"I don't care about pride. Oh, Cora, I don't care about pride any longer."
"Well, you ought to, and you will in the morning. Do you want everybody to think you've lost interest in the church just because the Rector fell in love with Annie Baylor?"
"I don't care what anybody says. I don't care."
"That's because you are hysterical, dear, but you will feel differently as soon as he is married."
A shrill scream, strangled before it escaped her lips, was Aunt Etta's only reply. But a moment afterwards she sobbed out defiantly, "What does appearance matter when you are dying of misery?"
"It matters," Mrs. Archbald answered emphatically, "more than anything in the world. Look at Isabella if you want to know how important it is to save your pride."
"I can't see what Isabella has to be miserable about. She can't step out of doors without having somebody pay attention to her."
"But not the right kind of attention. Surely you do not wish to attract the wrong kind of attention."
There was a sound as if Aunt Etta had moved from the bed. "I may as well go back to my room and let you get some sleep before daybreak," she said despairingly. "If only I can keep from feeling so frightened as soon as I put out the light."
"But I don't want you to go until you are feeling better," Mrs. Archbald replied, stifling a yawn.
"Oh, I'm feeling better. I suppose I'm feeling better."
"Well, stay in bed to-morrow and let Dolly bring your breakfast. It makes such a difference in your face when you are rested and take a cheerful view of life. I told you, didn't I, that old Mrs. Mason said she thought you had such a sweet expression?"
"Yes, you told me, but that was only old Mrs. Mason."
"She has eyes as well as anybody." Then, as Aunt Etta trailed wearily out of the room, Mrs. Archbald crossed the floor softly and looked into the nursery where her daughter slept. "Jenny Blair," she said in a sepulchral but commanding whisper.
"Yes, ma'am," Jenny Blair raised herself on her elbow and answered obediently. In the illuminated square of the doorway, she could see her mother's spreading figure, which was so much larger at night than in the daytime, attired in a starched cambric wrapper. A smell of lavender salts filled the room, as if a stopper had been removed from a bottle.
"Are you awake? You were asleep when I looked in."
"I was asleep, but I woke up."
"Did Aunt Etta wake you?"
"I s'pose so."
"Did you hear what she was talking about?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Well, she had a bad dream, and she came to tell me. It was nothing on earth but a bad dream."
"Yes, ma'am. Oh, Mamma, I feel so sorry for her!"
"So do I, darling. But there was nothing really to frighten her. She made it all up in her mind."
"Did she make up about nobody loving her?"
"Of course she did. She has plenty of people to love her. Even if men don't admire her as much as they admire Isabella, she has devoted friends among women."
"But they don't last, Mamma, and that hurts her. It hurts her dreadfully, because she cried all the time after Miss Margaret Wrenn broke off with her."
"How did you know, my child," Mrs. Archbald demanded sternly, "that Margaret had broken off with her?"
"Oh, I heard it all when it happened. She broke off because she didn't like to be pinched, and Aunt Etta would pinch her until she was black and blue."
For a long pause Mrs. Archbald allowed this revelation to sink in. Then, recovering her authority, she exclaimed in a single significant phrase, "Jenny Blair, she was only making-believe!"
"But you aren't making-believe when you cry. Crying is real, and poor Aunt Etta was crying as if her heart had been broken."
"Well, you can't help her, my child, and the best thing you can do is to forget all about it and go back to sleep." She leaned over, smelling more strongly of lavender, and kissed Jenny Blair's cheek. "Try to be good, darling. You are all that I have."
Throwing back the thin summer coverlet, the child clung to the starched sleeve of the wrapper. "If I'm all you have, Mamma, won't it be dreadful if I turn out to be like poor Aunt Etta? Do you think I can possibly grow up as plain as Aunt Etta?"
"It is too soon to worry about that. There are more important things than being pretty or plain. Never forget that if you take care of your character, your face will take care of itself."
"But it doesn't, Mamma. It doesn't really."
"It will if you stop thinking about it. Turn over now and try to go back to sleep. You will be a fortunate woman if you never have anything more than your face to worry you."
Though she turned over obediently, Jenny Blair found going back to sleep less easy than usual. When the door was almost shut, the darkness began to stream and ripple, and something hidden beneath the streams and ripples waited, alive and hungry, to pounce upon her as soon as the gleam of light through the crack vanished. Was it something that had happened yesterday? Or was it something that might happen to-morrow? Was it the endless pain of being sorry for people? Or was it loneliness like Aunt Etta's because nobody loved her? Blackness closed over her, and she felt, as the gleam of light faded, that she was drowning in the fear, without beginning and without end, which waited there to devour her. Thicker and thicker churned the grey waters; nearer and nearer her bed floated that invisible enemy, alive and throbbing in the room, in the house, in the street, in the sky. She was afraid to call out, afraid to put up her hand lest this presence should spring on her before her mother could reach her. "There is nothing here," she thought, drawing the sheet over her head. "There is nothing here but Aunt Etta's unhappiness." And then more earnestly, "Please God, oh, please, don't let Aunt Etta's unhappiness come too near me!"
Then suddenly, while she shivered like a mouse in a trap, a voice spoke within her mind, and the dark enemy dissolved and was banished. "We must stand by each other, little sweetheart. We must never, never give each other away." Joy as sharp as light pierced her nerves. Terror had flown. Where Aunt Etta's unhappiness had been there was the bright and comforting smile of Mr. Birdsong. Instantly, she was safe again; she was enfolded in the bliss of his presence. All the black bats had scattered and wheeled out of her thoughts. "There isn't anything to be afraid of," she said aloud, and very dreamily the refrain hummed in her mind, "I know a secret, I know a secret!" The eyes and smile of Mr. Birdsong shone down on her, just as the eyes and smile of her father had shone down on her when she was little and awoke crying from fear in her crib in the old nursery.
CHAPTER 9
When she had dressed Jenny Blair for the party, Mrs. Archbald knotted the blue sash more securely at the waist and said emphatically, "Now, try to be a good girl, and don't make any trouble."
"Do you think we may tiptoe downstairs and peep in while Mr. and Mrs. Birdsong are waltzing?"
"You must ask Mrs. Peyton. Run away now, and don't forget to tell Aunt Etta how sweet she is looking."
"Is she really looking sweet, Mamma, or am I just to pretend?"
"She is looking better than I ever saw her. That dress of mousseline de soie softens her features, and she has washed and crimped her hair beautifully. I hope and pray she will enjoy herself. Have you seen your Aunt Isabella?"
"Oh, Mamma, isn't she handsome? I met her going down into the garden in her pink satin."
"Down into the garden?" Mrs. Archbald's face was blank with astonishment. "Why, what in the world was she doing in the garden?"
"Joseph came back for his saw, and p'raps she wanted him to see her dressed up. I think Joseph is a great help to her—I mean a great help about Thomas."