Kitabı oku: «Penny of Top Hill Trail», sayfa 7

CHAPTER X

“Jo!” called Pen, running down the road as she spied him driving away in a lightweight mountain wagon.

Quickly he reined in the pair of prancing horses.

“What ’tis, Miss Penny Ante? Isn’t it great that I am back to stay?”

“Indeed it is. Where are you going and may I go, too?”

“Over to Westcott’s, and I’d love to have you go with me.”

“I’ll have to get a furlough and a hat. Just wait a moment.”

She found Kurt and asked his permission with all the pretty pleading of a child in her voice. Her face was singularly young; her eyes like a mirror.

“I’ve never ridden in a wagon,” she said breathlessly, seeing that his expression wasn’t as forbidding as usual. “And I’ll come back. Can’t you see I want to come back?”

Something sweet dawned in his eyes.

“Yes;” he said, a note of exultation sounding in his voice with the knowledge that his last stand of resistance to long-held theories was giving away before some new force, powerful and overwhelming. “You may go. I wish I were driving instead of Jo, but – ”

He stood watching her as she sped back to where Jo was waiting, and his gaze still followed as the horses tore over the road to Westcott’s. There was a far-away look in his eye and a faint smile about the curves of his mouth. Subconsciously, as though he were the one beside her, he followed in fancy after the wagon was lost to sight around the hills. He could see the point where the road would disappear into a plain, covered with soft grass over which the sleek horses would bound. He knew Jo’s irresistible bubbling gaiety, and the sparkle she would add to it. He wondered why he had never thought to take her for a drive. There had been no chance to talk to her in their rides. She always put spurs to her horse when he tried to talk to her.

All sense of time left him. The symphony of the hill winds from the south was in his ears; the beauty of the day in all his being. Vividly he recalled their ride in the early dawn and the brief moment she had lain unconscious in his arms. Ever since that moment he had barricaded himself against her appeal and charm. He felt himself yielding and knew that the yielding was bringing him happiness.

“I am in a Fool’s Paradise,” he thought, “but still a Paradise. She doesn’t care for me any more than she cares for Jo. I wonder does he know it, or is she deceiving him? I fear so, for he seems absurdly happy.”

He was still lost in the dreams of the lotus-eater when he heard something that resembled the rattling of his own noisy car. Looking down the hill road from town, he saw a vehicle approaching which he recognized as the “town taxi.” It turned into the ranch grounds and he quickly went to the front of the house, supposing that Kingdon or his wife must have returned.

A strange young girl was alighting. As he went wonderingly to meet her, he saw that she was city-bred. She seemed to be dazed by the illimitable spaces and was blinking from the sunshine. His observant eye noted the smart suitcase and the wardrobe trunk the man was depositing on the porch. There was city shrewdness in having had the amount of the fare fixed before leaving town.

She was a little slip of a girl with a small-featured face and a certain pale prettiness. There was an appealing tinge of melancholy in her eyes notwithstanding they were eager and alert. Her dress was plain, but natty and citified.

“Is this Top Hill – where Mrs. Kingdon lives?” she asked in a low, softly-pitched voice.

“Yes;” he replied, “but Mrs. Kingdon is away – ”

“I know – but she wrote me to come here; that she would be home very soon.”

“I am glad to hear that. Come in,” he urged hospitably, as he picked up her suitcase. “The housekeeper will make you comfortable.”

She hesitated.

“Is Miss Lamont in?”

“Miss Lamont – Miss Pen Lamont?” he asked in surprise. “She is a friend of yours?”

“Yes,” she replied composedly.

“She has gone for a drive, but she will be back soon.”

She followed him within and stood gazing at the pleasant interior, – books, pictures, piano and fireplace, while he went to summon the housekeeper.

“Mrs. Merlin, this is a friend of Mrs. Kingdon’s,” he said on his return. “Will you show her to one of the guest rooms?”

“Oh!” exclaimed the girl in expostulary tone, “I am not a guest. My name is – Bobbie Burr. Mrs. Kingdon hired me to do plain sewing for the children and to care for the linen.”

There was no trace of a seamstress in the plain but elegant garb and appointments of the young girl, and Mrs. Merlin was at a loss as to the proper establishment of the newcomer.

“Maybe,” she said to Kurt hesitatingly, “the room the last nursery governess had – ”

“Any room will do,” said the girl hurriedly, as she followed Mrs. Merlin.

Kurt went down the road which Jo and Pen had taken. He felt the need of a pipe and solitude to help him figure out this puzzling problem, and soon he was sending a jet of smoke up to the branches of the tree which he had selected for a resting place.

Who was this girl whose belongings betokened money, and yet who said she had come to do plain sewing? Enlightenment came with the recollection that she had been sent by Mrs. Kingdon and was doubtless one of her protégées. The name she had given sounded demimondish, and she was a friend of Pen’s! The thought made him wince. She had seemed to him some way isolated from her kind, with naught in common with them save her profession. To find he was mistaken brought him an unpleasant shock.

A sound of wheels around the curve; the clatter of hoofs. In a moment they came into his vision – the prancing team, the merry driver and —the thief. Delicate as a drop of dew, as lovely as a forest blossom, her voice, bird-like and rippling, wafted to him from the clear aromatic air, she inverted again all his theories and resolutions.

He walked toward them, his hand raised.

Jo reined in.

“Will you get out and walk up to the house with me?” Kurt asked her, the question given in the form and tone of command.

“A friend of yours is at the house,” he said abruptly, when Jo had driven on and was outside of hearing.

“A friend of mine!” she repeated, losing a little of the wild rose tint in her fear that Hebler might have arrived.

“So she says. Mrs. Kingdon sent her here to sew for the children.”

“How you relieve me! I was fearing it might be a man.”

“Her name,” he said, “is Bobbie Burr.”

“What!” Her voice had a startled note. “Bobbie Burr! Oh, yes; I remember her.”

“Is she a particular friend of yours?”

“I am more attracted by her than by any girl I ever knew. Let’s sit down in the shade of one of the few-and-far-between trees you have up here. You were interested in my welfare when you took me from Bender, but you will be doubly interested in Bobbie when you hear her story. She is a convert far more worthy of your efforts and those of Mrs. Kingdon than I have proved to be.

“She is the type you thought I was before you snatched me from the burning – I mean from Bender. Let me see if I can quote you correctly: ‘One of the many young city girls who go wrong because they have no chance; bred in slums, ill-treated, ill-fed.’ Poor Bobbie had no chance until – you’ll be skeptical when I tell you how she first received her moral uplift – she had some nice clothes. Stealing was her only vice! At that, she only took enough to meet her needs; but one day she found some money; quite a lot, it seemed to her. Down in her little fluttering fancy she had always had longings for a white dress – a nice white dress. She had the inherent instinct for judging rightly ‘what she should wear.’ So, for the first time in her life she was able to be correctly and elegantly clad. The white dress she bought was simple, one of the plain but effective and expensive kind. With the wearing of this new gown there naturally came the feminine desire to be seen and admired. She didn’t know where to go. She had never been a frequenter of dance halls. She knew, of course, there were few open sesames for her. She went to one where no questions are asked before admittance. Things didn’t look good to her at this Hurricane Hall, and she thought her doll was filled with sawdust until the inevitable man appeared and changed her angle of vision. He was that most unusual apparition, a nice, honest man. He saw her; she saw him; after that there were no others visible in their little world.

“Within twenty-four hours he had told her of his love and asked her to marry him. Then – I tried to convince you thieves could be honest – she was brave enough to tell him what she was. He was a true knight and lover. Her confession didn’t alter his feelings or his intentions; in fact, his determination to marry her was strengthened. Because she loved him very much, she ran away from him, leaving him in a strange city without even her name for a clue. But now she had a hope, a real incentive – the biggest one there is. She pawned all the coveted clothes she had bought and went to a place far away where she could begin a new life – the life of an honest working-girl.

“In her little game with destiny, she lost out, and was apprehended for a theft of which she was entirely innocent, but her past record barred acquittal. A man was instrumental in gaining a reprieve for her, however, and she was sent away to new environment where she found friends, health and, best of all, a job.

“So the desire was born in her to turn the proverbial new leaf, not for the sake of winning her ‘man,’ but from the simple wish to be ‘good.’ I interested Mrs. Kingdon in her and told her where she was, but did not dream of such good luck for – Bobbie as to be sent up here. I know she will find happiness up here in these hills. You’ll be kind to the little girl, won’t you?” she pleaded. “You know you haven’t much mercy for sinners, but you will see she is serious about reforming; not flippant like me. She will never yield to temptation again.”

“How do you know?” he asked, looking at her keenly.

“Because,” she answered softly. “She loves, and – the man she loves is worthy of her.”

“And you think love is powerful enough to cure?”

“I think so.”

“Would it cure – you?”

“I don’t know,” she said ingenuously. “You see I have never loved.”

A fervid light smouldered in his eyes.

“Aunty Pen!”

Francis came running around the curve.

“There is a nice girl at the house. Mother sent her. She’s got a boy’s name – Bobbie. I like her. She does anything I tell her to.”

“That’s the masculine measure,” she said, taking his hand and running on with him.

“Come back!” was the strident summons from Kurt.

“Stay here a moment,” Pen hurriedly bade Francis.

“I want to ask you how this girl is able to have such expensive looking things – if she has only a job?”

“They were given to her.”

“By the man who was instrumental in getting her reprieved? You said she was virtuous.”

“Don’t do the man an injustice, even if you doubt poor little Bobbie. He acted from charitable motives. He has never seen her, or tried to see her.”

“Look at me, Pen!”

“I’m looking. You have the true Western eye – the eye of a sharpshooter and a – sheriff.”

“The story you just told me is the story of Marta Sills. Is that her name or yours?”

“It belongs to us both. Being ‘particular pals,’ we shared alike. Interchange of names often comes handy with us.”

“Was it you or Bobbie Burr – the girl who just came – whom Jo met in a dance hall, and took to St. – some place on Lake Michigan?”

“Dear me! You cattlemen are such gay birds when you come to a city! How can I tell how many girls Jo Gary took to a dance hall? If that St. Something was St. Joe, he must have gone there to get married. It’s what most people go there for, and probably he’s no more saintly than the place is. Maybe it was named after him.”

“Tell me! Was it Bobbie Burr?”

“She never mentioned Jo Gary’s name to me, so how do I know. Yes, Francis; coming.”

She ran fleetly on to join the boy who was impatiently calling to her.

“Marta! How the plot does thicken!” she thought as she ran a race with Francis to the house. “Now we’re all here but Hebby. What next? Curtain soon, I expect. No need longer for understudies. I must start things before Kurt succumbs to her charms. That little subdued, clinging-vine air she has is most appealing to his type. He’ll come to forgive her anything.”

“Marta,” she said quickly, as she met the young girl, “come upstairs with me.”

She locked the door as soon as they were in her room.

“Now tell me all about yourself and everything that has happened since I last saw you.”

Beaming with the excitement that comes from narrative of self, the newcomer talked animatedly for some time.

“And,” she concluded, “Mrs. Kingdon said you told her all about me, and she sent me a ticket to come here. And it’s lovely up here, isn’t it? She told me I’d better keep to the name of Bobbie Burr for the present, until she came anyway.”

“I should say!” agreed Pen. “Marta Sills might land you in most unpleasant places. But, Marta, that man you told me about, whose name you didn’t mention?”

“Yes, Miss Lamont. I try not to think of him.”

“Marta, why did you tell him that you stole. You could have married him. He’d never have known. And you and he could both have been happy.”

In the girl’s wondering eyes, Pen read a mute rebuke.

“I’d rather lose him forever than deceive him!”

“Marta,” said Pen impressively, “Diogenes should have known you.”

“Who is he, Miss Lamont?”

“Never mind, Marta. I thought I knew what love meant, but I see I didn’t until now. If I loved a man as you do yours, I would stop stealing if I had to cut my hands off to do it.”

“I have stopped. I know now that I could have stopped long ago, if any one had given me the right boost, or made me want to stop.”

Just then Pen’s eyes caught sight of a trunk in the corner of her room.

“What’s that here for?” she asked.

“Oh, please, Miss Lamont, I brought it to you. I never touched anything in it. I earned enough to buy what I am wearing and a few things in my suitcase, besides what I had on that day – ”

“Marta, that’s sweet in you. I am beginning to feel I’d like to tog once more. I shall reward you. But first, will you do something for me?”

“You know I will be glad to do anything.”

“I want a note delivered. I’ll write it now.”

Hastily she wrote a few lines at her desk.

“Come with me, Marta. We’ll have to go to a certain vine-clad pergola by devious routes to avoid three wise children and one suspicious and formidable foreman.”

By much circumambulation the two girls reached the pergola unseen.

“You sit here for a few moments, Marta, and the person to whom you are to give the note will come to you.”

Pen walked on to the barracks where she met Jo.

“Will you do something for me, Jo? Right away, quick?”

“Sure thing, Miss Penny Ante. What did his nibs want?”

“Never mind, now. Go to the pergola and receive a note from me. Now don’t be stupid. Do as you are told, – like a good soldier does.”

With a laugh Jo started in swinging gait for the place indicated, but he was halted several times by some of the men who wanted directions for their work.

After waiting patiently, Marta concluded Pen’s plans had miscarried, so she started for the house, but becoming confused as to turns, she went toward the barracks.

To a little girl whose life had been spent in slums and reformatories, the big spaces and silences were more appalling than the wildest hours of traffic on misguided State Street. She had a strange inclination to walk down hill backward that she might not see what other ascension must be made.

“If I’d only been born as high up as this, maybe I’d never have got down so low,” she philosophized.

She came around a bend in the road. A man was approaching. He looked up.

“Marta, oh, Marta!”

“Jo!” she cried wildly, looking about for retreat.

Another second, in his arms, she thought no longer of flight.

“Marta, how did you ever get here?” Wild astonishment was visible in Jo’s eyes.

“Mrs. Kingdon sent for me. I’ve been killed with kindness ever since that night I saw you, Jo. I didn’t know you were here. Miss Lamont told me to stay in that place where the vines are until a man came, and to give him this note; but that was long ago. I came out and lost my way. Are you the man she meant?”

“I must be.”

“Does she know that you – that we – ”

“Sure she knows. Give me the note.”

He removed the little folded paper from the envelope and read it aloud:

“DEAR JO: Here is your heart-ease. Don’t let doubt kill your love. Just take Marta. A woman loves an audacious lover.

“Yours,

“PENNY ANTE.”

“I feel sort of crazy. Gee, Marta, but it’s great to be crazy! Let’s sit down here and talk about it. You don’t need to tell me much. She told me. Why didn’t you let me hear from you?”

“I wanted to be sure, Jo. I’m not going to make excuses for myself, but I had it handed to me hard. Whenever I thought I’d like to be like other folks, some one would give me a shoveback, and then I felt cornered and that it was no use. Sometimes – most always – I was down and out. Then I’d hit a little lucky wave and go up. It was one of those times I saw you in that dance hall.”

“That was my lucky wave. I can see you now as you sat away from the rest – so little and so different-looking from those tough ones.”

“And I can see you – alone, by yourself; you looked different from anyone I’d ever seen, so healthy and jolly and kind. I saw you looking at me and knew right off what you thought – that I was straight and had got in the wrong place by mistake. And I let you think so and let you get to know me. And we danced and talked till near sunrise. That lovely day over at St. Joe! I thought I was in Heaven until we were in that little park and you asked me to marry you. First time a real man ever asked me that. I wasn’t low enough to fool you then. When you said it made no difference, I knew you were too good for me, and it made me love you so much that I had to run away.”

“It was sure great in you to tell me, Marta.”

“You know how I got help and hope; but I’m not Marta now, Jo. Not any more. I’m Bobbie Burr.”

“You’ll always be Marta. But it makes no difference; you’ll soon be changing your name for keeps. You can’t ever lose me, now, and love has Mrs. Kingdon and all the rest of them beat for what you call reforming.”

“If I had only known long ago that there were folks like you and Mrs. Kingdon and – ”

“Never mind long ago. There’s nothing to it. Let’s talk about the little shack we are going to put up in these hills somewhere. Like it?”

“It seems like a beautiful dream up here, Jo. Too good for me.”

He looked down into the kitten face with its eyes of Irish blue.

“Nothing in the world is too good for you, my Marta.”

“Miss Lamont said I could play I had died and been born again. She said it was a good way to turn over a new leaf.”

“You will be born again as Mrs. Jo Gary.”

Time went very swiftly then, and it was Marta who realized Pen might be expecting to see her.

“Please start me in the right direction, Jo.”

“I’ll take you to the house myself,” said Jo protectingly.

As they came around a curve in the road that wound its way upward and downward, they encountered Kurt.

“This is Miss Sills, Mr. Walters,” introduced Jo proudly – “the little girl I told you about when I came from Chicago. We are engaged.”

She looked up a little fearfully at the stern-looking young foreman. She was surprised and relieved at the kindly look in the steel-gray eyes. He took one of her little hands in his strong brown ones. He was ashamed that his instinct told him it was the typical hand of a thief, slim, smooth and deft-fingered.

“Let me congratulate you, Jo, and you, too, Marta. Jo is my friend.”

Tears came into her eyes and her little mouth puckered pathetically.

“Say, Kurt, you’re a brick!” exclaimed Jo heartily. “I was afraid – you know you said – ”

He stopped in confusion.

“Forget everything I said, old man. I was a grouch then and I didn’t know – anything. I know better now. But Marta, why did you tell me your name was Bobbie Burr.”

“Mrs. Kingdon told me to use that name until – ”

“Until she has her right name, Marta Gary,” finished Jo.

Kurt smiled condoningly.

“Mrs. Kingdon always knows what is best.”

“That is what Miss Lamont said. She said that with Jo to love me and Mrs. Kingdon to advise me I couldn’t help but be – what I want to be.”

“Did she say that?” he asked eagerly, a light in his eyes. “She was right.”

“She left out her help. It was Jo that first made me want to be straight, but it was Miss Lamont who gave me the chance. Isn’t she grand, Mr. Walters? She has such a kind heart.”

“Will you tell me something about her, Marta? Is – ”

He stopped abruptly. It wouldn’t be just the right thing to cross-examine this little girl about her “particular pal.”

“I’ll see you again, soon,” he said, and went on to the garage.

The sound of Jo’s jolly laugh with the little added tender note made him turn and look after them. They had stopped on their way and were looking into each other’s eyes, oblivious to all else but the happiness to be found in the kingdom of love and youth.

Silhouetted on the crest of the hill they stood – Jo, lean, long and picturesque in his rough clothes; Marta, neat and natty from her little pumps to her shining yellow hair smoothed back over her forehead.

With the feeling that he also was initiated into the Great Brotherhood and had recognized the tokens of membership, he went about his tasks, seeing a vision of a girl with a sweetness in her eyes that often belied the bantering of her tone.

When he came up to dinner, Pen’s place was vacant.

“Bobbie won’t eat with us,” explained Francis. “Nora didn’t, you know. Aunt Pen thought she might be lonesome eating her first meal all alone, so they are having their dinner together.”

Marta’s words, “she has such a kind heart,” came back to him.

“She is right,” he said. “Marta knows.”

And suddenly there was born in him a deep compassion for all women of her kind. In vain he waited for Pen in the library that night. But, feeling she was in deep waters, Pen had resolved to stay in her room.