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MOLLY BROWN'S ORCHARD HOME
by
NELL SPEED
Author of
"The Tucker Twins Series," "The Carter Girls Series," etc.
A. L. Burt Company
Publishers New York
Printed in U. S. A.
Copyright, 1915,
by
Hurst & Company
Printed in U. S. A.
[Illustration: Jo proved to be a singularly tactful hostess.]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. Letters
II. Bon Voyage
III. The Deep Sea
IV. What Molly Overheard
V. Paris
VI. La Marquise
VII. The Faubourg
VIII. The Opera
IX. The Postscript
X. Bohemia
XI. A Studio Tea in the Latin Quarter
XII. The Green-eyed Monster
XIII. A Julia Kean Scrape
XIV. Coals of Fire
XV. Mr. Kinsella's Indian Summer
XVI. Apple Blossom Time in Normandy
XVII. The Ghost in the Chapel
XVIII. The Prescription
XIX. Fontainebleau and What Came of It
XX. More Letters
XXI. Molly Brown's Orchard Home
Molly Brown's Orchard Home.
CHAPTER I.
LETTERS.
From Miss Molly Brown of Kentucky to Miss Nance Oldham of Vermont.
Chatsworth, Kentucky.
My dearest Nance:
Our passage to Antwerp is really engaged and in two weeks Mother
and I will be on the water. I can hardly believe it is I, Molly
Brown, about to have this "great adventure." That is what Mother
and I call this undertaking: "Our great adventure." Mother says it
sounds Henry Jamesy and I take her word for it (so far I have not
read that novelist), but he must be very interesting, as Mother and
Professor Green used to discuss him for hours at a time.
Our going is not quite so happy as we meant it to be. Kent can't
come with us as we had planned, but will have to stay in Louisville
for some months, and may not be able to leave at all this winter.
There is some complication of our affairs, that makes it best for
him to be on hand until the matter is settled. I remember how
interested you were in the fact that oil was found on my mother's
land and that she expected to realize an independent income from
the sale of the land, also pay off the mortgage on Chatsworth, our
beloved home. Don't be too uneasy, the oil is there all right
enough and we shall finally get the money, but the arrangement was:
so much down and the rest when the wells should begin operation.
The first payment Mother used immediately to pay the mortgage, but
the second payment has not been made yet, as Mother's sister, Aunt
Clay, living on the adjoining place, has got out an injunction
against the Oil Trust as a public nuisance, and all work in the oil
land has had to be stopped for the time being. The lawyer for the
Trust told my brother, Paul, that Aunt Clay has not a leg to stand
on, but of course the law has to take its leisurely course, and in
the meantime the money for Mother is not forthcoming until the
wells are in operation. Aunt Clay is in her element, making
everyone as uncomfortable as possible and engaged in a foolish
lawsuit. She is always going to law about something and always
losing. We are devoutly thankful that her suit is with the Trust
and not our Mother, as we know that Mother is so constituted she
could not stand up against a member of her family in a lawsuit. I
truly believe she would let Aunt Clay take the oil lands and all
the rest of Chatsworth, rather than have a row over it.
This property, where the oil was found, was given to Mother by Aunt
Clay when she settled up Grandfather Carmichael's estate. Of course
she considered the property of no value or she would never have let
it out of her clutches, and as executrix and administratrix of the
estate she had absolute power. Now that she sees it is worth more
than all the rest put together, she is in such a rage with Mother
that it is really absurd. She does not want us to go to Paris and
is furious at the idea of Kent's "stopping work," as she calls it.
She has got out this injunction just to keep us from going, I
believe, as she is intelligent enough to know there is no use in
trying to get ahead of a mighty Trust, and they will have to win in
the end; but she had an idea that we would not go unless we had
plenty of money to have a good time on. She little knows our
Mother, in spite of being her sister.
Mother says she believes it will be more fun and easier to
economize in Paris than in Kentucky; and she is as gay as a lark
over the prospect. Kent may be able to come later and take that
much talked of and longed for course in Architecture at the Beaux
Arts. In the meantime, he is very busy and, as he says, "making
good with his boss." Mother refuses to discuss Aunt Clay's behavior
and actually goes to see her as though nothing had happened; but I
know she has had many a sleepless night, brooding over her sister's
unsisterly act.
I am longing to see you, dearest Nance, and wish you could manage
to meet me in New York before we sail, but if you can't, be sure to
have a letter on the steamer for me. We are going on a slow boat to
Antwerp. We think the long sea trip will be good for Mother, who is
tired out with all this worry and the work of getting Chatsworth in
condition to leave; and besides, the slow boats are much cheaper.
_Laurens_ is the name of our boat, sailing from Hoboken. I will
write you from Paris, where Julia Kean is already installed and
hard at work on her beloved art.
I am afraid you will think I am horrid about Aunt Clay. Mother says
she is the only person she ever knew me to feel bitter about. So
she is, but then she is the only person who was ever mean to my
beloved Mother. Maybe when my hair turns gray I can be as much of a
lady as Mother is, but so far I am too red-headed to be a perfect
lady.
I am going to miss you, Nance, more than I can tell you. We have
been roommates for five years at college, and never once did we
have a shadow of a disagreement. Of course we occasionally got in a
kind of penumbra. Once I remember when I was touchy because you
called Professor Edwin Green an oldish person, but my pettishness
only lasted "like a cloud's flying shadow," and that ought not to
count.
I think you are splendid to make such a happy home for your father
and I know you are a wonderful housekeeper. Please give him my
kindest regards. Kent drove Mother and me into Louisville to hear
your mother speak at the Equal Suffrage Convention. She was simply
overpowering in her arguments, and converted Kent in five minutes.
I wish Aunt Clay, who is such an ardent Anti, had heard her. We
were so sorry Mrs. Oldham could not come out to Chatsworth to visit
us, but she did not have the time. I must stop. I have written two
stamps' worth already.
Ever your devoted friend and roommate in heart,
MOLLY BROWN.
* * * * *
To Miss Molly Brown, Chatsworth, Kentucky,
From Miss Julia Kean, Paris, France.
71 Boulevard St. Michel, Paris.
Molly dear:
The news that you and your mother are to sail in a few weeks threw
me into the seventh heaven of happiness,--I am already on the
seventh floor of a _pension_ with not much more of an elevator than
the tower of Babel had. Mamma and Papa brought me here and
installed me and then shot off to Turkey, Papa like a comet and
Mamma like the tail of one, to finish up the bridge that has kept
them so busy for the last year.
This _pension_ is kept by an American lady and is full of
Americans. It is rather fun to be here for a while, but I am
longing for the time to come when you will be with me and we can go
apartment hunting, that is, if your mother still thinks it will be
wiser for us to keep house and not try to board. Of course you will
come here first and we can take our time about getting settled for
the winter. Mrs. Pace, the landlady, (but you had better not call
her that to her face, as she is very much the _grande dame_, with
so much blue blood she finds it difficult to keep it to herself,)
wants you to stay all winter with her and has many arguments
against housekeeping, but I'll let her get them off herself to your
mother.
She is looking forward with great interest to meeting dear Mrs.
Brown, as it seems she knows intimately a cousin and old friend of
hers, a certain Sally Bolling of Kentucky, who is now the Marquise
d'Ochtè, a swell of the Faubourg St. Germain, with a chateau in
Normandy, family ghost, devoted peasantry and what not. I fancy
your mother has told you of her. It will be great fun to meet some
of the nobility, I think.
I am enrolled at the Julien Academy for the winter and am going to
put in some months of hard drawing before I jump into color. I work
only in the morning and spend the afternoons looking at pictures. I
am such a sober person pacing the long galleries of the Louvre
studying the wonderful paintings that no one would dream I am the
harum-scarum I really am. Papa gave me a very serious talking to
about how to conduct myself in Paris and I find, as usual, his
advice is excellent. His theory is that any grown woman can go
anywhere she wants to alone in Paris, provided she has some
business to attend to and attends to it.
Of course Mrs. Pace is merely a nominal chaperone for me until your
mother comes. She really seldom sees me, and when she does she is
so full of her own affairs that she hardly remembers I have any;
and then when she recalls that she is supposed to be my chaperone,
she feels called upon to tell me to do my hair differently, or she
does not like my best hat, or something else equally out of her
province. But I am not going to tell you any more about her, as you
can judge for yourself when you see her.
I am sorry your brother, Kent, cannot carry out his plan of
studying at the Beaux Arts, but maybe something will turn up and he
can come after all. I might have known Aunt Clay would obstruct,
all she had in her power, but thank goodness, her power is limited
and your mother will finally get the full amount of money for her
oil lands that Papa thought she should have. As for being in Paris
without much money, it really is a grand place to be poor in; and
one can have more fun here on a franc than in New York on a dollar.
Hug your darling mother for me, and tell Kent that I refuse to
answer his letters unless he gets some thin paper to write on. I am
tired of paying double extra postage on his bulky epistles.
Let me know in plenty of time when to expect you and your mother,
so I can engage the room of Mrs. Pace and meet you at the station.
I wish I could go to Antwerp to be there when you arrive or even
meet you halfway in Brussels, but I must put the temptation from me
and await you quietly in Paris. Good-by, my darling old Molly
Brown,
Your own devoted, ever loving
JUDY.
* * * * *
Steamer letter from Professor Edwin Green
of Wellington College to Miss Molly Brown of
Kentucky, sailing on _S. S. Laurens_.
Wellington College.
My dear Miss Molly:
Surely the "best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft aglee." I
feel more like a mouse caught in a trap than a man, just now. I
have been thinking of nothing else all summer but the delightful
time I should have with you and your mother in Paris. It is my
sabbatical year at Wellington, which means a fine long holiday, one
much needed and looked forward to by all hard-worked professors.
But just as I began to prepare for this delightful trip, I found
that my substitute had in the most unaccountable manner,
disappointed the President, Miss Walker, and Wellington was in a
fair way to open without a professor of English. Of course I had to
rush to the rescue and here I am in the old grind again.
I really do not mind teaching, enjoy it, in fact, but oh, my
holiday and those walks and jaunts I have been dreaming of in
Paris! Miss Walker is deeply grateful to me for helping her out of
this difficulty, and is doing all in her power to find a suitable
person to take my place; and of course, I, too, am reaching out in
every direction for help.
One thing, I do not intend to be like poor Jacob: serve seven years
more before I get my reward. I feel in a way that this is making up
to the College for the long, enforced holiday two years ago, when I
was so ill with typhoid fever.
My sister Grace had made her plans to spend the winter in New York
as she did not expect to be needed by me as housekeeper, so I am
"baching" again; and very lonesome it is after being so spoiled and
looked after by Grace.
The place seems sad and gloomy to me and the College is full of raw
and unattractive girls. I could hardly refrain from throwing a copy
of Rosetti at a forward miss the other day in class, when she
attempted to read "The Blessed Damozel" and I remembered a certain
little Freshman, who, five years ago, held me enthralled by her
rendering of that wonderful poem.
I was delighted to see your friend Miss Melissa Hathaway, who is a
relief indeed, after all of these chattering school girls. What a
wonderful personality she has! Her beauty is even richer and more
glowing than formerly. She reminds me of October in the mountains,
her own Kentucky mountains. Did you ever notice her eyes and the
quality they possess, which is a very rare one: that of seeming to
hold the reflection of trees and skies when she is indoors? It is
as though she were still seeing her forests at home.
I hope to help her a great deal in her English as she is afraid
this will have to be her last year at college. She feels that she
is needed at home to carry on the work of her friend and teacher
Miss Allfriend, whose long and arduous labors among the mountain
folk have impaired her health. Melissa thinks she should take up
the work and give her friend a rest. Noble girl! Dicky Blount
thinks so, too, and even more so. Did you know that he found or
manufactured some business in Catlettsburg, Kentucky, last summer
and surprised Miss Hathaway in her mountain fastness?
Please give my kindest regards to your mother and express to her my
deep regret that I am not to be her cicerone for some of the sights
of Paris. I am hoping that before the winter is over I may be
relieved and then, ho, for the fastest steamer afloat!
I am sending you some novels that may amuse you both on your
voyage; also, a box of crystallized ginger that is the very best
thing for seasickness that I know,--not that you are to be seasick,
but just in case.
I am trying to be cheerful and not let Miss Walker see how I am
kicking at fate, but I am as mad as a schoolboy who has to do
chores on Saturday! Very sincerely your friend,
EDWIN GREEN.