MRS. EATON CALLS
"Oh, shades of Odysseus," muttered Nancy. From the swing on the
hollyhock porch she had spied Mrs. Eaton coming up the flagged path to
the front door.
As she sat idly swinging, Nancy had been trying over the deeply
emotional lines that Berthe, the much-suffering heroine of her dear
play, should say when the villain proved to be her lover in disguise.
A chance glance through the syringas had acquainted her with the
alarming fact that an avenging enemy approached.
It was the day after the Fourth of July. As yet not a word had come to
Happy House concerning Nancy's part in the celebration.
There was not time for Nancy to escape; however, it was not likely that
Miss Sabrina would take such a guest out to the porch. Nancy heard her
greet the newcomer, then their steps approached the sitting-room. The
swing was at the other end of the porch. Nancy, hugging her knees,
could not be seen from the sitting-room windows and, anyway, the blinds
had been shut to keep out the hot morning sun. Through their slats
Nancy heard Mrs. Eaton's effusive greetings.
"I might as well hear what the cat tells," Nancy concluded. The fate
of the proverbial eavesdropper did not alarm her in the least; she felt
the resignation, of a child that knows he faces punishment.
Mrs. Eaton spent several moments explaining, how often she "had had a
_mind_ to drop in for a little chat."
"But I am a _different_ woman with my Archie away! Cyrus says he don't
_know_ how I bear up so well. _You_ don't know, of course, a mother's
feelings!" Did Nancy imagine that she heard a rustling, as though Aunt
Sabrina had suddenly straightened in her chair? "And _I_ said to Cyrus
that _he_ don't even know a mother's feeling that's raised a boy right
from the _cradle_!"
Miss Sabrina inquired politely as to the last word of Archie, and, with
satisfied pride, the mother recounted Archie's description of the
difficulties that had confronted the Allied occupancy of the
Rhinelands. Archie's mother truly believed that Archie alone bore that
tremendous responsibility.
"And Archie and me are as _like_ as two peas," she added.
It was, of course, only a matter of a few moments before Mrs. Eaton led
up to the event of the day before. Nancy caught the crisp change in
the woman's voice. The story gained much in her telling--of Nancy's
impertinence in forcing the Hopworth young 'uns among her "little
dears," then how she had, though fully aware of her, Mrs. Eaton's,
explicit orders, flaunted Eric Hopworth's brood in the face of every
respectable man, woman and child of Freedom--actually desecrating the
very flags she had--_taken_--out of the Sunday-school room.
The story was interrupted by many sighs and sniffs.
"Of course _everybody_ on this Island that knows me and my Archie,
Cyrus says, will _feel_ for me. I might as well as _not_ of been
slapped in the face. And I said to Cyrus, "_I_ think Miss Leavitt
ought to _know_--she's taken that girl there!" And Cyrus and I _both_
said that of _course_ no one would be surprised, seeing she's _that_
branch of your family where I suppose--you'll _forgive_ me for speaking
right out _plain_, you can expect almost _any_ kind of actions!"
Nancy swung her feet down out of the hammock. "The cat," she breathed,
straightening. She could see that stinging shaft plunge straight into
poor Aunt Sabrina's heart and turn! She held her breath for Aunt
Sabrina's answer.
Miss Sabrina's voice was cold and her words measured. "I am very sorry
this has happened, Mrs. Eaton. But I am sure my niece did not dream of
impertinence. She has not been here long enough to know of our
prejudices!"
"_Bully!_" Nancy, said, almost aloud. "_That's_ a time when breeding
shows!"
Mrs. Eaton was plainly annoyed at Miss Sabrina's defence. Her voice
took on a crisper edge. "She's been here long _enough_ to pick up with
Judson's hired _man_! _Your_ notions may be different from _mine_,
Miss Leavitt, but _I_ wouldn't 'low any girl of _mine_ to go swimming
at Cove's Hole with the Hopworth young 'uns! Dick Snead told his
mother and his mother told my Cousin 'Manthy. Ain't there any _better_
folks she can take up with on this Island than a hired man _and_ the
Hopworths?" Her shrill inflection seemed to say, "There--I have you
_now_!"
Nancy's feet beat a war-dance. She wanted to rush in to her own
defence--had Dick Snead told his mother and his mother told Cousin
'Manthy that she had swam forty strokes under water? Discretion,
however, bade her use caution.
A rustling indicated that the caller, her errand accomplished, had
risen to go. She shot her last tiny, poisoned arrow. "Of _course_ I
said to Cyrus _all_ of us on the Island know all that poor Miss
Leavitt's _had_ to stand, what with her brother and _then_ her sister!
And _that's_ why, I said to Cyrus, Miss Leavitt _ought_ to know about
these goings on, or else something _else_ would come down on your poor
head! I must run along, now, 'Manthy came in to watch my jam. That
Carroll girl I got over at Greenfield isn't worth her keep--you have to
watch her _every_ moment!"
All the pride of generations of Leavitts must have come to Miss
Sabrina's rescue at that moment! She met the final thrust with calm
dignity.
"My niece is only making me a very short visit, Mrs. Eaton. It is
hardly worth while for me to interfere with her conduct."
Nancy was struck dumb with amazement. What did Aunt Sabrina mean--that
_this_ silly little affair ended her stay at Happy House? What _would_
Anne think? Oh, _what_ a mess she had made of everything! Of course
she had expected that something might happen any moment; after one day
had safely passed, she had always thought it might be the next; had she
not told Anne that she was certain to make some dreadful blunder? But
it was a shame to go away in disgrace when she had not really done
anything, after all!
Indignation of the most righteous sort began slowly to master Nancy's
consternation. Well, if she did have to go she would allow herself,
just once, the sweet satisfaction of telling Miss Sabrina what she
thought of the Leavitts and their sense of honor! She rushed headlong
into the sitting-room.
"I heard what that--that creature said," she blurted out. "I don't
_know _why God makes women like that! What would you _think_, Aunt
Sabrina, if you'd seen her take a whip and lash those children across
their bare bodies? And that wouldn't have been as bad as what she
really _did_ do, for those hurts would have healed, and the way she
hurt their spirits wouldn't _ever_ heal! She is cruelly unjust--and
unkind!"
Poor Miss Sabrina looked very old and very tired--far too tired to meet
this impetuous attack! Something in the unyieldingness of her
expression drove Nancy to utter abandon.
"Oh, I suppose I'll have--to go away! But I'm glad--everything is all
wrong at Happy House. There's no happiness here--at all.
Fath--someone I love used to tell me that happiness comes to you as you
_give_ happiness, and that's what's the matter here--you don't give
happiness! You live--apart--and you just wrap yourself round with the
traditions of the Leavitts and all that--tommyrot! I'm glad I'm
not--a--I'm glad I'm the--the other branch. I guess the golden rule is
better than any family honor and that it doesn't matter at _all_ what
all the people who are dead and gone've done--it's what the people who
are _living_ are doing--that counts!"
Breathless from her outburst and frightened by its daring, Nancy burst
into tears and rushed from the room.
In the aftermath of calm that followed the storm, Nancy woefully faced
the consequences of what she had done. How silly it would all sound to
Anne when she heard it! Anne would tell her, of course, what _she_
would have done--but then, Anne had always been able to control every
word and every action.
Nancy, staring about at the four walls of her room in very much the
same way she had done that first day of her coming to Happy House,
realized that they were not so ugly, after all. Their height gave a
sense of coolness and space; the branches of an old cherry tree brushed
her windows; from below came all sorts of sweet smells out of
Jonathan's garden; the incessant twittering of birds and the humming of
insects made the summer air teem with busy, happy life. It was
pleasant, she sighed--much pleasanter than a flat in Harlem in July!
"Well, I won't pack until I get my dishonorable discharge, and I can't
get away until Webb's stage goes, anyway! I'll take Miss Milly once
more to the orchard."
Miss Milly went to the orchard so often now that it had become a part
of almost every day's routine, and it was no longer necessary that
B'lindy and Jonathan should make up the party, though they went more
often than not. This day Aunt Milly declared everything particularly
nice, but she thought it was because she and Nancy were alone--she
could not know that Nancy had been doing her best to make it an
afternoon Aunt Milly would never forget--"because it's probably the
last!"
They lingered in the orchard until almost supper-time. Then Nancy
sought the kitchen. She liked to drop in on B'lindy, help her in some
small way in the preparation of the evening meal, and chat at the same
time. She was astounded, now, to find Aunt Sabrina, with a very red
face, bending over the kitchen stove.
B'lindy, sitting very straight in the chair by the window, gave the
explanation--resentfully.
"'Pears to be hash ain't good enough for supper. Had it all fixed for
the cookin' and I guess it's fair 'nough for anyone to eat and I can't
abide left-overs hangin' 'round. But Miss S'briny says the supper
to-night's got to be extry nice and Miss Anne's got to have waffles and
_she'll_ cook 'em herself, seein' how old B'lindy that's cooked 'em
nigh onto fifty years, can't cook 'em _good_ 'nough for Miss Anne!"
Miss Sabrina's face was bent over the waffles--Nancy could not see it.
The moment was too solemn to permit her to so much as smile. She said
very gravely, almost reprovingly:
"You _know_, B'lindy, that you _can't_ make waffles as good as Aunt
Sabrina can and I've been hungry for days for waffles!"
Nancy knew that, after that night, waffles would always mean something
more to her than merely a concoction of food stuffs particularly dear
to her palate--they'd mean the momentary triumph of reason and justice,
the defeat of the Mrs. Eaton-kind, and the pitiful attempt of a very
old and a very proud woman to "give happiness."