."
"You're dreaming, Beth, child. I always wore it just this way--at least,since I have grown up."
"No, Adee, I'm sure you didn't. You used to have fussy little curlsabout your face, and you used to wear flowers--pink rosebuds andcarnations. Don't you remember, Adee?"
Eliza was startled, but wisely did not contradict the child. "When did Iwear flowers in my hair, Little One? Was it in this room, or where? Tellme about it."
Beth laughed in a lazy sort of way. She was not fully awake. Was shepartly dreaming, or did some recollections of her babyhood days intrudethemselves? Was a little portion of her brain opening and bringing tolight impressions of the hours when she had been with someone else thanAdee?
"You're not one bit of a good 'rememberer,'" she replied slowly,dreamily. "You used to wear your hair all fussiness and have flowers init, stuck down over your ear so, and your dresses would be long in theback. Don't you remember, you'd come in my room and pick me up and hugme and call me Baby--and something else, but I've forgot. What else wasit that you called me, Adee?"
"I've forgotten. Go on with your remembering. The other name will comeback after a while."
Adee's heart jumped even as she spoke. Perhaps the child could rememberenough that some trace of her people co
uld be found. There was no joy toEliza in this thought. Beth gone! Her limbs grew cold and her heart feltlike ice in her breast at the mere thought of it.
"Was it a pretty room, Beth, where you slept?"
"Of course, Adee. There were curtains around the bed. It was shiny andyellow--the bed. You hadn't any carpets on the floor. It was pretty, allright, but not one bit like where I sleep now. Did you give my littlebed away, Adee?"
"You must not ask impertinent questions," said Eliza with what lightnessshe could muster. "You are such a big girl now. Surely you would notwish to sleep in a little baby-crib."
"No, but it would be nice for my dolls," said Beth. "If we had it ready,we might get a live baby to put in it sometime."
_"Now we'll build a gray stone mansion," said Helen._]
Eliza took her stitches slowly. Beth must be dreaming. Surely, the womanin gowns with long trains and fluffy, fussy hair in which flowers werefastened were tricks of the child's imagination. Eliza had a picture inher mind of the big, fair woman, shabbily dressed, whom she had foundalong the roadside. This woman's hair had been braided and coiled tightabout her head. It had been beautiful, but it was not fussy, and it wasstraight as hair could be.
It was a question in Eliza's mind, whether she should change thesubject, or whether it would be wiser to encourage the child in theseremembrances or fits of fancy, whichever they were. She concluded thatanything was better than uncertainty.
"What about the big woman with blue eyes and long braids of yellow hair?She used to have it wrapped close to her head. There were no curlsanywhere. She wore very plain dresses--black skirts--"
"And big white aprons," cried Beth, sitting up suddenly and clapping herhands. Then she laughed joyously. "That was Bena, Adee. Wasn't Benafunny? She had such funny words." Then suddenly a new mood came to thechild. Getting down quickly from the davenport, she crossed the roomand, standing directly in front of Eliza, asked with direct tenseness:
"Where is Bena, Adee? What has become of her? What did you ever do toBena? She hasn't been here since I was a little bit of a baby. Where isBena?"
Eliza shook her head. "I do not know, Beth. I am sorry, but I do notknow."
That Little Girl of Miss Eliza's: A Story for Young People Page 6