Crimson Roses (8 page)

Two days later, however, Jennie announced her intention of taking the children and making a flying farewell visit to her sister, who lived in a small town thirty miles away. She would go early Friday morning and return Monday. She felt that the packing was well started and Marion could do a good deal while she was gone. Marion’s attitude had been so pleasant and willing that her fears were somewhat set at rest, and she longed to have a little ease herself, for she had worked very hard. She knew, too, that Marion could pretty well be counted on to do the work of two people in her absence, so she went with a mind free to enjoy her vacation.

Marion had agreed to the suggestion readily enough. She knew she could work early and late and still have time free for what she wanted to do for herself, and Jennie’s absence seemed really providential. Tom was away all day from breakfast until evening settling up his business affairs, not even coming home to lunch on Friday or Saturday, he said, so she was free to do as she pleased.

So Marion hurried through the breakfast dishes and locked the door on the duties Jennie had suggested, and took her way downtown to hunt a place to live.

She had several plans. There was a girl who used to be in the same Sunday school class who worked downtown, a secretary or something. She boarded somewhere. She would go and ask her some questions.

But the girl was very busy taking dictation and could not be seen for a long time, and when she did appear she gave very little help. Yes, she boarded not far from her office, but it was rotten board, she said, and not a very pleasant bunch of boarders. She was thinking of making a change herself. Lots of girls took a room and got their meals at restaurants or did some cooking in their rooms, but she couldn’t see that after working all day. She suggested several places where Marion might look for rooms, and Marion finally went away armed with addresses, much wiser and more anxious.

She longed inexpressibly for a room of her own, no matter how tiny it might be. The idea of a small gas stove appealed to her tremendously. Even without a gas stove she felt sure she could manage her breakfasts and perhaps an occasional evening meal. Or, if she took a good meal at a restaurant in the middle of the day, she might make her evening meal, usually very simple, milk and fruit and crackers or cereal, and that could be managed in her own room of course. She disliked the thought of constant daily contact with other boarders, especially since her talk with the other girl, who made it plain what kind of people she had to mingle with in a cheap boardinghouse. A restaurant was different. One did not have to be so intimate with a crowd as with individuals at the same table.

She went to one of the restaurants the girl had suggested and ordered a glass of milk and some crackers, and while she was eating them studied the menu. It seemed from the card to be quite easy to select a substantial meal for a very small sum if one was careful about counting the cost. If the lack of variety palled, she could always try another restaurant.

Before the morning was over she had gone into many dreary little halls and climbed many steep, narrow flights of stairs in her search, till she began to feel that nowhere in the wide world was her little refuge to be found at any price that she could hope to pay; and her promised wages, that at first had seemed so large, began to dwindle. How very little her pay was going to be able to purchase in the way of comfort for her. Oh, if her father had foreseen this, how troubled he would have been! Perhaps she was doing wrong. Perhaps she ought to go with Tom.

But no, she had her own life to live, and her father would have been just as disappointed to have had her lose the other things of life, which were only to be had if she remained near the city with its music and art and libraries and evening schools. She must have a chance.

Now and then a feeling of a sob came in her throat. It ought not to be so hard for her. She ought to have her part of what her father had left. But she shrank inexpressibly from Tom’s look when he told her, as he surely would, that she was spoiling all his prospects in life by her silly whims, and that of course, if she wanted her half of the money it would be impossible for him to get the land he wanted, but together they could have a nice home. No, let him have the home and be satisfied. She would take her chance without the money. Then he had nothing for which to blame her.

So she toiled on from apartment house to apartment house, in fruitless search.

About the middle of the afternoon, and just as she was beginning to think with sinking heart that she would have to take a little hall bedroom without heat or give up her plan entirely, she came at last upon a room that seemed to have possibilities.

It was on the third floor back in the saddest of all the sad little houses she visited, and its roof sloped at the sides.

It had no heat, but there were two lovely dormer-windows looking toward the river, and the spring was coming on. She need not think of heat. Besides, the sad-faced woman who took lodgers said there was a pipe-hole in the chimney, and she had an old woodstove that she wouldn’t mind putting up in the winter if the young lady would bring up her own wood. Seeing as the young lady had her own furniture, and wouldn’t even require a carpet, she would let her have it very cheap.

Marion joyfully accepted the proposition. The landlady had reluctantly agreed that she might move her things in as soon as was convenient, but the rent was not to begin until the first of the month, which was a little more than a week off.

All the way home the girl was trying to think what would be best to do about moving her things. She knew her brother would make serious objection to her remaining in the city. He might even go so far as to refuse to let her take her things out of the house. Not that he had any right, of course, for the things were her own; but she knew he would use any method to prevent her staying if he took the whim to be obstinate about it. Marion felt she could afford to run no risks now. She must get her furniture moved at once and then keep her door locked. There was no other way.

As soon as dinner was out of the way, she shut herself into her room and went to work. Tom had gone out again as soon as he finished his dinner, so she was not hindered by anything, and he had not thought to ask her what she had been doing all day. Her eyes were bright with excitement and unshed tears. But she had no time to cry. Tenderly and hurriedly she took down the few pictures and little ornaments and packed them into the bureau drawers with as many of her other belongings as she could get in. She packed the china washbowl and pitcher carefully, wrapping them in an old quilt, and tied newspapers about the white bed and other furniture until the room resembled a ghostly edition of itself.

When all was done, she lay down upon the bare mattress, her head upon the tied-up pillows and her raincoat spread over her. She was not sure how she was going to sleep the rest of the nights they stayed in the house, but she was too tired to care. She meant to get her own things into her own little room before her brother and sister-in-law found out anything about it. After they were once safely out of the house, she could work with a free mind.

She carried out her purpose the next morning, securing a wagon to take her furniture and then hurrying in the trolley car to her new quarters to receive her things and see them safely housed. The landlady had had the room swept and the floor wiped up. The spring sunshine was flooding the windows, and all together Marion felt that it was not a bad prospect for a home.

As soon as the furniture was all carried in, she locked the door and sped back to her neglected work. The rest of the day she worked as if her life depended on getting things done, not even stopping to get any luncheon for herself. She had paid the first month’s rent and the mover out of her own small hoard, which had been saved from time to time during many years. She had but fifteen dollars left on which to live until she should receive her first week’s pay, but she felt confident she could make it do, and she was happy in a way, happier than she had been since the death of her father.

She hurriedly improvised a temporary bed for herself from the old cot used during her father’s illness, stored away in the loft. Then, taking care to lock her door, she went at the duties that her sister-in-law had suggested she should do.

It was not until Tuesday morning that Jennie discovered the locked door.

Chapter 5

I
t was the afternoon before the goods were to be taken away. Marion had been hoping against hope that she could keep her secret until a few loads had left the house. Then surely no one would notice her room was practically empty, or think anything of it. She had suggested to Jennie that it would be a good time for her to go to the stores for a few last things that she needed for the journey and that she herself would stay and direct the men what to take first. It seemed as if everything were going all right with her plans. But she had not calculated on the whims of her sister-in-law.

Marion was in the kitchen packing pot and pans, salt cellars, and kitchen cutlery, labeling each box carefully so that those who unpacked it would have no trouble in finding everything. Suddenly Jennie appeared in the doorway with her eyes blazing angrily and a sneer on her tired, dirty face.

“Marion, what on earth do you keep your door locked all the time for? You act as if you expected us to steal something!”

Marion turned and tried to smile in the face of Jennie’s fury.

“Why, it looked so untidy up there. All my things are spread out, you know. I started to pack my clothes this morning.”

If only she could keep Jennie in good humor so that Tom would not have to know yet!

“Well you certainly are a prude if there ever was one. Give me the key. I want to go in there and throw these pillows and a rug out of your window. It will save lugging them downstairs.”

Marion turned, wondering what to do.

“Why, let me go up and throw them down,” she said pleasantly. “Here, you sit down in this chair and finish wrapping these little things. You look tired to death.”

But Jennie turned on her almost in a fury.

“Give me that key!” she said. “I believe you are afraid I’ll pry into your things or maybe take something. But I’m not standing anything more from you, and I haven’t time to argue. Where is the key?”

“Jennie!” said Marion in distress, “you know that isn’t true. I just thought it would rest you to sit down awhile.”

“Oh, yes,
rest
!” sniffed Jennie. “I haven’t time for rest. And I hate doing that little finicky work anyway. Finish what you’ve begun, and give me the key.”

Marion with set lips and cheeks turned suddenly scarlet handed over the key and went on with her work. Perhaps the revelation might as well come this way.

“How strangely you look at me,” said Jennie as she grabbed the key. “I actually believe you don’t want me to go into your room.”

Jennie hurried upstairs, and Marion could hear her dragging the heavy rug to the door, fitting in the key, and unlocking it. There was an instant’s silence—ominous silence, and then, angry footsteps hurried down the stairs, and Jennie burst into the kitchen again.

“What on earth does all this mean?” screamed Jennie, her eyes fairly snapping. “I knew you were up to some tricks; you were so meek and quiet. And now I see why you locked your door. People don’t keep locked doors in their own house unless they have something they’re ashamed of to hide. What have you done with your furniture, Marion Warren?”

Marion turned around and faced her angry sister-in-law, her face white but calm, her voice as gentle as her state of nervous excitement would admit.

“Listen, Jennie, it was my own furniture. I had a right to do what I liked with it. I have done nothing I am ashamed of.”

“No, I don’t suppose you are ashamed. You don’t know enough to know when you ought to be ashamed. Well, what have you done with it? Sold it? Because if you have I’m sure I don’t know where you’re going to get any more to furnish your room. Are you intending to sleep on a cot all your life and keep your hairbrush and comb on the floor?”

“No, I haven’t sold it, Jennie,” said Marion, trying to steady the involuntary tremble that would creep into her voice. It always made her tremble to face Jennie in one of her fits of anger.

“Well, what have you done with it? For mercy’s sake don’t waste all the afternoon telling me. I’d be glad to know the worst at once.”

“It isn’t dreadful, Jennie,” said Marion looking at her wistfully. “I really think perhaps it will be a relief to you in the end. I’ve sent it away to a room I’ve rented.”

“A room you’ve rented! Indeed! And what have you rented a room for, I’d like to know!”

“To live in,” answered Marion simply.

“To live in!” screamed Jennie. “You don’t say! And who is going to support you while you live in it, may I ask? Or is that a secret? Perhaps that’s something you’d like to hide behind locked doors, too!”

There was a covert sneer in Jennie’s words that brought the vivid color to Marion’s cheeks, sweeping up over her brow and then receding again leaving it white as death. Her eyes, too, had grown cold with hurt dignity.