The Tryst (Annotated) (Grace Livingston Hill Book) (32 page)

But this whole long day to herself! What should she do with it? What wild extravagant thing could she think of to do? She might buy some books, although Miss Cole had every book one could think of and then some more. There were one or two necessities of dress she might purchase, but they would scarcely satisfy Miss Cole's idea of extravagance, and she had money enough of her salary to supply all her real needs and lay by some every month. Besides, she had a feeling that this was a sort of a game she was playing with the grim old lady and that it was her turn to move and provide something interesting m the game, something that would be as wild and pleasant to tell as it was to do. So really she wouldn't be doing it all for herself after all, but partly to amuse Miss Cole with the story of it when she got back. 

Patty sat down and thought, and the first thing that presented itself as an interesting thing to do was to take a trolley and see if she could find that girl that had almost drowned that day when they were at The Plant. She would take her some flowers. She had wanted to do it last week, but had never had time for so long a trip. Besides, as long as John Treeves was about the house she had kept very close to her own and Miss Cole's rooms lest she meet him. But the young minister had apparently secured some boarding place, for he had not been at the house at all the week before, although he had preached as usual. These Sabbath services were coming to be the bright spots of the week, wherein her old friend came back and talked with her and helped her to know his Friend, God, and to see her own need of a Saviour. So Patty was not worried lest she should meet John Treeves on this expedition. 

It did not take her long to dress for the street and she was soon on her way to a nearby florist where she knew she could get almost anything in the way of flowers. She had a royal time choosing them and at last decided for carnations and sweet peas, glowing with color and fragrance and gifted with lasting powers. One great white lily with a golden tongue she had put in the centre, and plenty of asparagus fern for a background. Then with her big box she went happily on her way and after a little enquiry found the right car line to carry her to The Plant. 

She felt a little queer going around the place alone after she arrived there, a little as if perhaps she ought not to have come, but she went bravely on, her cheeks rosy with the excitement of the adventure. She came to the big office building where the car had stood. Across the water she could see a figure bending over a typewriter with flying fingers on the keyboard, but she could not be sure it was the same girl. She turned and studied carefully the situation, got her bearings, walked straight to the little house in the long gray row and knocked at the door. There was a murmur inside as of questioning voices, then, when her heart was just beginning to fail her, the door was opened a little way and a woman peered out. She had a worn, haggard face, straggling hair end a faded cotton dress, clean but discouraged looking. 

She eyed the stranger dubiously, discontentedly, enviously, but aloof. No one who looked and dressed like that could have part nor lot with her. This girl had come to the wrong place, that was all. In fact, what was she doing at The Plant at all? There was suspicion and distrust written in the woman's eyes. 

But Patty smiled. 

“Could you tell me, is this where the girl lives who fell in the water about three weeks ago? I do not know her name, but I was in the car that brought her back, and I'm sure this was the house.” 

The woman rested her hip back against the doorjamb and surveyed her more in detail, shaking her head discouragingly, and saying monotonously: “No unnerstand Ongla.” 

Patty began again speaking more distinctly: 

“Is there a girl here, Girl, about as old as I am?” She smiled entrancingly and held up her box. “I've brought her some flowers. See!” and she broke the string and unwrapped the box. 

The woman drew back and frowned, with her eyes on the box, but shaking her head: 

“No, no buy. No money. No money!” 

“Oh!” cried Patty in dismay, shaking her head. “I don't want to sell them. They are a present for your daughter. You got daughter?” she fell into the woman's lingo in her desperation. Oh, if she could but remember a little of her school Italian, a few love songs --that was about all. But just then a big woman in a sloppy calico wrapper, open at the breast and carrying a dirty baby, appeared behind the first one. She had large, dull, black eyes, had long, thick lashes, and wonderful curly black hair, but it was utterly unkempt. Her lips looked sullen and her eyes had a baffled expression: “Yes, she's got a daughter,” she answered in gruff English. “What's youse wants of her? She ain't got no money to buy your flowers. What's it fer? The Red Cross? We ain't got no money to pay to nothing any more. Anyhow, the war's over.” 

“Oh, I don't want to sell the flowers. I brought them to the girl who fell in the river. I wanted to come sooner, but I couldn't. Is she here or has she got well and gone back to work?” 

“Yes, she's got well, sorta, and she's gone back to work, only she ain't to work to-day, she's gone to jail to see her young man. He's in jail.” 

“Oh, did they put him in jail?” said Patty in dismay. Not the man they called Angelo?” 

“Yes. Angelo. Did you know him?” 

“Oh, no, I only saw him that day. He talked to the people I was with. But why did they put him in jail? He looked like a nice young man.” 

“'Cause they said he shot the boss. They heard him say he would kill him, and so they think he did.”

“But he didn't!” I'm sure he didn't!” said Patty. “I was in the car when the shot came, and it came from behind somewhere. Isn't there any way to prove that he is innocent?” 

“I do no,” said the sullen-looking woman apathetically. “They all done all they could. Why don't youse try? That there 'Tree' man tried. He ain't done trying yet. But I don't guess he'll do no good. Mr. Hor'-Cor' he ain't letting him out. He's too stinge, Mr. Hor'-Cor'. You belong to him? Why don't you tell him what you just tole me?” 

“No, I don't belong to him,” said Patty anxiously, but I wish I could do something. I certainly will if I find anything in my power. What is the girl's name? Angelo said he was soon going to be married.” 

“Yes, they was, too, but that's all done now. She's can't marry him to the jail. Her name's Mary. She don't look like herself no more. She was awful good looking, but now she's all gone back. She lost about ten pounds, and she cry all night. She's my sister-in-law. I marry her broth'. I was born in this country, so I speak the English. Mary she speak, too, and she's real smart. She go to school and study and get to be a stenog'pher. She write for the boss. But she too good looking. The boss he try to go with her and Angelo get mad, and all time the boss and Angelo they have fight together. Oh, I guess he don't get free. The boss he die and they say Angelo killed him. I guess Angelo get killed. Don't you think? Angelo got no friends to get him out. They have so many laws and we are poor people. Got no money to pay to get him out.” 

“Oh, I am so sorry!” said Patty, her face quite white and suffering. “Won't you give Mary the flowers and tell her I will try to see if there is anything I can do to help her? I am only a girl and I haven't any friends here, nor anybody that I can ask to help, but --well-you tell her I love her--” she smiled brightly, wistfully up at the stolid, wondering woman. Patty opened the box and laid the glory of the flowers in the arms of the older Italian woman, who looked at them in dazed bewilderment as though they were blooms from another world, and then she buried her worn old face in their sweetness and began to cry, murmuring some strange foreign words between her sobs. 

“She says to thank you,” the younger woman said, preventing the slobbery baby from pouncing upon a great crimson carnation and tearing it into atoms. “She says she ain't never had no flowers like that, and Mary will be glad fer 'em. She says to come again when Mary is home.” 

And so, with the vision of the weeping mother in the door-way, her arms full of the bright blossoms with the lily in the midst, Patty turned away and went thoughtfully down the clean monotonous way. She was not noticing which way she went nor caring. All the brightness seemed gone from the day since she had heard of this other girl's trouble. And that nice Angelo with the big dreamy eyes, the kind smile, and the reverent way of saying “My girl,” "My wife,” was in jail! Perhaps going to be hung! How terrible it seemed! How could there be sunshine and joy in a world where a thing like that could happen? She was sure it was unjust, for how could Angelo have shot from the other side of the river when the shot went by her ear? She was sure of that! 

Presently she saw that she was coming to a little landing by the river and a boat was on its way over. It was almost to the wharf. It was a large, flat, snubby ferryboat that plied from shore to shore. Why should she not take it and go across? It did not matter much where she went and it would be a trip on the water. She loved the water and the day was bright. If there was nothing interesting over there she could take the next boat back, and on the way she could think what to do with the rest of her day and the rest of her money. She had spent but three dollars so far and she doubted if Miss Cole would be much entertained by the telling of it, it was too painful. 

So when the ferryboat arrived, Patty, with a few other passengers, went on board. She stood at the front rail and watched the patches of silver light on the water where the sunshine danced, and wondered why trouble and sin had to be in the world; and why a girl like Mary della Camera had to lose a lover like Angelo when it all seemed so pleasant and hopeful for their future. And it did not seem to be their fault either. Then her mind went back to last Sunday's sermon and she began to wonder about herself and if she could ever find the Friendly Saviour that John Treeves had preached about and claim Him for her own. She was so very lonely and unhappy, poor little soul, out seeking a holiday all by herself on a strange ferryboat! 

The boat arrived at a lonely bit of landing and the other passengers hurried away down the road. Patty got off, looked uncertainly around and then decided to walk up the hill in front of her, for it seemed that there would be a wonderful view of the river up there, and it was a sparkling day. She would sit up there and try to think of something else to do. So she climbed the hill, sat down on a fallen log and looked out over the water. It did not occur to her to be afraid, for she could see in every direction a long distance and there seemed nothing but placid country. Patty was not a girl who was afraid of things anyway. 

It was like a great painting spread out in front of her, the shimmering water, the busy plowing steamers going this way and that, The Plant across the river lifting tall warehouses and puffing chimneys near the water's edge like dark fringes on a silver gown, the little rows of dismal board houses stretching away in regular aisles, the flat stretch of country beyond, and the trolley line whereon a single car crawled now and then. Far down the river the dim city life lifted vague shapes against a luminous smoky background and seemed a nucleus for noise and bustle. But back here all was quiet and peace. Behind her stretched a light wooded crown of the hill, and wide meadows beyond now covered with brown grass and patches of the last snow huddled in fence comers. It seemed a pleasant, kindly nook wherein no one else had thought to take refuge, and Patty sat still and was glad she had found it. Somehow here for the first time since she had left home there seemed to be room and time to think out her own problems and go back over the last weeks. In the city there was always something ahead to be done, somewhere to go with Miss Cole, something going on in the great house in which her service was required in some way. Now it was writing notes or answering the telephone, now it was painting dainty bits of dinner cards, or arranging flowers from the hothouses, or helping Marjorie to find out what was the matter with a dress that Madame had just sent home, and suggesting how a touch of color, or a different arrangement of drapery would bring about the effect she desired. They had found that in all these things Patty had a knack, a talent. She was artistic in everything she did, and knew exactly how to arrange a room or put on a hat for the best effect that was in it. Mrs. Horliss-Cole had fallen into the habit of saying in any trying situation, “Send for Fisher, she'll know what to suggest. She always does.” And she had actually made a proposition to her sister-in-law to take Patty over as her own personal attache and substitute an older woman for Miss Cole. But Sylvia Cole resented having the bright young girl called “Fisher,” and resented the idea of her being anybody's servant in that sense, for she knew that Kate Horliss could never treat a servant as Patty ought to be treated. Moreover she wanted Patty for herself and she put so prompt a veto on the idea that no one even said any more about it. 

But with that city background Patty had little time to think over her own problems, and now under the quiet sky she felt as if she could face them. 

There was the matter of the home in the West. How long could she let this go on, her staying away without giving them any clue to her whereabouts? She had hoped that before this she would have had word from her father and be able to judge better what to do. If it had not been for that call from Hal Barron and the detective down in the mountains, she would probably have written to her mother by this time, and explained why she went away, for she was not a girl to harbor insult and injury, and it would have been a very gentle letter, making it quite possible for her mother to accept the situation and let her remain away. But somehow the aspect of a detective, followed so quickly by the visit of Hal Barron, put things in a different light. She felt as if there was something sinister in it, and she could not bear to go back, or to give them a chance to order her back, until her father was surely in this country again. And yet, all the time she was haunted by the fear lest she had after all misjudged them and there might be some explanation that would at least take the edge from what they had said, and make life more bearable. How gladly would she have suffered punishment for what she had done if she could only have it proved to her that she had misjudged her mother and sister. Then there was another matter which had vaguely troubled her, and that was the old Judge, her father's friend. For some days she had been remembering that her father had charged her not to forget to appear in his office on her twenty-first birthday as he had something of interest to tell her. In her hurry of going away it had completely slipped her mind, and now that she had remembered it she feared that their old friend might think her careless and unappreciative of his interest in her. It never occurred to her that the interview could be more than, a pleasant birthday conversation, a little loving intercourse to solace her because her father was away, and perhaps he had left a birthday gift for her in his keeping. Well, birthday gifts would keep, of course, and it could all be explained in due time when her father returned, only, perhaps she should have confided in the Judge at such a time as this, and let him help her decide what to do. Perhaps her father would have had her do that. The Judge more than anyone else living was in the confidence of her father, and would know if there was anything strange about her, if she was adopted or anything. And yet, suppose he shouldn't, how dreadful it would be to let the Judge know how her mother and sister had talked! No! Oh, NO! She couldn't have told him. There was no question about it at all.