CHAPTER XI
INDEPENDENCE
"Golly day, but I'm tired!"
Martie Calkins threw herself on the cool sand of the beach and gavevent to a long breath. Sidney, standing over her, wished she could dolikewise with the same picturesque abandon. Mart was so splendidly "Idon't care a hang"; her tumbled hair now was thick with sand, acrossher tanned face was a smear of black, her shabby blouse was torn andopen at the throat exposing her chest to the hot sun, her bare,hard-muscled legs were outstretched, the heels digging into the sandand the grimy toes separating and curling like the tentacles of a crab.
"Oh, this is the life," she sang. "Sit down and make yourself at home.This beach's yours as much as mine I guess."
Sidney sat down quickly lest her companion guess how she was tiedinside with the innumerable bonds and knots of conventions, centuryold, which Martie had somehow escaped. Of course Sidney herself did notthink it that way; she only knew that she felt ridiculously awkwardwith Martie Calkins in spite of her growing determination to be justlike her.
They had been friends now for two whole weeks, the shortest two weeksSidney had ever known simply because into them they had crowded somuch. She had met Mart the day after her coming to Sunset Lane. Marthad appeared at Aunt Achsa's with some baking soda her grandmother hadborrowed two months before. Aunt Achsa had said: "I cal'late you twogirls better make friends." That was so obviously sensible that Sidneyquickly put from her the impression that Mart was the "queerest" girlshe had ever met. She had _seen_ queerer but had never _talked_ tothem. But Mart was young and frankly friendly and lived next door and,anyway, everything was so very different here that it was ridiculous toexpect to meet a girl like Nancy or the others at school or perfectlike Pola.
Before Mart's experience, her knowledge of the sea and boats, herbackground of seafaring ancestors, her easy assurance, Sidney'spleasant sense of superiority soon went crash. Too, Mart revealed aquality of strongheartedness and a contentment with everything as itcame along that amazed Sidney at the same time that it put her ownrestlessness to shame. Why, Mart, in all her life, had never beenfarther than Falmouth and had gone there to a funeral, but she had noneof Sidney's yearnings to "see places." Pressed by Sidney's inquiriesshe had answered, with a deceiving indifference: "Oh, what's the use ofwanting to go anywhere, it's nice enough here." Nor did Mart'smultitudinous tasks embarrass her; she would keep Sidney waiting whileshe finished scrubbing the kitchen floor. And she had a way of swishingher brush that made even this homely labor seem like play until Sidney,watching from the safety of a chair, her feet securely tucked betweenits rungs, longed to roll up her own sleeves and thrust her arms intothe sudsy water. Martie had to work much harder than any girl Sidneyhad ever known or heard about; she did a man's work and a woman's workabout her home and did not even think it was out of kindly proportionto her years. "Oh, there's just gran'ma and me and she has rheumatizawful," she had explained just once to Sidney. That was why, of course,Martie looked so unkempt and overgrown and had had so little schooling,but Sidney came to think these shortcomings and their cause made Martiethe more interesting.
Though after a week Sidney could toss her head like Mart, run as fast,go barefooted, sprinkle her chatter with a colloquial slang that wouldhave horrified the League, affect ignorance to anything schooly, shefound that it was not easy to emulate Mart's fine independence. Therewas always that feeling of being tied to the things ingrained withinher.
Mart's ease with everyone, young or old, gave her, in Sidney's eyes,the desirable quality of grown-upness. Mart talked to the fishermen andthe women who were her grandmother's friends and the artists and thetradespeople exactly as though she were their equal in point of years;Sidney, marvelling and admiring, did not know that this assurance wasreally a boldness that had grown naturally out of there just being"gran'ma and me." Martie had had to hold her own since she was sixyears old.
Though from the first day of her coming Sidney, moved by a sense of thecourtesy to be expected from a guest, had insisted that they includeLavender in all their plans, at the same time she had wished that hewould refuse for she could not conquer a shyness with him. He was a boyand she had never known any boys very well, and he was a "different"boy. But Mart did not mind him at all; she played tolerantly with him,quarreled cheerfully and bitterly with him, laughed with him and at himexactly as though he were a girl like herself or she the boy that sheshould have been, gran'ma considered.
On this day Mr. Dugald had taken Lavender to the backside. He had notinvited the girls to join them which had roused Sidney's curiosity. Shehad watched them depart, loaded down with books and stools and an easeland a box of lunch and had wondered what they were going to do all day,alone, in the dunes. She was soon to know that those hours were sacredto Lavender, that in the great silences of the sandy stretches he andhis Mr. Dugald with their books went far from the Cape and Sunset Laneand the crooked body.
The girls, left to themselves, had decided to go clamming. Of all thenovel things she had done in the last two weeks Sidney liked clammingbest. It was even more fun than the _Arabella_ for after all the_Arabella_ was only pretend. She liked to feel her bare toes suck upthe goosy sand as she stepped over the wet beds. She could never dig asfast as Mart or Lavender because she had to stop and watch the sky andthe clouds and the moving sails and the swooping seagulls. "You'd nevermake a living digging clams," Martie had scolded. (Mart herself coulddig faster than old Jake Newberry who had peddled clams through thetown for fifty years. Mart had sometimes sold hers at the hotels.)
"There's so much to _look_ at!" Sidney had answered, drawing in a longhappy breath.
"_Look_ at! What? All I can see is sky and water and a lot of that andthat ain't nothing new."
"But it is always different! The sky gets bluer and the clouds pinkerand the water dances just as though there were sprites hiding in eachwave."
"Gee, anyone 'ud think you were a poet!" Mart had laughed and at thatSidney had fallen hastily to digging.
Now, as they lay on the beach, hot and happy, their basket of clamsbetween them, Sidney's thoughts went back to Lavender's and Mr.Dugald's mysterious departure.
"We've had just as much fun," she declared, aloud.
"What d'you mean? Oh--Lav. Pooh, yes. Who'd want t'go off in the sandand sit in the hot sun all day? _I_ wouldn't."
"Aunt Achsa packed them an awfully good lunch," Sidney reflected.
"Sure she did. She spoils Lav like anything. Gran'ma says it's a shame.And what _she_ doesn't spoil that boarder does."
For an instant Sidney flared with resentment at her companion's tone.However she realized that she was at a disadvantage in that she hadonly known these people for only two weeks and Mart for her wholelifetime.
"What do you s'pose they do over there?"
Mart shrugged her shoulders. "I used to be curious but I'm not anymore. They go off somewhere like that together all the time, packed up'sif they were headin' for a whole winter's cruise. I guess I know.Like as not the boarder's paintin' Lav's picture and Lav don't want himto do it where people'll see on account of his being crooked." Mart,satisfied with her explanation, stretched herself luxuriously, her armsupflung.
Sidney shuddered. "Oh, why should he want to paint Lavender's picture?I think he's cruel!" Then she remembered Dugald Allan's allusion to theflower on the crooked stem. "Maybe he's painting Lav's spirit."
At this Mart raised herself on her elbow, stared at Sidney, and burstinto a loud laugh. "Oh, that's the _best_! Lav's spirit! Oh, _my_!You're the funniest kid. Say, don't get sore but I just have to howl,you're so rich." She threw herself back in the sand and rolled from oneside to the other.
Sidney sat very still biting the lips that had betrayed her. She'dremember after this; she'd never make another slip that would provokeMart to such amusement. Mart began looking hard at her again and shesquirmed uneasily under the scrutiny. But Mart only asked:
"Say, ain't your hair awfu
l hot?"
Relieved, Sidney answered promptly, "Yes. I hate it." She gave a flingto the heavy braids.
"Why do you have it then? I'd cut it off. I cut mine. I wouldn't bebothered with a lot of hair. I s'pose your folks would make an awfulfuss if you did, though."
Sidney twisted her bare toes in the sand and frowned down at them. Yetit was not at their whiteness she frowned but at a sudden recollectionof Mrs. Milliken's: "Always wear your hair like that, my lamb, it is sobeautifully quaint."
"I don't know that they'd mind. It's my own hair. I've thought ofhaving it cut often."
Mart sat upright. "Say, I'll do it for you--if you want me to. We cango straight home now. We'll divide our clams when we get to our house.That is if you're not afraid."
"Afraid--of just cutting my hair? I may look a sight but who cares?I'll do it. Come on!" Sidney sprang to her feet, a challenge in hervoice that Mart, of course, could not understand.
Mart rose more leisurely and took the dripping basket of clams andseaweed. They were not far from Sunset Lane. It took them but a fewmoments to reach the Calkins' house--not long enough for Sidney'scourage to falter.
"Gran'ma isn't home, but anyway she wouldn't say anything. She lets medo just as I please. She never said a word when I cut my own hair. Sitdown here and I'll find the shears in a jiffy."
Sidney sat down in a rush-bottomed chair, thrilling pleasantly. Thiswas a high moment in her life--the clipping of the two despised braids;a declaration of independence, a symbol of a freedom as great asMart's. And certainly Mart must be impressed by the way she hadresponded to the suggestion. "Afraid!" Well, Mart might laugh at thingsshe said but she would see that she was quite her own mistress.
Mart returned with a pair of huge shears.
"Of course I can't do it as good as a regular barber but it'll be goodenough for the first time and around here, anyway. Sure you don't mind?Your hair _is_ dandy!" While she was speaking she was unbraiding onepigtail. She shook it out. "It's awful thick and wavy. Mebbe you couldsell it. I've heard of girls doing that but I don't know's there's anyplace around here. Sit still, now, so I can get it straight."
Click. Sidney shut her eyes and sat rigid with a fearful certainty thatshe must suffer physical pain from the operation. Click. The touch ofthe steel against her neck sent icy shivers down her spine.
"There, now--it's off," cried Mart, taking a step backward. "It's sortof crooked but that won't show when it's all loose. Go in gran'ma'sroom and take a look at yourself."
Sidney turned and stared stupidly at the mass of hair in Martie's hand.It _was_ beautiful hair. For an instant she wanted to cry out in aviolent protest; she checked it as it rose to her lips. Mart's eyeswere on her. She managed instead a little laugh. "It feels so _funny_."
"Oh, you'll get used to that. You'll like it. Take a look now and sayI'm some barber."
Gran'ma Calkins' old mirror, hung where the light shone strong upon it,reflected back to Sidney a strange and pleasing image.
"Why _I like it_!" she cried, running her fingers through the mass."It's--it's--so _different_. It's jolly."
"You won't have to bother combing it much, either. I don't touch minesometimes for days."
Sidney, still staring at the stranger in the old mirror, laughedsoftly. "Wait until Nancy sees it. Nancy hair is straight as can be orI'll bet she'd cut hers. And Issy. Issy will have a fit when she knows.And Mrs. Milliken!" Here she broke off abruptly, not even in hertriumph must she give hint to Mart of the League and its hold upon thehouse of Romley. "Oh, I like it!" she repeated exultingly. "And itwon't be half the bother." She felt now that she was Mart's peer inpoint of abandon.
"You don't think your Aunt Achsa will make a fuss, do you?" askedMartie, with tardy concern.
"Aunt Achsa? Oh, no! At least--" It had not occurred to Sidney thatAunt Achsa had anything to say about it. "She lets me do anything."Which was quite true. But something of Sidney's exultance faded; shewas beginning to wish that she had just said _some_thing to Aunt Achsaabout it before she let Mart clip her braids--not exactly askedpermission but confided her intentions. That Mart might not perceiveher moment's perturbation she turned her attention to the clams.
"I ought not to have half for I didn't find nearly as many as you did."
"Oh, rats. Take 'em. All you want." To Mart, who could dig clams fasterthan old Jake Newberry, an accurate division of their spoils meantnothing. To Sidney who dug awkwardly each clam was a treasure.
Her step lagged as she approached Aunt Achsa's. She hoped Aunt Achsawould not be home. Then she wondered why she could not be asconfidently defiant as Martie; she supposed it was the restraint of theLeague and the three sisters under whom she had had to live and Martiehad not. But it was absurd to feel even apprehensive of Aunt Achsa'sdispleasure when Aunt Achsa was such a little thing and so indefinite arelative.
Aunt Achsa was in the kitchen trimming the edge of a pie. She washolding it high on the tips of her fingers and skilfully cutting thecrust with a small knife when under it she spied Sidney's shorn head.She promptly dropped the pie upon the table upside down. A trickle ofred cherry juice ran out over the spotless table.
"Why, I _swum_! Sidney Romley! Wh--what have you gone and done? What'sever happened to you?"
"My hair was so hot and _such_ a bother. I can swim now and won't haveto sit around for an hour drying it. I _hated_ my braids--" All goodarguments which rang true but did not seem to convince Aunt Achsa whocontinued to stare at Sidney with troubled eyes.
"It's _my_ hair, Aunt Achsa. If I look a sight it's my own fault."
"That ain't it, child. Only--it's so sudden. Your--_doing_ it--withouta word or--or anything. What'll your folks say? I--I--kind a wish you'djust _told_ me, you see."
Sidney laughed with a lightness she did not feel. Aunt Achsa eyes wereso reproachful, even hurt. "Why, I did not have time to tell you. Ididn't think of it myself until a few moments ago. And Mart offered todo it for me. It's such a little thing to make any fuss about."
The cherry juice went on dripping until a big round stain disfiguredthe tablecloth and still Aunt Achsa stared at Sidney with troubled eyes.
"It's a little thing, of course. But I was thinkin'--Sidney, promiseyour Aunt Achsy you won't go off and do anything _else_ high-handedlike without tellin' me. I don't want to be worryin' or suspicionin'what you're up to or havin' your sisters blame me for something thatain't just right to their thinkin'. Mebbe we don't do things same asyou do but we know what's right and what's wrong same as anyone." Whichwas a long and stern speech for Aunt Achsa. She gave a frightened gaspat the end and turned the poor pie right side up.
A dark flush had swept Sidney's face. There was no such thing asfreedom _any_where--there must always be someone in authority somewhereto warn and rebuke, even this absurd little old woman, who seemed soremotely related. She wished she could think of something verywithering and at the same time dignified to retort.
"I think I am perfectly capable of knowing what is right and what iswrong and my sisters have _perfect_ confidence in me," she said slowlyand with deep inward satisfaction. Then she added scornfully: "Ofcourse it _is_ very different here and if I don't seem to get used toit you can't blame me!" With which she stalked through the parlor toher room and slammed the door.
Aunt Achsa pattered after her.
"Child! Child!" she called through the door. "Here's a letter for you.I was that taken back when I saw you I forgot to give it you." Sheslipped the letter through the inch of opening that Sidney, nowtearful, vouchsafed her.
The letter was from Trude. To poor Sidney this was the crowninghumiliation; it was exactly as though Trude could look out from thepages and see the mutilated locks. Trude had always loved her hair andhad often brushed it for her for the simple delight of fingering itswavy strands. More than once Trude had said: "You're lucky to have thishair, kid. Look at mine." Now she would gasp in horror as Aunt Achsahad done. "You should not have done it, Sidney--at least withoutconsulting one of us." It was not the deed i
tself even Trude wouldcensure--it was her independence. Oh, how terribly difficult it was tobe like Mart!
Trude had written to her almost daily, sketchy letters full of the newsof what she was doing at the Whites. Sidney could not know that Trudepurposely made them lively and wrote them often because she believedSidney was homesick. In this letter her concern had reached the heightof sacrifice.
"If you're ready to go home, have had enough of Cape Cod, just say theword, little sister, and I'll join you at Middletown. Perhaps you havebeen with Cousin Achsa long enough--you do not want to impose upon herhospitality. She may have other friends she wants to invite to herhouse. But you must decide at once for Mrs. White is making plans forthe next few weeks and will want to know if I am going to be here. Sheis perfectly wonderful to me and I think she likes to have me here andthat I help her a little, but if you want me to join you at home shewill understand.
"Why in the world haven't you written to me? I shall scold you soundlyfor that when we are together. Be a good girl and remember how much weall love you. I shall expect a letter within three days at most tellingme what you want to do."
Sidney gasped. Her barbered hair, Aunt Achsa, were forgotten for themoment. Go home--leave all her fun and Sunset Lane and Mart--andLavender? Her consternation gave no room for the thought that two weekshad indeed worked a strange conversion. Why, she would sit right downand write to Trude that she did not _want_ to go home. That was silly!
Then she thought of the hurt on Aunt Achsa's face only a few momentsbefore when she had flung her angry retort at her. And Aunt Achsa hadbeen so good to her! Why, that cherry pie that had come to such adisastrous end Aunt Achsa was baking just because she had said sheadored cherry pies. That was Aunt Achsa's way of showing affection.That Aunt Achsa had trusted her--she had given her complete freedom inthe two last whirlwind weeks because she had _trusted_ her. And howungrateful, now, Aunt Achsa must think her. Well, she had punished herown self for now, of course, Aunt Achsa would _want_ her to go.