Happy House Part 9

"But, listen, child--that isn't half all. It seems that on the same train was a young man from North Hero whom I had always known--and liked. But Aunt Sabrina had never approved of him, and long before she had forbidden his coming here. I did see him sometimes, though--I loved company and he was entertaining. There had never been more than a pleasant friendship between us, and I had not dreamed that he was going to Burlington on that train. He was killed. And when I came back from the hospital the story was on every tongue that I had been running away with Charlie Prince!"

"Oh, I was hurt in every part of me--my body and my soul and my mind!

My precious dreams had crumbled forever and ever. And I had to face that dreadful scandal! Not that I ever saw a soul--Sabrina took care of _that_! She kept me shut up as though I had the plague. But through her reproachful eyes I was made to see the accusations of every man, woman and child on the Hero Islands. And I couldn't _make_ her believe it wasn't so! She simply wouldn't talk about it. She went around with that dreadful look, day after day, and when she'd say anything at all, it was about how I had brought shame to the Leavitt name. And after awhile I began to feel as though I _had_ done something--more than just run away to study music. She made me understand that the only way I could atone for it all was by burying myself within these four walls."

"Then _that's_ what she means by 'making your bed.'"

"Yes, dear, I was so crushed that I came to believe she was right. G.o.d knew that all I had wanted when I went away was a right to my own way of living, but His ways are inscrutable and His Will has to be done!

Sabrina called it the sword of wrath and the justice of the Almighty, and it didn't make much difference to me _what_ it was called--I was here. That's my story, dear, that's the way I've lived until--to-day.

But you've changed it. Something inside of me that I thought was dead--isn't dead at all! Do you know what I told Sabrina? I told her I didn't _care_ what she thought, that I guessed when a woman was forty years old and over she could decide things for herself and if just going out there in the orchard was wicked, then I'd go on being _wickeder_! That's what I told her. Dear, dear, you should have seen her face!"

"Hurrah, hurrah, Aunt Milly!"

"Poor Sabrina, I never spoke like that in my life to her! I've always been so--_afraid_, until to-day! I don't know what she'll do now. You must not blame her too much, Nancy dear, it's the Leavitt trouble that has made her what she is--it shadowed all our lives!"

"Aunt Milly, what was the Leavitt trouble?"

Aunt Milly looked distressed. "Then you _don't_ know? I shouldn't have spoken of it! I promised Sabrina I wouldn't speak to you--about it."

"But, Aunt Milly, I have a--a right to know, haven't I? Even Webb hinted about it, and it makes me feel as though I was--well, on the outside of things, to be kept in ignorance."

Miss Milly regarded her for a moment. "I _told_ Sabrina that you wouldn't know! But may be you ought to. Somehow, telling things, too, makes them seem not so dreadful! I believe we Leavitts lock troubles away too much--don't air them enough, maybe. Sabrina thinks it's as dreadful now as it was the day it happened. It was about our brother.

He was a year older than Sabrina. He wasn't at all like her, though, nor like my father. He was gay and handsome, and high-spirited and dreadfully extravagant. When I was very small I used to be frightened at the quarrels between him and my father--and they were always over money.

"One night--he had come home just before supper after being away for a week, no one knew where, and my father was very angry about that--they had a quarrel that seemed more bitter than any other. Besides, there was a thunder-storm that made it seem worse. I had been sent to bed, but the lightning had frightened me, and I had crept downstairs to the sitting-room. I opened the door. They were all three--for Sabrina always sided with my father--talking so loudly they did not hear me.

My father's face frightened me more than the lightning and my brother's had turned dead white. I think my father had just offered him some money, for his wallet was in his hand and on the floor lay a bill, as though my brother had thrown it back. I began to cry and ran back to my room, more frightened by them than by the storm. And I lay there in my bed for hours, waiting for something to happen!"

"About midnight one dreadful bolt of lightning struck the house. It shattered the chimney all to pieces on the outside and inside, filled the sitting-room with dust and pieces of mortar, cracked the mantel and moved it an inch and a half from the wall. But no one thought much of all that, because something far more dreadful had happened! My brother was gone and my father's wallet, the one I had seen in his hand, was missing. He remembered laying it on the mantel and my brother and Sabrina had seen him do it. It had contained over a thousand dollars in bank notes. The next day my father found out that my brother had taken the early train out of North Hero. I was too young to understand much about it, but I used to pray, first, that my brother would come back and tell them he _didn't_ take the wallet and then I'd pray that he'd never, never come back, so that they couldn't put him in prison."

"That must have been Anne's grandfather," Nancy was thinking.

"He did come back, three weeks later," Miss Milly went on, "and there was a scene much worse than the night of the storm. They forgot I was in the room. My father accused my brother of stealing the wallet and refused to let him say a word. 'I want no lies added to your other sins,' was what he said--I can hear him now. And my brother looked as though something had struck him. Then my father told him that if he'd take himself off and never darken the doors of Happy House again, nor communicate with his family in any way, the matter would be dropped forever--for the sake of the Leavitt name. My brother stood there for a moment; I remember, I wanted to run to him! Oh, I've wished I _had_--so often! But I was afraid of Sabrina--and my father. And then my brother turned and walked out of the room--and out of the door--and--down the path--and----"

Poor Miss Milly, worn out by the excitement of the day, began to cry softly.

Nancy had to jerk herself to break the spell of the story. Her face wrinkled in a frown. "It--is--dreadful, isn't it, Aunt Milly? I don't mean his spending money and running debts and things, I mean--your--your father's horrid--_mercilessness_! Why, the courts don't treat the worst criminals like that! And they call it Leavitt pride--and honor! _I_ call it injustice. I wish you _had_ just run up and kissed him, then. It might have made everything so different!"

"So _that's_ why I can't speak of Anne's father or grandfather," Nancy was thinking back of her frown. "And that's why Anne knew so little about her aunts!" Then aloud: "I'm glad you told me, Aunt Milly.

It'll help us--be pals. We'll have other afternoons--like to-day--out in the sunshine. But now you must rest. And I'll get ready to face Aunt Sabrina!"

"She'll be dreadfully cross," sighed Miss Milly, with the glow all gone from her face.

"I'm not a bit afraid," and Nancy meant it, for within her breast smouldered such righteous indignation at Miss Sabrina and her precious ancestors that she welcomed the challenge.

Dressing hurriedly for supper Nancy's eye caught the letter to Claire lying on her bureau. It seemed to her as though hours and hours had pa.s.sed since she had so flippantly bade Claire "pray for me!"

She wanted to open the letter and dash off another page to tell Claire of all that had happened and how the "mystery" was a mystery no longer.

Then, with the envelope in her hand, she remembered that it concerned Aunt's grandfather and that, perhaps, _she_ had no right to tell! But she did open the sheet and scribble across the top: "All sorts of things have happened since I wrote this, and I may be back with you any moment. I can't tell you yet all about it, but I can say this, that I hate Happy House and I'm glad as can be that I'm only a pretend Real-Leavitt! Everybody isn't horrid, though, that nice old Webb built the cosiest seat up in my tree and surprised me."

In exactly twenty minutes, by the hands of her small watch, she must meet Miss Sabrina! Anyway, she could tell her just what she thought about the whole thing, for, without any doubt she'd be sent away! But there was Aunt Milly--she had promised Aunt Milly that there would be more afternoons in the orchard. Somehow she must fix that.

"I know," she waved her brush in mid-air, "I'll get Belinda!"

CHAPTER VIII

B'LINDY'S TRIUMPH

No great general of war ever mapped out a plan of attack more carefully than Nancy laid hers! First she begged B'lindy to let her pick over the raspberries for supper. While doing this in the chummiest sort of way, it was very easy to tell B'lindy that she had eaten lots of raised biscuits but never any raised biscuits like she'd had at Happy House!

The last raspberry in the gla.s.s dish, Nancy in departing, whispered with a little laugh; "Weren't you dreadfully frightened this afternoon when you saw Aunt Sabrina? O! of course you weren't--Webb told me you were the only one who could really make Aunt Sabrina do anything, but, goodness, _I_ was!" Which was balm to B'lindy's injured pride; as the afternoon wore on B'lindy had been growing more and more indignant because she had not "stood on her two feet and spoke up to Sabriny Leavitt" instead of "turning tail like old Jonathan!"

Throughout the supper, by eating very fast, Nancy managed to conceal her nervousness and expectancy. Aunt Sabrina sat stiffly and looked very tired and very old and, somehow, by a twist of her lips managed to make Nancy understand that she, Nancy, was in deep disgrace and that in due time sentence of punishment would be pa.s.sed. Between B'lindy and her mistress not a word was exchanged; B'lindy's head was tossed high and there was an air of "sniffing" about her that, if it had not all been so tragic, would have made the entire situation funny.

"Oh, what a _place_--what _funny_ people!" cried Nancy to the stars as she leaned that night far out of her window. "How can I _stand_ it!

And why does not something happen quickly? It's just _like_ Aunt Sabrina not to say a word and to keep me on pins and needles! That's the same way she treated Aunt Milly and that poor boy--years ago!"

Thereupon Nancy let her fancy wander back to the "gay-spirited, extravagant" brother and his story--Anne's grandfather. Had _he_ cared, she wondered, had he died longing to see again the old Island home, or had it been a blessing--casting him out in the wide world. He must have met fortune somewhere, for Anne's father had been wealthy.

Dear Anne--Nancy picked out the star that was farthest in the East and addressed it reverently. "If you can see Anne and she can see you will you tell her that she mustn't feel cross at the mess I've made of things. I tried to be careful but I'm me and, anyway, all the ignorance of her blessed peasants isn't any worse than the pride and narrowness of her own relatives! Good-night, dearest Anne, for the last time I go to sleep in my prison walls--to-morrow I die!"

However, the June sunshine of the next morning restored much of Nancy's courage. She made quick note of a few good signs, and best of these was when she surprised B'lindy vigorously tacking a cushion upon Miss Milly's chair. B'lindy did not see Nancy and Nancy tip-toed away with a smile.

Then, too, the glow was back in Miss Milly's face, and when Nancy ran into her room, her hands full of roses, Miss Milly greeted her eagerly.

"I think the sun is shining to-day just for me," she laughed, waving her hand to the windows from which the blinds had been drawn.

"And _I_ think," and Nancy c.o.c.ked her head knowingly, "that B'lindy will force an attack with the enemy about mid-day!"

Nancy was right in her prediction. At dinner B'lindy, clad in her customary checked gingham ap.r.o.n, served them veal stew and delicious fluffy dumplings, but after the shortcake she appeared without it, and with a broad-brimmed hat pinned well down over her sharp features.

Nancy checked an exclamation; Miss Sabrina's lips twisted ever so slightly, though not a word came from them.

B'lindy a.s.sumed an added note of defiance by placing her hands on her hips. "I guess the dishes can wait 'til the cool of the afternoon,"

she said, trying to make her tone casual. "I'm goin' to take Miss Milly for her airin'."

One might have thought that there was nothing out of the ordinary in B'lindy's announcement, beyond perhaps, the leaving of the dinner dishes, but a tense moment followed, when one pair of steely eyes bored into another pair, just as hard. And Nancy, a little frightened, realized, with a sort of breathlessness, that she, was witnessing the invisible conflict of two strong wills. One must weaken--and she dropped her eyes, for she was swept by a moment's pity.

It was Miss Sabrina's that weakened! The tenseness was broken when she rose hurriedly from her chair.

"Then it's on your own head, B'lindy Guest," she cried shrilly, "I've done my duty as I saw it! She's better left alone."

B'lindy, triumphant, threw after her, with a snort; "Duty's duty and _I_ know that's well as you, but I guess no one's tried the perscription of happiness for Milly Leavitt and mebbe it ain't too late!"

Nancy was torn between a wild desire to hug B'lindy and to say a nice word to Aunt Sabrina, departing majestically from the room. But she did neither--for both women, at that moment, looked very forbidding.

Instead, as the door closed behind Miss Sabrina, she drew a long breath. "Suspended sentence," she said, solemnly.

Then, at B'lindy's "What's that?" she laughed back: "The victor's wreath shall adorn your brow, my worthy ally. While you prepare the chariot I shall make haste to tell Aunt Milly that all's well with the world! _Don't_ look at me like that, B'lindy Guest, I'm not crazy--yet!"