Three Little Women's Success Part 1

Three Little Women's Success.

by Gabrielle E. Jackson.

CHAPTER I

AFTER THREE YEARS.

October had come to Riveredge. This fact meant more than the five words usually imply, for to few spots did October show such a gracious presence as she did to this pretty town. Beautiful at all seasons, even in its wintry dress of gleaming snow, in its autumn gorgeousness, Riveredge was entirely irresistible. In summer the town drowsed, for during July and August many of its inhabitants took a holiday and journeyed thither and yonder; in the autumn it wakened to the busy bustle of active life and its preparations for the drawing together of all who dwelt therein, and spring was the time when it did its renovating, its housecleaning, its decorating, but October's crisp westerly winds blowing across the broad expanses of the river set blood stirring, made pulses throb many beats quicker, and caused even strangers to smile and nod to one another as they pa.s.sed along the streets. Friends called gayly: "Isn't the air delicious? Doesn't it make you want to prance like a colt?"

There was one individual in Riveredge whom it so affected, anyway. The fact that nearly three years have slipped by since we last witnessed any of her prancings has not lessened her propensity to do so, for with nearly fourteen years numbered off upon her life's calendar Jean Carruth is as much of a romp as ever, full of impulses as she was upon the day she rescued old Baltie; as she was when she so valiantly defended her property and her rights against the hoodlums of McKimm's Hollow. The three years have brought about many changes, it is true, but Jean Carruth will remain Jean Carruth to the end of the story. She has grown like a weed, to be sure, and seems to be nearly all long arms and legs with a body like a hazel wand-pliable and vigorous, with powers of endurance far beyond its indications. A casual observer might think her less strong than she is, but in reality she is "soun' as a dollar and de cause ob mo' trebbilation dan a million ob 'em could be," insisted old Mammy. And Mammy was pretty well qualified to judge, having had charge of that young person since she drew her first breath in the world. Mammy still lived and flourished as Mammy Blairsdale-Devon. Nothing could induce her to drop the Blairsdale. Hadyn Stuyvesant had quite conclusively, though unwittingly, settled that point when he presented the superb sign, with its gleaming gold letters, to the newly opened lunch counter in the Arcade. Mrs. Carruth tried to persuade Mammy to take the name of her lately restored spouse, and be known thenceforth as Mrs. Charles Devon; but Mammy had scornfully stammered: "D-d-drap de Blairsdale? Never! I was borned a Blairsdale, lived a Blairsdale eighteen year befo' I hooked on de Devon, an' den hatter onhook it inside of fo' months; den I lived fo'ty-seben years wid de Blairsdale name befo' I foun' out dat I had claim ter any odder. So what fo' I drap it now? Dey ain't no name kin leave it behine as I knows on. Devon's a good one, I knows, and down yonder where we-all was borned at it do stan' high for a fac', but it cyant rare up its head like de Blairsdale name kin. No, sir! Devon can hook on to de Blairsdale all right an'

straight if it got a min' ter; but I ain't never gwine let it _lead_ it no mo', an' I's a-gwine ter let Charles lead _me_." As the possibility of Charles ever leading Mammy seemed more than visionary, Mrs. Carruth gave up the argument. Besides, she had many other things to occupy her thoughts. In the fall of 19- Eleanor had entered college, and within the present college year would graduate with well won honors. From the moment she entered she resolved to be independent so far as her personal needs were concerned. The tuition fees were paid by her great-aunt, Mrs.

Eleanor Maxwell Carruth. Those she accepted because Mrs. Carruth, Sr., was amply able to meet them, but further than that she had resolved to be independent and she had been. The first year was the hardest; a freshman's possibilities are circ.u.mscribed; Soph.o.m.ore year brought with it broader opportunities; Junior year established her place in the college world beyond all argument, and now with senior year her triumph and success lay close at hand. Moreover, this last year was being made much easier for her by Constance's success in her candy kitchen. The same autumn that Eleanor entered college Constance, in spite of Mammy's protests and opposition, had branched out on a scale to outrage all the old colored woman's instincts and traditions. But Mammy had stormed and scolded in vain, the addition to her little four-roomed cabin was built by Haydn Stuyvesant, all Constance's practical ideas for the needs of such a kitchen being followed out to the minutest detail. He admired the girl's pluck and enterprise too much to bar her progress in any way, in spite of the fact that Mammy had sought to dissuade him from encouraging her in venturing further into the commercial world. Mammy had actually gone to Haydn's office to "ketch a word in private," as she put it.

Finding all argument with Constance futile, she played what she hoped would prove her trump card. Haydn had listened with all deference to her arguments against "dat chile a-goin' on so scan'lous, an' a-startin' out fer ter make sweet stuff fer all creation, when dar's mo' sweet stuff in de shops dis minit dan folks kin swaller if dey stuff desefs de whole endurin' time."

"But, Mammy," Haydn had replied, as he looked kindly at the troubled old face before him, "you know none can equal Miss Constance's. It would be a downright piece of cruelty to deprive us all of our Sat.u.r.day treat."

"Den let her go 'long de way she's been a-goin'; let her make it down yonder in her Ma's kitchen, an' sell it in de Arcyde, jus' lak she been a-doin' all dese months. She ain't got no call fer to earn any mo'

money'n she's a-earnin' right now. Ain't me an' Charles a-comin' 'long right spry wid our lunch counter in dar?" she insisted, with a nod of her turbaned head toward the section of the building in which she and Charles had carried on a flourishing trade ever since the immaculate counter had displayed its tempting viands to those who pa.s.sed along the Arcade, and who were not slow to avail themselves of Mammy's wonderful art of cookery, or to bring their friends to enjoy it also.

"Yes, Mammy, you and Charles are real wonders to all who know you; but can't you understand why a girl of Miss Constance's type would never be happy if dependent upon others? Why, with all her young and splendid health, strength and energy, she must have some outlet for her ambition."

"Den let her go a-frolickin' lak her Ma did when she was mos' sixteen!

Let her go a-horsebackin' and a-dancin' at parties, an' a-picnicin' and all dose t'ings what a girl lak her ought ter be a-doin'. Wha' you s'pose ma ol' Ma.s.sa Blairsdale say an' do if he could come back an' see de doin's in our house? Gawd-a-mighty, I wouldn't crave ter be aroun' if he come along unbeknownst an' see Miss Jinny's chillern grubbin' 'long in candy kitchens and teachin' oder folks' chillern, and hikin' all ober de kentryside peddlin' candy. He ax me fust, 'Mammy, yo'no count ol'

n.i.g.g.e.r, wha' you been about?' An den he bang ma haid clean off!"

"I hardly think so, Mammy. The head and the heart have given too much to those he loved. But don't be troubled about Miss Constance. Remember this: no matter what she chooses to do, she will remain the sweetest of gentlewomen to the end of the story. You little guess the respect she already inspires in all who know her, if she is but sixteen. Let me help her by arranging her kitchen just as her practical little head has planned it all. It is the least I can do. Miss Willing will bear the brunt of the hard work this winter, leaving Miss Constance free to finish her high-school-course. It is a wise plan all around and a kinder one than you realize. The Arcade telephone switchboard was no place for a girl like Mary Willing, and to have been instrumental in removing her from the temptations she was sure to meet there is a more beautiful charity than those blazoned at large in the daily papers. Don't thwart it, Mammy. Let the little girl down yonder go on with her good work; she doesn't realize how far-reaching it is: perhaps she will never learn.

Her mother does, however, and is using a very fine instrument to bring the work to perfection."

Mammy had sat very silent all the time, her old face wearing a puzzled expression, her keen eyes fixed upon a paper cutter which lay upon Haydn's desk, her lips pursed up doubtfully. Haydn did not break the silence; he only watched. After a few moments she looked up, gave a perplexed sigh, and said:

"Well, sah, p'raps yo' is right. P'raps yo' is. I ain't nothin' but a'

ole n.i.g.g.e.r woman, but, bress Gawd, I loves ma white folks, an' I hates fer ter see de ole times so twisted up wid de new ideas, I sartain'

does. It goes against de grain p'intedly."

"I can understand all that, dear old Mammy, but you mark my words, the results will justify the deeds."

So Mammy gave up the argument, though she was far from resigned to the plans.

And thus had the enterprise grown. Constance finished her year at the high-school, Mary Willing was established in the model little candy kitchen, with all its practical little appointments, and before long was nearly as proficient as Constance herself, and quite as enthusiastic.

One year slipped by and another followed it. Then a third was added to the number, until now, with the autumn of 19- Constance was nineteen years old and Eleanor twenty-one.

Neither has changed a great deal. Eleanor's three years in the college world have given her greater poise and independence, a more matured outlook upon life, but the old Eleanor Carruth is still in evidence.

Constance had grown taller, the slight figure is more rounded, though still girlish. She still has the wonderfully sweet, frank expression, in spite of her two years out in the business world, for after her graduation she took firmer hold than ever of her business venture and branched out in many directions. New booths were opened in adjacent towns, private orders were filled for patrons in New York City, holiday consignments were made to more remote ones, to which her fame had spread through friends and friends' friends. Of course some losses had been sustained, but in comparison with her output and returns they were trivial, and her success was an established fact. But the work continued, her aim being absolute independence for her mother, and for Jean the home and the atmosphere their mother had formerly known and loved.

And the silent partner of the firm, old Baltie, how had the three years dealt with him? A horse which has attained twenty-five years and is sightless is supposed to be out of the running, but Baltie lived apparently to prove the fallacy of such a supposition. At twenty-eight he was younger and more active than at twenty-four, his age when rescued by Jean. Nothing could restore his sight, but with each year his hearing seemed to have grown keener, and the ears were as sensitive as a wild animal's. But Baltie needs a chapter to himself.

CHAPTER II

THE SILENT PARTNER AND OTHERS.

"Mother, have you seen Jean?" asked Constance, popping her head into her mother's room shortly after breakfast one glorious October morning.

"She was here but a few moments ago, dear," answered Mrs. Carruth, looking up from her desk at which she sat writing out the marketing list for Mammy.

"I want her to leave this parcel at Mrs. Morgan's on her way to school, and, by the same token, she ought to be on her way there this very minute. I wonder where she has gone?"

"Not very far, I think. She knows she must start at once."

Constance laughed as she replied: "I wonder if she ever will know? Time doesn't exist for her, or perhaps I would better say that it exists only for her; she so calmly takes all she wishes. But she really must start now. I'll go hunt her up and get her headed in the right direction."

"Yes, do, Honey," urged Mrs. Carruth, as Constance hurried away in quest of the youngest member of the household.

Mrs. Carruth resumed her writing. The past three years had dealt kindly with her: Mammy and the daughters of the home had seen to that. Nothing could ever alter the gentle expression of her eyes, or change the tender curves of her lips. Each told its story of love for those nearest and dearest to her, as well as her sympathy and interest in her fellow-beings. Mrs. Carruth had pa.s.sed her forty-seventh birthday, but did not look more than thirty-eight. The hardest years of her life were those following upon her husband's death, and the serious financial losses she was then forced to meet. Since Constance's venture and the success which had almost immediately attended it, the outlook for all had been more hopeful, and if now living less pretentiously than she had lived during her husband's lifetime, she was none the less comfortable.

Upon Hadyn Stuyvesant's advice Mrs. Carruth had not rebuilt the old home, although by careful economy she could have done so. But Hadyn was looking farther into the future than Mrs. Carruth looked. Perhaps his wish had some bearing upon the thought, for from the moment Hadyn Stuyvesant had met Constance Carruth _his_ future was settled so far as he was concerned. But he was too wise to let the sixteen-year-old girl guess his feelings. The gulf between sixteen and twenty-three is a wide one. As the years advance it mysteriously narrows. At nineteen Constance often wondered why Hadyn seemed younger to her in his twenty-sixth year than he had at twenty-three. Never by look or word had he betrayed any warmer feeling for her than the good-comradeship established at the beginning of their acquaintance. He was like a brother in that dear home. Mrs. Carruth consulted him freely upon all occasions. Eleanor accepted him as a matter-of-course; that was Eleanor's way. Constance found in him the jolliest companion. Jean adored him openly, and he was her valiant champion whenever she needed one. From the day he had taken his first meal in her home she had been to him the "Little Sister," and he never called her by any other name. Not long after that event she had coined a name for him-a funny enough one, too. Rushing into Constance's room in her impetuous way one day, she demanded: "Connie, when knights used to fight for their ladies, ever ever so long ago, what did they call them?-the knights I mean."

"Do you mean Knight Errant?" asked Constance, looking up to smile at the eager little girl.

"Knight Errant? Knight Errant?" repeated Jean, doubtfully. "No, somehow that doesn't fit him. I couldn't call him that, it's too long."

"Call whom, Jean?" Constance began to wonder what was simmering in this little sister's head.

"Mr. Stuyvesant. He calls me 'Little Sister,' and I want a name for him."

"Do you think mother would approve of your calling him by a nickname?"

"'Tisn't going to be a nickname; it's going to be a _love_ name for him, just like his for me is," was Jean's curious distinction.

"Oh!" The tone did not imply deep conviction.

"Now, Connie, you don't understand at all. You think I'm going to be-be-, well, you don't think I'm respectful, but I _am_. I don't know anyone that I feel more respectfuller to than Mr. Stuyvesant. He's just lovely. Only just plain Mr. Stuyvesant keeps him such a long way off, and he mustn't be. Mother has adopted him, you know, 'cause we all agreed to lend part of her to him. So I must have a homey name for him.

What were the other names they gave those old knights?"

"They were often called 'champions of their fair ladies,'" answered Constance, slipping her arm about Jean and drawing her close to her side.

"That's it! That just suits him, doesn't it? He was my champion the day Jabe Raulsbury turned old Baltie out to die in the road, and he has been a heap of times since when I've got into sc.r.a.pes. So that's what I'm going to call him. He is down on the piazza talking with mother about the new fence, and I'm going right straight down to ask him if I may call him Champion," ended Jean, delighted with her new acquisition and bounding away.

"Don't interrupt Mother," warned Constance, always a little doubtful of the outbreaks of the fly-away.

Hadyn Stuyvesant had not only approved the name, but was delighted with the idea, and vowed from thenceforth to guard his "lady fair." So "Champion" he was from that moment on, and, long as the name was, it had clung. The three years had not lessened Jean's love for him or his devotion to her.

As Constance descended the stairs in quest of Jean she met Mammy at the foot.