Among the first things I did in preparation for Elise's visit was
to set the twins to work on the lawn, and Ruthie to clearing up a
rubbishly-looking place back of the barn where there was a pile of old
boxes and barrel hoops.
I myself harnessed up Dixie, made a trip to the country, and brought
back three bushel-baskets full of rock ferns from the woods. Juliet
Adams helped me fill the iron urns the next day. I know very well that
red geraniums, hanging vines, and a little palm in the centre are
the correct plants for urns (there's a painting of one on the garden
scenery at our theatre here in Hilton) but as geraniums are a dollar
and a quarter a dozen, and the urns are perfectly enormous, I knew that
such luxuries could not be afforded. I also knew that it was out of the
question to work the fountain. I cleared out its collection of leaves,
soused it well with the hose, and was obliged to leave it in the middle
of the walk, out of commission, but at least clean. The tennis-court,
which hadn't been used for tennis for ten years, had now passed even
the potato-patch era and was a perfect mass of weeds. I paid the twins
five cents each for mowing it twice, and then set out the croquet set
with a string. I put a fresh coat of white paint on the wickets, and
though the ground was far too uneven for any practical use, the general
effect at a distance was not bad at all.
I spent two solid afternoons in the stable sweeping and cleaning as
if my life depended on it. We don't keep a man now. Dixie is the only
horse we own, and Alec does all the feeding and rubbing-down that Dixie
gets. Poor little Dixie, rattling around in one of the big box stalls,
can't give the place the proper air. It's a stunning stable--stalls for
eight horses and a big room filled with all sorts of carriages. They
are dreadfully out of style now (I used to play house in them when I
was ten and they had begun their dust gathering even then), but Father
says they were the best that could be bought in their day. I pinned the
white sheets that cover them down around their bodies as closely as I
could, so that Miss Parmenter couldn't see how out-of-date the dear old
arks were. I cleaned up all the harnesses and hung them up, black and
shining, on the wooden pegs. In an old sleigh upstairs I discovered
a girl's saddle, which I dusted and hung up in plain view by the
whip-rack; there's something so sporty about horseback riding! I was
bound to have Miss Parmenter know that at one time we were prosperous.
But most of my efforts of course went into the house. It was terribly
discouraging. We own loads of black walnut, and though I begged and
begged for a brass bed for the guest-room, Father was adamant. He had
allowed me to have the room repapered and _that_, he said, was all
that I must ask for. The new paper really was lovely. I picked it out
myself, pink roses on a light blue ground and a plate-rail half-way up.
I spent a lot of pains on the guest-room, carrying out the pink and
blue colour-scheme in every possible detail. I took the light blue
rose bowl off the mantel in the sitting-room and put it on the bureau,
for hatpins. I rehung my "Yard of Pink Roses" over the guest-room
mantel. My blue kimono I had freshly laundered and hung it up in the
closet. A pair of pink bedroom slippers were carefully placed beneath.
I found a book in the library bound in pink, entitled "Baby Thoughts,"
and put it on the marble-topped guest-room table alongside a magazine
and my work-basket on which I had sewed a huge blue bow and inside of
which I had placed my solid gold thimble. I also tied a smashing pink
and blue rosette on the waste-basket; and the half-dozen coat-hangers
which I was able to scare up out of Alec's and Father's closets
Ruthie wound with pink and blue ribbons. I didn't neglect the more
necessary details either. I paid thirty-five cents for a cake of pink
French soap; and the only embroidered towels we own I strung along in
a showy row on the back of the commode. In the tooth-brush holder I
placed a sealed Prophylactic tooth-brush, which I read in the _Perfect
Housekeeper_ should be found in every nicely appointed guest-room;
nor did I overlook the Bible, and candle and matches by the bed. The
_Perfect Housekeeper_ says that it is the little touches in your home,
such as a fresh bunch of flowers on the shelf in your guest-room, or
in cold weather a hot-water bag between the sheets, that count with
a guest. I was dreadfully sorry that it was too warm for hot-water
bottles.
I was in perfect despair about Nellie. Nellie is our second-girl and
has been with us for years. Nellie doesn't look a bit like a servant.
She has grey hair and wears glasses. People are always mistaking her
for an aunt. I wrote out a set of rules for Nellie, tacked them up over
the sink in the butler's pantry, and told her to study them during the
week before Tom and Elise were due to arrive. Here's a copy of them:
_Rule 1_
When a meal is ready don't stand at the foot of the stairs and holler
"Dinner!" Come to me and say in a low, well modulated voice, "Dinner
is served, Miss Lucy."
_Rule 2_
Be sure and call me _Miss_ Lucy, and Tom, _Mister_ Tom. Never plain
Tom or plain Lucy. And so on through the family.
_Rule 3_
When I ring the bell during a meal, don't just stick your head in
through the swinging-door but enter all-over and find out what is
wanted.
_Rule 4_
Don't offer a last biscuit or piece of cake and say, "There's more in
the kitchen."
_Rule 5_
If any member of the family asks for any other member of the family,
don't say, "They're in the barn, or down-cellar, or upstairs," but go
quietly and find them yourself.
_Rule 6_
Be sure and put ice-water every night into Mrs. Vars' bedroom when you
turn down the bed.
_Rule 7_
If you get the hiccups when waiting on the table, withdraw to the
kitchen immediately and take ten swallows of water.
Nellie is a good-natured old soul. I can manage her beautifully, but
it took a head to do anything with Delia. Delia was the cook. I was in
the butler's pantry the day before Tom and Elise arrived, putting away
the family napkin-rings (for of course I know napkin-rings are tabooed)
when it occurred to me that we had got to have clean napkins for every
meal as long as Elise stayed. If she was with us a week that would make
a hundred and sixty-eight napkins in all, counting three meals a day
and eight people at the table. We owned just four dozen napkins and
that meant--I figured it all out on a piece of paper--that the whole
four dozen would have to be washed every other day. I went out into
the kitchen and explained it to Delia just as nicely and sweetly as I
could. She went off on a regular tangent. It was enough, she said, all
the extra style I was planning on, without piling on a week's washing
for every other day. She said she'd never heard of such tommyrot, and
if a napkin was clean enough for Tom and Tom's family, she guessed it
was clean enough for Tom's wife, whoever she was. I was simply incensed!
"We won't discuss it," I said with much dignity. "Not another word,
please, Delia," and I left the kitchen.
I heard her slam a kettle into the iron sink, and mutter something
about "another place," so I thought it better policy not to press my
point. I hate being imposed upon--there isn't a teacher at the high
school who can talk Lucy Vars into a hole--but I wasn't going to cut
off my own nose. So I went straight to the telephone, called up a dry
goods store and ordered ten dozen medium-priced napkins to be sent up
special. All the rest of the afternoon I sat at the sewing-machine
hemming like mad, and Nellie folded the things so that the machine
stitches wouldn't show. I knew that napkins should be hemmed by hand.
Tom and Elise were due at eight o'clock on a Wednesday night. I had it
planned that Father and Alec would meet them at the station and I would
remain at the house to greet them as they came in. I wished awfully
that we had a coachman and some decent horses, but I begged Father to
hire a carriage and he promised that he would. The suspense while I
waited for them to drive up over the hill was as awful as when I've
been sent for by the principal at the high school--kind of thrilly
inside and as nervous as a cat. I walked from room to room like a caged
animal, trying to imagine how the old house would look to a person who
hadn't lived in it forever. I lit the open fire in the hall, arranged
the books on the sitting-room table for the hundredth time, and watched
the piano-lamp like a hawk. It smokes the ceilings if you leave it
alone.
The twins, Oliver and Malcolm, stationed themselves in the parlour to
keep watch of the road. About half-past eight Oliver hollered out,
"They're coming, Bobbie!" and I went out into the hall and opened the
door. I saw the big bulky old depot carriage draw up to the curbing out
beyond the iron fountain, and I whispered to the twins, "Go down and
help with their bags!" They pushed by me; and a minute after, everybody
was in a confused bunch in the vestibule--Oliver and Malcolm with the
suitcases, Father and Alec, Ruthie hanging on to my skirt, and finally
Tom, big and handsome and natural!
"Hello, Bobbie, old girl," he said. "Hello, little Ruthiemus!" And
suddenly behind him Elise appeared--tall, pale as a lily, quiet, and
very calm. "Well, here they all are, Elise," Tom went on lustily,
"Malcolm and Oliver, and Bobbie who is the mother of us, and Ruthiemus
the baby."
Elise came forward, shook hands with the boys, and when she came to
me she kissed me. I'd never been so near such a perfectly gorgeous
Irish-lace jabot in my life. After she had leaned down and kissed Ruth
she said in the quietest, lowest voice I ever heard, while we all
stared, "I know you all, already, for Chenery has told me all about
you."
Chenery! How perfectly absurd! No one ever calls Tom anything but just
plain Tom. We all have Chenery for a middle name--it was mother's
before she was married--but it is only to sign. After that remark about
Chenery the silence was simply deathly, but Alec, who always comes
to the rescue, exclaimed, "Don't you people intend to stop with us
to-night? Usher us in, Bobbie."
There was none of the Vars hail-fellow-well-met, slap-you-on-the-back
spirit about that evening. We all distributed ourselves in a circle
about the sitting-room, exactly like a Bible-class at church, and
talked in the stiffest, most formal way imaginable. I don't know why we
couldn't be natural; but Elise, sitting there so perfectly at ease,
smiling and talking so gracefully made us feel like country bumpkins
before a princess. I was furious at her for making us appear in such
a light. Why couldn't Tom have married somebody like ourselves, some
jolly good sport who wouldn't be afraid to hurt her clothes? I knew
Elise Hildegarde Parmenter's style. She wore some of those high-heeled
shoes, like undressed kid gloves, and her feet were regular pocket
editions. If we had acted as we usually do when Tom comes home, all
talking and laughing at once, we'd have shocked this delicate little
piece of china into a thousand bits.
I was dreadfully surprised at Tom when he said, as if Elise was not
there, "Come on, Bobbie, bring in the apples."
You see it is one of our customs, the first night that Tom comes home,
to sit up awfully late and eat apples, Father paring them with an old
kitchen knife. But of course I wasn't going to have apples to-night,
of all times, passed around in quarters on the end of a knife. So I
said to Tom as quietly as possible, for really I was catching Elise's
manner, "Not apples to-night, Tom. I ordered a little chocolate.
I'll speak to Nellie." I had gotten out our best hand-painted violet
chocolate cups, told Delia to make some cocoa and whip some cream, and
had opened a fresh package of champagne wafers. Everything was all
ready on a tray in the dining-room, so I went out and told Nellie to
bring it in. When she appeared holding the big tray out before her I
had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Nellie had never worn a
cap before and it didn't seem to go with her style. It was sticking
straight up on the top of her grey pug of hair like a bird on the
tip end of a flag pole. I saw Malcolm and Oliver begin to giggle. I
squelched them with a look and began stirring my chocolate hard.
"Hello, Nellie," said Tom, when the tray reached him, and though I'd
cautioned Nellie a hundred times to address Tom as _Mister_ Tom, she
got it mixed up in some stupid fashion, and replied, "How do you do,
Mister Vars," and Father who heard her come out with his name asked,
"Did you speak to me, Nellie?" Nellie replied, "No, I didn't. I was
speaking to Tom."
Late that first night, as I was turning out my light, and after I had
set my alarm-clock for quarter of six (for I thought I'd better get up
early and see how things were running) Malcolm and Oliver pushed open
my door and came in. Behind them was Alec on his way to bed.
"Hello, Bobbie," they said, grinning.
"Close the door," I whispered, and then I wrapped myself up in a down
comforter and crawled up on the bed. My brothers came over and all sat
down around me.
"Well," I said, "what do you think of her?"
"Did you see the diamond pendant?" Malcolm began. "It was a ripper!"
"Tom gave her that for a wedding-present," Oliver explained.
"He did!" I was amazed. "Plain Tom slinging around diamond pendants
like that!"
"He'll have to, to live up to being called Chenery. Did you get on to
that?"
"Did I? Isn't it too silly? I hate such airs! We stand for good plain
things and why couldn't Tom get something plain?"
"Oh, she's a blue-blood," said Oliver. "We're regular Indians beside
her."
"No, we're not, Oliver Vars," I flared back. "Don't you say that. I
shan't eat humble-pie for any one. We're just as good as she is. It's
brains that count."
"I bet a dollar she couldn't throw a ball straight; and she looks as if
she'd be afraid of the dark," said Malcolm.
"Oh, come ahead, you young knockers," interrupted Alec, who hadn't said
a word till now--Alec never says much and when he does it's always
nice--"Come along to bed, and let the General-manager here get a little
rest. Good-night, Bobbie," he said, coming up to me and giving me a
little good-natured shove, so that I toppled over on the bed. Oliver
and Malcolm each grabbed a pillow.
"Good-night, angel," they sang out as they lammed them at me hard. I
heard them dash out of the room and slam the door with a bang. Nice old
brothers! We Vars never waste much time in kissing, but we understand
all right.
The next morning I was down in the kitchen before Delia had her fire
made. About eight o'clock when we were all flaxing around as fast as we
could there suddenly broke out upon us a very queer noise. It sounded
like a cat trying to meow when it had a dreadful cold. It startled me
awfully and Delia gave a terrible jump.
"For the love of Mike, what's that?" said she.
I investigated, and after a little, I discovered the cause. Years ago
we had some sort of a bell system that connected with all the rooms,
with an indicator in the kitchen. We hadn't used it for a long time and
I supposed the whole system was as dilapidated as the stable. Whenever
we wanted Nellie for anything we found it easier to go to the back
stairs and holler. It occurred to me that the electrician who had put
in some new batteries the week before, for the front door bell, which
before Elise came was dreadfully unreliable, must have monkeyed with
the other bells too.
"Elise has rung for you," I said to Nellie, thankful with all my heart
that the old thing had worked. I knew that Tom was already downstairs,
so of course wasn't there to tell her that the old push-button didn't
mean a thing, and I was glad of that. Heaven knew there was enough else
to apologise for.
When Nellie came back I asked, "What did she want?"
"She wanted me to button up her waist and also to give me her laundry."
"Laundry!" gasped Delia. I never could understand why cooks hate
washing so.
"Yes," I said, turning to her, "laundry! I told Mrs. Vars," I went
on with much authority, "to put any soiled clothing she might have
in a pink and blue bag which I made to match the guest-room, for
this express purpose--for her to put her laundry in. That's only
hospitality." I crossed the room. "And now you may put breakfast on,
Delia," I finished, and went out.
After breakfast Nellie came to me and said, "Delia wishes to speak to
you in the kitchen."
My heart sank. I left Elise in the sitting-room talking in her lovely
soft way to Father and Alec. Delia was in the laundry standing by a
regular haystack of lacy lingerie. She was holding up the most superb
lace skirt I ever saw, rows upon rows of insertion and if you'll
believe me made every inch by hand.
"I just wanted to say," she began, "that I don't stay if I have to wash
these. They aren't dirty, in the first place, and what's more I'm not
hired to wash company's clothes, and what's more I won't. And what's
more still, I think you better hunt for another girl."
I couldn't have received more depressing news. I hated being ruled by a
cook, and I hated to let her go. I didn't have a soul to ask about it.
I didn't know what to do. I flared right up.
"The washing must be done," I said sternly. "_That's_ settled."
Delia dropped the skirt.
"All right. I'll do the washing to-day," she announced, "and I'll leave
to-morrow."
I just wanted to sit down and cry and cry and say, "O please be nice
about it and help us out. Please stay! O please, please, _please!_"
But I did no such thing. I bit my lip hard and replied, "Very well,"
and when I joined the others in the sitting-room, I was apparently as
undisturbed as a summer's breeze.
Things got no better as time went on. Elise didn't fit into our family
a bit. None of us was natural. Father didn't ring the gong when he
came in at noon and call up to me, "Slippers, chicken"; the twins
didn't fool under the tablecloth and call me "Snodgrass," "Angel" or
"Trolley" (because of my shape); Alec didn't tilt back on the hind legs
of his chair after dessert, with his hands shoved down in his pockets;
Ruthie didn't practice a note on the piano; even Tom was different.
At first he tried to whoop things up in the old Vars fashion, but he
gave it up after an attempt or two. We wouldn't respond. We balked like
stubborn horses, while all the time Elise kept right on being very
sweet and charming, but, oh my, cold and far away.
Her tact got on my nerves. I realised that she was trying to be nice,
but her appreciation of everything made me tired. Of course she had
seen grander houses than ours and yet she pretended to enthuse over
our old-fashioned mantels. "What fine woodwork in them," she'd say to
Father, "and what beautiful mahogany in those sliding-doors!" or, as
she gazed at our ornate black walnut bookcase, she would remark, "Black
walnut is becoming so popular!" Once she exclaimed, "How many books you
have!" and her eyes were resting on a row of black-bound town records
Father insists on keeping. When she and I attempted a miserable game
of croquet she remarked, "I think it is more fun having the ground a
little uneven." Heavens, I would have loved her if she had blurted out,
"Say, this is rotten! Let's not play." I despise insincerity.