Chapter 14

MRS. EATON CALLS

"Oh, shades of Odysseus," muttered Nancy. From the swing on the hollyhock porch she had spied Mrs. Eaton coming up the flagged path to the front door.

As she sat idly swinging, Nancy had been trying over the deeply emotional lines that Berthé, the much-suffering heroine of her dear play, should say when the villain proved to be her lover in disguise. A chance glance through the syringas had acquainted her with the alarming fact that an avenging enemy approached.

It was the day after the Fourth of July. As yet not a word had come to Happy House concerning Nancy's part in the celebration.

There was not time for Nancy to escape; however, it was not likely that Miss Sabrina would take such a guest out to the porch. Nancy heard her greet the newcomer, then their steps approached the sitting-room. The swing was at the other end of the porch. Nancy, hugging her knees, could not be seen from the sitting-room windows and, anyway, the blinds had been shut to keep out the hot morning sun. Through their slats Nancy heard Mrs. Eaton's effusive greetings.

"I might as well hear what the cat tells," Nancy concluded. The fate of the proverbial eavesdropper did not alarm her in the least; she felt the resignation, of a child that knows he faces punishment.

Mrs. Eaton spent several moments explaining, how often she "had had a _mind_ to drop in for a little chat."

"But I am a _different_ woman with my Archie away! Cyrus says he don't _know_ how I bear up so well. _You_ don't know, of course, a mother's feelings!" Did Nancy imagine that she heard a rustling, as though Aunt Sabrina had suddenly straightened in her chair? "And _I_ said to Cyrus that _he_ don't even know a mother's feeling that's raised a boy right from the _cradle_!"

Miss Sabrina inquired politely as to the last word of Archie, and, with satisfied pride, the mother recounted Archie's description of the difficulties that had confronted the Allied occupancy of the Rhinelands. Archie's mother truly believed that Archie alone bore that tremendous responsibility.

"And Archie and me are as _like_ as two peas," she added.

It was, of course, only a matter of a few moments before Mrs. Eaton led up to the event of the day before. Nancy caught the crisp change in the woman's voice. The story gained much in her telling--of Nancy's impertinence in forcing the Hopworth young 'uns among her "little dears," then how she had, though fully aware of her, Mrs. Eaton's, explicit orders, flaunted Eric Hopworth's brood in the face of every respectable man, woman and child of Freedom--actually desecrating the very flags she had--_taken_--out of the Sunday-school room.

The story was interrupted by many sighs and sniffs.

"Of course _everybody_ on this Island that knows me and my Archie, Cyrus says, will _feel_ for me. I might as well as _not_ of been slapped in the face. And I said to Cyrus, "_I_ think Miss Leavitt ought to _know_--she's taken that girl there!" And Cyrus and I _both_ said that of _course_ no one would be surprised, seeing she's _that_ branch of your family where I suppose--you'll _forgive_ me for speaking right out _plain_, you can expect almost _any_ kind of actions!"

Nancy swung her feet down out of the hammock. "The cat," she breathed, straightening. She could see that stinging shaft plunge straight into poor Aunt Sabrina's heart and turn! She held her breath for Aunt Sabrina's answer.

Miss Sabrina's voice was cold and her words measured. "I am very sorry this has happened, Mrs. Eaton. But I am sure my niece did not dream of impertinence. She has not been here long enough to know of our prejudices!"

"_Bully!_" Nancy, said, almost aloud. "_That's_ a time when breeding shows!"

Mrs. Eaton was plainly annoyed at Miss Sabrina's defence. Her voice took on a crisper edge. "She's been here long _enough_ to pick up with Judson's hired _man_! _Your_ notions may be different from _mine_, Miss Leavitt, but _I_ wouldn't 'low any girl of _mine_ to go swimming at Cove's Hole with the Hopworth young 'uns! Dick Snead told his mother and his mother told my Cousin 'Manthy. Ain't there any _better_ folks she can take up with on this Island than a hired man _and_ the Hopworths?" Her shrill inflection seemed to say, "There--I have you _now_!"

Nancy's feet beat a war-dance. She wanted to rush in to her own defence--had Dick Snead told his mother and his mother told Cousin 'Manthy that she had swam forty strokes under water? Discretion, however, bade her use caution.

A rustling indicated that the caller, her errand accomplished, had risen to go. She shot her last tiny, poisoned arrow. "Of _course_ I said to Cyrus _all_ of us on the Island know all that poor Miss Leavitt's _had_ to stand, what with her brother and _then_ her sister! And _that's_ why, I said to Cyrus, Miss Leavitt _ought_ to know about these goings on, or else something _else_ would come down on your poor head! I must run along, now, 'Manthy came in to watch my jam. That Carroll girl I got over at Greenfield isn't worth her keep--you have to watch her _every_ moment!"

All the pride of generations of Leavitts must have come to Miss Sabrina's rescue at that moment! She met the final thrust with calm dignity.

"My niece is only making me a very short visit, Mrs. Eaton. It is hardly worth while for me to interfere with her conduct."

Nancy was struck dumb with amazement. What did Aunt Sabrina mean--that _this_ silly little affair ended her stay at Happy House? What _would_ Anne think? Oh, _what_ a mess she had made of everything! Of course she had expected that something might happen any moment; after one day had safely passed, she had always thought it might be the next; had she not told Anne that she was certain to make some dreadful blunder? But it was a shame to go away in disgrace when she had not really done anything, after all!

Indignation of the most righteous sort began slowly to master Nancy's consternation. Well, if she did have to go she would allow herself, just once, the sweet satisfaction of telling Miss Sabrina what she thought of the Leavitts and their sense of honor! She rushed headlong into the sitting-room.

"I heard what that--that creature said," she blurted out. "I don't _know _why God makes women like that! What would you _think_, Aunt Sabrina, if you'd seen her take a whip and lash those children across their bare bodies? And that wouldn't have been as bad as what she really _did_ do, for those hurts would have healed, and the way she hurt their spirits wouldn't _ever_ heal! She is cruelly unjust--and unkind!"

Poor Miss Sabrina looked very old and very tired--far too tired to meet this impetuous attack! Something in the unyieldingness of her expression drove Nancy to utter abandon.

"Oh, I suppose I'll have--to go away! But I'm glad--everything is all wrong at Happy House. There's no happiness here--at all. Fath--someone I love used to tell me that happiness comes to you as you _give_ happiness, and that's what's the matter here--you don't give happiness! You live--apart--and you just wrap yourself round with the traditions of the Leavitts and all that--tommyrot! I'm glad I'm not--a--I'm glad I'm the--the other branch. I guess the golden rule is better than any family honor and that it doesn't matter at _all_ what all the people who are dead and gone've done--it's what the people who are _living_ are doing--that counts!"

Breathless from her outburst and frightened by its daring, Nancy burst into tears and rushed from the room.

In the aftermath of calm that followed the storm, Nancy woefully faced the consequences of what she had done. How silly it would all sound to Anne when she heard it! Anne would tell her, of course, what _she_ would have done--but then, Anne had always been able to control every word and every action.

Nancy, staring about at the four walls of her room in very much the same way she had done that first day of her coming to Happy House, realized that they were not so ugly, after all. Their height gave a sense of coolness and space; the branches of an old cherry tree brushed her windows; from below came all sorts of sweet smells out of Jonathan's garden; the incessant twittering of birds and the humming of insects made the summer air teem with busy, happy life. It was pleasant, she sighed--much pleasanter than a flat in Harlem in July!

"Well, I won't pack until I get my dishonorable discharge, and I can't get away until Webb's stage goes, anyway! I'll take Miss Milly once more to the orchard."

Miss Milly went to the orchard so often now that it had become a part of almost every day's routine, and it was no longer necessary that B'lindy and Jonathan should make up the party, though they went more often than not. This day Aunt Milly declared everything particularly nice, but she thought it was because she and Nancy were alone--she could not know that Nancy had been doing her best to make it an afternoon Aunt Milly would never forget--"because it's probably the last!"

They lingered in the orchard until almost supper-time. Then Nancy sought the kitchen. She liked to drop in on B'lindy, help her in some small way in the preparation of the evening meal, and chat at the same time. She was astounded, now, to find Aunt Sabrina, with a very red face, bending over the kitchen stove.

B'lindy, sitting very straight in the chair by the window, gave the explanation--resentfully.

"'Pears to be hash ain't good enough for supper. Had it all fixed for the cookin' and I guess it's fair 'nough for anyone to eat and I can't abide left-overs hangin' 'round. But Miss S'briny says the supper to-night's got to be extry nice and Miss Anne's got to have waffles and _she'll_ cook 'em herself, seein' how old B'lindy that's cooked 'em nigh onto fifty years, can't cook 'em _good_ 'nough for Miss Anne!"

Miss Sabrina's face was bent over the waffles--Nancy could not see it. The moment was too solemn to permit her to so much as smile. She said very gravely, almost reprovingly:

"You _know_, B'lindy, that you _can't_ make waffles as good as Aunt Sabrina can and I've been hungry for days for waffles!"

Nancy knew that, after that night, waffles would always mean something more to her than merely a concoction of food stuffs particularly dear to her palate--they'd mean the momentary triumph of reason and justice, the defeat of the Mrs. Eaton-kind, and the pitiful attempt of a very old and a very proud woman to "give happiness."