HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Wingham Advance-Times, 1937-12-23, Page 10WINGHAM ADVANCE-TIMES
stubborn little chin. Remember the
first day you came to school when
you argued firmly, but politely, oh, so
very politely, that ‘table’ was spelled
with two B’s—and you kept saying
■T,a,b, tab, b,l,e, ble — table!’ And
looking triumphantly at the teacher as
if you had convinced her in spite of
herself,
Chloe relaxed ever so little and
grinned enchantingly.
“Did I, really?”
“Of course. And from that day on,
pur awe of you was confirmed into
somethnig even more profound, Not
one of us would have dared argue
any point with Miss Rose—remember
her?” he asked lightly and she was
almost startled by the change that a
gay almost mocking little smile made
on his lean brown face.
’’Miss Rose? Rather a dragon, was
n't she? Thin and stern and — oh,
very spinsterish.” Chloe frowned a
little as she tried to remember.
“Very, We were never sure that
she was human until one day they
brought a telegram to her at school.
She read it during the geography les-
■ son and then she broke down and
cried. We were almost as aghast as
if one of the pictures ono the wall of
Lincoln and Jefferson and .Robert E.
had slid down from its frame and be
gun to sing,” said Scott, He added
quietly, “We learned later that her
"mother had just died in a sanitarium
where Miss Rose’s very small salary
had been able to keep her because
Miss Rose lived in a miserable' little
room somewhere and ate as little as
she could possibly, exist on. And like
the little savages that we were, we
had thought her harsh and unfeeling
and inhuman. Funny how children
misjudge people sometimes.”
“Why only children? Don’t grown
ups misjudge each other a lot?” sug
gested Chloe.
Scott gave her a little flashing
smile and said quickly, “Of course.
But I’m afraid there’ll be no hope of
you judging me anything by the
world’s worst bore if I don’t stop re
miniscing. I suppose you had a per
fectly glorious time in New York?”
“Heavenly,” said Chloe, glowing a
little at the memory. “And I’m leav-'
. ing before long to join my friends for
a southern cruise over the Christmas
'holidays. I can hardly wait. Christ
mas is such a stupid, boring season!
It’ll be fun to get away yhere.I won’t
even have to think about what a girl
friend of mine calls ‘The silly season.”
Scott looked down at her, studying
her narrowly as if her had never seen
her like before.
“You honestly think Christmas is a
silly season?” he asked as if he could
scarcely believe his ears.
Chloe caught the tone of condem
nation in his voice and flushed a lit
tle. But she met "his eyes directly
and said firmly:
“I certainly do! All this blather a-
bout ‘Peace on earth, good will to
men’, when all-over the world people
are fighting and hating each other
and lying and cheating. And all the
sticky .sentiment — the presents that
people can’t afford to buy, but that
they feel they simply must—because
if they don’t give the Smiths a pres
ent costing at least twenty dollars,
and the Smiths giv ethem one costing
more than that, their social life will
be completely ruined. Women scram
bling through the shops working the
girls to death, selecting horrible mon
strosities that no sane human being
could ever use, or accept with any
thing but a shudder of dislike. People
going into debt to buy things for
their friends, which their friends don’t
need and don’t want—oh, it's too silly
for words. I,‘ for one, refuse to have
anything to do with it!”
“But it needn't be like that, you
know,” said Scott quietly. “After all,
Christmas is a little more than just
hurling unwanted gifts at one another
so that someone you don’t like may
hurl something of equal value that
you don’t want back at you. Christ
mas, you know, oh had you forgotten?
• —is a season of rejoicing, not about
gifts and parties and things, but— a-
bout the birth in a far-away country
of. the most perfect Man who ever
walked the earth.”
“0—that,” said Chloe uncomfort
ably, and was at a loss for something,
else to say. In Betty Pearsall's crowd
it wasn’t ‘smart' to talk about relig
ion. -If one wanted to go to church,
well, that was quite, all right provided
one kept such feelings to on’es self
or else chose a properly fashionable
church. But Betty and her crowd sel
dom worried their pretty heads about
such subjects. **
“Yes,” said Scott gravely, “that, the
fact that Christmas has been so com
mercialized that it has become little
more than a season for exchanging
unwanted gifts is rather a fault of the
people, don't yop thipk, apd pot of
/the season?’*
4
his smooth fitting .mask down- Saw
the naked heart hunger in his tired
gray eyes; saw the pride and the ten
derness. that he felt for this yoting
thing that, incredibly enough, was
flesh of his flesh — the legacy his
wife had left him. And Attnt Jane’s
eyes stung with sudden tears that she
would not shed. She felt as if she
could spank Chloe for her blindness
that would not see and recognize her
father’s love. Yet, perhaps, she re
flected, as they got into the big sed
an, together, Chloe was not so much
to blame after all. Her father had
always been a trifle shy with her.
When she had been growing Up about
the house, he had been fighting with
every ounce of energy, evefy bit of
brain, every scrap of himself to hold
'together and weld into one .mighty
business the inheritance of the Sar
gents, And now that the mills fan
like perfectly balanced machinery, all
one great beautifully fitted piece, he
had no spot of contact, ho ground of
common interest on which he and
Chloe might meet.
They reached the mill village and
drove through a line of people that
stood pressed together in front of the
double row of neat white houses, each
exacty like its neighbour; each with
its small plot of ground enclosed be
hind a lieat white picket fence; yet
each ’registering the difference be
tween itself and its neighbor in the
things that filled that small plot of
ground. There was old iMrs.. Hender
son’s neat little lot, with its front
yard crowded with flowers — ver
bena and asters and zinnias and mari
golds thrusting bright, clean faces
through the picket fence, laughing at
the deep blue sky, the golden sun
shine; there was the Hasty’s front
yard cluttered with all the wreck that
three small, active boys and a wider
assortment of stray dogs can achieve;
there were lawns of velvety close
cropped grass surrounding a rose
bush or two. There were yards that
were bare, hard-trodden expanses of
clay,, untended and debris strewn.
In short it was the main street of
a typical cotton-mill village which
proved that even though each family
occupied a house exactly like his nei
ghbor, each family was entirely diff
erent, separate and distinct personal
ities.
As they reached the great three
storied brick building that housed the
administration quarters as * well as
some of the machinery of the plant,
they saw ahead the dozen or more
trucks piled high with . dressed tur
keys, aryrl before them the superin
tendent and his score of helpers who
would attend to the actual distribu
tion.
The sedan stopped and Howell
Sargfent got out and stood on the
running board, facing, the thousand
or more employees of the mills who,
with their families, filled the village.
Howell looked out over their faces
turned to his. There was a warm
light in his gray eyes. A little smile
touching his. lips beneath the neatly
slipped. graying moustache. His head,
the hair growing thin and graying,
was bared to the faint, warm breeze.
“Friends,” he said quietly, “we’ve
gathered once more to celebrate our
annual Turkey Day. There is little
for me to say — you’ve heard it a
great many times before. But I just
want you to know once again how
deeply I appreciate your loyalty dur
ing the past years and how much I
hope that it will continue during the
year-s to come. We celebrate this year
in the genuine rejoicing of a full har
vest. God bless you all.”
There was a little roar of applause.
Chloe looked curiously at her father
who still stood bareheaded smiling at
the people before him who were
cheering him.
Her father looked down at a man
who stood hear him and said cheer
fully, “Hello, Bill —'how’s Ada?”
“She’s a heap better, boss, she’s
still, in the hospital. Says they’re so
good to her and she’s having such a
grand rest she thinks she’ll just stay
on.” - .
“Good! The rest will do her good!
Remember me to her,” said Howell
Sargent, as man to man, not as em
ployer to employee.
His eyes turned to others in the
crowd, Chloe heard him mention
names, ask for members of the fam
ily, while a’steady line was -passing
along the end of the truck, each re
ceiving in his arms a fat, well-dressed
turkey and moving aside t*o let an
other come forward.
It was half an hour before the se
dan crept through the tightly packed
crowd and found its Way back to the
highway. Chloe studied her father
who no longer looked tired or har
assed, He was smiling, that warm
eager light still in liis eyes.
“How on earth, Father, do you re-
member Ml their names?” she burst
Almost before the last word was
spoken he straightened and said cool-
lly. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m bor
ing you. And here’s Philip to Claim
the next dance, Thank you, Miss Sar
gent, and good night,”
And without waiting for her to ail-
.swer, he bowed and walked away.
Philip came up, smiling down at her
flushed face and bright eyes as she
watched Scott leave ‘the room,
“Sorry—afraid you were bored .stiff,
Kelvin’s a rather Stpffy bird, is’it he”
said Philip lightly.
“Very,” said Chloe grimly.
“I would have rescued you earlier,
but you seemed to be having such an
interesting time—forgive me. It shant
happen again,” said Philip warmly,
smiling down at her with admiring
eyes. “The night’s young and I guar-'
antee we’ll make you forget your tire
some dance with Scott Kelvin.”
And to herself as she danced, Chloe
said, wide-eyed and a little uneasy, “I
wonder?”
CHAPTER III
Thanksgiving Day, in this .sheltered
southern climate, was little more than
Indian Summer weather. Chloe had
spent last Thanksgiving Day at the
Pearsalls’ country 'home in Cottnecti-
cutt. A beautiful old house built of
great solid slabs of stone back in-the ’
early Seventeen Hundreds and “mod
ernized” by the Pearsalls, it proved
to be a marvelous place for a Thanks
giving week-end party. There had
been a heavy fall of snow the day
before, and the lake had been frozen
over for a week. There was even a
fairly adequate ski slide at the back
of the two hundred acre estate and
here Betty’s guests had spent the
morning. Dinner had been served in
the evening, of course. There had
been thirty guests. It had all been
very formal and very gay and Chloe
had had a marvelous1 time.
But this Thanksgiving Day was to
be completely different in every pos
sible way. -She had been afraid of it,
and the day before her worst fears
had been confirmed when Aunt Jane
had come bustling into her room
about ten o’clock and had said re
proachfully:
“Not dressed yet? You must hur-,
ry, darling, your father wants to stop
at the mills for a little while to be
sure the distribution of turkeys goes
through all right. And we want to
reach Chinaberry Grove before dark,
you know.”
“Oh,” wailed Chloe in frank dis
tress. “We’re not going to Gran’s?”
• Jane stiffened a little and. her eyes
chilled.
“And why not, may I ask? What’s
so terrible about spending Thanksgiv
ing with a dear old lady who asks
very' little of you, her only grand
daughter? I should think you’d be
happy—” ’ .
Chloe stood up and made a little
defensive gesture.
“O.K., Aunt Jane, let’s not have a
lecture. I’ll tumble into something
and be with you in a mintite-and-a-
huff!” she said wearily.
Aunt Jane studied her for a mo
ment, and then as if restraining her
comment with an effort, she turned
on her heels and walked out, disap
proval and annoyance in every line
of • her straight back.
Chloe thought wistfully of the fun
they had had last year driving out to
the Pearsall place. A dozen of.them
packed into Betty’s car. Stopping for
lunch at a funny old inn where they
had-served marvelous cocktails and a
delichious luncheon to which they
paid scant attention, as there was an
ancient phonograph with sonic scrat
chy records and the floor was not too
bad for dancing. In memory she
could hear the laughter, the gay voic
es. Oh, it had been fun! Betty's bro
ther Jim had tried to kiss her .while
they were dancing and Rod Duncan
had cut in and h,e and Jim bad all
but fought over her.
She sighed as she got out of her
pajamas and into a straight dark wool
frock. She pulled on her absurd scrap
of felt that pretended" valiantly to b.e
a hat, picked up her silver fox fur and
went downstairs. ‘
Her father smiled almost shyly at
her, He had sent her away, an awk
ward young things at the coltish age,
all elbows and skinny knees and taf
fy-colored hair in a thick braid, swing
ing down her thin back. She had
come back to him a delightfully
rounded, graceful young thing with
the taffy-colored hair smartly waved
atid tucked into a roll at the back of
‘her well-poised head. She was a
stranger to him, this beautiful young
daughter who was beginning to look
disturbingly ■ like her lovely mother
who had died when she was eight.
Aunt Jane caughte the look on her
brother’s face as he watched Chloe,
and for 4 inotnent she saw him with
out suddehly.
“Because they are my friejids/’ an
swered her father quietly, “And yott
don’t forget the names" or faces of
your friehds. Bill Elliot is one of the
first men I hired in the mills when
I took over, the management before
' Dad passed oh. Bill aild I went
through a lot together. I was best
man at his wedding when he arid Ada
were married.”
Chloe’s eyes widened.
“Best man — yoU, father? At the
wedding of one of your employees?”
she gasped.
“No, the wedding of two of my em-
ployees. Ada worked in the mills,
too,” smiled her father, “And a speln-
did worker, too. Why not, Chloe?
I've said they were my friends.”
CHAPTER IV
Chloe flushed and turned heir fade
away. Oh, > all right, if her father
wanted to imply that she was a snob.
But she couldn’t imagine Betty Pear
sall’s father, that eminent banker and
philantropist, who operated his char
ities as coldly and as impersonally as
he operated his gigantic banking busi
ness, even knowing the names of his
employees save those in his own of
fice, let alone acting as - best man at
the wedding of one of them!
Howell’s mother still occupied the
old family home called Chinaberry
Grove, set in the midst of six hundred
acres of fertile farm land. Although
she was past seventy, Melissa Sarg
ent was far from being old in her
own mind. She boasted that she had
never been sick a day in her life.
Life, to Melissa, was so crammed full
of things to do, to see, to hear, that
she even begrudged the time she had
to spend in sleep.
She was a tall, erect old lady with
snow-white hair carefully crimped
and always in exquisite order. She
wore colored print frocks in the
mornings, although she did yield to
a more decorous dove-gray silk with
exquisite old creamy lace fichus for
the evenings. But she adored the
morning prints and they werie gayv
festive, suitable, Jane tol'd her severe
ly, for a young girl, but certainly not
for the stately mistress of Chinaberry
Grove.
This afternoon, when ’the car rolled
into the. drive (through that mile-lotig
double row of stately, chinaberry'
trees, they found Melissa, waiting for
them on the porch, her gray taffeta
dress and creamy lace fichu partly'
concealed by a truly gorgeous old
shawl that the faintly chill evening
made welcome.
Chloe got out .of the car and
Melissa eyed her closely as she lean
ed forward, offering her cheek for
Chloe’s dutiful kiss. It was the first
time she had seen Chloe since the girl
left for the North three years ago.
“So this is Chloe,” she said, hold
ing hgr off so that she could look her
over intently. “What a great girl
you’ve grown, and pretty, too. Pretty
as paint. Only you need your face
washed a bit? No girl as young and
pretty as you are needs that much
rouge.”
Chloe flushed hotly and set her
teeth. Gran always had a way of flick
ing her on the raw. Making4ier help
lessly angry, for of course she never-
dared tolk back to Gran. There was
something about Gran that forbade
anyone taking such a chance!
Gran thrust an arm through How
ell’s, the other through Jane’s, and
over her shoulder she said lightly,
“Come along, child, I imagine you’re
all cold and starved from the trip.
Dinner’ll be ready by the time you’ve
taken off your wraps.”
In the room that had been hers ev
er since her first, visit to Chinaberry
Grove when she had been a baby,
Chloe looked about her. It was a
large, square room furnished in the
fashion of the early Nineties, and
Chloe, entering it, could never under
stand what people meant by calling
those same early Nineties “gay.” If
this room was a sample! There was
a great four-poster bed with a canopy*
of faded blue damask, and side drap
eries and dottde swiss and more blue
damask. The bed was so high that
there was a small footstool beside it
so that oiie could mount to it. There
was always a feather bed or two Oil
top of the solidly substantial mat
tresses and, as a child, she had sunk
into that bed with a smothering sen
sation that had caused- nightmares
which had ended with being taken in
to bed with her mother.
The rttg was old and faded to the
soft ghost of its original hue; the
furnishings were old mahogany rub
bed, by .generations of patient slave
hands to a mellow glow. The pic
tures were framed etchings that add
ed no notc of cheer, To Chloe, lov
ing bright colors, shaded lights, youth
and gaiety, the place seethed