CHAPTER XII
LIZ
Old Jonathan, returning from his daily trip to the postoffice, broughthome the news that "there'd be doin's on Fourth of July 'count of thesoldier boys--that Webb'd said it'd got to be a Fourth that not a childin Freedom'd forget!" And B'lindy had retorted that "it wa'nt likely,I guess, if Webb got up the doin's anyone _would_--they'd be doin's noone _could_ forget!"
But Nancy's interest in the coming event gave way with a quicklysmothered exclamation of delight when Jonathan drew from an insidepocket a square, bluish envelope with a foreign postmark, redirected inMrs. Finnegan's most careful handwriting.
"And here's another," he added, bringing forth a letter from Claire.
"You're a _dear_," cried Nancy, hugging her treasures. "If you'll takethis pan of peas, Jonathan, I'll run off and read them!"
B'lindy watched Nancy disappear toward the orchard with mingledamazement and disapproval. "There never was a letter _I_ got I'd setby my work for! _That's_ a young one for you!"
Out in her Bird's-nest Nancy held up the two envelopes. "I'll save you'til last, Daddy," she whispered, kissing the handwriting she loved.
Claire's letter was short and yet so like her that Nancy could havebelieved her friend was there with her--talking to her.
"I'm perfectly miserable, and I can't let mother guess--she tries tomake everything so jolly for me. But I'm just plain homesick forcollege and you girls. The summer isn't a bit what I'd planned. Barrywent away before I got home. Mother thought he'd come back but hedidn't, and the maddening thing is she won't tell me where he is. Shesaid Barry was 'getting settled.' Isn't that absurd? I suppose he'sgone off to the Canadian Rockies or maybe to Japan. But I don't seewhy mother has to make a secret of it! The war's changed all the men Iknow--none of them seem as nice. They're so restless and act so old.But then, I'm restless, too, and feel as old as the hills. Forheaven's sake, Nancy, hurry up and do your duty by Anne's relatives andcome here to me--I need you!"
"Funny Claire," laughed Nancy, talking aloud in the way she had learnedat Happy House. "She's always trying to make herself think she'smiserable. But Barry _is_ a pill! Now, Daddy mine!"
Because she must make her moment of joy last as long as possible, shespread out each page; she peeped into the envelope to be certain thatshe had them all; she touched ever so lightly the penned lines; sheeven sniffed joyously at the paper in a vain hope of detecting thefamiliar odor of Havana tobacco.
The letter had been three weeks on its way. And it was in answer toone Nancy had written to him from college, soon after Anne's plans togo to. Russia had been completed.
"* * * * That is fine in Anne, but it seems to me, that in theenthusiasm of her youth she's overlooking opportunities for servicecloser at hand. These problems over here are so tremendous--they, needa tried mind and the wisdom of years. You know, my dear, if you wantto do things to make this world better you can generally find themwaiting for you in your very own corner! Wherever you look you willsee the destruction of prejudice, ignorance, selfishness and pride--youdon't have to go to Russia to find it!
"In a few weeks my baby will be graduated. I cannot picture you grownup. Perhaps you will never seem so to your Dad. I feel as thoughthese months that I have spent over here away from you must have mademany changes in my girl--they have cheated me of a great deal of joy inyour development. But I hope that the dignities you have acquired havenot changed the dear, kind, joyous heart of you!
"You tell me you have decided upon a 'career,' but you will not tell mewhat--little torment! Is it something in which I can help? If it isuseful and honorable, my child, it will bring you happiness, whateverit is. I hope it is a hard one, too, the more you have to work themore satisfaction you will enjoy.
"Now for good news. My work over here is done. As soon as I can getpassage I will sail for home, I can't think of anything else. Ithought I'd spend my unexpected holiday nosing around in the placeswhere I've always wanted to go--but I can't. I'm too impatient toenjoy anything. So I shall camp on the doorstep of the G. H. Q. Officeuntil word of my sailing comes. I suppose you are at the apartmentunder Mrs. Finnegan's loving eye. When I return we'll run off to theseashore or mountains for a few weeks."
"Dear, dear thoughtful Daddy--nice, old, _preachy_ Daddy--with yoursugar-coated sermons in little pellets, all easy to swallow!" criedNancy, laughing, then suddenly a sob choked her, another and thenanother.
"It's almost _dreadful_ to have Daddy have just me. What if he isdisappointed when he sees me! What if he is--angry--at what I've done!"
For the first time this possibility crossed her mind {134} leaving aterrible fear. Impulsive Nancy had often displeased her father, butalways the most trivial offence had troubled her deeply. Her fatherhad such an aversion to the smallest departure from truth! And wasn'tshe really acting a lie?
For the next few moments poor Nancy sorely needed the support of Anne'sconvincing arguments! Remorse of the most torturing kind swept her.
And she had dared to judge Miss Sabrina's standards of honor andjustice!
"I'll go away," she cried, aloud. "I'll go straight back to Mrs.Finnegan's where I belong."
But this determination, soothing at it was, brought added problems.Nancy's brow wrinkled with a deep frown of perplexity. It would not befair to Anne to just run away--she'd have to give some explanation toMiss Sabrina and Miss Milly and B'lindy, and even Webb. And just now,in her present mood, anything but the absolute truth seemed abhorrentto her.
Then she thought of Aunt Milly--dear little Aunt Milly. She was adifferent creature now from the pale little woman Nancy had first seenon the couch in the darkened room. Each day, when she did not go tothe orchard, she spent in the sitting room or on the hollyhock porch,knitting and helping in little household tasks. And Nancy knew by thewistful glance that met hers when she came and went, how Aunt Millyhungered for her company. Nancy had told herself that it was becauseshe was young and that she seemed, perhaps, like what Aunt Milly hadwanted to be--before the dreadful accident.
What _would_ Aunt Milly's life be if she went suddenly out of it?
There was Davy, too, and all she had planned to start for the Club andNonie--
What must Nonie think? She had let a whole day go by and had not seenLiz!
Nancy re-read her father's letter. "If you want to do things to makethis world better you can generally find them waiting for you in yourvery own corner!" Funny--that Daddy should have written just that!Nancy folded her letter with a sigh of relief. "Of course, there'swork right here and maybe--I'd be a coward to run away--just now. Thewrong was done when I came!"
The logic was youthful, but then Nancy, despite the dignity ofgraduation was very youthful, too. Her mind made up she looked veryresolute. She'd go and call upon Liz that very afternoon.
However, she must know more concerning the Hopworth's before she bravedLiz on her own ground. So she sought out the all-wise B'lindy.
B'lindy was most generous with her information.
"I guess the Hopworths ain't any concern of yours, Miss Anne. TheLeavitts al'las visited mostly with good folks like the Allens and theChamberlains and the Fiskes over in South Hero, and the Hills up toIsle Le Motte and the Eatons and Todds, here to Freedom. Time was whenthe best come to Happy House--Miss Sabriny's mother liked company--butnot trash like the Hopworth's!"
"But _why_ are they trash, B'lindy? What do they do? Webb saysthey're an old family, that they've been here as long as the Leavitts."
B'lindy snorted. "Webb's tongue's tied in the middle and wags bothends and I guess most of the time at the wrong end! Mebbe they areold--you can't kill off folks same's you can a strain of cattle. Theydon't do nothin', Miss Anne, that's it--they don't do nothin'. They'rejust shiftless, no-good folks. Old Dan'l don't work--never did, andhis pa before him. And that Eric--he was worst of all!"
"Who was Eric?" begged Nancy.
"Old Dan'l's son and as bad a boy as ever torm
ented a neighborhood.But no one knew he'd be anything but no-good, and he wasn't. Ran offto sea. Folks never heard much 'bout him, but they knew they wouldn'thear anything good, anyway. Then, sudden-like, he turns up with twoyoung 'uns. Brought 'em to old Dan'l to keep. One was a girl and theother, a baby in his arms, was a boy."
Freedom folks had never lost their enjoyment in this episode of EricHopworth's adventurous life. B'lindy, happy now in her tale, made themost of it.
"I guess there were a lot of stories 'bout them young uns, but oldDan'l never made a sign 'bout which was true. And Eric Hopworth wentoff's suddenly as he come, leavin' those two more Hopworth's for oldDan'l to feed and bring up, and for the folks 'round here to watch,unless they wanted all their apples stolen and their chickens killed!Mis' Tubbs told Mis' Sniggs that she _see_ a marriage certificate andthat the mother'd been one of them actor-women down in New York and shethought like's not the woman died when the boy was born. Mis' Jenkinssez _she'd_ heard other stories over in North Hero! Anyways oldDan'l's as close-mouthed as a stature!"
"And who's Liz?" asked Nancy.
"Old Dan'l's half-sister. He brought her over from Bend after theyoung 'uns came, to do for 'em."
Nancy mused for a moment. There was not much use in telling B'lindythat she was going to call upon Liz--it would take days and days ofargument to overcome the heritage of prejudice in B'lindy's mind.Perhaps, for the present, she had better keep Nonie in the orchard.
It had not needed B'lindy's description for Nancy to recognize theHopworth dwelling, if by such a name could be called the fourweather-beaten walls hanging crazily together as though by a last nail.A litter of debris cluttered the bare ground around the house andbetween the shed and the unused barn. Back of the shed an old manslouched in the sun.
The door sagged on its one hinge, partly open. When Nancy knocked agaunt, slatternly woman, in the room within, turned with a scowl.
As Nancy's eyes, sweeping over the dirty, crowded room, came back tothe hard face before her, she sickened at the thought of little Nonie,with her "dreams," growing in this environment. Then, as Liz' scowlgave place to a sullen indifference, Nancy realized that the mostmarked thing about the woman was a resigned hopelessness.
Nancy, choosing her words carefully, introduced herself. As Liz'unfriendliness discouraged any advances, Nancy plunged straight to thepoint. She had taken a fancy to the children, she explained--wouldMiss Hopworth permit Nonie and sometimes Davy, to come often to HappyHouse? She, Nancy, found it a little lonesome at Happy House and shewould enjoy their company.
Liz dropped a pan with a bang. "I'll tell you just's I tell her--thereain't goin' to be any more traipsing 'way from her work all the timelike with the schoolmar'm either to Happy House nor nowhere. All themnotions is settin' the girl loony goin' on with her lies and things'bout things bein' differunt. She'll stay _right_ to home!"
And to prevent further argument Liz' head bent meaningly toward thedoor.
But at that moment a shadow crossed it. Mrs. Sniggs, very gingerly,thrust a head inside. Under her arm she carried a kettle. Once in awhile old Dan'l mended the village kettles.
"How d'do," snapped Liz.
But Mrs. Sniggs, with an uplift of her nose that said plainly: "I don'teven _see_ you," put her kettle near the door without a word and turnedto depart. At which Liz, in a loud tone, exclaimed: "Most _certainly_,Miss Leavitt, we're _delighted_! Our Nonie can visit you up to HappyHouse real often!"
Liz knew and Nancy knew, by the tell-tale shadow that lingered acrossthe threshold that Mrs. Sniggs had heard; Nancy blessed the goodfortune that had brought the woman there at that moment!
Walking homeward, her mind full of plans of all she wanted to do forNonie and Davy, Nancy with a shudder recalled the Hopworth home--andLiz. Something in the tired eyes haunted her. "Maybe," she thoughtwith a pang of pity, "maybe she's as--starved--as Nonie!"