CHAPTER VITHE FIRST EVENING
“Oh, what a cool, pleasant place! I shall like it here!” Rena exclaimed, her spirits rising as they drove up to the house with the big maple-trees in front, the honeysuckle climbing up the lattice, which shut off the rear of the house, the few roses still in bloom, with here and there a clump of peonies, which had not fallen to the ground, and tall stalks of tiger-lilies flaunting their gay colors in the sunshine.
Irene said nothing. She was accustomed to old country houses. She was born in one with a slanting roof and she cared nothing for climbing honeysuckle and wild clematis and peonies and tiger-lilies. They were common and old-fashioned. The brick walls of a city suited her better, with the noise and traffic and heat. That was life; that was progress, and made her blood move faster than the finest rural scene. But Rena loved the country and everything pertaining to it. Even the ledge of rocks in the pasture opposite Mrs. Parks’, where the low huckleberry bushes were growing, was lovely in her eyes, which sparkled with excitement, as she sprang from thecarriage and looked around. Irene alighted leisurely, assisted by Sam, while through the half-closed blind of my room Lottie and I watched the strangers and made our comments. There was no doubt in our minds that the tall, graceful blonde, carrying herself so proudly, was the Miss Burdick. Everything about her led to that conclusion.
“She’s handsome, isn’t she?” Lottie said in a whisper, “and where in the world did they pick up Sam? and won’t you see him bringing Miss Burdick’s things up the walk just as polite as he can be? I wonder what she thinks of him. He has on his good clothes, anyway.” She was evidently proud of Sam, and proud that he was favored with the honor of waiting upon Miss Burdick. “I wonder where their baggage is?” she continued, and a moment after a truckman drove up with two large Saratoga trunks, marked “I. Burdick,” and a smaller one marked “Burdick.”
Naturally the larger ones belonged to Irene, and without questioning they were ordered to her room, while the smaller one was taken to the room intended for Rena, who had not yet attracted a great share of our notice. We had seen Miss Irene take Mrs. Parks’ hand and hold it very high, reminding me of a picture I once saw of some Congo women shaking their clenched fists in token of their pleasure atmeeting each other. What Irene said we could not hear distinctly, except that it was something about “being pleased to see you”; then, without a look at the McPherson coachman, or Sam, who had sprung to his seat with Nixon, after a glance around for a sight of Lottie, she came up the walk, followed by Rena. Unlike her cousin, Rena had stopped a moment to speak to Nixon, and as her voice was of that quality which is readily heard at a distance, we heard her say, “Please tell Mr. McPherson that the Misses Burdick thank him for his kindness in sending his carriage for them;” then to Sam: “Good-by, boy. I don’t remember your name. It was nice in you to help us and tell us the places.”
“Sam, a boy, and he nineteen! I like that!” Lottie said, her lip curling scornfully, while Rena would have fallen in her estimation, if there had been any estimation to fall from.
She was so overshadowed by her stately cousin that we had scarcely thought of her except that she was short and slight and plainly dressed, compared with Irene, who, if she had had Paris, and London, and New York placarded on her back, could not have advertised them better than she did with her attire. They were in the house by this time, coming up the stairs, and were soon in their rooms, whereMrs. Parks, who was with them, hoped they would find themselves comfortable.
“I shall like mine,” Rena said, “and such lovely roses. Did they grow in your garden? I smelled them the moment I came in.”
She had her face close to the fruit-jar in which I had put a cluster of the finest roses from my room.
“No, they came from Mr. McPherson. He sent ’em with his compliments,” Mrs. Parks replied, and instantly Rena’s cheeks were like the flowers whose perfumes she was inhaling.
“Mr. McPherson,” Irene repeated, beginning to notice the flowers, for which she did not really care as Rena did. “What a delightful old man he must be. I hope we may see him, and perhaps we ought to send him a note of thanks.”
Rena did not respond. There was a strange feeling of unrest stirring in her heart as she thought of the attention which was unquestionably offered because of herself.
“I almost wish I were myself,” she was thinking, when Mrs. Parks, who was standing in the door between the two rooms, asked if there was anything she could do.
She spoke to Irene, who replied:
“No, thanks; or, yes, if your maid would be sogood as to bring me a glass of ice-water. I am very thirsty.”
At the mention of maid Mrs. Parks looked flurried a moment, then in her straightforward way, she said:
“Certainly, yes; I have no maid. I do my own work, Charlotte Anne and I—Charlotte Anne is my daughter. I don’t know where she is, not to come and be introduced. I will get you some water—not ice. We don’t have it here in the country, but our well is the coldest and best in town.”
She left the room for the water, and the moment she was gone, Rena exclaimed:
“Irene, for pity’s sake, drop your fine-lady airs, and don’t go to calling for maids and ice-water. You might have known there were none here.”
Irene laughed and said:
“I must be a fine lady if I play the rôle you have assigned me, and don’t you go and spoil everything because of Tom’s letter. Let’s have some fun a little while. It is not my fault that Mrs. Parks has evidently mistaken me for you. She has asked no questions and I have told no lies, and we are not supposed to know what she thinks. So,soyez tranquille, ma chère cousine.”
At this point Mrs. Parks returned with the water, wondering again where Charlotte Anne was that she didn’t come to be introduced.
“There’s a Miss Bennett from Albany boarding here—not as young as you be, but a very nice woman. I’m sure you’ll like her,” she said, again addressing herself to Irene, who bowed, but did not manifest any desire to be presented to either Miss Bennett or Charlotte Anne, the latter of whom stole quietly down the back stairs, while I stayed in my room wondering how I should like the newcomers and if life at the farmhouse would be as pleasant with them as it had been without them.
Meanwhile the young ladies were discussing whether it was worth the trouble to change their dresses; deciding finally that is was not, as they were very tired and there were only Mrs. Parks, Charlotte Anne and Miss Bennett to see them. In the midst of their discussion there was a knock at Rena’s door. This time it was Charlotte Anne, who held a note in her hand directed to Miss Rena Burdick.
“Mr. McPherson’s man brought it. I suppose it’s for you,” she said, passing it to Rena, who recognized Tom’s handwriting.
“It is for me—yes,” she said, taking the note in which were only a few lines to the effect that Tom and Reginald would call that evening about eight, or half-past.
“Then I shall change my dress,” Irene said, whenthe note was read to her, and she began at once to unpack her trunk.
Rena, however, stood by her first decision. She was tired and her head ached, and she didn’t care for Tom anyway and less for Mr. Travers. She would put on a clean shirt-waist, with fresh collar and cuffs, and that was all. But Irene proceeded to make an elaborate toilet, taking a great deal of pains with her hair, which, with the help of a false braid, was piled higher than usual upon her head and made her seem as tall as an ordinary man.
“I think I shall wear this,” she said, selecting a sheer light organdy, with frills and bertha of lace, and knots of ribbon here and there, tied and placed as only French fingers could place and tie them.
Before commencing operations she had looked for a bell and finding none had called over the banister to Mrs. Parks, whose voice she heard in the hall:
“Will you please show me the way to the bath-room?” she said.
In a state of great agitation, Mrs. Parks went up the stairs after a few moments with a pail of hot water in one hand, a foot-tub in the other, and a bath towel over her arm.
“I’m awfully sorry,” she said, “but we haven’t a real bath-room. We or’to have one, I know, and mean to sometime, but I’ve brought you this,” andshe put down the pail of hot water and the foot-tub. “There’s more in the range, and I hope you can make a sponge do. Miss Bennett does.”
Irene looked surprised, and said:
“No bath-room! How do you live without one, especially in summer? Yes, I suppose I can make that do. Please, what time do you dine?”
Again poor Mrs. Parks looked distressed. To dine at night was not on her programme, and she replied, apologetically and confusedly:
“We don’t dine in the country—nowhere except at the McPherson’s. We have tea at six, and dinner at noon sharp. We are particular about that on account of Miss Bennett, whose digester is out of kilter and has to have her meals reg’lar. Will the t’other one have a sponge, too?”
She nodded toward Rena, who was dashing cold water over her face and neck and arms, and who replied:
“No, thanks. I am doing very well.” To Irene, as soon as they were alone, she said: “Are you crazy? asking for a bath-room and dinner at night! When all your life at home you have had your dinner at noon and bathed in a tin basin or pail. Don’t drive that woman wild, or I shall certainly shriek out some day, ‘I am the Miss Burdick and she is only Irene!’”
She spoke lightly and laughingly, but Irene, who felt that she was in earnest, decided to come down from her stilts and conform to the customs of the house. She could not, however, divest herself of thegrande duchessemanner, which was in a way natural to her, and no one would ever have suspected that the tall, queenly girl, who at about half-past five sailed into Mrs. Parks’ best room, looking as fresh as if she had bathed in the sea instead of a foot-tub, was not to the purple born and always accustomed to every luxury money could buy. Mrs. Parks was in the kitchen and Lottie and I were left to introduce ourselves, which we might have done awkwardly enough, if it had not been for Rena, who came up to me at once and said:
“I am sure you are Miss Bennett and this is Charlotte Anne,” turning to Lottie. “I hope we shall be friends.”
“Yes,” I replied, “I am Miss Bennett, and this is Lottie, Mrs. Parks’ daughter, and you are both Miss Burdick.”
I glanced at Irene, who smiled and bowed her head, while Rena replied:
“Yes, both Burdicks, and both Irene, but I am called Rena, for short.”
I think her conscience felt easier after she had given her real name, which, however, made no impressioneither on myself or Lottie. Our minds were made up as to the identity of the two young ladies. The tall blonde was “the” Miss Burdick; the little dark-haired girl was Rena, a poor relation, probably. But how she won upon me during the half hour before supper was announced, and how beautiful I thought her large, lustrous eyes with the heavy brows and long lashes, and how sweet her smile, which brought the dimples to her cheeks, which were rather pale than otherwise. In a short time I came to think her more attractive than her cousin, with all her queenly beauty and her many little graces of manner. At the supper-table Irene was very gracious, praising everything and finally declaring herself more than delighted with her surroundings.
“Just the place for a quiet summer after the fatigue of Europe and the gaieties of Paris,” she said, and then Mrs. Parks remarked:
“You have never lived much in the country, I suppose.”
There was a peculiar look in Rena’s eyes as they turned toward Irene, who, under the fire of those eyes, replied:
“Oh, yes, I have. I was born in the country, and know all about it, but cannot say I like it as well as the city. I shall like it here, though. Have you many neighbors—visitors, I mean?”
“Quite a few,” Mrs. Parks replied. “There’s Mrs. Ephraim Walker—next door—would run in any time and bring her work, if it weren’t for her husband, who dislikes me because I object to his hens and to his having his line fence two feet on my land. His boy, Sam, rode home with you from the station. He comes here pretty often. And there’s Miss Staples and Upham—nice folks, all of ’em. Then, there’s Mr. McPherson—different from the rest of ’em, and the young man visiting him, Mr. Travers. Maybe you know him?”
This was said to see what effect the mention of Mr. Travers would have upon Irene, who replied: “I have not that pleasure,” while Rena’s face was scarlet for a moment; then the bright color receded, leaving it pale as before.
When supper was over, I went with the ladies out upon the piazza, where I usually sat, and tried to entertain them, finding that Irene was more ready to talk than Rena, who seemed abstracted, with a troubled look in her eyes which I could not understand. At every sound of wheels she started and looked anxiously down the road as if expecting some one, while Irene chatted on as composedly as if her ear, too, were not constantly strained and her eyes on the alert. As it began to grow dark a lamp was brought into the parlor where I seldom sat, it wasso stiff and dreary, with its large-patterned, oldtime carpet, its haircloth rocker, which threw your body forward instead of back, its long, black sofa and six chairs standing in a straight line against the wall, its centre-table with a red cover, and its mirror, ornamented with peacock feathers on the sides and top. It was not a room in which to stay on a hot night when there was the cool piazza with its comfortable seats and the scent of the honeysuckle and roses in the air. Irene, however, seemed to prefer it, and as soon as the lamp was lighted, arose, saying to me:
“I think I’ll go in; it is getting damp.” Then to Rena, who began to protest, she said in a low tone not designed for me to hear, “Don’t you know we can’t see how he looks out here? Come in.”
“You can go. I shall stay with Miss Bennett,” Rena replied, and Irene went in alone, trying the rocking-chair first, but leaving it at once as altogether too uncomfortable and too ill suited to the graceful attitude she meant to assume.
One chair after another was tried until a choice was made and a position chosen where the lamplight would fall fully upon her, while she could see herself in the mirror opposite. She knew she could bear the strongest light and that she was as near the perfection of youth and beauty and grace asone well could be, as she sat fanning herself and waiting, while outside the darkness deepened and I sat talking to Rena, who was waiting and listening quite as intently as Irene.
“It must be nearly nine,” she said at last; then started suddenly to her feet and sat down as quickly, as up the walk two gentlemen came, pausing a moment at the foot of the steps to take out their cards.
We were in the shadow where they could not see us, but I could see them, and knowing that Lottie had stolen out with Sam and that Mrs. Parks was busy with some domestic duty in the kitchen, I went forward to meet the strangers.
“Are the ladies—the Misses Burdick in, and yes, Miss Bennett, too?” Mr. Travers asked, adding me to the list as he saw who I was.
He had only two cards in his hand, for he had forgotten me entirely, but it did not matter. I meant to be present when he first met his intended bride, and I answered:
“We are all in, or rather Miss Burdick is in the parlor, and Miss Rena and I are on the piazza, but we will come in.”
Rena was sitting in the shadow, with her hands clasped tightly together, but as I turned toward her she came forward very slowly, until the light streaming from the window fell upon her and upon theother gentleman, now a little in advance of Mr. Travers, who had fallen behind as if loath to go in first. Rena had meant to be very cool toward Tom, whose letter was still rankling, and there was a slight upward tilt of her nose and chin, as she said.
“O Tom! is it you? How late you are. I had nearly given you up, and was thinking of going to bed!”
She was expecting him and knew him then, and I, who knew nothing of the contents of the note, or in fact that one had come, stood back in surprise, while Tom, without replying directly to Rena’s greeting, took her hand and presented her to Reginald Travers as “My cousin, Miss Rena Burdick.”