Hester's Counterpart: A Story of Boarding School Life

Miss Burkham went to Doctor Weldon. "What do you think of my taking the girls from the building?" she asked. "The hygienic conditions here are dreadful. Outside we can find the sunshine, at least. I can take them through the city streets – wherever the streets are open. I think we can keep them better satisfied if we keep their attention on something else than themselves."

"Perhaps, it would be better. I have been concerned about them. They have been most thoughtful and considerate so far. You may take the Fraulein with you – and the school purse, too, Miss Burkham. You may be able to buy something for them."

"While you are gone, I'll try to get into communication with our people at Flemington. The telephone and telegraphs are useless. Marshall and Herman might be able to walk out and carry something back. It will be hours before a delivery wagon can get through to bring us anything."

Following Miss Burkham's instructions, the girls dressed in their shortest and shabbiest skirts and put on heavy shoes. It was a dismal, hungry-looking party which set forth.

For a square down Main Street, the way was clear. They were often forced to leave the sidewalk and make a detour to escape the piles of drift which lay in heaps. The mud was over the tops of the rubber shoes, and the greater number had discarded overshoes before they had gone far. At the corner of Main and Clinton Avenue, they stopped. Their way was cut off by a great pile of logs, timbers, and uprooted trees which reached above the second story of the houses. Here and there, caught between the branches of the trees or the conjunction of timbers, were bits of household articles, parts of chairs, window frames or broken beds and soggy mattresses.

"We can climb over," suggested Hester. "That will not be much of a climb."

Miss Burkham had been hesitating. She feared to go on and yet to go back meant dissatisfied, hungry girls shut up in a wet, foul-smelling building.

"We'll climb," she said. "But be careful to move slowly, and not bring this down upon you."

The feat was not a difficult one. They succeeded in crossing and entered the business street. There was not a whole plate-glass window in this section. They had been shattered into bits so small that no trace of them could be found.

The girls entered what had been the largest and finest grocery store of the city. The mud was several feet deep; the show-cases had been battered to pieces; canned goods were piled in heaps in the corners and covered with refuse. But the combination most surprising, was where a large cheese had tumbled down upon a dead cow which had been washed in from some dairy farm far up the river.

Men were already clearing the streets, and shoveling the refuse from the stores.

From the business thoroughfare, Miss Burkham led her charges to the residence street. Here conditions were the same. The elegant houses bore the marks of the flood. Trees were uprooted. Lawns which but a few days before were things of beauty, were now but heaps of refuse, or hollows filled with water.

Doors and windows stood open wide. Delicate, cultivated women had arrayed themselves in overalls and were scraping the mud from their homes.

As they made their way eastward, Robert Vail hurried down a side-street to meet them.

"I started for school the instant I could," he explained to Miss Burkham. "I did not know how bad conditions were, but I expected they could not be good.

"I have a tally-ho and horses, but we could not get beyond Fairview Street. South Street is a mere chasm. The horses could not have crossed there. I did reach Miss Alden and Miss Richards. My man took them back home while I came in."

Hester grasped his arm. "Auntie – is Auntie all right?"

"Fine as silk. She was concerned about you until we satisfied her that seminary girls could not be gotten rid of so easily. It takes more than a flood – " He spoke lightly to the girls and then turned to Miss Burkham. "Our housekeeper said I should fill up the tally-ho and bring the girls there. The buildings at school will not be fit to live in for some days. We'll take care of eighteen or twenty until you arrange matters."

A feeling of relief came to the preceptress. "You have taken a great responsibility from Doctor Weldon and me," she said. "We shall never be able to thank you. As to the girls, Hester and Helen, of course must go; also the Fraulein, for I must not allow the girls to go alone."

She turned to the group about her, and selected the number which would fill the tally-ho.

"You girls will go with the Fraulein and Mr. Vail, and remain until we send you word to return. Berenice, Violet, Edith and I will return to school."

"I declare, this is too bad," cried Robert. "I cannot allow you to walk back, and without anything to eat."

"You cannot help it. The circumstances are unusual. The elements have our fortunes in hand," she replied.

"The instant I get the young ladies home, my man and I will come back with all the good things we can carry. Tell Doctor Weldon that we shall have a dinner – perhaps a late one – for her."

"She has sent messengers to Flemington. They will bring us something for one meal at least. Come, girls." She led her little flock toward home. There was no hope of finding a bite to eat anywhere in the city. Men and women had worked all night and were yet working without a particle of food or drop to drink. The preceptress was worn and weak. Her responsibility for the last two days had been great; but she did not dare give up. She trudged bravely toward school, encouraging the girls and drawing their attention to any phase of the situation which was not burdened with pathos.

Robert Vail led his party down the residence street and then turned down an alley. "These narrow passages have less drift," he explained. "My man and I discovered this this morning."

By devious ways, he brought them out on High Street which stood above the ravages of the flood. Here a tally-ho with four horses stood waiting.

Robert assisted the Fraulein and girls to their places and bade the coachman drive on. Hester and Helen sat side by side.

"Now, I am really to meet your Aunt Harriet," said Hester. "It is very strange. Think of my rooming with you for ten months and never meeting her."

"Never met mother?" exclaimed Robert Vail. "Be prepared to meet the finest mother in the world."

"There may be some exception," said Helen, "at least Hester may think so. She may be vain enough to think that she had the finest mother in the world."

"Oh, no," began Hester hastily and then she paused. She was not dull. She had been keen enough to know that there was something not just right about a mother and child traveling alone through a strange country and no one ever searching for them. But she could not allow any one else to know her thoughts. Her face flushed as she continued, "I have never known a mother. Aunt Debby is all I ever had. I am sure that no one can be finer than she."

"We will make an exception in favor of Miss Alden," continued Robert. "With the exception of Miss Debby Alden, you will find my mother the finest woman in the world. You'll fall in love with her the instant that you meet her."

"I know. I have caught several glimpses of her but I never met her. But, perhaps she will not care for me. I should not be pleased if I should like your mother very much and she would not like me at all."

Vain little Hester Alden. She knew what speech Robert Vail would make. She had heard him express himself on the subject twice before. Because his words had pleased her, she called them forth again.

"There'll be no danger of her not liking you. I'll vouch for that. Mother and I always like the same people and things. She has the best taste in the world."

Helen laughed teasingly. "You like to impress people with the fact that you are fond of your mother; but have you ever noticed, Cousin Robert, that there is always one compliment for her, and two for you?

"Robert Vail and his mother like the same things. That is the first premise. The second is, his mother has excellent taste; conclusion – Robert Vail has excellent taste. I have not studied logic for nothing, Cousin Robert."

Robert shrugged his shoulders. "That is a girl's idea of reason," he said. "They always go about in a circle, like a lost duck and they never lose the personal element in anything."

"Your remarks are not original," said Helen. "I have heard Doctor Baker say that same thing."

"I have heard you mention Doctor Baker before. Is he your physician at home?" asked Hester. She had forgotten Helen's Easter letter.

"He's our pastor and perfectly lovely, Hester. He has been with us a long, long time. I told you once about him, but you were vexed with me then and my words fell on deaf ears. Sometime you must come and spend a month with me in my home and you shall meet Doctor Baker."

"I never would go and leave Aunt Debby for an entire month. It was bad enough to go to school and not be with her," was Hester's reply.

"But Aunt Debby can come along. My father would like her, and she and Aunt Harriet would be friends from the moment they met. Maybe we can arrange it for this summer. Sometimes Doctor Baker comes to visit us, too. He gets very lonely. I should think any one living alone would be lonely."

"Isn't he married?" asked Hester. "I thought ministers were always married. Why doesn't he get married?"

"You think a marriage certificate goes with the manse," said Robert. "His case is a paradox. He is always marrying, and yet never is married. Quite a riddle isn't it?"

Helen's face lighted up. She was like Hester in that both delighted to hear romantic stories.

"He had a love affair, a long time ago," she said softly as though the subject were one too sacred for full tones to play upon. "But he went to college, and when he came back his sweetheart did not care for him. But he has never forgotten her."

Hester gave a sigh of contentment. She would remember and tell her Aunt Debby about this. While her Aunt Debby had chided her about repeating these little romantic tales which came to her ears, Hester had a feeling that the elder Miss Alden was not wholly unsympathetic.

Josephine, who was sitting in the front of the tally-ho, caught the last of Helen's speech. She sighed, and leaning forward that all might catch her words, said: "How lovely! Such persons appeal to me. There is nothing in the world which is so beautiful to me as faithfulness. How perfectly lovely! I always – "

"Hester, lend me a pin, please. I see you have one in the front of your coat and I need one to fasten the ends of my tie," it was Renee who broke in upon Josephine's flow of sentiment.

"We shall soon be there now," said Robert. "The house stands back of those trees." He pointed to a small elevation which was about a mile distant. The girls exclaimed with delight except Mame Cross who looked down upon her short skirt and mud-stained shoes with a mortified expression.

"Really, Mr. Vail, I simply cannot enter your home, looking like this. Your mother would refuse to receive me."

"I do not understand why," he replied.

"Mame, do please forget about it," laughed Erma. "My shoes are muddy; my skirt is shabby; I am hungry – so hungry that I'll fairly snatch at anything to eat. I look like a fright, I know I do. But what's the use of thinking about it. It can't be helped. So why not pretend that we do not notice it?"

"We must make up for our looks by being so nice that Mrs. Vail will not notice that we are not immaculate." It was Mellie who offered this suggestion.

"That is all very well for you girls to speak so," said Mame. "But you do not look as I do. You girls look nice, considering what you have gone through; but me – I always look the worst. I never look like other girls."

"Then give up trying, Mame. You never will look like other girls, you know. So make the best of matters which cannot be helped, and be cheerful and gay." Erma's words were supposed to be ironical; but her happy little laugh and dainty little touch upon Mame's hand, robbed them of their sting.

"Here we are!" exclaimed Robert Vail, as the horses turned from the main road into a private drive. Hester opened her eyes in astonishment. She had seen the beautiful homes near Lockport, but this surpassed any. The house was in the midst of a great park; there were lawn, forest, and flowers. The house was large, but not imposing. It had rather the look of a home than of a mansion. Never before had Hester seen such beauty of surroundings. Nature and cultivation had worked together to make the best of this.

As the girls stepped from the tally-ho, Hester grasped Helen by the arm, "I am afraid – afraid," she whispered.

"To meet Aunt Harriet? Why, little roommate, she is not a bit formidable. You will love her."

"I think it is not just that – " she began again. She could not finish. Aunt Debby and Miss Richards had come to meet them. Back of these two, stood a large, wiry woman in a dark dress and an extensive white apron.

"My little girl," cried Debby, clasping Hester in her arms. "I have been very anxious about you."

"I was safe, Aunt Debby. Perfectly safe, but so hungry."

Robert Vail escorted his guests to the door.

"This is Mrs. Perkins, young ladies," he said, indicating to the big woman. "She will see that you have something to eat at once."

"I have been waiting dinner. If the ladies wish to come at once – " She led the way. The guests were weak from hunger. The odor of the food aroused their appetites afresh.

"Did you ever think bread and butter was so gloriously fine?" said Emma after her first mouthful. "Do you realize that we have had nothing since Friday evening."

"I do; but I do not intend talking about it – now," said Hester. "I have greater things to do."

Indeed, they all had that. They had kept up bravely under strenuous conditions. There had been no word of complaint. Erma especially, had been cheerful and gay as long as those two qualities were needed to sustain herself and her friends. Now, she was the first to give way. After a few morsels had been eaten, she realized that she was tired – so tired that she believed that ever being rested again would be an impossibility. She made an effort to keep up. She tried to laugh, but ended with a nervous giggle. Then to the amazement of all, she began to cry and sob.

"I am so tired. I am too tired to live. I never could go through with this again."

"And you will not need to – never again," said Miss Debby, going to the girl's aid.

"Let her cry. It will do her good," she continued as the others were about to leave their dinner. "Let her cry, it will do her good."

At this Renee began to giggle. Mame looked at her and straightway did as Renee. Mellie and Josephine made a brave effort to control themselves, but after a few minutes they were following Erma's example and were sobbing as though their hearts would break.

Miss Richards and Miss Debby took matters into their hands. There was no help to be expected from the Fraulein, for she was as wearied as the girls.

The housekeeper made ready the rooms and the girls were forced to go to bed.

"Each young lady ate a little something, I observed," said Mrs. Perkins. "Let them rest a while, then I shall take some refreshments to them."

"It was so beautiful what they behaved yet to this time," cried the Fraulein. "Never no word, no fuss, all smiles, all funs, no cross or nothing until now." She was much disturbed lest the women would discredit her for the girls' behavior.

"We understand," said Debby Alden. "It is not your fault, Fraulein. You are going to rest now, too. We intend treating you like a little girl; send you to bed and send your bread and jelly to you."

"Ach," the little German teacher tried to look self-reliant and sufficient to take care of herself. But there was something in Debby Alden's manner which touched her. The Fraulein was a stranger in a strange land. Many and many were the times when she longed for the tenderness of those who were bound to her by the ties of love and blood. She was but a little homesick girl, herself and wished to be mothered like other girls. But she was brave enough with all her longing. She shrugged her shoulders; but Debby laid her hand affectionately on the girl's shoulder. That settled it. In an instant, the German teacher rested her head against Debby; her eyes filled; she touched Debby's cheeks tenderly; "I vill go. The Fraulein is so kind. The Fraulein has a heart in her breast." Without a word of demur, the little German teacher followed the girls and rested while the housekeeper and Debby Alden waited upon them with the most kindly attention.

Robert Vail and his man had returned at once to the city taking with them a supply of necessities. The housekeeper came to Miss Debby with the explanation and apology. Thought of others had caused Robert to neglect his duty as host. Here Mrs. Perkins looked mournful and as though she might say much if she chose, and added that Mrs. Vail had left early that morning, having driven over the hills to an adjoining town where railroad communications had not been cut off. She had received news which had caused her some anxiety and she had set forth at once.

The housekeeper was in the mood to speak freely; but Debby Alden was not one who discussed with the maid the affairs of the mistress. She accepted the explanation and went her way. So many incidents of life turn as a straw in the wind. This was a time and place propitious for much clearing-up of uncertain matters; but Debby Alden had not been in the mood to listen; and the mistress of the house was traveling over the country after a will-of-the-wisp which had led her many a long, unfruitful journey.

Robert Vail, greatly fatigued with his day's work, came back to Valehurst just at dusk. By this time, the nervous tension had been greatly relieved. The girls had had a nap and a substantial evening meal, and were prepared to look at the experiences of the last few days in a more cheerful light.

Robert brought with him the good news that the hucksters from Flemington had driven in over the hill and had brought food with them to the seminary. The teachers and pupils were preparing to return with them to the farmhouses which stood high enough to be out of the way of the river and creek.

Marshall and Belva with a set of workmen were remaining at school to put the place in order; to build fires that the building might be dried rapidly and to protect the grounds and buildings from vandalism. Doctor Weldon had sent word that the young ladies who were with the Fraulein at Valehurst were to remain there until she recalled them.

Miss Debby and Miss Richards, with the little group of girls, had gathered about Robert on the lawn, anxious and eager to hear about their friends. When the message had been received and the good news told, the crowd separated into little groups. Helen and Hester, in company with Robert, moved toward the house.

"I had no opportunity of asking you about Aunt Harriet," said Helen, "and I do not like to put such questions to Mrs. Perkins. You said that Auntie would be here, Robert." She looked up at him and waited as though expecting an explanation.

"So I thought. We made ready before daylight this morning to go for you girls. Mother came down to see us off. In fact it was she who prepared the lunches to give to any one in distress. But Perkins tells me that quite early someone called her up on the 'phone. She talked a long time. Then she called Ryder and told him to get out the grays and the light carriage. Then she went off. She didn't even leave word where she went. I called up father's office. He knew nothing about it."

"And don't you know?" There was anxiety in Helen's voice. Her eyes had a pained, distressed look.

"She telephoned to Perkins that she had gone to Minnequa, a little factory town where an old colored woman had the care of a young white girl. The message came from those people who had found such a 'sure thing,' before and then failed to make good when the time came."

"You don't mean that horrid man and his son? What was their name – Stroat – Strout?"

"Stout, if I remember right. Before it was a mere scheme to extort money, and I do not doubt that it will be the same now. Poor mother, she will be worn out with the journey and have nothing but disappointment for it all. I mean to talk with her on the wires to-night. If she does not intend coming home at once, I shall go to Minnequa and be with her. I may start early and shall not see you in the morning. Will you explain to Miss Debby and the girls? I am not running away, but I must not let my mother stay there alone."

"Yes, you must go. Do not give a thought about us. We shall be very well taken care of here. Poor Aunt Harriet! How I wish I might fill that empty place in her heart!"

Hester had been walking a few steps in advance; but had heard the conversation. Why should Helen always speak of her aunt as though she were to be pitied? Mrs. Vail had everything that a woman could desire – a beautiful home with trained service, a husband and son who considered no one but her. It was strange. Hester could not understand why Helen should always speak of Mrs. Vail as "poor Aunt Harriet."

CHAPTER XVII

How fine it would be if one could foresee the result of every action! Hester Alden's slight prevarication to Robert Vail, when she told him that her father had been Miss Debby's brother, carried with it a long series of misunderstandings. Had Robert Vail known the facts – but he did not.

Hester, bearing within her heart the consciousness of her own fault, spent not a few unhappy moments with herself. To it, she attributed the former entanglement, between herself and Helen. She reached this conclusion because she knew of nothing else on account of which Helen might have misjudged her. Several times, she decided to speak of the matter to Helen and confess that she had misrepresented matters when she had declared that she belonged to the Alden family; but each time, her courage failed her, and her pride prevented. It is not an easy matter for one to confess that she has, in her statements, deviated from the truth.

The morning following the coming of the girls to Valehurst, Robert Vail left home early and by a hard drive over the mountains at length reached the junction where railroad communication had not been cut off.

Mrs. Perkins expected him to return with his mother the following day; but they were detained by business. So Valehurst was left without a host or hostess. Mrs. Perkins exerted herself to make the guests comfortable and the servants, with which the home was well provided, vied with each other in their attendance upon the young ladies. The girls were thoroughly enjoying their experience, Hester, perhaps most of all, for such a household was new to her. She liked to play lady of the manor.

"Don't you wish you and I could live this way?" she said to Debby Alden, during the second day of the enforced visit. Debby Alden looked at the questioner and then asked, "Are you not satisfied, Hester, with your own little home?"

"Yes, I am!" cried the girl impulsively. "A little house with Aunt Debby is better than a mansion without her. I am really satisfied. Yet it does seem nice to be here. I feel quite at home."

"I presume a lady feels at home in any cultivated environment," was the rejoinder. Debby paused a moment. She was not one to repeat the tales which came to her ears; but when, as in this instance, her sympathies were touched and she felt that her story might bear with it a moral, it might be really worth her while to repeat it to Hester.

"Valehurst is very beautiful, Hester. We recognize that; but it cannot bring happiness to those who dwell in it. Mrs. Vail has a great sorrow. What it is, I do not know. I did not care to inquire. Robert told me that his mother, years ago, had a bereavement from which she has never recovered, and to which she has never become reconciled. The servants speak as though she were a woman saddened by some dreadful experience."

"But Helen says she is very cheerful and can never do enough to make others happy."

"Outwardly, perhaps. From what I have learned, she is one who has strength of character enough to keep her sorrows to herself and not burden others. Of course, she would try to make Helen and every one else happy, even though she were most miserable herself. I would not have spoken of the matter, had I not thought you were estimating one's happiness by the amount of material wealth one possessed.