Missy: A Novel

by Miriam Coles Harris

The week passed away; a good deal of it was spent by Mr. Andrews in the city. The expected guests seemed uncertain in the matter of appointments; either they didn't know their own minds, or they were trying the mettle of their future host's temper. More than one night he had stayed in town to meet them and to bring them up, but after a shower of telegrams, no guests had come. At last, on Friday morning, he had gone to town, and told the servants he did not know when he should be back; till he sent a telegram they need not make any preparation for the visitors.

This day was Jay's birthday. With a sore heart, Missy had been preparing for it. She was making this week a sort of valedictory. Every day might be the last; Jay would never be hers after this. And he had never been so sweet; he was gentle and good and loving, and never wanted to be out of her sight. This birthday they had been talking of for many weeks. She had planned an ideal treat for him; when, on this fatal Friday morning, she woke up to the news that one of their own servants had come down with what might be a case of scarlet fever. The girl was carefully quarantined. Missy had not been near her, and did not propose to go near her, but it broke up poor little Jay's party. It was impossible to allow children to come to the house. She took him out for a drive, and all that, but there was the birthday cake, and there were the candles, and there were all the pretty little gifts that were to come out of the simulated charlotte russe. They must have a feast, nothing else could take its place. So that afternoon she took a sudden resolution. She would make a sacrifice of her own feelings. She would go to the Andrews' cottage and give Jay his fête there.

"Do you think it's wise, Missy?" said her mother faintly.

"It's kind, at all events," returned Missy. "The poor baby is going to have hard times enough with the new cousins, it's but fair his last birthday without them should be festive. I've sent to have the children I'd invited for him come there. Now, don't look serious, mamma. One must not be always thinking of one's self. And what is a fiction of propriety, compared with Jay's happiness?"

"Compared with his permanent happiness, nothing, but compared with an afternoon's pleasure, a good deal, and you've been so rigid yourself about it, Missy. You've eschewed that poor cottage like a pestilence. I didn't suppose anything would tempt you into it. You felt so bitterly about our staying there, though you didn't tell me; and I'm sure you've never crossed the threshold since."

"And I shouldn't cross it now, but that the master himself's away, and—and in fact, I haven't the heart to disappoint the child, and circumstances seem to make it my duty to give up my whim. In short, mamma, it is too late to be sorry, for I've sent word to the children, so don't, please, worry any more about it."

At five o'clock the children came, two stout little girls with hair in pigtails, and three freckled little boys with shaved heads; they were the hopes of illustrious families.

Missy contrasted them with Jay, and wondered that any one could endure creatures so commonplace, and that patience could be found to provide them nourishment and clothing.

Jay, however, seemed to like them very much, and that gave them a certain importance in her eyes. Gabrielle interested herself deeply in the attire of the little girls, and the "party" proceeded with great success through its various stages of shyness, awkward advances, rough responses, good fellowship, to hilarious riot, and open warfare. They had a series of games in the boat-house till six, then races on the lawn till nearly seven, when Missy, tired of adjusting differences and pinning collars, left them in Eliza's care, and went in to superintend the arrangement of the tables and the darkening of the windows, so that the candles might be lighted at half-past seven o'clock. She thought less well of human nature than usual at the moment. Even in its budding infancy it could be so disagreeable, and its innocence was so far from pleasant, what would not its mature development be. Jay himself had tired her out. He had been willful, selfish, wanting in love to her; his party seemed to have turned him into somebody else. She again concluded he wasn't worth it all; but since she had begun the fête, she must go through with it. It gave her rather an uncomfortable feeling to be going into the house she had forsworn so vehemently. It was doubly hard now that Jay's naughtiness had taken away the last excuse she had; he certainly had not enjoyed himself very much, had not, in fact, had so many fits of crying and got into so many passions in the same number of hours since Alphonsine went away last autumn. It certainly had been an ill-starred birthday. When the waitress came to her for directions about the table-cloth, she felt sure she detected a smile on her decorous mouth, and when the cook put her head in at the door and begged to know if Miss Rothermel wished the cold chicken sliced or whole, she felt all through her that there was a shade of disrespect in the woman's tones.

"I am sure," she said, "I know nothing about all that. I suppose you will give them something for tea, as every day, and I will arrange for them the cake, and the things that have been sent over from my house. Only be as quick as you can, for it is getting late."