Читать книгу Zula - H. Esselstyn Lindley - Страница 9

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Three years had passed since Zula entered the home of her kind benefactor. She had improved vastly in every way. In an atmosphere of love and sympathy, the passionate nature was growing more and more subdued, though the old spark was still lying deep down in her heart, and if not so often fanned to a flame was still there.

Mrs. Platts had decided to visit a sister, the wife of a merchant, who lived in the western town of Clear Lake, situated on a lake of the same name, whose waters are as clear as crystal, while its shores are lined with shells and pebbles of rare shapes and colors. Pleasure boats ply between the mainland and the island lying four miles out in the lake, whereon stands a commodious hotel, and where pleasure-seekers find a cool and pleasant resort during the heated months. Mrs. Platts’ sister, Mrs. Horton, like her sister, possessed a sweet disposition and lady-like manners. She was a fine looking woman, some years younger than Mrs. Platts. There had always existed a marked attachment between the two. She was the mother of two children; a boy of sixteen 40 and a girl of thirteen years of age. Guy was a very intelligent boy, stout and rosy, and very studious. He was usually in advance of his class and was called the best writer in school. In fact, so apt was he in his literary efforts that it had become a fixed idea with the people of the town that Guy Horton would, some day, make a mark in the world. Guy’s father was wealthy, and consequently Guy was not to receive one rebuke from strangers for fear of hurting his feelings. This Zula noticed, after a time, and she wondered why people were so much more careful of hurting the feelings of the rich than of the poor. Guy’s sister Carrie was a sweet-tempered girl, ever ready to oblige and seldom ill-tempered.

Mr. Horton always made the visits of his guests pleasant, although very much occupied with his business.

Mrs. Platts had prepared for Zula a liberal wardrobe, and when she stood before the mirror in her pretty dress of garnet with its satin folds, she wondered if the image she saw there was really Zula, the gypsy, or had she been transformed into a young princess, with sparkling eyes and raven hair. Although she had no idea that any one would think she was pretty, yet she was glad that the tan was wearing off, and that her hands had grown more plump and even more beautiful in shape than before. She wondered what Crisp would think of her now. She did not feel quite as much like shooting him as she had heretofore, but she would just like to see him unhappy, for she still carried the marks of his cruelty, and would carry them to her grave. She had said to Mrs. Platts:

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“I do so want to take my little pistol, and shoot the heads off the little birds and squirrels, for I may forget how to shoot if I don’t.”

Mrs. Platts shuddered at the thought of so young a girl talking so freely of using firearms, but since Zula seemed to desire it so much she consented, first having gained a promise that she would be very careful, at which Zula gave a half-derisive smile. Truly there were many evils to root out of the girl’s nature, and Mrs. Platts had grown to the belief that it was her mission to do it, but she prayed for strength, believing that education and culture alone would do the work of reform, and though it would take patience on her part, she felt that there was too much good, too much that was really noble in the child to be lost. One afternoon about a week after her arrival at the home of Mr. Horton, Zula sat by the lakeside, whose waters were all aglow, sparkling like a thousand diamonds, as the soft winds made tiny waves, which rose and fell with a sweet musical sound. She had wandered down to the bank, alone, for she loved to go there and watch the little pleasure boats, and to gather the shells that lay along the shore. She sat with her broad-brimmed hat shading her face, and her lap half filled with pebbles. She was looking out over the waters, while her fingers, which held a pencil, rested on a little book which lay upon her knee.

“Bless me, there’s a pretty little gypsy; only look what a head of hair!”

Zula saw two fashionably dressed young ladies standing a short distance behind her.

“How do you know I’m a gypsy?” she asked, angrily.

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“Goodness, did you hear me? Well, excuse me, then, please.”

“Yes, and I want you to tell me how you know I’m a gypsy.”

“Why, I only judged by those long beautiful braids, but I would know it now by the angry look in your black eyes; so now you may as well tell the truth about it.”

“It’s none of your business.”

A hearty laugh broke upon the air and floated away over the water. The young lady had spoken in jest, but her words went like a sharp pointed arrow straight down into Zula’s heart.

“You are saucy enough whatever you are.”

“I don’t care if I am,” said Zula. “If you don’t like me all you have to do is to let me alone.”

The young ladies walked on, laughing as they went.

Zula sat for some moments motionless and with eyes looking down into the clear water before her, thinking deeply. The little pebbles, round and white, which lay under the water, seemed to form themselves into tiny shapes. They rose and fell with the soft waves, washing up on the shore, and at last forming a castle—Zula’s castle, the first she had ever built. Tiny fish darted out and through its arches, sprinkling drops about with the dip of their silvery fins. The sunbeams gave a rich golden glow to the little castle so full of bright visions, for Zula saw within its walls sights so beautiful that they fairly made her heart leap for joy. She wondered if some day she would not wander through the halls of such a castle as she saw there. The tears began to drop one by one from the heavy black lashes.

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“Oh, I wish I could; how I wish I could. I wonder if some day—but, oh, dear, I can’t—who ever heard of a gypsy——”

Her pencil went down making marks on the little book on her knee.

“Julia Ellis makes the loveliest pictures, without a bad line in them, and I wish, oh, how I wish——”

“Why, Cousin Zula, here you are, I have been looking all around for you, and here you are—drawing, too. What, you haven’t been crying? Are you homesick?”

“Oh, no. What made you think I had been crying?”

“I fancied I saw tears; that was all.”

“Well, I did cry a little. There were two of the sauciest young ladies here—no, I don’t believe they were ladies.”

“Were they rude to you?”

“I should think they were.”

“What did they say?”

“They thought I looked like a gypsy, and I told her it was none of her business if I was.”

“Why, Zula, did you tell her that?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, it was not lady-like. Now if you are to be my cousin, you must let me talk to you like a cousin. It seems to me that was saucy.”

“Now you are scolding me, too. It seems to me that people like to scold me.”

“Oh, no, Zula, I am not scolding you, and you must not blame the lady for her thoughts, for, really, you do look like a gypsy.”

Zula drew herself up proudly.

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“Well,” she said. “I can’t help it, and I don’t care to be told of it.”

“It’s no disgrace. I have seen many a pretty gypsy girl. There was one who belonged to a tribe that camped just a little way out of the village, last summer, and she certainly was a beauty, only she was so dark.”

“Well, I don’t want people to think I am one.”

“What are you doing, drawing?” Guy asked, as he discovered her pencil and book.

She covered the paper with her hand.

“Let me see it,” he said entreatingly.

“Will you promise that you will not laugh, and that you will never speak of it?”

“I promise.”

He took the book and looking at it closely, a smile passed over his face.

“Now you are laughing at me and you said you would not.”

“Was I laughing? I really did not mean to.”

“Perhaps you didn’t, but you felt laugh, just as I do when I feel angry. But tell me what do you think of it.”

“No, I would rather not.”

“You must.”

She said this with such vehemence that he started.

“Well, in that case I will.”

“Tell me, then, would you try again?”

“No, I do not believe I would, for I can see nothing to build on.”

Zula’s castle fell. She looked down into the clear water, and the shining pebbles lay loose and dull upon 45 the bottom of the lake. She turned quickly toward Guy, and catching the book from his hand, while tears of mortification and injured pride stood in her eyes, she said:

“I will never tell any one anything again, never.”

“I would not cry, Zula.”

“Did you never cry for disappointment?”

“No.”

“Then it was because you never had one. I do not believe any one ever told you that your work was worthless.”

“I suppose they had no reason to.”

Zula’s beautiful red lips curled scornfully. She could not but notice the self-esteem with which he uttered the words. But Guy could not see it. He thought they were true and he had received so much flattery that he doubted not a moment that Zula would consider his decision correct, which in fact she did accept.

Zula crushed the book tightly in her hand concealing it in her pocket, just as she looked up to see Carrie, who was coming in search of the missing pair. “Mama says come right home to tea; it is all ready.”

Carrie threw her arm around Zula’s waist, and as she did so her hand came in contact with the heavy braids of shining hair, which hung over Zula’s shoulders.

“What lovely hair you have,” Carrie said. “I never saw but one like it, and it was on the head of a handsome gypsy girl, who was here last summer.”

Zula’s eyes flashed and she closed her mouth tightly, with an inward determination to have at least half her 46 luxuriant hair cut off. Would she never cease to be reminded that she was a gypsy?

“Why, how angry you look,” said Carrie. “Don’t you like to have any one praise your hair?”

“No,” Zula answered, forcing a smile.

“Oh, you are a funny girl,” Carrie said, twining her arms around Zula’s waist in such a loving way that Zula began to cry.

“Please do not cry; I did not mean to hurt your feelings; I think your hair is so lovely that I could not help telling you so. Mama always says flattery is very silly, but really I did not mean it for that; I do think your hair is just splendid, but I will not let you know it any more.”

“Thank you,” said Zula, clasping Carrie’s little, soft white hand. “It is not you who is foolish, it is myself and I will try and behave a little better. I wish I were like you, Carrie, but I can’t be no matter how hard I try.”

“Oh, don’t wish to be like me. Sue Haines says I haven’t enough spunk ever to amount to anything in the world; but mama says it does not take spunk to amount to a good woman, and that, she says, is worth everything.”

“I think so, too,” said Zula, drying her eyes.

“We are all going to the island to-morrow,” said Guy. “There is to be an excursion, and I suppose we shall have any amount of fun.”

“Oh, won’t that be grand!” said Zula. “I do so love to be on the water.”