CHAPTER XVI
UNDER A CLOUD
Rose had been a few weeks at the Fifields, long enough to learn the family ways, so that Miss Fifield felt she could leave home for a long-planned visit. It was a stormy day, and Mrs. Patience suddenly exclaimed, “I wonder who can be coming this way in such a hurry? Why, I believe—yes, it is Rose, running as fast as she can. I hope Eudora is not sick.”
Almost as she spoke the door opened and Rose rushed in, snow-powdered and breathless; her hat blown partly off, her face wet with tears as well as snow flakes, and her voice broken and thick with sobs, as without giving time for any questions she burst out:
“You said it was a leading of Providence for me to go to the Fifields’. But it wasn’t; and he says he will have me put in jail if I don’t tell where the money is. And how can I tell when I don’t know? Maybe God cares for some folks, but I’m sure He doesn’t for me or I wouldn’t have so much trouble. I wish I was dead, I do!” and flinging herself down on the well-worn lounge she buried her face in the pillow and burst into a storm of sobs.
What did it all mean? They were equally perplexed by the mystery and distressed by Rose’s evident grief. Mrs. Patience drew off her things and tried to calm her with soothing words; Miss Silence brought the camphor bottle—her remedy for all ills. But Rose only cried the harder till Mrs. Blossom kindly, but with the authority that comes of a calm and self-controlled nature, said, “Rose, you must stop crying, and tell us what is the trouble.”
Then choking back her sobs Rose lifted her tear-swollen face and exclaimed, “Oh, Mrs. Blossom, Mr. Fifield says I have taken a hundred dollars! A hundred dollars in gold! And I don’t know one thing more about it than you do, but he won’t believe me, and he calls me a thief, and everybody will think I am awful, when I want to be good, and was trying so hard to do my best. What shall I do?” and she wrung her hands with a gesture of utter despair.
Further questioning at last brought a connected story, from which it appeared that Nathan Fifield had a hundred dollars in gold, that from some whim he had put for safe keeping in the parlor stove. That morning, going around the house to tie up a loose vine, he had glanced through the parlor window and seen Rose at the stove with the door open. And when, his suspicion aroused, he had looked for the money it had been to find it gone, and at once had accused Rose of the theft.
“And he says I showed guilt when I saw him,” Rose wailed, “and I did start, for I was frightened to see a face looking in at the window, and with the snow on the glass I didn’t know at first who it was.”
“But what were you in the parlor, and at the stove for?” questioned Mrs. Blossom.
“I was dusting the front hall and the parlor. Miss Fifield sweeps the parlor once a month and I dust it every week, though I don’t see the need, for those are all the times anybody ever goes into it. Some feathers came out of the duster, it’s old and does shed feathers, and I had opened the stove door to throw them in. I didn’t know there was ever any money in a little leather bag in there; I never dreamed of such a thing. And if I had I shouldn’t have touched it. Madam Sharpe always trusted me with her purse, and I never took a penny from her. I’m not a thief, if he does say that I am. But they won’t believe me. Miss Eudora is just as certain, and I shall have to go to jail, for I can’t tell where the money is.”