MAIDS
And later Sidney wrote the following letter to her sisters.
"Dear Family:
"I have not written before because everything is so marvellously
exciting. My telegram told you that I had arrived safely at Cousin
Achsa's. The hours of my journey, all too short, sped on wings of
happiness. Thus they are still speeding. This is the loveliest and
the unusualest place and it is filled with quaint homes and the
most interesting people. Our relatives are among the most
aristocratic and Aunt Achsa, she wants me to call her that, is of
the proudest blood of Cape Cod. She is very nice to me and asks a
great many questions about you all and about our mother. She has a
nephew who lives here who is only a year older than I am. And a
family friend of Aunt Achsa's lives here summers and he takes
Lavender (which is our cousin's name) and me out on a big boat
which is most exciting.
"There is a girl about my own age who lives right next door and I
think we will be very good friends. She is not at all like Nancy
which I am glad as variety is the sauce of living. She is of pure
Cape Cod blood, too.
"If I do not write often and only very little letters it is because
I'm so busy, for I must make the most of every minute. I wish you
would write to me an awful lot though and please send all of Vick's
letters to me so that I will know what she's doing just as though I
was home, and Trude, _you_ write every day. And when you write to
Vick tell her that I am having the most wonderful time. Be sure to
do that. Loads and loads of love,
"Your sister, Sidney."
Kneeling against a half-packed trunk, Trude read Sidney's letter aloud
to Isolde. Victoria had gone the day before.
"What do you think?" Trude asked, slowly, as she finished.
"Think? What do you mean? I'm glad the child's there safe and happy."
"But, Issy, that letter doesn't ring just--true. I know how Sid usually
writes and talks. It's too brief and there's something, well--forced
about it."
Isolde put down a box of papers she had been sorting over. Her
conscience had troubled her not a little at letting Sidney go off alone
among strangers, even though they were relatives, and now Trude's
doubts sharpened the pricks.
"Forced? I didn't notice it. It was short, of course, but probably she
is having too good a time to write a longer letter. Anyway, Trude,
she's there safe, and we're almost packed and our tickets are
bought--it isn't going to do anyone a bit of good, now, to upset all
our plans and bring Sid home. That's the way I look at it. And she
would have been perfectly wretched here with the League Convention
filling the house. It's dreadful to contemplate."
"I can't bear to think of Sid going out on boats with a harum-scarum
boy--" Trude groaned.
"I don't feel half as concerned over the boats as I do wondering if
living there in luxury may not spoil her for her own poor home--make
her dissatisfied. She is probably meeting all the wealthy summer
people--there are a lot on the Cape, you know."
Trude was still studying the letter as though to find something between
the written lines.
"She wants me to write every day. That sounds a little homesicky. Well,
I will, bless the kid's heart--no matter how rushed I am. And I will
warn her in every letter to be careful around the boats. And not to get
her head turned by our relatives' high estate, either. Isn't it funny,
Issy, that we never knew they were wealthy--until now? Not that it
would have made a bit of difference with Mother or Dad," she finished,
defensively.
Isolde, her conscience quieted for the hundreth time, turned her
attention to her box. She lifted out a small packet of letters tied
together and handed them to Trude.
"These are yours."
One slipped from the packet and fell to the floor between the two
girls. Trude picked it up quickly, a deep crimson sweeping her face.
"Why, it's one of _those letters_--" exclaimed Isolde, accusingly.
Trude nodded, guiltily. "I know it. I--I couldn't bear to destroy them
all."
"Trude, dear, you don't care anything about that man--now?"
Trude forced a light laugh but her eyes avoided Isolde's searching
glance. "Why, no--at least not in _that_ way. If you like things in a
person very much you just have to keep on liking them no matter what
happens. And, Issy, it wasn't his fault that I--I imagined--he
cared--for me--" Her voice broke. Isolde gave a quick little cry.
"Trude, you _do_ care! And he isn't worth the tiniest heartache. He
_must_ have led you on to think things. And all the time he was playing
with you. It makes me _furious_! You're such an old peach."
The "old peach" made no answer. There flashed across her mind all that
Isolde had had to say before about this man; every fibre of her being
shrank from a repetition that would bring pain as well as humiliation.
She straightened.
"We are a couple of geese to dig all this up now. I was just
sentimental enough to hang on to one of the letters--I suppose it's
because they are the only letters I've ever had from a man--but I see
my mistake now. I will destroy it." She slipped the letter into her
pocket with the tiniest sigh. "So there." (But the letter was not
destroyed.)
"I wish you'd meet someone down at the Whites'--some perfectly grand
man. I should think Uncle Jasper would realize--"
Isolde's tone was so tragic that Trude laughed, now with genuine
amusement. "I was thinking of some of Uncle Jasper's friends," she
explained. "They are mostly nice, fat settled bankers and lawyers, but
if any bachelor doctors, tinkers or tailors slip in I promise to flirt
desperately--"
"Trude, you think I am joking and I am not. If you don't meet someone
at the Whites' where _will_ you meet him? What chance have you and I,
shut up here, to know the kind of men we'd--we'd like to know? Do you
think I enjoy the namby-pamby sort that flock here to sit in Dad's
chair? No, indeed. And Trude--I'm--twenty-six next October! _I'm--an
old maid!_"
Before Isolde's earnestness Trude unknowingly lowered her voice to a
soft note. "Do you feel like that, too, Issy? I've felt that way often.
I'm twenty-four. But I'm not afraid of being an old maid--I've always
sort of known I'd be one--but I catch myself just longing to do
_something_ with my life, different--as little Sid put it. Then I
chastise myself severely for my repinings. Anyway, it'll be fun
watching Vick's and Sid's experiences, won't it? Bless them, they seem
to have escaped our bounds, don't they?"
"I am afraid my vicarious enjoyment of their adventures may be tempered
with a little jealousy. I am not as noble as you are, Trude. It is hard
to think that you and I have to go on sitting still and watching our
lives go by--and our one and only life, remember!"
Trude shook herself a little--perhaps she was "chastising" her inner
spirit. "Come, we mustn't get mopey on the eve of a holiday. They're
too rare to spoil. And two trunks still to pack. Do you think the
Leaguers will mind if we shroud that painting in the living-room. It's
the best thing we own and I hate to have it get too dusty."
Isolde lifted her shoulders rebelliously. "I don't know what has
happened to me but, do you know, Trude, I am beginning to think it's
the limit that we have to consider the League in even a little thing
like that. Thank goodness we _are_ going to have a holiday! But I
wonder if the summer will bring anything to any of us."
In answer Trude smiled down into the trunk. "Well--it's bringing
something to Sid. Rather she went out and got it. And it surely will to
Vick, new clothes if nothing more. And I hope it will to you, too,
Issy, dear, something grand and--contenting."
It was typical of Trude that she did not think of herself.