Kitabı oku: «A Modern Cinderella», sayfa 6
CHAPTER VIII
A NEW GLIMPSE OF SERVITUDE
Marilla wandered about a little. The stars were coming out and afar off the wood robin was singing his low sweet song. The dew was scattering the fragrance of flower and shrub and she drew in long breaths of it that seemed to revive her. Was Miss Armitage sitting at the organ and evoking the music that stirred one’s very being and made you wish unutterable things? And would Dr. Richards go to comfort some poor patient tomorrow?
Then she went to her new home. Miss Florence sat alone on the porch. The babies were soundly asleep.
“Did you have a nice dinner?” she asked. “And I suppose you are very tired. Will you sit here awhile or would you rather go to bed?”
“Yes, I would like to go to bed,” she answered, wearily.
They went through the place they were using for a sort of kitchen and up a narrow stairway. Only part of the room had a fair ceiling, the rest slanted down to some narrow windows. There was a cot, an old fashioned wash stand and a sort of closet. Their packing trunks were up here.
“Mr. Borden had taken the other part the house first. There is more room and it is rather nicer. But the woman who had taken this wanted so to exchange and made an offer in the rent and they do charge scandalously for these summer places. And when you’re not keeping house it doesn’t matter so much. It saves lots of trouble. They just give meals over there and they are first rate. I put your clothes that we brought in that closet. It was very nice in Miss Armitage to get you some others and she wouldn’t let Mr. Borden pay for them. I want to hear all about her tomorrow. You won’t feel afraid, will you?”
“Oh no,” was the reply. It didn’t seem to matter much what happened to her now.
“Good-night, then, I hope you will sleep well.”
“Good-night,” steadying her tone.
She thought she wouldn’t sleep at all, but her poor little body was so tired out that exhausted nature demanded rest. And she was awakened in the morning with the singing of some birds, and a beautiful poem floated through her mind. She would not count any Sundays until September came in.
Mrs. Borden called her and she replied, dressing quickly and going down stairs.
“Oh, you look quite rested,” said the lady. “I’ll give the babies their bath and dress them and then you will give them their breakfast and keep them out on the porch while we go for ours. They take only one nap now, sleeping from eleven until about two. They just have bread and milk. There’s a woman here who says I am ruining their health with that, because it makes them fat, but they were fed when they had only milk. Then they have some oatmeal, jelly and a soft boiled egg when they wake up. There’s nothing like system; you know just what to do. Now you go over to the kitchen and get a bottle of milk. The babies drink that, too. Then I’ll show you how to light up the stove. It’s the handiest little thing. I couldn’t manage without it.”
Marilla had a pleasant greeting from Katie who declared, “she looked ten per cent better and hoped she would have a good appetite for her breakfast as she didn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive last night.”
The babies were pretty good natured, as well.
“You know they always were real sweet,” said their mother, “and so easily amused. I hope you haven’t forgotten your knack of story telling; and how they used to laugh! That Ellen was the stupidest thing.”
While she was feeding the babies, the grown folks went over to their breakfast. The kitchen and the servants’ table was in much better order, and there were some delightful muffins and fresh fish and muskmelons. The babies played about; Jack’s father took him out for a walk, then there was a long quiet time at the luncheon hour, and the babies were fed again.
“I succeeded in getting a two-seat carriage, so we will all go out this afternoon,” said Mr. Borden. “They say Braun is a queer Hungarian settlement and on Sunday the people are all out in their best. We’ll take a look at it.”
“Can we all go?”
“Why Florence said she wouldn’t mind caring for one baby, and Marilla can take the other.”
The two nurses had the back seat, Florence made Marilla put her baby between them on the seat. “We’ll change off when I get tired of holding mine,” she said.
They went straight over to the Sound – the upper end of the great South Bay. Oh how splendid it was! Marilla almost held her breath with surprise, then they drove up the road a short distance, but she hated to leave the glorious views. Pansy dropped in her lap and went to sleep. As they turned they passed through one of the magnificent residential settlements, then to the odd Hungarian town where a foreign Sunday was in full life and vivacity.
Little tables were standing around, some filled with families, some having a couple of lovers; other parties were walking up and down; all in picturesque holiday attire. The tables were set out with small, hard brown cakes, slices of bread that each had brought to the feast. There was beer of course, merrymaking and jollity – but no one seemed to overstep the bounds. Children ran around, grotesque copies of their elders. Rows of cottages and gardens, great corn and hayfields, stubble where cattle were browsing, enclosures of fattening pigs whose squealing had a mirthful sound.
“It is well worth looking at,” said Mr. Borden. “A bit of Europe on one of our islands and really a lesson to our own thriftless poor.”
Violet chattered in a funny fashion, but Pansy slept through it all. Marilla tried several times to shift her position, but the little form was too heavy to stir. Yet it was delightful, though she kept thinking of last Sunday and Dr. Richards.
Mr. Borden stopped at the gate and helped them out.
“Lift Pansy, she’s asleep,” said Aunt Florence.
“Oh, Marilla, why didn’t you keep her awake! I’ve been trying not to let them sleep in the afternoon so they would go to bed the earlier.”
“Just as you get a baby in good habits, someone comes along and spoils it all,” exclaimed Mrs. Borden in a vexed tone. She was a little tired, having answered at least fifty questions for Jack.
But Pansy woke when her father stood her down, and said, rather drowsily – “Nice horsey;” and sat squarely down in the path. Aunt Florence picked her up and led her to the porch.
“Now, Marilla, get their suppers ready and feed them. And put away their things. I can’t bear to see them lying round on chairs.”
Mr. Borden drove off, taking Jack.
“Ont bedy-milk,” announced Violet.
“Yes, yes; go to Marilla.”
The child had laid the caps in the drawer and hung up the coats. Both children came out and clamored for supper and pulled on her skirt until they almost tipped her over.
Then the great bell clanged for the boarders’ supper. They had dinner at noon on Sundays. Mr. Borden returned and escorted the ladies over. This was always a rather chatty, long-drawn-out meal.
Marilla fed the babies, washed and put away her few dishes, then took the children out on the porch. Violet wanted to be “wocked,” so she sat beside her in the big porch chair. Pansy ran up and down uttering queer unmusical noises. The piano in the other part of the house was accompanying a singer.
The mistress of that part leaned out of the window and said in a sharp tone – “Can’t you keep that child still? She’s an awful nuisance.”
“Let us go indoors,” said Marilla. “Come, and I’ll tell you a story about a bunny that got lost away from all his folks.”
But Pansy had no mind to come. She screamed when Marilla took hold of her arm and then kicked, jerking away, she rolled down the three steps, landing on the grass. Marilla, frightened, picked her up in her arms and ran through the hall with her. The suddenness had really taken the breath out of the little body for a moment, then she looked rather wildly at her rescuer.
“It didn’t hurt you much and you were a naughty baby to run away! Don’t cry any more and you shall have–” she cast about to see what solace there was – “oh, you shall have some sugar – see – ” and she offered her some in a spoon.
Pansy laughed and reached out for the sugar, quite restored to good humor.
“Now, I’ll go out and get sister and you shall have some more sugar.”
Violet came in quite willingly. She sat on the floor with them and thought of the stories she used to tell. This one was about a runaway squirrel. It grew dark and he was afraid, for he heard a queer noise that kept saying, “Who – who,” so he ran another way. Then a dog barked, and Marilla made the sound of a dog and both babies laughed delightedly. “So he ran as fast as he could but the dog ran, too, and the squirrel climbed up in a tree,” and Marilla climbed with her hands on the back of the chair in a funny fashion. “‘Come down,’ said the dog. ‘I won’t,’ said the squirrel. ‘Then I’ll climb up and eat you.’ But the squirrel laughed and said: ‘You can’t climb a tree.’”
The babies laughed, too, but Violet wanted to be “wocked” again. She really was sleepy. So Marilla put them both in the rocking chair and began another story about a bird who had three little babies in a nest and had to go out and get them something to eat. The ladies came back and Violet began to nod and let her eyes droop.
“They must go to bed,” said their mother.
It was supposed that Pansy would make a protest. She slipped down out of the chair and held out her fat little hand, murmuring – “Illa, Illa.”
“Well, Illa shall put you to bed, come Violet.”
Mrs Borden found their nighties. “Me too,” and Violet took hers over to Marilla.
“Now, isn’t that cunning? Marilla they are getting back all their old love for you! But it is time I had a little rest.”
The babies were safely deposited in their crib, each with a thumb in her mouth, a rather recent habit. Then they went out on the porch again. Jack was there with his chum, Stevie. The ladies joined the procession up and down the board walk. Stevie was recounting some wonderful experience, so Marilla dropped into a chair and her mind went back to last Sunday night. How long ago it seemed!
Stevie was summoned home by his nurse. Quite a party went to the kind of sacred concert. Jack crawled up beside Marilla, for he was getting sleepy. When she proposed he should go to bed he turned obstinate and held on tight to the arm of the chair.
“I won’t go to bed. I’m going to stay here until mama comes.”
“Oh, you must. The clocks have struck eight.”
“But I’m not going to.” He caught the arm of the chair. “You try now and I’ll kick you with my hind leg.”
She knew well enough that he would kick. Somehow she did not feel equal to the struggle.
“Tell me a story,” was his next demand. “About somebody being put in the pit. Sunday school teacher told it. Why, I’d climb out.”
So she told him the story and then another, rocking slowly, and as the demand ceased she knew he was asleep. But she did not dare try to get him to bed. So she went to her own thoughts, the last week passed with the fairy godmother and Dr. Richards.
It was ten when the family returned.
“Oh, Marilla, how could you let him go to sleep! He’s so cross when you wake him up.”
“I couldn’t get him to go–”
“Jack!” His father picked him up and carried him to the sleeping room.
“Now you run to bed,” said the mistress, still sharply.
It was very well, Marilla thought, that Jack had a companion who was not fond of “kids.” Stevie lived quite a distance below and had brought no end of playthings, had an auto wagon that two could sit in, though only one could be chauffeur. So Marilla had the babies out on the side lawn all the morning in the shade, and after their nap took them out in the carriage. They were quite fond of walking, too. They really were rather amiable again.
“Miss Florence, could I have some paper and a pencil?” she asked during their noontide nap. “I promised to write to Dr. Richards and tell him if I kept well.”
“Why not to Miss Armitage?” was the inquiry.
“She was going to Canada, and – I’m quite well again, and the babies are so much better. He will be glad to hear, for he felt very sorry about them, and he said I must write.”
“I suppose Miss Armitage’s house is very grand, much finer than ours?”
“It’s beautiful and she has such a lovely organ. Well, it’s different and there are two big parlors and some curious things that I never saw before and chairs in beautiful light blue, all flowered, and some tall vases and marble statues. And there’s Jane and Norah – and the wash goes out. Yes, I suppose she’s rich.”
“And you’d like to live there?”
“Perhaps she wouldn’t want me,” the child said simply.
Evidently there had been no talk about it.
Miss Borden gave her pencil and paper.
Marilla went to the kitchen nursery, sat down on a stool and put her paper on the bottom of the wooden chair. She began – “Dear Dr. Richards.” Oh, there was so much to say! She was well and the babies were improved and could talk a good deal and looked better for not being so fat. She really liked home better and Bridget’s kitchen was so clean, and there was always a nice white cloth on the table. It seemed a funny way to live but many of the people did not have meals in their own houses, but went over to the eating place. “I can’t spell the other word,” she admitted naively. There were so many pretty girls in lovely frocks who walked up and down and didn’t have to take care of babies. “I don’t believe I am as fond of babies as I used to be. I get tired of having them every day,” she explained frankly. “And soon I shall begin to count on the five years.”
She filled up the whole sheet, folded, slipped it in the envelope and fastened it. Oh, she must ask for a stamp. She could run down to the postoffice.
Miss Borden was curious to know what was in the letter, whether Marilla had found any fault with her surroundings, but the eager, honest face disarmed curiosity that could not be easily gratified. So the letter went its way.
There were many things to entertain a child whose former life had been narrow. Some of the girls spoke to her. “Were the babies her sisters?”
“Oh, no. She was – well their nurse.”
“How odd they looked! Is that little Jack their brother?”
“Yes.” Oh how ardently she wished they were pretty.
“He looks more like you than like them. You’ve both got such pretty curly hair, though his is darker. I think curly hair’s just lovely. I wish mine curled, and you’ve such a pretty dimple in your chin.”
Marilla blushed at the praise.
“What are the babies called?”
Marilla repeated their names.
“That’s funny – they’re so much alike.”
“Well – they’re twins,” said another.
Then the babies thought it was time they joined in the conversation, and a funny mess they made of it. Pansy said —
“Ont to dit down.”
“No, you can’t,” answered Marilla. “Their mother said I must never take them out.”
They happened to be strapped in very securely. But Pansy made a great fuss and gesticulated furiously with her little fists.
“I had better go on,” said Marilla.
“It’s awfully funny. Does she often get in such a tantrum?”
“Not very often,” returned Marilla half ashamed and almost afraid the baby would break the strap.
After a few days she began to get quite acquainted with some of the girls. They came from various places and were quite ready to talk about themselves. There was to be a lawn party next week at the Sheldon’s, just for the girls, and they were going to dance.
“Oh, did you ever go to a ball?” asked Marilla.
“Why, girls don’t go to balls! They are for the big folks. My grown up sister does and they’re just splendid.”
She had half a mind to tell them about the beautiful dream and how she had danced with the Prince. But Pansy was going on at such a rate that she pushed the carriage along and by the time they reached home she had forgotten her trouble.
And there was a letter from Dr. Richards.
She wanted to kiss it, she was so glad, but Mrs. Borden stood there, so she simply said – “Thank you,” and opened it.
It was quite to a child’s capacity. Marilla smiled in some places, looked sad in others. The little boy who had been so dreadfully injured by an automobile had died, but he would have been a terrible cripple if he had lived. There had been two very hot weeks and the poor babies had suffered. He was very glad to hear that the twins were doing so nicely, and had all their teeth safe and sound. And was she growing stronger, and did she have a chance to take the baths he advised? Miss Armitage was having a fine time. And a friend was to take them in his yacht around the islands in the Gulf of St. Lawrence and come down to Nova Scotia, so she wouldn’t be home as soon as they expected. And he was so busy he couldn’t have any vacation at all; but then he had taken years before and must be satisfied.
There were bits of fun and queer sayings interspersed that made a sort of jolliness in her face.
“Don’t you want to read it?” she asked, rather timidly.
Mrs. Borden just did. She and Florence had wondered whether Marilla had made any invidious comparisons about the change to actual service instead of being treated as a guest in a fine house.
“If – you’d like me to,” with the proper hesitation.
“Oh, yes. And I used to tell him about the babies, that they were so good and hardly ever cried, and how I told them stories and they laughed just as if they understood – didn’t they?”
“You made them understand. You’re an odd little girl, Marilla, and I don’t know what we would do without you, but then you do really belong to us. I do suppose the baths would be a good thing if you were not afraid. Now, we can’t coax Jack to go in the water, though he delights to run along the edge barefooted. That’s fun for the children. But you see if we all went some one must look after the children. Then there’s the time for their nap and there’d be no one to go with you. There seems so many things to do in the afternoon now that we have joined the Clubs. And there’s teas and things–”
“Yes,” Marilla returned, meekly.
“Why wouldn’t you go in the water?” she asked Jack a few days afterward.
“’Cause there’s sharks. Stevie said so. An’ they eat up people.”
“Why don’t they eat up – well, they haven’t eaten up any one yet. We should have heard of it.”
“They only eat up children. The big folks kick ’em out of the way. But you’ve got to be real strong an’ have a big foot. You just give it to ’em by the side of the jaw and they flop down in the water. That big Jimmy Lane has seen them lots of times.”
There was a great sand heap where the smaller children went to play and tumble about and build forts and ovens and sometimes sand each other. Marilla took the babies out in the carriage after they had their dinner and were dressed afresh. Sometimes she met the girls sauntering about, sometimes with the nurse maids. The two ladies went to a Whist Club, and one afternoon played Bridge, and between times they met on each others’ porches.
The afternoon of the children’s lawn party the street was fairly thronged. There were grown people within the enclosure by special invitation. And how pretty the young people were in their beautiful summer attire with laces and ribbons and bead chains and white ties with a great bow almost as big as the foot.
There were four pieces of music. Oh, the dancing was just bewitching? Marilla drew long breaths and wished she was among them; every pulse in her body kept time. The trees waved and nodded, some birds sang and there were sounds of happy laughter.
“Get away from here with this big caboose of yourn!” said a rough voice, “you take up too much room,” and he wheeled the carriage around so suddenly the babies almost toppled over. “Other people want a chance. Get along, I say!”
She had no choice but to go on.
“I’m glad he sent off that nurse girl,” exclaimed a woman with two children clinging to her skirts. “Those great wagons are such a nuisance!”
Marilla crossed the street and went slowly up and down. When the throng moved about a little she could see the white fairy figures floating over the greensward, and hear the music that set one’s nerves a-tingle. The outside crowd began to disperse, but the man loitered about, so she did not dare go back.
Then they brought out some tables on the lawn and began to arrange them. Oh, how daintily pretty it was! She recognized some of the girls, and in spite of her courage, sighed as she turned away.
Those were the sisters for whom the coach and four waited, with the footman and outriders, and who would be made welcome at all the grand functions of life, while the Cinderellas were relegated to the chimney corner. And the godmother must come out of fairy land, if she came at all, and transformed one with a wand. That was why the glories were so unsubstantial, and why the dream must end at midnight.
The babies were clamoring for supper. The house was all alone. She lifted them out and helped them up the steps, then gave them each a biscuit while she prepared their bread and milk. The ladies came home from their Whist. Mrs. Borden had won the first prize and they were talking as eagerly as boys over a baseball score. There was Jack, dirty and tousled as any tramp.
“Wash him up Marilla and put him in some clean clothes or we’ll be late for dinner. Come, be quick, child.”
That was the portion of the Cinderellas.
