GETTING READY FOR OAK CITY.
It was soon known in Samona that the Rector’s aunt had invited Elithe to
spend the summer with her and that she was going. One of the miners’
daughters, a strong, capable girl, was to take her place so far as the
work was concerned, but no one save the mother herself knew of the pain
in her heart when she thought of the days when the busy feet and hands
which ministered so lovingly and willingly to them all would be gone.
“It is for her good and I’ll bear it,” she said to herself, and, putting
on a brave and cheerful front, she entered heartily into the necessary
preparations for the journey.
Elithe’s wardrobe was naturally the first consideration and here Mrs.
Hansford felt the bitterness of the poverty which precluded much of an
expenditure. Anything she had herself would be sacrificed gladly that
Elithe might make a respectable appearance with her relative and
friends. It was years since Mrs. Hansford had been in Oak City, which
had grown rapidly and must be quite a fashionable resort, if the items
in the Boston Herald were to be trusted. How much of society Elithe
would see she did not know. Some, of course, and she must not be in the
background. She was apt to express her views rather freely, and Mr.
Pennington was not ignorant of her trouble.
“Nobody will care what she wears when they see her face,” he ventured to
say, wishing that he had the means and the courage to offer a part of it
with which to fill the gap.
But he had neither, and contented himself with quietly looking on and
marvelling at the faculty of poor people to make a little go a great
ways. Miss Tibbs, the dressmaker in Samona, who went twice a year to
Helena, and was an oracle on style, was called in, and the trousseau
attacked in earnest. A blue flannel gown two years old was ripped and
washed and pressed and made over for a traveling suit according to Miss
Tibbs’s ideas and the fashions of six months before. Elithe thought it a
wonderful achievement and trimmed her last year’s hat with a bit of
ribbon to match and a red wing unearthed from a missionary box. There
were two of them in the attic, with some articles which had never been
used. Among them was a bathing suit of blue serge trimmed with large
buttons and flat braid of a peculiar pattern. It had come from
Washington two years before, together with the riding cap which Mr.
Pennington in his delirium had said looked like Mignon’s. The cap Elithe
had worn a great deal, and was rather proud of it, but she had often
wondered what Eastern people supposed she could do with a bathing suit
in the mountains of Montana. Now, however, she had use for it. To see
the ocean was an anticipated delight. To bathe in it was greater, and
here was a suit made ready, which Providence had certainly intended for
her. It had evidently been worn but little, and must have belonged to
some one taller and larger than herself. This she considered an
advantage, as it left less of her person exposed. Notwithstanding its
size and length, it was very becoming to her. Rob said she was a stunner
and wanted Mr. Pennington to see her in it.
To this Elithe objected. She guessed she should not show her arms and
neck to Mr. Pennington, or any other man, and when Rob asked if she
didn’t suppose any man would see them when she went bathing, she looked
perplexed and troubled.
“I never thought of that,” she said. “Perhaps I can’t wear it after all,
but I’ll take it.”
Mr. Pennington, who had a way of being within hearing if not in sight,
had overheard the conversation and laughed as he wondered how some of
the costumes at the seaside would strike Elithe’s unsophisticated eyes.
After the bathing suit had been renovated and folded ready to pack, the
best dress, to be worn only to church and on state occasions, was
considered. Miss Phebe had sent money for a new gown which might be
needed, but Samona was not the place in which to buy it, and there was
not time for Miss Tibbs to go either to Helena or Butte. In this
emergency Mrs. Hansford’s wedding dress, a changeable silk of orange and
blue, was brought to light. It was twenty years old and had cost thirty
dollars, which had seemed a large sum to Lucy Potter, and been commented
on by some of her neighbors as extravagant. She had worn it but a few
times. Once, when she went out a bride, with white gloves and a white
feather in her hat; once to the theatre in Boston, where her aunt had
played a leading part, and once to the house-warming in Samona, given by
the people to their new rector and his bride, who was thought to be too
much dressed for a poor missionary’s wife. After that her children had
come rapidly, eight in all. Three had died between Elithe and Rob, and
she had not much leisure for silk gowns. Elithe should have it, and she
brought it from the drawer where she had kept it, folded between two
towels, and, laying it across Miss Tibbs’s lap, asked her rather proudly
what she thought of it.
In truth, Miss Tibbs thought it old-fashioned for a young girl, but she
said it was an excellent piece of silk, and she would do her best with
it. Her best was very good, and when the dressmaking was finished no
daughter of a millionaire ever felt prouder of her wardrobe than Elithe
did of hers. There was the bathing suit, the silk dress, the second
best, the third best, and two ginghams for morning,—more than she should
need, Elithe thought, and wondered how she could carry them all. The
only available trunk was a small hair one which had been her father’s
when he was a boy. Mrs. Hansford suggested a new one, but Elithe decided
that the hair trunk would probably hold all her clothes, with a little
crowding, and it did. As a means of extra protection, a strong cord was
tied around it in the shape of a cross and securely knotted over the
lock. On each end a large card was tacked with “Elithe Hansford, Oak
City, Mass.,” written upon it. Mr. Pennington shuddered when he saw it
and thought of the many expensive trunks against which it would rub on
its journey East. Elithe would be rubbed, as well as her trunk, less on
her journey than at the end of it, he knew, and he wished he could help
her.
“Perhaps I can,” he thought, and began a letter, which gave him a great
deal of care, it would seem, as he rewrote it two or three times,
erasing here and there, making additions and reading it over very
carefully. With all his pains, it did not suit him, and, with an
exclamation of disgust, he tore it up. “Better let matters drift than
try to arrange them. She might not listen to me,” he said, and taking a
fresh sheet of paper, he dashed off a few hurried lines, took the
diamond ring from his finger, put it in a small box with the folded
note, and going out upon the piazza, smoked and thought until midnight.
The next morning Elithe was to leave, and after breakfast he said to his
landlord, “I am going to Helena for a few days,” and, taking his
hand-valise, started for the station. The Hansfords were all there,
Elithe, with tears in her eyes, which she tried hard to keep back. Her
father had hoped to find or hear of some one who was going at least a
part of the way, and to whose care he could confide her, but had been
unsuccessful. Elithe, who knew nothing, feared nothing, and declared
herself perfectly competent to go alone, and, as there was no
alternative, her father had consented to it, knowing there was no real
danger to be incurred. His aunt had sent money sufficient to defray the
expense of a sleeper, but Elithe preferred the common car, she said. She
was young and strong, and would rather give the extra money to her
father and mother. That she would take a sleeper after the first night
Mr. Hansford was sure, and did not press the matter. The sight of Mr.
Pennington at the station buying a ticket filled him with alarm, but
when told that he was only going as far as Helena on business and would
return in a few days, he felt relieved than otherwise that Elithe would
have an escort so far. She was glad that she was not to start upon her
long journey entirely alone, and put on quite a cheerful face when she
at last said good-bye and left her father and mother and brothers
standing upon the platform of the station, kissing their hands to her
until a turn in the track hid them from view.