Mother: A Story Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  But Margaret's turn did not come for nearly a year. Then--in Germanyagain, and lingering at a great Berlin hotel because the spring was sobeautiful, and the city so sweet with linden bloom, and especiallybecause there were two Americans at the hotel whose game of bridge itpleased Mr. and Mrs. Carr-Boldt daily to hope they could match,--thenMargaret was transformed within a few hours from a merely pretty, verydignified, perfectly contented secretary, entirely satisfied with whatshe wore as long as it was suitable and fresh, into a living woman,whose cheeks paled and flushed at nothing but her thoughts, wholaughed at herself in her mirror, loitered over her toilet trying onegown after another, and walked half-smiling through a succession ofrosy dreams.

  It all came about very simply. One of the aforementioned bridgeplayers wondered if Mrs. Carr-Bolt and her niece--oh, wasn't it?--hersecretary then,--would like to hear a very interesting young Americanprofessor lecture this morning?--wondered, when they were fanningthemselves in the airy lecture-room, if they would care to meetProfessor Tension?

  Margaret looked into a pair of keen, humorous eyes, answered with herown smile Professor Tension's sudden charming one, lost her small handin his big firm one. Then she listened to him talk, as he strode aboutthe platform, boyishly shaking back the hair that fell across hisforehead. After that he walked to the hotel with them, throughdazzling seas of perfume, and of flowers, under the enchanted shiftinggreen of great trees,--or so Margaret thought. There was a plunge fromthe hot street into the awning cool gloom of the hotel, and then aluncheon, when the happy steady murmur from their own table seemedechoed by the murmurs clink and stir and laughter all about them,and accented by the not-too-close music from the band.

  Doctor Tension was everything charming, Margaret thought, instantlydrawn by the unaffected, friendly manner, and watching the interestedgleam of his blue eyes and the white flash of his teeth He was agentleman, to begin with; distinguished at thirty-two in his chosenwork; big and well-built, without suggesting the athlete, of an oldand honored American family, and the only son of a rich--andeccentric--old doctor whom Mrs. Carr-Bolt chanced to know.

  He was frankly delighted at the chance that had brought him in contactwith these charming people; and as Mrs. Carr-Bolt took an instantfancy to him, and as he was staying at their own hotel, they saw himafter that every day, and several times a day. Margaret would comedown the great sun-bathed stairway in the morning to find himpatiently waiting in a porch chair. Her heart would give a greatleap--half joy, half new strange pain, as she recognized him. There wouldbe time for a chat over their fruit and eggs before Mr. Carr-Boltcame down, all ready for a motor-trip, or Mrs. Carr-Bolt, swathed incream-colored coat and flying veils, joined them with an approving"Good-morning."

  Margaret would remember these breakfasts all her life; the sunsplashed little table in a corner of the great dining-room, the rosyfatherly waiter who was so much delighted with her German, the busypicturesque traffic in the street just below the wide-open window.She would always remember a certain filmy silk striped gown, a widehat loaded with daisies; always love the odor of linden trees inthe spring.

  Sometimes the professor went with them on their morning drive, to bedropped at the lecture-hall with Margaret and Mrs. Carr-Bolt. Thelatter was pleased to take the course of lectures very seriously, andcarried a handsome Russian leather note-book, and a gold pencil.Sometimes after luncheon they all went on an expedition together, andnow and then Margaret and Doctor Tension went off alone on foot, toexplore the city. They would end the afternoon with coffee and littlecakes in some tea-room, and come home tired and merry in the longshadows of the spring sunset, with wilted flowers from the streetmarkets in their hands.

  There was one glorious tramp in the rain, when the professor's greatlaugh rang out like a boy's for sheer high spirits, and when Margaretwas an enchanting vision in her long coat, with her cheeks glowingthrough the blown wet tendrils of her hair. That day they had tea inthe deserted charming little parlor of a tiny inn, and drank ittoasting their feet over a glowing fire.

  "Is Mrs. Carr-Bolt your mother's or your father's sister?" JohnTension asked, watching his companion with approval.

  "Oh, good gracious!" said Margaret, laughing over her teacup. "Haven'tI told you yet that I'm only her secretary? I never saw Mrs. CarrBolt until five years ago."

  "Perhaps you did tell me. But I got it into my head, that first day,that you were aunt and niece--"

  "People do, I think," Margaret said thoughtfully, "because we're bothfair." She did not say that but for Mrs. Carr-Bolt's invaluable maidthe likeness would have been less marked, on this score at least. "Itaught school," she went on simply, "and Mrs. Carr-Bolt happened tocome to my school, and she asked me to come to her."

  "You're all alone in the world, Miss Page?" He was eyeing heramusingly; the direct question came quite naturally.

  "Oh, dear me, no! My father and mother are living"; and feeling, asshe always did, a little claim on her loyalty, she added: "We are, orwere, rather, Southern people,--but my father settled in a very smallNew York town--"

  "Mrs. Carr-Bolt told me that--I'd forgotten--" said ProfessorTenison, and he carried the matter entirely out of Margaret'shands,--much, much further indeed than she would have carried it,by continuing, "She tells me that Quincyport was named for yourmother's grandfather, and that Judge Paget was your father's father."

  "Father's uncle," Margaret corrected, although as a matter of factJudge Paget had been no nearer than her father's second cousin."But father always called him uncle," Margaret assured herselfinwardly. To the Quincy-port claim she said nothing. Quincyportwas in the county that Mother's people had come from; Quincy wasa very unusual name, and the original Quincy had been a Charles,which certainly was one of Mother's family names. Margaret andJulie, browsing about among the colonial histories and genealogiesof the Weston Public Library years before, had come to a jubilantcertainty that mother's grandfather must have been the same man.But she did not feel quite so positive now.

  "Your people aren't still in the South, you said?"

  "Oh, no!" Margaret cleared her throat. "They're in Weston--Weston,New York."

  "Weston! Not near Dayton?"

  "Why, yes! Do you know Dayton?"

  "Do I know Dayton?" He was like an eager child. "Why, my Aunt Pamelalives there; the only mother I ever knew! I knew Weston, too, alittle. Lovely homes there, some of them,--old colonial houses. Andyour mother lives there? Is she fond of flowers?"

  "She loves them," Margaret said, vaguely uncomfortable.

  "Well, she must know Aunt Pamela," said John Tenison,enthusiastically. "I expect they'd be great friends. And you must knowAunt Pam. She's like a dainty old piece of china, or a--I don't know,a tea rose! She's never married, and she lives in the most charmingbrick house, with brick walls and hollyhocks all about it, and such anatmosphere inside! She has an old maid and an old gardener, and--don'tyou know--she's the sort of woman who likes to sit down under aportrait of your great-grandfather, in a dim parlor full of mahoganyand rose jars, with her black silk skirts spreading about her, and anOld Blue cup in her hand, and talk family,--how cousin this married aman whose people aren't anybody, and cousin that is outragingprecedent by naming her child for her husband's side of the house.She's a funny, dear old lady! You know, Miss Paget," the professorwent on, with his eager, impersonal air, "when I met you, I thoughtyou didn't quite seem like a New Yorker and a Bar Harborer--if that'sthe word! Aunt Pam--you know she's my only mother, I got all my earlyknowledge from her!--Aunt Pam detests the usual New York girl, and theminute I met you I knew she'd like you. You'd sort of fit into theDayton picture, with your braids, and those ruffly things you wear!"

  Margaret said simply, "I would love to meet her," and began slowly todraw on her gloves. It surely was not requisite that she should add,"But you must not confuse my home with any such exquisitely orderedexistence as that. We are poor people, our house is crowded, our daysa severe and endless struggle with the ugly things of lif
e. We havegood blood in our veins, but not more than hundreds of thousands ofother American families. My mother would not understand one tenth ofyour aunt's conversation; your aunt would find very uninteresting thethings that are vital to my mother."

  No, she couldn't say that. She picked up her dashing little hat, andpinned it over her loosened soft mass of yellow hair, and buttoned upher storm coat, and plunged her hands deep in her pockets. No, theprofessor would call on her at Bar Harbor, take a yachting trip withthe Carr-Boldts perhaps, and then--and then, when they were reallygood friends, some day she would ask. Mother to have a simple littleluncheon, and Mrs. Carr-Boldt would let her bring Dr. Tenison down inthe motor from New York. And meantime--no need to be too explicit.

  For just two happy weeks Margaret lived in Wonderland. The fourteendays were a revelation to her. Life seemed to grow warmer, more rosycolored. Little things became significant; every moment carried itsfreight of joy. Her beauty, always notable, became almost startling;there was a new glow in her cheeks and lips, new fire in the darklashed eyes that were so charming a contrast to her bright hair. Likea pair of joyous and irresponsible children she and John Tenisonwalked through the days, too happy ever to pause and ask themselveswhither they were going.

  Then abruptly it ended. Victoria, brought down from school inSwitzerland with various indications of something wrong, was in aflash a sick child; a child who must be hurried home to the onlysurgeon in whom Mrs. Carr-Boldt placed the least trust. There washurried packing, telephoning, wiring; it was only a few hours afterthe great German physician's diagnosis that they were all at therailway station, breathless, nervous, eager to get started.

  Doctor Tenison accompanied them to the station, and in the fiveminutes' wait before their train left, a little incident occurred, thememory of which clouded Margaret's dreams for many a day to come.Arriving, as they were departing, were the St. George Allens, noisy,rich, arrogant New Yorkers, for whom Margaret had a special dislike.The Allens fell joyously upon the Carr-Boldt party, with a confusionof greetings. "And Jack Tenison!" shouted Lily Allen, delightedly."Well, what fun! What are you doing here?"

  "I'm feeling a little lonely," said the professor, smiling atMrs. Carr-Boldt.

  "Nothing like that; unsay them woyds," said Maude Allen, cheerfully."Mamma, make him dine with us! Say you will."

  "I assure you I was dreading the lonely evening," John Tenison saidgratefully. Margaret's last glimpse of his face was between Lily'spink and cherry hat, and Maude's astonishing headgear of yellow straw,gold braid, spangled quills, and calla lilies. She carried a secretheartache through the worried fortnight of Victoria's illness, and thebusy days that followed; for Mrs. Carr-Boldt had one of many nervousbreak-downs, and took her turn at the hospital when Victoria camehome. For the first time in five happy years, Margaret drooped, andfor the first time a longing for money and power of her own gnawed atthe girl's heart. If she had but her share of these things, she couldhold her own against a hundred Maude and Lily Allens.

  As it was, she told herself a little bitterly, she was only asecretary, one of the hundred paid dependents of a rich woman. She wasonly, after all, a little middle-class country school teacher.