CHAPTER X
ALL THE OLD GIRLS
“I’ve got a wonderful scheme, Edwin,” said Molly when she had finally engineered her husband out of the den and Nance in.
“I’ll be bound you have. I never saw such a Mrs. Machiavelli! – First I mustn’t go in the library but stick to the den, and now that I had just made myself at home in the den I must flee to the library.”
Molly laughed at her husband’s pretended discomfiture as he settled himself to find out what was going on at the front.
“Now read the news to me while I knit. There is no knowing how soon our own boys will be needing sweaters. I feel that every stitch I put in is important. Mercy, what a mess my knitting is in! I do believe that little monkey of a Mildred has been working on it. But she can’t purl at all! Someone else has done it. No one has been here but Andy.”
“Well, I can’t think Andy McLean would attempt a sweater,” laughed Edwin. “Maybe Nance is responsible.”
“But Nance is a past master!”
“She might have been trying a one-handed stunt and failed. I don’t believe even Prussian efficiency could knit and get proposed to and accept all at the same time. Under the circumstances I think she should be forgiven for purling where she should have knitted and knitting where she should have purled.”
“You sound like the prayer book,” said Molly, patiently pulling out stitches and deftly picking up where Andy asked to hold Nance’s hand. “I almost feel as though I were committing a sacrilege. This sweater is like a piece of tapestry where the lady has recorded her emotions, using the medium she knew best. I just know dear old Nance tried to go on with her work all the time Andy was making love,” and Molly wiped a wee tear off on the ball of yarn.
“I tell you that sweater could tell tales if it could speak,” teased Edwin. “Why don’t you sew in one of your golden hairs so that the happy soldier who finally gets it will have some inkling of how the beautiful girl looks who made it?”
“Silly! But don’t you want to hear what my scheme is?”
“Dying to!”
“I am going to try to get the old Queen’s girls, that is our ’special crowd, to come to Nance’s wedding. Katherine and Edith Williams are both in New York; Judy is there; Otoyo Sen is in Boston; Margaret Wakefield is in Washington; Jessie Lynch is in Philadelphia – ”
“Are there no husbands?”
“Oh, yes, plenty of them, but I’m not going to invite husbands! The babies can come if the mothers can’t leave them, but the husbands are not invited. Katherine Williams and Jessie Lynch are the only ones who are still in single blessedness.”
“Are you going to have them all stay here?” asked Edwin in amazement, never having quite accustomed himself to Molly’s wholesale hospitality.
“Of course! I can manage it finely. That will be only six extra ones. Why, at Chatsworth we had that much company any time. This house is really almost as big as Chatsworth and there we had our huge family to put away besides.”
“All I can say is that you are a wonder, but please don’t break yourself down over this wedding. What does Nance say to it?”
“I haven’t asked her, but I know she is dying to see all the girls together. We have often talked about it, and wedding or no wedding I was going to try to get them here this next month. Otoyo has already promised to come, you remember, and now she can just hurry up and get here for the wedding. She will have to bring Cho-Cho-San, who is just a bit older than Mildred. They can have great times together. You don’t mind, do you, honey?”
“Mind! Of course not! You know I like company. I was just afraid you were giving yourself too large an order.”
Nance, on being consulted, thought it would be wonderful to see all the old girls again before embarking on her great adventure, so letters were forthwith written and sent to the six friends, who one and all joyfully accepted. Business, husbands, babies, society were to be left behind for this grand reunion of the old Queen’s crowd.
Otoyo Sen, now Mrs. Matsuki, whose exceedingly regretfully but honorable husband was gone on short journey and baby Cho-Cho-San must stay with humble mother for the wedding. As Molly had expected to have the child, this was as it should be.
Katherine had demanded leave from the lectures she was delivering, and Edith had an excellent nurse for her baby and could leave her family easily. Margaret Wakefield had no children and was able to cancel the many engagements that such an important person was sure to have, and her house was in such good running order that her husband, the rising young congressman, would want for nothing in her absence. Jessie Lynch had declined two luncheons, a dinner dance, and a theatre party, besides breaking as many more engagements in order to come to this wedding of the old college friend. Jessie was still unmarried although she had been the one that the prophecy had married off first. Pretty little Jessie had so many lovers it was hard to choose among them.
The very first reply was from Judy and she, Judy-like, answered in person. She blew in at nightfall with a huge suitcase, many parcels and her gay chintz knitting bag stuffed full of various things besides knitting.
“Kent was dying to come but I told him no children and dogs were allowed,” announced that glowing young matron as she dropped her belongings, scattering them all over the library floor, and rushed around kissing and hugging everybody in the room. “I have come to help. I know you, Molly! You always act like triplets when there is any work on hand, and I know you, too, Nance! Your New England conscience will make you neglect Andy rather than seem to shirk work. I am here to sweep and dust and cook, take care of babies, or even to flirt with Andy if Nance does not look after him. I am going to dress the bride; find Edwin’s collar buttons and studs for his dress shirt; see that the best man has the ring safe in his pocket; pay the preacher; put in the supply of rice and old shoes – in fact,” she sang:
“‘Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain’s gig.’”
The Greens had been sitting quite sedately around the lamp engaged in their various occupations when Judy burst in on them. The professor was getting up a lecture for the morrow, Mildred was cutting out paper dolls, and Molly and Nance had for the moment put down their eternal knitting and were giving their attention to whipping on lace for the modest trousseau. But the whirlwind that came in swept aside all sane business. Needles were hastily thrust in cloth; thimbles were mislaid; paper dolls dropped for something livelier; and lecture preparation abandoned. When Judy, after the breathless announcement of having come and her reasons for coming, began on the Nancy Bell, Edwin sprang to his feet and, joining in the dance that Judy was improvising, sang in a rollicking mixture of tenor and baritone:
“‘And he shook his fist and tore his hair,
Till I really felt afraid,
For I couldn’t help thinking the man had been drinking,
And so I simply said:
“‘Oh, elderly man, it’s little I know
Of the duties of men of the sea,
And I’ll eat my hand if I understand
However you can be
“‘At once a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain’s gig.’”
Little Mildred clapped her hands to see her dignified father cutting pigeon wings. She had yet to learn that dignity and Mrs. Kent Brown could not stay in the same room.
“Oh, Judy! It is good to see you,” gasped Molly when the chorus, in which all of them joined, had been sung over twice. “What a Judy you are, anyhow!”
“Let me take your suitcase up-stairs,” suggested Edwin.
“And I will carry your parcels,” insisted Nance, who was happy indeed over seeing her old college friend again.
“There is not a bit of use in taking a thing up-stairs. All of my clothes are in the knitting bag. Those parcels are wedding presents and the suitcase is full of all kinds of plunder. This big bundle is a tea basket from Kent and me. You and Andy can go to housekeeping in it. We thought you would rather have it than silver or cut glass, since you are going where there are no side boards to speak of.”
“Oh, Judy, how splendid! It is exactly what I have been longing for,” cried Nance, opening the charming Japanese basket. “Only look, plates, cups and saucers, tea pot, coffee pot, sugar bowl, cream pitcher, spoons, knives, forks, cannisters for coffee, tea, sugar, crackers, hard alcohol stove, chafing dish and tea kettle! All packed in two square feet of basket!”
“A regular kitchen cabinet!” declared Molly. “Nobody but Nance could ever get them packed again in the right place, I am sure, Nance and Otoyo, perhaps.”
“I just know Otoyo is going to bring her one like mine! I never thought of that when I got it. I saw it at Vantine’s and simply fell in love with it. I wanted it so bad myself I got it for Nance. If Otoyo does bring one, I will exchange mine,” said Judy generously.
“Indeed no! I wouldn’t mind having two one bit and I am certainly not going to give up my very first wedding present,” blushed Nance.
“Here is a steamer rug from dear old Mary Stuart. See how warm and soft it is! This is a pocket set of Shakespeare from Jimmy Lufton! He brought it to the train!”
“But how lovely! I didn’t dream of getting any presents,” said Nance.
“How did they know about Nance?” asked Molly.
“I ’phoned them! I got your letter while Kent was at the armory so I just called up everybody I knew and told them the news. There is no telling what the excess calls will amount to, but I had either to do that or burst! ’Phoning is cheaper than bursting.
“Now I bet you can’t guess what is in this great round box,” said the effervescent Judy.
“Your wedding hat!” solemnly suggested Edwin.
“Hat your grandmother! Guess again!”
“A German bomb!”
“No! Cold, cold! You’ll never get it! It is a wedding cake sent by Madeline Petit and Judith Blount. Now what do you think of that?”
“Wonderful!” cried Molly, as she lifted the cake from its careful packing. “Fruit cake with white icing! How on earth did they happen to do it?”
“You see I ’phoned them, too, because I always did like little Madeline in spite of the fact that she talks a fellow’s ear off. I am not so fond of Judith, but I do admire her. She has spunked up so splendidly and taken her medicine like a man. She and Madeline are doing a thriving business in a swell part of town with tea rooms and all kinds of fancy cakes. Judith was the one who suggested sending the cake, Madeline told me. She said Judith said she knew Molly Brown would work herself to death over the wedding and she, for one, was going to send something to help out Molly. She said you were just goose enough to make the cake at home.”
“I had planned to do it,” laughed Molly. “I was going to start to-morrow.”
“This huge box is candy to eat right now – that is Kent! I am almost afraid to eat it. He wanted to come so bad that he might have poisoned it for spite.”
“Why didn’t you let him come? Dear old Kent!” exclaimed Molly.
“Well, I knew perfectly well that it is some job to sleep seven persons outside of one’s own household, and it is doubly difficult when there are two sexes. Kent is as busy as can be anyhow: drilling day and night.”
Kent Brown had taken the training at Plattsburg and was then engaged in passing on this training to a company of militia in New York. He and Judy were eagerly awaiting the declaration of war by the United States. There was no such thing as neutrality for them. Having been in France in that August of 1914, Judy considered herself already at war and Kent enthusiastically shared the sentiments of his wife. He was prepared to leave his profession of architecture, in which he was proving himself very successful, and join any regiment that was likely to see service.
Judy had done exactly what the Marquis d’Ochtè had asked her to do: she had come back to New York and plunged into war relief work. Because of her enthusiasm and untiring energy she had been of great assistance in recruiting workers. Her admiring husband said that she was what one might call a real booster. Any campaign Judy plunged in was sure to be a whirlwind campaign. She had her father’s capacity for infinite work. Up to a certain period it had evinced itself in the form of infinite play, but now that the serious side of life had presented itself to her, the girl was working quite as hard as she had ever played. There was never anything half-way about our Judy. In New York she was canvassing for suffrage, keeping up her painting, and with her own hands cutting and folding enough surgical dressings to fill the peace ship, besides rounding up many workers for the cause. With it all she managed to be a very satisfactory wife and housekeeper. She and Kent were blissfully happy. There were red letter days in their calendar when both of them stopped working and went on some mad frolic. They had made many friends in New York, friends with whom they both worked and played. They had a hospitable apartment where the redoubtable Ca’line reigned in the tiny kitchen, Ca’line, trained by Mrs. Brown at Chatsworth and chastened by dear old Aunt Mary until she “knowed her place an’ kep’ it.”
Isn’t it fun to see Judy again? I hope my readers feel as glad for her to come bounding into these pages as the Greens and Nance Oldham did when she opened the door of the library at the Square Deal and, upsetting everything, scattered papers and parcels hither and yon, her vivid personality permeating every corner of the room.
Just before Judy said good-night, she paused and exclaimed, “I must tell you, Molly, how much I enjoy the dear little Virginia girls you have passed on to me. The Tucker twins and Page Allison are just about the nicest girls I know, and Mary Flannagan is a duck. I used to be an awful snob about college girls, – somehow, I thought girls who did not go to college were not worth knowing, but I have changed my mind since I have met these girls. They are an interesting lot and as far as I can see know as much as we do.”
“I knew you would like them. I simply fell in love with them last spring in Charleston. Have you met their father?”
“No, but he must be some father! The girls call him Zebedee, which appeals to me, having always called mine Bobby.”
“Zebedee? What a strange name!” said Nance.
“They say it is because nobody ever believes he is their father and so they want to know: ‘Who is the father of Zebedee’s children?’ It seems he is only about twenty years older than they are and is one of those persons who never gets on in years. They declare they are really more mature than he is and not nearly so agile,” laughed Judy.
“I have been meaning to ask them to Wellington and must certainly do it before they go back to Richmond,” declared Molly, on hospitality bent as usual.
“All right, honey, but let’s get Nance safely married and the wedding feast disposed of,” insisted Judy, who thought her brother-in-law looked a little alarmed, fearing that Molly might decide that this was as good a time as any to have the Tuckers and Page Allison visit them.
“Of course! I didn’t mean now but later on, although it is a pity to put it off too long,” teased Molly, seeing the worried look on Edwin’s face. “I might make up two bunks on the pantry shelves and let one of them sleep in the bath tub.”
CHAPTER XI
AN INTERESTING COUPLE
“I came from New York with a very interesting couple,” said Judy the next day as she vigorously stitched away at some of the wedding finery. “Of course I talked to them – I always talk to the interesting persons I meet traveling.”
“So do I,” said Molly as she finished a garment and put it aside for Kizzie to press.
“I never do,” sighed Nance. “I do wish I had some of your and Judy’s warm-heartedness.”
“Nonsense! Your heart is just as warm as any that beats,” objected Molly. “Ask Andy!”
“You see, honey, Vermont is Vermont and Kentucky is Kentucky! Persons from Kentucky haven’t quite as hard shells as the ones from Vermont, but when once you get below the shell the kernel is about the same. You and Molly couldn’t be any more alike than Kentucky beeches and Vermont pines,” said Judy, pausing long enough in her labors to give Nance an encouraging pat.
“Yes, and pines stay green all the year around,” said Molly. “It is much better to be a pine than a beech.”
“Well, tell us about the interesting couple,” laughed Nance, much comforted.
“They were from Alsace but were very French in their sympathies. They looked a little German but they spoke beautiful French except that they did have a tendency to call Paris ‘Baree.’ They love Paris as much as I do. The man, Misel is his name, Monsieur Jean Misel, – is the best informed person I have seen for many a day. He knows the war situation as few persons do, I am sure. He seems to have been everywhere and known everybody. He even knew my father, – at least, knew all about him and was greatly interested in the fact that Bobby is soon to sail for France to help rebuild the roads. Madame Misel is much quieter than her husband but is very intelligent, I am sure. With all her reserve, she never misses a trick.”
“Where was this interesting couple going?” asked Molly.
“Coming right here to Wellington! They have taken a cottage in the village and mean to live here. He is writing and she wants to do war work.”
“How splendid!” cried Molly. “We need workers more than I can tell you. The students give what time they can, but a full college course is about all a normal girl can take care of in the way of work.”
“You must call on them right off, Molly. I will go with you and Edwin must go, too. I know he will like Monsieur Misel.”
“I’ll ask him, but Edwin is sure to want to know why this lover of Paris is not fighting for France.”
“Ah, the poor fellow! He is quite lame – walks with a cane and a crutch. He hinted rather darkly that his lameness is in some way due to the Germans, but I do not know in just what way. He was sensitive about his affliction, so his wife told me when he left us and went in the smoker, so naturally I did not ask him how the Germans were responsible for it. He is a young man, too, that is under forty, and very handsome.”
Professor Green was quite interested in what Judy had to tell him of the Misels. He promised to call with Molly and do all he could to make Wellington pleasant for them. He looked forward with pleasure to the conversations Judy assured him he would enjoy with that highly educated gentleman. Holding the chair of English in a woman’s college is not bad, but there were times when Edwin Green longed for more man talk. He and Dr. McLean were sworn friends and saw much of each other, but they both of them welcomed with enthusiasm any masculine newcomer.
“I wonder if your friend could teach French, Judy,” asked her brother-in-law. “Miss Walker is quite put to it for the end of the term. The French professor took French leave last week. He seemed too old to hold anything more weighty than a pen, but he has gone to fight.”
“That is the terrible part of it,” sighed Judy. “They say all the superannuated dancing masters and French teachers are leaving to take up arms. It means that France is having a hard time. Why, oh why, don’t we hurry up and get in the game?”
The call was made and Molly and her husband were quite as enthusiastic as Judy had been over the charms of the new neighbors. Monsieur Misel seemed the very person to take up the labors of the flown French professor, and Miss Walker accordingly engaged him. Molly felt she must have them to dinner in spite of the fact that she was deep in the preparations for the wedding.
“I’ll have a very simple dinner and not make company of them, just make them feel at home,” she declared, and her husband and Nance and Judy smiled knowingly. Molly always would have company and there was no use in trying to stop her.
“I know when I die she will feel called upon to give me a good wake,” laughed Edwin.
“Certainly, if people come hungry to your funeral, I’ll feed them,” answered Molly.
“Are our new friends, the Misels, hungry?”
“Not hungry for food, but they must be lonely so far away from their country and friends. Anyhow, they are invited now and have accepted, so there is no use in teasing me. You just see that there are cigars here for Monsieur Misel to smoke after dinner, and I’ll attend to the rest.”
How sad it was to see a man of Misel’s beauty a hopeless cripple! He was a tall, stalwart fellow with a military bearing which the use of a crutch and cane could not take from him. His lameness had not affected the comeliness of his limbs or his erect carriage. He had very courteous manners and it seemed to be very hard on him not to spring from his seat when a lady entered the room.
On the evening of Molly’s informal dinner when Nance, who was the only member of the household who had not met the strangers, came into the library, Misel stood up to be introduced, but his wife gave a low cry of alarm and sprang to his assistance, eagerly placing his crutch in one hand, his cane in the other. He sank to his seat with a smothered groan.
“Jean, Jean! What am I to do with you?” said Madame Misel irritably. “He is so imprudent,” apologetically to Molly, who had tears in her eyes at this exhibition of courage and weakness. She could well understand how Monsieur Misel’s courteous desires could get the better of his strength.
Andy McLean was present and the doctor in him immediately became interested in the pitiable case. He had none of the hesitation Judy had shown in regard to questioning the Misels concerning the cause of the lameness.
“What is your trouble?” he asked bluntly. “If you can stand without support as you did a moment ago, I see no reason why you cannot be cured.”
“In time! In time!” said Misel with patient resignation.
“He has had the best medical attention,” put in his wife.
Madame Misel usually spoke with a kind of slow hesitation, but now her words came rapidly. She had the air of trying to shield her husband from farther questioning on the part of Andy. Andy, however, was totally oblivious of this fact and went on.
“Who is his surgeon?”
“The great F – , in Baree!”
“What did he say?” asked Andy, impressed by the name.
“He – he – said – nerve centres – disturbed,” answered Madame, returning to her hesitating speech. She did not stammer at all but seemed to pause to choose her words.
“If I can be of any assistance to you, I hope you will call on me,” said Andy kindly.
In the meantime Misel sat with his hands over his eyes as though in great pain and his wife hovered over him solicitously.
Dinner was soon announced and this time the lame man arose very cautiously and made his way slowly to the dining-room.
“Kindly – go – in – front – of – us,” faltered Madame, and Molly marshalled her family and guests so that the Misels might bring up the rear. She fully appreciated how the wife felt about wanting to be the one to assist her poor lame husband. If her Edwin had been so crippled no one should have helped him but his own wife.
Molly turned to smile on the poor woman for whom her heart was sore. She could well understand the misery it must bring to see one most dear having to suffer so acutely. There was a dark place in the hall leading to the dining-room and the hostess feared the poor lame man might stumble there, so she stopped to warn him of a rug. She distinctly heard Madame say to her husband in no gentle tones but with an asperity almost malevolent:
“Narr! Narr!”
Molly began assiduously to hunt in the archives of her brain for the small German vocabulary which she could call her own.
“Narr! What can narr mean?” the question kept recurring to her as dinner progressed. She visualized lists of words in a worn old blank book used at school. “Narr, Nase, Nesse, Nest!” She tried to remember the English on the opposite page. How well she remembered the little old book wherein was written the despised German exercises. The script in itself had been almost impossible to learn and as for mastering the language, – she had been so half-hearted about it that she had not been compelled to keep it up.
“Narr, nase, nesse, nest!” ran through and through and over and over in her mind. Suddenly just as Professor Green asked her what she would say to adjourning to the library, the list of English words flashed on her brain.
“‘Fool, nose, nephew, nest’!” she cried audibly.
“What?” Edwin feared his Molly had gone crazy.
“Oh – I – I – mean, yes – coffee in the library!” and she arose from her seat in confusion.
Why should that calm-looking, slow-speaking woman call her poor lame husband a fool? Narr! Narr! It was certainly strange.