Brenda's Ward / A Sequel to 'Amy in Acadia'

by Helen Leah Reed

Martine, fortunately, was not inclined to borrow trouble, and although she by no means forgot the little conversation with her mother regarding her father's business, remembering it did not depress her. Life in the spring, even in a bleak New England spring, holds so many pleasant things for a girl of seventeen that intangible troubles are not likely to prevent her enjoyment of the present.

Martine was popular at school, and her invitations far exceeded those of the majority of her classmates. The younger girls liked her because she was always cheerful, and never snubbed them. The older girls admired her because she had an air of knowing the world, and was ever ready with some amusing story. She was popular without having many intimate friends, and Priscilla was proud of the distinction of being the one girl who knew Martine the best. Here and there, naturally enough, there were girls who did not care especially for Martine. There were one or two who professed an inherent dislike of outsiders, as a class, and there were others who found fault with Martine in particular. They said that she was forward, that she was patronizing, and that her liberality in the spending of money was merely a way of "showing off" of which they did not approve. But the fact that Martine, at the beginning of the school year, had been dubbed "Brenda's ward" was more effectual than any other one thing in placing her within the inner circle of the school. In spite of the years that had elapsed since Brenda was a pupil at Miss Crawdon's, she and her doings were still remembered. Older sisters had talked to younger sisters about her, and everyone knew that she had been the most popular girl of her day. She was still spoken of most habitually as "Brenda," even by those who had not known her well. For in Boston the unmarried names of girls cling to them longer than in most cities, and those who immediately recalled "Brenda Barlow" had to think twice when "Mrs. Arthur Weston" was named.

Priscilla, who was nothing if not exact, remonstrated occasionally with girls who spoke of Martine as "Brenda's ward."

"She never was really her ward, you know, only Brenda was to chaperone her, and now that Mrs. Weston has gone away, it seems to me that the name ought to be dropped."

The girls to whom Priscilla spoke only laughed at her.

"My dear child," said Marie Taggart, "from the way you cling to her, I judge you would rather have Martine called 'Priscilla's ward,' but Brenda is so far away that you mustn't be jealous of her, really and truly you must not."

After this Priscilla said no more on this subject, although an observer would have noticed that she herself never spoke of her friend by the obnoxious title.

When Mrs. Stratford and Martine first took possession of Brenda's little apartment, Brenda's mother and sister, Mrs. Barlow and Mrs. Weston, added much to their pleasure by introducing them to their large circle of relatives and friends and in other ways, as Mrs. Barlow put it, "adopting" them in Brenda's place. But before January had come to an end the whole Barlow household was itself preparing to move. His physician had prescribed a change of air for Mr. Barlow, and after a few weeks in Florida the family intended to travel West, to join Brenda in California in the late spring.

It happened, therefore, that the special groups to whom Mrs. Barlow had introduced the Stratfords felt no personal responsibility for them. This was not because they did not find the Chicagoans interesting, but because the latter seemed able to make their own friends without the help of a third person.

"It would be a great bore, mamma," Martine had protested, when one or two of Mrs. Barlow's friends urged that the young girl should join a certain exclusive dancing-class. "It would be a great bore if we had to act as if we were real old Bostonians. We are not, and though some of the sewing circles and dancing-classes, and afternoon-readings are offered us kindly, I do prefer to be independent and know only the people I want to know and do only the things I really wish to do. Anything else would be a nuisance, so please don't let anyone make social engagements for me."