AUNT MILLY
"So this is Anne Leavitt!"
But Aunt Milly did not say it at all like Aunt Sabrina, or even
crisply, like B'lindy's "so _you're_ the niece," but with a warm,
little trill in her voice that made Nancy feel as though she was very,
very glad to have her there!
Two frail little hands caught Nancy's and squeezed them in such a human
way that Nancy leaned over impulsively and kissed Miss Milly on her
cheek.
"I am so very glad to know you." Aunt Milly dashed a tear away from
her cheek. "I've counted the hours--after Sabrina told me you were
coming. To-day I lay here listening for Webb and then must have fallen
asleep, so that when you really came I didn't know it. Wasn't that
silly? Sit right down, dear--no, not in that old chair, it's so
uncomfortable--pull up that rocker. Let me get a good look at you!"
Nancy did not even dread Miss Milly's "good look"--she was so
delightfully human! She pulled the rocker close to the lounge and
stretched out in it with a happy little sigh.
"I thought _I'd_ never get here! It seems as though this is way off in
the corner of the world. And I'm just tired enough to find the--the
_quiet_ downright restful."
Aunt Milly laughed. "I've been worrying over the 'quiet.' It's so
dreadfully quiet here--for young folks. I was afraid it would make you
homesick. Now tell me all about your trip and your Commencement. I've
been going over in my mind just what your Commencement must have been
like--ever since Sabrina told me we had a niece who was a Senior in
college. It must be wonderful!" she finished, with just the tiniest
bit of a sigh.
Suddenly Nancy realized that here was someone hungry to know all that
was going on in the world outside of North Hero--not the world of men
and women, but her girl's world--that world that had ended Commencement
Day. She told a few little things about Senior Week, then, a little
homesick for all that had just been left behind, she rattled off one
recollection after another with an enthusiasm that kindled an answering
fire in Miss Milly's eyes.
"I can't _bear_ to think it's all over--except that life itself is one
grand adventure and probably, after a little, I'll look back on the
school days and think how empty they were of--real things!" Then
Nancy, looking down at the frail white hand that clasped her own,
thought with a sort of shock that life was scarcely an adventure for
poor Miss Milly. But Miss Milly answered contentedly. "I love to hear
all about it. I'm glad you had it, my dear. I hope you'll come in and
talk with me often--it's like sunshine hearing your young voice!"
"Oh, I shall _like_ to. You won't think I'm dreadful, will you, if I
tell you that Aunt Sabrina frightens me awfully and so does
B'lindy--just a little. But you don't seem a bit like them."
Miss Milly laughed outright--a laugh that had a silver tinkle in it.
"No, I suppose I'm not--a bit like them."
"So when I'm so frightened I don't know what to do I shall come
straight to you. And, please, Aunt Milly, will _you_ call me Nancy?
No one has ever called me anything but that and it makes me feel--like
someone else--when they call me Anne. Aunt Sabrina was horrified when
I asked her."
"Yes--she would be! Of course I shall call you Nancy--or anything that
you wish! I can't be much company for you, dear, tied to this couch,
but you can bring a great deal of happiness to me."
A wistful gleam in Aunt Milly's eyes made Nancy lean over and kiss her
again. At that moment the door opened and Aunt Sabrina walked in.
Then it seemed to Nancy as though a shadow crossed Miss Milly's face.
The glow in her eyes died completely. She seemed to shrink back among
the cushions.
"Oh, you have met our niece," Aunt Sabrina said in her cold voice and
with no curiosity as to how it had happened.
Nancy looked at Aunt Milly and Aunt Milly's glance seemed to say:
"Please don't tell her I peeked through the blinds." Aloud she
answered meekly: "I told her we were glad she had come!"
Aunt Sabrina nodded as though to approve such action. Her eyes turned
around the room.
"Is there anything you want done? B'lindy's washed the other covers
for your cushions, but they aren't dry enough to iron. The color
didn't run a bit--they'll be more sensible than those white ones, for
they won't be needing washing all the time, and B'lindy has enough to
do!"
"Oh, yes, they'll be more sensible," Miss Milly agreed wearily. "No, I
don't want anything."
There were two or three moments of silence. Aunt Sabrina went about
the room straightening a picture here, a "tidy" there. Nancy watched
her with angry eyes--what _was_ there about her that had killed that
precious glow in poor little Miss Milly?
She rose abruptly. "May I go to my room? I want to write a letter."
Miss Sabrina said, "Why, of course, Anne," and Miss Milly flashed a
little ghost of a smile that entreated: "You see what life is like for
me, so please, _please_ come again."
Upon Nancy's face, as she closed her own door behind her, was a mixture
of relief, indignation and apprehension. And a little of each of these
emotions crept into the lines of the letter that--to give vent to all
that was bursting within her--she dashed off to Claire.
"---- You'd just better believe that if I had that precious darling,
Anne Leavitt, back in our beloved tower room I'd tell her that all the
fortunes in the world and all the suffering Russians wouldn't hire me
to spend one more day with her 'family.'
"And yet, Claire, darling, it's so _dreadful_ that it's funny. I just
wonder that I haven't been scared _pink!_ Can you picture your little
Nancy surrounded by mahogany, so old that it fairly screams at you,
that it was brought over on the _Mayflower_ and walls as high as the
Library tower (please subtract poetical license) and just oodles of
Leavitt traditions--though I'll admit, just being a plain human mortal,
I don't know yet quite _what_ the Leavitt traditions are, but believe
me, I expect to, very soon, for Aunt Sabrina talks of nothing else!
"Of course, sweet child, you can't make head or tail to all my
jibberish, so I'll write lucid English now. The Island is wonderfully
beautiful, everything about it seems different from any other part of
the world--the trees are bigger and the grass is greener and every now
and then you catch a glimpse of Lake Champlain as blue as Anne's
sapphire ring and hazy purple mountains beyond. And the whole place is
brimming with all kinds of historical stories.
"They call this house Happy House. It was named that by the first Anne
Leavitt, and she had a mantel made in England with the letters carved
on it, and the day after it was put up she died in the very room I'm
writing in! Isn't that tragic and exciting? I can't make a story out
of that, though, for it's been all written up in a book they sell at
North Hero.
"The house is big and built of stone that was quarried on the Island,
and it's all covered with vines and is beautiful--outside. It has
trees all around it that meet overhead like a canopy, and instead of a
regular garden in beds the ground's all covered with tiger lilies and
Sweet William and phlox and lots of flowers I don't know the name of,
that look as though they'd spilled out over their gardens and grew
everywhere. And there's a darling old gardener who is a descendant of
Ethan Allen.
"In fact, everyone I've seen is old and, Webb said, is descended from
'somebody or other.'
"But the inside of the house--oh, horrors! I don't believe a ray of
sunshine has gotten into it since the year one, and if it did, it would
be shut out mighty fast. Dad would go wild with delight over the old
furniture, and the dishes are beautiful, but the wallpaper looks like
green lobsters crawling all around, and you walk on brown-red roses as
big as cabbages. Does it torture my artistic soul? Oh, ye gods! And
my own room! No wonder that other Anne Leavitt died! I never saw so
many tidies in my life--I shall never draw a happy breath among them.
Oh, I can shut my eyes, right now and see the dear old tower room--you
sitting in the middle of the bed (unmade, of course), playing your uke,
Anne digging at her French Four on the window seat along with the fudge
dishes which I forgot to wash, and a week's muss all around us. Oh,
Claire, _weren't_ we happy, though? And to think it's all over.
"Aunt Sabrina is very handsome and very Leavitty. I think Anne, in her
manner, when we've done something she doesn't approve of, is like her
Aunt Sabrina. She's very tall and parts her hair straight in the
middle and has the longest, straightest nose and a way of talking to
you that makes you feel like an atom. B'lindy, who is the
woman-of-all-work around Happy House, but Somebody, just you believe,
is very much like Aunt Sabrina and looks at you as if she could see the
littlest thought way back in your mind. And, of course, with me acting
a part and feeling as guilty as can be, you can imagine that I don't
enjoy B'lindy's searching glance! However, I asked her some questions
about the Leavitts and it warmed her up a little.
"But there is an Aunt Milly that Anne didn't seem to know about and,
Claire, _she_ is human--the dearest, sweetest, prettiest, timidest
little thing. You can't tell, looking at her, whether she is old or
not, but being my great-aunt--or Anne's--I suppose she is. But she is
an invalid and evidently can't walk. There's something about her that
makes you feel dreadfully sorry for her and like taking care of her,
and I sort of imagine that for some reason or other Aunt Sabrina treats
her horridly. When Aunt Sabrina comes into the room, poor Aunt Milly
acts scared to death.
"Just how I'll come out of it all I can't guess. I've got to keep my
head and see the thing through for Anne's sake. But--so far--I don't
like it a bit. It was easy enough planning it all with Anne back in
college, but somehow, now that I'm here, I feel so underhanded,
deceiving these people. And Miss Sabrina talks so much about the
Leavitt honor that it makes me feel like thirty cents. There is a lot
of mystery about the place, but I feel as though I had no right to try
and find it out, though I'll admit I'm dreadfully curious. I rode over
from North Hero with the funniest old man--his name is Webb and he said
he was one of Freedom's 'first citizens.' Modest--yes. Well, with a
very little encouragement he would have poured out the entire Leavitt
history, only it didn't seem nice to let him talk. But he spoke about
a 'Leavitt trouble,' and he said something about Miss Milly being
'happier in the grave.' Isn't that interesting? And the very
strangest thing of all is that Aunt Sabrina has forbidden me to ever
_mention_ my father--or Anne's father and grandfather! Of course Anne
will want to know all about it, and maybe it is my duty to find out
why! Anyway, if the chance comes to me, well, I won't shut my ears.
"Speaking of Webb and riding over from North Hero, Claire, I did the
most dreadful thing, and if I tell you, you must swear that you won't
ever tell Anne, though goodness knows when either of us will see dear
old Anne again. We'd driven along for miles and hadn't seen a
soul--even the cows in the pastures weren't moving--when suddenly,
around a corner, dashed a man on horseback. He went by us like a
flash, but I could tell even with all the dust, that he rode well and
was very handsome and sort of different from--well, Webb, and the
people you'd _expect_ to see on North Hero Island. I was curious--you
know, I always am--and I turned around. And what do you think he
did--he wheeled that horse around and stopped dead still to stare at
us, and caught me turning, of course, though I was just curious because
he seemed different. And that isn't all--he had the nerve to wave his
hand and here's the confession! _I nodded back to him!_ I always am
so impulsive and it seemed so good to see someone that was young. And
he did have the grandest eyes even through the dust. But here's the
worst--I asked Webb who he was, and Webb said he was '_Judson's hired
man!_' Oh, Claire, what would Anne have said!
"Well, of course, the fellow had his nerve, and if I ever see him again
I shall show him his place and make him understand that I am a
dignified, unapproachable young person.
"Oh, Claire, dearest, I wish I was with you at Merrycliffe. You don't
know how lucky you are to have a jolly home and a jolly mother who
knows how to love! That's the trouble here--they act as though it was
a crime to show a spark of affection. Aunt Milly comes the nearest to
it, but I don't believe the others _know_ what love is.
"Write to me often, for it will help keep up my courage, and I will
keep you posted as to all that happens to poor me--especially about the
hired man. I can't wait to see him.
"Once your happy and now your perfectly miserable used-to-be Nancy.
"To be known for the present as,
"ANNE LEAVITT."