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Kitabı oku: «Signing the Contract and What it Cost», sayfa 12

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CHAPTER XXVII
THE LONG-LOST DEED

 
“Thus doth the ever-changing course of things
Run a perpetual circle, ever turning.”
 

Hetty and her mother had taken advantage of the slack time to pay a long-promised visit to some friends in the country, leaving to Mrs. Sharp the oversight of domestic affairs and the care of the store, with such assistance as she could get from Araminta and Lucian, who were home for the summer vacation.

John was, as usual, spending his vacation in farm work, while all the apprentices and journey-women had left for the time being, except our heroine and Annie Jones, who was an orphan and had neither home nor friends to go to.

These two were kept pretty steadily employed upon the few dresses of customers still on hand, and in preparing Miss Sharp’s wardrobe for another year at boarding-school.

One morning Floy, who had been left for an hour or more sole occupant of the work-room, was startled by the sudden entrance of Annie in a state bordering on distraction.

“Oh, what shall I do! what shall I do!” she cried, wringing her hands and pacing the floor to and fro with rapid steps, while great tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh, Miss Kemper, can you help me?”

“What is it, Annie?” Floy asked, stopping the machine which she was running at the moment, and turning upon the girl a look of mingled surprise and pity. “Stop crying and tell me, and I will certainly help you if I can. Have you offended Mrs. Sharp?”

“Oh, yes, and worse than that: she says I’ve robbed her; but oh, I haven’t! I wouldn’t steal a pin from anybody. But she won’t believe a word I say, and she says if I don’t find the five dollars pretty quick she’ll have me arrested and taken to prison; and Lucian wants to go off for a policeman right away. Oh dear, oh dear!”

The girl’s distress and agitation were so great that Floy had some difficulty in coming to a clear understanding of her trouble; but at length, by dint of soothing and questioning, she learned the facts, which were these:

Annie had been sent to carry home some finished work, taking with her a receipted bill for thirty dollars, her instructions being not to leave it unless it was paid.

The woman, a Mrs. Collins, a new customer, handed her twenty-five dollars, saying that she would pay the rest at another time; and the girl, from stupidity, carelessness, or bashfulness, allowed her to retain the bill.

Mrs. Sharp sent her back for it, but the woman refused to give it up, and, to the astonishment and dismay of the poor child, stoutly asserted that she had paid the whole.

And now Mrs. Sharp accused Annie of retaining the missing sum, and with much anger and indignation declared that she would send her to prison unless she made good the loss within an hour.

“Oh, Miss Kemper,” sobbed the girl in conclusion, “I haven’t a dollar or a friend in the world! and if I lose my character what will become of me? Nobody’ll trust me, and I can’t get work, and I’ll just have to starve.”

“I’m very sorry for you,” said Floy; “but trust in the Lord, and He will help you; and if you are innocent, He will bring it to light some day.”

“If I am innocent! oh, Miss Floy,” sobbed the girl, “you don’t think me a thief, do you?”

“No, Annie, I don’t, if that’s any comfort to you, poor child!”

“I’m glad of that!” Annie said, a gleam of pleasure flitting over her tear-swollen face, then burst out again, “But oh, what shall I do? Oh, if I only had five dollars! Miss Floy, can you lend it to me? I’ll pay it back some day, and never, never forget to ask God to bless you for your kindness.”

“I would if I could, Annie, but I haven’t half that sum,” Floy was beginning to say, when a sudden recollection stopped her.

In the old pocket-book found upon Mr. Kemper’s person after his death, and kept by her as a sacred relic, she had safely stowed away the golden half-eagle he had given her but a few moments before the awful accident that had made her an almost penniless orphan.

For herself she would not have spent it unless reduced to the last extremity of want; but her noble, generous heart could not withstand Annie’s appeal.

“Wait here a moment; I will see,” she said in tremulous tones, and hurried from the room.

Up to her own she ran, locked herself in, opened her trunk, and, diving to the bottom, drew forth the old, worn, faded pocket-book.

For a moment she held it lovingly in her hand, hot tears rushing to her eyes as she thought of that terrible scene enacted scarce a year ago.

But the present was no time for the indulgence of grief. She undid the clasp and looked for the treasure she had come to seek.

Where was it? with fingers and eyes she examined each division, yet without success. Had she been robbed? A sudden pang shot through her heart at the thought.

But oh no, that could not be! The lining was much torn, and the coin had doubtless slipped in between it and the outside.

She ran her fingers in and felt it there, and – something else: a memorandum or bill probably. She pulled at it, tore the lining a little more, and finally drew out a bit of folded paper that looked like a leaf torn from a note-book.

Her heart gave a wild throb, and in her excitement the paper slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. She stooped and clutched it hastily, eagerly, as if she feared it would even yet escape her; then, with a strong effort at composure, opened out the folds with her trembling fingers.

One glance told her that it was in very truth the long-sought deed of gift.

She did not wait to read it in detail, but scanned the lines hurriedly. The name – her mother’s name and her own – was what she sought; and there it was – “Ethel Farnese” – perfectly legible, though evidently written with unsteady fingers, as of one in great agitation of mind.

“Ethel Farnese!” repeated Floy half aloud, letting the paper fall into her lap and clasping her hands together over it, while with a far-off look in her lustrous eyes she gazed into space. “Ethel Farnese! and that is who I am; who she was when she gave me to them! Ethel Farnese! I seem to be not myself at all, but somebody else. How strange it all is! just like a story or a dream.” And for a moment she sat with her head upon her hand, overcome by a curious sense of loss and bewilderment. Was she the same girl who had come into that room ten minutes ago?

Then a thought struck her. “The will! might it not have shared the hiding-place of the deed? Oh, what joy if she could but find that!”

She caught up the pocket-book again, the color coming and going in her cheeks, her heart beating so fast she could hardly breathe, and with remorseless fingers tore it apart till not a fold or crevice remained unexplored; but alas! without any further discovery.

“Ah, he never made it!” she sighed sadly to herself, as she had done months before.

She restored the pocket-book to its place, with the deed of gift safely bestowed inside, locked her trunk, and with the gold piece in her hand returned to the work-room.

Annie, pacing to and fro with agitated steps, was still its only occupant. “Oh, I thought you’d never come!” she cried, stopping in her walk and turning eagerly to Floy. “Have you got the money for me? What’s the matter? you look as if something had happened.”

“I have the money – a five-dollar gold piece which I value so highly as a keepsake that I would not spend it for myself unless I were in absolute danger of starvation,” Floy said, answering the first query, ignoring the other; “still I will lend it to you if necessary to save you from arrest. But, Annie, wouldn’t your paying the money to Mrs. Sharp look like an acknowledgment that you had really kept it back, as she says?”

“I don’t know; maybe it would,” sobbed Annie, “but she’ll send me to jail if I don’t. I don’t like to take your keepsake either; but oh dear, oh dear! what shall I do?”

At that moment Mrs. Sharp came hastily into the room. She was a quick-tempered woman, but not hard-hearted, and, her anger having had time to cool, began now to relent toward the friendless girl who had offended her. Still she did not like to retreat from the position she had taken.

“Well, Annie, what are you going to do?” she asked in a tone whose mildness surprised the child. “I hope you’ve concluded to give up the money you’ve held back from me. You may as well, for it won’t do you any good to keep it.”

“Oh, I would if I had it!” sobbed Annie, “but that woman never gave me a cent more than what I handed to you; and if you don’t believe me you can search me and my trunk.”

“Humph! there are other places where you could hide it,” was the quick, sarcastic rejoinder.

“Miss Kemper,” turning to Floy, “what do you think of this business?”

“I cannot believe that Annie would rob you, Mrs. Sharp, though she did wrong in leaving the bill contrary to directions, and therefore might in strict justice be required to make good your loss,” said Floy. “And I think she is willing to do it if it were in her power; but you know she has no money, and no way of earning any just now.”

“Well, she soon will be getting wages,” said Mrs. Sharp meditatively, “and if she’ll agree that I shall keep the first five dollars – ”

“Oh, I will, I will!” interrupted Annie, catching eagerly at the suggestion and clasping her hands in passionate entreaty, “indeed I will, if you’ll only believe I didn’t take it, and let me stay on here! And I’ll never forget your kindness.”

Mrs. Sharp gave a somewhat ungracious consent that it should be so; and hearing a customer enter the store, hurried back to wait upon her, while the relieved Annie dried her eyes and took up the work she had dropped when sent upon the unfortunate errand.

That she was spared the parting with her prized souvenir was certainly a pleasure and relief to Floy, but the remembrance of that was soon lost in the excitement of her recent discovery; her thoughts were full of it, and with joy she said to herself, “Here is another step taken toward the finding of my mother. I am more convinced than ever that she still lives, and that the good God who has helped me thus far will finally guide me to her; for now, knowing the name she once bore, I can advertise in a way much more likely to attract her attention.”

But here a great obstacle – the want of money – presented itself, and the girl’s busy brain set to work to contrive ways and means to earn the needful funds.

The treasured half-eagle would not go very far, and it, she quickly decided, must be kept as a reserve in case of dire necessity.

The question arose in her mind whether she should now drop her adopted name and resume that which was hers by right of birth.

But such a course would involve explanations and confidences which she did not care to give to those about her – these people who would feel no interest in them or in her but that of idle curiosity. Hetty was the only member of the family who knew, or had ever shown any desire to know, anything of Floy’s history or hopes, and our heroine quickly decided that until Hetty returned this secret should be all her own.

CHAPTER XXVIII
MESSRS. TREDICK & SERVER

 
“How sudden do our prospects vary here!” —
 
Shirley.

But Floy’s resolve was destined to be speedily swallowed up in the current of swiftly-coming events.

Only two days later, after some hours spent down town in the fatiguing business of shopping for Araminta Sharp, going from store to store in search of exact matches in dress goods, trimmings, and ribbons, she was standing on a corner waiting for a street-car, when a ragged little newsboy accosted her with:

“I say, miss, won’t you buy one o’ these here papers?” running over the names of several of the dailies; “I hain’t sold none to-day, and if I don’t have better luck Teddy an’ me (that’s my little lame brother) we’ll have to go hungry and sleep in the street.”

“That would be hard. Give me one, I don’t care which,” Floy said hastily, signalling the approaching car.

“Thank ’ee, miss!” said the boy as she dropped the pennies into his hand.

Seated in the car, she scanned the news items, skipping the police reports and the details of “the murder,” read the editorials, then ran her eye down the columns of advertisements.

It lighted on something that nearly startled her into an outcry. Could it be? did not her eyes deceive her?

She closed them for an instant in her excitement, almost holding her breath, while her heart beat tumultuously, the color came and went on her cheek, and she trembled until the paper shook in her hands; then opened them again to see it still staring her in the face – that name, her name, which only two days ago she had learned was hers.

“If Ethel Farnese – wife or widow of Adrian X. Farnese, and formerly of Jefferson, Clinton County, Indiana – or her heirs will open communication with Messrs. Tredick & Server, Attorneys at Law, No. – Street, Chicago, they will learn something to their advantage.”

How much that short paragraph told her! how much that was to her of intense interest, of great importance: her father’s Christian name, the former residence of her parents, and that some one else (who could it be?) was engaged in the same quest as herself!

Unless (but the idea of such a possibility did not occur to her at the moment, and when it did was quickly discarded) some other Ethel Farnese than her mother were intended.

No one was observing our heroine, no one noticed her agitation, and she had time to partially recover from it before facing the uncongenial and indifferent inmates of the house which was her temporary home.

Though inwardly in a whirl of excitement, she contrived to preserve a calm exterior while in the presence of the family, giving sufficient attention to the duties required of her to go through them in a creditable manner.

But it was a great relief when at last she was left free to follow her own inclinations and could seek the solitude of the room which she occupied alone in the absence of Mrs. Goodenough and Hetty.

This was not till her usual hour for retiring, but in her present mood sleep was simply out of the question. She sought her pillow indeed, but lay awake the greater part of the night thinking, planning, and full of conjectures as to the revelations which the near future might have in store for her.

She had no earthly friend to go to for advice, but had learned to seek guidance and direction from that Friend who is ever-present with His children wherever they may be.

From early childhood she had always known her own mind, and circumstances during the past year had done much to develop and increase this natural tendency to self-reliance and independence of thought and action.

She rose in the morning with her plans arranged, and quite ready to carry them out with promptness and decision. As a preliminary she surprised Mrs. Sharp by telling her as she rose from the breakfast-table, after an almost untasted meal, that she must have the day to herself; she had some matters of her own to attend to, and knew she could be spared, the sewing for Araminta being about done and nothing else at all pressing.

Hardly waiting for a reply, in her haste and excitement, she left the room.

“Well, I declare! mighty independent, to be sure! What’s in the wind now, I wonder!” exclaimed Mrs. Sharp, setting down the cup she had just lifted to her lips, and looking after Floy’s retreating figure.

But Floy did not hear. Repairing to her own room, Floy arrayed herself in her best attire – a suit of deep mourning, simply made and inexpensive, but very pretty and becoming – and, armed with all the documents at her command which could help to establish her identity, wended her way to the street and number named in the advertisement.

She had no difficulty in finding the place; the name of the firm was on the outside of the building, and repeated on the first door to the right as she passed into the hall.

A voice bade her enter in answer to her knock. She did so with a noiseless step and quiet, lady-like air.

The room was of good size and handsomely furnished; evidently Messrs. Tredick & Server were a prosperous firm.

They were both there, seated each at his own desk. Both looked up and bowed good-morning, while one, the nearest to her, Mr. Server, as she afterwards learned, rose and handed her a chair, asking, “What can I do for you, Miss – ”

“Ethel Farnese,” replied Floy as he paused for the name, her cheek flushing, the low, sweet tones of her refined voice slightly tremulous.

What audacity it seemed in her thus to take quiet possession of a name she had never before so much as heard pronounced!

At that both lawyers pricked up their ears, a look of surprised satisfaction coming into their faces.

“Indeed!” said Server, extending his hand; “then we are most happy to see you. But can it be the Mrs. Ethel Farnese for whom we have been so long advertising? so young – her daughter, perhaps?”

“For her or her heirs, was it not?” Floy quietly asked.

“Ah, yes, certainly! and you bring proofs of your identity, doubtless? You come from your mother? or – ”

He paused, glancing inquiringly at her deep mourning.

“Yes; I have documents to show – a story to tell,” Floy said, ignoring the last query; “have you leisure to hear it now?”

“We have; no time like the present,” said Server briskly, drawing his chair nearer, while his partner came forward with an air of keen interest and joined them.

“Allow me to introduce Mr. Tredick, Miss Farnese,” said Server; “and now let us proceed to business,” he added as Tredick, having shaken hands with Floy, took a seat at his side. “What have you to show us?”

“This,” replied Floy, putting the deed of gift into his hand.

He examined it curiously.

“Ah! your mother gave you away?” he said, elevating his eyebrows and glancing inquiringly at her as he passed the paper on to Mr. Tredick.

“You shall hear how and why presently,” she said. “First let me prove that I am the child adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Kemper,” and she handed Mr. Server a package, saying, “These are letters addressed to me by my legal adviser, Mr. Crosby, of Cranley, Iowa.”

“What! my old friend Crosby?” exclaimed Mr. Tredick. “Ah! I know his hand, and if he indorses you you’re all right. Yes, yes, these are genuine!” he added, glancing over the letters as Server opened and spread them before his eyes. “I see they are directed and addressed to Miss Floy Kemper; and he alludes here to your search for your mother. My dear young lady, let us have your story. Your mother, I conclude, is still living? My client will be overjoyed to hear it.”

“I do not know; I hope so, sir,” Floy answered with emotion.

Then calming herself by a determined effort, she went on to give a brief statement of such facts as were necessary to establish her own identity, vindicate her mother from any suspicion of want of love for her child, and show what reason there was for believing, or at least hoping, that she still lived.

She passed very lightly over her own sorrows, and said nothing of her struggles with poverty.

They heard her to the end without interruption, and evidently with deep interest, especially as she detailed her efforts to trace her lost parent, and what she had learned of that parent’s history while doing so.

Their faces lighted up with satisfaction as she closed with the information gleaned from Mrs. Dobbs.

“Ah!” cried Mr. Tredick, rubbing his hands and showing a fine set of false teeth, “I begin to see a little light. You deserve a great deal of credit for your exertions – the energy and wisdom with which they have been made, Miss Farnese.”

“It was God’s good providence, sir, not any wisdom of mine,” she answered with quiet simplicity.

“May I ask if you were brought up by the Kempers with the knowledge that you were their child only by adoption?” queried Mr. Server.

“I had not the slightest suspicion of it till my – Mrs. Kemper revealed the fact to me with her dying breath,” Floy answered in a voice that trembled with almost overpowering emotion.

“Pardon me,” he said, with a touch of compassion in his tones and a second glance at her mourning dress, “your loss has been recent, I fear?”

She bowed a silent assent.

“And you were ignorant of your true mother’s name?” pursued Mr. Tredick, modulating his voice to express sympathy in her sorrow; “had you not then this deed of gift in your possession?”

Floy told of her vain search of last year, and her recent discovery.

“Are you now satisfied of my identity?” she asked.

“Perfectly; and it is your turn to question us. Do you not wish to learn who has been engaged in the same quest as yourself?”

“I do indeed!” she replied with earnest animation.

“Your mother had a sister,” he said. “The two were entirely alone in the world after the death of their parents, which occurred before your mother – the younger one – was quite grown up. In time both married. The husbands quarrelled, the sisters became estranged (each, it is to be presumed, taking part with her husband), and there was a separation. Your father carried his wife off to parts unknown, and the sister, my client, has heard nothing of her since, though for the last ten years, during which she has been a wealthy, childless widow, she has used every effort to find her. All this occurred before your birth, and she is still in ignorance of the fact that her sister ever became a mother.”

Floy sat with her hands clasped in her lap, her large, lustrous eyes fixed intently upon the speaker, her breathing hurried, the full red lips slightly parted, a rich, varying color on her softly-rounded cheek.

“She is very pretty,” thought Server, watching her furtively; “very like the descriptions I have heard of Mrs. Farnese.”

Mr. Tredick paused, and the girl drew a long, sighing breath.

“Where is my aunt? When may I see her?” she asked, vainly striving to be calm and composed.

“She is in this city. I will send for a hack and take you to her at once, if you will allow me to do so.”

Yaş sınırı:
12+
Litres'teki yayın tarihi:
28 eylül 2017
Hacim:
290 s. 1 illüstrasyon
Telif hakkı:
Public Domain
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