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Aunt Jane's Nieces, a novel by L. Frank Baum |
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Chapter 5. Aunt Jane |
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_ CHAPTER V. AUNT JANE "Lift me up, Phibbs--no, not that way! Confound your awkwardness--do you want to break my back? There! That's better. Now the pillow at my head. Oh--h. What are you blinking at, you old owl?" "Are you better this morning, Miss Jane?" asked the attendant, with grave deference. "No; I'm worse." "You look brighter, Miss Jane." "Don't be stupid, Martha Phibbs. I know how I am, better than any doctor, and I tell you I'm on my last legs." "Anything unusual, Miss?" "Of course. I can't be on my last legs regularly, can I?" "I hope not, Miss." "What do you mean by that? Are you trying to insult me, now that I'm weak and helpless? Answer me, you gibbering idiot!" "I'm sure you'll feel better soon, Miss. Can't I wheel you into the garden? It's a beautiful day, and quite sunny and warm already." "Be quick about it, then; and don't tire me out with your eternal doddering. When a thing has to be done, do it. That's my motto." "Yes, Miss Jane." Slowly and with care the old attendant wheeled her mistress's invalid chair through the doorway of the room, along a stately passage, and out upon a broad piazza at the back of the mansion. Here were extensive and carefully tended gardens, and the balmy morning air was redolent with the odor of flowers. Jane Merrick sniffed the fragrance with evident enjoyment, and her sharp grey eyes sparkled as she allowed them to roam over the gorgeous expanse of colors spread out before her. "I'll go down, I guess, Phibbs. This may be my last day on earth, and I'll spend an hour with my flowers before I bid them good-bye forever." Phibbs pulled a bell-cord, and a soft faraway jingle was heard. Then an old man came slowly around the corner of the house. His bare head was quite bald. He wore a short canvas apron and carried pruning-shears in one hand. Without a word of greeting to his mistress or scarce a glance at her half recumbent form, he mounted the steps of the piazza and assisted Phibbs to lift the chair to the ground. "How are the roses coming on, James?" "Poorly, Miss," he answered, and turning his back returned to his work around the corner. If he was surly, Miss Jane seemed not to mind it. Her glance even softened a moment as she followed his retreating form. But now she was revelling amongst the flowers, which she seemed to love passionately. Phibbs wheeled her slowly along the narrow paths between the beds, and she stopped frequently to fondle a blossom or pull away a dead leaf or twig from a bush. The roses were magnificent, in spite of the old gardener's croaking, and the sun was warm and grateful and the hum of the bees musical and sweet. "It's hard to die and leave all this, Phibbs," said the old woman, a catch in her voice. "But it's got to be done." "Not for a while yet, I hope, Miss Jane." "It won't be long, Phibbs. But I must try to live until my nieces come, and I can decide which of them is most worthy to care for the old place when I am gone." "Yes, Miss." "I've heard from two of them, already. They jumped at the bait I held out quickly enough; but that's only natural. And the letters are very sensible ones, too. Elizabeth DeGraf says she will be glad to come, and thanks me for inviting her. Louise Merrick is glad to come, also, but hopes I am deceived about my health and that she will make me more than one visit after we become friends. A very proper feeling; but I'm not deceived, Phibbs. My end's in plain sight." "Yes, Miss Jane." "And somebody's got to have my money and dear Elmhurst when I'm through with them. Who will it be, Phibbs?" "I'm sure I don't know, Miss." "Nor do I. The money's mine, and I can do what I please with it; and I'm under no obligation to anyone." "Except Kenneth," said a soft voice behind her. Jane Merrick gave a start at the interruption and turned red and angry as, without looking around, she answered: "Stuff and nonsense! I know my duties and my business, Silas Watson." "To be sure," said a little, withered man, passing around the chair and facing the old woman with an humble, deprecating air. He was clothed in black, and his smooth-shaven, deeply lined face was pleasant of expression and not without power and shrewd intelligence. The eyes, however, were concealed by heavy-rimmed spectacles, and his manner was somewhat shy and reserved. However, he did not hesitate to speak frankly to his old friend, nor minded in the least if he aroused her ire. "No one knows better than you, dear Miss Jane, her duties and obligations; and no one performs them more religiously. But your recent acts, I confess, puzzle me. Why should you choose from a lot of inexperienced, incompetent girls a successor to Thomas Bradley's fortune, when he especially requested you in his will to look after any of his relatives, should they need assistance? Kenneth Forbes, his own nephew, was born after Tom's death, to be sure; but he is alone in the world now, an orphan, and has had no advantages to help him along in life since his mother's death eight years ago. I think Tom Bradley must have had a premonition of what was to come even though his sister was not married at the time of his death, and I am sure he would want you to help Kenneth now." "He placed me under no obligations to leave the boy any money," snapped the old woman, white with suppressed wrath, "you know that well enough, Silas Watson, for you drew up the will." The old gentleman slowly drew a pattern upon the gravelled walk with the end of his walking-stick. "Yes, I drew up the will," he said, deliberately, "and I remember that he gave to you, his betrothed bride, all that he possessed--gave it gladly and lovingly, and without reserve. He was very fond of you, Miss Jane. But perhaps his conscience pricked him a bit, after all, for he added the words: 'I shall expect you to look after the welfare of my only relative, my sister. Katherine Bradley--or any of her heirs.' It appears to me, Miss Jane, that that is a distinct obligation. The boy is now sixteen and as fine a fellow as one often meets." "Bah! An imbecile--an awkward, ill-mannered brat who is only fit for a stable-boy! I know him, Silas, and I know he'll never amount to a hill of beans. Leave _him_ my money? Not if I hadn't a relative on earth!" "You misjudge him, Jane. Kenneth is all right if you'll treat him decently. But he won't stand your abuse and I don't think the less of him for that." "Why abuse? Haven't I given him a home and an education, all because Thomas asked me to look after his relatives? And he's been rebellious and pig-headed and sullen in return for my kindness, so naturally there's little love lost between us." "You resented your one obligation, Jane; and although you fulfilled it to the letter you did not in the spirit of Tom Bradley's request. I don't blame the boy for not liking you." "Sir!" "All right, Jane; fly at me if you will," said the little man, with a smile; "but I intend to tell you frankly what I think of your actions, just as long as we remain friends." Her stern brows unbent a trifle. "That's why we are friends, Silas; and it's useless to quarrel with you now that I'm on my last legs. A few days more will end me, I'm positive; so bear with me a little longer, my friend." He took her withered hand in his and kissed it gently. "You're not so very bad, Jane," said he, "and I'm almost sure you will be with us for a long time to come. But you're more nervous and irritable than usual, I'll admit, and I fear this invasion of your nieces won't be good for you. Are they really coming?" "Two of them are, I'm sure, for they've accepted my invitation," she replied. "Here's a letter that just arrived," he said, taking it from his pocket. "Perhaps it contains news from the third niece." "My glasses, Phibbs!" cried Miss Jane, eagerly, and the attendant started briskly for the house to get them. "What do you know about these girls?" asked the old lawyer curiously. "Nothing whatever. I scarcely knew of their existence until you hunted them out for me and found they were alive. But I'm going to know them, and study them, and the one that's most capable and deserving shall have my property." Mr. Watson sighed. "And Kenneth?" he asked. "I'll provide an annuity for the boy, although it's more than he deserves. When I realized that death was creeping upon me I felt a strange desire to bequeath my fortune to one of my own flesh and blood. Perhaps I didn't treat my brothers and sisters generously in the old days, Silas." "Perhaps not," he answered. "So I'll make amends to one of their children. That is, if any one of the three nieces should prove worthy." "I see. But if neither of the three is worthy?" "Then I'll leave every cent to charity--except Kenneth's annuity." The lawyer smiled. "Let us hope," said he, "that they will prove all you desire. It would break my heart, Jane, to see Elmhurst turned into a hospital." Phibbs arrived with the spectacles, and Jane Merrick read her letter, her face growing harder with every line she mastered. Then she crumpled the paper fiercely in both hands, and a moment later smoothed it out carefully and replaced it in the envelope. Silas Watson had watched her silently. "Well," said he, at last, "another acceptance?" "No, a refusal," said she. "A refusal from the Irishman's daughter, Patricia Doyle." "That's bad," he remarked, but in a tone of relief. "I don't see it in that light at all," replied Miss Jane. "The girl is right. It's the sort of letter I'd have written myself, under the circumstances. I'll write again, Silas, and humble myself, and try to get her to come." "You surprise me!" said the lawyer. "I surprise myself," retorted the old woman, "but I mean to know more of this Patricia Doyle. Perhaps I've found a gold mine, Silas Watson!" _ |
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