"Cuba!"
"Exactly. There is a perfectly good plantation there just waiting for us."
"But...." I said, sparring for time, "I couldn't leave Sarah."
Father laughed outright. "You baby!" he said, caressingly.
"You won't have to," said Bill. "She needs a rest as much as you do. She's coming along—and so is your friend Peter. We can't leave him behind, and Mr. Goodrich has to sail for Spain sooner than he expected. I saw him this morning."
I was too amazed for words. And over my defenceless head the affair was settled. Canada for father and Uncle John; Cuba for Sarah, Peter, Bill, and me. A thousand protests, the old rebellious anger at having my life settled and ordered for me, rushed over me again. But father's eyes were on me and I choked back my resentment.
"Cuba it is!" I said, forcing a smile.
And so, after the maze of packing, of sending Sarah to New York for summer clothes—in the dead of winter!—after the farewells and the blessings and the thought-deadening hurry and bustle—Cuba it was.
CHAPTER IX
It was decided that my husband and I should go to New York by motor, spending the night with his uncle, Peter and Sarah to join us the following day, so that the last packing could be leisurely attended to before we sailed.