“My mother used to make me write one to her every morning for a while, till she thought I understood. Sometimes she let me sign the end like the epistles in the Bible. ‘The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit.’ I like that, but I didn’t know whether that would do for the kind of letters you want or not, so I didn’t put it in.”
“It would not,” said the lady a bit sharply. “You showed good sense. Well then, shall we call it a bargain? I’ll hire you at a salary of two hundred a month. That will give you enough to buy some clothes right away. You’ll need a good many, for you will go out with me a lot. Do you think you will like it?”
“I’m sure I’ll like to be with you and do whatever you want done, if I can do it right,” said Fraley. “I think you are lovely.”
“Well, you may not think so after you’ve been with me awhile. And if you get tired of the job, of course, I shall not hold you. I don’t want you to feel under any obligation. I’m having my fun out of this, and I don’t feel you owe me anything. But there’s one thing I would suggest. Don’t drag the Bible in everywhere. People don’t all care for it as much as you do, and you’ll turn everybody against you. You wouldn’t want to do that, would you?”
“Why no, of course not.”
The lady gave her a strange look, almost as if she were going to laugh, and then she turned away and looked out of the window a long time. After which she turned back and said earnestly, “Fraley, you’re a dear little girl. Don’t let anything I’ve said worry you. I’m really rather a cranky old thing.”
“Don’t say that, please, Mrs. Wentworth.”
“I told you, you might call me Violet.”
“I know. But it doesn’t seem quite respectful. Mother taught me to be respectful.”
“Well, I don’t want respect. That makes me feel old, and I’m getting old fast enough without it. I’d rather you’d call me Violet.”
“I’ll try Mrs. Violet,” she smiled timidly.
“That’s right,” said the lady. “Now, can you play bridge?”
“Bridge?” said Fraley. “What is that?”
“It’s a game of cards.”
Fraley’s face darkened. “No, I cannot play cards.”
“I will teach you then.”
“No, Mrs….I mean, Violet, please. I would rather not learn. My mother hated cards. The men played them when they were drunk. She thought it was what made my father lose with money. I wouldn’t feel right playing them.”
“That’s absurd, of course. However, I shan’t press the matter now. You’ll learn soon enough when you get into another world that those are all things of the past. You are leaving them behind, and there will be new standards that you will have to accept if you want to be a success in New York. I am going to teach you how to be a success, little Fraley.”
Fraley smiled, but she did not look wholly convinced. She examined the tips of the smart little shoes she was wearing, which had already become irksome. She smoothed down the satin of her chic little frock and let the afternoon sunshine twinkle on the tiny platinum wristwatch that she was wearing. But somehow she felt a great depression. The new life began to look complicated. She looked wistfully out of the window and thought of the Raven, her new friend, and that reverent kiss he had laid upon her brow at parting. She wished she could go to her own dear mother and talk it all over and find out what was right.
She drew a deep sigh. It was very stuffy in the train, and her eyelids were heavy with sleep.
“You’re tired, child,” said the lady sympathetically. “Take off your hat and shoes and lie down there. We can draw the curtain or close the door, and no one will disturb you. I want to read awhile.”
So Fraley took off the new hat and hung it respectfully on the long brass hook over her head, took off the fine shoes and stood them in a corner by her seat, and nestled down on the pillow that the porter brought. She was soon sound asleep. One silk-clad arm was under her head, and the long dark lashes lay on the lovely rounded cheek. A little late beam of sunshine laid bright touches on the coil of soft hair over her ear and brought out exquisite tints in the warm flesh. What a picture she made as she lay there sleeping like a baby, the little girl pilgrim, all alone! Something deeper than she understood stirred in the woman who watched her, over the book she was not reading. What if she should make this girl something more than a social secretary! She would make a great sensation in her world, if she were launched in the way that she knew well how to launch a girl. Perhaps she would do it. She would go slow. She would find out first what kind of people she belonged to, whether they were likely to turn up later and spoil all her plans. Perhaps it would be good to investigate them before the girl had opportunity and, if they were undesirable, keep her from going to them at all. It would not be hard to do, she judged, for the child was most tractable.
So the afternoon waned, and the sun went down behind the long express train hurrying east, and the sky on either side was spread with lovely colors left over from the main display.
Fraley woke up in time to see it and to wonder for a moment where she was, in such a noisy rush. She laughed when the lady smiled at her.
“I thought I was hiding behind a big rock in the hot sun,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “I guess I must have gone to sleep. Why, it is getting night, isn’t it?”
“It surely is,” said the lady, closing her book. “Go smooth your hair, and let us go to dinner. I like to eat while the sky is in good form. It makes it seem like a banquet.”
Fraley got up and made ready, and they wended their way once more to the diner.
“I don’t really need to eat so often,” said the girl. “It costs a lot, and I’m not used to meals very often.”
“That is silly,” said the lady. “People have to eat, and besides, it is all there is to do here.”
“Oh, I think there is a great deal to do,” said Fraley happily. “There is so much to see. Such wide pictures out of the window, it is almost like climbing a tree and looking high over the world.”
“Can you climb a tree?” asked the lady, studying her and realizing her loveliness again. How good she looked in that dark blue. It brought out all the tints of her perfect skin.
“Oh yes,” laughed the girl, “I always could do that. Can’t you?”
“Well no,” said the lady, “not that I ever remember. I’m afraid I wouldn’t look like much up a tree. There are no trees to climb in New York, you know,” she reminded.
“Perhaps you do not need them,” said the girl gravely, thinking how often a tree had been her only refuge.
“Need them? Oh, for shade? Well no, we have our cool houses, you know, and in summer we always go away anyway.”
“I mean to climb to get out of danger,” explained Fraley.
“Danger? What kind of danger?”
“Oh, bad men and wild animals and angry cattle,” she answered coolly.
“Mercy!” said the lady. “Have you ever encountered such things?”
“Oh yes.”
“And taken refuge in a tree?”
“Yes. I don’t know where I would have gone if there hadn’t been a tree. I think God planted them just where He saw I would need them.”
The lady smiled superciliously. “Do you think He bothers about us to that extent?”
“Oh yes,” said the girl, opening her eyes wide in her earnestness, “I know He does. He took care of me every step of the way here.”
“Well, what kind of ice cream do you want? I suppose the vanilla with fudge sauce would be the best, unless you prefer fresh strawberries.”
“Oh yes, strawberries! I’ve picked them on the mountain. How my mother loved them!”
“How you loved your mother,” sighed the lady enviously. “I wish I might have been your mother, but I’m afraid you wouldn’t have been half so lovely as you are.”
“Oh,” said Fraley thoughtfully, gazing out at the violet and gold of the dying sunset, “it makes a difference where we are born, do
esn’t it?”
“It certainly does, princess in disguise.”
“If I couldn’t have been the child of my own dear mother, I think the next best thing would have been to have been yours,” she said at last, prettily, with a shy smile.
Chapter 14
The wonder of the night was having the berths made up in the cozy little drawing room and lying on the long seat at the side, with the lady over in the other berth. In the soft noisy dark, the wheels beat a monotonous rhythm underneath her, and the night came close as they hurried along safe and protected through the dark land. The engine needed no guide. It had a set track to go on, and it made no mistakes.
And Fraley thought how just as plainly her own little track was perhaps marked out where God, who was her Engineer, could see it and guide her.
Then as she heard the steady breathing of her roommate and privacy settled down around her, she began to go over her meeting with the young man in the wilderness and all the way they had come in their friendship in those few short hours. That kiss he had given her at parting sat upon her brow like a holy thing. She had a friend, and something told her he would always be her friend. Would he like her better in these new clothes she had put on? Had he liked her less for her bare feet and faded clothing? It did not seem that he had noticed them. Out there in the wilderness perhaps it sort of fitted in with everything, and she was glad that he liked her first in her own plain simple things that she had always worn. Afterward, if she ever met him again, she would like to have him know that she knew how to look as the world expected her to look, but she would always remember that he had not despised her in her old garments and bare feet.
Then she remembered with a thrill of anticipation that she had a letter in her new pocketbook from him that she had not read. She would get it out and read it in the morning while the lady was in the little dressing room getting dressed. She shrank from reading it in front of her; she would ask so many questions. Instinctively she felt that this new Violet woman would not understand her friendship with this man in the desert.
She went back in her thoughts to the dim smoky schoolhouse with its candlelight and quavering prayers, the sweet songs they had sung and the voice of the young man as he read the familiar words from the Book. How close she felt to him as she thought of it, for he had enjoyed her Book and had wanted one for himself. He had a sympathy and understanding for it that she felt the lady did not have.
When she woke in the morning the lady was still asleep.
Softly Fraley tiptoed up and got her letter, stealing into the little dressing room to read it.
In a little delicate embroidered gown and robe of silk that the lady had provided for her, she stood by the light and read, breathless with the pleasure of having a real friend who would write to her like that.
My dear Ladybird:
I am sitting up to write this because I am afraid I may not have a chance to say these things in the morning without someone by to bother, and I do not want you to go into the wilderness of New York without some knowledge of what you are up against.
There followed some minute directions about ways and means and what was wise and unwise to do in a big city when a young girl was all alone. Warnings that young Seagrave’s friends would have been surprised he knew how to give.
She read them all through carefully, and then there came another bit of himself at the end:
And now, I don’t just know how to tell you, Ladybird,what you have done for me. I was pretty much a good-for- nothing when you found me on the desert yesterday, or when I found you in a tree. I don’t mean I’ve ever been very sinful,you know, just careless and always living for a good time. But you’ve somehow given me a new viewpoint, and I want to thank you for it. I mean to stick to the job. I’ll just tell some of the stories and put the folks to studying the Book. When you send me my Bible, I’ll get to work on it myself, and perhaps now and then you’ll remember to put up a prayer for the poor raven who was sent to feed you when you were hungry. I shall always be glad I met you, Angel Lady, and please don’t forget when you get settled to give me your address, for it may be your people are not at home and you’ll have to find a boarding place. Don’t forget that on any account, for I want to write you about my services and how you helped me through them,if you’ll let me.
Your new friend,
A Raven
And down in the lower corner of the sheet was written “George Rivington Seagrave” with two addresses—one in the West, the other in New York.
But Fraley could hear that the lady was stirring in her berth now, and she folded the precious letter and tucked it safely away. She dressed quickly and came out looking fresh as a new-blown rose.
“Did I do my hair all right?” she asked, starry eyed from her letter.
“You certainly did,” said the lady admiringly, lifting a haggard face with the makeup sadly in need of repair. “You look like a newborn babe, my child. How do you manage it? I don’t know, but you’ve improved on my coiffure. You certainly got the knack quickly. Well, I’ll be ready shortly. I suppose you are hungry.”
“Don’t hurry,” said Fraley happily. “I’ll sit here and look out of the window. Isn’t the world wonderful! And I want to read my Bible a few minutes, too. I always do every morning.”
Marveling, the elder woman made her way to the dressing room, almost envying this child her relish for simple sights and wondering whether, after all, she would ever be able to give sophistication to this strange young creature who seemed to be almost from another world.
“You certainly look a picture!” she said a little while later, coming out in all her delicate war paint. “Put away your old Book now, and let’s go get some breakfast. They always have waffles on these trains. Do you like waffles?”
“I never saw one,” said Fraley with the air of a joyous explorer.
Breakfast was a success. The morning was sparkling and the scenery wonderful through which they were passing. The people who sat at the little tables in the dining car were a never-failing source of interest to the girl whose circle of acquaintance had been so exceedingly restricted.
At one or two places during the day when the train stopped for some minutes, they got out and walked around, and Fraley managed her new shoes very well, although she confided to her new friend that it was much, much easier to walk without them.
“We’ll have some that really fit you when we get to New York,” said the new mentor and noted with satisfaction how the girl beside her attracted all eyes and how she went through this open admiration without a particle of self-consciousness. In fact, she did not even seem to be aware of it. Perhaps that was because public opinion had as yet no part in her life, and pride of self had not entered into her soul.
Violet Wentworth felt that she had found a treasure in this lovely unspoiled girl, and she meant to use her as a new attraction to adorn her charming home. There was nothing like a new girl with character and distinction to bring a throng. She was proud of her reputation as a hostess. She was beginning to think that perhaps she would drop the social secretary idea and introduce Fraley as a young friend who was visiting her for a year. She would see how it worked out. Of course she would have to keep up the form of secretaryship for the time, until the girl got some of that Puritanism rubbed off, for she could see she would not be easily persuaded to accept her living for nothing indefinitely, not even in friendship. And of course it would be hard to make the unsophisticated child understand the real reason why she wanted her. And if she did understand, half the value would be gone from her fine simplicity. As soon as she got to know her own loveliness, it would vanish in pride and selfishness. Violet Wentworth had seen this happen many a time before with the different protégées she impulsively picked up here and there, but she somehow had a warmer feeling for this pretty child and wanted to keep her as she was.
Secretly studying the child all the time as she conversed with her, Violet Wentworth was deciding just what coaching she needed to make her m
ost quickly ready to move among the people of her own circle. Late in the afternoon she handed over a magazine she had been reading.
“There is a good little story; read it, Fraley. You ought to read a great many magazine stories and novels. They will be excellent for teaching you the ways of the world. I don’t know any way you can get atmosphere as quickly as by reading society stories. Unless perhaps the movies and the theater. Of course, they are a wonderful help. Little habits and customs that no one would think to tell you about, you would acquire by watching, without realizing you were learning something new. It would simply come to you the way a baby learns the habits of her household into which she had been born.”
Fraley took the magazine and went dutifully to reading the story set for her. But as she read her face grew grave, and graver still as it progressed, and the color came brightly in her cheeks.
Violet Wentworth, watching her, could not quite understand her reaction. But she did not seem to be enjoying what she had considered a little romance quite amusing and out of the ordinary. The child’s eyes were flashing, and her lips were parted as if she were about to protest at something. When she had finished she handed over the magazine. “Are people in the world all like that?” she flashed at the astonished lady.
“What do you mean, like that?” asked the lady. “Did you like the story? I thought it exceedingly well written.”
“Oh,” said the girl, “you mean the way it is told. Yes, I suppose it is well told. But why did they want to write such a horrible thing? It isn’t like the dreadful stories in the Bible. They were all told to warn people or to teach some great truth that the people needed to know. But this story teaches a thing that isn’t so.”
“What can you mean, you funny little girl!” exclaimed Violet Wentworth, taking up the magazine and glancing down its columns to refresh her memory of the story that had already gone from her mind.
“Why, it makes that secretary girl fall in love with a man who already has a wife and marry him and be happy with him! Mother said that was a sin. The Bible says so, too.”