LITTLE ORCHARD HOUSE, BEWARE!
The drawing-room extended for almost half the length of the big house.
It was the largest room that Kate had ever seen or imagined outside of a
castle. Just at first she could not discover her aunt in it. But soon
her glance found her sitting down at the farthest end near one of the
French doors that stood wide open into the garden. Her head was turned
away, but the shape and pose of that head and the way she sat in her
chair, with a book but not reading, reminded Kate sharply and poignantly
of her mother. Why hadn’t Katherine warned her that they were so much
alike?
She went toward her softly because of her shyness, her feet hardly
making a sound on the Persian rugs, past the tables and divans and
lamps. It was seven o’clock of a July evening now, and the shadows lent
a lovely charm to the big room that was peculiarly charming even in
broadest daylight. Kate felt as she went toward her aunt that she was
walking in a dream. And it was a very nice dream, too, for that glimpse
of the likeness of her aunt to her mother had reassured her completely.
All her previous ideas of her aunt were swept away, and the
anticipations of this visit, which for a little had been dampened, now
returned with fresh life.
Miss Frazier turned as Kate came near. Hastily she put her book, still
open as Kate’s mother would have, on a table at her hand and rose. She
kissed Kate with warmth and dignity and then held her off, the tips of
her fingers on her shoulders.
“You’re not one bit like your mother,” she affirmed. “Not one least
bit.”
“Don’t accuse me,” Kate said, laughing. “I would have been if I could,
of course. But wouldn’t it have been rather confusing to have had three
of us so much alike? The names are confusing enough.”
If someone could have told Kate an hour—no, two minutes—ago that on
first meeting her aunt she would speak so easily, so without
self-consciousness, she would not have believed. She had expected to be
constrained, awkward. But then she had never expected Aunt Katherine to
be so agreeable as she apparently was.
Aunt Katherine was smiling quite brilliantly. Kate had instantly touched
and pleased her. “Does it really seem to you that I am anything like
your mother?”
Kate nodded. But even as she nodded, she saw the difference suddenly.
Aunt Katherine was taller, of course; but that was not it. Her firm,
squarish chin was not neutralized by melting gray eyes as Katherine’s
was. Aunt Katherine’s eyes were dark and their expression echoed the
strong chin; it was a sure expression, penetrating and above all
intellectual. And the lines about the mouth and eyes were lines that
Katherine would never have at any age. They were lines of loneliness and
trouble.
Even as Kate was thinking all this—lightning-quick thinking it was, of
course—she saw the lines deepen and the mouth and eyes harden
perceptibly. “It is past dinner time. Didn’t Elsie come down with you?”
The hardening was not for Kate’s tardiness; it was for Elsie’s.
“I haven’t seen her. I don’t believe she was in her room or she would
have heard me.”
“Haven’t seen Elsie? That is strange! She must be in the orchard or
somewhere, and not realize the time.”
Aunt Katherine moved to the garden door, her hand still on Kate’s
shoulder. “There she comes now, from the orchard.”
They stepped over the sill and waited for Elsie on the stone flags
outside. She was floating through the gardens directly from the orchard.
Floating is a better word for it than hurrying because she was such a
light and airy creature and above all so graceful. Her approach was
almost in the nature of a dance. She was dressed in white, a narrow belt
of periwinkle blue at the low waistline.
It was evident when she came nearer that she had not seen the two
waiting for her. Her eyes were dropped a little and she was smiling!
There was a radiance of happiness about her. At first, in this
impression of her, happiness was even more obvious than prettiness. But
she was pretty, too, quite enchantingly pretty. Kate, who was not pretty
herself, loved it all the more in others. Her appreciation always leapt
to meet it.
Elsie was slim, with a fairy grace of face and figure. Her hair, a net
of sunlight even now in the growing dusk, was tied at her neck, and its
curls straying on her shoulders and at her cheeks shone like fairy gold.
Her face was delicately moulded and faintly tinted. It was her chin that
struck Kate most. It was an elfin, whimsically pointed chin. In fact,
she was such an exquisite creature that Kate, standing there waiting for
the instant when she should look up and their eyes meet, felt as though
her own sturdy young body belonged to another world.
But Elsie was so absorbed in her happiness that she did not raise her
eyes until she was almost upon them. It was Aunt Katherine’s voice that
recalled her, and she stopped short a few feet from where they were
standing. “Well, Elsie?”
Then at last the eyes of the destined comrades met! Kate was smiling,
the corners of her mouth uptilted little wings. Her whole face spoke her
delight in Elsie’s extraordinary prettiness and her own expectation of
comradeship. No one could have missed what her look meant. But Elsie’s
response was a strange one. Instantly the elfin smile vanished, the
elfin chin became set, the pretty face and violet eyes hardened. But she
took the few remaining steps forward and gave Kate her hand. In a
correctly polite but delicately cool way she said, “How do you do?”
Aunt Katherine showed some chagrin at that tone. “This is your cousin,
Elsie,” she said. “You are not going to stand on any formality with a
cousin who has come for the express purpose of being cousinly. Dinner
was announced some minutes ago. Let us go in.”
But what had happened to Kate? She hardly knew herself. She had turned
sick, physically sick and faint, when Elsie had looked at her so coolly
and indifferently. No one had ever treated her so in all her life
before. She had had spats, of course, with her contemporaries, now and
then. There had been days when either Sam or Lee or some girl in school
refused to speak to her. There had been angry glances, sharp words. But
she had never been treated like this. Nothing before had ever turned her
_sick_.
As they moved down the long drawing-room and across the hall to the
dining-room Kate asked herself desperately whether she had imagined it
all. Could she have heard Elsie’s voice aright? Was the cool, hard
glance from Elsie’s eyes insultingly indifferent? How could it be? Why
should it be? What had she done? She had done just nothing at all. There
was no reason in the world for Elsie to hate or despise her. And so,
fortified by her reason and by the wise inner Kate that never wholly
forsook her, Kate decided before they reached the dining-room that it
_had_ been imagination—partly, anyway. Elsie might not have liked her
looks at first, but she had no reason to hate her.
Even so, she did not have the courage to look directly at Elsie when
they were finally seated at the table. They were in high-backed carved
Italian chairs at a narrow, long, black, much-oiled table. In the centre
of the table two marvellously beautiful water lilies floated in an
enormous shallow jade bowl. The napkin that Kate half unfolded in her
lap was monogrammed damask and very luxurious to her fingers’ touch. The
dinner was simple, as simple as the dinners to which Kate was accustomed
at home, but it was served with such dignity by a lacy-capped and
aproned waitress that before they were finished with the prune-whip
dessert Kate felt they had banqueted.
Very early in the meal Kate learned that she need not avoid looking
directly at Elsie, for Elsie’s own eyes were averted. Apparently she was
languidly interested in the portraits on the opposite wall. At any rate,
her gaze was always just a little above Kate’s head or to the right or
left of her shoulder. When Aunt Katherine spoke to her she looked at her
as she replied. But aside from those polite and clearly spoken answers,
she contributed nothing to the conversation.
In contrast to Elsie Aunt Katherine was giving her whole mind to being
entertaining and making Kate feel at home. She drew her out about the
life in Ashland, the barn that had so ingeniously been turned into a
house, Kate’s school in Middletown, the Hart boys, their mother and
father, the life at Ashland College, everything that concerned Katherine
and Kate. Although Kate hardly realized it, during the course of that
first meal she had given her aunt a pretty complete picture of her
background, and incidentally of herself.
Just as the finger bowls were brought in Aunt Katherine said, “The
little orchard house beyond the garden was your Grandfather Frazier’s,
you know, Kate. You will want to explore it, I imagine. To-morrow at
breakfast I shall give you the key.”
Kate was delighted. “Oh, may I go into it? Mother wasn’t at all sure it
wouldn’t be rented. She wanted me to see it if I possibly could, and
tell her all about it.”
“Of course it’s not rented. It is too much part of my grounds,
altogether too connected with everything here. A family there would be
intolerable. And besides, I consider that the house belongs to your
mother. It is only waiting for her.”
But now the eyes of the two girls did meet for the second time. Kate
gasped. Fear and anger spoke in Elsie’s direct stare. And Kate was sure
she was not imagining now—all the delicate tint had been swept from
Elsie’s face. She was pale.
They got up at that minute and followed Aunt Katherine from the
dining-room. Elsie turned her head away as they walked. But Kate was too
curious now to be definitely unhappy. She wanted only to know the reason
of Elsie’s behaviour. And she surprised herself more than a little by
finding herself drawn to the sulky, ungracious, frightened girl. Nothing
was at all the way she had dreamed it and expected it, it is true. But
in some ways it was better. Elsie was more of a _person_ than her dreams
had made her, and friendship with her, if only they ever did become
friends, might be quite wonderful. Kate did not think this out. It was
just her feeling.
In the drawing-room Aunt Katherine sat down at her reading table and
picked up her book. “It is after eight,” she told the girls, “and I’m
sure Kate should go to bed early. But you may walk in the garden
together a little first.”
Now Kate glimpsed the Aunt Katherine of tradition. Neither she nor Elsie
had any thought but to obey the command. They went out together to walk
in the garden. “Just like that,” Kate said to herself, inwardly smiling.
But there was no rebellion in her thought. She distinctly liked Aunt
Katherine and was ready to take commands from her. And this command was
particularly welcome. Now Elsie _must_ unbend! Now they must find each
other.
For a minute they walked in silence and then Kate said, “Let’s go into
the apple orchard. I want to see my mother’s house nearer. Do you know I
can hardly wait until morning when I shall see it inside, too. Mother
has told me so much about it!”
“It isn’t your mother’s house,” Elsie answered quite unexpectedly. “It’s
Aunt Katherine’s. And there’s nothing to see in the dark. Just a little
old gray house with weeds in the front walk. Even the road to it is all
grown over with grass now, for no one goes there ever.”
“I want to see it all the same. It’s where my mother and my grandmother
and my grandfather lived. I’m going whether you come or not.”
“Oh, all right,” Elsie acquiesced, sulkily. “But a lot you’ll see in the
dark.”
It was just as Elsie had said. It was a little old gray house set down
in the centre of the apple orchard with no road leading to it. And weeds
stood high in the gravel front walk.
“Why, it’s a fairy house by starlight!” Kate exclaimed, quite forgetting
Elsie’s mood in her own.
Elsie spoke in a rather high voice then, a voice that carried all
through the orchard: “If it is a fairy house,” she called, “Fairies,
beware! Orchard house, beware! If there are fairies in the house put out
all lights, hurry away. Aunt Katherine’s nieces are here and Aunt
Katherine doesn’t want the house occupied.”
Kate was surprised but quickly pleased, too. Elsie had entered into a
game whole-heartedly. Perhaps she was just an ordinary girl, after all!
Perhaps she had been imagining absurd things about her. This Elsie
calling out into the starry dimness, warning the little house of their
approach, was Elsie as she should be, with her fairy-gold curls and
elfin chin.
Kate involuntarily drew nearer to her. And then she raised her voice and
called in her turn to the little orchard house. “But Aunt Katherine’s
not here,” she called. “She is deep in a deep book. So light all your
lights, if you wish, look out of your windows, open your doors. Little
enchanted house, wake up!”
She was laughing as she finished and holding Elsie’s hand, for she was
quite carried away by her own fancy. This was the kind of nonsense she
loved, and the little house did seem alive and awake. She _felt_ it
responding there in its dim starlight!
Elsie allowed her hand to be held. But she cried, softly, but still in a
carrying voice, “No, no, no. Don’t look out! Don’t wake up. There are
two of us here. Two. Not one!”
And then the girls stood silent. The game had become so real that Kate
would not have been at all astonished to see fairy lights at the
windows, to hear windows opening and fairy laughter. But she heard
nothing except the crickets in the uncut grass and Elsie’s hurried
breathing.
“Come,” she whispered. “Let’s go all around the house”—and off she
started, still holding Elsie’s hand. Elsie could only go, too. And at
the back of the house, the side that was in view only of the orchard and
vacant fields beyond, Kate noticed two windows wide open in the second
story.
“Does Aunt Katherine let those windows stay open like that?” she asked,
curiously. “Those are the windows in the study. I know from Mother’s
telling. Suppose it should rain to-night? It must be an oversight. Let’s
go back and get the key from Aunt Katherine now to-night and close them
for her. Won’t it be fun to go in by starlight, just we two alone!”
Elsie shook her head violently and pulled her hand away at the same
time. There was a break in her voice almost as though she were in danger
of bursting into tears.
“You needn’t go being a busybody the very first hour you are here,” she
exclaimed. “I guess Aunt doesn’t need your advice about such things.
Come away. Come out of the orchard.”
Kate followed her, nonplussed, at sea. “What is the matter?” she
demanded. “What are you afraid of, Elsie Frazier?” Then, stopping
suddenly, “What was that? Listen!” Surely a door had closed softly up
there in the room with the windows open!
“What was what?”
“Didn’t you hear?”
“No, of course I didn’t hear anything.”
“A door closed up there.”
“Nonsense! How could a door close up there?”
“Well, it did. I heard it just as plain. But perhaps it was a breeze
that closed it. Only I don’t feel any breeze.”
“It must have been a breeze.”
“Well, it was a _careful_ breeze. It shut the door ever so gently. Quite
as though a door knob was turned. Oh, Elsie, do you suppose it is
fairies—or something weird?”
“I don’t suppose anything. And Aunt Katherine will be expecting us in.
Come.”
As they went Kate turned to look back several times at the orchard
house. But no fairy lights twinkled for her in the windows, no doors or
windows opened, no fairy stood on the doorstone beckoning her back. It
was just a little old gray house in an orchard. But even so Kate felt it
_alive_, awake somehow. Elsie could not spoil her feeling about it.
Just outside the lighted drawing-room Elsie turned about and faced Kate.
She was not quite so tall and she was slighter. But her whole body was
drawn up with extraordinary force and her face, in spite of its delicate
elfin quality, was determined.
“Kate Marshall,” she said in a quiet tone, “you’re not to say one word
to Aunt Katherine about those windows. Not one single word! And what’s
more, you’re not to use the key that she will give you to-morrow. It’s
not your mother’s house any more. You’ll only be disappointed. There’s
nothing of her in there at all. I shall hate you and hate you and HATE
you if you use that key. You’ve got to promise me.”
Kate did not flinch before this unexpected attack. But she was amazed.
“Of course I sha’n’t promise you,” she contradicted. “You’re a silly to
think you can make me. What’s the matter with you, anyway?”
Elsie still looked at her, but her firmness, her determination melted.
Her lips trembled. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. When she spoke
her tone was changed completely. “Please, please,” she besought Kate.
“You are just a girl even if you are—well, even if you are Kate
Marshall. Please promise me that you’ll wait a week before exploring the
orchard house. After that I won’t care. Go and live in it, if you like.
But just for a week, promise me.”
“No, I won’t promise.” But Kate was softening. “I won’t promise. But
perhaps, since you care so much, I won’t go in to-morrow or the next
day. Perhaps I’ll stay away a week. Only I think you’ll have to tell me
_why_.”
But Elsie shook her head. “I can’t tell you why. You’ll know for
yourself within a few days. You’ve promised?”
“I have not promised. And I think you ought to explain to me. Are you
sure you won’t? I’m a pretty good person at keeping a secret. If I knew,
I _might_ promise.”
Elsie shook her head. Kate saw the tears still glistening in her eyes.
She felt brutal to have made a fairy cry!
“Don’t, don’t cry,” she begged softly. “I won’t use the key to-morrow,
anyway. I promise you that. And I’ll tell you before I do use it. I
don’t see why I shouldn’t put it off for a week if you care so much. I’m
not a pig.”
“And you won’t even prowl around the orchard house during that week?”
Kate, instantly forgetting her momentary pity, grew hot. “I never prowl.
What a nasty word!”
“You prowled to-night.”
“I didn’t. We were playing a game with the house. I’m going in.”
With high-held head, flaming cheeks, and bright eyes Kate stepped into
the drawing-room. Elsie was at her side, cool, calm, no trace of recent
tears. In spite of Kate’s flash of real anger Elsie was well satisfied
with the outcome of their “walk in the garden.” For she felt that Kate
would be one to keep her word. Elsie might breathe freely, for a day
more at any rate, and not live in hourly terror of the discovery of her
secret, and the secret of the orchard house.
Aunt Katherine had been watching them through the glass of the long
door. She smiled, apparently well pleased, as they came in now. She
said, “I am glad that you are getting acquainted. You should have a very
nice month together, you two. Kate must be tired, and I advise you both
to go right to bed. Breakfast is at quarter to eight.”
“She was watching us while we talked at the door,” Elsie whispered as
they went up the stairs. “She thought we couldn’t leave off talking. She
imagines we’re bosom friends already.”
But Kate walked on up with a set face. She did not trouble to answer.