MERRY CHRISTMAS
On every Christmas morning it was the custom of Amzi's sisters to repair
with their several families to his house, carrying their gifts and
bearing thence such presents as he might bestow. The Fosdicks and the
Watermans had children, and these were encouraged to display themselves
frequently at their uncle's. And Amzi was kind and generous in his
relations with all of them. Amzi Waterman and Amzi Fosdick, still in
short trousers, had been impressed at their respective homes with the
importance of ingratiating themselves with Uncle Amzi, and Amzi, fully
cognizant of this, was an ideal uncle to each impartially. Mrs. Fosdick
hoped that her little Susan would be as thoroughly established in Amzi's
regard as Phil; there was always Phil,--that unbridled, unbroken,
fearless young mustang of a Phil.
Amzi was down early giving the final revision to his list of presents.
Having found in years gone by that it was decidedly unsafe to buy gifts
for his sisters, as they were never satisfied with his selections and
poorly concealed their displeasure, he had latterly adopted the policy
of giving each of them one hundred dollars in gold.
Ten was the usual hour for the family gathering, and as the clock
struck, Amzi began wandering through the house restlessly. Occasionally
he grinned, and said "Thunder!" quietly to himself. In the night watches
he had pondered the advisability of warning Lois's sisters of her
return; but he saw nothing to be gained by this. Something of Lois's
serene indifference had communicated itself to him; and as an attentive
student of the continuing human comedy he speculated cheerfully as to
the length and violence of the impending storm. Kirkwood had never
participated in these Christmas morning visits, and Phil usually
dropped in after her aunts had departed. It seemed easier to let Fate
take charge of the disclosure.
A door slammed in the upper hall, and Amzi heard the colored woman
descending the back stairs. Lois was having her breakfast in her room,
an unprecedented circumstance in the domestic economy. Then Jeremiah was
summoned to distribute the much-belabeled trunks. Amzi's sensations
during these unwonted excitements were, on the whole, not disagreeable.
The invasion of his bachelor privacy was too complete for any minute
analysis of what he liked or didn't like. It was a good deal of a
joke,--this breakfasting in bed, this command of the resources of his
establishment to scatter trunks about. As he crossed the hall he was
arrested by a cheerful "Merry Christmas."
Lois, in a pink kimona, smilingly waved her hand from the top step where
she sat composedly watching him.
"Merry Christmas!" he called back.
"Here's a present for you,--got it in Paris, special. If you don't like
it, I'll trade you another for it. Catch!"
She tossed him a box containing a scarfpin, and she nursed her knees,
humming to herself and clicking her slipper heels while he examined it.
She interrupted his stammered thanks to ask whether any of the "folks"
had been in yet.
She had dressed her hair in the prevailing pompadour fashion, which was
highly becoming; and the kimona imparted to her face a soft rose color.
She was a pretty rose of a woman, and he leaned against the newel and
regarded her with appreciation.
"I slept like a top; it's as still as the woods around here. I suppose
Montgomery's never going to grow much; and it's just as well. What's
property worth a front foot on Main Street,--oh, say within a couple of
blocks of the court-house?"
"About five hundred dollars, I guess."
She lifted her head as though thinking deeply.
"Real estate's the only thing, if you get into it right. You were never
much on speculation, were you, Amzi? Well, you were wise to keep out of
it. It takes imagination--" She brushed the subject away gracefully.
"You still own a farm or two?"
"Yes."
"I always thought I'd like to go in for farming sometime. I've looked
into the fruit business out West and there must be a lot of cheap land
in Indiana that would do splendidly for apples. There's no reason why
you should have to pay the freight on apples all the way from Oregon.
Ever tackled apples?"
"Yes; I have an orchard or two," he admitted wonderingly.
If he had spent the night guessing what subject she would choose for a
morning confab, apple culture would not have been on the list. He had
thought that perhaps the day would bring a torrent of questions about
old friends, but she seemed more aloof than ever. The pearl in his
scarfpin was a splendid specimen; he roughly calculated that it
represented an expenditure of at least a hundred dollars; and she had
flung it at him as carelessly as though she were tossing cherries from a
tree.
"Can I do anything for you about the trunks? You can have Jerry as long
as you like."
"Oh, I shan't work on that job all day. It's too much bother. I'll dig
the stuff out gradually. I'll have to throw most of it away anyhow. I've
got everything I own in that pile. I suppose I'd better get
dressed--What did you say about the morning gathering,--is it a
ceremonial affair?"
"Well, the girls have liked to do it that way,--all come in a bunch
after their home doings."
"That's very nice, really picturesque! I suppose they're all a lot of
comfort to you, living alone this way. Do they dine here to-day? How
about Tom and Phil?"
It was clear from her tone that the identity of his guests was a
negligible matter. She mentioned her former husband without emotion,
and her tone implied no particular interest in the answer.
"We were all of us to dine with Josie to-day; we sort o' move around,
and it's her turn; but if you'd rather stay here we'll have dinner
together or any way you like. Tom never mixes up in the dinner parties.
But Phil will be here after a while; say about eleven. You'd better be
ready."
"Certainly; I'll get into some other clothes right away." She stood,
lifted her arms, and stretched herself lazily. "It's nice to see you
looking so well; but Sarah confided to me when she brought up my
breakfast that you eat altogether too much. Sarah's very nice; I like
Sarah. And I can see that Jerry dotes on you. You're pampered, Amzi; I
can see that you don't resist the temptation to stuff yourself with
Sarah's cooking. I'd be a roly-poly myself if I didn't cut off starch
and sweets now and then."
There was a sound of steps at the front door, followed by a prolonged
tinkle of the doorbell. Amzi glanced up to make sure she was out of
sight. He heard her humming as she passed down the hall to her room and
then he rubbed his head vigorously as though rallying his wits in
readiness for the invasion, and flung open the door.
The two young Amzis and little Susan greeted him effusively and he
yielded himself with avuncular meekness to their embraces. They had come
bearing gifts which they bestowed upon him noisily, while the remainder
of the delegation crowded in. His three sisters kissed him in
succession, in the ascending order of age, and he shook hands with his
brothers-in-law.
"Morning, Amzi!"
"Morning, Lawrence!"
"Morning, Amzi!"
"Morning, Paul!"
"Morning, Amzi!"
"Morning, Alec!"
These greetings were as stiff as those that pass between a visiting
statesman and the local yeomanry at a rural reception. Lawrence, Paul,
and Alec undoubtedly hated this perfunctory annual tribute to the head
of the house of Montgomery, but Amzi liked the perpetuation of his
father's house as a family center. It did not matter that greed and
sentimentalism were back of his sisters' stubborn devotion to the
Montgomery tradition; with him it was an honest sentiment; and as to
their avarice, to which he was not insensible, it should be said that
charity was not least among his rugged virtues.
He made a lark of opening his gifts for the delight of the children. A
truce had been effected between the Fosdicks and Watermans by which each
of the young Amzis bestowed a box of neckties of approximately the same
value upon their uncle. Little Susan gave him a muffler; the sisters had
joined in a new easy chair which Jeremiah now carried in; their husbands
had combined in their usual tribute of cigars. A toy and a five-dollar
gold-piece for each child; the little chamois-skin bags of gold-pieces
for the sisters; a book for each brother-in-law, completed Amzi's
offerings. He announced to the children that he was going to build a
toboggan in the back yard for their joint use just as soon as spring
came. This was a surprise and called forth much joyous chorusing from
the youngsters, whose parents viewed this pendant to the expected gifts
with satisfaction, as indicating the increasing warmth of Amzi's
affection for their children.
"You are always generous, Amzi," said Mrs. Waterman fervidly. "You can
put the toboggan on our lot if you like."
"And cut down the trees! I should rather do without it than destroy a
single one of the old beeches," averred Mrs. Hastings, who, having no
children to enjoy the felicities of tobogganing, was not deeply
interested in the project.
"No trees shall be cut down," replied Amzi quickly; "I'm going to put it
on my own place. You can't tell but I may use it myself more or
less--after dark. The children won't mind, and the doctors say I need
exercise."
Mrs. Waterman pinched her young Amzi, who sweetly chirruped, "We'd love
to have you use it, Uncle Amzi."
"If Uncle Amzi falls off and breaks hims neck, it would be so fun-nee,"
piped Susan delightedly.
"Susan!" exclaimed Susan's mother, lifting a severe finger.
"It _would_ be fun-nee. Wouldn't it be fun-nee, Aunt Katie? Danny
Holton, he fell off hims bicycle going down hims toboggan and breaked
one leg; and it ain't got mended yet. And papa says Uncle Amzi's so fat
an' he tumble on the ice it would smash him like a old cucumber. Yes, I
did, too, hear him say it. Didn't you hear him say it, mamma?"
Mrs. Fosdick had heard nothing of the kind, for the excellent reason, as
her husband declared, that no such impious thought had ever crossed his
mind, much less expressed itself in Susan's presence.
Amzi roared with delight, caught up Susan and planted her on his
shoulder. Even if Paul Fosdick really had compared him to a mature
cucumber it did not greatly matter. Fanny Fosdick glared at her Paul.
All the adults present except Amzi were plainly distressed. Mrs.
Hastings, being childless and therefore entitled to her opinions as to
the rearing of children, resolved that at last she must speak to Fanny
about Susie. And all this embarrassment and irritation by the guileless
Susie had not disturbed Amzi one whit. Amzi had no intention of
rewriting his will to punish Susie, or her forbears.
Hastings, gloomily inhaling a cigarette, turned over the pages of the
book which Amzi had given him. It was a late study of the art of Henry
Irving, and its bestowal had been a conscious flattery on Amzi's part.
Still, it touched unhappy chords in Hastings's bosom. Who was better
equipped than he to catch up the fallen mantle of Irving? And here he
lay impotent in the hands of the fates that had set him down in a dull
village, without means even to hang a moving-picture screen upon the
deserted stage of his theater.
Amzi, having crawled over the floor with Susie at some personal
inconvenience and distress, was now helping his namesakes to set up the
engines he had given them, while their mothers murmured suggestions and
warnings. Waterman stood at the window looking out upon the snow-covered
lawn. Fosdick scanned the market page in Amzi's copy of the Indianapolis
"Advertiser." It was in Waterman's mind that if he had the essential
funds he might the next year renew his assaults upon the halls of
Congress. The brothers-in-law distrusted and disliked each other. Each,
after his fashion, was a failure; and the angle of their several
failures had become acute. Their wives made a brave showing to the
public and to each other; there was always the Montgomery pride to be
sustained.
Amzi, having abandoned the field of engineering to his nephews,
contemplated the scene philosophically with his back to the fire. His
sisters discussed the annual ball to be given in January by the Sons of
Montgomery. They were on the invitation committee, and were confronted
with the usual problems of elimination. There was a standard to
maintain, and the Newells, who had just moved from Ladoga, and set up a
new house and a six-cylinder automobile, were, as every one was saying,
_such_ nice people; and Newell undoubtedly made a lot of money out of
his sawmills; and all that. They were painfully conscious that their
husbands were not amusing Amzi or each other.
"Where's Phil, Amzi?" asked Mrs. Waterman.
"Phil hasn't showed up yet. I guess she'll be along pretty soon."
"Tom has had her with him over at Indianapolis all week. I don't think
he ought to take her over there, to run around town while he's busy.
She's had so little experience, and with her heedlessness; and all--"
Mrs. Waterman left the conclusion to their imaginations, and as Amzi
made no response and as the other gentlemen seemed indifferent, Mrs.
Fosdick threw a bit of kindling upon the dull ashes of the
conversation.
"Mary Fanning said she saw Phil on the street with a young man over at
Indianapolis, only last Tuesday. It isn't fair of Tom; or right, Amzi--"
"Thunder! I heard what Mary was saying. She saw Phil in Washington
Street, with Charlie Holton. What have you girls got against Charlie? If
it hadn't been for you Phil wouldn't have known him."
"Oh, there's nothing against Charlie; he's a fine fellow. I didn't know
it was Charlie," she ended weakly.
"Well, it was Charlie. Nan Bartlett heard what Mary was saying, and
asked her about it, and that was all there was to it: she saw Phil and
Charlie walking along Washington Street, just as they might walk down
Main Street here at home if they happened to meet. And for that matter
Phil hasn't been depending on her father for amusement over there. She's
been visiting the Fitches--the lawyer Fitch, of Wright and Fitch. Tom's
been offered a place in the firm; they're the best lawyers in Indiana;
and I guess there's nothing the matter with Mrs. Fitch, is there?"
This was not only news, but it was astonishing news. Mrs. Fitch's name
not only guaranteed a scrupulous chaperonage, but the fact that Phil was
a guest in her house was significant of Tom Kirkwood's standing at the
capital and of Phil's social acceptance by a woman whose name was
constantly impressed upon all students of the society columns of the
Indianapolis newspapers.
"The last time I was over I saw Mrs. Fitch in a box at the theater, and
I must say that I couldn't do much for her clothes," remarked Mrs.
Hastings.
"You didn't have to do anything for them," said Amzi amiably. "Here,
Jerry, put that down on the side table."
Jeremiah had appeared with a tray that supported a huge bowl. This
followed established custom: eggnog was always served at these
gatherings of the clan. Amzi sent the darky away and began filling the
glasses, as he liked to serve the tipple himself. The faces of his
brothers-in-law brightened. The persistence with which their wives
fussed about Phil exasperated them, and their attacks upon their niece,
open or veiled, always roused Amzi. And there was nothing whatever to be
gained, as they knew from long experience, by suggesting Phil's
delinquencies. The husbands of Phil's aunts admired Phil; the more the
girl annoyed her aunts, the more they admired her.
"Why doesn't Phil come?" demanded Fosdick. "The circle isn't complete
without her."
Mrs. Waterman had several times during the hour pricked up her ears at
sounds above which she was unable to adjust to her knowledge of Amzi's
_menage_. The step on the floor above was not that of the heavy-footed
Sarah, nor yet that of the shuffling Jeremiah. Sarah could be heard in
the kitchen, and Jeremiah was even now passing cakes and orange juice to
the children at the dining-room table.
"Amzi, who's upstairs?" demanded Mrs. Waterman.
"Upstairs? Thunder! A woman!"
Whereupon Amzi, having handed round the eggnog, stood sipping a glass
contentedly in his favorite post by the hearth.
"A woman upstairs!"
"Yep. She's a woman."
"Amzi!"
Their backs grew rigid. They had never believed their brother capable of
such a thing. They exchanged glances that telegraphed the horror of this
depravity. If it had been any one else on earth! And the brazenness of
it! Hastings and Fosdick grinned at each other, as much as to say that
after all you never can tell. It was a pleasant discovery that their
brother-in-law was only human. The cheek of the thing was stupendous;
his indifference to the fine scorn of their impeccable wives was superb.
Hereafter those ladies would be more tolerant of weak and erring man.
Amzi rocked himself on his heels, ignoring them. He had wondered why
Lois did not add herself to the family circle. He, too, had heard her
quick steps on the floor above, and had grown impatient at her long
delay; but that was part of the joke of it all: Lois would take her time
and appear when it suited her convenience. Not for gold, not for much
fine gold would he have preluded her approach with any warning. And
their ready assumption that they had caught him in an act of impropriety
tickled him tremendously. They were all listening now; and there was
undeniably something really naughty and devilish in the patter of those
French heels!
A door above closed with a bang. The shameless creature was tripping
downstairs as gayly as though the house belonged to her. The ease of her
descent spoke for youth; it was in three minds that old fools are always
more susceptible to the wiles of young adventuresses. The sisters
averted their faces from the contaminating sight. Amzi was crossing the
room and reached the open door as it framed his sister. He had a fine,
instinctive sense of courtesy and even his pudgy figure could not
diminish his dignity. He took Lois by the hand and led her to the broad
hearth as though the fireplace symbolized the domestic altar, and he was
restoring her to its protection.
"This is Lois," he said simply, as she swung round; and as they stared
dully he repeated, "This is Lois."
Mrs. Fosdick was nearest, and Mrs. Holton put out her hand to her.
"Well, Fanny!" she said; and then, sweeping them all with her smile,
"Merry Christmas!"
Her clasp of Mrs. Fosdick's hand seemed to bring them all to their feet,
and she moved quickly from one to the other, with some commonplace of
greeting, and a bright smile for each. Clasping the hands of Kate and
Josephine together she looked from one to the other and said in her
pleasant voice,--
"How like old times it seems; and how nice to come in on you all at
Christmas! You are a bit stouter--you two--but Fanny hasn't changed a
bit. Alec"--she swung round toward the bewildered men--"I don't believe
you know me, but I should have recognized you anywhere. Please, now,
which is which of you?"
"That's Paul Fosdick, Lois; and that's Lawrence Hastings. Gentlemen,
Mrs. Holton."
"Very glad to meet you, gentlemen. Odd, isn't it? that this should be
the first time!"
She gave them her hand in turn in her quick graceful way. Since marrying
into the family they had heard much of this Lois, and lo! their
preconceived notions of her went down with a bang. They had been misled
and deceived; she was not that sort of person at all! She had effected
as by a miracle a change in the atmosphere of the room. It was as though
the first daffodil had daringly lifted its head under a leaden February
sky. Amzi, prepared for an explosion, marveled that none had shaken the
house from its foundations. But while the masculine members of the
family yielded up their arms without a struggle their wives were
fortifying themselves against the invader. Amzi's conduct was wholly
reprehensible; he had no right to permit and sanction Lois's return; the
possibilities implied in her coming were tremendous and far-reaching. It
was a staggering blow, this unlooked-for return. While their husbands
stood grinning before the shameless woman, they conferred in glances,
furtively looking from each other to the prodigal. Amzi fortified
himself with another glass of eggnog.
Lois had dominated the scene from the moment of her appearance. Her
entrance had been the more startling by reason of its very simplicity.
She was taking everything as a matter of course, quite as though there
were nothing extraordinary in the parting of the waters to afford her
passage dry shod, through those sixteen years, to a promised land
imaginably represented by Montgomery. Her sisters, huddled by the center
table, struggled against their impotence to seize the situation. This
was not their idea of the proper return of a woman who had sinned
against Heaven, to say nothing of the house of Montgomery. Their course
was the more difficult by reason of their ignorance of the cause of her
descent upon them. Amzi should suffer for this; but first she must be
dealt with; and they meant to deal with her. Their rage surged the more
hotly as they saw their husbands' quick capitulation. They, too, should
be dealt with!
"Let us all sit down and be comfortable," said Lois easily, and Hastings
and Fosdick bumped heads in their mad haste to place a chair for her.
Hastings, with his theatric instincts stimulated, and realizing that
silence would give the massed artillery of the enemy a chance to
thunder, immediately engaged the newcomer in conversation. Paris and its
theaters served admirably as a theme. Lois clearly knew her Paris well;
and she had met Rostand--at a garden party--and spoke of the
contemporaneous French drama with the light touch of sophistication.
French phrases slipped from her tongue trippingly, and added to her
charm and mystery, her fellowship with another and wider world. From
Hastings she turned to embrace them all in her talk. The immobile
countenances of her sisters, reflecting stubborn resentment and
antagonism, were without effect upon her. Instead of sitting before them
as the villainess of this domestic drama, a culprit arraigned for her
manifold wickednesses, she was beyond question the heroine of the piece.
"You remember, Fanny, what a hard business we used to make of our
French? Well, in Seattle I had a lot of time on my hands and I put in a
good deal of it studying languages. There was a wonderful Frenchwoman
out there and I got her to teach me,--all good fun, with her; we used to
go places together, and I finally reached the point where I could talk
back to a French waiter. I really believe I could set up as a teacher
now without being indicted for taking money under false pretenses. You
have been over, haven't you, Kate? It seems to me I heard of your being
there; but you might all have gone round the world a dozen times! Whose
children are those out there? Bring them in and let me have a look at
them."
The children were brought in by their fathers and presented without any
interruption to her flow of talk. She let fall a question here and there
that was presumably directed to one or the other of her sisters, but
their faint, reluctant answers apparently did not disturb her. She was
treating them as though they were dingy frumps; and they revolted
against all this prattle about Paris. It was distinctly unbecoming in a
woman whose sins were so grievous to ripple on so light-heartedly about
the unholiest of cities when they sat there as jurors waiting to hear
her plea for mercy.
"Susan, you dear angel, come here!"
Susie toddled into her aunt's arms, raised a face that stickily
testified to her Uncle Amzi's plentiful provision of candy, and was
kissed. Mrs. Waterman, formulating a plan of campaign, took a step
toward Susan as though to save the child from this desecration of its
innocence; but a glance from Amzi gave her pause.
"Oo have booful clothes. Whas oor name?"
"I'm a new aunt; I'm your Aunt Lois. You never heard of me, did you?
Well, it doesn't matter the tiniest little bit. Something tells me that
we're going to get on famously. I shouldn't wonder, I shouldn't wonder
at all, Susan, if we became the best of friends."
Her voice softened into new and charming tones. She held the sticky,
chubby hands unmindfully. She was one of those women who are incapable
of an awkward attitude. The child lingered, examining with wide-eyed
scrutiny the enchantments of the new lady's apparel.
"She's charming, Fanny," Lois remarked, glancing up suddenly at Susan's
mother; "a perfectly adorable baby."
"Oo going to stay in this house? This Uncle Amzi ims house."
"Now, Susan, do you really want me to stay?"
Susan surveyed her newfound aunt gravely before passing upon this
question that was so much more momentous than she realized. Lois,
bending forward in her low chair with her head slightly to one side,
met the child's gaze with like gravity. It might have been assumed from
her manner that she attached the greatest importance to Susan's verdict;
there may even have been an appeal in the brown eyes; but if there was
it was an affair between the woman and the child in which the spectators
had no share.
Susan swallowed.
"Oo stay and play wif me. Uncle Amzi ims going to make big toboggan in
ims yard and oo can slide down wif me. And Phil she come and play. Phil
make me bow and arroo and Phil, her shooted it at old rooster and ims
est runned and runned."
"How splendid!" laughed Lois.
"You may go now, Susan," said her mother, feeling that this flirtation
had progressed far enough.
Thus admonished Susan withdrew, while her brother and cousin submitted
themselves to the new aunt's closer inspection.
"Two Amzis! It's quite fine of you to perpetuate the name, girls. You
must be sure, boys, always to spell your name out; don't hide in behind
an initial. These old Bible names are a lot better than these new fancy
ones. There must be a million Donalds and Dorothys right now scattered
over the United States. Where do you go to school, boys?"
She plainly interested them. She was a new species, and had for them the
charm of strangeness. She wore on her wrist a tiny watch, the like of
which they had never seen before, and one of them poked it shyly with
his finger. She accommodatingly slipped it off and gave it to them to
examine, telling them of the beautiful shop in Geneva where she had
bought it. Susan returned to share in these further revelations by the
wonderful lady. The spectacle of their children gathered at the erring
Lois's knees, filled the watchful sisters with dismay. The ease of the
woman's conquests, her continued indifference to their feelings, caused
their indignation to wax hot.
"The children must go. Run along home now, and, boys, see that Susie
gets home safely. No; you must go at _once_!" said Mrs. Waterman.
"Oo bring lady home to ours house, mamma; my wants to play with lady's
watch."
"Skip along, Susan; you'll have lots of time to play with my watch,"
said Lois. "Oh, wait a minute!"
Jeremiah was bringing fresh glasses for the eggnog, and she sent him to
her room to bring down some packages she had left on her bed.
While he was gone she romped with Susan, running back through the hall
into the dining-room with the chirruping child trotting after her, and
paused breathless as Jeremiah placed the parcels on the center table.
"That is altogether unnecessary; the children have had enough presents,"
said Mrs. Fosdick. "The children must go at once."
"Oh, these are only trifles; just a minute more," Lois flung over her
shoulder.
She peered into a box, inspected the contents with a moment's quick
appraisement, and clasped on Susie's chubby wrist a tiny bracelet.
"There, Susan! What do you think of that?"
Susan thought well of it beyond question and trotted to her mother to
exhibit the treasure.
Three pairs of eyes looked upon the trinket coldly. Careless of their
scorn Lois was enjoying the mystification of the young Amzis, to whom
she held out two boxes and bade them make a choice. She laughed merrily
when they opened them and found two silver watches as like as two peas.
There was no questioning Lois's complete success with the children.
Their fathers responded in grateful praise of the gifts: their Uncle
Amzi said "Thunder!" and expressed his delight.
"Now, you youngsters run along or I'll get scolded for keeping you.
Scoot!"
Lois urged them to the door, where Susan presented her face for further
osculation.
"You shouldn't have done that, Lois; it was altogether unnecessary,"
announced Mrs. Fosdick.
"Oh, those things! they're not of the slightest importance. I didn't
know just how many youngsters you had, and the shops over there are
simply irresistible."
She ladled herself a glass of eggnog composedly, as though wholly
unconscious that the withdrawal of the noncombatants had cleared the
field for battle.
The sisters, having sipped Amzi's Christmas tipple apprehensively, noted
that this was Lois's second glass.
"Well, what are you all doing with yourselves?" she asked, sinking into
a chair. "Kate, I believe I look more like you than either Fanny or Jo.
I think you are taller than I am, but we have the same complexion. My
face is all chopped up from the sea; it was the worst crossing I ever
made, but I only missed one day on deck. The captain is the best of
fellows and kept an officer trailing me to see that I didn't tumble
overboard."
She glanced at Hastings as though he were more likely than the others to
respond to observations on sea travel. He declared that he always
preferred winter crossings; it was the only way to feel the power and
majesty of the sea.
"I always feel so," said Lois.
Amzi fidgeted about the room, wishing they would all go.
"Lois," said Mrs. Waterman, gathering herself together, "you will
understand, of course, that we don't mean to be unkind, but we feel that
we have a right--that it is only proper and just for us to know why you
have come back in this way, without giving us any warning, so that we
might prepare ourselves--"
Lois's brows lifted slightly; the slim fingers of her right hand clasped
the gold band by which the blue enameled watch was attached to her left
wrist. She tilted her head to one side, as though mildly curious as to
the drift of her sister's remark.
"Oh, you mustn't mind that at all! I should have been sorry if you had
gone to any trouble for me. Dropping in this way, what should one
expect?" A pretty shrug expressed her feeling that nothing at all had
been expected. "Jo, do you remember that time you were running from
Captain Joshua Wilson's cow, in his pasture over there beyond the
college, and you fell over a fence and cracked a tooth, and how you
bawled about it? And I suppose that gold tooth is a memento of the
occasion. We used to be the maddest of harum-scarums in those days!"
It was not wholly kind, perhaps, for a woman whose white, even teeth
were undisfigured by fillings thus to direct attention to the marks of
the dentist's tool in her sister's mouth. And yet Lois had not meant to
be unkind; the past as symbolized by Captain Wilson's cow sent her off
tangentially into the recent history of Captain Joshua's family, and she
demanded information as to the Wilsons' daughter Amanda, who ran away
and married an army officer she had met at Columbus, Ohio. As the
sisters had never liked Amanda Wilson, they were not pleased to be
obliged to confess that the marriage had been a satisfactory one in
every particular, and that Amanda's husband was now a colonel. The
barometer fell steadily and the gloom of the Arctic night deepened in
the faces of the trio.
"Anybody have any more eggnog?" asked Amzi guilelessly.
"I think," said Mrs. Fosdick furiously, "that we've all had enough of
that stuff."
This was the least bit pointed, as her husband was at that moment
filling a fourth glass for himself.
Mrs. Waterman renewed her attack, drawing nearer to the culprit.
"Of course, you realize, Lois, that after all that has happened, your
coming back here, particularly unannounced, creates a very delicate
situation. It can't be possible that you don't understand how it
complicates things--that as a matter of fact--"
"Oh, as a matter of fact it's a great bore to talk of it! I suppose I'm
the one that's likely to be most annoyed, but you needn't waste any
time being sorry for me. I didn't have to come; nobody asked me. You'll
not be in the least embarrassed by my coming. I don't look as though I
were in deep distress about anything, do I? Well, I'm not. So don't
prepare to weep over me. Tears are bad for the complexion and puckering
up your face makes wrinkles."
Fosdick snickered, an act of treachery on his part which brought his
wife to Mrs. Waterman's support. Fanny Fosdick was readier of speech
than Josephine, who was inclined to pomposity when she tried to be
impressive.
"You can't dodge the situation in any such way; you had no right to come
back. Your coming can only bring up the old scandal, that we have been
trying to live down. It's not a thing you can laugh off. A woman can't
do what you did in a town like this and come back expecting everybody to
smile over it."
"And Jack Holton has just been here; that was bad enough!" threw in Mrs.
Hastings. "And if you are still running after _him_--"
"Girls!" exploded Amzi, "you'd better cut all this out. You're not going
to help matters by fussing over what Lois did. I'm sure we're all glad
to have her back; I'm sure we've always hoped she would come back."
"I think the least you say about it the better, Amzi," said Mrs.
Waterman witheringly. "It's your fault that she's here. And if you had
honored us with your confidence and taken our advice--"
"Thunder! what would you have done about it! I didn't think it was any
of your business."
This from the potential benefactor of their children was not reassuring.
The financial considerations crystallized by the return of the wanderer
were not negligible. Every one in Montgomery knew that Jack Holton had
come back to wrest money from William, and it was inconceivable that
Lois had not flung herself upon Amzi for shelter and support. And as
they had long assumed that she was a pensioner upon her brother's
bounty, they were now convinced by the smartness of her gown and her
general "air" as of one given to self-indulgence in the world's bazaars,
that she had become a serious drain upon Amzi's resources.
"I think," declared Mrs. Waterman, "that it is a good deal our business.
We can't make the world over to suit ourselves, and we can't fly in the
face of decency without getting scratched. And when a woman brought up
as Lois was does what she did, and runs through with her money, and
comes home--"
She gulped in her effort to express the enormity of her sister's
transgressions; whereupon Mrs. Fosdick caught the ball and flung back:--
"Of course, if Lois is in need of help, we all stand ready to help her.
She must understand that we feel strongly the ties of blood, and I want
to say that I'm willing to do my share, in the very fullest sense."
Lois rose impatiently.
"Don't be a lot of geese, you girls! Of course, you're all cut up at
seeing me so unexpectedly, but I'm not going to let you be foolish about
it. It's all in a lifetime anyway: and I really wish you wouldn't say
things which to-morrow or the day after you'll be sorry for. I
understand as perfectly as though you ran on all night just how you
feel; you're horrified, ashamed, outraged--all those things. Bless me,
you wouldn't be respectable women if you were not! If you fell on my
neck and kissed me I should resent it. Really I should! You would be a
disgrace to civilization if my showing up here on Christmas morning
didn't give you nausea. I've been divorced twice, and anybody with any
sort of nice feeling about life would make a rumpus about it. I'm rather
annoyed about it myself; so that's all perfectly regular. You have said
just what you ought to have said and you feel just as you should feel.
Now that's understood, why not talk of something else and be
comfortable?"
The three men had discreetly betaken themselves across the hall and the
children of Amzi II were alone.
"You forget, Lois, that there are other persons besides ourselves to
consider. If it were just Amzi and us--" persisted Mrs. Waterman,
shifting her ground before this shameless confession.
"There's the whole world, when you come to that," said Lois. "What's in
your mind, Jo,--Tom and Phil? Well, there's nothing novel in that; I
thought about them a good deal before I came back. You may scratch Tom
off the list; he's clear out of it. But as for Phil--"
"As for Phil, you have no right--"
"I haven't the slightest claim on Phil, of course; I never said I had,
and I don't pretend to have. Please don't assume, Fanny, that I've lost
all the wits I ever had! I'll say to you frankly that I feel that my
coming may be troublesome to Phil; and yet the fact that I am here" (she
smiled and threw out her arms, allowing them to fall to emphasize the
futility of words)--"the fact that I am here shows that I have
considered that and decided to take the risk of coming, in spite of
Phil."
"Lois, you don't seem to have the slightest comprehension of the
case--not the slightest," urged Mrs. Waterman, resenting the smile with
which her sister had ended. "You brutally abandoned Phil; and now you
come back to spoil her life. I didn't suppose there was a woman in the
world so callous, so utterly without shame, so blindly selfish--"
Amzi paused in his stride across the room and planted himself
belligerently before his oldest sister. His eyes bulged angrily.
"Josie, you can't talk like that to Lois; not in this house! I tell you,
Lois is all right. If you don't like her, you can let her alone. I'm not
going to have you talk to her like this--not here. Now I want you to
understand, you, Josie; you, Kate; you, Fanny" (he indicated each in
turn with his pudgy forefinger) "I wouldn't let her badger you, and I'm
not going to let you jump on her."
"You talk like a fool, Amzi," said Mrs. Waterman, angry tears flashing
in her eyes. "If you realized what we have always stood for in this
community, and what it means to you as well as the rest of us; and poor
little Phil, and all--"
"What have you all got to do with Phil? Phil's all right," he shouted
hoarsely.
"I think," shot Mrs. Hastings, "that the easiest thing for Lois, and the
best thing, is for her to go quietly without seeing Phil."
"That's my own opinion," affirmed Mrs. Fosdick.
Lois listened with her detached air, as though the subject under
discussion related to some one she knew slightly but was not
particularly interested in.
"Bless me! Such a wow and a wumpus. You really think I'd better go?" she
asked casually.
The three, accepting this as a sign of yielding, chorused an eager,
sibilant Yes.
"Think of Phil, just at the threshold of her life. We've done our best
for poor dear Phil," said Mrs. Fosdick chokingly. "Amzi can't deny that
we've tried to do our duty by her."
"Of course, you have all been nice to her," remarked Lois, picking up a
box of candy and shaking it to bring to the surface some particular
sweetmeat.
"It has not been so easy to bring Phil up!" declared Mrs. Waterman,
enraged that Phil's mother should take their assumption of
responsibility for the child's upbringing so lightly, so entirely as a
matter of course.
"You ought to know, without our telling you, Lois," said Mrs. Hastings,
"that your coming back will be the worst thing possible for dear Phil.
If you think about it quietly for an hour or two, I'm sure you will see
that."
"You ought to go down on your knees to God with it!" boomed Mrs.
Waterman, "before you think of contaminating her young life. It's only
right that we should talk to our pastor before coming to a decision."
Amzi snorted and walked to the window. There he saw as he looked out
upon the lawn something that interested him; that caused a grin to
fasten itself upon his rubicund countenance. Phil, under a fire of
snowballs from a group of boys who were waiting with their Christmas
sleds for a chance to hitch to a passing vehicle, gained Amzi's gate,
ducked behind the fence to gather ammunition, rose and delivered her
fire, and then retreated toward the house. Her aunts, still stubbornly
confronting her mother, and sobbingly demanding that Phil be kept away
pending a recourse to spiritual counsel, started at the sound of an
unmistakable voice. Amzi, chewing his cigar, watched Phil's flight up
the path, and noted the harmless fall of the final shots about her. She
waved her hand from the doorstep, commented derisively upon the enemy's
marksmanship, and flung the door open with a bang. A gust of cold air
seemed to precipitate Phil into the room.
"Hello, Amy! Merry Christmas, everybody!"
Amzi walked toward Lois. "Phil, this is your mother." Mrs. Hastings
glided from her post by the hearth until she stood between Phil and
Lois, who stood with her back to the center table, the tips of her
fingers resting upon it. Her face betrayed no apprehensions. For the
moment she was out of the scene and the contest lay between Phil and her
aunts.
"Phil, this is not the place for you! Go into the other room at once,"
said Mrs. Hastings, swallowing a sob.
Amzi struck a match and lighted a cigar with his habitual three puffs.
Across the flame he saw Phil sweeping the group with her eyes. She stood
erect, her hands in her muff to which particles of snow clung where it
had fallen in her encounter with the boys at the gate. The crisp air had
brightened her cheeks. She wore that look of unconcern for which she had
been distinguished as a child. She moved her head slightly, to avoid the
figure of the intercepting aunt, and met for an instant her mother's
indifferent, unappealing gaze. Her intuitions grasped the situation and
weighed its nice points. Phil had rarely in her life been surprised and
she showed no surprise now.
"It's rather cold, isn't it, Phil?" Lois remarked.
"Chilly in here--rather!" said Phil in the same key.
"Phil!" thundered the aunts.
"Christmas is nicer with snow. I hate green Christmases," observed Lois,
who had not changed her position.
"I've never seen but two," replied Phil, as readily as though the
dialogue had been rehearsed; "and I hated them." Then, drawing her hand
from her muff, she flung it out in a burlesque of the amateur
recitationist:--
"O pray, upon my Christmas morn,
Let snow the leaf-shorn boughs adorn.
"How _is_ that, Amy! A little worse than my worst?" She stepped round
her Aunt Kate, shook hands with her mother, then upon second thought
dropped her muff, seized both her hands, and kissed her.
"Were you all really just about going? I'm late! Made nine stops on the
way, took a brief sleigh-ride with Captain Wilson, ate too much
butter-scotch at the Bartletts', and here we are!"
She pushed a chair toward the hearth so violently that the castors
screeched and her Aunt Kate jumped to avoid being run over.
"Why not sit down, mamma? Amy, where's my present? Here's me to you."
She picked up her muff, drew out a parcel tied with red ribbon, with a
bit of mistletoe tucked under the bow-knot, and tossed it to Amzi.
"It's perfectly bully that you're back," she said, addressing herself
again to her mother. "Actually here all right,--a real Christmas
surprise. I'll take that up with Amy later; he's no business playing
such a trick. But it must tickle you to see how dee-lighted everybody
is! Oh, are you off, Aunt Josie? Hello, Lawr_i_nce!" She turned to wave
her hand to Hastings at the door, where Waterman, Fosdick, and he had
witnessed their wives' discomfiture. Those ladies were now attempting to
impart to their exits the majesty of righteous indignation.
Phil kicked an old carpeted footstool to the hearth, and dropped upon it
at her mother's feet.
"What an old fraud Amy is not to have told me!"
She waited for the ultimate sounds of departure, and kissed her fingers
to the closed door.
Then she raised her arms quickly and drew down her mother's head until
their cheeks touched.
"Thunder!" said Amzi, and left them together.