Missy: A Novel

by Miriam Coles Harris

"Business is business," said Missy, twisting it up again, and going out to give it to the messenger. "I don't think it is worth while to waste monograms and London paper on such matters as these."

"What sudden thrift! Where are the children?"

"I am going to look for them," said Missy, drawing on her gloves. "I want to get them out of the way, and keep them safe, till the hegira is over. I haven't much faith in Mr. Andrews' having the nerve to do it; but perhaps I don't do him justice. If they are not all got off by the noon train to-day, I shall know it will never be done."

Missy carried the children out with her in the pony-wagon; she even took Mr. Andrews' intentions to be so probable of execution, that she went two or three miles inland to see the woman whom she had fixed upon in her own mind, as the successor to Alphonsine in the care of the children. She even stopped at the tin-man's, in the village, to get the address of a good substantial cook, whom she knew to be out of place, who had a settled reputation for bread-baking, and an honorable record in the matter of soup. She did not say for whom she wanted her—she was a little ashamed of taking it for granted, that her advice would be acted upon. All the same, it was as well to be prepared. She even drove to a house in one of the bye-streets of the village, to see if a certain Ellen, whose black eyes and white aprons had always met her approval, was still out of a situation. All these were at her command—cook, waitress, and nurse. It was fascinating to have everything go so smooth. How delightful to have your own way; how heavenly to make people carry out your plans. Through it all there ran one little thread of doubt as to the steadfastness of Mr. Andrews; this only gave the matter zest. She felt as if it were quite a stirring little vaudeville; it wasn't worth while to make tragedy out of it, and get angry if she were disappointed—but altogether she liked it. She liked driving about with her brisk little pony on a bright September morning like this, doing her errands, giving her orders, having people come out smiling to their gates to speak to her. She liked all this, even when it was only her own errands she did, and her own ordinary housekeeping that she looked out for. It was a pleasure to secure the best butter and the freshest eggs, and to drive to pretty, cool-looking farm-houses for them; to go for cornmeal and graham flour just ground, to a romantic-looking old mill by the edge of the woods, where the drip of the water and the shade of the trees made a perpetual cool. People who had things to sell were always glad to see her, for she bought a great many things and paid a good price for them. She was often called upon for favors and for advice, and this pleased her. The sight of the pretty little carriage was a signal for many an inhabitant of farm-house or village, to come out to the roadside and have a consultation with the young lady who drove it. She was a favorite, and it is pleasant to be important—and to have your own way. She generally had hers, even about other people's matters, for it was a very good way, and a good way presented in such a manner as was convincing. Of course, she had her disappointments; the clam-man's daughter did, on one occasion, marry the scallop-man's son, against her advice—but they came to such speedy grief, that it more than consoled her. The miller's wife was not willing, last Spring, to listen to reason about her butter, and so had lost all market for it among the people who paid high prices, and had to carry it, finally, to the "store," and take what she could get for it. Missy lost the butter, but she had the satisfaction of knowing, that the next year her advice would be promptly taken. All these things were sweet to her, but how much sweeter it was to be feeling that she was managing completely a household in which she had no legitimate business to interfere; that she was putting to rout a troop of worthless servants who had opposed her, and ill-treated her darling Jay. Above all, that she was making a very weak-kneed master stand firm. Oh, if she could be sure that he would stand firm! It was this doubt, that made her feel as if it were all genteel comedy, and really quite exciting.

The children were pretty good that morning, notwithstanding the orgies of the night before. Gabrielle was subdued and a little ashamed, and Jay's memory was not burdened with any remorse, nor had he missed his sleep, nor omitted to make a very good breakfast in his new quarters. He was burly and jolly and good as ever. He liked the drive, and the stops, and the fresh cool breeze, and the bright September sunshine, and the holding the whip in his hand.

The roadside was bright with golden-rod and purple asters, the Virginia creeper was turning red on the fences and over the trees where it had flung itself; catbrier, shining and glossy, cedar dark and dusky, sumach red and brown, all in mat and tangle of the luxuriant summer's growth, clothed the banks that edged the road. Jay stretched out his hand to catch the bright leaves when they passed near them; the bottom of the carriage was filled with branches of red leaves, with bunches of Michaelmas daisies and asters already withering in the sun.

Missy looked at her watch; it was just noon. Her heart beat high. They were on the road that led to the station. If the servants were sent off by the midday train, they must meet them in the course of a few moments. She now began to doubt whether it had not all fallen through. It was impossible to say how she despised Mr. Andrews when she thought it might be that he had given in. Every rod of road they passed over added to this conviction. She looked at her watch again. If they did not meet them within five minutes there was no further hope.

"What's the matter, Missy; why do you pull the pony so?" said Jay, looking up into her face. They were going down a hill, where the road was narrow, deep and sandy. At this moment they heard the lumbering, and caught sight of a heavy vehicle coming up the hill towards them.

"It's the stage!" cried Gabby, growing interested. "And there's Léon, and there's Bridget, and there's Alphonsine, and all of 'em."

Jay at this news set up a great shout, and started to his feet.