Tracy Park Part 43

'Marguerite begins with M,' she said, 'and Gretchen's name was Marguerite. Oh, if it were Gretchen who worked this letter, then I can touch what her hands have touched--the little dimpled hands in the picture,' and she kissed the 'M' as fervently as if it had been Gretchen's lips and Gretchen were her mother.

On the old bra.s.s ring the key to the trunk and carpet-bag were still fastened, together with the small straight key, for which no use had ever been found. Jerrie had never thought much about this key before, but now she held it in her hand a long, long time, while the conviction grew that this was the key to the mystery; that could she find the article which this unlocked, she would know what she so longed to know--something definite with regard to herself. But where to look she could not guess; and with her brain in a whirl which threatened a violent headache, she closed the chest at last, and crept wearily to bed just as the clock, which Peterkin had set up in one of his towers, struck for half-past ten, and Grace Atherton's carriage was rolling down the avenue from the big dinner at the Park House.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

THE NEXT DAY.

Jerrie was astir the next morning almost as soon as the first robin begin to sing under her window. She had left a blind open, and the red beams of the rising sun fell upon her face and roused her from a dream of Germany and what she meant to do there. Once fairly awake, Germany seemed far away, as did the fancies of the previous night. The spell, mesmeric, or clairvoyant, or whatever one chooses to call it, was broken, and she was only Jerrie Crawford again, dressing herself rapidly and noiselessly so as not to awaken her grandmother, who slept in the room beneath hers.

'I shall get the start of her,' she said, as she donned a simple working dress which had done her service during the summer vacations for three successive years. 'I heard her telling Harold last night to have the tubs and water ready early, for she had put off the Monday's was.h.i.+ng until I came home, as I was sure to bring a pile of soiled clothes. And I have; but, my dear grandmother, your poor old twisted hands will not touch them. What is a great strapping girl like me for, I'd like to know, if it is not to wash her own clothes, and yours, too?' and Jerrie nodded resolutely at the fresh young face in the mirror, which nodded back with a smile of approbation of the _tout ensemble_ of the figure reflected in the gla.s.s.

And truly it was a very pretty and piquant picture which she, made in her neat calico dress, which, as it was three years old at least, was a little too short for her, and showed plainly her red stockings and high-heeled slippers, with the strap around her instep. Her sleeves were short, for she had cut them off and arranged them in a puff above her elbows to save rolling them up, and her white bib-ap.r.o.n was fastened on each shoulder with a knot of blue ribbon, Harold's favorite color. She had thoroughly brushed her beautiful wavy hair, and then twisting it into a ma.s.s of curls had tucked it under a coquettish muslin cap, whose narrow frill just shaded her lovely face. 'You look like a peasant girl, and I believe you are a peasant girl, and ought to be working in the fields of Germany this minute,' she said to herself with a mocking courtesy, as she left the mirror and descended to the kitchen, where, early as it was, she found Harold warming some coffee over a fire of chips, and cutting a slice of dry bread.

'What in the world!' she exclaimed, stopping short on the threshold. 'I mean to be the first on the scene, and lo! here you are before me. What are you doing?'

'Getting my breakfast,' Harold replied, turning toward her with a slight shade of annoyance on his face. 'You see, I have a job. I did not tell you last night that a Mr. Allen, who lives across the river, four miles away, looked in one day when I was painting your ceiling, and liked it so much that he has engaged me to paint one for him. I told him I was only an amateur, but he said he'd rather have me than all the boss painters in Shannondale. He offered me three dollars a day and board, which means dinner and supper, or fifteen for the job; and I took the last offer, as I can make the most at it by beginning early and working late, and we need--'

Here he stopped short, for how could he tell Jerrie that the raised roof had taken all his means, and that he even owed the grocer for the sugar she had eaten upon her berries, and the butcher for the bit of steak bought the previous night for her breakfast and his grandmother's. But Jerrie guessed it without his telling, but with her quick instinct and delicate perception knew that no genuine man like Harold cares to have even his best friend know of his poverty if he can help it. Forcing back the tears which sprang to her eyes, she cried, cheerily:

'Yes, I know; you are a kind of second Michael Angelo, though I doubt if that old gentleman, at your age, could have done my room better than you did. I don't wonder Mr. Allen wanted you. But you are not going to tramp four miles on a hot morning, on nothing but bread and coffee, and such coffee--muddier than the Missouri River! You shall have a decent breakfast, if I can get it for you. Just sit down and rest, and see what a Va.s.sar with a diploma can do.'

As she talked she was replenis.h.i.+ng the fire with hard-wood, putting on the kettle, pouring out the coffee dregs saved from yesterday's breakfast, and hunting for an egg with which to settle the fresh cup she intended to make.

'No, no, Jerrie. No, you must not take that; it is all we have in the house, and grandma must have a fresh one every day at eleven o'clock, the doctor says--it strengthens her,' Harold said, rising quickly, while Jerrie put the one egg back in the box and asked what Mrs. Crawford did settle coffee with.

'I am sure I don't know; cold water, I guess,' Harold said, resuming his seat, while Jerrie tripped here and there, laying the cloth, bringing his cup and saucer and plate, and at last pouncing upon the bit of steak in the refrigerator.

But here Harold again interfered.

'Jerrie--Jerrie, that is for your breakfast and grandma's. You must not take that.'

'But I shall take half of it. I would rather have a gla.s.s of Nannie's milk any time than meat, and you are going to have my share; so, Mr.

Hastings, just mind your business and let the cook alone, or she'll be givin' ye warnin',' Jerrie answered laughingly, as she divided the steak, which she proceeded at once to broil.

So Harold let her have her way, and felt an increase of self-respect, and that he was something more than a common day laborer, as he ate his steak and b.u.t.tered toast, and drank the coffee, which seemed to him the best he had ever tasted. Jerrie picked him a few strawberries, and laid beside his plate a beautiful half-opened rose, with the dew still upon it. It was a delicate attention, and Harold felt it more than all she had done for him.

'Thank you, Jerrie,' he said, picking up the rose as he finished his breakfast. 'It was so nice in you to think of it, just as if I were a king instead of a jack-at-all-trades, but I hardly think it suits my blue checked s.h.i.+rt and painty pants. Keep it yourself, Jerrie,' and he held it up against her white bib ap.r.o.n. 'It is just like the pink on your cheeks. Wear it for me,' and taking a pin from his collar, he fastened it rather awkwardly to the bib, while his face came in so close proximity to Jerrie's that he felt her breath stir his hair, and felt, too, a strong temptation to kiss the glowing cheek so near his own.

'There, that completes your costume,' he said, holding her off a little to look at her. 'By the way, haven't you got yourself up uncommonly well this morning? I never saw you as pretty as you are in this rig. If it would not be very improper, I'd like to kiss you.'

He was astonished at his own boldness, and not at all surprised at Jerrie's reply, as she stepped back from him.

'No, thank you, it would be highly improper for a man of twenty-six, who stands six feet in his boots, to kiss a girl of nineteen, who stands five feet six in her slippers.'

There was a flush on her cheeks and a strange look in her eyes, for she was thinking of Harvard, where he had put her from him, ashamed that strangers should see her kiss him. Harold had forgotten that incident, which at the time had made no impression upon him, and was now thinking only of the beautiful girl whose presence seemed to brighten and enn.o.ble everything with which she came in contact, and to whom he at last said good-bye, just as Peterkin's tower clock struck for half-past five.'

'I _must_ go now,' he said, taking up his basket of brushes. 'I have lost a full half-hour with you, and your steaks, and your coddling me generally. I ought to have been there by this time. Good-bye,' and offering her his hand, he started down the lane at a rapid pace, thinking the morning the loveliest he had ever known, and wondering why everything seemed so fresh, and bright, and sweet.

If he could have sung, he would have done so, but he could not, and so he talked to himself, and to the birds, and rabbits, and squirrels, which sprang up before him as he struck into the woods as the shortest route to Mr. Allen's farm house--talked to them and to himself of Jerrie, and how delightful it was to have her home again, unspoiled by flattery, sweet and gracious as ever, and how he longed to tell her of his love, but dared not yet until he was surer of her and of what she felt for him. He had no faith now in her fancies with regard to herself.

Of the likeness to Arthur, which he thought he saw the previous there had been no trace on the face which had almost touched his that morning when he pinned the rose upon her bib. She was not--could not be Gretchen's daughter, and was undoubtedly the child of the woman found in the Tramp House--his Jerry, whom he had found, and claimed as his own, and whom he meant to win some day, when he had his profession, and was established in business. 'But that will be a long, long time, and some one else may steal her from me,' he said to himself, sadly, as he thought of the years which must elapse before he could venture to take a wife. 'Oh, if I were sure she cared for me a little, as I do for her, I would ask her now and have it settled; for Jerrie is not a girl to go back on her promise, and the years would seem so short, and the work so easy, with Jerrie at the end of it all,' he continued, and then he wondered how he could find out the nature of Jerrie's feeling for him without asking her directly, and so spoiling everything if he should happen to be premature.

Would his grandmother know? Not at all likely. She was too old to know much of love, or its symptoms in a girl. Would Nina St. Claire know?

Possibly, for she and Jerrie were great friends, and girls always told each other their secrets, so Maude said, and Maude was just then his oracle. He had seen so much of her the last few months that he felt as if he knew her even better than he did Jerrie, and he was certainly more at his ease in her presence. Then why not talk with Maude and enlist her as a partisan. He might certainly venture to make her his confidente, she had been so very communicative and familiar with him, telling him things which he had wondered at, with regard to her father, and mother, and Tom, and the family generally. Yes, he would sound Maude, very cautiously at first, and get her opinion, and then he should know better what to do. Maude would espouse his cause, he was sure, for she liked him and wors.h.i.+pped Jerrie. He could trust her, and he would.

He had reached the Allen farm-house by this time, and though he was perspiring at every pore, for the morning was very hot, he scarcely felt the heat or the fatigue of his rapid four-mile walk, as he mixed his paints and prepared for his work, for there was constantly in his heart a thought of Jerrie, as she had looked in that bewitching dress, and of the bright, smile she had flashed upon him when she said good-bye.

Meanwhile Jerrie had watched him out of sight, whistling merrily:

'Gin a body meet a body, Comin' through the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry?'

whistling it so loud and clear that Nannie came to the fence and put her head over it with a faint low of approval, while Clover-top thrust his white nose through the bars, and looked at her inquiringly, as Jerrie pulled up handfuls of fresh gra.s.s and fed them from her hands, noticing that Nannie had lost her knot of ribbon, and wondering where it was. Then she returned to the house, and was busying herself with preparations for her grandmother's breakfast and her own, when the latter appeared in the kitchen, surprised to find her there, and saying:

'Why, Jerrie, what made you get up till I called you? Why didn't you lie and rest?'

'Lie and rest,' Jerrie answered laughingly. 'It is you who are to lie and rest, and not a great overgrown girl like me. I have given Harold his breakfast and seen him off. I cooked him half the steak,' she added as she took out the remaining half and put it on the gridiron. 'I don't care for steak,' she continued, as she saw Mrs. Crawford about to protest. 'I would rather any time have bread and milk and strawberries.

I shall never tire of them;' and the big bowl full which she ate with a keen relish, proved that she spoke the truth.

'Now, grandma,' she said, when breakfast was over. 'I am going to do the work, was.h.i.+ng and all. I must do something to work off my superfluous health, and strength, and muscle. Look at that arm, will you?' and she threw out her bare arm, which for whiteness and roundness and symmetry of proportion, might have been coveted by the most fas.h.i.+onable lady in the land. 'Go back to your rocking-chair and rest your dear, old lame foot on your softest cus.h.i.+on, and see how soon I will have everything done. It is just seven now, and by ten we shall be all slicked up, as Ann Eliza Peterkin says.'

It was of no use to try to resist Jerrie. She would have her own way; and so Mrs. Crawford, after skimming her milk and attending to the cream, went to her rocking-chair and her cus.h.i.+on, and sat there quietly, while Jerrie in the woodshed pounded and rubbed, and boiled and rinsed, and wrung and starched and blued, and hung upon the line article after article, until there remained only a few towels and ap.r.o.ns and stockings and socks, and a pair of colored overalls which Harold had worn at his work. As these last were rather soiled and had no them patches of paint, Jerrie was attacking them with a will, when her grandmother called out in great trepidation:

'Jerrie, Jerrie, do wipe your hands and come quick! Here's Tom Tracy hitching his horse at the gate.'

Jerrie's first impulse was to do as her grandmother bade her, and her second to stay where she was.

'If Tom chooses to call so early he must take me as he finds me,' she thought, while to her grandmother she said: 'Nonsense! Who cares for Tom Tracy? If he asks for me send him to the woodshed. I can't stop my work.'

In a moment the elegant Tom, fresh from his perfumed bath, the odor of which still lingered about him, and faultlessly attired in a cool summer suit, was bending his tall figure in the door-way of the woodshed where Jerrie, who was rubbing away on Harold's overalls, received him with a nod and a smile, as she said:

'Good-morning, Tom. You are up early, and so was I. Business before pleasure, you know; so I hope you will excuse me if I keep right on. I have stinted myself to get through, mopping and all, by ten, and it is now nine by Peterkin's bell. Pray be seated. How is Maude?'

She pointed to a wooden chair near the door, where Tom sat down, wholly nonplussed, and not knowing at all what to say first.

Never before had he been received in this fas.h.i.+on, and it struck him that there was something incongruous between himself, in his dainty attire, with a cl.u.s.ter of beautiful roses in his hand, and that chair, minus a back, in the woodshed, where the smell of the soapsuds would have made him faint and sick if he had not been so near to the open door.

Tom had not slept well the previous night. He had joined the fine dinner-party his mother had given to the Hart's, and St. Claire's and Atherton's, and had sat next to Fred Raymond's sister Marian, a very pretty young girl with a good deal that was foreign in her style and in her accent, for she had been in Europe nine years, and had only just come home. Everything in her manner was perfect, from her low, well-modulated voice, to her sweet, musical laugh, and Tom acknowledged to himself that she was the most highly polished and cultivated girl he had ever met; and still she tired him, and he was constantly contrasting her with Jerrie, and thinking how much better he should enjoy himself if she were there beside him, with her ready wit and teasing remarks, which frequently amounted almost to ridicule. Jerrie had been very gracious to him on the train, and had laughed and joked with him quite as much as she had with d.i.c.k St. Clare.

'Perhaps she likes me better than I have supposed she did,' he thought.

'Anyway, I'd better be on hand, now she is at home and can see Harold every day. He don't care a copper for Maude, or wouldn't if she didn't run after him so much, and that will sicken him pretty soon, now that he has Jerrie. By George, I believe I'd be as poor as he is, and paint for a living, if I couldn't have Jerrie without it. But I think I can; anyway, I am going to try. She cannot be insensible to the advantage it would be to her to be my wife, and eventually the mistress of Tracy Park. There is not a girl in the world who would not consider twice before she threw such a chance away.'

Such was the nature of Tom's reflections all through the dinner, and to him the tiresome talk which followed it and the short summer night during which he was planning his mode of attack.

'I'll call in the morning and take her some roses; she likes flowers,'

he thought. 'I wonder what she did with those I gave her at Va.s.sar? They were not with her on the car, unless she hid them in the paper box she carried so carefully. Yes, I guess they were there, and I shall see them standing around some where.'

And this was the secret of Tom's early call. He had thought at first to walk, but had changed his mind, and driven down to the cottage in his light buggy, with the intention of asking Jerrie to drive with him along the river road. But she did not look much like driving as she stood there by the wash-tub in that working-dress, which he thought the most charming of anything he had ever seen, notwithstanding his chagrin that the future Mrs. Tom Tracy should ever come in contact with anything as vulgar as soapsuds and pounding barrels. How beautiful she was in that short dress, with her bare arms, the whitest he had ever seen, and how pretty her feet looked in the red stockings and slippers, which he would have sworn were threes instead of fours and a half.