The next forenoon I waited until eleven o'clock before I went home. I
wanted to be sure Aunt Elizabeth was safely away at Whitman. Yet, after
all, I did not dread her now. I had been told what to do. Some one
was telling me of a song the other day, “Command me, dear.” I had been
commanded to stop thinking of all those things I hated. I had done it.
Mother met me at the steps. She seemed a little anxious, but when she
had put her hand on my shoulder and really looked at me she smiled the
way I love to see her smile. “That's a good girl!” said she. Then she
added, quickly, as if she thought I might not like it and ought to know
at once, “Aunt Elizabeth saw Dr. Denbigh going by to Whitman, and she
asked him to take her over.”
“Did she?” said I. “Oh, mother, the old white rose is out!”
“There they are, back again,” said mother. “He's leaving her at the
gate.”
Well, we both waited for Aunt Elizabeth to come up the path. I picked
the first white rose and made mother smell it, and when I had smelled
it myself I began to sing under my breath, “Come into the garden, Maud,”
because I remembered last night.
“Hush, child,” said mother, quickly. “Elizabeth, you are tired. Come
right in.”
Aunt Elizabeth's lip trembled a little. I thought she was going to cry.
I had never known her to cry, though I had seen tears in her eyes, and
I remember once, when she was talking to Dr. Denbigh, Charles Edward
noticed them and laughed. “Those are not idle tears, Peg,” he said to me
“They're getting in their work.”
Now I was so sorry for her that I stopped thinking of last night and put
it all away. It seemed cruel to be so happy. Aunt Elizabeth sat down
on the step and mother brought her an eggnog. It had been all ready for
grandmother, and I could see mother thought Aunt Elizabeth needed it, if
she was willing to make grandmother wait.
“Ada,” said Aunt Elizabeth, suddenly, as she sipped it, “what was Dr.
Denbigh's wife like?”
“Why,” said mother, “I'd almost forgotten he had a wife, it was so long
ago. She died in the first year of their marriage.”
Aunt Elizabeth laughed a little, almost as if no one were there. “He
began to talk about her quite suddenly this morning,” she said. “It
seems Peg reminds him of her. He is devoted to her memory. That's what
he said--devoted to her memory.”
“That's good,” said mother, cheerfully, as if she didn't know quite what
to say. “More letters, Lily? Any for us?” I could see mother was very
tender of her for some reason, or she never would have called her Lily.
“For me,” said Aunt Elizabeth, as if she were tired. “From Mrs.
Chataway. A package, too. It looks like visiting-cards. That seems to
be from her, too.” She broke open the package. “Why!” said she, “of all
things! Why!”
“That's pretty engraving,” said mother, looking over her shoulder.
She must have thought they were Aunt Elizabeth's cards. “Why! of all
things!”
Aunt Elizabeth began to flush pink and then scarlet. She looked as
pretty as a rose, but a little angry, I thought. She put up her head
rather haughtily. “Mrs. Chataway is very eccentric,” she said. “A
genius, quite a genius in her own line. Ada, I won't come down to
luncheon. This has been sufficient. Let me have some tea in my own room
at four, please.” She got up, and her letter and one of the cards fell
to the floor. I picked them up for her, and I saw on the card:
Mrs. Ronald Chataway
Magnetic Healer and Mediumistic Divulger
Lost Articles a Specialty
I don't know why, but I thought, like mother and Aunt Elizabeth, “Well,
of all things!”
But the rest of that day mother and I were too busy to exchange a
word about Mrs. Chataway or even Aunt Elizabeth. We plunged into my
preparations to sail, and talked dresses and hats, and ran ribbons in
things, and I burned letters and one photograph (I burned that without
looking at it), and suddenly mother got up quickly and dropped her
lapful of work. “My stars!” said she, “I've forgotten Aunt Elizabeth's
tea.”
“It's of no consequence, dear,” said Aunt Elizabeth's voice at the door.
“I asked Katie to bring it up.”
“Why,” said mother, “you're not going?”
I held my breath. Aunt Elizabeth looked so pretty. She was dressed, as
I never saw her before, a close-fitting black gown and a plain white
collar and a little close black hat. She looked almost like some sister
of charity.
“Ada,” said she, “and Peggy, I am going to tell you something, and it is
my particular desire that you keep it from the whole family. They
would not understand. I am going to ally myself with Mrs. Chataway in a
connection which will lead to the widest possible influence for her and
for me. In Mrs. Chataway's letter to-day she urges me to join her. She
says I have enormous magnetism and--and other qualifications.”
“Don't you want me to tell Cyrus?” said mother. She spoke quite faintly.
“You can simply tell Cyrus that I have gone to Mrs. Chataway's,” said
Aunt Elizabeth. “You can also tell him I shall be too occupied to
return. Good-bye, Ada. Good-bye, Peggy. Remember, it is the bruised herb
that gives out the sweetest odor.”
Before I could stop myself I had laughed, out of happiness, I think. For
I remembered how the spearmint had smelled in the garden when Stillman
Dane and I stepped on it in the dark and how bright the moon was, and I
knew nobody could be unhappy very long.
“I telephoned for a carriage,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “There it is.” She
and mother were going down the stairs, and suddenly I felt I couldn't
have her go like that.
“Oh, Aunt--Aunt Lily!” I called. “Stop! I want to speak to you.” I ran
after her. “I'm going to have a profession, too,” I said. “I'm going to
devote my life to it, and I am just as glad as I can be.” I put my arms
round her and kissed her on her soft, pink cheeks, and we both cried a
little. Then she went away.