PATTY’S FORTUNE
Though Patty’s recovery was steady, it was very, very slow. The utmost
care was taken against relapse; and so greatly had the disease sapped
her strength, that it seemed well-nigh impossible for her to regain it.
But skilled nursing proved effectual in the end, and the day came at
last when Patty was allowed to see one or two visitors.
Adele was the first to be admitted to the presence of the convalescent.
She had come down from Fern Falls as soon as the welcome word reached
her that she might see Patty. She was to remain with her but a few
moments, and then, if no harm resulted, the next day Mona was to be
admitted.
Patty herself was eager to see her friends, and showed decided interest
in getting arrayed for the occasion of Adele’s visit. This greatly
pleased Nurse Adams for until now, Patty had turned a deaf ear to all
news or discussion of the outer world, and had shown a listless apathy
when Nan or her father told her of the doings of the young people of her
set. This had been partly due to her weakened condition and partly to
her brooding in secret over the promise she had given Mrs. Van Reypen.
She had never mentioned this subject to Nan, nor had they yet told Patty
of Mrs. Van Reypen’s death. The doctor forbade the introduction of any
exciting topic, and this news of her dear old friend would surely
startle her.
“I’ll wear my blue _crêpe de chine_ negligée,” Patty directed; “the one
with lace insets. And the cap with Empire bows and rosebuds.”
“Delightful!” said Miss Adams. “It will be a pleasant change to see you
dressed up for company.”
“I haven’t been dolled up in so long, I ’most forget how to primp, but I
daresay it will come back to me, for I’m a very vain person.”
“That’s good,” and Nurse Adams laughed. “It’s always a good sign when a
patient revives an interest in clothes.”
“I doubt if I ever lost mine, really. It was probably lying dormant all
through the late unpleasantness. Now, please, my blue brocade mules and
some blue stockings,—or, no,—white ones, I think.”
Miss Adams brushed the mop of golden curls, that had been so in the way
during the severe illness, and massed them high on the little head,
crowning all with the dainty cap of lace and ribbons.
“Now, I will gracefully recline on my boudoir couch, and await the
raising of the curtain.”
“You darling thing!” cried Adele, as she entered, “if you aren’t the
same old Patty!”
“’Course I am! Who did you think I would be? Oh, but it’s good to see
you! I haven’t seen a soul but the Regular Army for weeks and months and
years!”
Patty had never referred to Farnsworth’s presence, and no one had spoken
of it to her. They had concluded that she was really unconscious of it,
or it had lapsed from her memory.
“And you’re looking so well. Your cheeks are quite pink, and, why, I do
declare, you look almost pretty!”
“_I_ think I look ravishingly beautiful. I’ve consulted a mirror today
for the first time, and I was so glad to see myself again, it was quite
like meeting an old friend. How’s Jim?”
“Fine. Sent you so many loving messages, I decline to repeat them.”
“Dear old Jim. Give him my best. Tomorrow I’m to see Mona. Isn’t that
gay?”
“Yes, but I’d rather you’d be more interested in my call than to be
looking forward to hers.”
“You old goose! Do you s’pose I’d had you first, if I didn’t love you
most?”
“Now, I know you’re getting well. You’ve not lost your knack of making
pretty speeches.”
“It’s a comfort to have somebody to make them to. The doctors were most
unimpressionable, and I can’t bamboozle Miss Adams with flattery. She
won’t stand for it!”
The white-garbed nurse smiled at her pretty patient.
“And,” Patty went on, “after Mona, I’m to see Elise and the other girls,
and then if you please, I’m to be allowed to see some of my boy
friends!”
“Oh, you coquette! You’re just looking forward with all your eyes to
having Chick and Kit and all the rest come in and tell you how well
you’re looking.”
“Yes,” and Patty folded her hands demurely. “It’s such pleasant hearing,
after weeks of looking like a holler-eyed mummy, all skin and bone.”
“Patty, you’re incorrigible,” and Adele laughed fondly at the girl she
loved so well. “But you’re certainly looking the part of interesting
invalid, all right. Isn’t she, Mrs. Fairfield?”
“Rather!” said Nan, who had just appeared in the doorway. “And your
visit is doing her a lot of good. Why, she looks quite her old self.”
“A sort of reincarnated version of her old self, all made over new. By
the way, Patty, I saw Maude Kent yesterday.”
“Did you, Adele? What is she doing now?”
“Concerts as usual. I heard about her session with your father!” and
Adele laughed. “The idea of her thinking you’d dream of the stage!”
“But think what a great tragedienne is lost to the world!” said Patty.
“I know I have marvelous talent, but my stern parents refused to let me
prove it.”
“The most outrageous ideal!” declared Nan. “Nobody but that Mr.
Farnsworth would have suggested such a thing! I suppose Westerners have
a different code of conventions from ours.”
“Bill Farnsworth suggest it!” cried Patty. “Why, Nan, you’re crazy! He’s
the one who kept me from it. Wasn’t he, Adele?”
“Why, yes, Mrs. Nan. It was he who went over to Poland Spring with
Patty——”
“Yes, that’s what I heard. Took Patty over there to see this Kent person
about the matter.”
“Goodness, gracious me!” Patty exclaimed; “wherever did you get such a
mixup, Nansome? Why, it was Little Billee who gave Maude whatfor,
because she mentioned the idea! He told her never to dream of it, and
made me go straight home.”
Nan looked puzzled. “Why,” she said, “Philip Van Reypen told me that Mr.
Farnsworth put you up to it, and said you were good-looking enough——”
Patty laughed outright. “Oh, Nannie, I remember that! _I_ said I was
good-looking enough, and Bill said yes, I was _that_,—of course, he had
to agree!—but he said that had nothing to do with the matter. And as to
Phil, he knew nothing about it. He wasn’t there.”
“No. Somebody told him, that day he met you all in Boston.”
“Oh, fiddle-de-dee! Somebody said that somebody else heard that
somebody—Now, listen here, Nan, nobody put me up to that stage business
’ceptin’ my own little self, and, of course, Maude, who told me about
it. But she did nothing wrong in giving me the chance. And it’s all past
history, only don’t you say Little Billee egged me on, because he most
emphatically egged me off. Didn’t he, Adele?”
“Yes, he did. You told me all about it at the time. Bill Farnsworth was
most indignant at Miss Kent, but she was a friend of Chick Channing’s
and so Bill wouldn’t say anything against her.”
“There isn’t anything against her,” declared Patty, “and Little Billee
wouldn’t say it if there were. But you just remember that he was on the
other side of the fence. If anybody sort of approved of it, it was
Chick. He thought it would be rather fun, but he didn’t take it
seriously at all. So you just cross off that black mark you have against
Big Bill!”
“I will,” promised Nan, and Adele said, “Where is Bill now? Have you
seen him of late?”
“No,” said Patty; “not since before I was ill. I don’t know where he
is.”
Nan looked at her closely, but it was evident she was speaking in
earnest. As they thought, then, she had forgotten the incident of his
appearance at her bedside. Perhaps she never really knew of it, as she
was so nearly unconscious at the time.
“He is in New York,” said Nan, covertly watching Patty.
“Is he?” said Patty, with some animation. “After I get well enough to
see men-people, I’d like to have him call.”
“Very well,” returned Nan, “but now I’m going to take Adele away. The
nurse has been making signals to me for five minutes past. You mustn’t
get overtired with your first visitor, or you can’t have others.”
But visitors seemed to agree with Patty. Once back in the atmosphere of
gay chatter and laughter with her friends, she grew better rapidly, and
the roses came back to her cheeks and the strength to her body.
And so, when they thought she could bear it, they told her of Mrs. Van
Reypen’s death.
“I suspected it,” said Patty, her eyes filling with tears, “just because
you didn’t say anything about her, and evaded my questions. When was
it?”
They told her all about it, and then Mr. Fairfield said, “And, my child,
in her will was a large bequest for you.”
“I know,” said Patty, and her fingers locked nervously together. “A
hundred thousand million dollars! Or it might as well be. I don’t want
the money, Daddy.”
“But it is yours, and in your trust. You can’t well refuse it. Half is
for——”
“Yes, I know,—for a Children’s Home. But I can’t build a house now.”
“Don’t think about those things until you are stronger. The Home project
will keep,—for years, if need be. And when the time comes, all the
burdensome details will be in the hands of a Board of Trustees and you
needn’t carry it on your poor little shoulders.”
“It isn’t that that’s bothering me, but my own half. You don’t know
_why_ she gave me that.”
“Why did she?” said Nan, quickly, her woman’s mind half divining the
truth.
“She made me promise, the last time I saw her, that—that I would marry
Philip. And when I said I wouldn’t promise, she was very angry, and said
then she wouldn’t leave me the money. And I was madder than she was, and
said I didn’t want her old money, and neither I don’t, with Philip or
without him.”
“But what an extraordinary proceeding!” exclaimed Mr. Fairfield. “She
tried to buy you!”
“Oh, well, of course she didn’t put it that way, but she was all honey
and peaches and leaving me fortunes and building Children’s Homes until
I refused to promise, _then_ she turned and railed at me.”
“And then——” prompted Nan.
“Then I was mad and I tried to start for home. Then she calmed down and
was sweet again, and said she didn’t mean to balance the money against
the promise, but, well—she kept at me until she _made_ me give in.”
“And you promised?”
“Yes.”
“You poor little Patty,” cried Nan; “you poor, dear, little thing! How
could she torture you so?”
“It was, Nan,” cried Patty, eagerly; “it was just that,—torture. Oh,
I’m so glad you can see it! I didn’t know _what_ to do. She said I
mustn’t refuse the request of a dying woman, and she grabbed my arm and
shook me, and she looked like a—oh, she just looked _terrifying_, you
know, and she—well, I guess she hypnotised me into promising.”
“Of course she did! It’s a perfect shame!” and Nan gathered Patty into
her arms.
“It _is_ a shame,” agreed Mr. Fairfield, smiling at his daughter, “but
it won’t be such an awfully hard promise to keep, will it, Little Girl?
Of course you hated to have it put to you in that manner, but there are
less desirable men in this world than Philip Van Reypen.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Patty, and she burst into tears on
Nan’s shoulder.
“And you sha’n’t,” returned Nan, caressing her. “Go away, Fred. A man
doesn’t know how to deal with a case like this. Patty isn’t strong
enough yet to think of bothersome things. You go away and we’ll tell you
later what we decide.”
Mr. Fairfield rose, grumbling, laughingly, that it was the first time he
had ever been called down by his own family. But he went away, saying
over his shoulder, “You girls just want to have a tearfest, that’s all.”
“Tell me all about it, dear,” said Nan, as Patty smiled through her
tears.
“That’s about all, Nancy. But it was such a horrid situation. I do like
Phil, but I don’t want to make any such promise as that. Of course, Phil
has asked me himself, several times, but I’ve never said yes——”
“Or no?”
“Or no. I don’t have to till I get ready, do I? And I surely don’t have
to give my promise to the aunt of the person most interested. Oh, I’m so
sorry she died. I wanted to ask her to let me off. I dreamed about it
all the time I was sick. It was like a continual nightmare. Has Phil
been here?”
“Yes, two or three times. He wants to see you as soon as you say so.”
“How can I see him? Do you suppose he knows of my promise?”
“Very likely she told him. I don’t know. But, Patty, don’t blame her too
much. You know, she was very fond of you, and she worshipped him. It was
the wish of her heart,—but, no, she _hadn’t_ any right to force your
promise!”
“That’s what she did, she forced it. Nan, am I bound by it?”
“Why, no; that is, not unless you want to be. Or unless——”
“Unless I consider a promise made to a dying person sacred. Well, I’m
afraid I do. I’ve thought over this thing, day in and day out, and it
seems to me I’d be _wicked_ to break a promise given to one who is
gone.”
“Maybe Philip will let you off.”
“No, he won’t. I know Phil wants me to marry him, _awfully_, and he’d
take me on any terms. This sounds conceited, but I _know_, ’cause he’s
told me so.”
“Well, Patty, why not?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know why not. Sometimes I think it’s just
because I don’t want to be made to do a thing, whether I choose or not.
And then sometimes,——”
“Well?”
“Sometimes I think I don’t love Phil enough to marry him. He’s a dear,
and he’s awfully kind and generous and good. And he adores me,—but I
don’t feel—say, Nan, were you _terribly_ in love with father when you
married him?”
“I was, Patty. And I still am.”
“Yes, I know you are now. But were you before the wedding day?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m not _terribly_ in love with Phil. But he says that will come
after we’re married. Will it, Nan?”
“It’s hard to advise you, Patty. I daren’t say the greater love will
come to you,—for I don’t know. But don’t marry him unless you are sure
he is the only man in the world you can love.”
“I’ve got to marry him,” said Patty, simply; “I promised.”