CHAPTER XXV
NANCY'S CONFESSION
A thousand torments seemed to rack poor Nancy's tired soul and body.For a long time she had lain, very still, across her bed. Then shehad, mechanically, made ready for the night. But sleep would not come.Wider and wider-eyed she stared at the dim outline that was her openwindow. After awhile she crossed to it and knelt down before it, herbare arms folded on the sill.
A sense of remorse, which Nancy had been trying for some time past tokeep tucked back somewhere in a corner of her mind, now overwhelmedher. She saw herself a cheat, an imposter. What would these goodpeople of Happy House say of her when they knew all of them, even PeterHyde--and little Nonie!
Her hands clenched tightly, Nancy faced what she called the reckoning.
Only a few days before she and Aunt Milly had had a long talk. AuntMilly had told her how, one afternoon, she had tried to walk--and hadfailed.
"I'd been praying, my dear, that it might be possible. I thought,perhaps, I felt so much better----. But the wonderful thing wasNancy,--_I didn't care_! My life seems so full, now, of real things,thanks to all you've done for me, that whether I can walk or not isinsignificant. And I shall always have you, anyway, Nancy!" AuntMilly had said with the yearning look in her eyes that Nancy knew sowell.
What would Aunt Milly say when she knew?
How had she, Nancy, betrayed Sabrina's trust?
Rapidly, as one can at such moments, Nancy's mind went over the weeksof her stay at Happy House. She had let herself go so far; she hadtaught these people she was deceiving to grow fond of her--to _need_her!
And she had grown fond of them--that was her punishment. She had grownfond of Happy House; she wanted to be the real Anne Leavitt and belongto Happy House and its precious traditions, that she had mocked; shewanted to have the right to rejoice, now, in the vindication of thatbrother who had gone away, years before.
Poor little Nancy, shivering there in the chill and silence of thenight, her world, her girl's world, fell away from her. Like onelooking in from without, she saw her own life as though it wasanother's--and what it might hold for her! She saw it stripped of thelittle superficialities of youth; she saw clearly, with uncannypreciseness, causes and effects, the havoc, too, of her ownthoughtlessness and weaknesses.
Something in the vision frightened her, but challenged the best in her,too. One had only one life to live and each wasted day counted somuch--each wasted hour cost so dearly! In the striving for the fargoal one must not leave undone the little things that lay close athand, the little, worth-while, sometimes-hard things. She had gone along way down the wrong road, but she'd turn squarely! Her head wenthigh--she would make a clean breast of it all--to them all; AuntSabrina, Aunt Milly--Peter Hyde.
Her face went down against her arms; she wanted to hide, even in thedarkness, the flush that mantled her cheeks. She could see his eyes asthey had seemed to caress her--out there in the orchard. Oh, why hadshe not told him the truth, then and there; if she had he would havedespised her, but it would have killed forever the hope she had read inhis face.
Nancy, girlishly eager to struggle in life's tide, now, facing thegreatest thing in life, shrank back, afraid. She wanted, oh so much,to be little again; there had always been someone, then, to whom toturn when problems pressed--Daddy, even Mrs. Finnegan--the Seniors incollege, the Dean herself. Now--she felt alone.
Lighting her lamp, she pulled a chair to the table and spread outsheets of paper. She wanted to tell it all, while her courage lasted.She wrote furiously, her lips pressed in a straight line. She wouldnot spare herself one bit--Peter Hyde must know just what she had done.
But, at the end, she yielded to a longing too strong to resist.
"Please, _please_ don't think too badly of me. You see you don't knowAnne and how her heart was set on going to Russia, and she was surethat if she told her relatives about going they'd stop her. And thatseemed, then, the only important thing--neither of us thought of thewrong we'd be doing the people--here. It seemed, too, a very littlething for me to do for her. But I just can't bear to have _you_ hateme!" For a moment she held her pencil over the last words, thenhastily sealed the letter and addressed it.
The last paragraph stayed in her mind. "How _silly_ we were, Anne,"she said aloud, mentally arraigning those two very young creatures ofcollege days.
Her confession made, a load rolled from Nancy's heart. "Anyway, he'llknow the truth," was her soothing thought as she crawled into bed. Inthe morning she would tell Aunt Sabrina.
But Nancy's first waking thought--at a very late hour, for herover-tired body had taken its due in sound sleep--was that she wasvery, very unhappy. As she dressed, with trembling haste, she wonderedif she had not better plan to catch the afternoon train at North Hero.
She sought out Jonathan first and despatched him with her letter, thenwalked slowly back into the house to face Aunt Sabrina.
On the newel post of the stairs were letters that Jonathan had justbrought up from the post-office. One was addressed to her in Anne'sfamiliar handwriting and was postmarked New York!
As though she had been struck, Nancy dropped down on the stairs.
Anne's valiant spirit of sacrifice and service had given way tocomplaint.
"All these weeks cooped up in a little room in London waiting forfurther orders, only to have them _dare_ to tell me--after all theencouragement I'd had--that I was too young and inexperienced to go oninto Russia, and that I could be of greater service in organizationwork back home. Think of it, Nancy! And then shipping me back asthough I was a little child. I have worn myself out withdisappointment, rage and disgust. I came here to your rooms and sleptlast night in your bed (as much as any one could sleep with theFinnegan baby cutting a tooth downstairs) and I shall stay here until Ican calm down enough to make some definite plans.
"... You've been a dear, Nancy, and I've been quite curious to know howyou've gotten on. I never dreamed you'd stay so long! And now I mustask you to stay just a little longer, until I know what I want to do.Under no circumstances let my aunt know the truth...."
Nancy read the letter three times--she could scarcely believe her eyes.Poor Anne, her splendid dreams had come to nothing.
In her own desire to clean her soul by confession, she had forgottenAnne! Of course she could not tell Aunt Sabrina--at least not now.She must wait, as Anne had asked.
"Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive,"Nancy repeated, bitterly, feeling as though the web she had made wastying her hand and foot.
B'lindy, looking in from the kitchen, saw her. B'lindy's face wasstrangely brightened; she gave a mysterious crook to her finger as shebeckoned to Nancy to come into the kitchen.
"I set some coffee by for you--I guessed you'd be tuckered out afteryesterday, ridin' round in that storm and then findin' the wallet was'nough to tucker anybody." Before she poured the coffee she closed thedoor leading into the front of the house. "Miss Nancy, there's beenmore changes in Happy House even than findin' that wallet!"
"What do you mean, B'lindy?"
B'lindy leaned a radiant face over Nancy.
"It's Miss Sabriny--she's been just like she was born again! I guessfolks won't know her. And you'll never guess what we're goin' to haveup here. _A baby!_"
Nancy was frankly astonished. Then B'lindy told her what, in theexcitement of the afternoon before, she had not heard--of finding thebaby and Davy's note.
"I guess that little mite opened up somethin' that was all dried up inSabriny Leavitt's heart! Seems while we was all fussin' over the messin the settin' room Davy Hopworth come up after that baby lookin' likehe'd been scared to death. And then this mornin' Sabriny Leavitt comesto me 'n asks me to go down to Timothy Hopkins with her while she askshim for that baby back. Well, we went--she couldn't even wait for meto pick up. And Timothy Hopkins refused her _flat_! You wouldn't havebelieved your ears, Nancy, Sabriny Leavitt took most to cryin' and shetold him how lonesome i
t was up to Happy House and how her whole life'd been wasted 'cause she'd never done for others and he'd be doin' akindness to an old woman to let her take the baby and do for it. Butit wa'n't until she'd promised that she'd just sort o' bring him up andhe could always go home and play with the nine others, and the nine o'them could come to Happy House's often as they wanted that he'd as muchas listen. So we're goin' to have a baby!" B'lindy said it withunconcealed triumph. "Cunnin' little thing--smart's can be. Youshould a' seen it grab for the spoon when I was feedin' it!"
Nancy's eyes were shining. "Oh, that will be wonderful," she cried."Where is Aunt Sabrina?"
As though in answer to her question, Miss Sabrina's voice called herfrom the front hall and at the same moment Miss Sabrina opened thedoor. Yes, it was a transformed Sabrina Leavitt--her face was deeplylined by all she had gone through, but there was a humility in her eyesthat softened them and brought a deeper glow as though, indeed, fromsome new-born spirit within.
Impulsively, Nancy threw two strong arms about her neck and kissed her.
"Come into the sitting-room with me, Anne, I have a great deal I wantto say to you." She led Nancy through the hall into the sitting-roomand they sat down together upon the old horse-hair sofa. In MissSabrina's tone there was a dignified tranquility that made Nancy lookat her with a little wonder. As though in answer to Nancy's thoughtMiss Sabrina said, quietly:
"God alone knows what I've lived through--since yesterday afternoon.Nancy, it is a terrible thing for an old woman to look back upon a lifeshe has wasted--through pride and prejudice. The storm and finding thewallet--that was God's own way of opening my eyes! I have been awicked, proud, selfish woman. But I've hurt myself worst of all. Forhere I am an old woman, and not a soul in the world really loves me----"
Nancy put out a protesting hand. Miss Sabrina patted it.
"I am right, my dear, I know it now. But if God will be good to me Hewill give me a few more years to live, so that I may make up, in asmall way, for the wrong I have done--to others and to myself. Do youknow, Nancy, it was you who first brought home to me the truth--thathappiness comes as it is given. It was a fortunate thing for HappyHouse when I brought you here, dear."
Nancy had to bite her lips to strangle the words of confession thatsprang to them. Aunt Sabrina went on:
"I cannot bring back the years or atone to my brother for the wrong Idid to him. I do not know how I can make up to your own father.Perhaps, if you ask him to, he will forgive me, some day. But I shall,as soon as I can see my lawyers in North Hero, make a new will, leavingHappy House and my share of my father's fortune to you----"
"Good gracious----" thought Nancy; "she thinks Anne's father is stillliving!" In dismay Nancy sprang to her feet. But Miss Sabrina paid noheed to her agitation. She rose and went to the table and opened aleather-bound book that lay there.
"I have brought down some papers and letters that belonged to yourgrandfather--when he was a young man. Here is a picture of him. Comeand see it, my dear."
Unwillingly Nancy crossed to the table. Miss Sabrina reverently placedthe faded picture in her hand.
"My only brother," she whispered, brokenly. "Your grandfather."
"No, _Anne's_ grandfather," Nancy almost screamed.
She looked at the picture with intent interest. It portrayed astrikingly handsome young man. She turned the card in her hand.Across the back had been written the name. "Eugene StandbridgeLeavitt."
Astounded, Nancy cried out: "Why, that--_that is my father's name_!"