Kitabı oku: «The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe: or, There's No Place Like Home», sayfa 7

CHAPTER X
WHICH SHOULD SHE CHOOSE?

The reality at Seabury far exceeded Florence Kenneth's expectations. The hotel was really finer than that at Salem. And then, instead of being maid, she found here a woman who waited upon Mrs. Osgood, arranged her hair, kept her dresses in order, and did the small errands. What was she to do, then?

Not very much, it seemed. She read aloud, and Florence was an undeniably good reader; she embroidered a little, went every day for a ride, and absolutely sat in the parlor. It was rather embarrassing at first.

"I have decided," Mrs. Osgood said to her sister, a few days afterward. "The child has a very sweet temper, and a most affectionate nature; and then she is so lovely. A perfect blonde beauty! In two years she will be able to enter society. Mrs. Deering declared yesterday that her voice was remarkable."

"I hope you will not spoil her completely. She has a good share of vanity, I perceive."

"It is only proper pride: the child is well-born. I know her mother must have been a lady, and Kenneth is not a common name."

"I am sure I hope your protégée will prove a comfort."

Then Mrs. Osgood announced her plans to Florence, who was literally overwhelmed. To be adopted by so rich a lady, to have an elegant home, and become skilled in all accomplishments – was it not a dream, – her wild, improbable dream?

To Florence Mrs. Osgood was an angel. True, she had seen her rather pettish, and sometimes she scolded Martha, and gave way to hysterical spasms; but these were minor faults. She drew the child to her with the sweet and not-forgotten arts of her faded girlhood, and was pleased with the sincere homage that had in it so much of wonder. Florence would love her like a daughter.

"I cannot promise to leave you a fortune," she said, "but while I live you shall have every thing. I was treated very unjustly by Mr. Osgood's will; though I know he was influenced by his relatives, who grudge me every penny. They would be very glad to have some of their children live at Roselawn: I christened the place myself on account of the roses."

"How beautiful it must be!" exclaimed Florence, enchanted.

"It is a handsome place. You would have a governess, and be taught music and French and drawing, and be introduced everywhere as my daughter. If I had one, I fancy she would look something like you, for I was called very pretty in my younger days;" and Mrs. Osgood sighed.

"I can never be grateful enough," said Florence.

"I shall want you to love me a great deal, – just as if I were your own mother. And when you are grown you must make me your confidant. You will marry brilliantly, of course; but you must promise that it will not be without my consent."

"I shall never want to leave you!" declared Florence impulsively, kissing the thin hands.

"It will be such a luxury to have your affection. My life has always been so lonely. Very few people can understand my sensitive nature, but I trust you will be able to."

There was some other points not so congenial. When they came to these, Florence's heart shrank a little.

For, if she chose Mrs. Osgood, the group at home must drop out of her life completely. There could be no visiting, no corresponding.

Poor Florence! This was a cloud upon her bright visions.

"I shall write to your grandmother occasionally to let her know that you are well; but, as my daughter, you will be in such an entirely different sphere, that the slightest intimacy would be unwise."

What should she do? Would Granny think her cruel and ungrateful?

Mrs. Osgood proposed to take her back to Madison to spend a few days in which to decide. As for her, it hardly appeared possible to her that the child could hesitate. And now that she had enjoyed this little taste of luxury, poverty would seem all the more repulsive.

They drove over one morning. Luckily, Granny was in very tolerable order; but, oh the difference! She was so glad to see Florence, that she kissed and cried over her a little.

"I want to have a talk with your grandmother," Mrs. Osgood said; and Florence betook herself to the kitchen. How dreadfully poor and mean every thing looked!

Mrs. Osgood went straight about the business in hand. She described her offer in the most glowing terms, and held out all its advantages. It would relieve Mrs. Kenneth from much care and anxiety, give her one less to struggle for; and then Florence would have the position for which Nature had fitted her. Not one thing was forgotten.

Granny listened like one in a dream. Flossy to be a rich lady's daughter, – to ride in a carriage, to have a piano, and be dressed in silk! Could it be true?

"But oh! I can't give her up," moaned Granny. "She was poor Joe's first-born, and such a sweet, pretty baby! There never was one on 'em that I could spare."

"I wish you would take counsel with some friend. I think this opportunity for Florence is too good to be thrown away."

"I don't know, I'm sure. You are very kind and generous. But to part with my poor darling."

The lady rose at length.

"I shall leave Florence here for three days," she said. "In the mean while consider the subject well, and do not stand in the way of the child's welfare."

Florence was very sorry to part with Mrs. Osgood. She walked out to the gate, and lingered there, clinging to the slender hand, and at last being kissed tenderly.

"Think earnestly of my proposal. On Saturday I shall come for my answer," said Mrs. Osgood.

The lady had not much fear. She knew that money was all-potent in this world; and it was quite absurd to suppose that a pretty girl would prefer toil and poverty in this hovel, to luxury and ease with handsome surroundings.

"Oh dear!" and Granny's arms were around Flossy's neck. "I can't let you go away forever. And I am sure you don't want to," scanning the fair face with her fond and eager eyes.

"Granny, I don't know what to say. I should so like to have an education, and to be – oh! don't cry so. If every one thinks I ought not to go," – and Flossy's lip quivered.

"I am a foolish old body," sobbed Granny. "I'm not worth minding, my dear."

"Fossy tum home. What 'ou ky?" said Dot, tugging at Granny's dress.

"If we could see you once in a while."

Florence felt the last to be an impossibility. She had a keen perception of the difference in station, and the nameless something that Granny could not be brought to see.

"You would hear about me," she said softly.

Granny went back to her ironing. Florence offered to help, and arranged her own light table. But it was uncomfortable this hot summer day, and her tender hand felt as if it was blistered. She consoled herself by relating the experiences of the past month, and inwardly sighing for the luxurious life. Granny was not so stupid but that she could see the direction of the child's desires.

"I don't wonder that you liked it; and she couldn't help loving you, even if I do say it. Why, a queen might be proud of you! If we knew some one to ask."

"There is Mr. Howard," Florence suggested.

"Sure enough. He would see all sides of it. We'll go over after the work is done;" and Granny tried to smile a little lightness into her sad face.

Charlie had gone to pull weeds for a neighbor, Hal was out also, so there was only Kit to dinner. After that was out of the way, and Dot had her nap, they made themselves ready for their call.

Florence tried her best to make a lady out of Granny. A queer little old woman she was, and would be to the end of the chapter. Her bonnet was dreadfully old-fashioned, and her gingham dress too short for modern requirements. Her wrinkled hands were as brown as berries, and she never would wear gloves in the summer. Then, after she was all ready, she surreptitiously tied on her black alpaca apron; at which Flossy gave a sigh of despair.

The parsonage was a pretty little nest, half-covered with vines, and shaded by a great sycamore. Dolly and Fred Howard were playing on the grass, and Dot started for the small group instantly.

"O Mrs. Kenneth! how do you do? What a stranger you are! And here is Florence, fresh as a rose! I heard that you had run away, my child. Come and sit in the shade here: it is cooler than within doors. Mary, here are some visitors."

Mrs. Howard gave them a cordial welcome, and insisted that Granny should lay aside her bonnet. She inquired if Florence had enjoyed her month at Seabury, and if she was not glad to get back again.

Granny twisted her apron-strings, and glanced at the young girl uneasily. Of course she must begin somehow, but there was a great sinking at her heart.

"Flossy's had a chance," she began; and then the strings were untied. "We thought we'd come and ask a little advice. It's hard tellin' what's for the best;" and Granny looked as if she might break down into a cry.

"A chance for an education?" asked Mrs. Howard.

"No: it's – to go for good. Flossy, you tell. I am not much of a hand at getting things straight," murmured Granny.

Florence told the story in a very ladylike fashion, giving it the air of a romance.

"Why, Florence, that is quite an adventure. And she wants to adopt you?" Mrs. Howard exclaimed, much interested.

"Do you know any thing about this Mrs. Osgood?" asked Mr. Howard.

Florence used her limited knowledge to its fullest extent.

"Oh! I believe I know something about Mrs. Duncan. Dr. Carew was attending the boy. I have heard him speak of them all. Isn't Mrs. Osgood something of an invalid, – rather full of whims?"

"She is not very strong," Florence admitted.

"But it is a remarkable offer," rejoined Mrs. Howard. "And to have one of the family so well provided for, seems like an especial providence."

"But to have her go away," said Granny. "To give her up, and never see her again!"

"That does seem unkind. Perhaps it would not be quite as bad as that."

Mr. Howard studied Florence attentively for a few moments. He had always considered her rather above her station.

"It certainly is a generous proposal, granting every thing to be as represented. Florence will receive a superior education, and be raised above the care and drudgery of life. Yet she may have to devote many of her best years to Mrs. Osgood; and ministering to an invalid is wearisome work. It is taking her entirely away from her family, to be sure; but, putting aside love, she might never be able to help along much. Women are not extravagantly remunerated; and, if she went away to teach school, she could not do much more than take care of herself. And there would be a partial separation."

Florence gave Mr. Howard a look of relief and thankfulness.

"I don't want to keep her from doing whatever will be best," said Granny tremulously.

"There are Joe and Hal to help along, – smart boys both. And though your strong and tender arms have kept the little flock together these many years, they will wear out by and by. And, if any accident befell you, it would be well to have some of them provided for. The important question seems to be whether what Florence can do at home will compensate for what she must relinquish. The entire separation appears to me rather unjust. You said that Mrs. Osgood proposed that you should take counsel of some one: suppose I should go to Seabury, and talk the matter over with her?"

"Oh, if you would!" said Florence beseechingly. She felt that Mr. Howard was on her side, though she did not quite understand why.

"Yes," rejoined Granny, catching at a straw. "You could tell her how it is, – poor Joe's children, every one on 'em so precious to me. I never had much learnin'; but I love 'em for father and mother both, and I can't bear to think of their going away. Ah, well! it's a world full of trouble, though they've always been good to me, poor dears."

Mrs. Howard turned away her face to hide her tears, and presently left them to get a slice of nice fresh cake and a glass of milk for her guests. Her heart really ached for Granny.

So it was settled that Mr. Howard would go over to Seabury, and learn all the particulars of the offer. Granny was very thankful indeed. Soon after, they picked up Dot, and started homeward.

"You rather approve of it," Mrs. Howard said to her husband, watching the retreating figures, and smiling at Dot, who pulled at every wayside daisy-head.

"Florence has her heart set upon it, that is plain to see."

"And yet it seems ungrateful in her."

"It would be nobler for her to stay with Granny, and help rear the others. Yet that is more than one can reasonably expect of pretty young girlhood."

"She is industrious, and has many excellent points but she is a good deal ashamed of the poverty."

"I wonder whether she would be any real assistance? She has a good deal of vanity, and love of dress; and no doubt she would spend most of her money upon herself. Then, in some mood of dissatisfaction, she might marry unwisely, and perhaps be more trouble than comfort to Granny. If Mrs. Osgood is in earnest, Florence would at least receive an education that might fit her for a nice position in case Mrs. Osgood tired of her."

"And the life at home is not a great delight to her," said Mr. Howard with a smile. "But whether I would like to give up my brothers and sisters" —

"Florence is peculiar. Ten years from this time she may love them better than she does now."

There was a noisy time in the "Old Shoe" that night. They were all so glad to have Flossy back again. Kit played on imaginary fiddles; Charlie climbed on her chair, and once came tumbling over into her lap; Hal watched her with delight, and thought her prettier than ever; Joe whistled and sang, and told her all that had occurred in the store, pointing his stories with an occasional somerset, or standing on his head to Dot's great satisfaction.

"Well, that is really margaret-nificent," declared Joe, flourishing Granny's old apron on the broomstick. "Flossy, you are in luck! It is all due to your winning ways and curly hair."

"If I go" – with a sad little sigh.

"Go? why, of course you will! She'd be a great goose; would she not, Granny?

 
'Washing and ironing I daily have to do;
Baking and brewing I must remember too;
Three small children to maintain:
Oh, how I wish I was single again!'"
 

sang Joe with irresistible drollery.

Granny laughed; but she winked her eyes hard, and something suspicious shone in them.

"It would be splendid, and no mistake! To think of having a piano, and learning French, and riding in a carriage – 'A coach and four and a gold galore!' And then pretty Peggy we should" —

Joe made a great pause, for something stuck in his throat.

"But couldn't we ever see you?" asked Charlie.

An awesome silence fell over the little group.

"If you could come and see us once in a while," said Hal softly. "We would not so much mind not going there" —

"I'd run away and visit her," announced daring Charlie. "I'd hide about in the woods until I saw her some day, and then" —

"They'd set the dog on you."

"Hum! As if I was afraid of a dog, Joe Kenneth! I'd snap my fingers in his face, and ask him what he had for breakfast. Then I'd come back home and tell you all about it."

"The breakfast, or the dog?"

"Joseph, I am afraid you are getting in your dotage," said Charlie with a shake of the head. "But, if I started to, I know I'd find Florence."

"It is rather cruel," said Joe sturdily. "I don't see why she should want to take you entirely away from us."

"We cannot look at it just as the lady does," said Hal's mild voice. "I suppose she thinks, if she does so much for Flossy, that she ought to have a good deal of love in return."

"She is ashamed of us because we are poor. But maybe if we managed to get along, and grow up nicely – she wouldn't feel so – so particular about it."

"I don't believe she would," exclaimed Florence. "You see, people are so different; and – I'm sure I've always wanted you to have nice manners."

"So you have, Flossy," declared Joe. "And you were meant for a lady."

Hal and Granny sat on the doorstep after the rest had gone to bed, crying a little, and yet finding some comfort.

"It would be so nice for Florence!" Hal said in his pleading tone. "She would always have to work here, and not learn music and all those lovely things. And she has such a beautiful voice, you know, and such pretty hands, and nice, dainty ways" —

"But never to see her again!" groaned Granny.

"I think we shall see her, – some time. Perhaps Mrs. Osgood might die: she is not very well, and Flossy might come back to us. Oh, yes, Granny, I do believe we shall see her again!"

"I've loved you all so much!"

"And we should always love you, even if we went to Japan. Then, if Flossy should have to work hard, and be unhappy, we might be sorry that we kept her out of any thing so nice."

"I do believe you are right, Hal; only it's so hard to think of not seeing her again."

"I'll try to make it up, dear. You will always have me."

The soft young lips kissed those that quivered so piteously, and smoothed the wet, wrinkled cheek.

"We'll pray about it, Granny. Somehow it seems as if God made these things plain after a while; and it is in his hands. He hears the ravens cry, poor, hungry little birdies; and he must care for us. He will watch over Florence."

"O Hal, you talk like a minister! Maybe you will be one some day. And it is so sweet to have you, dear boy!"

"I shall never be half good enough," he said solemnly.

He crept up to his room, but laid awake a long while, watching the stars, and thinking.

Florence resolved the next day that she would not go, and braced herself to martyr-like endurance. But oh, how mean and poor every thing appeared by contrast! Charlie in rags, – you never could keep Charlie in whole clothes; Dot playing in the dirt, for, though you washed her twenty times an hour, she would not stay clean; the shabby, old fashioned, tumble-down cottage, – no, Mrs. Osgood never would want any of these wild Arabs visiting her.

So she shed many quiet tears. Perhaps it would be best to make the sacrifice, hard as it was.

Granny saw it all. Her old eyes were not blind, and her heart smote her for something akin to selfishness. Poor, aching heart.

"Flossy," she said, over her heart-break, "if Mr. Howard is satisfied, I think you had better go."

"I have about decided to give it up. Perhaps it is my duty to stay."

Granny scanned the face eagerly, but found there no cheerful and sweet self-denial.

"I've been thinking it over" – her voice broken and quavering. "Perhaps it will be best. Though I don't like to part with you, for your poor father" – and Granny's inconsequent speech ended in tears.

"I'll stay home then, and do what I can; only it seems as if there were so many of us, – and the place so little, and I can't help being different, and liking music and education, and a nice orderly house" —

"No, you can't help it. Poor Joe – your father I mean – liked 'em all too. I've sometimes thought that maybe, if he'd gone away, he might have been a gentleman. He'd a master voice to sing. And God will watch over you there, and not let you come to harm. Oh, dear!"

Granny covered her face with her apron, and cried softly.

Mr. Howard called that evening. He had been quite favorably impressed with Mrs. Osgood's proposal.

"Her connections are all reputable people," he said; "and I think she means to treat Florence like a daughter. She can give her many advantages, and she is strongly attached to her already. But she is exclusive and aristocratic. She wants Florence all to herself. Still, she has made one concession: she will allow her to write home once a year."

"And then I could tell you every thing!" exclaimed Florence overjoyed.

"But she is resolved not to permit any visiting. To be sure, time may soften this condition; yet, if Florence goes, she ought to abide by her promise."

"Yes," answered the child meekly.

"It does seem a remarkable opportunity. I do not know as it would be wise to refuse."

Ah, if one could know what was for the best! The days flew by so rapidly, there was so much talking, but never any coming to a conclusion. Joe was loudly on Florence's side. So was Hal, for that matter; but from more thoughtful motives. And Granny was too conscientious to stand in the way of the child's advancement, much as she loved her, and longed to keep her.

Then, on Friday evening they sat on the old stone doorstep, a sad group, going over the subject in low, sad tones, the pain of parting already in their voices. Granny's vehemence had subsided. Hal had Florence's soft hand in his, Kit's head was in her lap, and Charlie sat at her feet.

Should she go? When all the mists and glamor of desire cleared away, as they did now in the calm star-light, with God watching up above, she felt that it would be nobler and truer to remain with them, and share the poverty and the trials. For to have them ill, dying perhaps, without looking upon their dear faces, with no last words or last kisses to remember, was more than she could bear. Would it not seem selfish to go off to luxury and indolence, when they must struggle on with toil and care and poverty?

"Oh!" she exclaimed, going to Granny's arms, with a sob. "I believe I cannot leave you when it comes to absolute parting. We have been happy, in spite of the troubles and wants. I should miss you all so much! And, if I could get to be a teacher, I might help a little."

Granny held her to her heart, and kissed the wet face again and again.

"My dear darling, God bless you!" she said brokenly.

Flossy thought herself a very heroic girl. There was a great lump in her throat, and she could not utter another word. It was a born princess turning her back on the palace.

Hal and Joe eyed each other inquisitively. It was the noblest thing she could do, but would it be the wisest?