The Day Before Esther's Debut
Three weeks had passed and Betty Ashton had fully recovered from her
accident. Today she had been doing a hundred small tasks in the house,
marching up and down their little garden, sometimes alone and sometimes
with Polly, yet never getting beyond calling distance of home. Now and
then she would tiptoe softly to a small bedroom and stand outside for a
moment listening silently. If a voice called her she went inside for a
little while, but if not she would go quietly away. For a solemn edict
had been issued in the family the evening before, that on the following
day no matter what should take place Esther must have absolute rest. At
four o'clock, however, she was to be aroused, dressed and given a light
tea, since at five they were to start for Berlin, where Esther was to
make her _debut_ as a singer at Professor Hecksher's celebrated autumn
concert.
And curiously enough, Esther had been able to sleep the greater part of
the morning. For weeks before it had seemed to her that she had slept
neither day nor night, so intense had been her nervousness and dread.
Suppose she should make a ghastly failure of her songs; suppose as she
stepped out on the stage, facing an audience largely composed of German
critics and musicians,--that one of her old attacks of shyness should
seize her? Her own disgrace she might be able to bear, but not Betty's,
nor her father's, who was writing such eager, excited letters from
Woodford with the sailing of each ship to their port; and not Richard
Ashton's, who had always been her good friend. Through his kindness had
she not first been allowed to play the grand piano at the old Ashton
homestead, in those early days when her hunger for music had been almost
as strong as her hunger for love?
But after her breakfast, which Betty brought to her sitting beside her
on the bed while she ate, Esther for the time at least forgot her
fears. There was nothing more that she could do--no further thought or
study or preparation of any kind that she could give to her evening's
work. So a feeling of gentle lassitude stole over her with the
conviction that she was now in the hands of fate, and that it was
useless to struggle further.
But if Esther was spared this final nervous tension before her _debut_,
Betty Ashton experienced a double portion of it. Indeed, in after years
she often used to say that never at another time in her life had she
suffered anything like it--not even on her own wedding day when every
girl supposedly reaches the climax of excitement.
It was not because Betty had any lack of faith in her sister's talent,
for no one who had heard Esther sing in the past few months could have
doubted her ability. Even Miss Adams, who had heard most of the world's
great singers, had assured them that they need have no fear for her
future. Yet Betty knew her sister's disposition so well, knew how little
self-esteem Esther had, how little of the vanity that sometimes seems
necessary to success, and there was a harrowing possibility that she
might suddenly be made ill from stage fright. Yet of course the younger
girl recognized her own foolishness in allowing her imagination to dwell
on such remote chances. Hardly was she able to explain even to herself
the exact reasons for her feeling of stress and strain on that day which
seemed so interminably long. Of course she and Polly had made up their
difficulty long before--they had been having quarrels and making up ever
since they were tiny girls--but today even Polly's society had failed to
offer her any consolation, until at last Polly had gone back home to
rest for an hour or two before dressing for their journey into Berlin.
And Mrs. Ashton had insisted upon Betty's doing the same thing. The girl
could not make up her mind to stay shut up in the house, for although it
was early October, the day was delightfully warm, so she lay down in a
steamer chair under a tree in the yard, and covering herself with a
light-blue shawl, fell at once into her former train of thought.
For in some way it was not just this thought of Esther's concert alone
that had so filled her mind, but the idea that this concert in a measure
was to be a turning point in their lives. Soon after it was over Polly
and Miss Adams intended returning to America and Dick Ashton was to go
with them. For not long after his talk with Esther on the train he had
also discussed the same matter with his mother, and though she and Betty
were both deeply grieved over giving him up, it was plain enough to them
that Dick's future now lay in the United States. There he must make his
reputation and establish himself in his profession. Nevertheless Betty
could not now leave Esther to fight her battles alone, and just as
surely Mrs. Ashton must remain with Betty. So Dick was to begin his
struggle without his family. He had received a fine opening with a
prominent physician in Boston, an old friend of his father's who had
always known of his devotion and success in his chosen work, so that
except for his loneliness there was no special reason for troubling
about his immediate future. Notwithstanding, Betty was troubled. For
Dick was not in the least like himself, had not been all summer, and now
was becoming more and more solemn and stern as the time of his
leave-taking approached. Of course she had always remembered him as more
serious than most other young men; yet he had never before been morose
or unhappy. All their lives had they not been having wonderfully good
times together? And now--well, for one thing, Betty knew perfectly that
her brother was feeling uneasy over her friendship with Lieutenant von
Reuter and had not hesitated in telling her so, expressing his own
disapproval of any further intimacy between them. And assuredly she had
failed in giving him any satisfaction in return. For Betty had made no
clearer revelation of her feeling toward the young foreigner to her
brother than she had to Polly O'Neill. She had positively declined
having their friendship interfered with, and as Richard Ashton knew
nothing against him he was forced to yield to his sister's wish. Mrs.
Ashton entirely sympathized with Betty, and made no effort to hide her
pleasure in Carl von Reuter's attentions.
As the girl lay almost as if she were asleep in her big chair, now and
then opening her eyes to glance up at the deeply blue October sky, it
did not seem to her that her own obstinacy in this one particular was a
sufficient reason for Dick's dejection. And yet what other reason could
there be? He had promised to come home from Berlin earlier this
afternoon in order to escort them back again. And probably if Esther's
_debut_ was a tremendous success he might be made more cheerful.
And then in all probability Betty must have fallen asleep for about ten
minutes, because when next she opened her eyes, Dick was standing within
a few feet of her and some one else was beside him.
"Betty," she heard her brother's voice saying, "wake up, please, won't
you and speak to an old friend? For otherwise you would never guess in
half a lifetime who has arrived and come to me in Berlin today."
Making a tremendous effort to attain her usual dignity, Betty opened
wide her gray eyes, stared, tried to get up out of her chair, and then
finding her feet tangled in the blue shawl, stumbled and would have
fallen except for the newcomer's outstretched arm.
Yet even when he had restored her to her usual equilibrium she did not
immediately recognize their visitor, although she found herself looking
up into a pair of clear hazel eyes and at the strong, clean outline of a
typical American face. The young man must have been about twenty-three
or four years old. He had dark hair, resolutely forbidden to curl, and
curiously brilliant skin; but the contour of his face was almost too
lean and the expression of his lips and chin too set and firm for so
young a fellow.
"Miss Ashton," he began unsmilingly, "am I always to have to tell you
who I am each time we meet?"
And then, just as she had once several years before, Betty held out both
hands in a surprised and happy greeting.
"Why, it is Anthony Graham! But you must please forgive me, because how
in the world could I ever have dreamed of seeing you here? What in the
wide world has brought you to Germany?"
And as Anthony did not answer at once, Dick Ashton walked away, coming
back a moment later with two porch chairs, which he placed near his
sister's larger one.
"Sit down again, please, Betty," he asked. "I realize that we have very
little time, but I think it better that you should hear at once what Mr.
Graham has come all the way across the ocean to tell you." And Dick's
face was so queer that it was quite impossible to tell what his emotions
might be, so that Betty clutched the sides of her chair, white and
frightened.
"Yes, please, if it is bad news, tell me at once," she whispered.
Anthony Graham's smile, appearing now for the first time, was
immediately reassuring.
"But it is not bad news and we should not have frightened you," he began
at once. "It is news that almost anybody in the world would be more
than happy to hear. Judge Maynard has left you the greatest part of his
fortune, which will amount to about fifty thousand dollars, I believe,
and as he made me his executor, I have come over to try and make matters
clear to you and your mother and brother."
[Illustration: "FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS TO ME!"]
"Fifty thousand dollars to me!" Betty Ashton heard the tones of her own
voice distinctly and yet was hardly conscious of what she was saying.
"Why, what could have influenced Judge Maynard to leave me so much
money? I simply can't understand it."
"You don't have to understand it, Miss Betty; you just have to accept
and enjoy it," Anthony argued. "But some day when we have more time I
should like to tell you some of the things Judge Maynard said to me at
about the time he was writing his last will. He was a peculiar,
childless old man and he had always been more fond of you than you or
any member of your family dreamed. And after your father's death, when
you went on so cheerfully with your life in spite of the change in your
fortune, he made up his mind to look after your future."
"But you, Anthony. Polly told me that it was to you the Judge had taken
such a great fancy that most of the people in Woodford expected him to
make _you_ his heir. I cannot take your inheritance."
Anthony Graham laughed, at the same moment getting up from his chair. "I
have to take the next train back to Berlin, but I mean to see you
tonight at Miss Esther's concert. And please, Dr. Ashton, won't you
explain to your sister that she cannot take from me an inheritance which
I never had nor dreamed of having. Judge Maynard believed that a man
should make his own way in the world. So he has left me the chance to go
on with his law practice if I am big enough to hold on to it, and
besides that a legacy of five thousand dollars."
"But how could you have come away from home at such a time, running the
risk of losing so much?" Betty queried thoughtfully. "I suppose you
might have written us all the details of my inheritance if you had
chosen."
Richard Ashton appeared a little annoyed at what seemed to him a lack of
appreciation and of proper friendliness in his sister's speech. Their
guest, however, showed no hurt or concern. He merely looked steadfastly
at Betty, saying with a directness and honesty that was to distinguish
him for the rest of his life, "I don't wonder at your being surprised.
But I have never been out of the state of New Hampshire before in my
life. And it seemed to me about time that I should learn something more
of the outside world. And besides I was not willing to have many more
months go by without seeing you once again."