IN THE ORCHARD
Until Webb could finish the task that Nancy had assigned to him, Nancy
curbing her impatience, had to return to the study of "Joshua, Jacob
and John."
"It was John that was killed in the war of 1812, and now we have
progressed to the next generation of Samuel and Ezekiel," she wrote to
Claire. "But let me tell you that just as soon as Webb finishes the
'rig-up' (that is what he calls my perfectly beautiful idea) I'm not
going to have a minute to spend on any of the old ancestors. Won't it
be wonderful to see Aunt Milly's face when she knows about it? _Think_
of it, Claire--how we love to frolic all around this good old earth,
and how awful it would be to be tied to a couch all your days--and in
_such_ a room!"
"After to-day my letters will be just scraps and you can picture your
Nancy working madly in her tree-top!
"So far all is safe, and I'm really beginning to feel as though I was a
real Leavitt and not walking around in Anne's shoes, especially when I
am with Aunt Milly. But it's terribly hard not to talk about Dad and
you and Anne, and I have to hold my lips together lots of times to keep
from bursting out with something. I suppose it's good training for
me--Miss Sykes used to tell me my impulsiveness would be my ruin some
day.
"I have seen the hired man! Yesterday, when I went out to my nest, I
deliberately walked around the edge of the orchard. I saw a lot of
tumble-down sheds and things over on a rise of ground that I supposed
was Judson's, and of course the lot in between was the ten-acre strip
that Webb told me about. I couldn't _see_ that it was any better than
any other part of the country around here. And while I was staring,
suddenly something moved, and there was that creature with a hoe
standing at the other end of the lot. And he waved his hand! Says I,
'Nancy Leavitt, this is your chance,' and I tossed my head so hard that
my neck truly cracked, and I stalked off back to the orchard. It was
good enough for him.
"Oh, oh, oh, Webb has come! He's taken the rig-up around the lilac
side (for strategic reasons, I have divided the grounds of Happy House)
and out to the carriage barn. Now I shall tackle B'lindy and make
ready for the blessed hour of rest.
"Adieu, dearest Claire, pray for your old pal."
The winning of B'lindy to her plan was not as easy as Webb had been.
It had been a "bad" morning for B'lindy; the fire would not draw well,
she had forgotten to "set" her bread, and Judson's cat had gotten into
the cream. Nancy's arguments fell on deaf ears.
"I guess what's well enough's well enough," at last she threw over her
shoulder. "Milly Leavitt's laid on that couch twenty years and it
ain't likely she'll lay there many more, and there ain't no use
meddlin' with what's what!"
"But, B'lindy, no one has ever tried this! It's so easy. Wait until
you see how nice and safe Webb has made the chair. It's wonderful! It
would be wicked to keep her shut up there when we could take her out!
Think of it, B'lindy, all _we_ have and poor little Aunt Milly! Why,
it might make her well! I really know of such a case. It was a woman
who had tried every medicine she knew of and it was just happiness she
needed! If Aunt Milly could get out there in the sunshine and--and see
things, _she_ might get well, too. Anyway, she could laugh!"
B'lindy laid down her egg-beater. It was a sign of yielding.
"I guess nobody's _tried_ happiness on Milly Leavitt!"
"We'll take her together, B'lindy. You may go with me to her room and
see her face when she knows!"
"I told Miss Sabriny that there was no tellin' _what'd_ happen in Happy
House if she brought a young thing like you here," was B'lindy's way of
assent. With an uplifted arm she warded off what threatened to be a
hug.
"Go 'way, Anne Leavitt, or there won't be no dinner! And this is
_your_ doin's, remember."
True to her promise, Nancy waited until the last dinner dish was dried;
then she and B'lindy, very like culprits, tip-toed to Miss Milly's
room. Aunt Milly wore a look of expectancy, which changed to wonder
when she saw B'lindy. And one glance at Nancy's eager face told her
that something very, very different was about to happen!
In a whisper Nancy commanded her to peep out and "just see what you'll
see." And Miss Milly, in a flutter, _did_ peep out, and saw Jonathan
below, with a curiously contrived chair on wheels.
"It's for you--Webb made it," declared Nancy. "And you're not to get
excited, because that might spoil everything. We're going to take you
to the orchard!"
"Oh, _Nancy_!" Something caught in poor Miss Milly's throat.
"You must do just what I tell you. Take this shawl, though it's warmer
out there than it is in here. I'm very strong and I shall carry you
right down in my arms, and you must cling tight to my neck."
Poor Miss Milly commenced to tremble violently. "Nancy--I'm afraid!
I--I--It's so long--maybe I'd better--maybe it isn't--_right_!"
"Oh, Aunt Milly, darling, how could it be wrong to be happy! Just
_try_ it! Think of the sunshine and the birds and the nice smells and
all Jonathan's growing things! And B'lindy is going along, too, to
help. _Try_ it, Aunt Milly!"
Aunt Milly's eyes filled with tears, then she commenced to laugh
softly. "Maybe it'll be the only time! I'd love--once more----" She
let Nancy lift her slowly. "I'm too heavy, dear," she protested.
"_Heavy_----" thought Nancy. The pitifully frail form was as nothing
in her clasp. "I haven't played forward on our basket-ball team for
four years for nothing, Aunt Milly! March on, B'lindy. Now--very
still."
It was a strange procession that moved off through the garden toward
the orchard. Jonathan led the way, B'lindy wheeled the chair and Nancy
frisked along, first one side, then the other, picking posies here and
there until Aunt Milly's lap was quite full. And Miss Milly sat very
still with her hands clasped tight together and a look of ecstasy in
her eyes, as though she was beholding a new and beautiful world! Every
step forward brought an added wonder. She had forgotten the world was
like this.
"_Oh-h!_" she whispered rapturously when a robin trilled from a nearby
tree. "_Oh-h!_" she cried again when she caught a glimpse of the lake.
But when they reached the cliff it was Nancy's turn to exclaim. For
there in her tree had been built the cosiest of rustic seats.
"_How lovely!_" she cried, springing into it. "It just fits." She
shook her finger at old Jonathan. "_You_ made this for me, you dear
old thing!"
But Jonathan, wishing mightily that he had, had to admit that he
"didn't know a blame thing 'bout it!"
"Then it was Webb. He wanted to surprise me, too, as well as Aunt
Milly. Only--how did he know about my tree? Isn't it _nice_? It's as
comfy as can be."
When Nancy joyously declared that everybody and everything was lovely,
somehow B'lindy and Jonathan and Aunt Milly felt so, too! B'lindy, at
Nancy's bidding, sat down upon the grass close to the chair, and
Jonathan, too rheumatic to follow her example, leaned against the tree
trunk and stared at Nancy with adoring eyes.
"At first I was going to keep my nest a secret, just between Jonathan
and me. But it'll be much nicer to have all of us know about it. We
can have such nice times here. We can do so many things. B'lindy, can
you knit?"
B'lindy said she could not, though she could crochet.
"Then I'm going to teach you and Aunt Milly both. You can knit socks
for the children in Europe, though you must begin on washcloths.
Jonathan--I don't suppose there's any use trying to teach you--you must
keep us supplied with flowers because Aunt Milly can't have enough--you
see there are so many years she has to make up. And sometimes I'll
read to you and sometimes I'll work. We'll come here every
afternoon--shall we?"
B'lindy and Jonathan and Aunt Milly nodded their heads. B'lindy,
watching Miss Milly's face, was beginning to think that there might be
some sense in Nancy's prescription of happiness.
And if in her heart Nancy smothered any wistful longing as she glanced
at the locked treasure-box, she forgot it when she, too, watched Aunt
Milly.
It was Jonathan who suddenly noticed that the sun was creeping over
toward the west and that he'd "better be at the lettuce."
"Goodness to gracious," cried B'lindy, scrambling to her feet with a
considerable creaking of joints. "Anne Leavitt, my day's work ain't
half done!"
On the way back through the orchard Miss Milly kept tight hold of
Nancy's hand, giving it an occasional squeeze.
"I could die happy--now," she whispered.
At the turn of the path beyond the raspberry patch the culprits were
confronted by Miss Sabrina. It was a very angry Aunt Sabrina, whose
one glance shadowed every bit of sunshine. Even Nancy, the ringleader
of the plot, felt her knees give way in fright.
"What are you all about?" Miss Sabrina demanded in a voice cold with
anger. "Go about your work, Jonathan Allen. B'lindy, you wheel that
ridiculous chair back to wherever you got it from! And you, Milly
Leavitt, how _dare_ you meddle with the ways of God?"
Everyone seemed to obey Miss Sabrina without a word of protest.
Jonathan faded out of sight, B'lindy disappeared toward the kitchen
with the chair and Nancy, followed by Miss Sabrina, carried the
trembling Miss Milly back to her couch.
"Anne, you go out now!" Miss Sabrina jerked her head toward the door.
"I'll have a thing or two to say to Milly. She made her bed--it's the
will of our Lord she should lie in it!"
Nancy hesitated one moment, but something in Aunt Milly's frightened
glance seemed to say, "Go away!" So she went out and closed the door
upon the two sisters.
Alone in her own room a storm of anger shook her. "I _hate_ her!" she
cried out to the ugly walls. "I _hate_ her! She's--just--_stone_!"
"I'm _glad_ I'm not a real Leavitt! We were _so_ happy!"
Then, really frightened, Nancy listened intently to catch some word
from the other room.