Dorothy Part 12

"Why, where's my girl? Where's Dorothy C.?"

He looked toward his wife, but it was Mr. Lathrop who answered:

"Oh! she's coming later. We--we couldn't bother with a child, this trip."

"Couldn't 'bother' with my Dorothy! Why, friend, you're the best I have, but you don't know Dorothy. Humph! She's more brains in her curly head than anybody in this party has in theirs. Beg pardon, all, but--but you see I'm rather daft on Dorothy. I simply cannot go without her. What's more, I shan't even try."

This was worse than they had expected. Martha had felt that her husband should no longer be deceived as to the state of things; even in his weakened condition she believed that his good sense would support him under their dreadful trial, and that he would suffer less if the news were gently broken to him here than if he were left to learn it later, in some ruder way. But her judgment had been overruled even as now his decision was; for without an instant's delay Mr. Lathrop ordered the carriage to drive on and that memorable journey had begun.

As he was lifted out of the vehicle at the station entrance, he turned upon his wife and for the first time in her memory of him spoke harshly to her:

"Martha, you're deceiving me. Taking advantage of my helplessness.

You've always been jealous of my love for little Dorothy, and now, I suppose, just because I can't work to support her you've got rid of her.

Well, I shall have her back. I may be a cripple, but my brain isn't lame--it's only my legs--and I'll find some way to take care of her. She shall come back. Trust me. Now, go ahead!"

He submitted to the porter and his friend Lathrop, and, the train just rolling in, he was carried through the gates and placed aboard it in the parlor car where seats had been procured. He had never before traveled in such luxury, but instead of the gay abandon with which he would once have accepted and enjoyed it, he seemed now not to notice anything about him. Except that, just as the train was moving out, he caught at a newsboy hurrying from it, seized a paper, tossed a nickel, and spread the sheet open on his knee.

Alas! for all the over-wise precautions of his friends! The first words his eyes rested upon were the scare-head capitals of this sentence:

THE FATE OF POSTMAN JOHN CHESTER'S DAUGHTER DOROTHY STILL UNKNOWN--KIDNAPPING AND MURDER THE PROBABLE SOLUTION OF THE MYSTERY.

He stared at the letters as if they had no significance. Then he read them singly, in pairs, in dozens--trying to make his shocked brain comprehend their meaning. The utmost he could do was to see them as letters of fire, printed on the air before him, and on the darkness of the tunnel they now entered. A darkness so suggestive of the misery that had shrouded a once happy household that poor Martha, burying her face in her hands, could only sob aloud.

But from the stricken "father John" came neither sob nor groan, for there was still upon him the numbness of the shock he had received; and it was in that same silence that he made the long journey, with its several changes, and came at last to the farmhouse on the hilltop, which was to have been made glad by a child's presence and was now so desolate.

CHAPTER XI

JIM BARLOW

Dorothy reread the note. Then she took off the scrawl attached to it and tore it into bits, remarking to the mastiff, or whoever might hear:

"Well, I don't want any milk. I shall never like it again. I believe that dreadful man put something in it last night--was it only last night?--that made me go to sleep and not know a thing was happening after I got into the carriage till I woke up here. Milk! Ugh!"

With a shudder of repulsion she looked over her shoulder just as a sibilant, warning "S-Ssh!" came from the room behind. Then she stood up and screamed as the mastiff, likewise rising, grasped her skirt in his teeth.

"Hush! you better not let her hear you!" was the second, whispered warning, and though she peered into the kitchen she could see n.o.body, till, after a moment, she discovered a pair of dirty bare feet protruding from under the bed that stood in one corner.

Dorothy was afraid of the dog that held her, but she was not usually afraid of human beings; so she called quite loudly:

"You long white boy, come out from that place. I want to talk to you!"

The dog loosened its grip long enough to growl, then took a fresh hold, as the lad cautiously drew himself into full sight and noiselessly stood up. But he laid one grimy hand on his lips, again commanding silence, and s.n.a.t.c.hing a big basket from the floor ran out of a rear door.

The girl tried to follow. Of the two human beings she had seen in this isolated cottage the long boy seemed the gentler, and she was determined to make him, or somebody, tell her where she was. The mastiff still held her prisoner and she suspected he was acting upon orders. Her temper rose and with it her courage. It was absurd that she could not do as she pleased in a little bit of a country cottage like this, where there were no locks nor bolts to hinder! So for the third time she moved, and for the third time the dog's great teeth set themselves more firmly on her light clothing. Clenching her small hands in her impotent wrath, she began to screech and yell, at the top of her voice, incessantly, deafeningly, defiantly. Pausing only long enough to renew her breath, and wondering if that old woman she could see yonder, picking berries from a bed, could endure the noise as long as she could endure to make it.

Apparently, the uproar had no further result than to tire her own throat; for, until she had finished gathering the strawberries from one long row of vines, the woman did not pause. But, having reached the limit of the bed and of the crate she moved along before her as she worked, she suddenly stood up, lifted the crate to her head, and strode back to the house. There she deposited her precious fruit in an outer shed and entered the kitchen. From the small clock-shelf she gathered a pad of writing paper, a bunch of envelopes, and a lead pencil; which with an air of pride, and the first semblance of a smile Dorothy had seen upon her grim features, she offered to the child.

"Here. To write on. To your ma. He left 'em. Tige, let go!"

Instantly, the mastiff loosened his hold of Dorothy's skirts and followed his mistress into the strawberry patch whither she had again gone, carrying another crate filled with empty baskets. Evidently, this was a truck-farm and the mistress of it was preparing for market. Just such crates and cups, or little baskets, were now plentiful at all the city shops where groceries were sold, and Dorothy's hopes rose at the thought that she might be taken thither with this woman when she went to sell her stuff.

"Oh! that's what she'll let me do! So what's the use of writing? And how fine those berries look! I'd like to pick some myself. I'd rather do it than do nothing. I'll just go and offer to help."

In better spirits than she would have thought possible, even a few moments before, the homesick girl ran across the garden and to the woman's side, who merely looked up and said nothing, till Dorothy lifted one of the wooden cups and began to pick fruit into it.

For a brief s.p.a.ce the other watched her closely, as the nimble little fingers plucked the beautiful berries; till by mischance Dorothy pulled off an entire stem, holding not only ripened fruit but several green and half-turned drupes. Whereupon her fingers were smartly tapped and by example, rather than speech, she was instructed in the art of berry picking.

"Oh! I do love to learn things, and I see, I see!" cried the novice, and smiling up into the old face now so near her own, she began the task afresh. Already the market-woman had resumed her own work, and it seemed incredible that such coa.r.s.e fingers as hers could so deftly strip the vines of perfect berries only, leaving all others intact for a future picking. Also, she had a swift way of packing them in the cups that left each berry showing its best side and filled the receptacle without crowding.

"Ah! I see! I'm getting the trick of it! And that's what mother means by paying for a quart and not getting a quart, isn't it? Oh! how delicious they are!" and, without asking, Dorothy popped the plumpest berry she had yet found into her own mouth.

That was a mistake, as the frown upon the woman's face promptly told her; and with a sudden sinking of her heart she realized again that she was, after all, a prisoner in an unknown place. She rose, apologized in a haughty manner, and would have retreated to the cottage again had she been permitted. But having proved herself of service, retreat was not so easy. Again she was pulled down to a stooping posture and her cup thrust back into her hand.

"Work. Eat spoiled ones. Don't dally."

Dorothy obeyed; but alas! her self-elected task grew very wearisome. The heat was still great and the afternoon sun shone full upon her back, and there seemed positively no end to the berries. There were rows upon rows of them, and the woman had only just begun when Dorothy joined her. Or so it seemed, though there were already several crates waiting in the little shed till the full day's crop should be garnered.

At the end of one row of vines she stood up and protested:

"I can't pick any more. I'm so tired. Please tell me where I am and what your name is. Tell me, too, when I can go home and the way."

"No matter. Go. Write. I'll take it. Here;" and this big woman of small speech held out on the palm of her great hand a half-dozen over-ripe berries, which Dorothy hesitated to accept, yet found delicious when she did so.

"Thank you! and if you won't tell me who you are or where I am, I shall call you Mrs. Denim, after the clothes you wear; and I shall find out where this farm is and run away from it at the first chance. I'd rather that horrid old dog would eat me up than be kept a prisoner this way. Is that long boy your son? May I go talk to him? May he show me the way home to Baltimore?"

To none of these questions was any answer vouchsafed, and offended Dorothy was moved to remark:

"Humph! You're the savingest woman I ever saw! You don't waste even a word, let alone a spoiled strawberry. Oh! I beg your pardon! I didn't mean to be quite so saucy, but I'm almost crazy to go home. I want to go home--_I want to go home_!"

There was such misery in this wail that the long boy, weeding onions a few feet away, paused in his tedious task and raised his shock head with a look of pity on his face. But the woman seemed to know his every movement, even though her own head was bowed above the vines, and shot him such an angry glance that he returned to his weeding with no further expression of his sympathy.

Poor Dorothy C.! Homesickness in its bitterest form had come upon her and her grief made her feel so ill that she dropped down just where she was, unable longer to stand upright. Instantly, she was s.n.a.t.c.hed up again by "Mrs. Denim's" strong arms and violently shaken. That anybody, even an ignorant stranger, should lie down in a strawberry patch and thus ruin many valuable berries was the height of folly! So, without more ado, Dorothy was carried indoors, almost tossed upon the bed in the kitchen, and the paper and pencil thrown upon the patchwork quilt beside her. Then she was left to recover at her leisure, while whistling to Tige to watch the girl, "Mrs. Denim" returned to her outdoor labors; nor was she seen again till darkness had filled the narrow room.

Then once again Dorothy was lifted and was now carried to a loft above the kitchen, where, by the dim light of a tallow candle, she was shown a rude bed on the floor and a plate of food. Also, there was a bowl of milk, but at this the girl looked with a shudder. She wasn't hungry, but she reflected that people grew faint and ill without food, so she forced herself to nibble at the brown bread, which had been dipped in mola.s.ses, instead of being spread with b.u.t.ter, and its sweetness gave her a great thirst. Slipping down the stairs, she found the pail and dipper and got her drink, and it was with some surprise that she did this unreproved.

However, a snore from the bed explained why. "Mrs. Denim" was asleep and the "long boy" was invisible. At the foot of the stairs, Dorothy hesitated. Wasn't this a chance to steal away and start for home? Once out of this house and on some road, she would meet people who would direct her. She had heard her father say, time and time again, that the world was full of kindness; and, though her present circ.u.mstances seemed to contradict this statement, she was anxious to believe it true. But, as she stood there debating whether she dare run away in the darkness or wait until daylight, the sleepless Tiger gave a vicious growl and bounded in from the shed where he had lain.

That settled it. With a leap as swift as his own Dorothy sped back over the stairs and flung herself on the "shake-down" where she had been told to sleep; and again silence, broken only by its mistress's snores, fell upon this lonely cottage in the fields.

Dorothy's own sleep was fitful. This low room under the eaves was close and warm. Her head ached strangely, and her throat was sore. At times she seemed burning up with fever, and the next instant found herself shaking with the cold. She roused, at length, from one disturbed nap to hear the sound of wheels creaking heavily over rough ground, and to see the attic dimly lighted.

"Can it be morning already? Is that woman going to market and not taking me, after all I begged her so?" cried the girl aloud and, hurrying from the bed to the low window, looked out.

It was the light of a late-rising moon that brightened the scene and there was slowly disappearing in the distance one of those curious, schooner-shaped vehicles which truck-farmers use: and with a vain belief that she could overtake it, Dorothy again rushed down the stairs and plump upon the mastiff crouched on the floor below, and evidently on guard.