CHAPTER X
For a few moments it moved and concerned Honor to see that she was thecause of the first serious quarrel between her mother and herstepfather. She was shocked to see her mother's wild weeping and StephenLorimer's grim jaw and to hear the words between them, but nothing couldreally count with her in those hours.
She took her mother in her arms and kissed her and spoke to her as shehad to her little brothers in the years gone by, when they were hurt orsorry. "There, there, Muzzie _dear_! You can't help it. You must juststop caring so. It isn't your fault."
"People will think--people will say----" sobbed Mildred Lorimer.
"No one will blame you, dear. Every one knows what a trial I've alwaysbeen to you."
"You have, Honor! You have! You've never been a comfort to me--not sinceyou were a tiny child. And even then you were tomboyish and rough andqueer."
"I know, Muzzie."
"I never heard of anything so brazen in all my life--running after himto Mexico--to visit people you never laid eyes on in all your days,utter strangers to you----"
"Jimsy's aunt and uncle, Muzzie."
"Utter strangers to _you_, forcing yourself upon them, without eventelegraphing to know if they can have you----"
"No. I don't want Jimsy to know I'm coming."
"Where's your pride, Honor Carmody? When he's done such dreadful thingsand got himself expelled from college--a young man never lives _that_down as long as he lives!--and gone the way of all the 'Wild Kings,' andhasn't even written to you! That's the thing I can't understand--yourrunning after him when he's dropped you--gone without a word or a lineto you."
"He may have written, Muzzie. Letters are lost, you know, sometimes."
"Very seldom. _Very_ seldom!" Mrs. Lorimer hotly proclaimed her faith inher government's efficiency. "I haven't lost three letters in fortyyears. No. He's jilted you, Honor. That's the ugly, shameful truth, andyou're too blind to see it. If you knew the things Carter told hismother----"
"I don't want to know them, Muzzie."
"Of course you don't. That's just it! Blind! Blind andstubborn,--determined to wreck and ruin your whole life. And I muststand by, helpless, and see you do it. And the _danger_ of the thing!With Diaz out of the country it's in the hands of the brigands. You'llbe murdered ... or worse! Well--I know whose head your blood will be on.Not mine, thank Heaven!" There was very little that day, Mildred Lorimerfelt, that she could thank Heaven for. It was not using her well.
"You know that Stepper will give me letters and telegraph ahead to thetrain people," said Honor. "And you mustn't believe all the hystericaltales in the newspapers, Muzzie dear. Here's Stepper now."
Stephen Lorimer was turning the car in at the driveway and a momentlater he came into the house. He looked very tired but he smiled at hisstepdaughter. "You're in luck, Top Step! I've just come from the MexicanConsulate. Met some corking people there, Mexicans, starting hometo-morrow. They'll be with you until the last day of your trip! Motherand father and daughter,--Menendez is the name. Fascinating creatures.I've got your reservations, in the same car with them! Mildred," heturned to his wife, still speaking cheerily but begging for absolutionwith his tired eyes, "Senora Menendez--Menendez y Garcia is the wholename--sent her compliments and said to tell you she would 'guard yourdaughter as her own.' Doesn't that make you feel better about it?"
"She can defend her from bandits, I suppose?"
"My dear, there will be Senor Menendez, and they tell me the tales ofviolence are largely newspaper stuff,--as I've told you repeatedly. Theywill not only look after Honor all the way but they will telegraph tofriends to meet her at Cordoba and drive her out to the Kings'_rancho_--I explained that she wished to surprise her friends. I don'tmind telling you now that I should have gone with her myself if thesepeople hadn't turned up."
"Stepper, dear!"
"And I'll go now, T. S., if you like."
"No, Stepper. I'd rather go alone, really--as long as I'm going to be sowell looked after, and Muzzie needn't worry."
"'Needn't worry!'" said Mildred Lorimer, lifting her hands and lettingthem fall into her lap.
"Honestly, Muzzie, you needn't. If you do, it's because you letyourself. You must know that I'll be safe with these people."
"Your bodily safety isn't all," her mother, driven from that corner,veered swiftly. "The thing itself is the worst. The _idea_ of it--when Ithink--after all that was in the paper, and every one talking about itand pitying you--_pitying_ you, Honor!"
Her daughter got up suddenly and crossed over to her mother. "Every onebut you, Muzzie? Can't you manage to--pity me--a little? I think I couldstand being pitied, just now." It was indeed a day for being mothered.There was a need which even the best and most understanding ofstepfathers could not fill, and Mildred Lorimer, looking into her whiteface and her mourning eyes melted suddenly and allowed herself to becuddled and somewhat comforted but the heights of comforting Honor shecould not scale.
"I think," said the girl at length, "I'd like to go up to my room andrest for a little while, if you don't mind, Muzzie,--and Stepper."
"Right, T. S. You'll want to be fresh for to-morrow."
"Do, dear--and I'll have Kada bring you up some tea. Rest until dinnertime, because Mrs. Van Meter's dining with us," she broke off as she sawthe small quiver which passed over her daughter's face and defendedherself. "I had to ask her, Honor. I couldn't--in common decency--avoidit. She's so devoted to you, and think what she's done for you, Honor!"
Honor sighed. "Very well. But will you make her promise not to letCarter know I am coming?"
"My dear, how could she? You'll be there yourself as soon as a letter."
"She might telegraph." She turned to her stepfather. "Will you make herpromise, Stepper?"
"I will, Top Step. Run along and rest. I daresay there will be some ofthe Old Guard in to see you this evening." He walked with her to thedoor and opened it for her. The small amenities of life had always hisdevoted attention. He smiled down at her. "_Rest!_" he said.
"I can rest, now, Stepper." It was true. When she reached the haven ofher big blue room she found herself relaxed and relieved. Again thedirect simplicity of her nature upheld her; she had not found Jimsy, butshe would find him; she was going to him without a day's delay; shecould "rest in action."
The soft-footed, soft-voiced Kada brought her a tea tray and arranged itdeftly on a small table by the window. He smiled incessantly and keptsucking in his breath in his shy and respectful pleasure. "Veree glod,"he said as the gardener had said before him, "Veree _glod_! I lige vereemoach you comin' home! Now when thad Meestair Jeemsie comin' home too,happy days all those days!" He had brought her two kinds of tinysandwiches which she had favored in the old tea times, chopped olivesand nuts in one, cream cheese and dates in the other, and there was aplate of paper-thin cookies and some salted almonds and he had put ahalf blown red rose on the shining napkin.
"Kada, you are very kind. You always do everything so beautifully! Howare you coming on with your painting?"
"Veree glod, thank-you-veree-moach!" He bowed in still delight.
"You must show me your pictures in the morning, Kada."
"Thank-you-veree-moach! Soon I have one thousand dollar save', can gostudy Art School."
"That's fine, Kada!"
"_Bud_"--his serene face clouded over--"veree sod leavin' theeze house!When you stayin' home an' thad Meestair Jeemsie here I enjoy to worktheeze house; is merry from moach comedy!"'
He bowed himself out, still drawing in his breath and Honor smiled."Merry from much comedy" the house had been in the old gay days; darkfrom much tragedy it seemed to-day. What would it be to her when shecame back again? But, little by little, the old room soothed and stilledher. There were the sedate four-poster bed and the demure dresser andthe little writing desk, good mahogany all of them; come by deviouspaths from a Virginia plantation; the cool blue of walls and rugs andhangings; the few pictures she had loved; three framed photographs ofthe Los Angeles football sq
uad; a framed photograph of Jimsy in hisclass play; a bowl of dull blue pottery filled now with lavish winterroses. It was like a steadying hand on her shoulder, that sane andsimple girlhood room.
The window gave on the garden and the King house beyond it. She wonderedwhether she should see James King before she went to Mexico. She feltshe could hardly face him gently,--Jimsy's father who had failed him inhis dark hour. In view of what his own life had been! She leaned forwardand watched intently. It was the doctor's motor, the same seasoned oldcar, which was stopping before the house of the "Wild Kings," and shesaw the physician hurry up the untidy path and disappear into the house.James King was ill again. She would have to see him, then. Perhaps hewould have a good message for Jimsy. She finished her tea and slippedinto her old blue kimono, still hanging in the closet, turned back theembroidered spread and laid herself down upon the bed. She took Jimsy'sring out of the little jewel pocket where she carried it and put it onher finger. "I will never take it off again," she said to herself. Thenshe fell asleep.
"Fresh as paint, T. S.," said her stepfather when she came down.
"My dear, what an adorable frock," said her mother. "You never got_that_ in Italy!"
"But I did, Muzzie!" Honor was penitently glad of the sign offellowship. "There's a really lovely little shop in the Via Tournabouni.Wait till my big trunk comes and you see what I found for you there! Oh,here's Mrs. Van Meter!"
She hurried to the door to greet Carter's mother. Marcia Van Meterkissed her warmly and exclaimed over her. She was thinner but it wasbecoming, and her gown suited her perfectly, and--they were seated atdinner now--was that an Italian ring?
"Yes," said Honor, slowly, looking first at her mother, "it is anItalian ring, a very old one. Jimsy gave it to me. It has been in theKing family for generations. Isn't it lovely?"
"_Lovely_," said Mrs. Van Meter, coloring. She changed the subjectswiftly but she did not really seem disconcerted. Indeed, her mannertoward Honor during the meal and the hour that followed wasaffectionate to the point, almost, of seeming proprietary and maternal.Some boys and girls came in later and Mrs. Van Meter rose to go. "I'llrun home, now, my dear, and leave you with your young friends."
"I'll go across the street with you, Mrs. Van Meter," said StephenLorimer, flinging his cigarette into the fire. He had already extractedher promise not to telegraph Carter but he meant to hear it again.
"Thanks, Mr. Lorimer, but I'm going to ask Honor to step over with me. Ihave a tiny parcel for Carter and a message. Will you come, Honor?"
She slipped her arm through the girl's and gave it a little squeeze asthey crossed the wide street. "Hasn't the city changed and grown, mydear? Look at the number of motors in sight at this moment! One hardlydares cross the street. I declare, it makes me feel almost as if I werein the East again." She gave her a small, tissue wrapped parcel for herson and came out on to the steps again with her. "Be careful aboutcrossing, Honor!"
"Yes," said Honor, lightly. "That would hardly do,--to come alone fromItaly and then get myself run over on my own street. What's thatKipling thing Stepper quotes:
To sail unscathed from a heathen land And be robbed on a Christian coast!
Well, good-night, Mrs. Van Meter, and good-by, and I'll write you howCarter is!"
The older woman put her arms about her and held her close. "Dearestgirl, Carter told me not to breathe to any one, not even to your mother,about--about what happened last summer--and--and what he asked you, andI haven't, but I _must_ tell you how glad...." then, at the bewildermentin Honor's face in the light of the porch lamp,--"he showed me thetelegram you sent him to the steamer."
"Oh,--I remember!" Her brief wire to him, promising to forgive andforget his wild words of the evening before. She had quite forgiven, andshe had so nearly forgotten that she could not imagine, at first, whathis mother meant. And now, because the older woman was trembling, andbecause Carter must have told her of how he had lost control of himselfand been for a moment false to his friend, she gave back the warmembrace and kissed the pale cheek. "Yes. And I _meant_ it, Mrs. VanMeter!"
"You _blessed_ child!" Marcia Van Meter wiped her eyes. "You've made mevery happy."
Honor ran across Figueroa Street between flashing headlights onautomobiles, and her heart was soft within her. _Poor_ old Cartie! Howhe must have grieved and reproached himself, and how seriously he musthave taken it, to tell his mother! Fancy not forgiving people! Herstepfather had marked a passage for her in her pocket "R. L. S."..."The man who cannot forgive any mortal thing is a green hand in life,"Stevenson had said. Honor believed him. She could even forgive JamesKing, poor, proud, miserable James King, for failing Jimsy. It wasbecause he cared so much. As she started up her own walk some one calledto her from the steps of the King house.
"That you, Honor?"
"Yes, Doctor! I just came home to-day. How are you?" She ran over toshake hands with him. "Is Mr. King very sick?"
"He's dying."
"Oh, Doctor _Deering_!"
"Yes. No mistake about it this time. Wants to see you. Old nigger womantold him you were home. Will you come now?"
"Of course." She followed him into the house and up the long, shabbilycarpeted stairs. She had never seen a dying person and she began toshiver.
As if he read her thought the doctor spoke. "Isn't going to die whileyou're here. Not for a week--perhaps two weeks. But he'll never be upagain." His voice was gruff and his brow was furrowed. He had been withJeanie King when Jimsy was born and when she died, and he had cherishedand scorned James King for long years.
There was a chair beside the bed and Honor seated herself there insilence. Presently the sick man opened his eyes and his worn and ravagedlook of his son caught at her heart.
"So," he said somberly, "you came home."
"Yes, Mr. King. I came because Jimsy was in trouble, and to-morrow I'mgoing to him."
His eyes widened and slow, difficult color came into his sharply bonedface. "You're going ... to Mexico?"
"Yes; alone."
The color crept up and up until it reached the graying hair, crisplywaved, like Jimsy's. "No King woman ever ... held harder ... than that!"he gasped. "You're a good girl, Honor Carmody. They knew ... what to ...name you, didn't they?"
She leaned nearer, holding her hand so that the rays of the night lightfell on the ring. "Didn't you know I'd 'hold hard' when you let Jimsygive me this?"
He hauled himself up on an elbow and stared at it with tragic eyes."Jeanie wore it five years.... My mother wore it thirty.... HonorCarmody, you're a good girl.... You make me ... ashamed.... Tell the boythat ... I'm sorry ... that letter. Bring him back ... in time...." Hefell back, limp, gasping, and the doctor signaled to the girl to go. Asshe was slipping through the door the sick man spoke again, querulously."Damn that mocking-bird ... make somebody shoot him!... There was onesinging when Jimsy was born ... and when Jeanie went ... and this onenow, mocking, mocking...."
She ran back to him. "Oh, Mr. King," she said, with shy fervor, "heisn't making fun of _us_!--Only of the bad, hard things! One sang outnear Fiesta Park the day we thought Greenmount would win thechampionship, and one was singing the night Jimsy and I found out thatwe loved each other,--and this one was singing when I came home to-day!"It was a long speech for Honor and she was a little shy and breathless."I _know_ he doesn't mean it the way you think! He's telling us thatthe sad, hard, terrible things are not the real things!" Suddenly shebent and kissed his cold forehead. "Oh, Mr. King, if you listen to himwith--with your _heart_--you'll hear it! He's mocking at trouble anddisgrace,--and misunderstanding and silly pride! He's--_hear himnow!_--he's mocking at pain and sorrow and--and _death_!"
Then she ran out of the room and down the long stairs and across thelawn to her own house, where a noisy and jubilant section of the OldGuard waited.
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