GOING OUT OF THE OLD LIFE
Lilian had seen very little of her friend, Miss Trenham, through the week, though every day she had been the recipient of a note of sympathy and affection. She came in on Saturday afternoon.
“My dear girl,” she began, “so many unusual events have happened to you that one must needs use both congratulations and condolences. I saw the newspaper account and it seems like the finger of Providence that you should have been directed hither and to the arms of your real parents. Mrs. Boyd looked very poorly the last time I saw her, a month or so ago. I suppose there is a great deal back of the account——”
“I have wanted to see you so,” returned Lilian. “I thought I would come to the Chapel tomorrow morning. You are the only friend I have made outside of the school, but Mrs. Barrington has been so sweet and generous. She had planned to keep me here after mother was gone and educate me.”
The tears stood in Lilian’s eyes and her voice broke with emotion.
“There is so much to talk over, and we have gone to our own home now. Mother and I have been very busy the last four days cleaning and putting things in order. We spent our Christmas at Mrs. Lane’s and had a really delightful time. We had planned some time ago to have you share it with us, and now can you not spare us Sunday, if you are not going——”
“The change is to be made on Monday. Oh, Miss Trenham—I can hardly describe my feelings. I dread it and yet my own mother is an ideal mother. I hardly dare think of the happiness in store for me, but I shall go on here at school. I am glad of that. I could not give up my dear Mrs. Barrington.”
“We want to hear all the story—your side,” smiling gravely. “So if you can come and dine with us on Sunday. Oh, there are so many explanations.”
“I will see. Excuse me a few moments.” Lilian came back with a heartsome expression.
“Yes, I can come. I wanted to go to the Chapel in the morning. I suppose some of my life, at least, will be changed——”
“Yes, but it will be—yes, lovely and advantageous. I never thought Mrs. Boyd quite the right mother for you, if you will allow me to say it.”
Lilian flushed. “But she loved me with her whole soul. She would have made any sacrifice to advance me. All these years she has cared for me, worked for me and I should be an ingrate to forget it. If she had lived and this had not come, I was planning to work for her——”
“I think you would, without a demur. You would have had an excellent friend in Mrs. Barrington, but it will be a much wider life, I am very glad for you. There are people for whom prosperity does very little. You will not be one of that kind. In spite of her misfortune your mother has always had a wide and lovely influence, and the home is said to be very attractive. I think all of Mount Morris rejoiced truly in her restoration to health, and you will have some of the best of her life. You will soon learn the sweet lesson of loving her.”
“My heart went out to her the Sunday I saw her in church. She looked to me like a saint, and I did not know then, but I have felt bewildered since. And I have been so used to planning to do something for—for the one who has gone, that I feel kind of helpless, knowing I can do nothing for her.”
“Oh, yes, you can give her a daughter’s choicest love. I am quite sure you two will grow into finest accord, and two manly brothers and that lovely Zaidee! Oh, it will be a most absorbing life. You will be in the sphere just fitted for you. Perhaps God let it all happen that your character should be the more fully shaped by the experience. We will talk it over more, at length, tomorrow.”
Miss Trenham rose and kissed the young girl tenderly, knowing that tears were very near the surface. After she had gone Lilian gave way to them. She had not the easily adaptive nature to go in her new home and take the best at once, though it had been held out with such winning tenderness. The beautiful face of Zaidee instead of adding a radiance seemed to shadow the path. She could not explain it to herself; she would not think her sister would grudge her anything, but she felt in her inmost heart it would not be given generously. She must win it by large patience.
Sunday was a perfect winter day with a gorgeous sunshine and a crisp air that seemed to bring refreshment in every waft. The leafless trees were penciled against the blue sky like the lines of a fine engraving. The church bells rang out their reverent inspiration, they were harmoniously toned and there was no jangling. Lilian wondered a little—were her parents and the two children at home kneeling in the old church where the Crawfords had worshiped for a hundred years or more? Did they offer a little prayer for her?
The father and mother said it at home. He was all impatience for the day to pass.
Oh, how delightful Mrs. Trenham’s warm welcome was, and little Claire clasped both slim arms about Lilian’s neck and kissed the cool rosy cheek over and over again. If her sister was little and fond like that!
“It’s been such a long, long while since you were here. Of course you couldn’t come while we were away. It was very nice at Mrs. Lane’s; there were so many people to make merry. You can’t be truly merry alone by yourself, can you? It’s like bells ringing. You can be happy thinking of many things, but not merry.”
Lilian smiled. Yes, the conceit was true.
Then she must inspect Claire’s Christmas gifts. Her own had been a pretty booklet that one of the girls had given her in a perfunctory fashion that carried no real regard with it. She had been too full of anxiety to look up anything.
“And that lady that came here once who wasn’t your real mother went away, didn’t she? And Edith said you had a real mother now and you were going to live with her and not stay at school all the time. I wish I could go to school. Edith said sometime she might have a school in our own house, and I might come and say lessons with other little girls. That will be so nice. I think that will be merry.”
Then they were summoned to dinner, and the elders took the lead in the conversation, expressing their surprise at the strange event they had seen in the paper, and as they lingered over the dessert Lilian told her own story that she had believed in devoutly until Mrs. Boyd had explained her adoption, hoping thereby Lilian might trace her parentage—though Mrs. Boyd supposed only her father could be found. Mrs. Barrington had supplied the other side.
“I suppose there is a certain kind of gratification in belonging to an old and respected family. Major Crawford’s family could go back even of their first settling in America, and the madam was a proud old Virginian with a fortune, but she wanted only one son, and she had three and one daughter. All her love and pride was in her first born who was indulged in every thing and led a gay life. The youngest died, Everard went to West Point and entered the regular army. Reginald took the best of life and became a capricious invalid, as penurious as he had been wasteful before, and died about the time of the accident. The madam had been dead some years. So all of Crawford House and its belongings came to the Major, who had married one of the loveliest of girls. You have heard that part of the story from Mrs. Barrington, doubtless. She was one of the earlier scholars.”
“Yes,” replied Lilian. “She admires her, beside loving her for the bravery with which, she bore the dreadful accident.”
“I think when the word came, if prayers could have availed for the safety of the child, the whole town would have prayed, and to think that God should have saved you and restored you in this strange manner.”
Edith glanced across the table. Lilian’s eyes were suffused with tears.
“Miss Crawford had looked after the house, as the mother spent much of the time in the city with Reginald. She was very fond of gayeties, and her sudden death was a great surprise for she seemed vigorous enough to round out the century. Miss Kate took charge of little Zay while her mother was on the journey and through those years spent in hospitals and sanitoriums. She has been most devoted, refusing several good offers of marriage, but I suppose Mrs. Barrington has told you most of the family history.”
“She is very fond of my mother and her girl life, her early married life as well, and she fancied at the very first that I resembled some one she had known.”
“There is something in the poise of the head and the shape of your chest and shoulders, that is like her, and it won’t hurt you if I say she was an extremely handsome girl. Even Reginald admitted that.”
“And I am not handsome,” Lilian said bravely, though with a little pang. It had never mattered to her before. Then she turned scarlet and added with an embarrassed laugh: “That sounds like what the girls call fishing for compliments. Zaidee will be the family beauty.”
“And you have a voice, that with the proper training, may be very fine, indeed. I noticed it this morning in the hymn.”
“Oh, do you think so? I love to sing,” and her face was a-light with pleasure. “But it seems to me that it isn’t, well—neither alto nor soprano; I can’t keep it to a true sound.”
“It is a contralto and has some most expressive notes in it. Of course, you will be trained in music.”
“Mrs. Barrington spoke of it in the next term. Some of the girls sing beautifully. I was to take up several new studies. Oh, there are so many splendid things to learn.”
Her face was aglow with enthusiasm and gave promise of something finer than mere beauty. There had been a good deal of repression in her life since she had come to understand, in a measure, her own desires. She had held them back because she did not want to make Mrs. Boyd unhappy with the difference between them, when she saw that the elder woman was making any effort to indulge her fancies, and during these months at school had settled to a grave deportment, that she might better sustain her authority. The lack of spontaneity had puzzled Mrs. Barrington, when in some moments she caught the ardor and glow of an inward possibility.
“I think you will be in the right place now,” remarked Edith with a smile. “One with a strong individuality at times surmounts adverse circumstances, but when there are so many events to hamper, one does lose courage and begins to question whether the effort and sacrifice will pay for the late reward.”
“Oh, let me have Miss Lilian awhile,” besought Claire. “I want her to inspect my playhouse, while you and mother put away the dishes and things.”
The playhouse was an old time cabinet with the doors taken off. One shelf, the highest, was full of curiosities, the next of books, the third left out and the dolls had it to themselves. There was a parlor in one end, a sleeping room in the other and three pretty dolls were in their chairs, ranged round a table, inspecting their Christmas gifts.
“I wouldn’t have any new dolls this time,” she began, with a touch of weariness in her voice. “For after all you can’t make them real. I play school with them. I read them stories. I dress them and take them out riding, but I have to do the talking for them and sometimes it gets so dull. There’s too much make-believe. I shall be glad when summer comes and there won’t be any bad boys next door. What do you suppose God did with them? They couldn’t like heaven, you know, for there they have to be good all the time. And there are so many beautiful things in summer. The birds and the flowers and the trees waving about and the sky so full of mysterious things. Great islands go sailing about and I wish I was on one of them. I get so tired, sometimes. I don’t suppose I’ll ever have any strong back and legs until I do get to heaven. But I’d like to go about in this world. I want a fairy godmother; that is it.”
She gave a little laugh but there were tears in her eyes.
“And you’ve found a fairy godmother, haven’t you? She is real, too, and lives in a beautiful big house and has a fairy child with golden curls. Oh, I wonder if she would have been glad to have you if you had been all bruised and broken and could never walk——”
“Oh, don’t,” cried Lilian. Would they have been glad to have her?
“Now, tell me about when you were a little girl and went to the stores to buy things for your mother and played ‘Ring around a rosy,’ and ‘Open the gate as high as the sky.’”
The child’s voice and manner had changed like a flash. She liked Lilian’s make-believe stories in some moods; then she wanted real children and their doings, children who wiped dishes and swept floors while their mothers sewed or cared for a little baby in the cradle. And the petty disputes, the spending of a penny in candy and dividing it round.
“They couldn’t all have pennies I suppose,” the child commented.
“Their mothers were too poor,” laughed Lilian, thinking how seldom she had the pleasure of being a spendthrift. And if she were ever so rich what could she do for Claire?
So they talked on and on until Edith came and said a young gentleman had called for Lilian—her brother.
She went through to the parlor. Yes, it was Willard, bright and smiling as if glad to see her.
“But how did you know I was here?” she asked.
“Oh, I was at Mrs. Barrington’s, and we had a long talk about you. Then she directed me. It is getting towards night and our beautiful day shows symptoms of coming rain.”
Yes, it did. She had been so interested in Claire she had not noted the change.
“So I think you had better allow me to escort you home, at least—oh, I wish it were to your real home. Think, what an evening we would have together, and I’ve only three days more. I have to start Wednesday evening and report on Thursday. Well, will you give me the pleasure?”
He rose then, and bending over, kissed her.
“I’d like you to meet my friends——”
“Well—for a moment.”
Mrs. Trenham and Edith came in.
“Just say a quiet good-bye to Claire,” Edith whispered. “She is curiously upset about something.”
The slim arms clung to Lilian.
“Oh, will they let you come again? Edith said it would all be different and your new mother would want you, and—and—” the child ended with a sob.
“Of course I shall come again, and again, little sweetheart,” kissing her.
“Oh, what a pretty name! I love you.”
“And you will soon see me again.”
Willard stood with his hat in his hand in a waiting attitude, tall and manly, the fine face marked by a certain pride of birth, of culture, and the inherited grace of generations. The deep, outlooking eyes spoke of strength of character with a vein of tenderness, and the smiling mouth of affability. Yet it struck her that he did not seem to belong to the plain little parlor and it almost appeared as if he dwarfed the two women, a feeling she could not help resenting inwardly.
They made their adieus in a friendly manner. Yes, the bright day had settled to the threatening of storm. The air was heavy and murky and cut with the promise of coming sleet. Willard drew the girl’s hand through his arm and they caught step.
“I am glad you are going to be tall,” he said. “You have all the indications, the figure and the air. It runs in mother’s line as well as that of the Crawfords.”
“I am taller than—than your sister,” rather hesitatingly.
“Than your sister, as well. Oh, Marguerite, I hope you two will come to love each other dearly. Then there will be Vincent. We two boys have been such chums.”
“It is strange to have a new name,” she said slowly, yet it was more to her fancy.
“Do you like the old one better?” as if in a little doubt.
“I didn’t like it very much, and I remember when I rebelled against Lily. It seemed such a sing-song king of a name. It’s sweet and pretty, too, Lilian Boyd gave it more character.”
“You were named for Mother, but father did not want them quite alike. Her name was Margaret, and father used to say to her—
‘Oh, fair Margaret,
Oh, rare Margaret,
Where got you the name of strength and beauty?’”
Would she be dearer to her father on account of her name?
“And Zaidee?” she said, in a suggestive tone.
“Oh, I believe it was from a story that had been a great favorite with my mother, and it does just suit Zay. She is so light and airy and butterfly-like. Why, she seems about two years younger than you. I’m glad there isn’t any puzzle about telling you apart. She’s sweet and gay and loving and I suppose we’ve all spoiled her. Aunt Kate thinks she’s the loveliest thing in the world, and she has just devoted her life to the child. Aunt Kate is as good as gold, a stickler for some things and she’s always been splendid to mother. But she’s great on family. She can’t cry you down, because you belong to us.”
“But I’ve been on the other side all my life, and—” yes, she would say this—“Mrs. Boyd’s health was so broken that if it had not been for Mrs. Barrington’s kind offer I must have given up school and gone into a factory; and began to repay her for her kindly care of me.”
She felt the curious sort of shrinking that passed over him.
“But you didn’t,” he said, decisively. “And if she had let you alone——”
“But she was sure my mother was dead. Oh, nothing can ever make me forget her tender, devoted love. I cannot bear to have her blamed.”
“But you must not dispute the matter with father. Let it all go since it has turned out so fortunately. I love you for your courage in standing by her, but there are many things you will learn—beliefs and usages of society. I don’t mean simply money. We Crawfords have no vulgarity with a gold veneer; and, my dear girl, you may tell all your life with Mrs. Boyd over to mother, indeed, I think she will want to know it all; but—be careful about Aunt Kate—”
“And I was the caretaker’s daughter at Mrs. Barrington’s. Oh, I have seen some snobbishness among what you call well-born girls. I am not a whit better or finer than I was a month ago, when I expected to work my way up to a good salary and strive earnestly for everything I had; and Mrs. Barrington would have helped me and been really proud of my success.”
“What a spirit you have!”
“I shall never be a snob,” she flung out, proudly.
“I do not intend to be one myself. Oh, don’t let us dispute these points. We all learn a good deal as we go along life. And, my dear, love us all as truly as you loved your foster mother. Oh, I wonder if you can ever understand your own mother’s joy at having you back—”
“Which she owes largely to Mrs. Boyd. Suppose she had died without this—this explanation?”
“Even she understood that you did not belong in her walk of life. She saw the difference and that made her feel she might have deprived you of something better, that she could not give you.”
That was true enough. But just now she was Lilian Boyd and angry, though she could not satisfy herself that she had a perfect right to this unreasonableness. So she made no reply.
“Oh, Marguerite, don’t be vexed with me. We shall not see each other for a long while, and I want to carry away with me the knowledge that you are very happy in your new home. You will have so many pleasures, interests; you will be loved; oh, you must be loving, as well. Let the past go as a strange dream.”
“It can never be a dream to me,” she returned, decisively. “A thing you have lived through is stamped on your brain. I would not, if I could, dismiss it.”
“Then I think that other love and care will make as deep an impression on your mind. Good-night, my dear sister, and best wishes for a happy tomorrow.”
He kissed her fondly and turned away. She looked after him with a swelling heart.
When the door was opened, she flew up to her room and girl fashion, went straight to the mirror. Generally she had very little color, now her cheeks bloomed like roses and her eyes were brilliant, something more, a light she had never seen in them; and, yes, her scarlet lips were shut, with dimples in the corners. Then she laughed, half in anger, half in a mood she had never known before, it was compounded of so many varieties.
At Laconia, she had known several pretty school girls but they had golden hair and lovely blue eyes. It was odd, but she had always liked the word cerulean so much. And her eyes were almost black when anything moved her deeply. She had not thought much of beauty applied to herself.
“I am glad we don’t look alike,” she mused. “I am willing to be plainer, and if I had some great gift—perhaps my voice might be cultivated. But I mean never to be ashamed of that past life. Oh, what would Willard say if he knew I had carried bundles back and forth and done errands for the dressmaker! Well I must keep that part locked in my own heart. Poor mamma Boyd, I’m glad you never understood the difference. I wish I had loved you better.”
She bathed her face and took off her cloth dress, putting on one of some light material Mrs. Barrington had given her awhile before. Then she went down stairs just as the summons for dinner sounded. Mrs. Barrington met her in the hall with a smile.
“Did you have a nice day? And did your brother find you?”
“Yes, I enjoyed it very much. And—we walked back together. He leaves on Wednesday night.”
“And is very sorry to go. He is so interested in you. I wish he could remain longer, but he has the true sailor heart.”
Lilian felt suddenly ashamed of her anger. Of course the whole family must look at it from that point of view, which was not hers. And having a brother was such a new thing to her. She had not been thrown much with boys. Her books had been her dearest companions.
They all went to the drawing room afterward and had a pleasant talk about the day and its duties. It softened Lilian’s heart strangely. After that some almost divine music, it seemed to her, and her thoughts were lifted above distracting reflections.
The girls sang also. Several of them had very good voices but the best singers were away. Lilian was not afraid tonight, but let her voice swell out as she had in church this morning, and it surprised even herself.
When they said good-night to each other Mr. Barrington led her to her own pretty sitting room.
“I have hardly seen you today,” she began, “and though your change will not separate us altogether and is so immeasurably to your advantage, I want you to know that I had some plans for your future revolving in my mind. I meant to have matters on a different basis when we began the new term. I did not think Mrs. Boyd would live through the winter, and as you know, I promised to care for you. You will make a fine linguist, and that is quite a gift for a woman. Then I have been interested in your voice. You sang with much power and beauty tonight. It is not the ordinary girlish voice.”
“Miss Trenham said it was a contralto. I don’t know the difference between that and an alto. Of course, I sang in school at Laconia, and took quite a part in the closing exercises. But no one seemed to think—and I couldn’t manage it always—” pausing lest she might say too much.
“It wants cultivation, and I believe has some fine probabilities. I have spoken to Mr. Reinhart about giving you private lessons in the new term.”
“Oh, how good you are! I could almost wish——” and she clasped the hand nearest her.
“No, don’t wish anything beyond what has happened. In spite of all the love and tenderness lavished upon Mrs. Crawford, it was a continual regret that she should have taken you on that ill-fated journey. Charming as Zaidee is, she was always wondering what you would have been like. I think you will not disappoint her. You have been in a trying position for a girl of your ambition and temperament. I think you might have accepted some proffers without much hurt to your pride, but you know now you are on an equality with the best, and though many of these distinctions are much to be regretted, we cannot change the world. The change must be in ourselves, the grace and kindliness that shapes the character to finer and higher issues. But if you had been Mrs. Boyd’s daughter, I think there would have been a very promising future before you. I know you would have tried your utmost to succeed in the two lines I have indicated; and now they will be accomplishments. Mrs. Crawford was a fine linguist and has brightened many an hour with intellectual pursuits. I am more than glad that you will be so companionable, but I cannot give up my interest in you, and I want you to feel that you will be, in part, a daughter to me.”
Lilian bent her head down on Mrs. Barrington’s shoulder and cried softly, touched to the inmost heart by the affection she had hardly dreamed she had won.
“There are no quite perfect lives even if there is a great deal of love,” the lady continued. “We learn to limit our wants and expectations by what others have to give us, and it is by loving that we learn to live truly, though many shrines get despoiled of ideals as we go along in youth; but as we retrace our steps with years and experience we find God has put something better in them. I want you to come to me with any difficulty that can be confided outside of the family circle. But your mother must be your best friend; and now, dear, good-night.”
Lilian returned the kiss, but her heart was too full for words. Tomorrow she would belong somewhere else, have new duties. Oh, could she take them up in the right spirit?