PREPARING FOR THE UNKNOWN
The letter sent from Pebbly Pit to Anne Stewart was forwarded by the
latter to the Maynard girls in Chicago. It was eagerly read aloud to
Mrs. Maynard by Barbara. Reaching the paragraph in the letter where
Mrs. Brewster asked Anne Stewart if she thought five dollars a week for
the board of each would be asking too much, Barbara dropped the sheet
of paper and gasped. An expression of incredulity appeared on the faces
of the mother and daughter, while Eleanor laughed outright.
"Just fancy! Five dollars a week!" she cried, throwing herself back on
the cushions of the divan.
"It must be a mistake! I trust it isn't meant for fifty a week! That is
about the price a good hotel would charge, but I had hoped this place
would be more reasonable. However, I am quite sure that figure five is
a mistake; no one can possibly give meals at that rate, no matter how
meager the fare may be!" declared Mrs. Maynard.
"The writing is plain enough and so is the figure '5,' mother,"
returned Barbara, referring again to the letter, then handing it to her
mother.
Mrs. Maynard adjusted her lorgnette and studied the figure given. "It
_does_ seem to be five, without a doubt!" admitted she.
"Oh, well! it really doesn't matter much what the price is just as long
as we have a good time this summer!" exclaimed Eleanor.
"But, Nolla, dear, it does matter! Your father is dreadfully upset
about our plans. He says my Newport season will cost far more than I
fancied it would, and you two girls going to a mountain resort like
this is an extra cost. He will have to be away all summer on important
business connected with the bank, and _that_ will cost extra money.
Altogether, he feels anything but indifferent," sighed Mrs. Maynard,
handing the letter back to Barbara.
"Well, we are not responsible for father's worries over the bank's
loans, but we _are_ concerned about the style and quality of meals to
be served at this Brewster place for five dollars a week," scorned
Barbara.
"I don't believe Anne Stewart would take us to a place where anything
was horrid and cheap! She knows what's good as well as we do!" defended
Eleanor, who was eager to go to this mountain ranch.
"Nolla is quite right, Bob. Anne is too particular to engage board in
an undesirable house or hotel!" added Mrs. Maynard.
"Besides, these Brewsters have a farm, you know, and I suppose they
raise lots of things that we have to pay such awful prices for--eggs,
chickens, butter and vegetables," added Eleanor.
Mrs. Maynard and Barbara looked with admiration at the young girl, for
that was an idea they had not thought of!
"Of course, that's why they can board us so reasonably! Then, too, I
suppose they do their own marketing for other items of food, such as
delicacies and supplies from the baker's! It does make a difference in
the accounts, you see, when one markets!" ventured Barbara, glancing at
her mother who never bothered about anything connected with the
housekeeping--leaving it all for the servants to do.
"Now, Bob, don't criticize your mother's methods. I can't drudge about
the house and take charge of the Social Clubs and Welfare Work as
well," complained Mrs. Maynard.
"Of course not, Bob! Besides, mother never did know a good cut of beef
from a poor one--they never taught domestic science in her day, you
see," hurriedly interpolated Eleanor, hoping to waive a scene such as
was a common occurrence between Barbara and her mother.
"Nolla, are you sarcastic about my education?" queried Mrs. Maynard,
with dignity.
"Mercy, no! I only tried to show Bob the difference in present day
methods and the past."
Mr. Maynard entered the room during Eleanor's reply, and smiled as he
heard his youngest daughter's frank words. It was a keen pleasure to
him to have one child fearless in thought and word. His son and elder
daughter had been spoiled by fawning tutors and companions, so they had
acquired the habit of white-washing facts to suit the needs. Eleanor
had been too delicate to attend any expensive and fashionable seminary
and, being taught by Anne Stewart while in Denver, had acquired many of
Anne's splendid ways.
"Frederick, what do you know about this mountain resort you asked Anne
Stewart to write about?" asked Mrs. Maynard.
"Well, now that we are all together and have the time to talk this
matter out, I will say my say," replied Mr. Maynard, seating himself
and drawing Eleanor down beside him upon the divan.
"You remember the first year we were married--I had to visit Bear Forks
to investigate a loan one of our clients at the bank asked us to make
on a tract of timber-land? You wouldn't go with me when you heard we
would have to camp out at night and ride horses over rough
mountain-trails. That is the season you visited your school-friend in
the East."
Mr. Maynard looked at his wife as he spoke and she nodded her head as
if the memory was not pleasant to recall. Her husband smiled an
enigmatical smile and continued his description.
"That is when I met Sam Brewster and his wife--they had been married
about as long as we had, and their happy ranch-life struck me as being
the most desirable existence I ever heard of."
Mrs. Maynard's lips curled in silent derision. She understood her
husband's yearning for a simple life in place of the frivolous and
empty excitement of the social career she had made for herself and
family.
"The country about the sections I visited is beautiful and healthy, and
as Nolla is ordered to a quiet, mountainous region for a time, I know
of no place so suitable. Besides, Anne Stewart has been there, too, and
she is wild over the place."
"But you are so old-fashioned in your ideas of living and pleasures,
father, and I want to know if this place will suit me. Are the
Brewsters members of the best set there, or will I be left absolutely
unaided to find a way to meet young people such as we would like to
know?" asked Barbara, anxiously.
"The Brewsters are by far the wealthiest family in that whole section
of country, and I have heard that the ranch and house are the finest in
the state. You met young John Brewster at the College Prom and you can
tell what you think of _him._"
"Ye-es, young Brewster is all right. Every one seemed to think he is
exceptionally nice," remarked Barbara.
Mrs. Maynard sighed with relief as she felt that a weight had been
lifted from her mind. She was anxious to have her two daughters climb
the social ladder to a higher plane than she had been able to reach, so
she knew they must be careful to associate with only those who had
already arrived there through forbears or ambition.
"Then we can wire Anne at once to complete arrangements, Frederick?"
ventured the lady, watching her husband's expression.
"I'll attend to that but when can you be ready to go?" asked Mr.
Maynard, glancing from one to the other of the trio.
"The same day you start, Daddy!" declared Eleanor, giving her father a
hug.
"Why, we simply can't, Nolla! Father leaves Chicago next week and we
have so much to prepare before going to a place where we are apt to
meet the very elite of society," cried Barbara.
"It will take fully two weeks to go through the girls' wardrobe,
Frederick, and see that everything is the last word," added Mrs.
Maynard, explanatory of her eldest daughter's dismay.
"Well, fix things up any way you say, but I'm off for the bank when you
begin talking dress," laughed Mr. Maynard.
"Now, Frederick, don't leave us like this! You know we will need money
to fit out the girls, and then you _must_ have some idea of when Anne
can expect them in Denver," hurriedly said Mrs. Maynard as her husband
crossed the room to leave.
"Daddy, I don't want another thing to wear; I've got so many things now
that it makes me tired to keep changing to suit the thousand and one
occasions," declared Eleanor, running after her father to kiss him
good-by.
"Nolla! I declare you will never grow up! Pray _walk_ like a lady when
you cross a room, won't you?" complained Barbara.
Eleanor smiled up at her father and he pinched her thin cheek as he
stooped to kiss her. Then, he waved his hand at the others and left the
room. Once outside the door and safely out of hearing he chuckled to
himself.
"Bob pictures a gay resort with troops of male admirers to play tennis
and dance away the hours with. She is thinking of dress to captivate
her 'moths,' but Nolla is thinking of the rural pleasures she has heard
me describe to her. If Bob knew the truth, she'd never go, and poor
little Nolla would lose the most wonderful opportunity of her young
life. I'd best not prejudice Bob or mother, but just pay the bills for
finery and whims and bide my time."
Soon after arriving at his bank-office he sent a message to Anne
Stewart at Denver, advising her to engage the rooms at the Brewster
home. As an afterthought, he added that he was anxious to have Eleanor
get away about the time he left home for his trip.
That afternoon he carried home the reply from Anne Stewart: "Have
engaged rooms and board from next week on. Wire when to expect you at
Denver. Anne."
Mrs. Maynard had heard from her friends that day that their plans were
changed and now they expected to leave Chicago sooner than she had
thought. This made her agree quickly to having her daughters start the
following week.
"But, mother, it can't be done. I need a riding habit, and tennis
clothes, and a few new afternoon gowns and evening dresses!"
remonstrated Barbara.
"You had a new habit last fall, Bob," Eleanor said.
"But it has a long coat and full bloomers. No one is wearing that
style, now. Everything is mannish coats and tight knickerbockers,"
argued Barbara.
"I will call up the tailor at once, girls, and have him give us the
preference over other work," Mrs. Maynard replied.
"Not for me! I don't like the tight habits. I shall take my bloomer
one," replied Eleanor, decidedly.
"Dear me, Nolla! You don't seem to care a fig about your appearance.
What will become of you when it is time for you to make your debut?"
sighed Mrs. Maynard, despondently.
"I'm not going to do anything so silly--I'm going into business when I
grow up!"
"Oh!"
"Nolla!"
Mother and sister could hardly gasp the words as they turned shocked
eyes in the direction of Mr. Maynard who had been writing out checks
for his family. He leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily at the
independence of his youngest child.
"Frederick! Now you see what comes of your petting Nolla whenever she
says or does anything dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs. Maynard.
"Is business so dreadful, then? Anne Stewart seems all right, and she
is earning her living," ventured Eleanor.
"I wash my hands of you, after this, Eleanor! If you do anything so
unheard of as you threaten, no one will keep up with you," declared
Barbara, sternly.
"They'll have to travel mighty fast to keep up with me, Bob, once I am
of age and start in business," laughed Eleanor.
"That will do, young lady! Remember you are only fourteen, and business
is a long time off for you!" Mrs. Maynard remarked.
Then Eleanor hung over the back of her father's chair twisting the
iron-gray hair into ridiculous points while her mother and Barbara
forgot her presence and planned many fetching gowns for the summer
campaign. Both were fair examples of modern society and its aims, and
they sacrificed many worth-while plans and pleasures upon the altar of
their fickle goddess. So it followed that the fashionable tailors, the
modiste and the lingerie-maker stitched and fitted and clipped, on
beautiful materials and trimmings, until everything was ready for
Barbara's summer victory. Eleanor steadfastly refused to be annoyed by
having new clothes made, so her trunk was packed with the wardrobe she
already had on hand.
"Of course, Nolla's appearance is not of as much consequence as yours,
Bob, as she still is so young and delicate. It is different with you,
however, and I'm so glad you are sensible to appreciate what a
difference clothes make," said Mrs. Maynard, resignedly, as the seven
trunks were packed and waiting for the expressman.
"I'm glad your fussing is over at last. If you had much more to sew and
fit we never _would_ get away!" grumbled Eleanor, watching the man
stagger as he carried the heavy trunks downstairs.
"Well, I'll soon be reaping the benefit of my patience and _you'll_ be
sorry you were so indifferent over your looks," retorted Barbara,
turning away from the window once her five trunks were safely on the
express wagon.
"Girls, you're sure everything that Celeste wrote down on the list is
packed? Your complexion cream in case of freckles or tan--and the
shampoo mixture for the hair-dresser to use? Tell him I never allow you
to use ready-made preparations on your hair."
"Yes, mother, all the toilet articles are in the small trunk, and the
few extra things were packed in Eleanor's trunk because she had a
corner with nothing to fill in it," explained Barbara.
"Thank goodness we can eat dinner and go to bed to-night without being
served styles and fits!" sighed Eleanor, not meaning to be irreverent
at her mother's gospel.
Anne Stewart had not mentioned the need of mountain-shoes and good
plain clothing in her letters to the Maynards, because Mr. Maynard
particularly requested her to delete such items. Anne was bright at
reading minds and smiled as she surmised the reason for the
restriction. She knew Eleanor would glory in old clothes and a good
time, but would _Barbara_ be so willing to visit Pebbly Pit farm if she
knew the truth about the environment?
Anne's single steamer trunk was filled with sensible clothes and the
toilet articles she knew she would need for the summer. Then she wired
the Maynards to say all was waiting to hear from them. And Barbara
wired back that they would meet her at the Denver Terminal Station at
the day and time agreed upon.
Meantime, great preparations were under way at Pebbly Pit. John's room
had to be cleaned and rearranged for the young ladies. While Polly and
her mother planned the work, Mr. Brewster made a thorough search of the
countryside in hopes of finding a suitable maid-servant for his wife
and Polly.
Most ranchers need their daughters at home, and as there are no really
poor or poverty-stricken families in those farming sections, the task
of finding a servant was not an easy one. And Mr. Brewster realized
what it meant, when he read in the papers how difficult a problem it
was becoming--this servant-girl question!
At last, as he was about to despair of ever finding any one, he stopped
in at the Oak Creek Post Office to see if there was any mail. Here he
met a rancher-friend from the Yellow Jacket Pass region.
"How-thar, Sam!" called Jim Sattler, heartily.
"How-do yourself, Jim!" returned Mr. Brewster, catching hold of Jim's
hardened hand and shaking it back and forth.
"You-all air a sight for sore eyes, Sam! Hain't seen hide nor hair of
any one of you for nigh onto a year! Be'n keepin' pritty busy, Sam?"
said Jim, in a voice that rolled forth like deep thunder.
"Mighty busy, Jim! John's away to college, you know, and now my leetle
chick thinks she can scratch for herself, too. She's bound to go to
school, in Denver, this coming fall."
"Sam, nuthin' like it, these days! A man or woman has to have ddication
to rassle with livin'! Let her go to it, says Ah! It won't be long
afore my boys'll be goin' away, too!"
"That's what brings me here to-day. Ah have been hunting for some kind
of a gal to help the missus this summer and to have her broken in by
the time Polly leaves home," explained Sam Brewster.
"Git one?"
"Not yet! It seems they're as scarce as hen's teeth. Ah never dreamed
it would be such a job to hunt one up, or Ah doubt if Ah'd have
consented to have those girls come and summer with us."
"See har, Sam! Ah bet Ah knows just the woman for you-all, ef you-all
ain't lookin' for a young gal with a figger like a wisp of hay."
"Polly's wisp enough for one ranch! So Ah'm not looking for style but
stock. Do you-all know one, Jim?"
"Ah do that! Sary Dodd's her name. You know Bill Dodd, don't yuh--he
never 'mounted to much as a rancher."
"Seems to me Ah do! The name's familiar, anyway. Did he come from
Yellow Jacket Pass way?" asked Mr. Brewster, scratching his neck,
thoughtfully.
"The same! Wall, he died an' left Sary with nothing but funeral costs.
She had to sell that measly ranch that Bill held a quarter interest in
to pay bills, and now she hain't got nawthin' but her health. Better
see Sary, Sam."
It was the dawn of hope for Mr. Brewster. Since starting on his
self-appointed search, he had been growing more and more despondent of
success. Now he urged his horse towards Yellow Jacket Pass to find Sary
Dodd.
After seeking at various ranches for the elusive Sary, he located her.
But she was not elusive looking. She was six feet in height and would
tip the scales easily at two hundred pounds.
"Are you widow Dodd? Jim Sattler sent me to see if you-all would like a
place to live out? We-all have company for the summer and my wife needs
help," explained Sam Brewster.
Sary beamed and exchanged polite introductions. "You-all tuk me clar
off my feet, Mr. Brewster. Yes, Ah did think some of goin' in a reel
good fam'ly to wuk, but nawthin' come up fer me, so Ah'm visitin' the
neighbors. Do you-all want me immijit?"
The rancher saw that Sary was over-anxious to accept his offer of a
place, but he was not the man to take advantage of her in financial
matters. So he replied:
"Ah s'pose we ought to fix the wage, but Mrs. Brewster wants some one
at once, and you-all can settle salary when you-all get there."
"Ah've heerd tell what a square man you-all was, Mr. Brewster, an' now
Ah knows it!" Suspicious moisture filled Sary's eyes as she spoke.
"Ah've won a way by being honest in all my dealings, for it pays in the
end. But tell me--can you come along?"
"Ef you-all kin wait, Ah'll tie up my bundle in a minit!" agreed Sary,
anxiously.
"All right! But don't waste any time packing your ball-gowns, Sary,"
laughed Mr. Brewster, facetiously, as the load of trouble rolled from
his heart. Sary was soon perched beside the rancher on the high spring
seat of the lumbering ranch-wagon, tenderly holding a half-dead rubber
plant. On that drive, her host heard more of every family history of
the ranchers for miles around than he had ever dreamed of knowing even
if he lived to be a hundred.
Sary Dodd arrived at the ranch-house the day before the visitors were
expected. Mrs. Brewster and Polly were in the midst of a light
house-cleaning as the strangers must not find a speck of dust anywhere!
"Maw, here's Sary Dodd! Ah got her to help!" shouted Sam Brewster,
pulling up his horse by the side of the porch.
"Sary Dodd! Oh, Sary, I'm right glad to see you! Come in, won't you?"
greeted Mrs. Brewster, coming to the door.
"Just in time, Mrs. Dodd, to help me shove this press in to the spare
room," added Polly, arresting her work to smile at the new-comer.
"Give Sary time to lay off her bonnet, child!" reproved Mrs. Brewster,
pulling out a rocker for the widow.
"Laws me! What'cher doin'--a-cleanin' house agin!" cried Sary, leaning
against the door-frame panting for breath.
"Winded, Sary? Ah told you-all Ah'd carry that heavy box from the
wagon. But no!" exclaimed Mr. Brewster.
Polly was over by the door by this time, and she stooped to carry the
box indoors.
"Goodness! What's in the box to make it so heavy?"
"Chil', that box hol's all my treasures on arth! Some few things Bill
lef me, our fam'iy album, an' my gran'mother's pieces of reel
silver--four plated! And mos' of all, the Brittania cake basket Bill
gave me on our annerversary!" explained Sary, pathetically, as she
dabbed a black cotton glove at her dewy eyes.
"Sam, take the team to the barn and leave Sary with us. We'll soon have
her feeling at home," said Mrs. Brewster, seeing a frown coming over
her lord and master's face, as he wondered if his home-life was to be
shadowed by a sorrowing widow!
The moment Mr. Brewster left for the barn, his wife returned to the
"help," who had plumped herself down into the wooden Boston rocker and
was fanning herself vigorously with a newspaper.
"Let me remove your bonnet, Sary," offered Mrs. Brewster kindly, taking
the twisted black strings to undo the knot that was tightly tied under
a heavy double chin.
"Ah declar t' goodness, Miss Brewster, ef you-all hain't too good!
Ah'll jest set t' git my second wind, an' then Ah'll tek right hol' of
things!" gasped Sary.
"Don't hurry yourself. Just cool off and then you'll feel better after
such a long ride. Shall I send Polly to the spring-house for some cold
milk?" asked the lady of the house, folding the flimsy crepe token of
Sary's state of widowhood.
"G'wan now, Miss Brewster--I'm no infant!" scoffed Sary. "Don' cher
know a fat bein' mustn't tech milk 'cause it's more fattenin'?"
The hostess refrained from giving her opinion, but she busied herself
with unpinning the rusty black plush cape that the widow had donned
when she began her journey to new surroundings. Being quite rested by
this time, Sary gripped a hold on each arm of the rocker and managed to
hoist her bulky form out from the too close embrace of the senseless
wooden arms.
"Now ef Polly er you-all 'll show me what to bunk, Ah ricken Ah'll
change my Sunday-best an' pitch inter work," said the willing help.
"Polly, you drag the box in while I show Sary her room," called Mrs.
Brewster, coming to the door that opened from the living-room directly
into John's chamber--now to be a guest room.