Margaret rallied to her best and sweetest, but she did wish her aunt had waited a few days until she had got acquainted with her and had adjusted herself to the change in her life. However, her aunt had arranged it for her pleasure, and she must make the best of it.
So she smiled and tried to appear pleased.
“Why, how lovely of you all to come and greet me right at the start!” she said graciously. “I’m sure we shall be the best of friends.” Her eyes wandered from one to another of the sharp, sophisticated faces, and she wondered if they would. Somehow there was an air of boredom about them, of smart sayings, and little sympathy in the conversation that did not tend to make her feel at home.
And yet, of course, there must be some delightful ones among them. She must not judge them at first glance when she was tired and a bit excited.
Aunt Carlotta had the maid take her to her room at once with an admonition to hurry into something colorful and fresh and come down immediately, for supper was to be served on the terrace right away. The maid stayed to help but only bewildered Margaret the more, and gave her a feeling of sudden tears behind her eyelids. Aunt Carlotta had only given her a very formal kiss and then had rushed her off with a servant! It gave her a sharp feeling that she was alone in the world. Aunt Carlotta was not a loving soul who would cling to her because she was a dear lost sister’s child. It was nothing to her that she had come all those miles to be with her. It was only an occasion for a party!
Well, perhaps she mustn’t think that, she told herself while she blinked the tears back and tried to insist that the maid should not unpack her simple belongings.
“No!” she said wildly. “Please don’t open that suitcase! The dress I wish to wear is in the other one. Let me get it! I know just how I packed it!”
She drew the smaller bag to her side and knelt beside it, bringing out a box from the very bottom.
“It will be horribly mussed,” said the maid. “I shall need to get an iron and press it. Or suppose you give me the box and I will take it downstairs, and have it back for you presently.”
“No,” said Margaret, with a dignity all her own, “it will be all right!” She opened the box and drew out a soft little uncrushable crepe, so packed amid tissue paper that its freshness was not creased at all. She slipped it over her head. A bright soft rosy garment, well selected, with lovely lines and of a becoming shade. Margaret had been most careful in her choice of the simple garments she had prepared for this first coming to her unknown relative, and even the maid recognized that everything was all right.
“Well, say. You are some packer to be able to carry a delicate little frock like that all this long journey and have it look as fit as a daisy,” said the maid. “And now, would you like me to dress your hair?”
“Oh, no,” said Margaret with a pleasant smile, “I’ll just fix it as I always do, and I’ll be ready in a minute.”
The maid stood in admiration as the girl’s swift fingers arranged her lovely brown hair in its natural waves.
“Well, you certainly are fine at it,” said the maid. “You need just a dash of color in your cheeks, and a bit of lipstick. Everything is here in the case of your dressing table. Shall I put it on?”
“No, thank you,” said Margaret firmly. “I would rather not have it.”
“But madam, I am afraid, will be upset! She expects me to turn you out all right.”
“Sorry,” said Margaret with a little lift of her independent chin. “I never use it. Now, shall I go down the way I came up? I feel quite fine and rested after that shower. It’s nice to feel clean again after the dust of the way. Thank you. Yes, I’m quite all right!” And with a bright smile she went quickly out to the terrace, reflecting that she would probably hear about this later, perhaps tomorrow, when Aunt Carlotta and she had time for a heart-to-heart talk.
When she stepped out of the doorway like a bright young flower, all the crowd of noisy young people turned to stare at her. But Margaret smiled and went and stood by her aunt quite easily, as if she had been accustomed to such staring all her life. Why should she mind what they thought of her at first? They would judge her by the cut of her clothes and the lack of makeup on her face. If she could win them to be her friends, later, when she got to know them, that would be something worthwhile. But just this first judgment of outward appearance wasn’t really worth worrying about. That was a philosophy that her mother had drilled into her as a small child, and at intervals all across the continent, the young woman Margaret had been thus fortifying herself for this occasion. Although of course she hadn’t expected a horde of young people to be present as audience. But she carried it off very well, just being her natural self, and presently they were seated about the terrace in great willow porch chairs, and waiters were passing dishes of delectable food, and everybody was chattering wildly and furtively watching her to see just what she was going to turn out to be.
“Where have you been all my life?” said a fascinating young man entitled Bailey Wicke, a youth with deep mahogany hair and great brown eyes, drawing up a chair beside her and handing her a plate piled high with sandwiches.
Margaret looked up with a twinkle in her eyes.
“Oh,” she said innocently, “do they say that out here, too? I’ve practically been raised on that phrase!”
And then suddenly the group around her turned, surprised, and burst into a laugh of quick appreciation. Margaret Weldon had taken her place among them as a person with wits of her own. She might be worth cultivating. At least she was not afraid of them.
Chapter 6
Suddenly, as Revel turned the letter over in his hand, his eye caught a glimpse of the postmark. Ah, he knew that postmark! Linwood! How he used to watch for that as a little boy, to take any letter that bore it to his mother! But it was a long time since he had seen that postmark. Not since his mother had died! Linwood was the place where his mother was born, and where his grandfather still lived when he had last been heard from. He often wondered why his grandfather never wrote to him. Always there used to be a little letter enclosed in his mother’s letters, for him. But nothing came anymore. At least if it did, he never had been told. His father always sorted through the mail before anyone else saw it. Irving had orders to take the mail from the postman, put it in the library, and not give any of it to anyone. He had heard his father tell Irving that.
But now Revel was trembling as he unfolded the letter. It wasn’t his grandfather’s handwriting. Had something happened to him? His heart sank as he slid down on the ground and began to read the letter. Of course he hadn’t seen much of his grandfather, not for years now. But it was sort of comforting to know that he was alive. His mother’s father!
“Mr. Revel Radcliffe,” the letter began.
Revel turned the envelope over to see his name written there, “Revel,” and had a passing gratitude that it had not fallen into his father’s hands. Certainly if it had, he would never have seen it. How his father hated to have him called Revel! Then he went on reading the letter.
Your grandfather, Mr. Allan B. Revel, has been very sick and may only last a few days more, the doctor says, or even only a few hours, for he is very feeble. I am the nurse who is caring for him, and he has asked me to write you and ask you if you will kindly come and see him before he dies. Or, if that is not possible, will you send him a few words of farewell? He says he loves you very dearly, and your mother Emily was his precious daughter, so for her sake as well as his own he wants to see you and talk with you before he dies. Enclosed is a check to pay for the journey.
He says you have never answered any of his letters since your mother died, but please, young man, I earnestly beg that you will take the time to come to your grandfather before he leaves this earth forever. If you could see how eager he is, I am sure you would be sorry that you have not done so before. He wants to give you a blessing, he says, before he goes.
Yours truly,
A. B. Stetson, nurse
As Revel read this letter t
he tears came to his eyes. Letters! So there had been letters, and they had never been given to him! And the poor old man had thought he did not care!
He read the letter again and then started angrily to his feet. So, this separation from his grandfather had been deliberate and intentional! He must go quickly, before his father could return. For surely if his father found it out, he would stop him! He would be already angry with him for not being on hand before he went away, and this would be the last straw. What must he do first? Wait, he must not bungle this!
He looked down at the check in his hand. The bank. He must cash this check! And he must draw out some of his own savings, too, that had been intended for college days, for in case he did not want to return, he would need more than fifty dollars. He must hurry, for the bank would close in three-quarters of an hour more, and he had a great deal to do besides. It would be better if he didn’t go into the house now, for Mandy would be sure to question him about being home earlier than usual. And Irving, if he was about, would make a terrible to-do and probably tell his father, even wire him if he found out in time, and get permission or an order to stop him from going. He must not tell the servants till the last minute. Or perhaps, if he could possibly get by without it, he need not tell them at all. Just leave a note for his father. That would be it. But he must hurry. He mustn’t run any risks at all.
He stuffed both letters into his breast pocket. The other letter didn’t matter now. He hadn’t time to read it. Anyhow, it bore a strange postmark he didn’t know. He slid out the gateway and down the road, taking very long steps, thinking fast as he went. There would be the things he had packed, the little trunk with his mother’s clothes. There would be her picture. He must not forget that. There would be his small bookcase filled with books. He would have to provide a way to get those all to the station, and that part ought to be managed before dark, too, so he could arrange about their being shipped. He needn’t put his own name on them; he could send them to his grandfather. No one would think to tell anything about that. The picture he would carry by hand. He couldn’t trust that any other way.
If only he could have managed to get that trunk and the books out to the garage before he went to school!
Presently he sighted a boy driving a truck. He used to be in Revel’s class, before he quit school and went to work.
“Hi, Bud,” he called, “going to be busy all the afternoon? I’d like ta get ya ta take some things down ta the station for me. Any chance?”
“Yep. I might,” said Bud, sporting a discouraged-looking cigarette. “Want I should go up that way now?”
“No, not yet. I got some errands, and I’ve got to do some more packing before the things will be ready. It’s some books I’m sending away to somebody, and a trunk. Suppose you make it four thirty. I’d like to get them off on that five o’clock train.”
“Okay!” said the lad, eyeing him thoughtfully. “Say, Rev, you ain’t thought anymore about that proposition I made ya ta buy yer old bicycle, have ya? I want it fer my little brother.”
“Oh,” said Revel, with a quick flash in his eyes. “Well, I might. I’m thinking of getting a new one someday. What was it you wanted to pay?”
“I said I’d give ya fi’ dollars.”
“All right,” said Revel. “If you help me get these things off on that train, I’ll let you have it for four fifty, but you’ve got to make it snappy or nothing doing.”
Bud’s eyes lighted.
“Okay!” he said. “I’ll be there on the tick.”
“Well, say, suppose you drive around the backstreet and stop behind the garage. The bike is in the garage, and that’ll save lugging it around. I’ll have the other stuff down there, too. I’m sort of cleaning up and making more room. But say, keep your mouth shut about this, will you? I don’t want any other kids in on it. And you needn’t go telling anybody you bought my bicycle. There’s several other fellows might come around and make trouble if they knew I was selling.”
“Okay,” said Bud, “I getcha!”
Then Revel sped on his way.
To the bank first, where he got his finances in good shape. Then to the station, where he made sure about the hour of trains and buses. There was a bus to the nearby city at quarter to five connecting with the first train for Linwood. If he got done he could take that. He hurried back home. He had a great deal yet to do, and very little time in which to do it. He must not miss that bus. He could ride down to the station on Bud’s truck and arrange to ship his things, and then he would get away before his father could possibly arrive. There wasn’t any train from New York until six, so he was fairly safe till then. But he must write a note to his father. It would not do for him just to disappear. His father would very likely put it into the hands of the police if he did, and it would be broadcast all over the vicinity. He would be hunted and perhaps jailed, surely sent back home. For he wasn’t of age yet. And it wouldn’t be because his father cared so much for him, either, but just that he had been defied. His father never could bear to be defied. No, the best way was to write him a very brief note.
It was only half past three when he slipped into the house stealthily as he could, not to stir up the servants. But Mandy heard him.
She opened the pantry door and stuck her head into the dining room, looking sharply through, into the hall, just as he was opposite the wide doorway.
“Thet you, Mr. Hiram? Ain’t you earlier’n common, boy? You ain’t sick, are you?” She stared at him alertly, as if searching for some kind of trouble, she didn’t know what. Although Revel was not a boy who often got into trouble at school.
“No, not sick, Mandy,” said Revel, giving her an understanding smile. “I just had a chance to get excused a little early, and as I had a couple things to do, I thought I’d cut baseball practice and do them. Got any cookies, Mandy?”
“Yes, I reckon.”
Revel went rooting in the hall closet for his raincoat and his tennis racket and baseball bat. He probably wouldn’t need them at his grandfather’s, but there was no point in leaving them around for any stepmother to mess with.
By the time Mandy came back with the plate of cookies and a foaming glass of milk, topped off by two huge chicken sandwiches, he had gathered out all of his own things from the closet, rolled them together, and was ready to go upstairs.
“Thanks awfully, Mandy,” he said, accepting the lunch with gratitude. “That looks swell. They had a rotten lunch at school, and I didn’t eat much. That cook at the cafeteria can’t cook one, two, three with you!”
Mandy grinned cheerfully and said, “Aw, now, you, Mr. Hiram. Don’t begin on your flattery! I ken always tell when you is hungry.”
Revel recognized a certain freedom in her speech that usually denoted the absence of Irving.
“What’s become of Irving?” he asked casually. “He taking a nap?”
“Nap!” sniffed Mandy. “You get that Irving to takin’ a nap an’ you ketch a weasel asleep. Irving, he’s drove down to the garage ta get the oil changed in the car, an’ git sompum done ta the brakes. I reckon he won’t be back afore dinnertime. He was plannin’ on stoppin’ at Sauter’s farm ta git some more p’taties an’ apples. We’s jest out, an’ we wantta be stocked up afore your daddy gits here. He said he might be here late this evenin’ or sometime t’morra! You want something I kin git fer ya, Mr. Hiram?”
“Oh, no, Mandy, thanks. I don’t need anything. I was just wondering where he was. It seemed mighty still in the house.”
“Yes,” said Mandy thoughtfully. “Irving, he makes a heap o’ noise ’times when he gits riled. Well, Mr. Hiram, you just call out if ya need anything else.”
“Okay, Mandy!” And Revel went cheerfully upstairs to his room, reflecting that now he was going to have ample time for his operations. It would be easy to keep Mandy busy somewhere looking for something when he wanted to carry the things out to the garage, and he could get all his things ready for Bud to take, without having to answer Mandy’s many questions.
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But, he reflected, it wouldn’t do to count too much on Mandy’s ideas of when Irving was returning. He had better get his things out of sight before there was any chance of his coming.
So, taking a hasty swig of the cold, delicious milk and stuffing a few cookies in his mouth, he went at once to work, getting out his two suitcases, folding and packing his clothes without regard to the neatness of their folds, just any way to get them in in a hurry. He could repack in the train if necessary.
He hadn’t many clothes. His father didn’t believe in having a lot of things around at once. There were two pretty good suits, some old trousers, a lot of sweaters to choose from, dating back several years. Swiftly he selected the ones he would need, folding them firmly.
A few of his possessions he stuffed into a chest in the attic. It took him a very short time to pack his personal belongings.
A visit to the attic brought some good, strong corrugated cardboard boxes, in which he stowed a lot of his unimportant things—old shoes, baseball togs, and the like. He could send those on ahead with the books and the trunk. Some heavy cord and some labels and the whole was ready. He locked the door, cautiously took out the screen of his side window, and by the help of a rope that was one of his cherished possessions, he let the boxes and suitcases down to the ground, where they were safely hidden from view behind a group of tall lilac and syringe bushes. Then he locked the strong little bookcase, wrapped it in a great piece of burlap he had found in the attic, roped and labeled it, and let it down from the window. It was only a child’s bookcase after all.
It was getting late, and he still had a lot to do.
He slid downstairs and called to Mandy.
“Mandy, do you remember what was done with my old bicycle?”
Mandy appeared.
“What you goin’ ta do, Mr. Hiram?” she asked, perplexed. “You can’t ride no baby bicycle. You with your long legs.”
“Why, I was going to sell it. It’s too small for me anymore. I know a fellow who wants to buy it. Where was it put? In the attic?”
The Girl of the Woods Page 6