The Girl from Montana

by Grace Livingston Hill

  CHAPTER XIII

  ANOTHER GRANDMOTHER

  Elizabeth's idea in taking the horse along with her was to have all herarmor on, as a warrior goes out to meet the foe. If this grandmotherproved impossible, why, then so long as she had life and breath and ahorse she could flee. The world was wide, and the West was still open toher. She could flee back to the wilderness that gave her breath.

  The old horse stopped gravely and disappointedly before the tall,aristocratic house in Rittenhouse Square. He had hoped that city life wasnow to end, and that he and his dear mistress were to travel back to theirbeloved prairies. No amount of oats could ever make up to him for hisfreedom, and the quiet, and the hills. He had a feeling that he shouldlike to go back home and die. He had seen enough of the world.

  She fastened the halter to a ring in the sidewalk, which surprised him.The grocer's boy never fastened him. He looked up questioningly at thehouse, but saw no reason why his mistress should go in there. It was notfamiliar ground. Koffee and Sons never came up this way.

  Elizabeth, as she crossed the sidewalk and mounted the steps before theformidable carved doors, felt that here was the last hope of finding anearthly habitation. If this failed her, then there was the desert, andstarvation, and a long, long sleep. But while the echo of the cell stillsounded through the high-ceiled hall there came to her the words: "Let notyour heart be troubled.... In my Father's house are many mansions; if itwere not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.... Iwill come again and receive you." How sweet that was! Then, even if shedied on the desert, there was a home prepared for her. So much she hadlearned in Christian Endeavor meeting.

  The stately butler let her in. He eyed her questioningly at first, andsaid madam was not up yet; but Elizabeth told him she would wait.

  "Is she sick?" asked Elizabeth with a strange constriction about herheart.

  "O no, she is not up yet, miss," said the kind old butler; "she never getsup before this. You're from Mrs. Sands, I suppose." Poor soul, for oncehis butler eyes had been mistaken. He thought she was the littleerrand-girl from Madam Bailey's modiste.

  "No, I'm just Elizabeth," said the girl, smiling. She felt that this man,whoever he was, was not against her. He was old, and he had a kind look.

  He still thought she meant she was not the modiste, just her errand-girl.Her quaint dress and the long braid down her back made her look like achild.

  "I'll tell her you've come. Be seated," said the butler, and gave her achair in the dim hall just opposite the parlor door, where she had aglimpse of elegance such as she had never dreamed existed. She tried tothink how it must be to live in such a room and walk on velvet. The carpetwas deep and rich. She did not know it was a rug nor that it was woven insome poor peasant's home and then was brought here years afterward at afabulous price. She only knew it was beautiful in its silvery sheen withgleaming colors through it like jewels in the dew.

  On through another open doorway she caught a glimpse of a painting on thewall. It was a man as large as life, sitting in a chair; and the face andattitude were her father's--her father at his best. She was fairlystartled. Who was it? Could it be her father? And how had they made thispicture of him? He must be changed in those twenty years he had been gonefrom home.

  Then the butler came back, and before he could speak she pointed towardthe picture. "Who is it?" she asked.

  "That, miss? That's Mr. John, Madam's husband that's dead a good manyyears now. But I remember him well."

  "Could I look at it? He is so much like my father." She walked rapidlyover the ancient rug, unheeding its beauties, while the wondering butlerfollowed a trifle anxiously. This was unprecedented. Mrs. Sands'serrand-girls usually knew their place.

  "Madam said you was to come right up to her room," said the butlerpointedly. But Elizabeth stood rooted to the ground, studying the picture.The butler had to repeat the message. She smiled and turned to follow him,and as she did so saw on a side wall the portraits of two boys.

  "Who are they?" she pointed swiftly. They were much like her own twobrothers.

  "Them are Mr. John and Mr. James, Madam's two sons. They's both of themdead now," said the butler. "At least, Mr. James is, I'm sure. He died twoyears ago. But you better come right up. Madam will be wondering."

  She followed the old man up the velvet-shod stairs that gave back nosound from footfall, and pondered as she went. Then that was her father,that boy with the beautiful face and the heavy wavy hair tossed back fromhis forehead, and the haughty, imperious, don't-care look. And here waswhere he had lived. Here amid all this luxury.

  Like a flash came the quick contrast of the home in which he had died, anda great wave of reverence for her father rolled over her. From such a homeand such surroundings it would not have been strange if he had grown wearyof the rough life out West, and deserted his wife, who was beneath him instation. But he had not. He had stayed by her all the years. True, he hadnot been of much use to her, and much of the time had been but a burdenand anxiety; but he had stayed and loved her--when he was sober. Sheforgave him his many trying ways, his faultfindings with her mother's manylittle blunders--no wonder, when he came from this place.

  The butler tapped on a door at the head of the stairs, and a maid swung itopen.

  "Why, you're not the girl Mrs. Sands sent the other day," said a querulousvoice from a mass of lace-ruffled pillows on the great bed.

  "I am Elizabeth," said the girl, as if that were full explanation.

  "Elizabeth? Elizabeth who? I don't see why she sent another girl. Are yousure you will understand the directions? They're very particular, for Iwant my frock ready for to-night without fail." The woman sat up, leaningon one elbow. Her lace nightgown and pale-blue silk dressing-sack fellaway from a round white arm that did not look as if it belonged to a veryold lady. Her gray hair was becomingly arranged, and she was extremelypretty, with small features. Elizabeth looked and marvelled. Like a flashcame the vision of the other grandmother at the wash-tub. The contrast wasstartling.

  "I am Elizabeth Bailey," said the girl quietly, as if she would break apiece of hard news gently. "My father was your son John."

  "The idea!" said the new grandmother, and promptly fell back upon herpillows with her hand upon her heart. "John, John, my little John. No onehas mentioned his name to me for years and years. He never writes to me."She put up a lace-trimmed handkerchief, and sobbed.

  "Father died five years ago," said Elizabeth.

  "You wicked girl!" said the maid. "Can't you see that Madam can't bearsuch talk? Go right out of the room!" The maid rushed up withsmelling-salts and a glass of water, and Elizabeth in distress came andstood by the bed.

  "I'm sorry I made you feel bad, grandmother," she said when she saw thatthe fragile, childish creature on the bed was recovering somewhat.

  "What right have you to call me that? Grandmother, indeed! I'm not so oldas that. Besides, how do I know you belong to me? If John is dead, yourmother better look after you. I'm sure I'm not responsible for you. It'sher business. She wheedled John away from his home, and carried him off tothat awful West, and never let him write to me. She has done it all, andnow she may bear the consequences. I suppose she has sent you here to beg,but she has made a mistake. I shall not have a thing to do with her of herchildren."

  "Grandmother!" Elizabeth's eyes flashed as they had done to the othergrandmother a few hours before. "You must not talk so. I won't hear it. Iwouldn't let Grandmother Brady talk about my father, and you can't talk soabout mother. She was my mother, and I loved her, and so did father loveher; and she worked hard to keep him and take care of him when he drankyears and years, and didn't have any money to help her. Mother was onlyeighteen when she married father, and you ought not to blame her. Shedidn't have a nice home like this. But she was good and dear, and now sheis dead. Father and mother are both dead, and all the other children. Aman killed my brother, and then as soon as he was buried he came andwanted me to go with him. He was an awful man, and I was afraid, and t
ookmy brother's horse and ran away. I rode all this long way because I wasafraid of that man, and I wanted to get to some of my own folks, who wouldlove me, and let me work for them, and let me go to school and learnsomething. But I wish now I had stayed out there and died. I could havelain down in the sage-brush, and a wild beast would have killed meperhaps, and that would be a great deal better than this; for GrandmotherBrady does not understand, and you do not want me; but in my Father'shouse in heaven there are many mansions, and He went to prepare a placefor me; so I guess I will go back to the desert, and perhaps He will sendfor me. Good-by, grandmother."

  Then before the astonished woman in the bed could recover her senses fromthis remarkable speech Elizabeth turned and walked majestically from theroom. She was slight and not very tall, but in the strength of her prideand purity she looked almost majestic to the awestruck maid and thebewildered woman.

  * * * * *

  Down the stairs walked the girl, feeling that all the wide world wasagainst her. She would never again try to get a friend. She had not met afriend except in the desert. One man had been good to her, and she had lethim go away; but he belonged to another woman, and she might not let himstay. There was just one thing to be thankful for. She had knowledge ofher Father in heaven, and she knew what Christian Endeavor meant. Shecould take that with her out into the desert, and no one could take itfrom her. One wish she had, but maybe that was too much to hope for. Ifshe could have had a Bible of her own! She had no money left. Nothing buther mother's wedding-ring, the papers, and the envelope that had containedthe money the man had given her when he left. She could not part withthem, unless perhaps some one would take the ring and keep it until shecould buy it back. But she would wait and hope.

  She walked by the old butler with her hand on her pistol. She did notintend to let any one detain her now. He bowed pleasantly, and opened thedoor for her, however; and she marched down the steps to her horse. Butjust as she was about to mount and ride away into the unknown where nograndmother, be she Brady or Bailey, would ever be able to search her out,no matter how hard she tried, the door suddenly opened again, and therewas a great commotion. The maid and the old butler both flew out, and laidhands upon her. She dropped the bridle, and seized her pistol, coveringthem both with its black, forbidding nozzle.

  They stopped, trembling, but the butler bravely stood his ground. He didnot know why he was to detain this extraordinary young person, but he feltsure something wrong. Probably she was a thief, and had taken some ofMadam's jewels. He could call the police. He opened his mouth to do sowhen the maid explained.

  "Madam wants you to come back. She didn't understand. She wants to see youand ask about her son. You must come, or you will kill her. She has hearttrouble, and you must not excite her."

  Elizabeth put the pistol back into its holster and, picking up the bridleagain, fastened it in the ring, saying simply, "I will come back."

  "What do you want?" she asked abruptly when she returned to the bedroom.

  "Don't you know that's a disrespectful way to speak?" asked the womanquerulously. "What did you have to get into a temper for, and go off likethat without telling me anything about my son? Sit down, and tell me allabout it."

  "I'm sorry, grandmother," said Elizabeth, sitting down. "I thought youdidn't want me and I better go."

  "Well, the next time wait until I send you. What kind of a thing have yougot on, anyway? That's a queer sort of a hat for a girl to wear. Take itoff. You look like a rough boy with that on. You make me think of Johnwhen he had been out disobeying me."

  Elizabeth took off the offending headgear, and revealed her smoothlyparted, thick brown hair in its long braid down her back.

  "Why, you're rather a pretty girl if you were fixed up," said the oldlady, sitting up with interest now. "I can't remember your mother, but Idon't think she had fine features like that."

  "They said I looked like father," said Elizabeth.

  "Did they? Well, I believe it's true," with satisfaction. "I couldn'tbear you if you looked like those lowdown ----"

  "Grandmother!" Elizabeth stood up, and flashed her Bailey eyes.

  "You needn't 'grandmother' me all the time," said the lady petulantly."But you look quite handsome when you say it. Take off that ill-fittingcoat. It isn't thick enough for winter, anyway. What in the world have yougot round your waist? A belt? Why, that's a man's belt! And what have yougot in it? Pistols? Horrors! Marie, take them away quick! I shall faint! Inever could bear to be in a room with one. My husband used to have one onhis closet shelf, and I never went near it, and always locked the roomwhen he was out. You must put them out in the hall. I cannot breathe wherepistols are. Now sit down and tell me all about it, how old you are, andhow you got here."

  Elizabeth surrendered her pistols with hesitation. She felt that she mustobey her grandmother, but was not altogether certain whether it was safefor her to be weaponless until she was sure this was friendly ground.

  At the demand she began back as far as she could remember, and told thestory of her life, pathetically, simply, without a single claim to pity,yet so earnestly and vividly that the grandmother, lying with her eyesclosed, forgot herself completely, and let the tears trickle unbidden andunheeded down her well-preserved cheeks.

  When Elizabeth came to the graves in the moonlight, she gasped, andsobbed: "O, Johnny, Johnny, my little Johnny! Why did you always be such abad, bad boy?" and when the ride in the desert was described, and the manfrom whom she fled, the grandmother held her breath, and said, "O, howfearful!" Her interest in the girl was growing, and kept at white heatduring the whole of the story.

  There was one part of her experience, however, that Elizabeth passed overlightly, and that was the meeting with George Trescott Benedict.Instinctively she felt that this experience would not find a sympatheticlistener. She passed it over by merely saying that she had met a kindgentleman from the East who was lost, and that they had ridden togetherfor a few miles until they reached a town; and he had telegraphed to hisfriends, and gone on his way. She said nothing about the money he had lentto her, for she shrank from speaking about him more than was necessary.She felt that her grandmother might feel as the old woman of the ranch hadfelt about their travelling together. She left it to be inferred that shemight have had a little money with her from home. At least, the olderwoman asked no questions about how she secured provisions for the way.

  When Elizabeth came to her Chicago experience, her grandmother clasped herhands as if a serpent had been mentioned, and said: "How degrading! Youcertainly would have been justified in shooting the whole company. Iwonder such places are allowed to exist!" But Marie sat with large eyes ofwonder, and retailed the story over again in the kitchen afterwards forthe benefit of the cook and the butler, so that Elizabeth becamehenceforth a heroine among them.

  Elizabeth passed on to her Philadelphia experience, and found that hereher grandmother was roused to blazing indignation, but the thing thatroused her was the fact that a Bailey should serve behind a counter in aten-cent Store. She lifted her hands, and uttered a moan of real pain,and went on at such a rate that the smelling-salts had to be brought intorequisition again.

  When Elizabeth told of her encounter with the manager in the cellar, thegrandmother said: "How disgusting! The impertinent creature! He ought tobe sued. I will consult the lawyer about the matter. What did you say hisname was? Marie, write that down. And so, dear, you did quite right tocome to me. I've been looking at you while you talked, and I believeyou'll be a pretty girl if you are fixed up. Marie, go to the telephone,and call up Blandeaux, and tell him to send up a hair-dresser at once. Iwant to see how Miss Elizabeth will look with her hair done low in one ofthose new coils. I believe it will be becoming. I should have tried itlong ago myself; only it seems a trifle too youthful for hair that isbeginning to turn gray."

  Elizabeth watched her grandmother in wonder. Here truly was a new phase ofwoman. She did not care about great facts, but only about little thin
gs.Her life was made up of the great pursuit of fashion, just like Lizzie's.Were people in cities all alike? No, for he, the one man she had met inthe wilderness, had not seemed to care. Maybe, though, when he got back tothe city he did care. She sighed and turned toward the new grandmother.

  "Now I have told you everything, grandmother. Shall I go away? I wanted togo to school; but I see that it costs a great deal of money, and I don'twant to be a burden on any one. I came here, not to ask you to take me in,because I did not want to trouble you; but I thought before I went away Iought to see you once because--because you are my grandmother."

  "I've never been a grandmother," said the little woman of the worldreflectively, "but I don't know but it would be rather nice. I'd like tomake you into a pretty girl, and take you out into society. That would besomething new to live for. I'm not very pretty myself any more, but I cansee that you will be. Do you wear blue or pink? I used to wear pinkmyself, but I believe you could wear either when you get your complexionin shape. You've tanned it horribly, but it may come out all right. Ithink you'll take. You say you want to go to school. Why, certainly, Isuppose that will be necessary; living out in that barbarous, uncivilizedregion, of course you don't know much. You seem to speak correctly, butJohn always was particular about his speech. He had a tutor when he waslittle who tripped him up every mistake he made. That was the only thingthat tutor was good for; he was a linguist. We found out afterwards he wasterribly wild, and drank. He did John more harm than good, Marie, I shallwant Elizabeth to have the rooms next mine. Ring for Martha to see thateverything is in order. Elizabeth, did you ever have your hands manicured?You have a pretty-shaped hand. I'll have the woman attend to it when shecomes to shampoo your hair and put it up. Did you bring any clothes along?Of course not. You couldn't on horseback. I suppose you had your trunksent by express. No trunk? No express? No railroad? How barbarous! HowJohn must have suffered, poor fellow! He, so used to every luxury! Well, Idon't see that it was my fault. I gave him everything he wanted except hiswife, and he took her without my leave. Poor fellow, poor fellow!"

  Mrs. Bailey in due time sent Elizabeth off to the suite of rooms that shesaid were to be hers exclusively, and arose to bedeck herself for anotherday. Elizabeth was a new toy, and she anticipated playing with her. Itput new zest into a life that had grown monotonous.

  Elizabeth, meanwhile, was surveying her quarters, and wondering whatLizzie would think if she could see her. According to orders, the coachmanhad taken Robin to the stable, and he was already rolling in all theluxuries of a horse of the aristocracy, and congratulating himself on thegood taste of his mistress to select such a stopping-place. For his parthe was now satisfied not to move further. This was better than thewilderness any day. Oats like these, and hay such as this, were not to befound on the plains.

  Toward evening the grave butler, with many a deprecatory glance at theneighborhood, arrived at the door of Mrs. Brady, and delivered himself ofthe following message to that astonished lady, backed by her daughter andher granddaughter, with their ears stretched to the utmost to hear everysyllable:

  "Mrs. Merrill Wilton Bailey sends word that her granddaughter, MissElizabeth, has reached her home safely, and will remain with her. MissElizabeth will come sometime to see Mrs. Brady, and thank her for herkindness during her stay with her."

  The butler bowed, and turned away with relief. His dignity and socialstanding had not been so taxed by the family demands in years. He was gladhe might shake off the dust of Flora Street forever. He felt for thecoachman. He would probably have to drive the young lady down heresometime, according to that message.

  Mrs. Brady, her daughter, and Lizzie stuck their heads out into thelamplighted street, and watched the dignified butler out of sight. Thenthey went in and sat down in three separate stages of relief andastonishment.

  "Fer the land sakes!" ejaculated the grandmother. "Wall, now, if thatdon't beat all!" then after a minute: "The impertinent fellow! And theimpidence of the woman! Thank me fer my kindness to me own grandchild! I'dthank her to mind her business, but then that's just like her."

  "Her nest is certainly well feathered," said Aunt Nan enviously. "I onlywish Lizzie had such a chance."

  Said Lizzie: "It's awful queer, her looking like that, too, in that crazyrig! Well, I'm glad she's gone, fer she was so awful queer it was jestfierce. She talked religion a lot to the girls, and then they laughed ather behind her back; and they kep' a telling me I'd be a missionary 'forelong if she stayed with us. I went to Mr. Wray, the manager, and told himmy cousin was awfully shy, and she sent word she wanted to be excused ferrunning away like that. He kind of colored up, and said 'twas all right,and she might come back and have her old place if she wanted, and he'd sayno more about it. I told him I'd tell her. But I guess her acting up won'tdo me a bit of harm. The girls say he'll make up to me now. Wish he would.I'd have a fine time. It's me turn to have me wages raised, anyway. Hesaid if Bess and I would come to-morrow ready to stay in the evening, he'dtake us to a show that beat everything he ever saw in Philadelphia. I meanto make him take me, anyway. I'm just glad she's out of the way. Shewasn't like the rest of us."

  Said Mrs. Brady: "It's the Bailey in her. But she said she'd come back andsee me, didn't she?" and the grandmother in her meditated over that factfor several minutes.