Part 21 (1/2)

”I'm afraid we came too early,” said Mrs. Field.

”Oh, no, you didn't,” returned Mrs. Maxwell politely. ”It ain't half as pleasant goin' as late as they do here when they're asked out to tea. You don't see anything of 'em; they begin to eat jest as soon as they come, an' it seems as if that was all they come for. The old-fas.h.i.+oned way of goin' right after dinner, an' takin' your sewin's, a good deal better, accordin' to my way of thinkin', but they ain't done so for years here. Elliot is a pretty fas.h.i.+onable place. I s'pose it must be very different up in Green River, where you come from?”

”Yes, I guess 'tis,” said Mrs. Field.

The front gate clicked, and Mrs. Maxwell peered cautiously around a lace curtain. Two ladies in their best black dresses came up the walk, stepping with a pleasant ceremony.

”There's Mis' Isaac Robbins an' Ann 'Liza White,” Mrs. Maxwell whispered agitatedly. ”I shall have to go right out in the kitchen an' make them biscuits the minute they get here. I don't see what Flora Maxwell is thinkin' of.”

Mrs. Maxwell greeted her friends at the door with a dignified bustle, showed them into her bedroom to lay aside their bonnets; then she introduced them to Mrs. Field and Lois in the parlor.

”There!” said she; ”now I've got to let you entertain each other a few minutes. I've got something to see to. Flora she's stepped out, an' I guess she's forgot how late 'tis.”

After Mrs. Maxwell had left the room, the guests sat around with a kind of solemn primness as if they were in meeting; they seemed almost hostile. The elder of the new-comers took out her knitting, and fell to work. She was a tall, pale, severely wrinkled woman, and a ruffled tr.i.m.m.i.n.g on her dress gave her high shoulders a curiously girlish air. Finally the woman who had come with her asked pantingly how Mrs. Field liked Elliot, and if she thought it changed much. The color flashed over her little face, with its softly scalloping profile, as she spoke. Her hair was crimped in even waves. She wore nice white ruching in her neck and sleeves, and flat satin folds crossed each other exactly over her flat chest. Her nervous self-consciousness did not ruffle her fine order, and she did not smile as she spoke.

”I like it pretty well,” replied Mrs. Field. ”I dunno as I can tell whether it's changed much or not.” She knitted fast.

”The meetin'-house has been made over since you was here,”

volunteered the elder woman. She did not look up from her knitting.

Presently Lois, at the window, saw Mr. Tuxbury's sister, Mrs. Lowe, coming, and the minister's wife, hurrying with a voluminous swing of her skirts, in her wake. The minister's wife had been calling, but Mrs. Lowe, who was a little deaf, had not heard her, and it was not until she shut the iron gate almost in her face that she saw her.

Then the two came up the walk together. Lois watched them. The coming of all these people was to her like the closing in of a crowd of witnesses, and for her guilt instead of her mother's. The minister's wife looked up and nodded graciously to her, setting the bunch of red and white cherries on her bonnet trembling. Lois inclined her pale young face soberly in response.

”That girl looks sick,” said the minister's wife to Mrs. Lowe.

There was no more silence and primness after the minister's wife entered. Her florid face beamed on them all with masterly smiles. She put the gla.s.ses fastened to her high satin bosom with a gold chain to her eyes, and began sewing on a white ap.r.o.n. ”I meant to have come before,” said she, ”and brought my sewing and had a real sociable time, but one thing after another has delayed me; and I don't know when Mr. Wheeler will get here; I left him with a caller. But we have been delayed very pleasantly in one respect;” she looked smilingly and significantly at Mrs. Maxwell.

All the other ladies stared. Mrs. Maxwell, standing in their midst, with a large cambric ap.r.o.n over her dress, and a powder of flour on one cheek, looked wonderingly back at the minister's wife.

”I suppose you all know what I mean?” said Mrs. Wheeler, still smiling. ”I suppose Mrs. Maxwell has not kept the glad tidings to herself.” In spite of her smiling face, there was a slight doubt and hesitancy in her manner.

Mrs. Maxwell's old face suddenly paled, and at the same time grew alert. Her black eyes, on Mrs. Wheeler's face, were sharply bright.

”Mebbe I have, an' mebbe I ain't,” said she, and she smiled too.

”Well,” said the minister's wife, ”I told Flora that her mother must be a brave woman to invite company to tea the afternoon her daughter was married, and I thought we all ought to appreciate it.”

The other women gasped. Mrs. Maxwell's face was yellow-white in its framework of curls; there was a curious noise in her throat, like a premonitory click of a clock before striking.

”Well,” said she, ”Flora 'd had this day set for the weddin' for six months. When her uncle died, we talked a little about puttin' of it off, but she thought 'twas a bad sign. So it seemed best for her to get married without any fuss at all about it. An' I thought if I had a little company to tea, it would do as well as a weddin'.”

Mrs. Maxwell's old black eyes travelled slowly and unflinchingly around the company, resting on each in turn as if she had with each a bout of single combat. The other women's eyes were full of scared questionings as they met hers.

”They got off in the three-o'clock train,” remarked the minister's wife, trying to speak easily.

”That was the one they'd talked of,” said Mrs. Maxwell calmly. ”Now I guess I shall have to leave you ladies to entertain each other a few minutes.”

When Mrs. Maxwell had left the room, the ladies stared at each other.

”Do you s'pose she didn't know about it?” whispered Mrs. Lowe.