The Girl of the Woods

  In due time there came a reproachful letter from her aunt. It seemed very rude to her that Margaret should be willing to do a favor for one of the faculty when her own aunt was expecting her there and had invited guests to meet her. As for a job, what little pay she would get for telling stories to children wouldn’t be worth mentioning. She thanked her for her gift, though she said she was sorry she wasted her money on it if she was so hard up she had to work. And yes, of course she would forward any mail that came. She didn’t think that anything had come so far except a sort of a circular. It seemed to be a circular about some college, but of course she knew Margaret wouldn’t want that now since she was already in a college, so she threw it in the wastebasket. It was a rather disheartening letter, and after Margaret read it she curled up on the bed and had a good cry. It seemed as if there was nobody anywhere that remembered her or cared.

  Even Bailey Wicke failed to appear, a new blond having arrived in Crystal Beach and absorbed his attention for the time being. But Margaret was only glad of that. It was a great relief. Though of course she didn’t know about the blond. But that would not have bothered her in the least.

  It was not a very happy Christmas that Margaret spent, doing her best to make the three little children under her care have a good time. And yet she was, with it all, relieved not to be in her aunt’s noisy house. It didn’t seem like Christmas there. It seemed like a world that didn’t know what Christmas meant.

  Katie, Aunt Carlotta’s maid, came to her mistress several days before Christmas with a small package addressed to Margaret.

  “Will you be sending it on by mail, madam?” she asked. “Or shall I be putting it away in her bureau drawer for her?”

  “Oh no, Katie. She’ll be here herself in a few days,” said Aunt Carlotta. But that was before they had the letter from Margaret saying she would not be coming.

  So Katie had put the package safely in the upper bureau drawer and thought no more about it, naturally supposing that her mistress would send on the package herself when she discovered the girl was not coming. But as Aunt Carlotta seldom went through the bureau drawers of her guest rooms, Revel’s lovely gift of a simple bracelet with settings of rose quartz did not reach Margaret in time for Christmas, and neither did the letter that accompanied it, for Revel had put the letter inside the box with the bracelet, and no one knew there was a letter.

  Then the sad lonely Christmas was over, and the New Year, and Margaret started on to work harder than ever. Certainly she must get all she could out of this winter’s work, for it was costing more than she had ever expected to pay for a single year, and she must get her money’s worth of knowledge. She did some really brilliant work in several classes and was greatly commended.

  But she had definitely decided now not to remain there another year and had sent for catalogs of various colleges. She did not include Linwood College, however, for, much as she would have enjoyed life in such a college as Revel had described, she was deeply hurt that he had not written, and she certainly could not force herself to his notice when he had apparently dropped her. Well, of course they had been nothing but kids, and now he must be growing up and having other girlfriends. He couldn’t be tied to her friendship always, just because he thought she had been kind to him once.

  So she carefully put away thoughts of the stranger-boy who had come into her life in passing and had made such a pleasant interlude. She was a young woman now, not a child, and she must not be silly.

  Resolutely she forced herself to get acquainted with her fellow students, especially those who seemed alone, or aloof, and tried to make others have a good time. Her mother had told her when she was but a child that when a person could not have what he wanted for himself, the next best thing was to try and get something pleasant for someone else. So she went to work trying out the rule in real earnest and found that it did bring a certain thrill, though it was different from the thrill of having one’s heart’s desire.

  So, the winter went on, and the spring came, and still there was no word from Revel, though she asked her aunt every time she wrote if she was sure there had been no mail for her. Always she received that vague message. “Why, no, I think not.”

  Then Bailey’s blond went back east, and Bailey returned, to her great annoyance, and began to pester her again. He had thought she would have recovered or changed her mind by this time, but he found her more determined than ever not to go riding with him, nor dancing, nor dining, nor anything else. She was deep into her studies now and really enjoying them.

  Aunt Carlotta was still a bit cross at Margaret that she had not come to her party at Christmas, and so she did not invite her to come for the summer. In fact, she was going on a trip to Alaska herself, and it would not be convenient to have her.

  But Margaret got a job for the summer and could not have gone if she had been invited. The job was looking after the children again, with another old lady thrown in, and it was located in a lovely house with handsome grounds and myriads of flowers, and occasionally there were excursions, by boat, or plane, or rail, which made a pleasant change for her and took her mind away from her own loneliness. Though sometimes she would fancy telling Revel about some of the things she saw, and pleased herself by imagining that he would have enjoyed seeing some of the places she saw. So she was growing in wisdom and knowledge and experience, and also her pocketbook was better filled. She began to feel that perhaps it was just as well for her to remain another year in the university, rather than to undertake an unknown quantity in the shape of a strange college in a new quarter and have it turn out a disappointment perhaps, and waste money in railroad fare.

  So back to the university she went again and undertook a still heavier schedule than the year before, with little expectation of any relief in the way of a good time.

  Once her uncle, Mr. Devereaux, brought his wife, her other aunt, to call upon her when they were in the city on a shopping expedition, but this aunt did not seem to be much better than the other one. Her sole interest seemed to be in bridge, and when she found Margaret did not play, she seemed to dismiss her as a hopeless case.

  And so the second winter passed without a word from Revel, and the spring began to come again.

  One day when Margaret was walking in the park, she saw some little wildflowers growing in the grass, and they reminded her of her own, which had long ago pined away and died an unhappy death at the hand of the strange chambermaid in the dormitory, who was taking the place of the regular maid. She had promised Margaret to care for the flowers while she was away and then had forgotten them till they were dead, so she dashed them out the window into the court below. Margaret mourned for her flowers and resolved that someday she would go back to Sumter Hills, walk up into that woods again, and replace them. But she couldn’t go now, of course. She hadn’t money enough to go running all over the country after a whim.

  But as she thought about her little flowers and the boy who had so kindly got them for her, and how he had been utterly silent all this time, she could not understand it. He had not seemed as if he would be like that. Perhaps he had been sick, or been in an accident, maybe even been killed, and perhaps she would never find out about it. Was there any way that she could inquire without seeming to be running after him? He was getting older now and would perhaps think she was a fool if she would write and ask what had become of her old friend. Oh, she wished she knew where he was and whether his father had made him leave his grandfather and his wonderful college that he thought so much of, and perhaps go to the university of his father’s choice.

  She thought about it a great deal, and one day she ventured to call up her Aunt Carlotta and ask if she was sure there had been no mail at all since she left. But Aunt Carlotta was quite cross about it and asked her if she thought she was stealing her mail, and what mail of great value did she have anyway, that she should spend the money to telephone about it?

  And so that was that, and Margaret decided she would likely never hear anything more of Rev
el Radcliffe. Because he had promised definitely to let her know if anything more happened, and it did seem as if, if he was still alive, he would certainly have kept that promise.

  Chapter 15

  It was at Ladies’ Aid they discussed the latest scandal in Sumter Hills again, and it was Mrs. Hopkins who brought the news this time, although she lived the farthest off, and nobody understood how she always heard these questionable things before any of the rest did. Some said she went by intuition. But it always turned out afterward to be true. At least in some respects.

  She always waited and timed her opening sentences till Mrs. Martin had arrived and was within hearing distance. She loved to watch Mrs. Martin’s face to find out if her news was a surprise to her, although Mrs. Martin was an accomplished actress and could veil surprise almost better than any other emotion.

  “Well, I suppose you’ve heard the latest about Lady Radcliffe, haven’t you?”

  “What?” said Mrs. Green, on the alert at once.

  “Why, her husband’s suing her for divorce! I never thought it would go that far, did you? A man of such integrity and good principles. It seems too bad for him, to have lost one wife and have the other turn out good for nothing!” Mrs. Hopkins was shaking her head lugubriously. “Mrs. Martin, does this dress get short sleeves or wrist length? Oh, just caps? Well that’s easy. Yes, as I was saying, I never thought she’d let it go that far. She seemed kind of a comely person, if she hadn’t been so sort of high-hat and all, and I should have thought she’d have been a little careful, this being her second husband, and he being such a fine man as some say. Say! Was her first husband divorced, or did he die, Joanna Bitterman? You said you used to hear of her through some cousins who lived in Rochester, New York, where she came from, didn’t you? Do you happen to remember if he died or was divorced?”

  “Oh, yes, he died,” said Joanna importantly. “My cousin went to his funeral. He used to sell him socks sometimes. He was in the hosiery business, and he went to the funeral. Yes, he died all right. Seems ’zif she didn’t have very good luck with her husbands, did she?”

  “Good luck!” said Mrs. Martin, with a sniff. “If you ask me, I’d say she had better luck than she deserved. Mr. Radcliffe is a saint on earth if there ever was one. Always kindly and affectionate to his first wife, although I never felt she was worth much, either. And then to think he was to be dragged through the divorce court! I declare, women are getting beyond all belief, to think a woman would go and break up a lovely home like that after only a little over two years! I think that man has had more than his share. First his wife dies, and then an ungrateful son wouldn’t even come to his father’s wedding and brought all that disgrace and humiliation on him, and now his second wife goes back on him! She couldn’t have been a decent woman. Oh, I know it’s fashionable nowadays to get fond of some other man besides your husband, but I think women like that ought to be strung up. I never did like her anyway. Bleached hair on a woman of that age! And lipstick thick enough to paint a boat. And her fingernails! Mercy! They made me shudder whenever I came near her. They actually clattered! Didn’t you ever hear them?”

  “Well, it beats me how he ever chose a woman with all that makeup on her,” said quiet little Mrs. Bowen. “If he’s such a fine man I should have thought he would have been more careful choosing his second wife. It isn’t as if he were an impulsive kid.”

  “Well, he’s rid of her now, if what you hear is true,” said Mrs. Hopkins. “They say she went to Reno six weeks ago! Funny we haven’t heard about it before. But she was such a gad-about, always running down to Miami or over to Los Angeles or somewhere. When she went to Reno, no one took notice of her.”

  “Well, how did you learn about it, Mrs. Hopkins?” asked Mrs. Martin curiously. “Since I happen to know they tried to keep it quiet, I shouldn’t think you would get it soon, living away off up there so near the woods.”

  “Who, me? Why I was over to Chenango to visit my daughter last week, just got back this morning, and my daughter heard it from her husband’s cousin who lives out in Reno. They said her name was published in the paper and he noticed “Sumter Hills,” and that’s how he came to pay attention to it.”

  “Well, it certainly isn’t going to make much difference in our lives, having her go divorcée on us, is it?” laughed Mrs. Martin. “She certainly was the biggest bluff, with her high chin and her patronizing airs. She seemed to consider the people of the town weren’t worth speaking to, and she never came near church, nor any of our meetings. She didn’t even come when she was invited to dinner or anything. I know, for I invited her. Poor man! I thought he’d feel it if none of us ever came near her. We always were fairly friendly with his first wife, even if she was so sorrowful looking and did have a perfect rat of a son!”

  “Where is that son? I don’t seem to see him around anywhere, do you?” asked Mrs. Green.

  “No, he hasn’t been around home since his father married,” said Mrs. Grant, pinning the seam she was overcasting to her knee. “Some say his father sent him off, and some say he ran away. Dear knows what he had done, little reprobate!”

  “Well, he ain’t so little now anymore,” said old Mrs. Crittenden thoughtfully. “I remember he was born two days after my Cassie, and she’s goin’ on twenty. It won’t be long before he’s of age. I heard he went to live with his grandfather. Did the old man die, or did he get well?”

  “Oh, he got well! I think that was just a big bluff of the boy wanting to get away and do as he pleased,” said Mrs. Martin.

  “But I heard he went to college. I think he is in college now, Mrs. Martin,” said the minister’s wife protestingly. “I’m quite sure Rose said he was in college. He used to be in her class at high school, you know, and the young people keep informed about their classmates.”

  “Well, if he’s in college yet, I’ll eat my hat,” said Mrs. Martin. “You can’t tell me that that rapscallion of a boy could settle down to stay in college all this time. What college is it, do you know, Mrs. Castor?”

  “Why, I believe it’s some small college up there in New York or New England somewhere, where his grandfather lives,” said Mrs. Castor.

  “It probably was the only college his father could get to accept him, a boy like that!” snorted Mrs. Martin. “Juliana Green, did you remember to set that kettle of soup where it would keep hot without scorching? Seems ’zif I smelt scorched meat.”

  “Yes, I put it on the simmerer,” said Mrs. Green, offended.

  “Well, say, what is all this about Mrs. Radcliffe?” asked Mrs. Brown who had been away all winter and had just got back home. “What did she do that she had to be divorced? It she getting a lot of alimony?”

  “Not she,” said Mrs. Hopkins. “I tell you, it’s he that’s getting the divorce, and he claims she—”

  “Ssh!” said Mrs. Perkins. “Here comes the minister, and don’t you mind how he preached on gossiping last Sunday?”

  There was a dead silence in the room as the minister entered. His wife was in the kitchen looking after the soup and hadn’t heard the last words.

  “Well,” said Mrs. Martin, setting her needle firmly where she intended to take the next stitch, “of course I don’t believe in gossip nor in carrying tales, but where two people are actually wrong, where they are a menace to the general public, I do think people ought to be warned about them, don’t you? Now, that boy, for instance. I felt I ought to tell that sweet little guest of mine just what she was taking up with.”

  “By the way,” said Mrs. Green hurriedly, watching the minister to see if he had heard Mrs. Martin, “whatever became of that girl? She was such a sweet, little, unsophisticated child. I did admire her so much.”

  “Yes, she was sweet,” conceded Mrs. Martin. “Why, she went out west to her aunt’s to go to school or college or something. I haven’t heard from her, except a nice little bread-and-butter letter the day after she left. You see, she isn’t staying with her aunt, I know, she’s with another side of the family. The
Devereaux are the relatives I know, and Mr. Devereaux just drove her out when she went. He was a half brother of her father, and the other aunt was a sister of her mother. I certainly hope she is a good woman and carries a firm hand, for I would hate to see that child go wrong. There are so many scalawags going around nowadays, like the one I was talking about, and she deserves a good husband. She had fine people. And that’s half for a good start always.”

  “Oh, did you know her mother?” asked Mrs. Green.

  “Well, no, not personally, but I’ve always heard a lot about her father. He was a dear, good man, one of the salt of the earth. It would be a shame to have anything happen to his pretty little daughter.”

  “Oh, do you think she kept up her acquaintance with that young man?” asked Mrs. Green eagerly. “Maybe that’s where he’s gone, out west somewhere.”

  “Dear knows,” said Mrs. Martin. “I haven’t kept track of any of them. I thought it wasn’t my business, though I did my best to make Mr. Devereaux understand about the boy before they left here. But girls nowadays do hang on to every man they get hold of. I wouldn’t be at all surprised but that they correspond, at least. Things are so informal in this age. And of course girls do go crazy over a fine head of hair and big eyes. If you admire that type. Personally, I never did. I like a man to be plain and dependable looking. When they think they are handsome it just sticks out all over them. But, where did you say you heard this about the divorce, Mrs. Hopkins? You know that wasn’t supposed to be told. That’s why they kept it so quiet. That poor man. He only told a very few, those who absolutely had to be in the secret. He didn’t want talk. He hates talk. He only confided in the few he knew he could trust. He wouldn’t be the successful businessman he is if he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Of course, I suppose it will be known after a little, when all the formalities are concluded, but if I were you, I’d say as little about it as I could if you want to be well thought of. I think Mr. Radcliffe is depending on the best people in the community to stand by him and not talk. That’s been my policy.”