In the early morning which Faith and her mother enjoyed next day
together, Mrs. Derrick was in a contemplative and abstracted state of
mind; assenting indeed to all Faith's words of pleasure and praise, but
evidently thinking of something else. At last the matter came out.
"Faith, how much money have we?--I mean, to last how long, suppose you
didn't do anything else but the butter?"
"Why, mother?"
"Why child, I've been thinking--do you know how much you've got to do
for yourself?--it won't do to put that off for Miss Bezac."
Faith's lips softly touched Mrs. Derrick's.
"Hush, mother, please!--Don't you think Dromy could find some
water-cress at the foot of the Savin hill?"
"Yes--like enough," said Mrs. Derrick,--"Reuben could if he was here.
And child, you may say 'hush,' but things won't hush, after all." With
which sentiment Mrs. Derrick gave attention to the tea-kettle, just
then a practical illustration of her remark.
About as bright and fresh and sweet as the morning Miss Linden looked
when she came down, but warmer and gentler than March in his best mood.
Her interest in everything about the house and its two tenants was
unbounded, and without being really like her brother, there was enough
family likeness in manner and voice to give a pleasant reminder now and
then. While they were at breakfast the man came from Pequot according
to order, but she went out alone to attend to him, coming back to the
table with a sort of gleeful face that spoke of pleasure or mischief in
prospect.
"Faith," she said, "we cannot touch those mantillas this morning."
"Can't we?" said Faith. "Which part of Pattaquasset shall we go to see?"
"Suppose we go up to my room and discuss matters."--
Faith was ready. Ready as a child, or as the "bird" she used to be
called, for any innocent play or work.
"My dear little sister," said Miss Linden as they ran up stairs, the
glee working out at the dainty finger ends that were on Faith's belt,
"don't you know that I promised you a 'message'? and don't you want to
have it?--O how lovely this room is! That trunk is not lovely, standing
just there. Dear Faith, you need not think all my baggage is coming
after it!"
"I wish it could,"--said Faith, looking after her "message."
"I want to shew you the key of this--it has something peculiar about
it," said Miss Linden searching in her bag. "Endecott said, Faith, that
as you and he had been together so much in a French atmosphere, you
must let him do one thing in the French style. To which message, as
well as to the trunk, you will find this the key."
Now attached to the key was a little card, on which was written simply
the word, "Trousseau."
Faith understood the word well enough, and it seemed to turn her into a
pretty petrifaction--with internal life at work indeed, as the rising
and falling colours witnessed. She stood with bended head looking at
the mysterious key; then making a swift transit to the window she
opened it and threw back the blinds and stood looking out, the key in
one hand giving little impatient or abstracted taps against the fingers
of the other. It was a pretty landscape certainly, but Faith had looked
at it often before.
Miss Linden on her part followed Faith to the window with her eyes and
a smile, then sat looking at the great leathern trunk in its travelling
cover, which it wore still. Once she made a motion to take this
off--then laid her hands back in their former position and waited for
Faith to come.
"Pet," said Faith presently,--"have you looked out of the window this
morning?" Which question brought two hands round her shoulders in no
time.
"Yes my dear, I have. What new beauties have you discovered?"
"It looks pretty in the spring light.--But I wasn't thinking of it,
either," said Faith blushing. And without raising her eyes, looking
distressed, she softly insinuated the key with its talismanic card back
into Miss Linden's hand.
"Well? what, dear Faith?"
"I don't know,"--said Faith softly. "You know."
"I know,"--said Miss Linden, "that Endecott locked the trunk and tied
the label to the key, and it is a great mistake to suppose that I will
unlock the one or take charge of the other. In the second place, I need
not even look on unless you wish. It can go to another room, or I will
leave you in undisturbed possession of this. So speak," she said,
kissing her.
Faith did not immediately. She wound her arms round her new sister and
hid her face in Miss Linden's neck, and stood so clasping her silently
for a few minutes. But when she raised her head she went straight to
the "trousseau" trunk; pulled off, business fashion, the travelling
cover; set the key in the lock, and lifted the lid.
"I should tell you, dear," said Miss Linden while this was doing--she
had seated herself a little way off from Faith and the trunk, "I should
tell you, that if it had been possible to get a pattern dress and so
forth, you would have found nothing here to do _but_ look. As it is,
there is some work for your fingers, and I hope for mine." The lid was
now open, and between the two next protecting covers lay a letter. A
recognizing flash of eye greeted that; Faith put it out of sight and
lifted the second cover. From where she sat Miss Linden could see her
hand tremble.
There were two or three characteristics that applied to the whole
arrangement, choice, and filling of the "trousseau." The absence of
things useless was not more notable than the abundance of things
useful; and let not useful be understood to mean needful,--for of the
little extras which are so specially pleasant to those who never buy
them for themselves, there was also a full supply. The daintiness of
everything was great, but nothing was out of Faith's line: the stuffs
might be finer than she had always worn, but the colours were what she
had always liked, and in any one of those many dresses she might feel
at home in five minutes--they suited her so well. She could see, well
enough, that Mr. Linden not only remembered "her style" but loved
it,--in the very top rack, that was first laid open, she had proof of
this--for besides the finest of lawn and cambric, there were dainty
bands of embroidery and pieces of lace with which Faith could ruffle
herself to her heart's content.
At this point Faith drew a rather quick breath. She was on her knees
before the trunk, and shielding her face a little from Miss Linden, she
sat looking in--steadfastly at bits of French needlework and lappings
of the daintier texture, lifting now and then, also daintily--the end
or fold of something to see what lay underneath. There was so much food
for meditation, as well as for industry, in this department, that Faith
seemed not likely to get through it. How clearly she saw any one thing
might be doubted. She made no progress.
"You may see Endecott in everything, Faith," said Miss Linden. "In the
matter of quantity I could sometimes give him help, but every colour
and style had to be matched with the particular pattern in his mind. I
wish you could have seen it!--it was one of the prettiest things I ever
saw. Those three days in Paris!--I told you they were pretty days."
Faith gave her a swift look, very flushed and very grave. A pretty
picture of wonder and humility she was; and something more was borne
witness to by those soft eyes, but Miss Linden had only a second's look
of them.
The racks seemed to hold the light varieties, each done up by itself.
There was the little French parasol in its box; the fan box, with most
pretty contents. There was the glove box, beautifully filled, and
holding among the rest the prettiest of riding gauntlets--all of just
the right size, by some means. At the other end to keep this in
countenance, was a little French riding hat in its own pasteboard
container. The riding whip Mr. Linden had given her long before. There
were stockings in pretty variety; and handkerchiefs--not laced and
embroidered, but of fine material and dainty borders. The various minor
things were too many to mention.
Faith was in an overwhelmed state, though she hardly shewed that. Her
fingers made acquaintance almost fearfully with the various items that
lay in sight; finally she laid both hands upon the edge of the rack.
"It is exactly like him!--" she said in profound gravity. His sister
laughed--a gay, pleased little laugh.
"_He_ said they were all like you, Faith. His fear of touching your
individuality was comical. Do you know he says he shall expect you
always to have a brown merino?--so you will find one there."
But first, at the bottom of the rack, under all the others, was the
flat mantilla box; and its contents of muslin and silk, in their
elegant simpleness, left Miss Bezac's "nowhere". How Faith would have
liked to shut up the trunk then and run away--nobody knew! For she only
quietly lifted out the rack and took the view of what came next. It was
not the brown merino!--it was something made up,--the gayest,
prettiest, jauntiest dressing gown; with bunches of tiny carnations all
over it, as bright as Faith's own. Though that be saying much, for at
this hers reached their acme.
"How beautiful--" she said gravely, while her poor fluttering thoughts
were saying everything else. "How perfectly beautiful!--"
And as delicately as if it had been made of silver tissue, Faith laid
it off on the rack. Laid it off to find the next stagc in the shape of
morning wrappers, also made up. "They fit so loosely at best--" Miss
Linden explained,--"and Endecott knew your height."
Now neither in these nor in what lay beneath was there such profusion
as would furnish a new dress every day (for an indefinite number) at a
watering place; but there was just such as befitted a young lady, who
being married in summer-days yet looked forward to winter, and was to
be the delight of somebody's eyes summer and winter.
They were downcast and wonderfully soft eyes that looked at those
morning dresses now,--as Miss Linden could see when by chance they were
lifted. But that was not generally; with lowered eyelids and unsteady
lips Faith went on taking out one after the other. Below, the packages
were more solid and compact, some close at both ends, others shewing
shawl fringes. Dress after dress lay in close order--muslin and silk
and stuff; under them pieces of linen and flannel such as Pattaquasset
could hardly have furnished. One particular parcel, long and soft, was
tied with white ribband. Faith looked at it doubtfully.
"Must I open this, Pet?"
"It is tied up for that express purpose."
A little suspicious of each new thing, Faith pulled the easy knot of
white ribband and uncovered what lay within. It was a white embroidered
muslin, fine and beautiful in its clear texture, as was the wrought
tracery upon it. No colour relieved this white field,--a pair of snowy
gloves lay upon it, with the lace and sash for its finish of adornment;
with them a folded handkerchief, plain like the rest but particularly
fine. Separately wrapped up in soft paper that but half hid them, were
the little rosetted slippers.
"He said you must have none but real flowers," Miss Linden said--too
softly to call for a look in answer.
That dress was what not even Miss Bezac had been able to make Faith
look at in imagination--and there it lay before her! Perhaps, to tell
the truth, she had been hardly willing to realize to herself the future
necessity of such a thing. The blood came deeper to her cheeks, then
left them in another moment pale. Faith laid her face in her hands on
the edge of the trunk,--for once overcome. Again Miss Linden's quick
impulse was to come to Faith's side, and again she checked herself;
thinking perhaps that she was too new a friend to have her words
pleasant just then--feeling that there was but one person who _could_
say what ought to be said. So she sat quite still, nor even turned her
eyes towards Faith except now and then in a quick glance of sympathy
and interest; both which were shewn in her folded hands and averted
head. But very soon Faith was softly doing the parcel up again in its
white ribbands; and then she began to lay the things back in the trunk,
with quick hands but dainty. Half way through, Faith suddenly stopped.
"Shall I put these back here for the present?"--she said, looking
towards Miss Linden.
"For the present, dear?--I am not sure that I understand."
"Just now--till I can arrange some other place to put them."
"I have nothing to do with 'this place'," said Miss Linden
smiling,--"it came with my trunks, that is all."
Faith coloured again and went on with what she was doing. Miss Linden
watched her.
"Faith," she said, "don't finish that work just now,--sit still there
and read Endy's letter--won't you, darling? I am going down to pay your
mother a visit." And with a kiss and embrace she was gone.
Faith's hands stopped their work as the door closed, and she sat still,
looking at the voiceless messages of love, care, thought, and
anticipation, which surrounded her. Looking dreamily, and a little
oppressed; and when she moved her hand it was not first to get her
letter, but to draw out the locket from her bosom and see Mr. Linden's
face; as if she wanted his look to authenticate all these messages, or
to meet her own heart's answer. At any rate it was not till after a
good study of the little picture that Faith put it away and took out
her letter.
It was not _just_ like having him there to talk or caress away her
discomfort--and yet it was like it, though the pages were well on their
way before the trousseau was even alluded to. But the words, the
atmosphere of the letter made Faith breathe easier,--it was like the
wand of the Fairy Order, smoothing out the little tangled skeins of
silk. And when that subject came up, it was touched so lightly, so
delicately, yet with such evident pleasure,--there was such mingling of
play and earnest in the charge given her to be ready before he came,
and such a strong wish that he could have saved her all the work,--the
terror of the trousseau could not stand before it. And at the hope that
her taste would be suited, Faith's heart made a spring the other way.
She drank in every word of the letter; and then feeling healed, though
tender-spirited yet, she finished putting away her riches and went down
stairs.
Mrs. Derrick having gone off to attend to dinner preparations, Miss
Linden sat alone, singing to herself softly in company with the March
wind and the fire, and (of all things!) at work upon one of Miss
Bezac's mantillas. Faith's two hands were laid upon the one which held
the needle. "Not to-day--" said the silver voice which Miss Linden must
learn to know.
"Yes--unless you'll give me somewhat else to do!" she said leaning her
sunshiny head back against Faith. "I was out of patience with myself
because I could not do what no one but Endecott could--so in my woman's
pride I took up something which he couldn't. What are _you_ going to
do, darling?"
Faith thought she knew why she was called "Pet"--but she only kissed
her. "I shall have to ask you a great deal about those things up
stairs," she said;--"but to-day I want to see you What would you like?"
The thing Miss Linden liked best, was to see some of her brother's old
haunts; and a notable drive the two had that afternoon. Wherein, under
the light of a Spring day, Miss Linden saw Pattaquasset, the Quapaw
people, (part of them) and not least of all, Faith herself, who shewed
herself very much as the Spring day. And of Mr. Linden his sister
talked the while, to her heart's content, and Faith's--in the full joy
of that affection which can never say enough, speaking to that which
can never hear too much.
It would be long to tell how the trousseau was made up. Mrs. Iredell
came from Pequot and established herself in a farmhouse at
Pattaquasset; and the two future sisters put their heads and their
hands--a good deal of their hearts too--into the work that was done in
Faith's blue-wainscotted white room. There they sat and sewed, day
after day; while the days grew warm, and the apple blossoms burst, and
the robins whistled. They whistled of Mr. Linden's coming home, to
Faith, and sent her needle with a quicker impulse. She never spoke of
it.
But Miss Linden knew whither the look went, that seemed to go no
further than the apple trees; and what was the pressure that made a
quick breath now and then and a hurried finger. Perhaps her own pulses
began to move with accelerated beat. And when towards the end of May
Mrs. Iredell found business occasion for being in Quilipeak a
fortnight, Pet so urged upon Mrs. Derrick the advantages of the scheme,
that she carried off Faith with her. It would break the waiting and
watching, and act as a diversion, she said,--and Faith did not
contradict her.