Crimson Roses (11 page)

There was another thing—how would that will get out of the little strongbox where Father always kept his papers? He was always so careful. It must have fallen down behind the drawer. Of course, he might have laid it in the drawer sometime and thought he had put it back in the box. Surely that must have been it. But if it had been locked in the box, how could Jennie—how could the peppermint? Oh, she must not think about it! She must not get to feeling that Jennie had done this despicable thing! She would hate her if she kept on this way. And hating, the Bible said, was equal to murder in God’s eyes. No, she must not think this of Jennie. But how could she help it? What other explanation could there be? Why had Jennie done it?

A wave of anger swept over her, so that for the instant she was half ready to take the next train up to Vermont and face her sister-in-law with the will and the evidence of her guilt and demand her rights.

But of course she would not do that. If Jennie had been so untrue, Tom must not know it. Tom was honest whatever else he might be lacking in. And if he thought Jennie had done this thing, even with the best of intentions, he would be very severe with her. He might lose all his love for her. And she was the mother of his children. Tom must not know what Jennie had done, if she had done it.

Over and over again she turned the matter, now blaming, now excusing Jennie. Probably Jennie felt that she, Marion, would not suffer. She would have a good home, and all would be well without any financial complications. Mothers looked out for their children in these things, and Jennie was likely to have thought that the will was unfair, that perhaps Marion had influenced her father. Well, perhaps in a way it was not fair to Tom. But her father had always felt that Tom, being a man, could better look out for himself. Well, whatever it was, of course she was going to do nothing about it. Of course she was going to have to destroy that will. For now she must not keep it. Tom might find it someday if anything happened to her, and it would make trouble all around. Trouble for Tom and trouble for Jennie. No, she must live peaceably. And what was a little money?

And so, before her courage failed her, she laid her lips tenderly once more upon that will, and then resolutely carried it over to the little wood stove that her landlady had had set up in her room and struck a match from the box on the little shelf by the chimney. She held the will in the stove until it was burned to a crisp. Then she knelt down by her bed and prayed, “Dear Father, help me to keep from thinking about this. Help me not to blame Jennie unjustly and to be able to forgive her if she did it; and help me never to mention it or make any trouble about it.”

Quite simply she arose and put it away forever from her mind as a question that had been settled once for all and must not be opened again. It was the kind of thing her father had taught her to do, to be what he called “square” and “Christian.” That word
Christian
in his opinion covered everything that a meek and quiet spirit should have before God, living in this world but not of it. Of course there would be temptations to think hard thoughts of Jennie now and again, but she must resolutely put them from her each time they came and pray for strength. That was the only way to live at peace with all men in this world.

And so, when she was dressed, she tried to turn her thoughts to the new life before her and keep them from straying back to that will.

Two whole days she had before her, besides Sunday, before she must begin her work in the store. In that time she could get nicely settled and know just how to arrange her daily plans. She arose with a zest for life that the night before she had not dreamed she could feel.

Her breakfast was a ten-cent box of crackers from the little grocery around the corner and an apple that Nannie had pressed upon her at parting. Nannie more than the other children had cared for her Aunt Marion.

Scrubbing was the order of the morning, but after everything was clean and shining, Marion decided to invest a little of her precious money in brightening up those dingy walls. If she only could find some cheap paper, she could put it on herself. Jennie and she had often done it. Sometimes one could get paper for very little if the pattern was out of fashion. And a very tiny can of paint would freshen up the dirty woodwork. The walls and paint were smoky, and she could not feel comfortable with them that way. With quick resolve she hurried out to the stores and came back in an hour armed with rolls of paper, a tiny pot of gray paint, a bucket containing ten cents’ worth of paste, and a great paste-brush that the paper-hanger had good-naturedly lent her.

That night saw the dingy walls covered with a pretty creamy paper in simple design. It made a wonderful difference in the room, and the wavering gaslight seemed to give forth twice as much light as before. When she had made up her bed and crept sleepily into it, she felt that she had accomplished a great deal. Tomorrow she would paint the woodwork and arrange the furniture. Then she would be ready to live.

The old landlady looked in toward noon, opening cautiously the door in its fresh coat of paint. Marion was putting down her rugs. On a chair by the window stood a hyacinth in bloom, one that the girl had been nursing all the spring. Its pale-pink blossoms gave forth a rich fragrance, not altogether hidden by the clean smell of the paint. Over the footboard of the white bed hung two white muslin curtains ready to be put up when the paint was sufficiently dry. The white bureau was dressed up with small accessories, and the china pitcher and bowl were washed and in their places. Near the other window stood the willow rocker and the little writing desk close by, with its modest array spread out and a small rack of books atop. The old woman looked and looked again.

“My land!” she exclaimed in an awed voice. “I didn’t suppose you could make it look like that! It’s worth having you up here just to think there’s a place like this in the house. I believe it’ll kind of rest me to remember it.”

Marion laughed happily and looked around upon her home. It was better than she dared hope, and she rejoiced in it. There might be trials ahead of her, but there would be this quiet, sweet spot away from everything.

“I just stopped up to say I’d be pleased to have you take Sunday dinner with me tomorrow if you care to. You ain’t barely settled yet, and I don’t suppose you’ll mind not going out this first Sunday. It’ll be quite a thing to have a pretty young lady like you at my table.”

Marion thanked her and accepted the invitation, reflecting that she not only had a home but also had already gained a friend in her strange-looking landlady.

The new life was full of novelty, and Marion entered upon her duties in the store with a zest and energy that would have amazed her scornful family, who were hourly expecting her repentant return to their protection. The ribbons were a constant source of delight to her. She loved all beautiful things; and her shy, accommodating ways made her at once a favorite with her customers.

This would have brought her enemies among her coworkers had she been less humble or less willing to learn.

When she had her lunch hour, one of the girls in the aisle, perhaps sent by the head of the department, Marion was not sure, smiled at her and asked if she would like to go with her to lunch that day.

She was a girl with closely cropped hair and a flimsy little black satin dress made very short and tight. Marion felt that it was not quite modest, but the girl had a pleasant smile and a hearty voice, and she was really frightened at the idea of making her way alone to the lunch room in the store where most of the girls ate their noonday meal.

“You don’t know the ropes, do ya?” asked the other girl. “I’ll put ya wise. You don’t wanna order rice pudding—it’s the limit—but the coconut pie is a humdinger. You order coconut pie. You like coconut, dontcha?”

“Oh, I like almost anything,” laughed Marion to cover her embarrassment. “But don’t they have anything but desserts? I’ve got to be economical till I get started. I’m quite on my own, you see.”

“Oh, we’re all in that boat, sister. But gimme the pie every time. I havta eat just plain food enough at home. Pie and coffee’s what I eat every day. I can’t stand soups and slops, and I’m sick ta death of sandwiches of any kind. Meat ur cheese, ur some kinda vegetable, it’s all the same to me. They stick in my throat. Gimme my pie an’ coffee, an’ I’m okay.”

“But I should think you’d get sick living on things like that all the time. I haven’t been used to it. I’m sure it wouldn’t be good for me.”

“Sick? Me sick? I should worry. Get off a day then. You’re ‘llowed a sick day now an’ then, you know, an’ b’lieve me I get ‘em every time. Nothin’ coming to me I don’t take. It don’t pay not to. Ya havta look out for yerself. Nobody else’s goin’ to look out for ya. Here we are. Now, where you wanta sit? There’s a place over there. Some of the crowd from my department there, too. I’ll introduce ya. Say, whyn’t ya bob yer hair? Make ya a lot more popular. I know they say it ain’t being done anymore, but look around. I tell ya, look around. Do ya see another girl ain’t got her hair bobbed? Besides, if the fashion really changes, it’ll be easy enough to tie some on. Keep yer own an’ tie it on with a net over it an’ nobody’ll ever know. Besides, when that time comes, you’ll have plenty o’ company. Everybody else gotta grow hair, too. Say, yer awful pale. Dontcha wantta borrow some of my lipstick? Ya won’t get anywhere with some of the fellas if yer not upta date.”

“Thank you,” said Marion with a smile, inwardly aghast. “I don’t think I’ll bother. Tell me, why should I want to get anywhere with the fellows? I don’t go out much, and I don’t know any of them, you know.”

The girl laughed loudly.

“Oh, that’s a good one. You gotta good sense of humor, ain’t you? Say, I b’lieve I’m gonna like you, but I do wish you’d bob yer hair. I’ll take ya to my barber if ya will. They do a dandy cut, makes ya look just like a boy.”

“Oh, but I don’t think I care to look like a boy,” smiled Marion. “I prefer to look like what I am.”

“Aw, get out. You look just like a last-century school ma’am. You don’t wantta, do ya?”

“Well, why not?” asked Marion brightly. “I’ve been trying for several years to be a school teacher.”

“Good night! You? A school teacher? Wha-for?”

“Why, I think I’d like it. I love to teach anything.”

“Good night! I don’t. I hadta go down and teach a new girl how ta tie up packages before I left that department, and I thought I’d pass out. Why she was the dumbest thing you ever saw. She didn’t even know how to curl the string around her finger to break it. Actually! Yes, that’s right! I certainly was glad when I got her off my hands. Whadda ya wantta teach for? We have lots better times here. D’ya play any instrument? They have an orchestra here, an’ ya get time off ta practice, an’ there’s a lot of dandy men there. There’s one fella there, he’s married, but he don’t care; he carries on just like he was a young fella, an’ he brings us chocolates, and we certainly have the time of our life. We write notes, too, an’ good night! You oughtta see the note I got last night! He’s some baby, the man that wrote it. He don’t care what he says. I said, ‘Ya think yer smart, dontcha?’ but he knows I won’t stand fer everything that baby does. Say, didn’t you meanta order coffee? Just milk? My word, you’re a good little girl, ain’t ya? But you’ll get all over that here. Say, you got pretty eyes. When I first saw ya I says to myself, ‘I b’leeve I am gonta like that girl. I’ll get her fer my buddy.’ The girl I been goin’ with was jealous of a man I know, an’ I’m off her for life. Say, will you wait fer me when we go home? They’ll let you off early ‘cause it’s your first day, an’ you wait down by the girls’ dressing room, right by the lockers, ya know. I’ll be out as soon as I can, but you wait! Oh, yes my name’s Gladys Carr. What’s yours? Marion? Say, that sounds real old-fashioned. It sorta fits yer eyes. But I think you oughtta put on some rouge. You’re too pale.”

She rattled on during the whole noon hour, with just a nod of assent now and then from Marion, and Marion went back to her counter rather shaken in her ideas, but wholly entertained and somewhat refreshed on the whole. After all, wasn’t this girl going to be rather good for her in a way? One ought to know all sides of the world to understand what they were thinking about, and now she came to think of it, perhaps she was a bit old-fashioned. Certainly she didn’t look much like the rest of the girls in the store, and perhaps that would work against her in the long run. She might lose her position. They might not want a strange-looking girl around.

On their way back to their department, they passed one of the long mirrors with which the store abounded, and Marion studied her own slim little figure in its ill-shaped brown dress that she had worn for at least two years. It never had been an attractive brown, and Marion’s artistic soul would not have chosen it, but it was made out of an old dress of her mother’s, which she had felt she ought to use up. She had helped a neighboring dressmaker to make it just before her father was taken sick, and it had seemed a very nice dress at the time. It was too long, of course. Strange she hadn’t noticed how much longer her dresses were than those the other girls were wearing. Of course, some of them wore outrageously short dresses, but one didn’t have to go to the extreme in anything; and now that she saw herself through Gladys Carr’s eyes, she realized that some changes could be made to great improvement and were perhaps due her employer. Not that she meant that Gladys Carr was fitted to be her mentor, but Gladys had spoken frankly from her point of view, and it had really opened her eyes to defects in herself that she ought to remedy.