The Challengers (27 page)

You see, the house was just finished before we went abroad, or nearly so, and we had our furniture and things moved in by the storage people after we left. I had been called abroad suddenly on business. That is the reason I am putting a proviso in my will that the house shall not be sold by the legatee for at least ten years after inheriting it. My dear wife's personal effects are there, packed just as she left them in preparation for her trip. There will be her clothes and private letters and her little personal treasures. I would like some friendly person, some relative, to go over those things. I cannot do it myself for I am a sick man and could not stand the journey, but I don't like the idea of several cats on a charity board doing it, to maul over Hilda's silks and fine laces and speculate about her private affairs. I would like you, Mary Challenger, to do that for me.

And if it so be that Mary Challenger is not living, then I would like the house to go to that little Phyllis if she is alive. If not, then some other member of the family, with the same request that they do to my wife's personal effects what they would want done to their own in a similar case.

If your circumstances are such that it is convenient, I should be glad if you and your family would make my house your home for at least a part of every year for a time, for I would be glad to have the house loved by someone; we put so much thought and happy anticipation into it. I am leaving you money enough to keep up the house in the way that we would have done if we had lived there, and so I hope that may not be an objection into it. But in any event, I would like it kept in the family for at least ten years.

And now in closing, I wish you all the best blessings, with whatever dear ones you have with you.

I have a firm belief in the faith of my fathers, and I expect to join my wife in the house of many mansions, so that your enjoyment of the earthly home I am leaving behind need not be hampered by any sadness on my account. I am glad there is someone of my own family to whom I can leave my belongings when I go.

Your fourth cousin on your mother's side,

Nathan Osgood Forsythe

 

When Phyllis had finished reading the letter, she put it carefully away in her mother's handkerchief box in her bureau drawer and then put her hat on. She had intended going out again to hunt a job, but she was too excited about that house now. If a person who could write a nice letter like that, a good Christian person, had intended living in the house, it must be good enough for them for at least a little while. It might be small, but what did that matter? They could even get a tent to supplement it if there weren't rooms enough for them all. It would be summertime soon. It would be fun to sleep in a tent. And perhaps, if it seemed wise, they could build a cheap addition. Maybe Steve could work at it with a carpenter, or--weren't there such things as patent houses already made to be set up? Well, she'd better not be planning till she saw where it was. Of course, ten years was a long time, and the neighborhood might not be pleasant or healthy. One could never tell. She would just go and see, for Mother might get her hopes all up about it and then be disappointed. Besides, the last thing Mother had said to her was, "See if you can't find us a house outside the city. Maybe there'll be money enough to pay for it pretty soon."

So Phyllis went to the traffic cop on the avenue and asked how to get to Lynwood. It was a pretty name, Lynwood! She said it over several times as she rode along in the trolley, Rosedale Lane, Lynwood. It sounded sylvan and restful. What if it should be a little white bungalow--it wouldn't be a stone one, that would be expecting too much, of course--but a little white one with green shutters and an apple tree in the yard perhaps. They could have a garden of poppies and lilies and delphinium. Maybe there would be more trees; an elm would be wonderful, but they belonged with estates, and the lawyer had distinctly reminded them that this was not an estate.

She dreamed her daydreams as she rode, studying interestedly the people who were her fellow travelers, till by and by they all got off, and then the car wound around between pleasant houses, large lawns, smooth roads, and an occasional gateway covered with ivy; it was pretty out this way, but of course it might not be beautiful like this in Lynwood.

Suddenly the conductor came to her and told her that Lynwood was the next stop. She got off, her heart beating as wildly as if she were about to seek her fortune.

There was no one about at Lynwood Station, a little vine-covered stone structure pretty as a picture. There were woods all about and a road that wound across the tracks, down into the woods and up a hill. She wondered which was Rosedale Lane. Then she spied a flagman and went to ask him. He pointed her down the hill and through the woods, and she started out half fearfully. Perhaps she ought not to do this all alone. Perhaps she should have waited for Melissa. Nevertheless, she hurried on. She crossed a little rustic bridge and passed the more closely wooded district, and now she came out on a broad way with high hedges on either side that almost hid the houses behind them. The road wound on, and presently there was a sign at the turning, R
osedale
L
ane
, and she knew that she was right. But there were no numbers. How would she know when she came to the right house? In fact, she must be out of her way somehow, for these were all large, fine houses. Probably estates.

And now the way wound up a hill, decidedly up and up. Her city-bred feet were tired, and her back ached. The sun was growing warm, and perhaps she was going the wrong way after all, who knew?

She heard a car coming and, stepping aside to let it pass, looked at the driver with a half-hesitant appeal. Dared she ask the way?

It was a young man driving a smart little roadster. He wore no hat and had the air of a college boy. She ventured, and he slowed down and looked at her interestedly.

"Would you tell me if I am on my way to the Forsythe house?"

"The Forsythe house? Sure. You're right. I'm going right there. I live across the road. Hop in and I'll take you. This hill isn't so good on a hot day."

Phyllis hesitated.

"Oh, is it far? I needn't trouble you. You're very kind, I'm sure."

But the youth had jumped out and was opening the other door of the car for her. Phyllis was troubled. Ought she to get in? Wasn't this exactly the same thing that Melissa had done and got into loads of trouble? Getting into a car with a strange young man? Why, it wasn't respectable. It was what they called being "picked up." Still, he said he lived across the road, and if he was to be a neighbor, why, it was probably different.

"It's about a quarter of a mile farther," said the youth with another engaging smile. "Better hop in. I'll have you there in a second."

And against her worst convictions she got in. She wondered as she did so whether all the Challengers were weak-minded when it came to refusing rides in beautiful cars. It couldn't be that this young man had told her the truth, for he looked far too opulent to live across the road from any house the Challengers would be likely to inherit.

But by this time they were whizzing up the hill in great shape, and the engaging smile was turned on her again.

"Are you one of the Forsythes?" he asked.

"Why, no, not exactly," said Phyllis. "We're relatives."

"Say! That's great! It's been closed so long I certainly would like to see that house open."

"Did you know the Forsythes?" she asked timidly.

"No, I was just a kid when that house was built, but I remember my mother watching it and talking about the time when the people would come there. She wanted some neighbors. She was awfully lonesome here."

They topped the hill, and he pointed to a large light-gray stone house, ornate and lovely, set on the top of a little hill, its lawn sloping down to a miniature lake at the foot that Phyllis suspected was a swimming pool.

"That's where I live," said the boy, pointing with a wave of his hand. "It's still lonesome. "Nobody in it but me and my kid brother now. And the servants, of course."

"Oh, isn't your mother--" she stopped, dismayed. She ought not to ask personal questions.

"No, she's dead," said the boy gloomily. "Died three years ago. I haven't been here much except vacations since. I've been mostly in prep schools, and college. I've been one year to college. But I don't like where I was. I'm thinking of staying home this winter and going into the city to the university. My dad doesn't care what I do. He's in Europe. He got married again, and they live abroad. I don't like her, so I stay here."

Phyllis looked at him in dismay.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she said. "I don't see how you do without a mother or a father, either! I have both, and they're wonderful!"

"Say! That must be great!" said the boy. "I'd like that. I haven't really had a home since Mother died. Say, you're different from most girls I see. Are you coming out here to live? I wish you would. We could have some great times. But then if you've got a father and mother like that, they wouldn't let you have a look at me. You see, my father was divorced from my mother when I was only a kid. That's not so good, you know. But I can't help it."

The boy settled into gloom for a moment again but then roused to point to the other side of the road at a stone house, long and low, with wide arched stone porches, set against a background of hemlock and plumy pines.

"There's the Forsythe place!" he said. "I'll drive you up to the door. It's always been kept up pretty well. I know the caretaker, but he's away in the city today. I took him down to catch the trolley. Have you a key?"

But Phyllis was looking in dismay.

"Oh, there must be some mistake. That couldn't be the house. It's only a small house, I'm very sure. That's an estate. The lawyer distinctly said it wasn't an estate."

"Oh, no, that's not an estate. That's just a house. There aren't more than three acres there. That's the house all right. You see, I was born right here and I know."

"Oh, but--why, it can't be. There must be some other Forsythes. Perhaps down at the other end of the road. Doesn't Rosedale Lane go over the other side of the tracks? I must have turned the wrong way."

"No, it just starts by the station and comes up here. And there isn't another Forsythe family within miles around here that I ever heard of. Why, here, didn't you say you have a key? Well, the proof of the pudding's in the eating, isn't it? Go try your key and see if it fits. If it opens the door, it's your house, isn't it?"

"Well, but," said Phyllis, quite bewildered, "I was only looking for a little house. I was afraid it wasn't going to be big enough for our family. There were only two of them in the Forsythe family, you know. They wouldn't have had a great big house like this, would they?"

"Why sure, why not? They must have had money enough to make it just as they wanted it. They're the right Forsythes, all right. They had only one son, and he was killed in the war. That was just when they built this house. They were expecting him home, and then when he got killed they went abroad and never did come back. Mrs. Forsythe died, and he stayed over there. That's the last I heard of them. Nathan O. Forsythe, that's the name. Same people, aren't they?"

"Yes, that's the name, but it doesn't seem possible."

"Do you know if Forsythe is coming back?" asked the young man.

"Oh, he's dead," said Phyllis sadly. "He's left the house to my mother."

"Great!" said the boy. "Are you coming here to live?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Phyllis. "It seems too wonderful. My father is a college professor. We haven't usually lived in such large houses. But it would be--well, I can't tell anything till Mother comes back."

"Say, I hope you do come here to live," said the boy wistfully. "It would make life less lonesome just to see some lights on the other hill. I stay home at night sometimes and wander around the rooms and think what it would be like to have folks, and then I look out the window. There's a game room down in our basement, and the swimming pool, and the tennis court, but somehow I hardly ever use them. You don't do things like that alone. Once in a while I get some of the fellows from college to stay a day or so, but they think it's slow out here."

"Oh, how can they?" she said. "I think it's the most beautiful place I ever saw."

"Well, what do you say? Want to try your key?"

"Oh, I'd like to see in there, but it seems almost like housebreaking."

He laughed and swung his car into the drive. They swept up under a porte cochere to a wide oak door set about with many thick hemlocks.

Phyllis got out and whirled around on the landscape, looking off to the beautiful hills and then to the great massive stone house across the way, quite on the other little hill by itself.

"It would be wonderful to live here and look over to a great beautiful palace like that," she said.

"Palace nothing, but I hope you do. I like you. If the rest of your family is just half as good, it would be wonderful!"

"We've all been praying for a house in the country," mused Phyllis, almost forgetting the presence of this nice boy, "but we never expected to have God hand us out a place like this. I can't believe it!"

The boy stared at her.

"Do you pray? Do you believe in praying?"

Phyllis brought her gaze back from the scenery and looked at him thoughtfully.

"I didn't till lately. But we had a lot of trouble, and--well, somehow we got started to praying through my little sister. We all prayed and----things happened. This is one of them. I couldn't help believing in it now."

The boy continued to stare.

"I never did care for girls much," he mused. "But--well----I certainly hope you come here to live! What do you say, shall we go in now?"

Phyllis took out her keys, and the young man opened the door. It let them into a wide hall, oak paneled and floored. There was a glass door at the other end through which the sunlight poured, and the grass crept close to a wide stone paving just beyond.