Part 43 (1/2)
A fire had been burning in the furnace and fireplaces for several weeks, so the plaster was thoroughly dry, and it was Michael's plan that Starr and her father were to go straight down to the farm as soon as they were free to leave the house.
To this end Hester and Will had been given daily commissions to purchase this and that needful article of furniture, until now at last Michael felt that the house would be habitable for Starr and her precious invalid.
During the entire winter Michael had pleased himself in purchasing rugs here and there, and charming, fitting, furniture for the house he was building. A great many things,--the important things,--had already been selected, and Michael knew he could trust Hester's taste for the rest. For some reason he had never said much to Starr about either Hester or Will, perhaps because they had always seemed to him to belong to one another, and thus were somewhat set apart from his own life.
But one morning, Starr, coming into the library where Michael was telephoning Hester about some last purchases she was making, overheard these words: ”All right Hester, you'll know best of course, but I think you better make it a dozen instead of a half. It's better to have too many than too few; and we might have company, you know.”
Now, of course, Starr couldn't possibly be supposed to know that it was a question of dishes that was being discussed so intimately. In fact, she did not stop to think what they were talking about; she only knew that he had called this other girl ”Hester”; and she suddenly became aware that during all these weeks of pleasant intercourse, although she had addressed him as Michael, he had carefully avoided using any name at all for her, except on one or two occasions, subst.i.tuting p.r.o.nouns wherever possible. She had not noticed this before, but when she heard that ”Hester” in his pleasant tones, her heart, brought the fact before her at once for invoice. Who was this girl Hester? And why was she Hestered so carelessly as though he had a right? Could it be possible that Michael was engaged to her? Why had she never thought of it before? Of course it would be perfectly natural. This other girl had been down in his dear alley, working shoulder to shoulder with him all these years, and it was a matter of course that he must love her, Starr's bright morning that but a moment before had been filled with so much suns.h.i.+ne seemed suddenly to cloud over with a blackness that blotted out all the joy; and though she strove to hide it even from herself, her spirit was heavy with something she did not understand.
That evening Michael came into the library unexpectedly. He had been out in the kitchen helping Morton to open a box that was refractory. He found the room entirely dark, and thought he heard a soft sound like sobbing in one corner of the room.
”Starr!” he said. ”Starr, is that you?” nor knew that he had called her by her name, though she knew it very well indeed. She kept quite still for an instant, and then she rose from the little crumpled heap in the corner of the leather couch where she had dropped for a minute in the dark to cry out the strange ache of her heart when she thought Michael was safely in the kitchen for a while.
”Why, yes, Michael!” she said, and her voice sounded choky, though she was struggling to make it natural.
Michael stepped to the doorway and turned on the hall lights so that he could dimly see her little figure standing in the shadow. Then he came over toward her, his whole heart yearning over her, but a mighty control set upon himself.
”What is the matter--dear?” He breathed the last word almost under his breath. He actually did not realize that he had spoken it aloud. It seemed to envelope her with a deep tenderness. It broke her partial self-control entirely and she sobbed again for a minute before she could speak.
Oh, if he but dared to take that dear form into his aims and comfort her!
If he but dared! But he had no right!
Michael stood still and struggled with his heart, standing quite near her, yet not touching her.
”Oh, my dear!” he breathed to himself, in an agony of love and self-restraint. But she did not hear the breath. She was engaged in a struggle of her own, and she seemed to remember that Hester-girl, and know her duty. She must not let him see how she felt, not for anything in the world. He was kind and tender. He had always been. He had denied himself and come here to stay with them in their need because of his grat.i.tude toward her father for all he had done for him; and he had breathed that ”dear” as he would have done to any little child of the tenement whom he found in trouble. Oh, she understood, even while she let the word comfort her lonely heart. Why, oh why had she been left to trifle with a handsome scoundrel? Why hadn't she been worthy to have won the love of a great man like this one?
These thoughts rushed through her brain so rapidly that they were not formulated at all. Not until hours afterward did she know they had been thought; but afterwards she sorted them out and put them in array before her troubled heart.
A minute she struggled with her tears, and then in a sweet little voice, like a tired, naughty child she broke out:
”Oh, Michael, you've been so good to me--to us, I mean--staying here all these weeks and not showing a bit of impatience when you had all that great work in the world to do--and I've just been thinking how perfectly horrid I was to you last winter--the things I said and wrote to you--and how I treated you when you were trying to save me from an awful fate! I'm so ashamed, and so thankful! It all came over me to-night what I owed you, and I can't ever thank you. Can you forgive me for the horrid way I acted, and for pa.s.sing you on the street that Sunday without speaking to you--I'm so ashamed! Will you forgive me?”
She put out her little hands with a pathetic motion toward him in the half light of the room, and he took them in both his great warm ones and held them in his firm grasp, his whole frame thrilling with her sweet touch.
”Forgive you, little Starr!” he breathed--”I never blamed you--” And there is no telling what might not have happened if the doctor had not just then unexpectedly arrived to perfect the arrangements for their going to the farm.
When Michael returned from letting the doctor out, Starr had fled upstairs to her room; when they met the next morning it was with the bustle of preparation upon them; and each cast shy smiling glances toward the other.
Starr knew that she was forgiven, but she also knew that there was a wall reared between them that had not been there before, and her heart ached with the knowledge. Nevertheless, it was a happy morning, and one could not be absolutely miserable in the company of Michael, with a father who was recovering rapidly, and the prospect of seeing him and going with him into the beautiful out-of-doors within a few hours.
Michael went about the work of preparing to go with a look of solemn joy.
Solemn because he felt that the wonderful companions.h.i.+p he had had alone with Starr was so soon to end. Joyful because he could be with her still and know she had pa.s.sed through the danger of the terrible disease and come safely out of the shadow with her beauty as vivid as ever. Besides, he might always serve her, and they were friends now, not enemies--that was a great deal!
The little world of Old Orchard stood on tiptoe that lovely spring morning when the party came down. The winding road that led to the cottage was arched all over with bursting bloom, for the apple trees had done their best at decorating for the occasion and made a wondrous canopy of pink and white for Starr to see as she pa.s.sed under.
Not a soul was in sight as they drove up to the cottage save Sam, standing respectfully to receive them in front of the piazza, and Lizzie, vanis.h.i.+ng around the corner of the cottage with her pretty boy toddling after--for Lizzie had come down to be a waitress at Rose Cottage for the summer;--but every soul on the farm was watching at a safe distance. For Sam, without breathing a word, had managed to convey to them all the knowledge that those who were coming as their guests were beloved of Michael, their angel-hearted man. As though it had been a great ceremony they stood in silent, adoring groups behind a row of thick hedges and watched them arrive, each one glorying in the beauty of her whom in their hearts they called ”the boss's girl.”
The room stood wide and inviting to receive them. There was a fire of logs on the great hearth, and a deep leather chair drawn up before it, with a smaller rocker at one side, and a sumptuous leather coach for the invalid just to the side of the fireplace, where the light of the flames would not strike the eyes, yet the warmth would reach him. Soft greens and browns were blended in the silk pillows that were piled on the couch and on the seats that appeared here and there about the walls as if they grew by nature. The book-case was filled with Michael's favorites, Will French had seen to this, and a few were scattered on the big table where a green shaded lamp of unique design, a freshly cut magazine, and a chair drawn at just the right angle suggested a pleasant hour in the evening. There were two or three pictures--these Michael had selected at intervals as he learned to know more about art from his study at the exhibitions.
”Oh!” breathed Starr. ”How lovely! It is a real home!” and the thought struck her that it would probably be Michael's and Hester's some day.
However, she would not let shadows come spoiling her good time now, for it _was_ her good time and she had a right to it; and she too was happy in the thought that she and Michael were friends, the kind of friends that can never be enemies again.