It was the morning of the day that she was going to the Delafield Simms, and Jane was packing her bag. She felt unaccountably depressed. During this week-end her engagement would be announced. And when Judy came they would be married in the Sherwood church. And that would be the end of it!
Her lover had planned the honeymoon with enthusiasm, “Dieppe, Jane, Avignon—the North Sea. Such sunsets.”
Jane felt that she didn’t care in the least for sunsets or trips abroad. She was almost frightened at her indifference to the wonders of a world of which Frederick talked continually. Oh, what were mountains and sea at a time like this? Her heart should beat high—the dawns should be rosy, the nights full of stars. But they were not. Her heart was like a stone in her breast. The mornings broke gray and blank. The nights were dark. Her dreams were troubled.
She knew now what had happened to her. She had let herself be blinded by a light which she had thought was the sun. And it was not even the[305] moon! It was a big round artificial brilliance which warmed no one!
Life with Frederick Towne would be just going up and down great stairs, eating under the eye of a stately butler, riding on puffy cushions behind a stately chauffeur, sitting beside a man who was everlastingly and punctiliously polite.
Oh, half the fun in the world was in the tussle with hard things. She knew that now. Life in the little house had been at times desperately difficult. But it had been like facing a stiff breeze, and coming out of it thrilled with the battle against the elements.
Yet how could she tell these things to Frederick? He was complacent, comfortable. She was young and he liked that. He never dreamed that he might seem to her somewhat staid and stodgy. For a moment, in Chicago, he had been lighted by almost youthful fires. But in these days of daily meetings, she had become aware of his fixed habits, his fixed opinions, the fixed programs which must be carried out at any cost.
She had found, indeed, that she had little voice in any plans that Frederick made for her. When he consulted her on matters of redecorating the big house he brought to the subject a wealth of technical knowledge that appalled her. Jane knew what she liked, but she did not know why she liked it. But Frederick knew. He had the lore of period furniture at his fingers’ ends. Rugs and tapestries—paintings[306] and porcelains! He had drawings made and water-color sketches, and brought them out to Jane. She had a feeling that when the house was finished it would be like some exquisitely ordered mausoleum. There would be no chintzes, no pussy-cats purring, no Philomel singing!
As for clothes! Frederick’s mind dwelt much on the subject. Jane was told that she must have an ermine wrap, and one of Persian lamb. Most of her things would be made in Paris—there was a man over there who did things in just the right style for her—picturesque but not sophisticated. Frederick was already having certain jewels set appropriately. Gray pearls and emeralds—he had even gone to the point of getting samples of silk and chiffon that she might see the smoke-gray and jade color-scheme he had in mind for her.
Samples!
A man’s mind shouldn’t be on clothes. He should have other things to think of.
There was Evans, for example. He had described the other night the boys’ club he was starting in Sherwood. “In the old pavilion, Jane. It will do as it is in summer, and in winter we’ll enclose it. And we are to have a baseball team, and play against the surrounding towns. You should see my little lads.”
She and Baldy had been much interested. The three of them had put their heads together as they sat on the porch of the little house, with the moon[307] whitening the world, and the whippoorwill mourning far away in the swamp.
They had planned excitedly, and every word they had said had been warm with enthusiasm. They had been flushed, exultant. It would be a great thing for Sherwood.
That was the kind of thing to live for, to live with. Ideas. Effort. She had always known it. Yet for a moment, she had forgotten. Had thought of herself as—Curlylocks.
She flung up her hands in a sort of despair. There was no way out of it. She was bound to Frederick Towne by the favors she had accepted from him. And that settled it.
She went on feverishly with the packing of her shabby suitcase. She rather glorified in its shabbiness. At least it is mine own, was her attitude of mind.
As she leaned over it, the great ring that Frederick had given her swung back and forth on its ribbon. She tucked it into the neck of her frock but it would not stay. At last she took it off and was aware of a sense of freedom as if she had shed her shackles. It winked and blinked at her on the dresser, so she shut it in a drawer and was still aware of it shining in the darkness, balefully!
Briggs was not to come for her until four in the afternoon. She decided to go over to Castle Manor and talk to Mrs. Follette. She would take some strawberries as an excuse. The strawberries in[308] the Castle Manor garden were never as perfect as those which Jane had planted. Evans said it was because Jane coaxed things into rosiness and roundness. But Jane had worked hard over the beds, and she had had her reward.
Carrying a basket, therefore, of red and luscious fruit, Jane went through the pine grove along the path that led to the Castle Manor. Under the trees was a green light which she breasted as one breasts the cool waters of the sea. Her breath came quickly. In a few short weeks she would be far away from this sweet and silent spot, with its sacred memories.
Leaving the grove, she passed the field where the scarecrow reigned.
She leaned on the fence. With the coming of spring, the scarecrow had been decked in gay attire. He wore a pink shirt of Evans’ and a pair of white trousers. His hat was of straw, and as he danced in the warm south breeze he had an air of care-free jauntiness.
Jane found herself resenting his jaunty air. She felt that she had liked him better in his days of appealing loneliness. She had resented, in like manner, the change in Evans. He, too, had an air of making a world for himself. She had no part in it, apparently. She was, in effect, the Peri at the gate!
And she wanted to be in his world. Evans’ world. She didn’t want to be left out. Yet she[309] had chosen. And Evans had accepted her decision. She had not thought it would be so hard to have him—accept.
His interests seemed now to include everything but Jane. He was doing many things for the boys of Sherwood, there was his work in town, the added responsibility he had assumed in the affairs of the farm.
“She’s such an old darling, Jane. Doing it with her duchess air. But she’s not strong. I’m trying to make her let things go a bit. But she’s so proud of her success. I wish you could see her showing Edith Towne and her fashionable friends about the dairy. With tea on the lawn afterward. You must come over and join in the fun, Jane.”
“I am coming,” Jane had told him, “but my days have been so filled.”
He had known who had filled them. But he had ignored that, and had gone on with his subject. “The idea I have now is to keep bees and sell honey. The boys and I have some books on bee culture. They are quite crazy about it.”
It was always now the boys and himself. His mother and himself. And once it had been himself and Jane!
Leaning on the fence, Jane spoke to the scarecrow. “I ought to be glad but I am not.”
The scarecrow bowed and danced in the breeze. He had no heart, of course. He was made of two crossed sticks....
[310]Jane found Mrs. Follette on the wide porch. She was snowy and crisp in white linen. She wore a black enamel brooch, and a flat black hat which was so old-fashioned that it took on a mid-Victorian stateliness.
“My dear child,” she said, “stay and have lunch with me. Mary has baked fresh bread, and we’ll have it with your berries, and some Dutch c............