Norton, Andre - Novel 23 (17 page)

 
          
 
"Mrs. Parton has a real sewing machine.
She doesn’t run it much—she's afraid of it," Damaris volunteered.
"And she won't let any of the maids touch it—'cause they might break it.
Grandfather ordered it from
New York
—he meant it for me. But when it came, Mrs.
Parton locked it away; she said no child could run it."

 
          
 
"We may even ask her for the use of
that," Saranna promised. "Mother saw one demonstrated in
Boston
, and then had me go and watch, too. But we couldn't
afford to buy one. We'll see."

 
          
 
With more purpose she began sorting through
the cast-offs for the second time, this time with the intention of guessing
just how much could be salvaged from damaged, stained, or otherwise unusable
garments. And she finally believed that it might be possible to squeeze out
three completely new frocks. Of course, she did not pretend to her mother's
skill, but the old fact of economy (well-known in
Sussex
where one penny was long made to do the
work of two), that a bodice could be refurbished by a new chemisette and
married to the skirt of another dress whose upper part was past hope, was in
her favor. At the worst, she would be better clad when she was through than she
was now with her skimpy and far too old dresses.

 
          
 
"Saranna," Damaris sat on the edge
of the bed, fingering the stained satin skirt, "you—you talk about your
mother as if you were just visiting—as if you were going back home to see
her—not as if she were dead. You don't cry when you mention her—"

 
          
 
"No, I don't cry—
“ Saranna
fought against that painful sudden pressure in her throat. "But that does
not mean,
Damaris, that I do not think of her,
want
to—Only that wanting, it is selfish; it is wanting what is best for me, not
what is best for her. You see, she was ill, very, very ill when she died. The
doctor told me she could never be really well again; she could not work. We did
not have any money except what we could earn. If she had lived—she would have
been very unhappy. Now I am sure that she is safe. She-does not go hungry; she
is never cold. I think of her being as I saw her once when we had a precious
day all to ourselves.

 
          
 
"We rode out in the country, away from
the town, to see an old school friend of Mother's. It was a wonderful summer
day and we stopped in a big field where there was a brook—with flowers—and
ferns—and the lovely, warm soft air—the sunshine. Mother had to work so hard,
she sometimes never got out of the house all day to even step into the garden,
such as it was, around our cottage. But that day she looked around and told me
that she thought that Heaven must be like that field. And I am sure it is—for
her. So whenever I get selfish and think I miss her so much —then I think of
her in that field with the flowers and the sun—"

 
          
 
Saranna had almost forgotten that she was
talking to
anyone,
she was so caught up in memory.

 
          
 
"I like that. Grandfather—I don't think
he would have wanted a field," Damaris observed softly. "He—maybe
he's in a place like
China
where there are a lot of wonderful palaces
full of beautiful things. And he's walking through them straight and
tall—without having to use his cane anymore—just looking and looking— Oh,
Saranna, I'm so glad you've come to live here! I'm so glad!"

 
          
 
Damaris threw herself at the older girl, her
arms now about Saranna's waist, her head pressed tightly against her breast
right over the pendant. Saranna's arms went out in turn to enfold the child.

 
          
 
"And I am, too, Damaris. I am, too!"

 
          
 
She was, she understood in a kind of wonder.
For all its strangeness and shadows, at this moment Tiensin took on the
appearance of home.

 
          
 
Saranna did make a point of thanking Honora,
and her tone must have carried sincerity. For, no matter how Honora had
intended the gift, Saranna was determined to make the best of it. And her own
shabbiness had been a growing discomfort for her, surrounded as she was by the
splendors of Tiensin which reflected her own dowdiness that much the more.

 
          
 
But she doubted if Honora greatly cared. She
was far too absorbed in her own plans of returning to
Baltimore
to refurbish her own wardrobe.

 
          
 
"I shall be able to come out of mourning
next month." She stared dreamily into the distance over her dinner plate
as if able to envision the rolls of lace, the waiting bolts of material only a
day's journey away downriver. And she spoke of her term as a grieving widow,
Saranna thought, rather as if that period of time had been a cell to confine
her. Perhaps that was so.

 
          
 
From what Saranna had deduced about Richard
Whaley, the Captain's son, he must have been greatly overshadowed in life by
his far more dominant father. That he had found two women to marry him might
not have been due to any personal charm, but the wealth of which Tiensin was
the symbol. Though, if she had married for position, consequence, and wealth,
Honora had been sadly disappointed in the end.

 
          
 
For the first time Saranna realized that,
though Damaris had spoken freely of her grandfather, and though her tie with
the Captain had been very close indeed, she had never mentioned her father or
mother. Perhaps the Captain so overshadowed
all the
household during his long life that they had not mattered to the child.

 
          
 
"Yes—" Honora was continuing, though
she appeared now to be speaking her thoughts aloud, not addressing either of
the others at the table. "Blue, I think—and one of those embroidered
lawns— I look well in green, too.
And those new bonnets with
the blush roses under the brim."
Her eyes
sparkled,
there was a delicate flush in her cheeks. Saranna had no doubt that Honora was
mentally picturing herself in one gown after another.

 
          
 
She caught Damaris' eye and the child answered
with a slight grimace. Since dressmaking seemed to be the subject for
conversation, Saranna dared to break into Honora's delectable dreams with a
blunt question.

 
          
 
"May we have the use of the sewing
machine?"

 
          
 
"The—what—?"

 
          
 
For an instant, Honora was completely at a
loss.

 
          
 
"The sewing machine.
I understand Captain Whaley had one bought shortly before his death. Since I
must make some alterations in the gowns you so generously gave me, use of it
will make my task shorter."

 
          
 
"A sewing machine?
But those are vastly complicated—"

 
          
 
Saranna continued firmly. "I have seen
one, had it demonstrated to me in
Boston
. While they are not good for fine
sewing—the matter of seaming and such is made very much easier."

 
          
 
"Where is it?” Honora had been drawn
fully out of her own preoccupation with the delights of shopping to come.

 
          
 
"I believe Mrs. Parton has it in custody.
She dislikes using it herself and rightly does not trust the uninstructed
maids—"

 
          
 
"Oh, very well.
Yes, tell her that you must have it." Honora
nodded,
her good humor very evident. "I know she will be most accommodating—to
you, Saranna."

 
          
 
There was something in the emphasis of that
speech which alerted Saranna.

 
          
 
"Why should she be any more accommodating
to me, Honora? I am only a visitor here—" and, she added silently to
herself, in all eyes, except maybe Damans', a very unimportant one.

 
          
 
"You are no child, Saranna, but a young
lady," Honora's smile was almost demure, though that was a difficult
adjective to use to describe anything about Mrs. Whaley. "Surely you know
of Rufus Parton's interest. He is a very estimable young man who has worked
hard to raise himself above his class. It is his intention to go
West
where there are many opportunities for one of his
ability. And—"

 
          
 
"And he might as well look
elsewhere!" Saranna flashed hotly. "I am not interested in the least
in Rufus Parton,"

 
          
 
Honora's ice-tinkle of laugh rang out.
"Oh, he is a little rough about the edges, to be sure. But a canny wife
can smooth him down and show him more civilized ways. He is not penniless, you
know. His uncle left him quite well ofif for one of that class; land, too—out
in
Tennessee
—or some such place. He can well afford to
marry a girl without any portion. Also, liking improves upon acquaintance, you
know. You must give Rufus a chance for you to know him better. He will be an
excellent parti —"

 
          
 
Saranna had fought hard to control her temper.
After all—this was only the culmination of her fears put into words. Somehow,
instinct told her, she must succeed in hiding from Honora the extreme revulsion
the other's suggestion had raised in her.

 
          
 
"Gerrad agreed with me yesterday that
this is an excellent chance for a secure settlement for you, Saranna. After all
—what training have you had? No female who is respectable can hope for a better
future than a prudent marriage. Surely your years of scraping and paring after
your father died taught you that being a seamstress or such can barely keep one
alive. Father said you had ambition to be a teacher— but is that any better a
life? No, Rufus is a coming man, with enough in his purse to establish himself
well on the land his uncle left him. His wife might even be the grand dame of
such society as that backwoods offers. You must be reasonable and sensible,
Saranna. Rufus Parton is a chance such as few penniless girls in your
circumstances can hope for—"

 
          
 
"And if I dislike him?"

 
          
 
Again Honora laughed. "Dislike him? You
hardly know him. You must allow him to make his manners properly. You can not
afford to be missish, my girl!" The last sentence was delivered in an
entirely different tone of voice, one which held the snap of a whip.

 
          
 
Honora might urge this on her, Saranna
thought, but she could not force her kinswoman to accept Rufus Parton. Never!
Before that happened Saranna would leave Tiensin— she would find some way of
supporting herself. Suppose she wrote to the Academy. There must be something
she could do!

 
          
 
"My, what a fierce
frown!"
Honora was smiling. "You will have wrinkles far before
your age, Saranna, if you continue to screw up your face in that petulant
manner. Think about what I have said; you are rumored to have some
intelligence. It should be easy for you to see
now which is
the better choice—to live on chartiy, or to be the mistress of your own
establishment
. Think it over. I believe you will see that we are not
enemies but friends to wish this for you.”

 
          
 
She sipped the last drop of her coffee and
arose from the table.

 
          
 
"Gerrad will be coming this evening to
discuss some purchases he wishes me to make for him."

 
          
 
Saranna needed no further hint. "I have a
book I wish to read." Her pride came to her rescue swiftly.

 
          
 
"Damaris—?"
Honora for the first time spoke directly to her stepdaughter.

 
          
 
"Oh, I have a book, too," the
younger girl mimicked Saranna's tone. "You need not worry that we do not
understand that Mr. Fowke comes only to see you." There was no disguising
the hostility in her voice.

 
          
 
Honora's color deepened a little.
"Certainly not to listen to the rude trivialities of little
girls!"
When her voice was that sharp it also gained a shrill note
which hardly was a tone for polite conversation, Saranna decided.

 
          
 
" 'Better
to be
kind at home than burn incense far away'—"

 
          
 
Again Honora's flush grew stronger.
"Don't you quote your heathen words at me!" she flared. "I had
enough of that when—" She bit her lip. Damaris faced her squarely.

 
          
 
"You were going to say when Grandfather
was alive, weren't you? Because he isn't here any more you think what he
believed doesn't matter now. Don't waste your hours— the sun sets soon."

 
          
 
Without waiting for any answer, Damaris turned
her back on Honora and marched out of the room. Her stepmother regarded the
closing door thoughtfully. Then her look shifted to Saranna.

 
          
 
"She is getting far worse in this
obsession of hers! You must see it. I cannot believe but that the Captain's
mind must have been affected by senility when he fostered her learning of such
heathenish ways. I really do not know what we can do with her if she grows
worse. My father is her guardian, and he will be away so long. We may have to
take some steps in her behalf before his return. I so fear that little can
be
done now to counteract this truly pernicious knowledge in
which she was drilled. Does she talk to you of her dreams—of how much she knows
of this devilish belief or that?" Honora's study of Saranna's expression
grew even sharper as if she expected to draw from her some agreement.

 
          
 
"Damaris has told me nothing except about
the Captain's treasures. There she indeed amazed me by the completeness and
depth of her learning. I think even few men on this side of the ocean could
equal her special knowledge of Chinese art—"

 
          
 
Honora shrugged. "Do not deceive yourself
with such nonsense. My father-in-law prattled of things he said he had learned;
she picked it up parrot fashion and uses it to impress. She is only a child,
and a willful, hysterical one, with a poor heritage and a worse temper. I shall
look to you to keep her out of the way when the company arrives. Last time
anyone came to this house, she darted into the parlor and snatched a vase right
out of the hands of Dr. Montgomery—having the audacity to declare he was about
to harm it with carelessness. That I will not have happen again. Do you
understand, Saranna? If Damaris cannot learn control and proper behavior, then
she needs the discipline of some establishment intended to control those of
uncertain intellect. It needs only another such outburst or two before company,
and even my father, hearing such a report, will agree to such a step!"

 
          
 
There it was in the open—the thing Saranna had
feared for Damaris. She had enough belief in the inflexibility of Honora's will
to realize that this was more a dire promise than a warning threat.

 
          
 
There remained Gerrad Fowke. If she could only
talk freely to him perhaps he could provide the understanding and safety for
Damaris. Only—she herself might have been reading far more into Mr. Fowke's
sympathy. As she went upstairs a few moments later, Saranna recalled only too
well that other statement which Honora had uttered with her usual complete
assurance—that Gerrad Fowke had discussed the matter of Rufus Parton and had
agreed with Honora that the housekeeper's son meant an excellent match and a
secure future for Saranna herself.