Rainbow Cottage

by Grace Livingston Hill

  So, refreshed by cool drinks and salads and sherbet, they started out again, this time to the dress department.

  “That knit thing is too hot for today,” announced Grandmother critically as they journeyed downward in the elevator. “You must have something thin and dark for coming up to town. A dark blue georgette or something.”

  Sheila caught her breath at the idea of considering trips to Boston as everyday affairs to be provided for.

  “But Grandmother, I’m only a plain little girl,” she protested. “I won’t likely go to many places. You oughtn’t to buy so much.”

  “No, child, you have a place in the family now and must expect to be invited here and there, of course.”

  Sheila shrank. “But I’d rather stay with you.”

  “That’s nice,” said the old lady. “Well, here is our floor.”

  So they found a smiling saleswoman, and Grandmother was established in a chair in one of the fitting rooms while Sheila got herself into various creations that the woman brought.

  Sheila in dark blue georgette with lovely creamy eyeleted embroidery in the wide elbow sleeves and at the throat. Sheila in brown satin with amber buttons. Sheila in pink chiffon, blue chiffon, yellow chiffon, green chiffon. Sheila in white: white organdy, white crepe, white satin, white-wash silk, white wool; with flowers on her shoulder or rare old lace, or bright bands of brilliants. Sheila in lustrous black like the sheen of her hair and a rope of pearls around her neck “just to show how it would look” as the saleswoman said. Sheila in red and green and blue and yellow and pink and mauve and heliotrope.

  The most elaborate ones Sheila would look at a moment and then shake her head and say, “Take it off, please; that doesn’t look like me,” or, “No, Mother wouldn’t like that.”

  At last the saleswoman said, “Why not have this sent up, Miss Ainslee, and let your mother see how lovely you look in it?”

  Sheila looked at her a moment as though she were going to cry, and then a smile came out instead, and she said gently, “Oh, you couldn’t. She’s up in heaven, you know.”

  The saleswoman gave a little gasp of apology, gathered up the condemned garment quickly and took it away, and presently brought sweet white robes that Sheila liked.

  Grandmother sat by enjoying the fashion show and marveling at the good taste of the girl reared in a Western shack.

  Now and then the old lady would insist on sending up something that Sheila had decided against, and she always gave way with a smile. So really they enjoyed the day quite as much as a game.

  Then came the choosing of coats. A white one, a heavy green one with a luscious beaver collar, and a soft velvet evening wrap that Sheila thought quite unnecessary.

  On the whole they were both tired but happy when at last they tore themselves away from the wonders of the store and took a taxi to the hotel. And then wonders began again for Sheila.

  She stood at the great window of the hotel suite watching the city go by while Grandmother lay on the couch pretending to take a nap, though she was really watching Sheila through the gray fringes of her eyes and wondering. Was she doing wrong to get all these trifles of the world for this little unspoiled soul? Would she presently turn out to be just like her spoiled grandchildren, wanting her own way, going the wild new way of modern times? Her heart quailed before the thought, and she prayed softly in her heart, Oh Father, keep this little girl clean and sweet and humble.

  They had dinner served in their room, for Grandmother was tired, and they went to bed early, not to discount the next day. Sheila, in her soft bed in the next room to her grandmother, cried softly into her great, strange pillow, now that it was dark and Grandmother couldn’t see her—cried because she was having all the things that her mother had always wanted to get for her and couldn’t, and her mother wasn’t there anymore to enjoy them with her. It seemed somehow as if it were wrong for her to have them since Mother couldn’t share them, Mother who had been born to such things and had given them all up and lived such a sad, disappointing life!

  But Sheila was young and tired with all the excitement, and sleep came soon to make her forget, and in the morning there was another day of excitement before her.

  They got up early and went down to the great dining room for breakfast. They took a taxi and drove through some interesting parts of the city for an hour while the morning was fresh and cool. Then they went to the stores again.

  They bought a trunk, a suitcase, and an overnight bag, all fitted with wonderful things. They bought lingerie and negligees and accessories, and Sheila found out what they all were and laughed cheerfully as she picked out the prettiest of each kind. She felt like a princess in a book, just picking out pretty things for fun and never really expecting to see them and handle them and wear them.

  When they went back to the hotel again, there were packages, packages, packages everywhere. But Grandmother insisted that they should lie down for an hour before they opened anything.

  Sheila was too excited really to sleep, but she lay there in a daze of expectation, like a child at her first Christmas.

  But the afternoon delivery brought still more, and Grandmother said the nap time was over. So Sheila, with eager fingers, began to unwrap and try on again.

  It was much easier, here in the quiet room, away from the array of merchandise, to judge just what would be the wisest purchases, and the large collection of garments was finally narrowed down within respectable limits.

  The trunk was there, and Sheila took much pleasure in folding her new garments and packing them carefully in her new trunk, trying to realize that all these lovely things were really her own.

  “I’m sorry not to let you see more of the city and some of its attractions,” said Grandmother, watching her happy face, “but next time we come, or in the fall, we’ll take some long trips around and go to some wonderful concerts and things.”

  “Oh, but I’ve seen a lot of the city,” cried Sheila. “It’s a lovely city, and I’d like to see more sometime if I may, but I’m just in a hurry to get back and see if that wonderful garden is there by the sea, or did I just dream it?”

  They took another ride around, however, before they left about noontime, and then they took the train, the new trunk traveling along, with a check in Sheila’s new purse by which to claim it.

  They took lunch in the diner, too, a thing that Sheila had secretly longed to do ever since she had seen the first train pass the Junction House and had watched the well-dressed ladies and gentlemen sitting there at leisure being waited upon.

  While they were eating, she looked around on the comfort and luxury and thought of the poverty back on the prairie and wondered.

  “What is it?” asked Grandmother, knowing there was some perplexity behind that look.

  “I am wondering why my father left it all and went out there, to what we had, and stayed! How could he stand it? Why didn’t he come back and try to make things straight?”

  A dart of pain crossed Grandmother’s face.

  “I’m afraid he had gone too far to retrace his steps,” she said sadly. “I’m afraid there was some reason why he thought he couldn’t come back. He was always a loving lad, though mischievous. I’ve always been sure he would have come back unless there was some reason—something he couldn’t undo. Something that made it impossible!”

  “You mean,” said Sheila with a startled look, “you mean, you think he had committed some crime?” She spoke the words low, and her lips were white as she said it.

  “I don’t know,” said Grandmother tremblingly. “I never would believe that it was intentional. I always felt there might be something he was mixed up in that others got him into. Yet I never had any proof. But, there, there! We mustn’t think of such things. It is better not.”

  “Of course!” said Sheila. “I shouldn’t have made you feel bad. Perhaps it will all be explained someday. Don’t think about it, dear Grandmother, please.”

  “I won’t!” said Grandmother. There was a gentle twi
nkle in her eye, but it only showed up a regular tear about to fall.

  The old taxi driver took them back to Rainbow Cottage and asked about their trip as if he were almost a part of the family, telling how he went up to Boston himself ten years ago; it tired him all out, and he came back after two days. He said there were too many people there and too much noise.

  He told them all the news since they had left—how the Billingses and the Taylors and the Havens had arrived and opened their cottages, and about the lease of the old hotel by the Point that had been closed for two years past.

  Sheila found herself watching for the first glimpse of the cottage wall, the first gleam of the bright colors in the garden, as if it were the fairyland it had first seemed to her.

  And then when they finally came in sight of it, there was a long, smart, shiny red car parked by the side of the wicket gate—flaming vermilion sides clashing with the pink roses clambering over the arch—she drew her breath with a hurt feeling that someone was intruding.

  Grandmother eyed it sharply, uncertainly, also.

  “That’s a new car,” she said as if talking to herself. “I don’t recognize it.”

  The taxi driver was engaged in pulling up before the gate. He hadn’t given attention to the strange car yet. He would in a moment, Grandmother knew.

  “Got comp’ny!” he said as he stopped with a flourish and eyed the red car.

  “Yes,” said Grandmother, “friends from a distance, I suppose.” And she got out spryly and handed the man his money, turning swiftly to go in, away from further curious questions.

  Halfway up the walk, Janet met them with deprecating air.

  “M’s Ainslee, Miss Jac’eline just come ’bout an’our ago.”

  “Jacqueline here!” Grandmother gave a startled look toward the smart, expensive car. “Well, Sheila, we didn’t go to Boston any too soon.”

  But Janet was hedging in the way.

  “M’s Ainslee, Miss Jac’eline insisted she wanted the east room. She said she always had it. I told her there was a guest and her baggage was in the closet, but she just insisted!” Janet was almost crying.

  “Well, she can’t have that room. She’ll have to go in the yellow room.”

  “But she’s in it a’ready. M’s Ainslee, she done tore the bed ta pieces an’ made it up all fresh, an’ she pulled the things all outten that bag Miss Sheila brought and scattered them all over the floor, an’ then she tole me ta come an’ take ’em out on the trash heap an’ burn ’em. An’ when I said I couldn’t ’nless you said so, she come tuk ’em her own self and started fire to ’em—”

  At that, Sheila gave a little cry like a wounded animal and fled up that garden path, through the house, and out to the back door where she supposed a trash pile would be.

  “Janet!” said her mistress severely. “I thought I left you to protect the house.”

  “I did, M’s Ainslee. I went fast’s I could an’ put the fire out. I stomped on it, and I carried water, an’only a few things is scorched a clear little bit, but you know Miss Jac’eline, M’s Ainslee. You know, she will have her way an’ nobody can stop her.”

  “I can stop her!” said the mistress of the house, marching grimly up the garden walk. “Where is she?”

  “In the east room layin’ down,” sobbed the servant. “She said as how she didn’t want ta be disturbed.”

  “Indeed!” said Grandmother and marched straight up the stairs to the door of the east room.

  “Jacqueline!” she called in a tone of authority, but there was no answer. “Jacqueline! Get up and open this door!”

  Still no answer.

  Outside in the kitchen garden, Sheila was down on her knees beside the trash pile, the tears rolling down her face, kneeling in the ashes regardless of her new garments. Gathering up the bits of treasures, a wet, scorched nightgown of her mother’s, and pressing it to her face, sobbing. Then throwing it down beside her to search wildly among the ashes for the old tarnished penholder. The paper! The paper! Was it lost forever?

  Chapter 10

  Grandmother called a third time with no better result and then, turning, went swiftly and silently down the front stairs. To see her tripping down those stairs, a look of grim determination on her sweet old lips, one might have thought her sixteen and not at all weary from a shopping bout and a long journey.

  She went straight to the telephone and called up a well-known number.

  “Mr. Crumb, is your son Jason around? Well, I wonder if he could jump on his bicycle and run down here with his bunch of master keys. Can he? Oh, thank you! As soon as possible, please. And tell him to bring something along to break the lock in case the keys won’t work.”

  Grandmother hung up the receiver, swung around to the kitchen, and went swiftly out to the trash heap beside the excited Sheila.

  “Is the paper there?” she asked anxiously.

  “No,” said Sheila, lifting troubled eyes to her face. “And the sandalwood box isn’t here either, nor any of the things that were in it! Oh! I ought not to have gone away and left them behind. Mother told me never to leave them!”

  “There now, child! Get calm!” said Grandmother in a low tone. “Don’t give the enemy a chance to get in. Just remember that there’s a God in heaven, and nothing really disastrous can ever come to God’s children.”

  “Oh, do you really think so, Grandmother?”

  “Why, surely, child. What is this Rainbow Cottage for if not to remind us that God always keeps His promises? He put His rainbow in the heavens to remind a fearful people that He had made a covenant with them, and it stands today as a sign that He always keeps His promises. There are plenty of promises in the Old Book for you and me today. When we have time we’ll look them up. Now, get up off that ground. We’ll bring everything in and clean it up. It’s too bad, dear, but there must be some good coming out of this somehow. Your box won’t be lost unless it’s in God’s plan for you, and He sees it best. Janet,” she turned to the tearful maid who was standing at a respectful distance, “bring out a basket with a clean newspaper inside.”

  Janet brought the basket, and Sheila carefully picked up everything, poking the ashes all over to be sure nothing was left behind, but there was no sign of box or penholder, nor any of the other things that had been inside the box.

  By the time everything was picked up and they had come into the house again, they could see a man on a bicycle speeding down the beach posthaste.

  Jacqueline Lammorelle, attired in flaming orange and black silk pajamas, was standing by the window smoking a cigarette and looking out on the embers of the fire she had lit in the kitchen garden.

  There was a smile of amusement on her sharp little features, and her red lips painted vividly to a cupid’s bow showed her small gleaming white teeth in a wicked, elfish grin. She was watching the stranger girl gathering up tenderly the old cotton rags that she had set on fire, even shaking out the funny old-fashioned blue serge, still smoldering, and carrying that in also. Grandmother and Janet had gone in now, and Jacqueline put her head back and opened her red lips in a hearty, soundless laugh that shook her slender young body with a noiseless mirth.

  Then suddenly she heard footsteps on the stairs and became alert. There was the sound of a rattling key in her door, and she turned sharp black eyes in that direction and saw her key slowly turn in its hole and descend with a sharp clatter to the floor. Then with catlike quickness, she threw her cigarette out the window and sprang toward the bed, flinging back the covers and diving in with a single noiseless motion that was so smooth and quick it was like the gliding of a beautiful snake.

  When Jason Crumb flung back the door and Grandmother entered the room, Jacqueline lay fast asleep in the bed, the covers folded halfway down around her and one lovely sleeveless arm flung back engagingly on the pillow, the most innocent-looking smile upon her lips.

  “Jacqueline!” Grandmother’s voice promised swift retribution.

  Jacqueline lay sweetly slumbering, not even
disturbed by the menace to her rest.

  Jason Crumb, after one keen glimpse of the rosy cheeks and lips of the sleeper about whom he had long held his opinion, faded swiftly down the stairs with a shake of his head. Grandmother walked determinedly across the room to the head of the bed and, reaching down, took firm hold of one silk-strapped shoulder and shook her grandniece with all her indignant might.

  Jacqueline stirred prettily in her sleep and murmured sweetly without opening her eyes, “Did someone call?” and then settled down into her pillow and went on slumbering as if nothing had happened.

  Grandmother gazed at her an instant and then took hold of the covers of the bed and dragged them off to the floor, pulling the pillow out from under the sleek black head and flinging it on the floor also. Then she summarily walked to the bathroom and brought out a dripping wash rag, which she dashed into the slumberer’s face, covering her nose and mouth so completely that the girl gasped for breath.

  “Get up, you hussy!” commanded Grandmother.

  Jacqueline sprang nimbly to the floor and reproachfully helped her great aunt to undrape the bed.

  “But what’s the idea, Aunt Myra?” she asked wistfully. “Didn’t I get the right sheets? They seemed quite all right.”

  Grandmother gathered up the bedding in her arms and turned to face the interloper.

  “You had no business to come into this room, and you knew it. Janet told you that it was already occupied. You saw another guest’s belongings in the room already.”

  “Oh, no I didn’t, Aunt Myra. I truly didn’t!” declared the miscreant, wide eyed. “I was particular to open the bureau drawers and look, and I didn’t find a thing except a pocket flashlight with Angus Galbraith’s card tied to it, and I knew he wasn’t here yet because he told me himself up in the mountains that he wouldn’t be here till tomorrow, and anyhow, I knew he was going to be at his uncle’s. So I looked in the closet, and there was only an old dirty, smelly, woolly skirt and coat that I thought the cleaning woman must have left here because she was done with it, and a funny old leather bag with some coarse rags in it, and a lot of trash, so I took it down and burned it in the backyard. I thought you would be pleased that I had been so helpful!”