“THEM TRIMMINSES”
Annette appeared at morning service on Sunday in one of her most
striking frocks. The attention of good Mr. Middler’s parishioners was
sadly distraught by the newcomer. It was quite impossible for feminine
eyes to keep from turning in the direction of Miss Bowman’s seat during
the sermon.
She did not come unattended, but it was not her brother who walked up
the aisle with her just as the bell stopped tolling. The school teacher
was her companion and, noticeably red about the ears, he handed her
into the Beasely pew where he usually sat himself.
Nelson Haley’s presence as the city girl’s cavalier produced a distinct
shock throughout the congregation. The comment of uplifted eyebrow,
questioning smile, and--in some cases--the pronounced sniff, swept over
the pews like wind over a wheat-field, as the people settled themselves
in preparation for the sermon.
Elder Concannon, from the amen corner, glared in horrified amazement
at the city girl and her escort. He had not felt very friendly toward
Nelson Haley since the building of the new schoolhouse, and his comment
after service was particularly bitter in judgment upon the teacher.
“What more could ye expect of a young man that runs after all sorts of
folderols? Woe unto the foolish women! But how about the foolish men
that follow after them?”
That last was applicable to a goodly number of the younger male portion
of the congregation that day; for they literally followed in the wake
of the city girl and Haley as the couple strolled down High Street to
the Inn.
Boys of Marty Day’s age nudged each other and giggled to see the funny,
beruffled skirt flopping about Annette’s shoe-tops; the older boys
secretly envied the school teacher his opportunity of knowing this
strange girl well enough to walk home from church with her.
The girls and their mothers gathered in groups after service to
discuss Annette’s costume. A few pretended to scorn the innovation of
ultra-fashionable apparel in Polktown; but most of the younger ladies
were already planning new frocks and furbelows.
Old Mrs. Scattergood, who was always outspoken on every subject,
declared flatly that she considered Polktown needed to be awakened in
the matter of dress.
“I declare for’t!” she said, “there ain’t a town of its size in these
Green Mountains that holds a bigger crowd of frumps than we be. I own
up I’ve had Miz’ Link make my bonnet in one style, spring and fall,
since I came from Skunk’s Holler, endurin’ two year now. It’s a livin’
truth that the women of the Holler and of Popham Landin’ are far ahead
of us when it comes to style. We wait ev’ry spring for Miz’ Marvin
Petrie to come from Boston with her idees of style--an’ then we copy
her like the lot of copy-cats we be! I’m a-goin’ to have me a gown
that’s up-to-date for oncet, if it’s the last act of my life!”
From that time on the influence of a silly girl on a more or less idle
community spread with a rapidity that was really remarkable. Of course,
it wasn’t Aunt ’Mira, or Mrs. Scattergood, or Mabel Woods, Elvira Snow
and Icivilly Sprague only, who felt the infection.
It was true that Mrs. Scattergood appeared at the next meeting of the
Ladies’ Aid Society in a gown with a modest slit on the side showing a
silk petticoat, and despite all Janice could do her aunt had the salmon
poplin made up and wore it with the purple plume on her hat.
“I vum!” gasped Uncle Jason, when his wife dawned on his vision as he
came up from the barns, “ye look jest like a fodder stack on fire in a
fog. I never see the beat of you, Almiry. When them Vermillion Queen
troupers come here and tried to show at the Opry House, there warn’t
one o’ them dressed as gay as you be. If you old wimmen air a-goin’ to
set sech an example to the gals in Polktown, we’ll come to a pretty
pass. Huh!”
Perhaps Janice herself was the person least affected by the coming of
Annette Bowman with her airs, graces, and costumes. And yet she was
made to feel the presence of the city girl in Polktown to a degree.
Janice saw nothing of Nelson Haley, save to bow to him, or speak to
him at church, or in a store, or on the street. He always seemed in
haste to get away when he spied Janice; but she heard of his being in
attendance on Annette almost every day.
The school committee had held a meeting and voted to increase Nelson’s
salary if he would remain in charge of the Polktown school for another
year. Nelson had agreed to remain. But all this information came to
Janice at second hand. A few weeks before, the young man would have
discussed the matter with her, if with nobody else. But now he did not
come near her.
Was it because of Annette, or of Frank? Janice could not tell.
Janice would not have had anybody know how deeply she felt his neglect,
for anything in the world. It did seem as though Daddy’s present of
the Kremlin car had brought her more trouble than happiness.
In those days Janice’s father was still in trouble, to judge by his
letters. He was doing his best to save the mining property from
confiscation by the new government. There had even been a clash of
authority, and two of the guards at the mine had been wounded. Daddy
had written that he would fight to the end before he would give up what
rightfully belonged to him and to those in the company with him.
“He’d better give up an’ come back to the U. S. A.,” was Uncle Jason’s
comment. “It’s better to be a poor man than a dead one!”
“Now don’t you go for to scare Janice,” interposed Aunt ’Mira. “Maybe
it ain’t so bad after all. But I allow them Mexicaners is dreadful
bloodthirsty,” she added, dolefully.
“Daddy won’t give up. He’ll fight it out to the end--I know him!” said
Janice. And then she went her way with a heart that was very sore
indeed.
The automobile was her solace. When things went wrong she could escape
the contemplation of her girlish troubles by taking a spin in the car.
Clinging to the wheel and with her well-shod feet resting lightly on
the pedals, the engine purring like a huge tabby cat, and everything
running smoothly, it was a delight to roll over the hilly roads about
Polktown and forget everything else.
She had wonderfully good fortune in her management of the car. She had
learned from Frank Bowman how to thoroughly clean the parts. Marty
and she frequently spent the long summer evenings pottering over the
automobile. And because of the care she gave it at home, she seldom had
trouble out on the road.
Janice did not often ride merely for pleasure when she did not take out
her friends. She often went up through Elder Concannon’s woodland where
the Trimmins lived, and always she hoped to find some means of getting
better acquainted with “them Trimminses,” as Mrs. Scattergood called
the squatters.
One afternoon she carried a bag of popcorn and peanuts with her and
stopped directly before the cabin. Since the time when the poor old
hound had been killed most of the children had been conspicuous by
their absence when Janice drove by. Especially did the black-haired
girl and the red-haired boy remain under cover at such times.
Nor was this day any exception. They could hear the motor-car coming
for a long distance, of course, and the muddy plot in front of the
cabin was quite empty of children when Janice stopped the car. But she
was not shaken from her good intention. She disembarked and went boldly
up to the open door of the cabin. There was a scurrying and whispering
inside, and she knew some of the children must have taken refuge there.
But all she saw was the slatternly mother in the doorway. Hers was a
bulky figure. Not as bulky as Aunt ’Mira’s; but her dirty calico dress
was worn with more baggy effect that it would seem really possible.
Aunt ’Mira, when first Janice had come to Polktown, was a queen of
neatness beside this poor creature.
“How-do!” she drawled, favoring Janice with a sickly smile. “You wanter
see someone?”
“I have brought something for the children. I didn’t know but they
might enjoy a little treat,” said Janice, smiling in return.
“Hey?”
Growing wonder was displayed on Mrs. Trimmins’ flabby features and they
lost their innocent, weak smile. “Ye don’t want nothin’?” she babbled.
“Why, no, Mrs. Trimmins!” cried the girl, cheerfully. “I just wanted to
give the little folks a good time.”
Gradually an expression that Janice could not fathom was hardening Mrs.
Trimmins’ face. A light flickered in her dull eyes. She slowly shook
her head.
“Y’ don’t need ter bring we-uns anythin’ ter eat. We git our own
vittles,” she drawled, yet with a note of finality that surprised
Janice. “Mebbe ye mean well--ye’re only a gal. But jest ’cause we live
po’ don’t make us objicts of charity, I wantcher should know. We-all
are as good as you-all Yanks!”
“Oh, Mrs. Trimmins!” gasped Janice. “I had no intention of offering
you charity, or of insulting you in any way. Do, do believe me! I just
thought it would be nice to treat the children. I love children and I’d
like to make friends with yours--if they will let me,” she added.
The woman looked at her as though she scarcely understood. “Wan’t it
you-all that killed our old Towser?” she drawled.
“My machine killed him, and I was very sorry. But I guess you know how
he came to get under the wheels of my car,” Janice said, with some
sternness.
“Wal--I s’pose I do. That Jinny an’ Tom is alius up t’ capers.”
“But I’d like to have them look on me in a friendly way,” Janice urged,
thrusting out the bag of goodies again. “Do, Mrs. Trimmins, give this
to the children and tell them I left it with my best wishes.”
In spite of herself the woman took the bag, and Janice ran quickly back
to the car. When she went out of sight past the woods Mrs. Trimmins’
bulky figure still filled the doorway of the cabin, but she had not
dropped the paper bag.
At least--so thought Janice--she had made a small beginning in her task
of getting acquainted with “them Trimminses.” She had learned that the
girl she particularly wished to get at was named “Jinny”--probably
short for Virginia. Janice was sure the black-haired girl was bright,
if she was mischievous.
Janice had never met just such people as these squatters before.
Indeed, they were quite as foreign to the Vermont soil as European
emigrants would have been. By Mrs. Trimmins’ speech it was easy to tell
that she came from the South; and had all the dislike for the “Yanks”
that a certain class of Southerners are still supposed to retain.
“But they must be reached with kindness. Perhaps nobody, since they
came here, has shown them friendliness. A lot of these old farmers
haven’t forgotten the Civil War yet; they’d have nothing but contempt,
anyway, for shiftless people like these Trimminses.
“How amazed she seemed just because I wanted to do her children a
kindness. It is dreadful to think that all the neighbors round about
have been so careless and hard toward them. I must find out more about
the Trimminses--and how they came to be away up here.”
She found out something more about the Trimmins children, at least,
that very day. When she drove the car back along the wood road, she
drove slowly by the cabin, as usual. Not a child appeared, nor was the
woman herself in sight.
Just beyond was a piece of road bordered by a thick hedge of brush on
either side. Janice was still driving slowly. Suddenly, out of the mask
of bushes, rose a series of yells that would have done credit to a band
of wild Comanches.
Involuntarily Janice shut off power. She should have speeded up
instead, for through the brush on either side of the road charged the
whole crowd of young Trimmins--from the sixteen or seventeen-year-old
boys down to the toddlers. But “Jinny” was without doubt their leader.
“Give it to her!” shrieked the black-haired girl. “Give it to the
nasty, stuck-up Yank! We’ll show her we don’t want her old charity
presents! Give it to her!”
The shrieks were accompanied by a shower of popcorn and peanuts. Janice
was bombarded as though with confetti, a lot of it falling in the
tonneau as she accelerated the speed and shot away from the yelling,
dancing crew.
She was disappointed, and, at first, a little angry. Then she had to
laugh at the remembrance of her own chagrin.
And to think of that dancing, shrieking, black-haired Jinny leading
such a charge and bombardment. What control she must have over her
brothers and sisters, to make them give up the peanuts and popcorn. It
must have been a wrench for the babies to throw away the goodies.
Then Janice began to look more closely at the missiles with which she
had been showered. There wasn’t much of the pink and white popcorn;
and the nuts seemed all to have been shelled out before the husks were
thrown at her! She was sure this was not according to Jinny’s plan; the
little virago had been too much in earnest. But her small brothers--and
perhaps the big ones--had fooled her. They had shelled the “goobers”
before flinging the waste at Janice and her car.