Tomorrow About This Time (23 page)

“Of course not!” reproved Anne. “They’re little girls.”

“Little girls!”
scoffed Athalie, taking up a powder puff and giving a touch to her nose. “Well, you can tell them to go to thunder! I’m busy. I hate little girls.”

Anne gasped and tried to begin again, with fearful vision of what it would be if this strange freak of a girl refused to go down.

“Indeed, Miss Athalie, they’re quite grown-up little girls. They’re some of them older than yourself, and they’re the daughters of the best people in this town. Your father’ll be quite angry if you don’t see them.”

Athalie surveyed her coldly. She remembered that she was trying to please her father as far as it was compatible with her own plans.

“Very well,” she said coldly. “I’ll be down after a while and look them over, but I never had much time for girls, unless they have some pep, and I don’t fancy they have in this little old town. Are you going to fasten those hooks for me or not?”

“Oh, Miss Athalie,” said Anne disapprovingly. “You’ll never wear that dress downstairs at this time of the day! The whole village would be scandalized, and your father would be disgraced. The young ladies would not understand it I am sure. It’s not at all the custom to dress in that style in the afternoon.”

Athalie was attired in a startling outfit of scarlet satin and tulle, set off by long clattering strings of enormous jet beads and pendant hoops of jet with long fringes dangling from her ears. Her hair stood out in a perfect thistledown fluff; scarlet stockings of sheerest silk and tiny high-heeled red leather shoes with intricate straps adorned her plump feet. Her face and arms and neck, of which there was much in evidence, were powdered to a degree of whiteness that reminded Anne Truesdale of a Bible phrase about whited sepulchers. Indeed, she was a startling vision as she stood there imperiously waiting for Anne to fasten her scant shoulder drapery and looked years older than she was. But when Anne finished her protest and made no move to assist her ladyship, a storm arose on the whited face, and the red kid shoes stamped in rage.

“Thank you,” she said grandly. “I’m not in the habit of accepting advice from the servants about what I shall wear. You can go! I’ll get along without your assistance. I see I shall have to ask my father for a French maid. Go! I said,
go!”

Anne went.

When she reached the door she paused.

“You’ll be down at once, Miss Athalie, please! It’s not considered good breeding to keep young ladies waiting.”

“Shut the door!” stormed Athalie. “I’ll be down when I like and not before.”

Then in quite a leisurely manner she dabbed more powder on her nose, struggled with the refractory hooks until she conquered them, tilted a bit of a hat of scarlet straw and ribbon atop her fluff of hair, brought it well down over her eyes, jerked it aslant until the dangling cluster of overgrown cherries with which it was adorned hung well over one cheek. She surveyed herself in the glass complacently, posed imperiously, then took up a pair of long black gloves and an evening coat of black satin with a collar of white fur and slowly descended the stairs.

Down in the drawing room the waiting girls were having a grand time. They had been little children when last they remembered coming to that dim shrouded room to call on dear Miss Lavinia, whom each one of them had loved. They went quietly about looking at the portraits and whispering at first, giving bits of memoirs that were family traditions in their homes. Gradually they settled down to await their hostess’s coming.

“We ought to have told Mrs. Truesdale not to have her dress up,” said Mary. “We should have said we’ve just come from school.”

“Oh, well, what’s the difference? She’ll come pretty soon,” said Roberta. “I like to sit in this big room and wait. Won’t it be a grand place to have the Christian Endeavor social? My! I hope she asks us. We could toast marshmallows at that fire, and there’s room for a long line of chairs for Going-to-Jerusalem. The boys always like that so they can roughhouse.”

“Maybe Mr. Greeves might not like roughhousing,” suggested Della. “He’s a very great writer, my father says.”

“Oh, we’ll get Father to invite him over that night so he won’t hear it,” said Mary happily. “Father can always fix people so they don’t mind things.”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t think it’s very polite of her keeping us waiting so long. There won’t be any time to take her walking nor show her the schoolhouse before supper if she doesn’t hurry.”

“Maybe she was taking a bath,” suggested practical Emily Bragg. “You know, you couldn’t come down all soapy.”

The girls giggled.

“Shh!” said Mary. “I think she’s coming.”

“I wonder what grade she’ll be in,” whispered Carol.

“Sshhh!” said Roberta. “There she is! Oooohhh!”

Athalie flashed on their vision between the curtains and stood, one hand holding back the heavy curtain, her evening cloak still on her arm, and looked them over half contemptuously. They had never seen anything like it before, not even in the movies. Silver Sands was rather careful what films came to town. Mrs. Truman headed a committee of patrons who assisted the managers in making their selections.

At last Athalie broke the stillness, which was growing fairly electric: “I’m Miss Greeves!” she announced. “Did you want to see me?”

The girls might have been said to huddle in a group, feeling suddenly that in numbers was strength. Mary as leader and instigator of the expedition gave a frightened glance behind her and stepped bravely up as her father would have done if he had been there.

“We’ve come to call,” she said pleasantly, watching the twinkling earrings with curious fascination. “Mother thought you might be lonesome—”

“Very kind, I’m sure,” responded Athalie insolently. “I was just going out, but it’s early. I can spare a few minutes.”

She flung her cloak and gloves on a chair and sat down, her scarlet tulle skirt flaming around her. She sat with the pose of a society lady, her body flung rather than seated upon the chair. The girls were deeply impressed, all but Emily Bragg who wanted to laugh.

“We don’t have to stay,” said Emily. “Girls, let’s go over to Mary’s and make the fudge if she’s busy.”

“We just came in because we thought you might be lonely,” repeated Mary again, deeply embarrassed.

“Oh, I’m never lonely,” flipped Athalie. “Besides, I have hosts of friends who’ll soon be here to see me from N’York. I’m going to have a house party next week, sixteen in all, eight girls and eight men!”

“Men?” echoed Roberta wonderingly.

“Yes, eight men. Of course it’s awfully hard to get them this time of year when it’s so near time for exams, but they’ll be here for the weekends.”

“Oh, you mean examinations,” said Della seriously.

“We thought perhaps you’d like to join our Christian Endeavor society,” braved Mary. “It’s awfully interesting.”

“I don’t imagine so. What is it? A dancing club?” queried Athalie indifferently.

“Oh, no!” said Mary, two red spots appearing on her pretty cheeks. She felt she wasn’t getting on very well somehow. “It’s just our young people’s society. We have lots of good times. Picnics and socials, and we play games, and then we have our meeting Sundays—”

“What kind of games? Bridge? Five hundred? Or do you go in for athletics? I don’t suppose you play golf?”

“Bridge? Oh, no, not bridge!” said Vera.

“Nor five hundred,” said Della. “Just games.”

“My father plays golf,” said Carol. “I’ve tried it, but I don’t care much for it. It’s too slow. I like tennis better. We have tennis courts at the school.”

“Are you going to start school right away? We’ve been wondering what grade you’d be in.”

“I? School? Oh, I’m done with school! Dad tried to talk school to me when I first arrived, but I let him understand he couldn’t make anything on that line. I’m certainly sick of school. Of course we had piles of fun at the last one, pajama parties every night and screams of times. The boys from the prep weren’t far away, and they were always onto us when any of us got a box, so they’d come over under our windows and we’d throw down cake, and they’d tie boxes of candy and cigarettes on the strings we let down, and notes, oh, say! Those boys were the limit! There was always something new. But what bored me was the teachers! They didn’t seem to remember that they had ever been young, and they kept at us continually, nagged us about our lessons, and exams, it made me hot! They were getting paid for us being there! I don’t see what more they wanted.”

Silence, prolonged and heavy, ensued. The girls looked at one another awe stricken for the father whose daughter had so little daughterly respect. They all had fathers whom they obeyed, fathers who were trusted, tried companions. It didn’t quite go down. Athalie realized she had struck a wrong note. She liked to shock people, but when it came to being looked down upon, she didn’t quite like it. Neither did she understand the look of awe and disapproval on their young faces. Emily Bragg began to giggle as if somehow she were some sort of show. The others darted quieting glances of rebuke.

Athalie felt she must break the silent disapproval. She hated them for not admiring her. She got up with a swagger and whipped out her cigarette case.

“Oh, excuse me, girls, do you smoke? Have a cigarette.” She passed the gold trinket to Mary.

Mary seemed to turn pale. She got up and took a step toward the curtained doorway.

“I think we must be going,” she said coldly.

“Oh, don’t you smoke? Not
any
of you? How tiresome! Then I’ll order tea. Truesdale!” She lifted her voice. “Tea for the ladies!”

Anne appeared instantaneously, as though she had not been far away, her face white with emotion.

The girls eyed one another uncertainly. They wanted to get away. They did not any of them drink tea. It was not allowed in most of their homes at their age unless they were ill. They didn’t like it.

But the tea tray appeared as if by magic, and behold Anne had provided lemonade as well as tea! And there were heaping plates of angel cake and chocolate cake. No one ever caught the servants in that house napping. They were always on the job and always anticipating every possible contingency. Molly was even then in the pantry concocting another cake to take the place of those for dessert that evening along with strawberries.

Athalie had lighted a cigarette and taken a few puffs at it delicately as the tea tray was brought in. Now she poured herself a cup of tea and drank it with several pieces of cake while Anne was serving the girls.

Mary with her plate in her hand looked up to find Athalie’s eyes upon her with amused contempt. Her heart cried out to get away and weep on her mother’s shoulder. She never had felt so utterly outraged in the whole of her happy protected life. It seemed as if the very foundations of her clean, beautiful world had been torn away and flung to the four winds. “I hate her!
I hate her!”
her heart kept saying over to herself.

“I thought you were going to ask her over to your house tonight to make fudge,” suggested Roberta in a loud whisper, and Mary, lifting her eyes, perceived that Athalie had overheard.

“We were going to make fudge tonight at our house,” said Mary, thus prodded. “I live next door. Would you like to come? We’ll have a lot of fun.”

“Any men coming?” asked Athalie speculatively. “Men?” queried Mary half puzzled. “My father—” “She means the boys,” said Emily Bragg, “my goodness!” and giggled.

“Our high school boys will be there,” said Mary truthfully, hoping Athalie couldn’t read it in her eyes how much she did not want her.

“Boys?” said Athalie. “Awfully young, I suppose? Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t make it tonight. I expect to spend the evening at the roof garden in the city, maybe a cabaret or two afterward. I shan’t be home till quite late. Sorry—some other time perhaps. Now, I’ll have to ask you to excuse me. It’s getting late. So glad you called. Good-bye.”

She gathered up cloak and gloves and marched grandly out of the room, down the hall, and out the front door just as Anne Truesdale appeared with another plate of cookies to supplement the rapidly disappearing cake. She had intended to leave word with Anne Truesdale that she had gone to bed with a sick headache and did not wish to be disturbed for dinner and then to descend to the street by way of the pergola, but the temptation to sail grandly out before these girls was too great, and she followed her impulse. There would be a way out of it all after she had had her fun, and the momentary vision of Anne, startled, her mouth dropped open as she watched her leave, did not worry her at all as she adjusted her long cloak and sailed jauntily down the street.

Over at Vandemeeter’s every eye was watching, as they had been since the school girls entered. It made a pleasant little stir in the monotony of the day to feel that festivity going on. It recalled days when they themselves, arrayed in best silks, new hats, and fresh gloves had accepted Miss Lavinia’s sweet, friendly invitations and felt above the common lot for a few brief hours. Ever since Arden’s wife had run in in the morning to tell them that the girls had planned to go they had gone about their work with a pleasant anticipation. They felt in a way concerned and thought highly of the Trumans for having suggested the call, for was not this a public recognition? And if departed spirits were permitted a glimpse now and then of their old homes, would not Miss Lavinia be pleased that the town had honored her beloved boy’s family? They felt the Trumans had done the proper thing and were glad they belonged to a town that knew what to do in a trying situation. Glad, too, that the question of accepting Patterson Greeves or not into good regular standing in the town had been settled so satisfactorily by the Trumans. No one ever questioned what the Trumans did.

But when the scarlet lady with her flapping coat of black and white suddenly emerged from the old front door and sallied down the front walk and with such an air, they gazed in amazement with bated breath, and no one dared whisper till she was out of sight. Then all with one consent, they drew back from their several windows and looked at one another as if facing some awful thought.