Sisters

“It’s good to be alive this beautiful day, isn’t it?” was all that he said.

When Charles returned to the farm, he found Lenora still in the hammock awakening from a most refreshing nap. She held out a hand and took it lovingly as he sat on one of the chairs that had been about the rustic table. Lenora spoke in a low voice. “Jenny isn’t near, is she, brother?” she inquired.

“Nowhere in sight Why? Shall I call her?”

The girl shook her head. “I wanted to ask you a question and I didn’t wish her to hear.” Charles was puzzled; then troubled to know how to answer when he heard Lenora’s question: “Have you noticed the close resemblance between Jenny and Harold’s sister? They might almost be twins if Gwynette were not two years the older. I think it is simply amazing. Their profiles are startlingly similar.”

“Yes, I think I noticed the resemblance at once.” Charles was glad to be able to add, “Here comes Harold!” Excusing himself, he ran lightly across the grass to meet his friend. In a low voice he explained that his sister had discovered the resemblance and was amazed at it. His listener said: “Suppose we let her into the secret. Perhaps she can help us to induce Gwyn and Jenny at least to like each other.” Harold was sure that his mother would not mind, as she had said she would trust everything to his judgment. “I will carry the chairs in. That will leave you alone to explain as you think best,” he concluded after a merry greeting to the girl in the hammock. Harold took three of the chairs and went back to the kitchen. Charles sat again in the fourth chair and took his sister’s hand. “Dear girl,” he said, “I have received permission from Harold to share with you a secret which is of a very serious nature.” Lenora glanced up puzzled and interested.

Then, very simply, Charles told the whole story. The girl’s first comment was, “Poor Gwyn! She has had a most unfortunate bringing up, and, if she were now to learn the truth, it would crush her. She might run away and do something desperate.”

“That is just what Harold fears, and so he has asked his mother to permit him to have two weeks to think over what would be best to do. He feels encouraged for Gwynette has twice been over here quite of her own free will.”

But Lenora shook her head. “There is nothing really encouraging about that, for she did not come to be with Jenny. She came because she likes you.”

Charles smiled and surprised Lenora by replying, “And I like Gwynette. She’s nicer, really, than she knows.” Again there was an interruption. This time both Jenny and Harold appeared. “It’s time to milk the cow,” the younger lad announced with the broadest smile. “Charles, it’s your turn tonight.”

“You are both too late,” Jenny told them, “for Grandpa Si took the pail out of the milkroom ten minutes ago and by this time it is brimming, I am sure.”

Charles rose. “Well, I’m rather glad, as I wish to take a swim before arraying myself for the ball.” Noting his sister’s questioning expression, he informed her that Gwynette and he were going to a dance at the Yacht Club House that night. “Why don’t you go with them, Harold?” It was Jenny inquiring. “I have often heard you say that you like to dance.”

“So I do. If you and Lenora will accompany me, I’ll go only too gladly.”

Lenora shook her head. “I’ll be asleep before it would be time to start,” she said. “Why don’t you go with him, Jenny?”

That pretty maid’s laughter was amused and merry. “Would I wear my yellow muslin or my white with the pink sprig? Lenora Gale, you know that I haven’t a party dress, nor do I know how to dance.”

Harold put in: “We’ll not go tonight, but if Grandma Sue has no religious scruples, I’ll come over after dinner and give you a first lesson in modern dancing.” Then the two boys went cabin-ward for their afternoon swim.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

GWYNETTE’S CHOICE

Jenny Warner could not guess why there were so many mysterious smiles and head noddings that night at supper and the next morning at breakfast.

“I just know that you’re all up to mischief,” she accused as they were leaving the table.

“Guess what we four are going to do this morning,” Lenora beamed at her friend.

“Well, I know Granddad is going into town.”

“And Grandma Sue, you, and I are going with him,” Lenora laughingly told Jenny.

Jenny caught the glance that passed between Grandma Sue and Lenora and knew they had a secret.

When an hour later Grandpa Warner stopped Dobbin in front of the most fashionable store in Santa Barbara, Jenny was more puzzled than ever.

“Come on, sister mine.” Lenora took Jenny’s hand and the two girls and Grandma Sue entered the store.

It was all very mysterious and exciting to Jenny. She looked at Grandma Sue who gazed about at the rainbow-hued silks piled high on the counters, at the display of exquisite laces, and at the dainty silk lingerie, as though she were visiting a museum. “There’s a power o’ pretty things in this here shop,” she confided to her companions.

Lenora, having spoken to a uniformed attendant, led them at once to an elevator and they were silently and swiftly lifted to an upper floor.

There Jenny saw a handsomely furnished room with glass cases around the walls, and in them hung dresses of every color and kind. She decided that Lenora needed something new to wear on her long journey, which was only five days away, and so she sat with Susan Warner on a velvet upholstered sofa while the other girl spoke quietly with a trim-looking clerk who was dressed in black with white lace collar and cuffs.

“Yes, indeed. We have the very latest things in party gowns.” Jenny could not help overhearing this remark. The clerk continued: “If you will come this way, I will show them to you.” Susan Warner was on her feet as soon as Lenora beckoned. Jenny was more mystified than ever. Lenora did not need a party gown, of that she was sure, for were there not two as pretty as any girl could wish to possess hanging in her closet at the farm?

The saleswoman led them to a small room furnished in old gold and blue. The walls were paneled with gilt-framed mirrors, and here the attendant left them. Susan Warner sat down smiling as she noted Jenny’s perplexity. That little maid could keep quiet no longer. “Who is going to buy a party gown,” she inquired. “Lenora doesn’t need another, and Grandma Sue, I’m sure it can’t be you.”

“It’s for you, Miss Jeanette Warner,” Lenora whispered. “Sssh! Don’t act surprised, for if you do, what will the saleswoman think? Now, what color would you prefer, blue or yellow are both becoming to you.”

Jenny turned toward the older woman. “Grandma Sue,” she began, when the clerk reappeared with an armful of exquisite gowns of every hue. So there was nothing for Jenny to do but try on one and then another. How lovely, how wonderfully lovely they were, but with a blue silk, the color of forget-me-nots, she had fallen in love at once. It was trimmed with shirred blue lovers’ knots, looping it in here and there, and with clusters of tiny pink silk roses. “We’ll take that,” Grandma Sue announced, not once having asked the price. Jenny gasped. The saleswoman’s well-trained features did not register the astonishment she felt. Susan Warner did not give the impression of wealth or fashion, but one never could tell. The truth was that Lenora had told the clerk not to mention the price, fearing that Jenny would refuse the party dress, which was to be a gift to her from the two Gales. When they emerged from the shop, the lovely gown carefully folded in a long box, Jenny was again surprised to find Harold and Charles standing by the curb visiting with her grandfather.

“Wall, wall, Jenny-gal, did they get you fixed up with fancy riggin’s?”

Grandpa Si beamed at the darling of his heart.

The girl looked as though she were walking in a dream. It all seemed very unreal to her. “Oh, it is the loveliest dress!” she exclaimed, “but wherever am I to wear it? I never went to a party, so why do I need a party gown?”

“You shall see what you shall see,” was Harold’s mysterious reply. Then he added briskly, “Now since we happened to meet you, will you not honor us with your company for lunch?”

“Yes, indeed we will.” Lenora, twinkling-eyed, was evidently carrying out a prearranged conversation. “Just lead the way.”

An attractive café being near, the party, led thither by Harold, was soon seated at a table in a curtained booth.

Silas Warner beamed across at his good wife. “Sort o’ hifalutin doin’s we’re up to, hey, Ma?”

Susan Warner’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling. “It sure is a treat to me to know what’s on the inside of these places. Will yo’ hear that now? There’s a fiddle startin’ up somewhars.”

The “fiddle” was not alone, for an orchestra played during their entire stay. The boys were told to order the lunch, and they seemed to get a good deal of enjoyment out of doing it. They selected delicacies with long French names, but Grandpa Si, who by that time had removed his hat, since the boys had done so, ate everything that was brought to him with a relish, smacking his lips appreciatively and asking, “Wall, Ma, do yo’ reckon you could make one o’ them concoctions if the waiter’d tell you what the mixin’s was?”

“Silas Warner, don’t yo’ go to askin’ him,” Susan warned. “He’ll think we’re greener than we be, even though that’s green enough, goodness knows, when it comes to puttin’ on sech styles.”

The old man leaned over and patted his wife’s hand, which was still partly covered with the black lace mit. “Ma, don’ yo’ go to frettin’ about me. I ain’t goin’ to ask nothin’ an’, as fer the vittles, thar’s none as can cook more to my likin’ than yerself, even though thar be less trimmin’s.”

It was while they were eating their ice cream and cake that Harold suggested that they go to the theatre. It was quite evident that the old people were delighted and so were the girls. “It’s a splendid play,” Charles put in. “I do wish your sister had come with us.” Harold had purposely neglected to tell his friend of the conversation he had had that morning with Gwynette.

As they were leaving the café, Charles asked, “Should you mind, Hal, if I borrow your little gray car and go back after Gwynette? I’m sure she would enjoy the play.”

“Go by all means.” Harold drew his friend aside, although not seeming to do so, as he added, “I’ll get a box for the Warners and Lenora. You would better get seats somewhere else for you and Gwyn.”

“Why?” Charles questioned. “There is usually room for eight at least in a box. Are they smaller here?”

“No-o, but – ”

“Hmm! I understand. Well, just leave that to me. So long!”

Meanwhile Gwyn had been feeling decidedly neglected. She had read to her mother in the garden as had become their morning custom but the older woman noted that the girl was listless and disinterested. “Ma Mere,” Gwyn had said, dropping the book to her lap, and showing by her remark that she had not been thinking of the story. “If it isn’t too late I believe I will go on that tour you were telling me about. I am desperately unhappy. Something is all wrong with me.”

Mrs. Poindexter-Jones sighed. “I am sorry, Gwyn. It is too late dear, but perhaps I will hear of another. I will make inquiries if you wish.” Then Miss Dane had come to take the invalid indoors, and Gwyn spent a lonely hour lunching by herself in the great formal dining-room.

It was in the library that Charles found her. She had been trying to read, but oh, how eagerly she glanced up when she heard his step. The lad bounded in, both hands held out. There was an expression in his fine eyes that rejoiced the girl’s heart.

“Oh, I’ve been so dismally lonely,” Gwyn said, and there were tears of self-pity on her long curling lashes.

“Poor girl I know what it is to be lonely.” Then, with one of his most winsome smiles, Charles added, “That’s why I have come back for you, Gwyn.” It was the first time he had called her that. “The others were going to the theatre. Harold’s to get a box. I couldn’t enjoy the play without you there – that is, not if you would like to go.”

Gwyn was torn between a desire to be with Charles Gale and a dread of being seen in a box with these impossible Warners. “Oh, Charles!” They were calling each other by their first names without realizing it. “I want to go with you! I am always proud of you anywhere, but – ” she hesitated and looked up at him almost pleadingly, “you won’t like me when I tell you that I would be ashamed to be seen in a box – with my mother’s servants.”

Charles released her hands and walked to a window, where he stood silently looking out. “Gwyn,” he said, turning toward her, “I didn’t think I would ever meet a girl for whom I would care —really care, but I know now that I have met one, but, since she scorns farmers, I shall have to cease caring, for I by choice am, and shall remain, a farmer, or a rancher, as we are called in the Northwest.”

Gwyn’s heart beat rapidly. Was this handsome young man, who stood so proudly erect, telling her that he loved her? And in that moment she knew that she cared for him. She felt scornful of herself, for, had she not often boasted that the most eligible bachelor in San Francisco’s younger set would be the one of her choice, nor, had she any doubt but that she would also be his, and here she was silently acknowledging that she loved a mere rancher. However, it might be with her but a passing fancy. He would be gone in another week; then she would visit the city and meet men of her own class and forget. Yes, that is what she really wanted to do, forget this unsuitable attraction.

Charles broke in upon her meditations with, “Well, Gwyn, time is passing. Do you care to go to the matinee with me and occupy a box with the Warners, my sister and Harold?”

The proud girl felt that he was making this a test of whether or not she could care for him as a rancher. “No,” she heard her voice saying coldly. “I would rather be lonely than be seen in a box with those back-woodsy Warners.”

“Very well, I must return at once or I will be late.” Charles started for the door. Gwyn sensed, and truly, that her “no” meant a refusal of more than an afternoon at the matinee.

“Good-bye!” he turned in the portier-hung doorway to say. He saw that she had dropped to the sofa and, hiding her face in a cushion, was sobbing as though her heart would break. One stride took him back to her. “Gwyn! Dear, dear girl!” He sat beside her and took both of her hands, but she continued to look away from him. “Why won’t you try to overcome these petty false standards? I want to ask you to be my wife, but I can’t, when you think a rancher so far beneath you.”

For answer, she lifted a glowing face. “I want to be a rancher’s wife. Charles, please let me.”

The curtain had gone down on the first act when Gwynette and Charles appeared in the box. They were welcomed with smiles and nods and a few whispered words. Harold, from time to time, glanced back at his sister. She was positively radiant. Then he caught a look full of meaning that was exchanged by the girl and the man at her side.

It told its own story. Gwynette, the proud, haughty, domineering girl, had been won by a rancher. Her brother well knew how she had struggled against what she would call a misalliance, but Cupid had been the victor. Then he wondered what his mother would say. Involuntarily Harold glanced at the girl near whom he was sitting. Feeling his glance, she smiled up at him, and yet it was merely a smile of good comradeship. He would have to wait. Jenny was two years younger than her sister, and had never thought of love.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE

Gwynette went about in a dream. She and Charles had been for a sunrise sail (as Lenora had said that she and her brother had so often been on Lake Tahoe) and they had made their plans. Charles was to return to the Dakota ranch on scheduled time and work with his father during the summer, then, in the fall, he would return for his bride.

“Unless you change your mind and wish to marry someone in your own class,” he said, as hand in hand they returned to the big house. The girl flushed. “Don’t!” she pleaded. Then, “I want to forget how worthless were my old ideals.”

“And you wouldn’t even marry the younger son of a noble English family, in preference to me, I mean, if you knew one and he asked you?” Gwyn thought the query a strange one, but looked up, replying with sweet sincerity: “No, Charles, I shall marry no one but you.” Then she laughed. “What a queer question that was. A young nobleman is not very apt to ask me to marry him.”

There was a merry expression on the lad’s handsome, wind and sun tanned face as he said: “Wrong there, Gwynette, for one has asked you.” Then, when he thought that he had mysterified her sufficiently, he continued: “Did you ever hear it rumored that a pupil of the Granger Place Seminary might, some day, have the right to the title ‘My Lady’?”

Gwyn flushed. Even yet she did not suspect the truth, and she feared Harold had told of her humiliation in giving a ball at The Palms in honor of a supposed daughter of nobility whose father proved to be a pigraiser. Rather coldly she said, “I had heard such a rumor, but we all decided that it was untrue.”

“But it wasn’t. Were my sister in England she would be called ‘Lady Lenora.’ Our uncle died last winter and father is now in possession of the family estates and title.”

The girl flushed and tears rushed to her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner?” she asked, and the lad replied: “I had two reasons. One was that I wished to be loved just for myself, and the other was that I do not care to marry a snob.”

Then he had bounded away to breakfast with Harold at the cabin and to don his overalls, for, not one morning had the boys neglected to appear at the farm, on time, to help Grandpa Si.

* * * * * * * *

It was the hour for Gwyn to read to her mother, who was already waiting in the pond-lily garden. The woman, much stronger than she had been, was amazed to see the joy so plainly depicted on the beautiful face of her adopted daughter. She held out a hand that was as white as the lilies on the blue surface of the water.

“Gwynette, dear girl, what has so transformed you?” To the woman’s surprise, Gwyn dropped down on the low stool and, taking her hand, pressed it close to her cheek. “Mother dear, I am so happy, so wonderfully happy! But I don’t deserve it! I have always been so hateful. How could I have won so priceless a treasure as the love of Charles Gale?”

There were conflicting emotions in the heart of the listener. She had had dreams of Gwynette’s coming-out party which they had planned for the next winter. Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had often thought over the eligibles for whom she would angle, after the fashion of mothers with beautiful daughters, and here the matter had all been settled without her knowledge and Gwyn was to marry a rancher’s son. “Dear,” she said tenderly, smoothing the girl’s sun-glinted hair, “are you sure that you love him? With your beauty you could have won wealth and position.”

How glowing was the face that was lifted. “Mother, I chose love, and have won a far higher social pinnacle than you ever dreamed for me.”

When the story had been told Mrs. Poindexter-Jones, notwithstanding her changed ideals, was nevertheless pleased. She leaned forward and kissed her daughter tenderly. “Dear girl,” she said, “I am especially glad that, first of all, you chose love. I did when I married your father, but the great mistake I made was continuing to be a snob.”

Gwyn arose. “I shall not, Mother, and to prove it, I shall go this afternoon to call upon the Warners.”

CHAPTER XXXV.

A BIRTHDAY CAKE

Miss Dearborn had returned to Hillcrest, and with her were a small girl and boy, the children of her dear college friend, who, with her baby, had been taken from this world. Jenny, with Lenora, had gone that afternoon to see her and had learned that Miss Dearborn was to make a home for the little ones for a year, during which time their father was to tour the world, then he would return and make a home for them himself. Neither Miss Dearborn nor Jenny spoke their thoughts, but oh, how the girl hoped that there would then be a happy ending to Miss Dearborn’s long years of sacrifice. If the young woman were thinking of this, her next remark did not suggest it. “Jenny, dear, we will have three classes in our little school next year to suit the ages of my three pupils.”

Then it was that Lenora said impulsively, “How I do wish, Miss Dearborn, that you could take still another pupil. My father and brother think best to have me spend the winter in California. Our Dakota storms are so severe. I am to live with the Warners just as I have been doing this past two months.” Miss Dearborn’s reply was enthusiastic and sincere: “Splendid! That will make our little school complete. I know how Jenny will enjoy your companionship. She has often told me that if she had had the choosing of a sister, she would have been just like you.”

Lenora glanced quickly at the speaker, wondering if Miss Dearborn knew who Jenny’s real sister was, but just then the little Austin girl ran to her “auntie” with a doll’s sash to be tied, and the subject was changed.

On that ride home behind Dobbin, Lenora wondered if Jenny would ever learn that Gwyn was her real sister. Charles had confided in her, and so she knew that in the autumn Gwynette would be her sister by marriage and that would draw Jenny and Lenora closer than ever. How she wished that she could tell Jenny everything she knew, but she had promised that she would not. When the girls returned home they found Susan Warner much excited about something. Gwynette had been over to call, actually to call, and she had remained on the side porch visiting with Grandma Sue even when she had learned that Jenny and Lenora had driven to Miss Dearborn’s.

“More’n that, she left an invite for all of us to come to a party Mrs. Poindexter-Jones is givin’ on Charles’ birthday. Gwyn said she hoped I’d make the chocolate cake with twenty-one layers like Harold wanted, just the same, but we’d have the party over to the big house.”

Jenny, at first, looked disappointed. Then her expression changed to one of delight. Clasping her hands, she cried, “Oh, Grandma Sue, that will be a real party, won’t it, and I can wear the beautiful new dress Lenora has given me. I was afraid I never, never would have a chance to wear it.”

The old woman nodded. Then she confided: “Thar’s some queer change has come over Gwynette Poindexter-Jones, and I’ll say this much for her, she’s a whole sight nicer’n she was, for it, whatever ’tis. I reckon her ma’s glad. I cal’late, on the whole, she’s been sort o’ disappointed in her.”

Then Jenny astonished them by saying: “Gwyn is a beautiful girl. No one knows how I want her to love me.” Susan Warner looked up almost suspiciously from the peas that she was shelling. That was a queer thing for Jenny to say, and even after the girls had gone indoors, that Lenora might rest, Susan Warner thought over and over again, now of the yearning tone in which Jenny had spoken, and then of the words, “No one knows how I want her to love me.” What could it mean? There wasn’t any possible way for Jenny to know that she and Gwyn were sisters. Tears sprang to Susan’s eyes unbidden. “If she ever learns that, she’ll have to know Si and me ain’t her grandparents.” Then the old woman rebuked her selfishness. “I reckon Si was right when he said ’twouldn’t make a mite o’ difference in Jenny’s carin’ for us. Si said nothing could.” But her hands shook when, a few moments later, she dumped the shelled peas into the pot of bubbling water that was waiting to receive them. Taking up one corner of her apron, she wiped her eyes. Jenny had entered the kitchen. At once her strong young arms were about the old woman, and there was sweet assurance in her words: “Grandma Sue, I love you.” Then, after pressing her fresh young cheek for a long, silent moment against the one that was softly wrinkled, the girl held the old woman at arm’s length as she joyfully cried, “Oh, Grandma Sue, isn’t it wonderful, wonderful, that you and Grandpa Si and Lenora and I are going to a real party, the very first one that I have ever attended?”