A GIRL AND HER ROOM
Nancy found Rosa, as she suspected, disappointed and even worried.
“It was the strangest thing,” Rosa explained, “every time we thought we
had found Orilla she just seemed to disappear. Of course she didn’t,
but on the lake there are so many turns, and ins and outs and, being in
the boat, we stayed on the water. I suppose Orilla was on land,” she
finished sullenly.
“Why was it so important for you to see her to-day?” Nancy asked,
innocently enough.
“I had a message for her, and that should have reached her to-day,”
replied Rosa. But she did not go into details and Nancy felt that she
could not question further. However, she did try to reassure Nancy that
Orilla would probably be around before nightfall.
“I hope so,” Rosa said, “if not, I simply don’t know what I shall do.
I went to all her woodland haunts that _I_ know of, and land knows
she’s got enough of them, but there wasn’t even a trace to show that
human footprints had been over the ground lately. Oh, dear, isn’t it
awful to be a crank? Orilla is just a crank, and I tell you I’m about
sick of her ways,” Rosa pouted. “But I have to get some of the loose
ends tied up before I can wash my hands of it, as Margot would say.”
“And there she is,” Nancy reminded Rosa, for at that moment Margot was
coming down the path at a brisk rate.
“On the war path,” Rosa remarked. “I’ve got to surprise her with some
news. Let me see! Oh, I’ll tell her about a big sale of linens down
at Daws,” and forthwith Rosa rushed up the path to proclaim the glad
tidings to the unsuspecting Margot--or the Margot who was pretending to
be unsuspecting.
From that moment until after dinner and until almost nightfall, the
cousins had not a moment to themselves, for company came, and Rosa
had to entertain. Nancy also helped out, the visitors being most
interested in her simple reports from the neighboring state. When they
were leaving (they were the Drydens from the Weirs and were staying at
a hotel in Craggy Bluff) Rosa drove in town with them to bring some
mail to the post office, but Nancy declined to go. Rosa was to meet
Dell Durand and drive back with her, and as Dell had talked to Nancy on
the phone and assured her she would be back before dark (all this in
coaxing Nancy to go), there seemed no danger of delay for Rosa.
When they had all gone Nancy felt herself free at last to take her
favorite stroll along the lake front. The sunset was glorious; golds,
purples, greens and ashes of roses, in hues too brilliant to be so
tersely described. Is there anything which can beggar description as
can a sunset on that great, majestic lake! Words cannot tell of it, no
more than the mist can veil it.
“It looks as if heaven were leaking joy,” thought Nancy, as she watched
the descending beauty.
Thinking of her mother, of Ted and of dear Manny, as she did every
evening, this being a part of her filial love and devotion, Nancy gazed
and wondered, until suddenly a step near her startled her from her
reverie.
It was Orilla!
“Oh!” exclaimed Nancy. “I didn’t see you coming--”
“No, one can’t. I have so many secret little paths around here,” spoke
Orilla, and Nancy noticed that her voice was very low, subdued, and her
words rather well chosen.
“But I’m so glad you came,” Nancy hurried to add. “We’ve been looking
everywhere for you, all day.”
“I’ve been away, to the city, and I’m so tired!” With a sigh she sank
down upon the lake-side bench. “I believe I would die if I had to live
in a city,” she murmured.
“It is dreadfully stuffy after air like this,” agreed Nancy. “But you
are not sick, are you, Orilla?” she asked anxiously, for Orilla did
seem very unlike herself.
“No, I guess not. I have an awful headache but--don’t let us talk
about sickness,” Orilla broke off suddenly. “I have something more
important to talk of to-night.”
“First, Orilla,” interrupted Nancy, “won’t you please let me give you
your little bag? It has worried me--”
“If you’ll only keep it a few more days, Nancy--”
“But why? Shouldn’t your mother take care of it for you?” questioned
Nancy. She had been determined to get rid of the treasure and this was
her chance.
“Mother?” Orilla’s voice showed disapproval of that idea, most
emphatically. “No, mother is good and has given me much freedom, but
she doesn’t quite understand me, you see, Nancy,” finished the girl
with one more of those weary, heavy sighs.
Before Nancy could speak again Orilla had risen and was leading the way
to the other end of the spacious grounds.
“Come this way,” she said. “We won’t meet anybody and I must not delay
too long.”
“But Rosa may be along--”
“Let me tell you alone, Nancy, please,” pleaded Orilla. “Then you may
tell Rosa if you want to. I’m tired of secrets, tired of being hated
and tired of fighting. Until you showed some friendliness for me, I
haven’t ever remembered kindness except from mother, and, well, just a
few others,” finished Orilla, evasively.
She was hurrying toward the rear of the big house and Nancy was
following. The path she picked out was quite new to Nancy, who thought
she had discovered every little nook and corner of the big summer
place, but this was a mere strip of clearance, tunneled in under heavy
wild grape vines that grew clamorously over high and low shrubbery, and
even climbed into the biggest wild cherry tree.
Neither girl spoke for some minutes. Then Orilla asked Nancy if she
liked Fernlode.
“Why, yes,” Nancy replied, “I love it.”
“So do I,” declared Orilla sharply, “and you know they--put me out!”
“Oh, no, Orilla, they didn’t do that,” Nancy hurried to correct her.
“When Uncle Frederic married--”
“I know all that, Nancy, but don’t let’s talk of it. It makes me
furious, even now. Don’t talk any more--some one might hear us. Just
come quietly after me,” she whispered.
Where could she be leading her, Nancy wondered? Surely this was the end
of the house just back of the servant’s dining room--
Orilla stepped up to the corner of the building, and then Nancy saw
that they faced a small door. It was situated at the extreme end of the
first floor and almost hidden in heavy shrubbery. While Nancy waited,
Orilla surprised her still further by taking a key from her dress and
turning it in the lock.
The door opened!
“Orilla!”
“Hush! Just keep close,” whispered the girl. “It is only dark at the
entrance.”
By keeping close Nancy soon found herself in a quarter of Fernlode she
had never before explored. She knew that it must be the servants’
quarters, and before she could speculate further, Orilla had unlocked
another door and they both found themselves in a pleasant little room!
“This is--my--room!”
Nancy could scarcely breathe, she was so frightened at the tone in
which Orilla said that.
Her room!
“You see, these are all my things, and I come here whenever I get a
chance,” Orilla confessed. “No one ever thinks of looking in here, and
I never take anything away. I wouldn’t do that, you know,” she said
very positively, as if fearing Nancy’s opinion.
“Your--room!” Nancy was too surprised to get past that unbelievable
statement.
“Yes; and no one else cares for it or needs it.” Orilla was
straightening around the brown reed chairs and patting the small table
cover, and as she touched a thing, her affectionate interest in it was
plain even to Nancy’s excited gaze.
“Doesn’t Rosa know?” Nancy asked finally.
“No. Rosa has been away a lot, you know, and besides, the Fernells
only come here in summer. I was born in these mountains, and as a
child mother brought me here. She’s a nurse, you know, and a wonderful
mother.” Orilla sat down and pointed out a chair to Nancy, which the
latter gratefully accepted.
Nancy knew little about Mrs. Rigney, but she guessed now that probably
her love for Orilla had led her into the mistake of allowing her
daughter to grow up believing Fernlode to be her own home.
As if divining Nancy’s thoughts, Orilla said almost that very thing.
“Mother was devoted to the real Mrs. Fernell,” she said, thereby
disputing Lady Betty’s later claim, “and Mrs. Fernell was lovely to me.
While Rosa was away at school I played around here as--well--you can
imagine how I felt to be put out of _this_ room!” she again challenged.
In vain did Nancy try to explain the situation, defending Lady Betty’s
purpose in keeping no one but servants on Fernlode, but Orilla would
not be convinced of its justice. Suddenly she threw herself upon the
bed with such secret enjoyment, that Nancy knew the girl’s mind had
become morbid on the subject of ownership.
As so often happens with those who are physically delicate, her
reasoning also was at fault. She imagined she had been unjustly
treated, whereas nothing of the sort had happened. Mr. Fernell had been
generous to the point of bounty in educating Orilla and in giving a sum
of money to the mother. This had all been done because of Mrs. Rigney’s
devotion to Nancy’s Aunt Katherine, the first Mrs. Fernell, and Nancy
knew the story well.
“Yes,” Orilla began again, “it was not mother’s fault. And she has
tried to make me see things her way; but I can’t. I’ve always been a
wild mountain girl and all that I’ve loved has been here. You don’t
think I did wrong to come back here once in a while, do you?” she asked
plaintively.
Nancy gazed silently at the girl upon the bed. Her hair, always so
fiery red, did not look quite so peculiar on that pillow--Orilla’s
own pillow, that she had so long loved. The room was musty and needed
a thorough airing, but Nancy noticed a small casement window opened
slightly--this was, she reasoned, Orilla’s way of secretly ventilating
the room.
“I don’t see what could be very wrong about your coming here,” Nancy
finally answered Orilla’s question. “But why didn’t you ask?”
“Ask? After being turned away?”
“You were not turned away, Orilla, and that’s a foolish thing to say.
Uncle Frederic simply changed his plans and there was no need of a
nurse here,” stoutly and emphatically proclaimed Nancy.
“And they didn’t like me to be with Rosa--”
“Now, Orilla, you can’t deny you were not a suitable companion for
Rosa, because you could make her do anything. You are older, and you
worked on her sympathies,” Nancy felt obliged to point out.
“I’ll admit that now, Nancy, to you, but it didn’t seem that way
before. I never told anyone, not even mother, how I felt, and it just
all piled up inside of me until I imagined myself like a volcano,
always ready to--erupt.”
This was the first time that Nancy had noticed any depth to Orilla’s
character, and she had continually wondered where the educational
influences, said to have been provided by her uncle, had been hidden in
the girl’s personality. But the confession of her morbid, morose state
of mind was plainly the answer. She had fought down culture, choosing
to be simply a wild girl of the mountains.
“My mother always insists upon us talking things out,” said Nancy
quietly. “It’s so much better to share our worries--”
“I know that now. I feel like a different girl, just from talking to
you, and you’re only a kid,” said Orilla, again betraying her disregard
of polite English. “I’m through with secrets, Nancy,” she continued,
jumping up suddenly from the bed, with evident nervousness. “One secret
leads to another until I am fairly smothered in them. Now, this one is
not so heavy, but there--are--more.”