“I BELIEVE I’M IN LOVE”
Olive’s trunks went to the farm with Zelda’s. Mrs. Merriam had gone
East to visit a sister, and Zelda settled Olive’s plans immediately.
Zelda’s refusal to make the rounds of the eastern summer resorts with
Mrs. Forrest caused that excellent woman an immense amount of trouble.
She therefore demanded that her brother should accompany her, and he
finally agreed to go. Rodney Merriam scolded Zelda roundly for refusing
to go with them, and when she disclosed the fact that Olive was to
spend the summer with her at the farm, he said things in his anger
which he regretted when he had gone home to the solace of his old
clothes, his slippers and his pipe.
Ezra Dameron was now so deeply absorbed in his speculations that
he paid less and less heed to the details of his own household. He
permitted Zelda to make the transfer from Merriam Street to the farm
with few hints from himself; he no longer meddled with the marketing,
and he rarely if ever admonished Polly as to the necessity for economy.
He treated Olive with perfect courtesy, though Zelda’s liking for her
cousin had deprived him of the use of two thousand dollars; but in
pleasing his daughter and preventing possible inquiry into her estate
by her uncle, it had been worth what it cost. He knew, too, that
with a companion at the farm Zelda was more likely to be contented.
His hours in the city were long and he needed all his time for
thought,--for planning new moves and studying the intricacies of the
great game. Its fascination grew on him. He fancied that he had become
expert in detecting causes and effects; he believed his judgment to be
infallible. He would make himself rich, rich; and he would pay Zelda
generously for the use of the trustee’s fund that he was using; yes,
and she in due time should have all that he made for himself,--and it
should be a greater fortune than her own.
Ezra Dameron had bought The Beeches at foreclosure sale, several years
before, at half its value. An interurban car-line now passed within
a short distance of the gate and made the farm readily accessible
from the city, so that the investment had already been justified.
The cottage was not visible from the highway, but was reached by an
irregular private road, that wound in and out among beeches and maples
to the front door. At the side of the cottage a steep declivity ran
down suddenly to a brook that murmured pleasantly. The house had been
placed with a nice regard for the trees of the original woodland,
which crowded up close on every hand. Beyond the ravine, and reached
by a rustic bridge, were the barns and cribs that marked the practical
farming character of the estate.
Zelda and Olive sat on the veranda and looked out upon an afternoon
landscape sweet with mid-June. They had just swung a hammock between
two posts in a shady corner, and Olive was testing its comfort and
security, swinging herself back and forth with the tips of her boots
touching the floor.
“Who’ll come?” asked Olive.
“There’s a squirrel now,” said Zelda. “And that woodpecker up there
declines to be ignored.”
“I wasn’t referring to the fauna, flora and reptilia of the place. I
was speaking of human beings.”
“Oh! I suppose Uncle Rodney will come. Aunt Julia doesn’t drag him away
for a while. Aunt Julia may come, though it isn’t likely. Driving over
dusty Hoosier roads doesn’t exactly suit her.”
“I wasn’t speaking of relatives, either,” said Olive, lifting her eyes
to the blasted sycamore, where the woodpecker was at his carpentry.
“Mr. J. Arthur Balcomb? You’d better get rid of J. Arthur before that
little army man catches him in your society. Some very tragic thing
will happen if you are not careful.”
“I should hate to have Mr. Balcomb killed. I love to hear him talk.”
“You’d still hear him if he were dead,--death could never stop a flow
like his,” observed Zelda.
“I didn’t have him in mind; but I suppose he’s likely to appear. You’ll
suffer him to sit on the veranda occasionally, I hope. I shouldn’t dare
ask him into the house.”
“Our country silver is only plated,” said Zelda. “I’m not afraid.”
“That’s unkind of you. I fancy Mr. Leighton never stole any spoons in
his life.”
“I suppose I ought to blush and seem embarrassed; but I shall
disappoint you,” said Zelda, turning away, however, and looking at the
blue sky beyond the tree-tops. “I’m not at all sure that Mr. Leighton
will favor us. I don’t remember that I asked him to come. He’s always
very busy; industry’s one of his chief merits.”
“Poor young man! I suppose he’ll die of overwork--or of unrequited
love,” suggested Olive.
“He isn’t in love with me, if that’s what you’re hinting at so darkly.
He thinks he has to be polite to me on Uncle Rodney’s account.”
“Of course, we all know that Uncle Rodney would like to be the good
uncle of the story-books and make a match between you. Morris Leighton
is his protégé. He wants you and Mr. Leighton to spend his money when
he’s gone. Everybody knows that.”
“I hope everybody does know it; the more people you disappoint the more
fun! He’s a good young man.”
“Zelda Dameron, why do you speak of goodness and of good people in that
way? It’s grown noticeable. One would think you the wickedest person
in the world to hear you talk. And yet you are the kindest girl--the
best-hearted person that I ever knew!”
Olive continued to swing herself back and forth. There were many things
about Zelda that mystified her; but she had asked a question that had
been often in her mind and heart.
“One might think, to hear you talk, that you really would like to turn
all the beatitudes upside down,” she added.
“I’m queer; I’m a Merriam; that’s what’s the matter with me. I suppose
all the sins that you might have had, and all the rest of the family,
are concentrated in me.”
Zelda was looking out through the woodland, with her eyes away from
Olive, and she spoke dolefully. Her cousin’s question had surprised
her. She wished no one to know how her heart revolted against the
goodness of the world; she must be very careful lest some one should
guess her secret.
She welcomed just then the sight of her uncle’s figure approaching
through the trees.
“Your prayer is answered, Olive. Some one is coming and it looks very
much like our uncle.” She waved her hand to the old gentleman, who was
beating his way with his stick through the underbrush.
Zelda placed a chair for him.
“Why didn’t you tell me about that jungle? When you said it was a
quarter of a mile from the interurban, I didn’t know you were joking.
And bad luck to your interurban cars, anyhow.”
They offered him things to eat, drink and smoke.
“I should like a little whisky and water. I suppose you have the water.”
“And we have the whisky, too.” Zelda brought a decanter and a glass and
watched him expectantly as he poured a quantity. Olive, too, leaned
forward with a twinkle in her eyes.
Merriam smelled the whisky carefully; then he held up the glass and
tipped it, noting the thickness of the reddish fluid, which left a
distinct trace on the side of the tumbler. He raised it to his lips and
sipped it critically, while his eyes looked far off into some unknown
haven of Arcadia. He next poured a drop into his palm and watched it
evaporate, saying nothing. Then he drained the glass and placed it on
the flat arm of the chair.
“How did you do it?” he demanded.
“Do what, _mon oncle_?”
“Get that whisky?”
“Why, it’s just any old medicine-chest stuff, isn’t it?”
“Not much it isn’t! Where did you get it?”
“Grocery or drug store, possibly.”
“Where did you get it?”--his tone was fierce now.
Zelda and Olive exchanged glances and lifted their voices in laughter.
“Somebody’s been in my cellar. There’s no mistaking that stuff!”
“I’ve lost a bet,” said Zelda, mournfully. “I’m almost afraid to tell
you that I made a bet against you.”
“Of course you would bet against me.”
“It was with Mr. Leighton. I said it was all bosh about your being able
to tell; that it was all alike, and all very disagreeable, and that
nobody really knew. He said you kept some of your favorite tipple, that
some man in Kentucky gave you, at the club. So he brought a bottle out
here for us to test you with. The least you can do is to pay my bet for
me. I don’t believe we stipulated what I should give him.”
“I’ll fix that. I’ll give him a bottle of this unpurchasable stuff. He
deserves it for his loyalty.”
“But,” said Zelda, “he couldn’t use it! He’s so very good. Really good
and proper people like Mr. Leighton never touch whisky.”
“Zee, don’t be silly. Olive Merriam, your cousin is given to
foolishness. I hope you can show her the light of a little sweet
reasonableness. She’s getting worse.”
“It’s wonderful how well she hides her real feelings,” said Olive. “But
here comes that little soldier on horseback.”
Pollock was riding up to the house on his nimble-footed sorrel. He had
been to the city and was returning to the quarters he had established
in a dwelling on one of the farms lately bought by the government for
the new post, which lay only a few miles from The Beeches.
He swung to the ground and advanced to the railing with the rein in his
left hand, his gray fedora hat in his right, and saluted them all.
Rodney Merriam sat forward in his chair, bending his keen gaze on
Pollock. The girls had already nodded to the officer most amiably,
but Rodney frowned and shook his head. Many things had irritated him
to-day. The walk from the car to the Dameron house had tired him; he
was not wholly pleased to find Olive Merriam installed with Zelda
at the farm-house, though he knew that he should find her there;
and Zelda’s slighting remark about Morris Leighton had added to his
annoyance. And now Pollock, who had been in Washington for several
months, had reappeared in Mariona.
“How dare he come here?” asked Rodney, half-aloud.
“It doesn’t take a very big dare, for we have expressly asked him,”
answered Zelda, as Pollock walked around to the veranda steps.
“He’s a little fellow,” reflected Merriam, under his breath. Pollock
came up the steps, shaking hands with Zelda and Olive. As the young
man turned toward him with hand outstretched, Rodney Merriam feigned
not to see it, but bowed stiffly. Pollock brought himself a chair from
the hall, as Zelda bade him, and sat down; but Rodney Merriam remained
standing.
“Zee, I beg of you take good care of that bottle. You may tell Morris
when you see him that I’ll pay the bet for you. But don’t you bet
against your uncle again.”
His manner irritated Zelda. She had never seen him discourteous to any
one before, and his refusal to take Captain Pollock’s hand was uncalled
for; and it was not to be excused on the ground of her uncle’s age, for
he was in full possession of his faculties. She did not know whether he
was trying to hint to her that whisky was not to be passed to a young
man who called on her, or whether he had wished merely to suggest to
Captain Pollock the fact that Morris Leighton was on intimate terms in
the household. The maid came and carried the decanter into the house.
“You may be sure that your precious fluid will not be disturbed,” said
Zelda, coldly.
“There ought to be a car in fifteen minutes, so I’ll go as I came.”
“Pardon me, sir,” said Pollock, rising, “I should be delighted if you
would ride my horse in. I should like to know what you think of him;
and I’ll call for him to-morrow.”
“Thank you, but it’s too hot to ride. I much prefer the car, sir,”
replied Rodney, stiffly, without looking at the young man.
The situation was not comfortable. Pollock flushed slightly and the
young women tried to hide their surprise under a cheery farewell to
their uncle. Zelda hesitated a moment, then ran down the steps and
walked with him along the winding road and out of sight of the veranda.
“I suppose I’ll miss the car,” observed Merriam, irascibly.
“You ought to miss it! Why did you treat Captain Pollock so shabbily?”
“I don’t like him,” replied Merriam, grimly. “I warned you last
winter not to have anything to do with him. You must drop him. Do you
understand?”
“I certainly do not. I’m sorry you don’t like him; I like him--better
than anybody.”
“Then stop it right now; stop it; stop it!” And the old gentleman beat
the road with his stick until the gravel flew.
“I’m not going to do anything of the kind,” said Zelda. “I’ll even tell
you a secret,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I believe
I’m in love with him! You’ll miss your car if you don’t hurry. If you
had been good, I should have driven you in. Good-by.”