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[Illustration: “One silent, prolonged clasp of her daughter’s little
figure, one light kiss on the pretty lips.” (See page 13)]
JESSICA TRENT’S INHERITANCE
by
EVELYN RAYMOND
Author of
“Jessica Trent,” “Jessica the Heiress,” “Breakneck Farm,” etc.
[Illustration: GIRLS OWN LIBRARY]
Philadelphia
David McKay, Publisher
610 South Washington Square
Copyright, 1907, by David McKay.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. JESSICA BEGINS A LONG JOURNEY 9
II. IN THE TOURIST CAR 20
III. THE LONG JOURNEY ENDS 30
IV. IN THE ANCIENT MANSION 40
V. BUSTER TAKES A CITY TRAIL 52
VI. JESSICA’S FIRST GIRL FRIEND 65
VII. EPHRAIM TAKES HOME THE BUNDLE 76
VIII. MORNING TALKS AND INTERRUPTIONS 87
IX. “LAYLOCKS” 98
X. LEARNING LIFE 108
XI. LETTERS AND CHANGES 119
XII. MEETING AND PARTING 129
XIII. JESSICA ENTERS SCHOOL 141
XIV. HOW THE FIRST DAY ENDED 152
XV. A TEXT FROM GOETHE 165
XVI. THE SOMETHING WHICH HAPPENED 179
XVII. RECONCILIATION AND REVELATION 191
XVIII. A TELLING VALEDICTORY 203
XIX. THE DREAM AND THE REALITY 213
JESSICA TRENT’S INHERITANCE.
CHAPTER I.
JESSICA BEGINS A LONG JOURNEY.
“O mother! How can I bear it? How can I go?” cried Jessica Trent,
clinging fast to the slender, black-robed figure standing a little
apart on the platform of the railway station.
“Bravely and hopefully, my darling, as befits the daughter of Cassius
Trent. Eagerly, I trust, as one who goes to finish his life work;”
answered the almost heart-broken mother, the joy of whose existence
would vanish with that outgoing eastern train.
“But I may come home again next year, mother dearest? Say I may come
then!” pleaded the girl.
“If it seems best,” answered Gabriella Trent, tenderly stroking the
fair cheek which seemed to have grown thinner and whiter during these
last days before this parting.
“Next year? Why, my suz! You won’t much more than get there by that
time, child alive. Three thousand miles is pretty consid’able of a
step, seems if,” commented a voice which tried to be as cheerful as it
was loud. But the words ended with a sob; that “three thousand miles,”
which her own fancy had pictured quite breaking down the composure of
Aunt Sally Benton, who had come with the rest of the Sobrante party to
see Jessica Trent off for the Atlantic coast.
“Blow my stripes! If I ever knew there were so many folks all agog for
travelin’! Uneasiest crowd ’t ever I see an’ noisiest. Well, captain,
I hope they’ll get talked out ’fore sleeping time comes. If a body
can sleep aboard a train of cars. Give me a good ship now--then you
sing! Here, you fool! What you jostlin’ into me for? Think this whole
platform belongs to you, just because you’re one the know-nothin’
towerists?” cried Samson, the mighty herder and one-time sailor, as an
anxious “tourist” bumped an armful of luggage against him.
A big crowd it certainly was. Mainly a happy and eager one as well; its
winter’s outing and sight-seeing over, and home-going at hand. A few,
indeed, were sad. Those who had come to California seeking health for
some beloved one and failing to find it; leaving the helpless one to
take his last sleep in that sunny land, or to carry him eastward to die
under native skies.
But amid all the bustle and haste the group from Sobrante was quiet
and separate, only Aunt Sally and Samson now and then breaking out
into exclamations to relieve their overwrought emotions, and thereby
attracting more attention than Mrs. Trent quite enjoyed.
Indeed, she would have preferred to keep these last moments to herself
and Jessica alone, but could not. All the “boys” who could possibly
be spared from the ranch had come to Los Angeles to see their little
“Captain” depart; although John Benton, the carpenter, emphatically
declared:
“It’s all a downright mistake. As if our ‘Lady Jess’ didn’t know more
now than any ‘finished’ boardin’ school miss could even guess at.
Figures? Huh! What does she need more’n to add up a few wages now an’
again, and she’s a likely head at that already. Sent ’way off to New
York after an education that she could get right here in Californy
if her mother’d only think so. I don’t hold with no such unnatural
separations, I don’t.”
As to the girl herself, it seemed to all these devoted henchmen that
she had grown suddenly older, graver, more dignified, almost careworn.
On that very last day of all, when she had made a detailed visit to,
and inspection of, every part of the big ranch, she had done so with a
quiet, critical interest quite contrary to her usual careless gayety.
“This paddock needs attention, ‘boy.’ You mustn’t let things go to ruin
while I’m away nor expect mother to look after them,” she had warned
one ranchman, in a tone he had never heard her use before. Also, she
had gone over his books with the man who now “plucked” the ostriches,
whose feathers were such an important factor in the family income, and
finding his accounts slightly incorrect had reprimanded him sharply.
It had been altogether another Jessica during these last days; but
all felt her altered manner was due wholly to the grief of her
home-leaving; and John Benton was not the only one of the devoted
“boys” who considered her departure a mistake.
However, mistake or not, it was now at hand. A distant whistle sounded.
The southern San Diego train was coming in, the outgoing overland
express stood waiting on the rails before the platform, and by one
impulse the whole Sobrante party grouped about the girl for a final
kiss or hand-shake. To each and all of them she represented the best of
life.
“If anybody harms or tries to harm a hair of your curly yellow head,
my Lady Jess, just you telegrapht me to once an’ I’ll take the trail
eastward, lickety-cut!” cried George Cromarty, with a suspicious
moisture in his usually merry eyes.
“I--I’ve got a brother yender, in the State o’ Maine. Like’s not I’ll
be takin’ a trip that way myself, little captain, if I find Sobrante
gets too lonesome,” said Joe, the smith.
“Be sure you keep that bottle of picra right side up, just the way I
fixed it in your satchel, an’ take a dose if you feel a mite car sick,
or homesick, or----”
“Any other kind of sick!” interrupted John Benton, coolly pushing Aunt
Sally aside, that he might get hold of Jessica himself.
“There’s dried peach turnovers in that basket an’ some my hen chicken’s
best hard-boiled eggs in Mr. Hale’s suit case!” almost screamed Mrs.
Benton as the whole party moved forward toward the train. “There’s a
jar of picked-off roast quail and--Good-by, Jessie Trent! Good-by!
Don’t take no sass from nobody and do, I beg of you, do keep--your
stockin’s--mended; Oh! my stars an’ garters! Oh! my! my suz!” wailed
the poor woman, as the girl she so dearly loved was swept away from her
without even one parting hug.
But Mrs. Trent, to whom this farewell meant more than to any of them,
had now no word to say. One silent, prolonged clasp of her daughter’s
little figure, one light kiss on the pretty lips, and--Jessica was gone!
The dying rumble of the overland seemed a knell of all her happiness
and for a moment, as she stood with closed eyes trying to collect
herself, she had a reckless impulse to board the next outgoing train
and follow on her darling’s “trail.” Then somebody touched her arm and
Ninian Sharp was saying in tones that tried to be cheerful and failed:
“Come, dear madam. Our girl has put you into my especial care and
the first thing on the docket is dinner. It was a poor breakfast
any of us made and I, for one, am hungry. Come on, boys. It’s the
Westminster--for all of us. Here? Ready, every one? This car then for
you and we’ll meet you there. Come, Aunt Sally. Eh? What?”
For as the one-time reporter of the _Lancet_, and now manager of the
Sobrante, hailed a carriage to convey Mrs. Trent and Mrs. Benton
hotel-ward, the latter fell into a tragic attitude and wildly waved her
“reticule” eastward, whither Jessica’s train had gone, and as wildly
thrust her free hand skyward, exclaiming:
“I’d ought to be kicked by cripples! I certainly had! If I ain’t the
foolishest, forgettin’est woman ’twixt the two oceans! An’ it’s too
late now. Oh! my suz a-me!”
Mr. Ninian laughed, and was more grateful to Aunt Sally just then than
he had ever been before. Her evident, if comical, distress interrupted
sadder thoughts and he promptly demanded, again:
“Well, what’s wrong now, neighbor?”
“Shouldn’t think you, nor no other sensible person’d want to go
‘neighborin’’ me, a body that can’t keep her wits about her no longer
’n what I can. Gabriella Trent, I’ve clean gone, or gone an’ clean
forgot, that pink-and-white patchwork quilt I’ve been settin’ up nights
to get ready for Jessie to take with her on the cars, to sleep in!
Now--what do you say to that!”
The dramatic dismay on the good woman’s countenance sent Mr. Sharp into
a roar of laughter which, this time, was wholly unfeigned, and even
brought a smile of amusement to Mrs. Trent’s pale face. The picture her
fancy evoked of pretty, fair-haired Jessica, bundled in the patchwork
quilt on board a luxurious “sleeper” was so absurd that she forgot, for
the moment, other and graver matters.
“No wonder, dear, with all the things you did and looked after, so that
we might both leave home--no wonder you forgot. It was very kind of
you to take so much trouble for the child, but she’ll not really need
the quilt. The beds are well fitted on the sleepers, and Mr. Hale will
care for her as if she were his own. Come. We mustn’t keep Mr. Ninian
waiting and after dinner he wants me to meet one or two business men.
About the mine, you know;” explained Gabriella, entering the carriage,
whither Aunt Sally clumsily followed.
Fortunately, that big-hearted creature could always find a “way out”
of most difficulties, and she promptly settled the quilt question,
saying:
“Well, if she didn’t get it for a keepsake gift, it’s hern all the same
and she shall have it a-Christmas, and you needn’t touch to tell me she
shan’t. Even if I be to ‘Boston,’ come that day, an’ I have to badger
the very life out of my son John to get him to send it to her then. But
dinner, Gabriell’! I don’t feel as if I could eat a single bite. Do
you, yourself, honey?”
This time Ninian felt as if he could shake her. He knew that it would
be small appetite, indeed, Mrs. Trent would bring even to that fine
menu he meant to lay before her, and here was thoughtless Aunt Sally
almost intimating that dining at all would, to-day, be an indecency. So
there was more real feeling than appeared in his rejoinder:
“Look here, Mrs. Benton! I wager that with all your present ‘suffering’
you’ll yet be able to make a good square meal. One, maybe, that it’ll
tax my pocket-book to pay for!”
“Hoity-toity, young man! Who’s asked you to pay for my victuals? I
didn’t; and more’n that it’s my intent and cal’lation to pay spot cash
not only for what I eat but what Gabrielly does, too, and ’twon’t be my
fault if she don’t get urged to fair stuff herself. So there.”
“Good enough, Aunt Sally! You’re a--a brick!” retorted this irreverent
young man, having succeeded in his efforts at diversion and fully
satisfied.
“No, I ain’t. I’m a decent human womanbody, that knows when she’s
sassed at an’ when she isn’t. And you needn’t think you’re the only
creatur’ livin’ can look after Gabriella Trent and them that’s
dear to her. But--you can’t help bein’ what you are--_a man_!” The
infinite scorn which Mrs. Benton threw into that one word tickled the
ex-reporter into another gale of laughter, during which the carriage
arrived at the hotel entrance and the group of Sobrante “boys” waiting
there.
The sound of it didn’t please them. Not in the least. Their own
countenances wore an expression befitting a funeral, and the mirth
depicted on Ninian Sharp’s declared him what they had often felt him to
be--a stranger and alien at Sobrante. It wasn’t his “little Captain”
that had gone and left them desolate. It was their own, idolized “Lady
Jess” in whom he had no right nor parcel, even though he had so fully
won her love and confidence.
“Well! I’ve my opinion of a man that can laugh--to-day--after losing
Sunny Face!” growled Samson under his breath.
“Light weight! Light weight, in his head. I always said so,” added John
Benton, solemn as an owl or--as when he was attempting to lead the
Sunday music at Sobrante.
In one glance at their stern faces Ninian Sharp comprehended what was
in their minds, and set himself to undo any false impression he had
given. That, despite their growls, they liked him he was perfectly
sure; also, that though they did indeed sorely feel the loss of the
girl they adored they were still human enough to enjoy their present
outing in the “City of the Angels,” and--a good dinner!
Handing the ladies over to the care of an obsequious clerk, he
proceeded to line up the ranchmen and to usher them into the big
dining-room, with its long array of neatly-spread tables, and toward
that corner of it which the head waiter indicated.
Inwardly he enjoyed that brief march from the door to the chairs,
each “boy” assuming an air of I-do-this-sort-of-thing-every-day,
don’t-you-know, and each displaying an awkwardness quite unknown
at quiet Sobrante. However, once in their places, and he acting as
interpreter of the menu spread before them, they forgot themselves and
awaited the feast with scant thought for anything beyond it.
Till, just as Mr. Sharp was rising to rejoin Mrs. Trent and Aunt
Sally in another room, he bethought himself to “count noses” and
found himself one nose short. One empty chair faced him, one fine old
presence was missing:
“Hello, here! Where’s ‘Forty-niner?’ Didn’t he come with you from the
station?”
The ranchmen stared at him and at each other; then said John Benton,
gravely:
“I remember now, he didn’t. Plaguyest proud old chap ever handled a
shotgun. Wouldn’t be beholden to anybody for even one dinner. Well!
He’s had experience of Los Angeles an’ ought to know his bearings.
Might ha’ stepped round to that hospital he’s forever talking about, or
to that old crony tavern-keeper’s o’ his’n. But he’ll turn up before
train starts for Marion and home. Couldn’t keep him off Sobrante
ranch though you set the dogs on him. Thinks none of us, that’s a
mite younger’n him, has got sense enough to run things without his
everlasting poke-nose thrust in. Lady Jess, she was pleased to tell
him she’d made him ‘Superintendent’ of the whole shooting-match an’
that was one time our ‘Captain’ made a little mistake. But he’s sort
of touchy like and if he gets too top-lofty we can easy set him down a
peg. I’d like some butter, waiter; and I’d like enough to _see_, this
time.”
So saying, the carpenter cast a casual glance around, as if to convey
to all spectators the fact that he was perfectly familiar with hotel
tables and the manner of dining thereat. The glance included the young
mine manager, but this time that gentleman’s sense of humor was not
touched. A vague uneasiness stirred within him, and it was his ardent
hope that when the home-returning party took the train for Marion the
old sharpshooter would rejoin them.
“Mrs. Trent will be grieved if he forsakes Sobrante now that Jessica
is gone. The old man _is_ ‘touchy,’ as the boys say; and he has never
quite forgiven his old mates for that temporary doubt of his honesty.
The ‘house’ will be lonely, indeed, if neither he nor the little
‘Captain’ goes in and out of it. Yes, I hope he’ll be on hand; and till
that time I’ll not mention him to the lady of the ranch.”
However, when--dinner past and business transacted--the Sobrante
household gathered at the station, _en route_ for home, old Ephraim
Marsh was still absent from his rightful place; and to Mrs. Trent’s
anxious exclamation:
“Why ‘Forty-niner’ hasn’t come yet! We can’t possibly go and leave him
behind! Does anybody know where he is?” there was no reply save the
warning whistle of the locomotive and the conductor’s hoarse command:
“All aboard!”
Till Aunt Sally fancied a solution, crying:
“My suz! I believe he’s gone an’ broke another leg!”