AUNT MILLY'S STORY
When Nancy could stand the interval of quiet no longer, she went back
to Miss Milly's door. She did not even knock. So sure was she of
finding a crushed and heartbroken Aunt Milly within that she stood
dumbfounded before the little creature who sat bolt upright upon the
couch.
"Come in, my dear--and close the door!"
Everything about Miss Milly seemed to say that "the worm has turned."
There was a glow on her face different from that it had worn out in the
orchard; it seemed to come from some fire within.
"Open every blind in the room, Nancy," she commanded in a tone that was
new for Aunt Milly. "I might as well get what light I can in here.
Now come and sit beside me."
For a moment Aunt Milly patted Nancy's hand and said nothing. Then she
gave a little sigh.
"I can't _tell_ you, Nancy, I can't even _begin_ to tell you, what
you've done for me--taking me out there! If I never go again, I've had
it once. And it's sort of stiffened something inside of me!"
She fell silent again. Nancy was wishing that she could have heard
what had passed between Aunt Sabrina and Miss Milly that had left Miss
Milly so defiant!
Aunt Milly seemed to read her thought.
"She was dreadfully angry and it was partly because she was
frightened--really frightened. You see, Nancy, sister Sabrina thinks
things must always go just so and that it's almost wicked to
try--different things. She says--I've made my bed!"
"What _does_ she mean, Aunt Milly?"
"It's a long story, dear."
"I'd like to hear it, Aunt Milly."
"I suppose you ought to know--someone else may tell you, old Webb or
B'lindy, or even Sabrina, though she'd rather die first! I think I
used to be something like you, Nancy, or I would have been, if it
hadn't been for--the trouble!"
"Will it make you unhappy to tell it, Aunt Milly?"
"No, child. I used to lie here by the hour and think things over and
over, but after awhile I got so things sort of blurred--I suppose I
grew resigned and all the fight inside of me died. There never was
much. You see Sabrina brought me up and she was as stern then as she
is now. Our father was like that, too. My mother died when I was a
baby."
"When father died Sabrina had the care of me. I suppose she tried to
bring me up well; she was very strict and--never seemed to understand!
And when I was quite young I began to dream of getting away from the
Islands. I wanted to go away to school somewhere and learn to do
something--I did not much care what--that would keep me out in the
world. Finally I decided that I wanted to study music and then,
sometime, teach it. It wasn't much to want, was it, dear? But
goodness me, when I went to Sabrina with my plan she was terribly
angry. You might have thought I had suggested something wicked! She
simply _couldn't_ understand! There was enough money for us both to
live on and she said I was selfish and inconsiderate to want to go
away. She talked a great deal about the Leavitt position and being a
lady and learning contentment, and the more she talked the more
restless and discontented I grew! And the more I dreamed of what
waited out in the world beyond these little Islands.
"After a long while, Nancy, I made up my mind to go, anyway! It was
not easy to do, because I'm not very brave, and the trouble we'd had
sort of made me hate to take any step that might make a break between
Sabrina and me. But I had to do it. I simply couldn't seem to face a
life here. That's hard for you to believe, isn't it, dear? But I
_was_ a different creature, then. Well, one night I packed some
clothes and slipped away. I walked to North Hero and caught the train
for Burlington. I was going from there to--to New York."
Breathlessly, Nancy whispered, "What happened then?"
"The train was wrecked outside of Burlington!"
"_Oh_--Aunt Milly!"
"I was terribly hurt. I lay for weeks in a hospital in Burlington and
they didn't know whether I'd live or die! I wish----" she stopped
short. "No, I don't! I'm _glad_ I didn't die. Then they brought me
home--like this!"
"Poor, poor little Aunt Milly!"
"But, listen, child--that isn't half all. It seems that on the same
train was a young man from North Hero whom I had always known--and
liked. But Aunt Sabrina had never approved of him, and long before she
had forbidden his coming here. I did see him sometimes, though--I
loved company and he was entertaining. There had never been more than
a pleasant friendship between us, and I had not dreamed that he was
going to Burlington on that train. He was killed. And when I came
back from the hospital the story was on every tongue that I had been
running away with Charlie Prince!"
"Oh, I was hurt in every part of me--my body and my soul and my mind!
My precious dreams had crumbled forever and ever. And I had to face
that dreadful scandal! Not that I ever saw a soul--Sabrina took care
of _that_! She kept me shut up as though I had the plague. But
through her reproachful eyes I was made to see the accusations of every
man, woman and child on the Hero Islands. And I couldn't _make_ her
believe it wasn't so! She simply wouldn't talk about it. She went
around with that dreadful look, day after day, and when she'd say
anything at all, it was about how I had brought shame to the Leavitt
name. And after awhile I began to feel as though I _had_ done
something--more than just run away to study music. She made me
understand that the only way I could atone for it all was by burying
myself within these four walls."
"Then _that's_ what she means by 'making your bed.'"
"Yes, dear, I was so crushed that I came to believe she was right. God
knew that all I had wanted when I went away was a right to my own way
of living, but His ways are inscrutable and His Will has to be done!
Sabrina called it the sword of wrath and the justice of the Almighty,
and it didn't make much difference to me _what_ it was called--I was
here. That's my story, dear, that's the way I've lived until--to-day.
But you've changed it. Something inside of me that I thought was
dead--isn't dead at all! Do you know what I told Sabrina? I told her
I didn't _care_ what she thought, that I guessed when a woman was forty
years old and over she could decide things for herself and if just
going out there in the orchard was wicked, then I'd go on being
_wickeder_! That's what I told her. Dear, dear, you should have seen
her face!"
"Hurrah, hurrah, Aunt Milly!"
"Poor Sabrina, I never spoke like that in my life to her! I've always
been so--_afraid_, until to-day! I don't know what she'll do now. You
must not blame her too much, Nancy dear, it's the Leavitt trouble that
has made her what she is--it shadowed all our lives!"
"Aunt Milly, what was the Leavitt trouble?"
Aunt Milly looked distressed. "Then you _don't_ know? I shouldn't
have spoken of it! I promised Sabrina I wouldn't speak to you--about
it."
"But, Aunt Milly, I have a--a right to know, haven't I? Even Webb
hinted about it, and it makes me feel as though I was--well, on the
outside of things, to be kept in ignorance."
Miss Milly regarded her for a moment. "I _told_ Sabrina that you
wouldn't know! But may be you ought to. Somehow, telling things, too,
makes them seem not so dreadful! I believe we Leavitts lock troubles
away too much--don't air them enough, maybe. Sabrina thinks it's as
dreadful now as it was the day it happened. It was about our brother.
He was a year older than Sabrina. He wasn't at all like her, though,
nor like my father. He was gay and handsome, and high-spirited and
dreadfully extravagant. When I was very small I used to be frightened
at the quarrels between him and my father--and they were always over
money.
"One night--he had come home just before supper after being away for a
week, no one knew where, and my father was very angry about that--they
had a quarrel that seemed more bitter than any other. Besides, there
was a thunder-storm that made it seem worse. I had been sent to bed,
but the lightning had frightened me, and I had crept downstairs to the
sitting-room. I opened the door. They were all three--for Sabrina
always sided with my father--talking so loudly they did not hear me.
My father's face frightened me more than the lightning and my brother's
had turned dead white. I think my father had just offered him some
money, for his wallet was in his hand and on the floor lay a bill, as
though my brother had thrown it back. I began to cry and ran back to
my room, more frightened by them than by the storm. And I lay there in
my bed for hours, waiting for something to happen!"
"About midnight one dreadful bolt of lightning struck the house. It
shattered the chimney all to pieces on the outside and inside, filled
the sitting-room with dust and pieces of mortar, cracked the mantel and
moved it an inch and a half from the wall. But no one thought much of
all that, because something far more dreadful had happened! My brother
was gone and my father's wallet, the one I had seen in his hand, was
missing. He remembered laying it on the mantel and my brother and
Sabrina had seen him do it. It had contained over a thousand dollars
in bank notes. The next day my father found out that my brother had
taken the early train out of North Hero. I was too young to understand
much about it, but I used to pray, first, that my brother would come
back and tell them he _didn't_ take the wallet and then I'd pray that
he'd never, never come back, so that they couldn't put him in prison."
"That must have been Anne's grandfather," Nancy was thinking.
"He did come back, three weeks later," Miss Milly went on, "and there
was a scene much worse than the night of the storm. They forgot I was
in the room. My father accused my brother of stealing the wallet and
refused to let him say a word. 'I want no lies added to your other
sins,' was what he said--I can hear him now. And my brother looked as
though something had struck him. Then my father told him that if he'd
take himself off and never darken the doors of Happy House again, nor
communicate with his family in any way, the matter would be dropped
forever--for the sake of the Leavitt name. My brother stood there for
a moment; I remember, I wanted to run to him! Oh, I've wished I
_had_--so often! But I was afraid of Sabrina--and my father. And then
my brother turned and walked out of the room--and out of the
door--and--down the path--and----"
Poor Miss Milly, worn out by the excitement of the day, began to cry
softly.
Nancy had to jerk herself to break the spell of the story. Her face
wrinkled in a frown. "It--is--dreadful, isn't it, Aunt Milly? I don't
mean his spending money and running debts and things, I
mean--your--your father's horrid--_mercilessness_! Why, the courts
don't treat the worst criminals like that! And they call it Leavitt
pride--and honor! _I_ call it injustice. I wish you _had_ just run up
and kissed him, then. It might have made everything so different!"
"So _that's_ why I can't speak of Anne's father or grandfather," Nancy
was thinking back of her frown. "And that's why Anne knew so little
about her aunts!" Then aloud: "I'm glad you told me, Aunt Milly.
It'll help us--be pals. We'll have other afternoons--like to-day--out
in the sunshine. But now you must rest. And I'll get ready to face
Aunt Sabrina!"
"She'll be dreadfully cross," sighed Miss Milly, with the glow all gone
from her face.
"I'm not a bit afraid," and Nancy meant it, for within her breast
smouldered such righteous indignation at Miss Sabrina and her precious
ancestors that she welcomed the challenge.
Dressing hurriedly for supper Nancy's eye caught the letter to Claire
lying on her bureau. It seemed to her as though hours and hours had
passed since she had so flippantly bade Claire "pray for me!"
She wanted to open the letter and dash off another page to tell Claire
of all that had happened and how the "mystery" was a mystery no longer.
Then, with the envelope in her hand, she remembered that it concerned
Aunt's grandfather and that, perhaps, _she_ had no right to tell! But
she did open the sheet and scribble across the top: "All sorts of
things have happened since I wrote this, and I may be back with you any
moment. I can't tell you yet all about it, but I can say this, that I
hate Happy House and I'm glad as can be that I'm only a pretend
Real-Leavitt! Everybody isn't horrid, though, that nice old Webb built
the cosiest seat up in my tree and surprised me."
In exactly twenty minutes, by the hands of her small watch, she must
meet Miss Sabrina! Anyway, she could tell her just what she thought
about the whole thing, for, without any doubt she'd be sent away! But
there was Aunt Milly--she had promised Aunt Milly that there would be
more afternoons in the orchard. Somehow she must fix that.
"I know," she waved her brush in mid-air, "I'll get Belinda!"