Читать книгу Broken Barrier - Grace Helen Mowat - Страница 10

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Christmas came, and Trancher rather unwillingly accepted an invitation to dine with some relatives living in Connecticut.

Lydia went to church and then on to have Christmas dinner with Maggie.

The Jenkins’s small apartment was in a state of uproarious Christmas confusion. The festive odour of roasting turkey, mixed with the scent of woodland evergreens, greeted her as she ascended the stairs. Jenkins, in shirt-sleeves and wearing a rakish paper crown (recently exploded from a Christmas cracker), sat in a huge armchair, contentedly smoking a cigar in the midst of chaos. His tall, overgrown son and the flighty daughter were both present, and two children about eight and ten, that Jenkins explained he had borrowed from an orphanage for the occasion.

“We can’t have no fun Christmas without youngsters and them two of mine has got so big that Santa Claus don’t mean a thing to them. Now this little one here,” he said, drawing the little girl to him, “She knows who brought her that doll. Show the lady the doll, Emmy. That’s the girl. Ain’t that a beauty, now? And who brought it for you?”

“Santa Claus,” said Emmy, with a broad grin on her little freckled face.

“Of course he did! Who else would it be? My! them reindeers must have worked hard last night. Jamie there, he’s got a whole train of cars. See, now, he’s fixing the tracks for them to run on.”

The boy was sitting on the floor, absorbed in the wonders of the new train. The place was littered with tinsel and gay paper wrappings while an energetic radio contributed carols to the Christmas cheer. But Jamie was oblivious to such things. He was a railroad man, now.

Maggie appeared from the kitchen, an ample blue apron covering her best dress. She welcomed Lydia and wished her a Merry Christmas and apologized for the confusion of the room. “Just leave them in this clutter till after dinner and then they can clear it up themselves.”

Dinner was all ready and she summoned her two step-children to help bring it in. Lydia offered to assist too, but was turned down because she was the guest of honour.

They were all squeezed into the tiny dining-room before a table laden with food in great variety. Jenkins served the turkey and plates were piled with vegetables, cranberry sauce, and pickles till there was room for nothing more.

Lydia loved it all. “This is a real Christmas,” she said. “It was good of you to invite me. Think how lonely I would have been all by myself in that big house.”

“Where did the master go?” Maggie asked.

“He said he was going to dine with some people who lived in Connecticut.”

“Oh, I know. It’s them Martins. Mrs. Martin was a half-sister of his mother’s, but no more like Mrs. Trancher than cream is like vinegar. I wonder that he’d go there. He never liked that outfit much. It would be more to his taste to spend the day in a graveyard.”

“I sometimes think he should go out more,” said Lydia.

“That’s just what I tell him. He’s getting old before his time. When he does go out it is just to dine with Mrs. Marsden or some old lady that knew his mother. You can’t do anything with him.”

“I was just wondering,” Lydia said, “if we could get him to give a party himself next Christmas. Make him ask three or four people that he really likes. I would love to have a party, and it is so easy for Christmas, you just have the regulation dinner. If we had dinner at night perhaps you could come over and help me, Maggie. We could get a turkey and I could decorate the house and have everything nice and Christmassy.”

“It would be a fine idea,” Maggie agreed, “if we could get him to do it.”

“You will have to invite some youngsters,” put in Jenkins. “I tell you a Christmas party don’t mean a thing without youngsters.”

Maggie thought youngsters would be going a bit too far for the first time, but it might be suggested in a casual way in case any of the selected guests had children to offer. “We could keep talking of the party quite a spell beforehand so as to get him used to the idea,” she said.

After dinner Maggie ordered that the disorderly room should be tidied, and put Jenkins in command of the job while Lydia insisted on helping her with the dishes. Then they played games and sang songs and carols.

Jenkins was delighted when he discovered that Lydia could play on the squeaky little reed organ that, he told her, he valued very highly because it had belonged to his mother.

At five o’clock Lydia went home, though they urged her to stay for the evening. She was afraid that the master might come back early and find no supper ready. Maggie had a small plum pudding that she sent him for a present. Lydia thanked them all for a very happy day and walked back through the frosty air and twilight that reminded her of home.

Trancher came home shortly after six, rather depressed and tired. The day had not been a success, though he had not expected much from it. He said he had eaten a very substantial dinner and would not need much supper. If she liked she might just bring it in to the library on a tray.

Lydia lit the fire for him and brought in a prettily arranged tray with salad and cold chicken, rolls, and fruit.

“That looks very tempting, Lydia,” he said. “It is all that I require.”

“Did you have a pleasant day, sir?” she asked.

“No, very dull. I seem to have spent most of the day on the train and the rest of the time I listened to my aunt recounting her ailments. It was more like a clinic than a party. Then my uncle entertained me by telling of the vast opportunities for wealth that I might have grasped had I been on the look-out for them.”

“Is he a very rich man?” Lydia asked.

“No. He seems to have let opportunity slip, too, but can generally give some good reason for it. He is always expecting to be enormously rich in a year or two. He gets great pleasure from anticipation. I don’t like discussing business methods out of hours. I would have spent a pleasanter day if I had stayed at home.”

“Why did you go?”

“One reason was that I knew if I stayed at home you would have had to stay, too, and cook my dinner.” He looked at her with his rare, fleeting smile that twisted one corner of his mouth and always accentuated the youthful look.

Lydia was surprised. Why had this man, whom she had always thought so self-centered and detached, considered her interests above his own?

“Oh, Mr. Trancher,” she said, “why did you think about me? I would have been glad to stay and cook your dinner. Now you did not get a bit of good from your holiday and there won’t be another Christmas for a whole year.”

“It is all right, Lydia. Never mind. Perhaps it was just as well that I went. This house gets too full of memories for me at Christmas. Did you have a pleasant day?”

“Oh, yes! a lovely day. Maggie invited me there for dinner. It was a very nice party.”

She felt she had lingered long enough and was moving toward the door, but he said, “Don’t go. I want to hear about the party.”

“It was great fun. Maggie is a wonder. She manages that family like a sergeant on parade and talks to Jenkins as if he didn’t count at all.”

“I can well believe it. Maggie never thought I counted for much. She always gave me to understand that men were an inferior race. And then she goes and marries Jenkins!”

“Jenkins is a good soul. He had two little children there that he borrowed from an orphanage, for he said Christmas was nothing without children.”

“I thought he was supplied with children of his own.”

“He has two, but complains that they have outgrown the Christmas spirit. They gave the little orphans a wonderful time, loaded them with presents, and Maggie gave us a splendid dinner.”

“Maggie is quite a remarkable person and much too good to be wasted on matrimony.”

“She seems happy,” Lydia said, “and she was wonderful playing with the children. She knows an endless number of games, and she was so funny. I don’t know when I have laughed so much. Finally, we all sang carols and songs and Jenkins insisted on singing When You and I Were Young, Maggie, and became quite sentimental. She told him he was a foolish old thing. They seem to get on awfully well together. I think she makes him an excellent wife.”

“I suppose so,” Trancher said resignedly, “but it is too early yet for complications to arise. However, Maggie is very resourceful about overcoming difficulties. Why, she had you engaged and was off with Jenkins before I had time to realize what was happening.”

“I want to try and fill her place as well as I can,” Lydia told him, rather diffidently. “You must tell me when I don’t do things to suit you.”

“You always do things to suit me,” he said, looking at her kindly. “I thought it would be terrible to have anyone but Maggie here, and you seem to have slipped into her place so quietly and unobtrusively that I hardly notice the change. I hope I won’t lose you through matrimony.”

Lydia smiled. “I don’t see any danger of that at present,” she told him.

“I have lost so many people that way,” he said. “And now I have a haunting suspicion that Tony will be the next victim.”

“You won’t lose Tony if he gets married. It will only sober him and make him work harder. I like Tony and he tells me his girl is a perfect wonder. He talked of her the last time you sent him out here. He sat on the table eating cookies and told me the whole romantic tale.”

“Did he, indeed? I wondered what kept him so long. He has never confided in me.”

“He is afraid to. He thinks you don’t like to see people get married.”

“No, I don’t. The illusion is short-lived and tragedy follows.”

“Not always. There are cases when the illusion grows into a beautiful reality.”

“They must be very rare cases.”

“Perhaps they are, but I think it would be worth taking the risk.” She moved to the door again, feeling that she had talked far too long and too much.

“Wait,” he said, “I have a Christmas present for you, Lydia.” He handed her a small parcel that was lying on the table.

“Oh, how kind of you, sir,” Lydia exclaimed in complete astonishment. “Thank you ever so much. I never expected you to give me a present.”

“I thought you deserved one.”

“You are very good to say that and I am so pleased.”

“Open it,” he said, “and see if you like it.”

With excited fingers she undid the wrappings and took out a prettily bound volume of Keats’s poems. Inside the cover was a card that said simply, “In appreciation—Stephen Trancher.”

Lydia found it difficult to say anything. The little gift had touched her deeply.

“I think you will enjoy Keats,” he said. “There is a luscious beauty in his verse.”

“I know I shall enjoy it,” Lydia said, turning the pages and reading some of the titles. “I will like having a copy that is my very own, for sometimes I like to mark the verses that I want to remember.”

“If you ever want to mark my books, you may do so.”

“Oh, Mr. Trancher, I would never mark your books!”

“Do it sometimes. I want you to. It would interest me to see the things that you like.”

“I might mark the wrong things.”

“Then I would reprove you for lack of appreciation and make you look for something better.”

“That might be very helpful.”

“Yes, but mind you, I don’t expect the wrong things.”

Lydia was very happy that evening as she sat in the kitchen reading Keats. It had been a lovely Christmas and the master’s gift had been such a surprise. She began to realize the charm of his personality that sometimes penetrated the aloof reserve that enshrouded him, like sunshine through a cloud.

As the evening passed she was tempted to go into the pantry and look through the slide, just to see if he was again crystal-gazing. With a guilty feeling about eavesdropping, she turned to reading Keats.

“Oh, what can ail thee, Knight-at-arms,

Alone and palely loitering?”

When she had finished this weird little ballad she felt that she did not want to be alone herself. It would relieve the haunting impression of sorcery and the elfin grotto if she looked through the slide to make sure the master was still there and human. But after all, she thought, if he did not want me to see him, he could close the door into the dining-room. He knew she was there and would be likely to pass in and out at any time, and she yielded.

There he was, sitting by the fire with the little red case in his hand. Fascinated, she watched him, his gaze intent on the crystal—alone, remote, detached.

She remembered her scruples about spying and returned quickly to the kitchen till it was time to take in the cocoa. Then she told him she had been reading Keats and they talked about the Ode to a Grecian Urn.

Trancher sat by the fire later than usual that evening, smoking contentedly. It was so peaceful and pleasant to be at home again. He would have been glad to have talked longer with Lydia, but she had flitted away as usual before he could think of a reasonable excuse for detaining her. He wondered why it was more interesting to talk to Lydia than to the rather dull couple who were his relatives.

The Martins were self-centered and complacent. Their interests were narrowed down to their ailments and occupations. With this young woman who appeared each evening with his cup of cocoa, he had a keen desire to talk about the things he liked himself. It was a pleasure to direct her reading and look for her eager response. A new interest had come into his life. He turned again to books that he had not opened for years. He would take Lydia through the same delightful paths. Just a little way at a time. She must not go far at first, then on and on like wandering in a lovely woodland. One day they would come to Browning, but not just yet. He thought it would be interesting to guide her through the intricacies of Browning till she discovered the wealth of wisdom hidden beneath the tangled words. Her face would light up with the pleasure of discovery. She would stand by the door in her black dress and white apron while he questioned her. She would think for a moment, looking away, then the dreamy look in her eyes would return slowly, slantwise, back to him. Her answers were always so unexpected and sometimes so illuminating. At other times she would look puzzled and question him and he would explain things to her. It was all very pleasant, only the time was so short.

He had sometimes thought of suggesting that she come in to him for an hour each evening, after dinner, and sit at the desk and really study. It could be done, but he would not do it. He was of another generation and, like Lydia, was conscious of the barrier.