Kitabı oku: «Nan of the Gypsies», sayfa 10

CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE THANKSGIVING RIDE

Thanksgiving morning dawned gloriously, and as Nan stood at her open window looking at the garden, all aglow, at the gleaming blue sky and sea, listening the while to the joyous song of a mocking bird in a pepper tree near, she thought how truly thankful she was that Fate had guided her to this wonderful place on that long ago Autumn day.

Miss Dahlia, who with the passing months had regained her strength, surprised the gypsy girl by appearing in the kitchen before that maiden had time to prepare the usual breakfast tray.

“Oh Nan darling,” the little woman said as she held out both hands. “I am so thankful, so thankful today that I have you. Think how dreary even this beautiful world would be if I were alone in it.”

The girl, with sudden tears in her eyes, kissed the little old lady lovingly as she replied, “I am the one who is most grateful. No mother could have been kinder to an own child than you have been to me.” Then, brushing away a tear from the wrinkled cheeks, she laughingly added, “One might think that we were bemoaning some calamity instead of rejoicing because we have each other.”

Merrily assuming Norah’s dialect, to make the little old lady smile, Nan said, with arms akimbo, “Miss Dahlia, will ye be havin’ some cream of wheat with thick yellow cream on it? Bobsy was just this minute after lavin’ it.”

And so it was a happy breakfast after all, and then, at ten o’clock Robert appeared dressed in gypsy fashion, and Nan, in her old costume of crimson and gold, the color of Autumn leaves in the sunshine, rode away with him on her pony Binnie.

The lad seemed to be exuberantly happy, as side by side, the two horses picked their way up the rough mountain road.

When at last they could ride no further, they dismounted and the lad turning to the girl said with tender solicitude, “Nan, every time that I glanced back without speaking, I caught a sad or troubled expression in your face. Won’t you let me share whatever it is that causes you new anxiety?”

The girl flashed a radiant smile as she said self-rebukingly. “Truly, Robert, I have no real sorrow. But I am thoughtful, I must confess, and quite without willing it, I assure you. It is as though a thought comes to me from somewhere from someone else to me.”

Then, knowing that she was not making herself clearly understood, she asked abruptly, “Robert, do you believe in mental telepathy.”

The lad nodded. “I do indeed,” he said. “Several of us cadets at school tried the thing out and the results were positively uncanny.”

Then with a questioning glance at the dark girl, “Why, Nan, do you believe that you are receiving a telepathic communication?”

“Oh, I really don’t know that I mean anything half as high sounding as all that. But what I do know is this. It doesn’t matter where my thoughts may start, they always wind up with wondering where Manna Lou is. I am continually asking myself a question which I cannot answer.

“Will Manna Lou be remembering that I am now eighteen; indeed almost nineteen, and will she try to locate me that she may keep her long-ago-made promise to my mother?”

The lad looked into the dark eyes that were lifted to his. “Nan dear,” he said very gently, “would you be greatly disappointed if this Manna Lou should find you and if the tale she has to reveal, should prove to be that you are not a gypsy girl at all.” This was very like the question he had asked her in the long ago. Her answer had not changed.

Clearly she looked back at him. “Robert Widdemere,” she said unhesitatingly, “all these years I have believed my mother to be a gypsy, and I have loved her as one. It would be very hard for me to change the picture, O the beautiful, beautiful picture I have in my heart of her!”

The lad, gazing into the glowing face could not resist saying, “Lady Red Bird, it is you who are beautiful.”

But Nan, unlike many other girls, was not confused by so direct a compliment. She replied simply. “I hope I am like my mother.”

The lad could wait no longer to tell the dream which had made his summer bright with hope. “Nan,” he cried, “nearly four years ago we stood on this very rock looking down over the valley and I asked you to let me be your brother-comrade.” Then, taking both of her hands, his voice trembling with earnestness, he continued. “And now, Nan, I have brought you here to this same spot to ask you to be my wife.” Then, as she did not at once reply, Robert hurried on, “I know now that I loved you, even then, but we were too young to understand.”

“Thank you, Robert Widdemere!” the girl replied. “I too care for you, but I could not marry you without your mother’s consent.”

And with that answer, the lad had to be content. After a moment’s silence, Nan caught his arm and pointed to the highway far below them. “Robert,” she said, “years ago as we stood here, we saw a strange car entering your grounds and in it was your mother who separated us for so long; and today, a strange car is entering the Barrington grounds. Who do you suppose has come to pay us a visit?”

“No one who can separate us again, Nan comrade,” the lad said earnestly, “for no living creature can.”

CHAPTER XXXIV.
A HAPPY SURPRISE

The gardener’s boy came on a run to take Binnie when Nan Barrington dismounted, and then the girl holding out her hand to her companion said, “Good-bye, Robert Widdemere. I would ask you to dine with us since it is Thanksgiving, but I know that it is right that you should be with your mother.”

“But I’ll be over by mid-afternoon, Nan,” the lad earnestly replied, “and I shall ask you again the same question that I did this morning, but it will be with my mother’s consent. Good-bye, dear, brave comrade.”

As Nan turned into the house, she noticed a handsome car standing in the drive. For the moment, she had forgotten the visitor about whom they had wondered. Her heart was heavy with dread. What if it were someone who had come to tell Miss Dahlia about her lost fortune.

As she entered the wide hall, Miss Dahlia appeared in the library door and beckoned to her, and so the beautiful girl, dressed in crimson and gold, her cheeks flushed, her dark eyes glowing, accompanied her aunt, who seemed very much excited about something.

A tall, elegant gentleman was standing near the hearth.

“Monsieur Alecsandri,” the little lady said, “this is the gypsy girl for whom you are searching. This is my Nan.”

Unheeded the tears rolled down the wrinkled cheeks of Miss Dahlia as the stranger, with evident emotion, stepped forward, and held out both hands to the wondering girl, “And so you are Elenan, my dear sister’s little daughter.”

Nan looked, not only amazed, but distressed. “Oh, sir,” she cried, “you are not a gypsy. My mother, wasn’t she a gypsy after all?” Tears sprang to her dark eyes and the hand which Miss Dahlia held was trembling. The gentleman seemed surprised, but the little old lady explained, “Our Nan has been picturing her mother and father all these years as gypsies, and it is hard for her to change her thought about them.”

The man advanced and took the girl’s hands, and looking down at her earnestly, he said sincerely: “I am glad to find that you are not ashamed of your father’s people, for he truly was a gypsy. He was Manna Lou’s only brother. Now, if we may all be seated I will tell you the story. Your mother was born in a grey stone chateau overlooking the Danube River. Our father died when she was very young and our mother soon followed and so my orphaned little sister was left to my care. I thought that I was doing my best for her when I had her instructed in languages and arts, and then, just as she was budding into a charming and cultivated young womanhood, I had her betrothed to a descendant of Prince Couza.

“Other Rumanian young ladies envied my sister the social position which this alliance would give her, but Elenan begged me not to coerce her to marry a man whom she did not love. I was stern and unrelenting. All too late I learned that my sister loved Romola, a gypsy musician who was so rarely gifted that as a boy he had often played at the court for the king and queen. From them he had received many favors. He was placed in a monastery school to be educated, and, at his request, his younger sister Manna Lou was placed in a convent where she learned many things that other girls of her race never knew, but when they were old enough to do as they wished, gypsy fashion, they returned to the roaming life which was all that their ancestors had ever known.

“Often, Romola played the small harp he had fashioned in the court of Prince Couza, and it was there my sister met him. They loved each other dearly and were secretly married. I was away in another part of the country at the time, and, when I returned they had been gone for a fortnight. I searched everywhere for the gypsy band to which Romola belonged, but no one knew where it had gone.”

The gentleman looked thoughtfully at the girl for a moment and then he continued: “I never fully abandoned the search, but, not knowing that they had come to America, I followed clues that led nowhere. I now know what happened. The son of Queen Mizella, fearing arrest for some misdeed, crossed the ocean to America and with them was my sister disguised as a gypsy.

“But on the voyage over your father Romola sickened and died. My poor sister was heart-broken and lived only long enough to give birth to a daughter, whom she left in the care of Manna Lou. She asked that kind gypsy woman to bring you up as one of her own band until you were eighteen. Then as your mother knew, you would inherit her share of the Alecsandri estate, and she asked Manna Lou, if it were possible when you reached that age to take you back to Rumania and to me. This, of course, the faithful gypsy woman could not do, but, with her band, she returned last summer and came to tell me the story. I had long grieved over my sister’s loss not knowing to what desperation I had driven her, and so I at once set sail for America in search of her child. All that Manna Lou could tell me was that you had left the caravan near San Seritos, in California. When I arrived here and made inquiries, I learned that a gypsy girl had been adopted five years ago by Miss Barrington, and now, my quest is ended. I have found my sister’s little girl.”

Before Nan could reply. Miss Dahlia, glancing out of the window, exclaimed: “Nan, darling, Robert Widdemere is coming, and his mother is with him.”

The girl sprang up. “Aunt Dahlia, Monsieur Alecsandri, if you will excuse me, I will admit Mrs. Widdemere and Robert. I would rather meet them alone.” And so, before the lad had time to lift the heavy carved knocker, the door was opened by Nan. After a rather formal greeting, she led them into a small reception room.

It was hard for her to understand why Mrs. Widdemere had come, and she still felt dazed because of all she had so suddenly learned of her own dear mother.

“Won’t you be seated?” the girl heard herself saying. Then to her surprise, Mrs. Widdemere, who had always so disliked her, took both of her hands, as she said “Miss Barrington, can you ever forgive me for the unkind way that I have treated you? My son has been telling me what a splendid, brave girl you are, and when I compare with you the one I wanted him to marry, how sadly she is found wanting. Only yesterday I received a letter telling me that she had left her mother, who is in deep sorrow, to accompany a party of gay friends on a pleasure trip to Europe. You cannot think how glad I am that my son did not heed my wishes in this matter.”

Nan listened to this outburst, as one who could hardly comprehend, and for a moment she did not reply. Then she asked slowly, “Mrs. Widdemere, do I understand that you are now willing that your son should marry a gypsy girl?”

“Oh, Miss Barrington, Nan, what matters one’s ancestry when the descendants of noble families are themselves so often ignoble? I have been a vain, foolish woman, but I know that true worth counts more than all else. If you can’t forgive me, because I wish it, then try to forgive me for the sake of my son.”

Tears gathered in the dark eyes of the girl, as she said, “Mrs. Widdemere, first I had a kind gypsy-aunt, Manna Lou, then two dear adopted aunts and no one could have been more loving than they, but now, at last, I am to have someone whom I can call ‘mother.’”

“Thank you dear,” the woman said, “I shall try to deserve so lovely and lovable a daughter. Robert, my son, you and I are much to be congratulated.”

The lad, who had been standing quietly near, leaped forward and catching the hands of the girl whom he loved, he said joyously. “Nan, darling, let’s have our wedding tomorrow out under the pepper tree.”

The girl smiled happily, and then, suddenly remembering the waiting visitor, she said, “Mrs. Widdemere, I would like you and Robert to meet my uncle, who has just arrived from Rumania.”

“A Rumanian gypsy,” the lady was thinking, as she followed the girl. “That country is full of them.”

A moment later, after greeting Miss Dahlia, she saw an elegant gentleman approaching and heard Nan saying, “Mrs. Widdemere, may I present my uncle, Monsieur Alecsandri?”

“Your uncle, Nan?” that lady exclaimed. “Surely this gentleman is not a gypsy.”

“No, indeed, madame, I am not, but I am proud to be the uncle of this little gypsy girl.” He placed his hand lovingly on the dark head. “Elenan is my sister’s child, but her father was Romola, one of the handsomest and most talented of gypsies.”

Then, that Robert and his mother might clearly understand, the story was retold from the beginning. The lad leaped forward, his hands outheld. “Oh Nan,” he cried, “how glad you are that after all you are a real gypsy.” Then he thought of something and turning toward the gentleman, he said in his frank, winning way. “Monsieur, Nan and I were to have been married soon. May we have your consent?”

The foreigner, although surprised and perhaps disappointed if he had hoped his sister’s daughter would return with him, was most gracious. “If the very kind woman with whom I find our Elenan has given her permission, I also give mine.”

There were sudden tears in the gentle eyes of the older woman. She had known of course, that some day these two would wed, but now, how could she live without Nan? Her hesitation was barely noticeable, then she said bravely. “I shall be proud, indeed, to have Robert Widdemere for a nephew.”

Nan, noting the quivering lips, took her benefactress by the hand as she said brightly; “Oh, Aunt Dahlia, what do you think? I forgot our Thanksgiving dinner.”

“But I didn’t forget it!” that little lady quite herself again replied. “Mrs. Sperry has been in our kitchen all of the morning, and here she comes now to announce that dinner is ready for us and our three most welcomed guests.”

Nan’s cup of joy seemed full to the over-flowing but the day held for her still another happiness.

CHAPTER XXXV.
AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL

On Thanksgiving afternoon Robert again said, “Nan, comrade, can’t we be married tomorrow out under our very own pepper tree.”

“Son,” Mrs. Widdemere smilingly protested, “what an uncivilized suggestion for you to make.”

“That’s the very reason why I wish it,” the lad replied. “Five years ago Nan and I met out under that tree and we both declared that we wanted to be uncivilized. I remember that I was pining to be a wild Indian or a pirate, but instead, we have both spent the intervening years in polishing our manners and intellects.” Then turning to the girl, he pleaded, “Lady Red Bird, let me have my own way just this once, and then you may have your own way forever after.”

Nan laughed happily. “But Robert,” she said, “ought there not to be a trousseau before one is married?”

“Elenan.” It was Monsieur Alecsandri who was speaking. “I was so confident I would find you, that I brought a trunk full of garments that were your dear mother’s. It was the trousseau which I had provided for her when I betrothed her to a descendant of Prince Couza. The gowns are the loveliest that I could procure, but they were never worn.”

“Oh, Uncle Basil.” (He had asked the girl to call him by his Christian name.) “How glad I shall be to have them.”

“But, Nan comrade,” Robert repeated, “you have not yet said that I may plan our wedding and our trip away.”

The girl looked at the lad who was seated on the lounge at her side and said brightly, “Robert, you plan it all and let it be a surprise for me.”

Nan noticed that during the hour that followed Robert glanced at his watch and several times walked toward the window and gazed out toward the highway.

“Why are you so restless, son?” his mother had just inquired, when wheels were heard in the drive, and soon after the call of the heavy iron knocker resounded through the house. Robert half arose, but sank back to the lounge when he saw Mrs. Sperry going to the front door.

“Who can it be?” Little Miss Dahlia was quite in a flutter, but Nan had heard a voice inquiring if Miss Anne Barrington was at home?

With a cry of joy Nan sprang forward and held the newcomer in a long and loving embrace. “Phyllis, I can’t believe that it is you!” she cried as she stood back to survey the pretty, laughing face of her dearest friend. “Why, it seems too much like a story book to be really true.”

Then she led the newcomer into the library where she was gladly welcomed by all who knew her and introduced by Nan to “my uncle, Monsieur Alecsandri.”

Phyllis, who never had believed that her room-mate was really a gypsy, took the arrival of an aristocratic uncle quite as a matter of course, and when they were all seated, Nan, still curious, exclaimed: “Do tell me how you happened to know that it was time to come to my wedding.”

Phyllis looked up at Robert with a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes. “Shall I tell?” she asked.

“I’ll tell,” that lad replied. “Last week I wired my fair cousin to board a train at once for the West if she wished to attend our wedding which I hoped would be solemnized on Thanksgiving day.”

“Robert! How could you invite a guest to our wedding before you had asked me to marry you?” Nan laughingly declared.

“It was rather presumptuous,” the lad confessed, “but all’s well that ends well.”

Monsieur Alecsandri accepted Miss Barrington’s invitation to remain in her home, and Phyllis spent the night with Nan, for they had much to talk about. The latter maiden often fell to wondering what Robert’s surprising plan was for their wedding.

CHAPTER XXXVI.
NAN’S TROUSSEAU

The wedding day dawned gloriously. The two girls were up early and as soon as they were dressed, Nan drew her friend to the wide open window and they looked out at the garden, where masses of yellow chrysanthemums were glowing in the sunlight. Beyond, the wide silvery beach was glistening, and, over the gleaming blue water a flock of shining white sea gulls dipped and circled. Silently the two girls stood with arms about each other, and, in memory, Nan was again in the long ago. She was watching two children dressed in gypsy garb as they stood near the rushing, singing fountain. One was a dark, eager-eyed girl of thirteen, and the other was a mis-shapen, goblin-like boy of ten.

Tirol, dear little Tirol. How he had loved her, how he had clung to her! Tears gathered in the girl’s eyes as she thought of the little fellow and she hoped that, somehow he might know what a happy day this was to be for his dear Sister Nan.

“Look yonder!” Phyllis laughingly exclaimed, “Here comes a mounted messenger at full speed.”

“It’s Bobsy, the gardener’s son,” Nan said. “He has been for an early ride on my Binnie.”

The boy, chancing to see the two girls at the upper window, waved a letter, and, believing that he wished to give it to them, they went downstairs and out on the veranda.

The boy’s freckled face was beaming. “Mr. Robert sent this over,” he said jubilantly, “and he gave me a five dollar gold piece toward my new bicycle.”

Then away the boy galloped to tell this astounding news to his mother, while Nan opened the letter and read:

“Good morning to you, Lady Red Bird. Can you believe it? This is our wedding day! I want to shout and sing, but I have much to do before that most wonderful of all hours, today at high noon.

“Since you promised that I might plan everything, I am asking my Nan to be dressed in gypsy fashion. Then your kinsfolk and my kinsfolk are to meet under the pepper tree as the bells of the old mission tell the hour of noon. Last night as I went through the hedge, I told our tree the great honor that was to befall it, and this morning the birds in it are singing a riotous song of joy, and I am sure that the pepper berries are redder than ever before.

“Then, at two o’clock will come the real surprise and the beginning of our joyous journey. Nan comrade, may I prove worthy of you!

“Your

“Robert.”

After breakfast Aunt Dahlia, Phyllis and Nan were wondering what the bride would wear for a wedding gown, when Monsieur Alecsandri returned from the station, whither he had gone at an early hour. A few moments later an expressman brought a trunk which was carried to Nan’s room. Then her uncle Basil smilingly handed her a key as he said: “Elenan, do me the honor of wearing one of the gowns that were prepared for your mother’s wedding.”

Nan was indeed puzzled to know how she could please her uncle Basil, and yet keep her promise to Robert.

When the trunk was opened and the garments which it contained had been spread about on bed, lounge and chairs, Nan turned to the older lady, her dark eyes aglow as she said, “Aunt Dahlia, dear, did you ever see fabrics more beautiful?”

“This one is especially lovely,” the little lady said as she smoothed the folds of a soft, white silk. “I wish you would try it on, dearie.”

And then, when the girl stood arrayed in the gown, Phyllis exclaimed, “Nan, that surely was made for your wedding dress.”

“But, Phyllis, you are forgetting Robert’s request.”

“No, I am not,” the other maid laughingly replied. Then for a moment she looked about the room thoughtfully. Spying the gorgeous scarlet and gold shawl, which in the long ago Manna Lou had given the girl, she took it and threw one fringed corner over Nan’s left shoulder, fastening it in front at the belt. Then, winding it about her waist, another point hung panelwise to the bottom of her skirt. The spangled yellow silk handkerchief was twined about the dark hair, and the picture reflected in the mirror was truly a beautiful one.

“Tres charmante!” Phyllis exclaimed jubilantly. “Now, let me see, there should be something old and something new, something borrowed and something blue. The dress is new, to us anyway; that gorgeous shawl is old. I’ll loan you a handkerchief with a yellow and crimson border, and now, what shall you wear that is blue?”

Miss Dahlia slipped from the room to return a moment later with a velvet box which she handed to the girl she so loved. “My mother gave it to me when I was eighteen,” the little lady said, “and I want to give it to my Nan on her wedding day.”

The dark head and the fair bent eagerly over the box and when the cover was removed, the two girls uttered exclamations of joy.

“Oh, how lovely, lovely!” Phyllis cried as she lifted a sapphire necklace and clasped it about the throat of the happy Nan.

A busy morning was spent by the two girls, and, as it neared noon, Nan resplendently arrayed, looked up at Phyllis as she said, “I wonder where Aunt Dahlia is. She hasn’t been here for half an hour past. Perhaps she is in her room. Wait dear, and I will see.”

Miss Barrington’s door was closed. Nan, after tapping, softly opened it. Miss Dahlia, with folded hands, was seated by the wide window gazing out at the sea and in her sweet grey eyes there was such a wistful loneliness. She looked up, as the girl entered, and smiled faintly, then her lips quivered and the tears came.

“Oh, Aunt Dahlia, darling! How selfish I have been!” Nan cried, as heedless of her white silk dress, she knelt by the little woman and put her arms lovingly about her. “I never thought! Perhaps you didn’t want me to get married. But it isn’t too late, Aunt Dahlia, if you do not wish it.”

“Dear little girl,” the old lady said tenderly, “of course I want you to be married. If I had searched the world over, I could not have chosen a lad whom I would like better. It is I who am selfish. I was fearing that Robert would take you away, and I don’t want to lose my Nan.”

“Lose me, Aunt Dahlia? Do you think that I would let you lose me? You are dearer to me than all the world, and where I go, you shall go, but we will always come back, won’t we dearie, back to our garden-all-aglow where we have been so happy. Hark, the first stroke of the mission bells is telling that it is noon, and we must not be late at our very own wedding. Yes, Phyllis we are coming.”

Monsieur Alecsandri was waiting for them in the library. Together they started along the flower bordered path toward the pepper tree, and Nan’s wedding music was the joyous song of the birds.