A PICNIC
A reaction set in after the party, Miss Milly, over-fatigued, had had
to stay in her room. Happy House, itself, fell back into its old ways;
again the blinds were shut, the flower vases disappeared and the
peacock feathers were returned to their places of honor. B'lindy
developed rheumatism.
Too, a week followed of long hot days and stifling nights, "brewin' up
for somethin'," B'lindy declared.
Nancy, her play finished, suffered from a restlessness she had never
known before. She told herself that, now her work was done, she must
not linger at Happy House; then found that she could not bear to face
the thought of going! These ties that she had made bound her closely.
It was not as though she might come back as they would think she
could--the separation must be forever. And the day must come when
these good people she had grown to love would know that she had
deceived and cheated them!
"That is my punishment," she thought, in real distress.
On the morning of a day that differed only from the other cloudless
days in that the sky was bluer and the sun hotter, Jonathan brought
Nancy a letter from Mrs. Finnegan. Enclosed in it was a cable from her
father telling her that he had booked passage on the _Tourraine_,
leaving Le Havre within two days.
"Oh," Nancy cried aloud, "he is _coming home_!"
So intent was she upon her letter that she did not see the rapid
approach of a shiny Ford; but at a terrific whirring and grating of
wheels and levers she turned, startled.
"Love letter?" queried Peter Hyde, jumping from the driver's seat.
"_How_ you frightened me! And why this magnificence? No, it is _not_
a love-letter!" Nancy laughed joyously as she tucked it away in her
pocket. Oh, why _couldn't_ she tell Peter Hyde that it was word that
her dearest father was at that moment sailing home to her! (Nancy
could not know that the letter had lain in Tim Finnegan's pocket for
five whole days.)
"This----" and Peter Hyde caressed his new possession, "is the latest
tool at Judson's. You have no idea how many things it can do--'most
everything except milk the cows. To-day I thought, if Miss Nancy
Leavitt was willing, it might take us on a picnic--say, up to Isle La
Motte. I'm beastly tired of work!"
"Oh, lovely," declared Nancy. "I've felt these last few days as though
I wanted to rush off somewhere! Besides, I have something to tell you!"
Peter pretended alarm at her serious tone; then making her promise to
be ready within a half-hour, he drove off.
It would be very pleasant to have a last picnic with Peter Hyde. She
would give herself one day of frolic before she faced the problem of
getting away from Happy House. It was too hot for Aunt Milly to go out
to the orchard, she would leave word with B'lindy that if Nonie came
the child should be sent to Miss Milly's room to amuse her. And
perhaps it would be wiser if she slipped away without telling Aunt
Sabrina. Aunt Sabrina was sure to look as though, when _she_ was a
girl, young ladies did not dash off on long automobile rides
unchaperoned!
Avoiding the living room and the hollyhock porch, Nancy sought out
B'lindy and begged a little lunch.
"We're going for a little ride in Mr. Judson's new car, B'lindy, but we
might not get back in time for lunch--you know you never _can_ tell
what'll happen when you start out in an automobile! A few nice jelly
sandwiches and a little cold chicken and some fruit cake and--tarts----"
B'lindy shook her head. "'Tain't the _lunch_ that's botherin' me,
child, but I can't get the pesky idee out o' my head that somethin' is
goin' to happen! I've been feelin' that way in my bones all day and
all day yesterday, too."
"B'lindy, you foolish, superstitious thing--it's your rheumatism!"
"I guess it ain't my rheumatiz, Miss Anne, and my bones generally feels
right. I ain't forgotten when Miss Milly had that accident nor when
Judson's barn burned. I thought mebbe it was poor Mis' Hopkins dyin'.
Didn't you know the poor soul dropped right off in her sleep last night
and left Timothy Hopkins with those ten children to care for? I sez
this mornin' when Jonathan told me that there was no use tryin' to
understand the ways of the Lord--ten children and that poor Timothy
Hopkins as helpless a body as ever was, anyway, and not much more'n
'nough to feed his own stomach and no one to manage now!"
"How dreadful! Poor man." Nancy tried to make her tone sympathetic.
"Of course that was what your bones were feeling, B'lindy!"
B'lindy turned a truly distressed face to Nancy. "But it _wa'nt_! No,
sir, right this minit my bones is feelin' worse than ever that
somethin' is goin' to happen!" She sighed as she patted a sandwich
together. "Lord knows mebbe it's the heat. There's somethin' brewin',
Miss Anne, and you'd better keep an eye open for a storm--they come up
fast in this valley!"
But Nancy refused to let B'lindy's fears or warnings dampen her gay
spirits. Indeed, she promptly forgot them in the joy of dashing off
over the dusty road. B'lindy's lunch was tucked away in the back;
ahead stretched miles of smooth inviting highway, winding through
pleasant green meadows.
And this man who grasped the wheel of the car with such complete
confidence, who seemed bent upon nothing more important than making the
little hand of the speedometer climb higher and higher--this was a new
Peter Hyde, unfamiliar and yet strangely familiar in that now he
resembled the dozens of other young men Nancy had known.
Nancy felt suddenly shy. Always before, when with Peter, she had
enjoyed the least bit of a feeling of superiority, that she was
graciously bringing, with her friendship, much into a life that must,
because it was limited to Judson's farm, often seem dull and empty.
But it was not easy to feel that way toward this very good-looking
young man in immaculate blue serge who tended to her comfort with the
assurance of a person quite accustomed to taking young ladies on
automobile picnics!
Because they were both young, because the breeze blowing deliciously
against their faces was fragrant with summer smells, their hearts were
light; they chattered merrily, as young people will, about everything
under the sun, then lapsed into pleasant silences, broken only by the
regular humming of the engine.
However, after a little, these silences irritated Nancy. Peeping from
a corner of her eye at Peter Hyde's blonde head, she was annoyed by an
overwhelming curiosity as to what was going on, within it! What _was_
the mystery concealed behind that pleasant mask? And why, when they
seemed such good friends, could he not tell her?
Then she suddenly realized, with a quick sense of shame, that she, too,
was concealing much from Peter Hyde!
As they rode along he pointed out old landmarks with the familiarity of
a life-long Islander. He admitted that history fascinated him. "Not
in books as much as when you can hook it up with the very ground you're
walking on! Look at that lake over there--can't you picture it covered
with the canoes of the Indians? They used to come around here in
flotillas--the Iroquois, the Algonquins and the Hurons, always
fighting. Great lot they were--scrapping all the time!"
He seemed to have at his tongue's end some interesting bit of
information about every spot they passed. As they wandered around Isle
La Motte, he told how on this little Island Champlain had first landed
on his voyage down into the valley. He explained that a Jesuit mission
had been established there as far back as 1660, long before any other
white men had ventured into the wilderness.
They visited the ruins of Fort Ste. Anne on Sandy Point and the little
chapel with its cross, to which, on the Feast of Ste. Anne, came
pilgrims from great distances, to pray at the shrine.
"We think this America of ours is so young," he laughed. "And here we
are living on soil that has been consecrated by brave sacrifices of
centuries ago! Not so bad."
Driving homeward their backs were turned to the little ominous pile of
clouds darkening a corner of the blue sky. At a spot where the road
ran close to the edge of the lake, under a wide-spreading maple tree,
they laid out B'lindy's lunch.
"Now I'll tell him I'm going," Nancy vowed to herself, with a little
unaccountable fluttering.
He was on his knees before the picnic box. She could not see his face.
"Peter!" She had not realized how hard it was going to be to say it.
"I'm--going--away! Really."
She had expected that he would be startled--show real consternation.
Her going _must_ make a difference in his life at Freedom--there were
no other young people to take her place.
He was surprised; he held a jelly sandwich suspended for a moment, as
though waiting for her to say something more. Then he laid it down on
a paper plate.
"White meat or dark meat," he asked.
Nancy could not know that he was not really concerned as to whether she
preferred white meat or dark meat, that his indifference was, indeed,
covering a moment's inability to express his real feelings. She was
suddenly angry--angry at herself more than at Peter Hyde!
"Of course I shall hate to go, I have grown very fond of Aunt Sabrina
and Aunt Milly and B'lindy--and dear little Nonie. It's hardest to
leave her!"
"They'll miss you. You've changed Happy House. And Nonie's a
different child."
"He's very careful not to say he'll miss me," thought Nancy with
childish pique. Then, aloud: "But I can't stay at Happy House forever.
I only planned to spend three weeks there at the most and it's been
six. And it seems as though I'd been there ages! I suppose one day on
the Islands is like a week in the cities, where you live right next to
people and never really touch their lives. However, it's in the rush
of the cities I belong; I should _die_ if I had to stay here!" She
wanted him to understand that the attractions of Happy House could not
hold her; she wanted to punish him for that abstraction that she had
thought indifference.
"Judson's will be a dull hole without you at Happy House, Nancy," Peter
put in, gravely.
She laughed lightly. "By Christmas you will have forgotten all about
me! Anyway, you will have Miss Denny."
With wicked delight over his embarrassment Nancy told him of Nonie's
plan that Miss Denny should be Mr. Peter's "dearest."
"Your fate is as plain as the nose on my face," she laughed,
tantalizingly. "You won't have to cross my palm with silver to know
your future, Mr. Hyde! A cottage on the ten-acre piece where you will
live happily--ever afterward. As a wedding gift, with my best wishes,
I'll give you the Bird's-Nest."
She dodged the drum-stick that Peter threw at her. "You are not at all
grateful for the nice fortune I'm giving you," she declared.
"I am, indeed! Though it doesn't seem quite fair for me to make too
many plans without consulting Miss Denny, and I've never seen the lady.
She may be old and ugly, black--or yellow."
"I'll tell you--if you'll promise not to tell that I've told! She _is_
old and ugly; she's blind in one eye and stutters and limps and has
straggly gray hair and----"
"For Heaven's sake, stop! When all my life I've been looking for a
girl with brown hair that looks sort of red and freckles--about three
thousand of them!"
"Peter!" Nancy sprang precipitously to her feet. "Look--there is a
storm coming!"
B'lindy's threatened storm was approaching swiftly. The black cloud
that had been piling up behind them now overspread the whole western
sky. "What a shame--to have it spoil our day! This has been such fun.
I'll never forget it, after I've gone." Then, hastily, "Gather up the
napkins and the baskets; I promised B'lindy I'd bring them home! Isn't
there a short cut home? I'm really dreadfully afraid of lightning."
But she had caught something in the expression of Peter Hyde's face
that frightened her more than the threatened storm.
"Let's hurry," she cried, running unceremoniously to the automobile.