The White Lady (19 page)

She pondered these things as she ran downstairs to tell Norah she would have to get along with the tearoom as best she could until their return. She would try to be back in time to help at noontime. For the new business had received not a little patronage, first from curiosity and then from real liking, and was growing in favor with the few in town who were without a home table. A few housewives had slipped in curiously to get a dish of ice cream and wonder why the sponge cake was so much more delectable than their own.

The doctor’s wife, who aspired to set the social pace of the town, had given a select dinner and ordered her ice cream and cakes and salad from the Cedars, which had given considerable prestige to Constance’s enterprise. The other wives were envious and stepped in to get a dish of salad when they thought no other woman would be there, and then went home to try to imitate or excel it. Only Mrs. Bartlett held her head high and went on her culinary way with set lips and a firm adherence to her old ways, not deigning to notice the innovations that had come to town, except for an occasional sniff at people who would be led about by every new-fangled notion.

Among the new tearoom’s firm adherents was Holly Beech. He did not always get dollar dinners, for his treasury was often depleted by the steady stream that flowed from his pocket into the pocket of Si Barton, the bootlegger, but he came almost every day to get something, and he had not been slow to learn the prices and the differences between “tab dinners” and “by the cart,” as he called them.

It so happened that Holly Beech had that morning just finished the loading of a huge wagon with goods that were to go to a farmhouse at some distance in the country over a rough and hilly road. He was to start with them almost immediately, and there would be little or no time to get dinner. His usual habit on like occasions was to get a sandwich or two at the drugstore and stock up well with something stronger, but this morning he left his team hitched by the station and slipped over to the tearoom. He threw down a silver half dollar and said to Norah, “I want a good big dish o’ soup in a hurry. Kin you git it? An’ I want you should fix up some o’ thet thar bread an’ butter, an’ hardbiled eggs, and pie, an’ stuff in a box. I’m goin’ out a good piece in the kentry, an’ it’ll be awhile afore I git ennythin’.”

Norah had obeyed his orders in a very short space of time, had set the soup before him, and was preparing a tempting lunch with all possible speed. Holly was swooping in the hot soup with audible satisfaction; his broad back to the wide hall doorway; his coat off, slung over the back of his chair; his shirt sleeves rolled high, showing his freckled, hairy arms; and his whole appearance extremely uncultivated, when Mrs. Wetherill appeared in the doorway.

She had lain down obediently, as her granddaughter bade her do, but her mind had been by no means at ease. A number of things had troubled her of late, and she was puzzled beyond anything over some strange sounds and sights. She listened with her hearing made keen by suspicion, and distinctly heard Constance’s steps go to the kitchen then back to the hall and out the front door. Going with unusual haste to the window in Constance’s front bedroom, a room that she seldom entered, she caught a glimpse of the girl as she hurried out between the cedars, putting on hat and gloves as she went—a very strange proceeding for the carefully bred Constance Wetherill, to put on gloves after leaving the house. It was extremely countrified, and she felt she must speak to her about it.

And why did Constance run around town in that strange way, and not send a servant? Were there no servants? Perhaps the proprietor was disagreeable, and Constance did not like to say anything because they seemed so nicely settled. But that must not be. She would speak to the manager herself and see that he understood who they were and that they must have proper service. If they wanted more pay, why, of course they should have it.

She had not been downstairs since arriving, for Constance had impressed it upon her that the dining room downstairs was for the public. But now it seemed necessary for her to descend, if she would follow this thing up at once and find out. So, putting on her hat and wrap herself and carefully buttoning her gloves, a thing she had not done for herself for years, she set out to find the manager. She felt, it is true, somewhat like Columbus discovering America, for she had been so carefully kept that this seemed quite like an adventure to her; but she summoned all her stateliness of bearing, for which she had been noted in former years, and slowly descended the stairs.

Elegant and lovely as a rare old withered rose, in her rich silks and foamy laces, with her crown of fluffy silver hair, she dawned upon the astounded Holly. She had been beautiful as a young woman, and she had lost little of her beauty as an old one. With the haughty manner of her time, she raised her gold-rimmed glasses to her sweet, dim eyes and gazed at the rough man who sat eating soup as if he were sucking it out of a trough.

By some subtle law not understood by Holly, he became aware that a presence was near him, though he had been making a sound with his lips so near akin to the rustle of her skirts that he had not heard her approach. Slowly he turned around and met her gaze, and for one full, long minute they looked at each other. Then Holly recovered his speech and exclaimed, “Wall, I swow! Ef ’tain’t the old un!”

“Sir!” said Mrs. Wetherill, in a gentle, stately tone.

And then the front door opened, and Constance came in. She stood aghast for just an instant, taking in the situation, and then swept down upon her little silken grandmother and almost carried her out into the sunshine.

“Grandmother!” she said. “What a start you gave me! Why did you come down before the car came? Did Norah put your things on? What a hurry you were in! But the car is coming now; here, let us go around to the side where they can drive in.”

“But, Constance,” protested her grandmother as she was hurried along, “I don’t understand. What kind of place is this in which we are living? Do they allow their
help
to eat in the dining room at the public table?”

“Oh no, Grandmother!” said Constance feverishly, anxious only to get her grandmother around the corner of the veranda before Holly should come out or any other guests enter. She had seen Jimmy in the distance as she came in at the gate, heading a band of urchins who looked as if they were coming on, ice cream intent. Mrs. Wetherill must not see them. But the old lady stopped short in her progress when she heard her granddaughter’s answer.

“Well then, Connie, that man ought to be reported at once. Go in and tell them. I will not go a step until it is done. Such insolence ought not to be allowed. I saw him myself, a great, big, ugly creature that looked like a stableboy, and
in his shirtsleeves
! Think of it! And he was making a dreadful sound with his lips when he ate. It was disgusting.”

Constance was divided between her desire to laugh and cry, but she knew neither would do any good at this critical moment, so she put her hand gently on the old lady’s arm and drew her along.

“Grandmother, he is not a servant. Come on, and I will tell you about it. Here is the car. Do you think you can step in? It is not high. Put your hand on my arm. Are you comfortable? Drive down that pretty woodsy street beside the church, please. Now, Grandmother, let me tell you. You know this is a quiet little village, and there are a good many plain people, farmers and that kind, who do not pay much attention to city ways. Sometimes they come into town, and I suppose they get hungry. I knew there are a number of people who dress very curiously and have odd manners, but I am told they are very respectable people. I suppose perhaps that is why we have a separate dining room. Some of the people here are shy and like to take off their coats without being looked at.”

It was a lame story and did not quite ease the old lady’s perplexity. “But, my dear, are you quite certain that this is a perfectly respectable house where we are? You know it is inexcusable to come to the table with one’s coat off. Everyone knows that. Not even a respectable servant would do it.”

It was a trying drive. Constance was glad when a diversion occurred as they passed the minister. He bowed to them with a pleasant lighting of his eyes, and the old lady asked who he was. Constance explained, but when Mrs. Wetherill heard he was of another denomination than her own, she had little further interest in him, except to say that he looked a trifle shabby, and suggest that Constance send a contribution to his church, that probably they needed help. Constance turned her head away to hide a tear that crept into her eyes as she thought how they almost needed help themselves. She wondered how things were to go on if her grandmother became troublesome and whether she would have to tell her after all. Two or three times she almost tried to frame the words to let her know the truth, but somehow she could not bear to do it, and they drove back home without its having been revealed. It was a nervous strain to get the old lady into the house, for she seemed determined to see the manager and report about the strange man in the dining room before she went upstairs; but at last she was persuaded that the proprietor was busy and could not be seen, and she agreed to leave it to Constance to report the case.

Much troubled, Constance at last left her grandmother comfortably ensconced upon her couch with three or four letters from home bearing the familiar handwriting of old friends. She stole to her room and lay down with closed eyes, feeling keenly the weariness of what she had been through that morning, wondering whether there was anything in religion to help in such a time as this. How she wished she could talk with the minister and get a hold upon something that would calm her spirit! How was it she had never known before how little real foundation she had for contentment in her life? Had money given her all that trust and lightheartedness, that freedom from care and fear that she had always had till now?

Then, suddenly, in the midst of her troubled thoughts, she heard a slight sound. It was not much, but it was startling, the click of breaking glass, the gentle thud of something falling, the uneven shoving of a chair, that bespoke the unusual and gave the indefinable alarm.

Constance sprang from her bed and flew into her grandmother’s room. She could not tell why, but she felt that something had happened. It might be nothing, but she must see.

The old lady lay on the couch as she had left her, only the chair was shoved away as if in a sudden effort to rise. It had been grasped, and a small glass of water had fallen on the rug. Coming closer, Constance saw that her grandmother’s eyeglasses lay splintered on the bare floor beside the rug. But the old lady lay very still and rigid, one hand grasping the letter she had been reading.

Constance knelt down beside her and spoke to her, and took her cold hands in her own, but the rigid hands did not relax, and the drawn, agonized expression remained fixed upon her face. With a cry the girl sprang to the bell and rang for Norah and then went back to the couch. She had no experience whatever with illness and did not know what to do.

She rang the bell so violently that Norah came rushing up at once, with Jimmy at her heels. Jimmy always knew instinctively when there was anything happening, and in his boldness was somewhat like those people described as rushing in where angels fear to tread. He saw no reason why he should not follow and see whether he was needed; and it happened that this time he was very much needed.

For Jimmy was a person of experience. He had seen a man that was taken off a train in an apoplectic fit, and he had been with his grandmother when she had her last stroke of paralysis. Such things were too common among the common people for Jimmy not to know what was the matter. With one lightning glance of pity toward his friend and patroness he turned, and yelling out as he went, “I’ll bring the doctor,” he sped down the pebbly path and out the gate, nearly knocking over Mrs. Bartlett, who was passing by, thereby adding one more to her list of reasons why the new tearoom was not needed in the town.

N
ow there were a number of physicians in Rushville, and they lived in various directions in the town, but there was no hesitation in Jimmy’s flying feet as they reached the street. Straight as an arrow to its mark went Jimmy to the house of the doctor he had decided should be the man of his choice if ever any of his friends or acquaintances were sick.

His choice was based upon two incidents in the worthy doctor’s career. Jimmy had once seen him pick up a stray kitten with a broken leg and care for it tenderly, carrying it away with him in his car. The doctor had also allowed Jimmy to “hitch on” behind sometimes in winter when the sleighing was good. There might be other good qualities in the other doctors of the town, but these were enough for Jimmy. Therefore to Dr. Randall he sped with all promptness, and it was Dr. Randall himself who presently came driving back with him at lightning speed, for Jimmy had represented the call as urgent.

The doctor entered the old lady’s room, gruff, gray, grizzled, silent; and Jimmy lingered long enough to notice with satisfaction that he handled the old lady as gently as he had handled the kitten in the road. Then, as if he had known it would be so, he turned, contented, and sped away on another self-imposed errand.

Jimmy had his eyes wide open always. He had noticed the look of fright and anguish on his dear lady’s face. He felt that she needed a friend and supporter in this trying hour and, looking about quickly in his untaught little mind for such a one to call, he could think of none more fitting than the minister.

John Endicott was in his study, trying his best to banish the vision of Constance as he had seen her in the car that morning, and bring his mind to bear upon his next Sunday’s sermon. Try as he would, the sermon framed itself all for her, and it was her wistful eyes that looked up to him from each line that he wrote.

Mrs. Bartlett was out. She was sitting at that moment, much shaken, detailing to a friend on the other side of town the account of how Jimmy had nearly knocked her over in front of the new tearoom. She did not often take the long walk over there, and it was likely she would stay until she was obliged to come home and get supper. The minister was conscious of satisfaction in her absence.