CHAPTER XXXIV. UNA VISITS THE HILL
Una went upstairs. Carl and Faith were already on their way through theearly moonlight to Rainbow Valley, having heard therefrom the elfin liltof Jerry's jews-harp and having guessed that the Blythes were there andfun afoot. Una had no wish to go. She sought her own room first whereshe sat down on her bed and had a little cry. She did not want anybodyto come in her dear mother's place. She did not want a stepmotherwho would hate her and make her father hate her. But father was sodesperately unhappy--and if she could do any anything to make himhappier she MUST do it. There was only one thing she could do--and shehad known the moment she had left the study that she must do it. But itwas a very hard thing to do.
After Una cried her heart out she wiped her eyes and went to the spareroom. It was dark and rather musty, for the blind had not been drawnup nor the window opened for a long time. Aunt Martha was no fresh-airfiend. But as nobody ever thought of shutting a door in the manse thisdid not matter so much, save when some unfortunate minister came to stayall night and was compelled to breathe the spare room atmosphere.
There was a closet in the spare room and far back in the closet a graysilk dress was hanging. Una went into the closet and shut the door, wentdown on her knees and pressed her face against the soft silken folds.It had been her mother's wedding-dress. It was still full of a sweet,faint, haunting perfume, like lingering love. Una always felt very closeto her mother there--as if she were kneeling at her feet with head inher lap. She went there once in a long while when life was TOO hard.
"Mother," she whispered to the gray silk gown, "_I_ will never forgetyou, mother, and I'll ALWAYS love you best. But I have to do it, mother,because father is so very unhappy. I know you wouldn't want him to beunhappy. And I will be very good to her, mother, and try to love her,even if she is like Mary Vance said stepmothers always were."
Una carried some fine, spiritual strength away from her secret shrine.She slept peacefully that night with the tear stains still glistening onher sweet, serious, little face.
The next afternoon she put on her best dress and hat. They were shabbyenough. Every other little girl in the Glen had new clothes that summerexcept Faith and Una. Mary Vance had a lovely dress of white embroideredlawn, with scarlet silk sash and shoulder bows. But to-day Una did notmind her shabbiness. She only wanted to be very neat. She washed herface carefully. She brushed her black hair until it was as smooth assatin. She tied her shoelaces carefully, having first sewed up two runsin her one pair of good stockings. She would have liked to black hershoes, but she could not find any blacking. Finally, she slipped awayfrom the manse, down through Rainbow Valley, up through the whisperingwoods, and out to the road that ran past the house on the hill. It wasquite a long walk and Una was tired and warm when she got there.
She saw Rosemary West sitting under a tree in the garden and stole pastthe dahlia beds to her. Rosemary had a book in her lap, but she wasgazing afar across the harbour and her thoughts were sorrowful enough.Life had not been pleasant lately in the house on the hill. Ellen hadnot sulked--Ellen had been a brick. But things can be felt thatare never said and at times the silence between the two women wasintolerably eloquent. All the many familiar things that had oncemade life sweet had a flavour of bitterness now. Norman Douglas madeperiodical irruptions also, bullying and coaxing Ellen by turns. Itwould end, Rosemary believed, by his dragging Ellen off with him someday, and Rosemary felt that she would be almost glad when it happened.Existence would be horribly lonely then, but it would be no longercharged with dynamite.
She was roused from her unpleasant reverie by a timid little touch onher shoulder. Turning, she saw Una Meredith.
"Why, Una, dear, did you walk up here in all this heat?"
"Yes," said Una, "I came to--I came to--"
But she found it very hard to say what she had come to do. Her voicefailed--her eyes filled with tears.
"Why, Una, little girl, what is the trouble? Don't be afraid to tellme."
Rosemary put her arm around the thin little form and drew the childclose to her. Her eyes were very beautiful--her touch so tender that Unafound courage.
"I came--to ask you--to marry father," she gasped.
Rosemary was silent for a moment from sheer dumbfounderment. She staredat Una blankly.
"Oh, don't be angry, please, dear Miss West," said Una, pleadingly. "Yousee, everybody is saying that you wouldn't marry father because we areso bad. He is VERY unhappy about it. So I thought I would come and tellyou that we are never bad ON PURPOSE. And if you will only marry fatherwe will all try to be good and do just what you tell us. I'm SURE youwon't have any trouble with us. PLEASE, Miss West."
Rosemary had been thinking rapidly. Gossiping surmise, she saw, hadput this mistaken idea into Una's mind. She must be perfectly frank andsincere with the child.
"Una, dear," she said softly. "It isn't because of you poor little soulsthat I cannot be your father's wife. I never thought of such a thing.You are not bad--I never supposed you were. There--there was anotherreason altogether, Una."
"Don't you like father?" asked Una, lifting reproachful eyes. "Oh,Miss West, you don't know how nice he is. I'm sure he'd make you a GOODhusband."
Even in the midst of her perplexity and distress Rosemary couldn't helpa twisted, little smile.
"Oh, don't laugh, Miss West," Una cried passionately. "Father feelsDREADFUL about it."
"I think you're mistaken, dear," said Rosemary.
"I'm not. I'm SURE I'm not. Oh, Miss West, father was going to whip Carlyesterday--Carl had been naughty--and father couldn't do it because yousee he had no PRACTICE in whipping. So when Carl came out and told usfather felt so bad, I slipped into the study to see if I could helphim--he LIKES me to comfort him, Miss West--and he didn't hear me comein and I heard what he was saying. I'll tell you, Miss West, if you'lllet me whisper it in your ear."
Una whispered earnestly. Rosemary's face turned crimson. So JohnMeredith still cared. HE hadn't changed his mind. And he must careintensely if he had said that--care more than she had ever supposed hedid. She sat still for a moment, stroking Una's hair. Then she said,
"Will you take a little letter from me to your father, Una?"
"Oh, are you going to marry him, Miss West?" asked Una eagerly.
"Perhaps--if he really wants me to," said Rosemary, blushing again.
"I'm glad--I'm glad," said Una bravely. Then she looked up, withquivering lips. "Oh, Miss West, you won't turn father against us--youwon't make him hate us, will you?" she said beseechingly.
Rosemary stared again.
"Una Meredith! Do you think I would do such a thing? Whatever put suchan idea into your head?"
"Mary Vance said stepmothers were all like that--and that they all hatedtheir stepchildren and made their father hate them--she said they justcouldn't help it--just being stepmothers made them like that"--
"You poor child! And yet you came up here and asked me to marry yourfather because you wanted to make him happy? You're a darling--aheroine--as Ellen would say, you're a brick. Now listen to me, veryclosely, dearest. Mary Vance is a silly little girl who doesn't knowvery much and she is dreadfully mistaken about some things. I wouldnever dream of trying to turn your father against you. I would loveyou all dearly. I don't want to take your own mother's place--she mustalways have that in your hearts. But neither have I any intention ofbeing a stepmother. I want to be your friend and helper and CHUM. Don'tyou think that would be nice, Una--if you and Faith and Carl and Jerrycould just think of me as a good jolly chum--a big older sister?"
"Oh, it would be lovely," cried Una, with a transfigured face. She flungher arms impulsively round Rosemary's neck. She was so happy that shefelt as if she could fly on wings.
"Do the others--do Faith and the boys have the same idea you had aboutstepmothers?"
"No. Faith never believed Mary Vance. I was dreadfully foolish tobelieve her, either. Faith loves you already--she has loved you eversince poor Adam was eaten. And Jerry and Carl w
ill think it is jolly.Oh, Miss West, when you come to live with us, will you--could you--teachme to cook--a little--and sew--and--and--and do things? I don't knowanything. I won't be much trouble--I'll try to learn fast."
"Darling, I'll teach you and help you all I can. Now, you won't saya word to anybody about this, will you--not even to Faith, until yourfather himself tells you you may? And you'll stay and have tea with me?"
"Oh, thank you--but--but--I think I'd rather go right back and takethe letter to father," faltered Una. "You see, he'll be glad that muchSOONER, Miss West."
"I see," said Rosemary. She went to the house, wrote a note and gaveit to Una. When that small damsel had run off, a palpitating bundle ofhappiness, Rosemary went to Ellen, who was shelling peas on the backporch.
"Ellen," she said, "Una Meredith has just been here to ask me to marryher father."
Ellen looked up and read her sister's face.
"And you're going to?" she said.
"It's quite likely."
Ellen went on shelling peas for a few minutes. Then she suddenly put herhands up to her own face. There were tears in her black-browed eyes.
"I--I hope we'll all be happy," she said between a sob and a laugh.
Down at the manse Una Meredith, warm, rosy, triumphant, marched boldlyinto her father's study and laid a letter on the desk before him. Hispale face flushed as he saw the clear, fine handwriting he knew so well.He opened the letter. It was very short--but he shed twenty years as heread it. Rosemary asked him if he could meet her that evening at sunsetby the spring in Rainbow Valley.