"I haven"t made up my mind yet," he answered. "Maybe I"ll stay here for a while, get work somewhere about, an" maybe I"ll go back North. There"s a heap o" things to do in New York. General utility man, now, that"s a good job sometimes. I had a friend last winter as worked in a house that was run by a lot of girls. He had the time of his life! The girls was all of them at work, in charities and hospitals and I don"t know what-all societies. At night he"d wait on table for dinner, after he"d cooked it, and learned more"n he"d ever learn if he stayed in school all his days. He could talk like a book, that man could. And the girls, they got to relying on him for all sorts o" little things a man can do about a house. It"s a nice way for girls to live, a lot of "em together. I reckon a job like that might be fun."
Though he did not look at Hertha she understood his thought for her and felt comforted.
"There ain"t no use in hurrying," was Tom"s final comment. "If one thing turns out not to be wisest you can try another. As for me, if I ain"t needed for anything else, a colored boy can always get an elevator job."
He rose to his feet giving a prodigious yawn. "Time for me to go to bed."
Hertha rose too and stood beside him. "You can have your old room now,"
she said softly.
"That ain"t my room no more, Sister," he answered. "I give that room to you. I"m doin" fine at Aunt Lucindy"s. Don"t you fret." And with a good-night he left them.
Hertha watched him until he was out of sight. "He"s the dearest boy in the world," she whispered to herself. "The dearest." Then, with a heavy heart, she turned to go in.
"Don"t go to bed yet," Ellen called. "You can"t be sleepy. Come, honey, sit here and talk."
"What about?" Hertha took her place by Ellen"s side.
"What about? Why, about everything that"s happened. I haven"t heard yet of a thing you"ve been doing."
"I haven"t succeeded at anything."
"I"d rather decide about that."
And so looking out into the starlight, haltingly at first, Hertha told the story of her eight months" absence. Ellen was all questions, interested to learn about New York, full of curiosity regarding the factory and the school, anxious to hear each detail of the many happenings. Her enthusiasm warmed the narrator and before she was through Hertha had given a full account of her city life.
"How wonderful!" Ellen said when it was finished.
"There"s nothing wonderful about it," Hertha replied, despondent again.
"I"ve come back with nearly half my money gone and have failed at everything."
"You haven"t failed at all," was Ellen"s emphatic answer. "Of course it might have been better to have gone with Miss Witherspoon and have done the thing she planned; study dressmaking. But you didn"t, and it"s wonderful the way you made your way alone. Of course, Mammy and I couldn"t help worrying--New York was such a big place for you to be dropped down in without a friend--but we needn"t have feared."
Amazed at this unexpected praise, Hertha let her sister go on.
"It must have been great working in a factory and going out on strike!
And Kathleen, I should love her! And if you didn"t like stenography probably you got a good deal out of the course though you don"t appreciate it now. You and Tom don"t make plans but I notice you have all the experiences. I"m so proud of you," Ellen ended. "I reckon quiet folks have got more in them, more real character, than talkative ones like me."
"Don"t!" Hertha clutched her sister"s dress and hid her face on her shoulder. "Don"t say that! If I"m good it"s only chance----"
She stopped and in the silence that followed it would have been hard to have told which heart beat the faster.
"Sister," Ellen whispered. "What happened? I wish you"d let me know, it"s better than guessing. You said, before you went away from here, that he despised you. What was it? I don"t like to believe he"s bad, he"s been so good to Mammy and me. Really good, not patting you on the head the way his father does. Mammy got to relying on him. And he"s made it so easy and pleasant for me at school it"s one reason I ought to go away. I need a harder job."
With all her thought of herself, Hertha could not help smiling at this Hercules who must always move to a "higher and harder" task.
"He tried to get news of you when he went to New York. He told Mammy he meant to bring some word, but he couldn"t."
"That"s partly why I didn"t send you my address."
"Oh!"
Summoning all her fort.i.tude, Hertha did tell of the gay mornings and the dark night.
Ellen listened quietly, showing neither dismay nor astonishment. Life as she had seen it was a grim affair, and she had known fear for this young girl at her side. But she judged by accomplished facts rather than by fearsome thoughts or self-accusation. When Hertha had finished she spoke in her matter-of-fact way:
"I"m so glad you told me, for I must say, Hertha, you haven"t shown much common sense. Why, Lee Merryvale"s the one man in the world you can trust. You know that he resisted temptation. It isn"t likely that the Lord"ll lead him down such a difficult path again."
"You mean----" Hertha cried excitedly.
Ellen went on: "As to his not caring for you--if you"d seen him wandering around this place as I have, looking like a dog that"s lost his mistress, you"d understand he isn"t the sort that changes his mind every few weeks. He was worried sick when he couldn"t find you in New York. We were all frightened, I"ll confess now, but he was the worst.
I"ve seen him digging in his garden, hour after hour, or working among the trees, acting as if he hadn"t a friend in the world. I"m not excusing anything, don"t think that, but I do believe in giving people credit for what they are and in understanding when they turn from wrong and do right."
Suddenly her matter-of-fact mood changed. With a sob she took her little sister in her arms and kissed her again and again: "Don"t say it was chance!" The tears were on her face. "I don"t believe in chance. The Lord was watching over you all the time."
CHAPTER x.x.xVII
Hertha slept through the quiet night without moving but awakened with the birds at dawn. The first low twitterings fell upon deaf ears, but as the sounds grew brighter and more numerous, as one singer after another joined in the chorus, she moved lazily and opened her eyes.
"Come to me, come to me," the red bird whistled; and his mate answered with a call of sweet compliance. "See what I"m doing, hurry up, hurry up," cried the mockingbird, repeating over and over his song of welcome.
Rising from her bed, Hertha went to the window. The soft, dim light of dawn gained minute by minute in radiance as she stood looking out upon the familiar world. Beneath her window grew white lilies, wafting her with their fragrance. Violets, red roses, pink phlox, nodded their heads in greeting. The tall pines murmured a good-morning, and overhead stretched the great vault of sky each moment losing its depth of blue, its stars imperceptibly fading from sight. Every sight and sound and odor breathed the joy and hope of the dawning day.
When she had taken her fill of deep breaths of the summer air she turned back to her room. On the floor were her two bags with which she had started on her journey eight months ago. Kathleen had gone to her Brooklyn home, packed and sent them on to her. They had arrived yesterday, but she had left them untouched, dreading to look at the contents. The morning however brought courage, and kneeling on the floor she took the larger of the two and pressed the lock.
Out tumbled slippers and underclothes, books and hairpins, dresses and handkerchiefs. Hertha shook and folded and put away until suddenly she stopped to see her calendar at the bottom of the bag. Staring up at her were the days of the month of June, and around the figure 25 was a carefully drawn circle, a circle inclosing this dawning day.
This day she was to make her decision. So she had willed it. The date, marked by her hand, stood in confirmation. After looking for a few moments, she pressed her lips firmly together, and then in her old, deliberate, tranquil fashion washed and dressed. In her drawer, carefully laundered and folded away,--her mammy"s work she knew,--was her blue maid"s dress. She drew it out and put it on.
The rose of the sky was not more pink than her cheeks when she opened the door and walked out on the sand. "What are you doing here, I"d like to know?" A wren called above her head so fast and so scoldingly that she started in surprise, only to recognize an old friend. He c.o.c.ked his tail and trilled and sang as though indignant that any one in the house should be up as early as he. And as he sang other birds sang with him, the light grew in the east, and morning came to the world.
With steady, unhesitating tread she walked through the pines along the path to where the cypress marked the turn into the orange grove. Then for a moment she stopped, because, despite her will, her breath came in short gasps. Pa.s.sion swept over her. The months in the city, the strife and tumult, the struggle to guide her unwilling heart, were blotted from her life. Now was reality, and the world held nothing for her but the pines through which she had pa.s.sed and the world of the great house into which she would turn. Yet how could she know he would be in his old place to greet her? Perhaps it was too early. Perhaps he had ceased to work as formerly among his trees. Perhaps--anything but that she had been right and her sister wrong in her judgment of him. All her old doubts rushed back. Her knees shook and she put her hand upon the cypress for support. Indecision was with her again. She hated herself for her surrender.
And then in a moment, the sunshine, the fragrant air, the chatter of the birds, brought back her faith. She felt the joy of the morning, the courage of the coming day. With a prayer that was a call to him she left her boundary line and turned into the orange grove.
There was change about the place. The same trees were there, but to right and left land had been cleared for cultivation. A garden must have flourished by the water"s edge for there were signs of hills of peas and beans such as furnished winter produce for the stores that she had seen in New York. Some one had been very industrious, working hard to make fruitful the earth.
She took a step forward and saw the worker spraying the budding fruit.
His hat was off, his red-gold hair in tumbled ma.s.s, his clothes soiled with dirt, he himself frowning with intentness. She watched silent, motionless, as, in complete unconcern, he moved about his work. Suddenly something went wrong, he dropped his tool and looking up saw her standing among his trees.
In a second he had dashed across the s.p.a.ce between them. "Cinderella,"
he cried, holding her close, "Cinderella, I searched the world over for you. I hunted day and night but there was no fairy G.o.dmother to help me."
"Perhaps she called me back," Hertha whispered, "I think she called me back." And then lifting her head and looking into his face that glowed with love, she gave a sigh of happiness. Her valley of indecision, she knew now, was pa.s.sed. Content had come to dwell within her heart.