Читать книгу: «Seeing France with Uncle John», страница 7

Шрифт:

XIII
YVONNE TO HER MOTHER

St. Malo.

Dearest Mama: We are all here together again except the Brewers and the two Tripps and Ellsworth Grimm. It is very jolly, only I am so worried over Uncle and Miss Clara Emily. Even Mr. Peters cannot keep them apart. Lee took Mr. Peters to his room and talked to him seriously, and offered to make Uncle still more worth his while; but Mr. Peters has been agreeable so long that he doesn't do it well any more. He just looks silly, and Lee says if he was us he'd let Uncle go rip. But of course Lee isn't us, and I know that he can't be expected to know just how we feel. If Uncle John marries Miss Clara Emily, I know no one is going to like it at all.

We went to Mont-Saint-Michel, and every one but Uncle went up, and he went seven flights up – he says twenty, but I don't believe that there are more than sixteen or seventeen in all. We were ahead, and never knew that he had stopped being behind, and it was so interesting on top that I forgot I had an uncle. There are beautiful halls and cloisters, and then one goes down through all sorts of horrors while the guide tells who lived five years in this hole and who lived twelve years under those steps. You get to have such a contempt for people who were in prison only one or two years over here – as if they ought to be ashamed of only having been in such a short time. There is a ghostly, ghastly museum in Mont-Saint-Michel where the visitors walk through an unlighted gallery and look in at wax victims doing different things in a very thoughtful manner – all but one man who walked on the sand and was overtaken by the tide, and he looks anything but thoughtful. The best was the battle, which was very realistic and must have been very trying to the leaders; for how could they get absorbed in a fight when the tide would drown them if they kept on a minute too long? There was a man who thought he would escape, and dug a way out with his nails, taking a short life-time to the task; and then he found he'd dug in instead of out, and, after letting himself down with a rope, he came to a bottom all covered with skeletons. I can assure you that I was glad we were all together and that Lee had my arm tight, for the scenes were awful, and I grew so sick toward the last that when we came down at the end and found Uncle sitting on the ramparts with Miss Clara Emily, I nearly screamed. They had all come while we were above, and Emily and some men were out walking on the sand. Clara is somewhat better; but I think she is even more sincere than usual this time. In her locket she has some plaster from the wall that she heard through, and she says she sleeps with it pressed to her lips. And I know that Miss Clara Emily is going to do everything in the world to get Uncle, for Emily says she was traveling just with a little hand-satchel, and now she insists on a suit-case. Oh, dear, I don't know what to do; and Lee is tired of the situation, and wants to go yachting, and I want to go with him. It would be so lovely off yachting with Lee; and the yacht is anchored where we can see her from the city walls. Lee is forever pointing to her. He says Mr. Stowell would let him have her for a month, any day.

We passed the Brewers on our way to Mont-Saint-Michel, but they must have seen the Kingsleys and gone back. Mrs. Brewer told me in Vire that they could never meet the Kingsleys again; she said that Mr. Brewer said if he should meet Clara he knew he should explode. I don't think that Mr. Brewer has much heart or he never would have called poor Clara a Yellow Kid; I've known Clara ever since I was a baby, and it never struck me that she looked like that till she told me that Mr. Brewer said so.

We all took the tram-ride to Rocabey yesterday, but one is so afraid that a wave will wash over the car and drench every one with spray that it isn't much fun. The tide is so funny all along this coast, because the coast is so level that a foot of water covers a mile or so, and when a wave starts to come in there's nothing to stop it at all. I don't think that St. Malo is very interesting, but perhaps that is just Uncle and Miss Clara Emily. He sends her violets, and I know it is he, for it couldn't be Mr. Peters or Mr. Stowell, and it wouldn't be Jim Freeman or Scott McCarthy. She wears them pinned on in such a funny way.

(NEXT DAY)

St. Malo.

Dearest Mama: Edna has sent me the letter about your coming over, and I am so relieved. Perhaps you will get here in time to save Uncle from Miss Clara Emily; I do hope so. Edna's things must be lovely, and I read her letter to Lee. He says if I'm good I will have some things of my own some day, and I do hope so; but Uncle is so heavy on my mind that I cannot realize that I shall ever have any life except trying to keep him from Miss Clara Emily. Mr. Peters is no good at all any more, and has a bad cold besides. He and Clara sit on the ramparts and gaze at the sea, and look as if they were two consolation prizes that the people who won didn't care enough about to take home with them. Lee says he never realized that Mr. Peters could peter out quite so completely. Lee wants to go yachting, and wants me to go, too, and I can't leave Uncle, and Uncle won't leave Miss Clara Emily. It's quite stupid here at St. Malo, and we want to go on; but Lee won't go on, and I'd rather stay in a stupid place with Lee than go anywhere without him. He's mad over the Kingsleys tagging along, because he likes Scott McCarthy less and less all the time. Scott walks on the other side of me sometimes, and Lee doesn't like it. I think land is getting on Lee's nerves, and he ought to go yachting; but life is such a tangle just now that I don't know what to do about anything. Miss Clara Emily is hemstitching a handkerchief, and I just know that it is for Uncle. Oh, dear.

(NEXT DAY)

St. Malo.

Dearest Mama: Such an awful thing almost happened! Clara had a nightmare, and came near choking to death on Mr. Brewer's plaster – the locket, you know. Uncle says only a prompt, efficient, quick-witted, thoroughly capable nature like Miss Clara Emily's could have saved her. Oh, I just know he's becoming serious, and Lee says it's just tommy-rot about the efficiency, because all in the world that Miss Clara Emily did was to jerk the locket up by the chain; and she did that in such an awfully quick way that poor Clara says she's cured of Mr. Brewer forever. She will have to eat soup through a china straw for several days.

Uncle wants to go to Carnac and see the ruins of the Stone Age, and he and Miss Clara Emily are mapping out a trip. I'm sure I don't know what I'll do, for Scott McCarthy has bet Mr. Stowell ten dollars that Uncle gets "hooked" in Carnac. Lee told me, and Lee himself is provisioning the yacht, and says he's cock-sure that he eats some of those provisions aboard of her himself. Emily doesn't want to go to Carnac, and Jim Freeman says it isn't any automobile country, on account of the relics of the Stone Age being so thick in the roads.

(NEXT DAY)

St. Malo.

Dearest Mama: Why didn't you write me that Mrs. Whalen was coming abroad? She arrived last night on the Jersey boat, and saw Uncle and Miss Clara Emily on the ramparts through her marine glasses. She hunted us up at once, for she says that affair must stop right where it is. She asked if you approved of Lee, and when I told her that you did, she said then she had nothing to say. Lee introduced her to Mr. Peters, and she sent him straight to bed and had them poultice his chest and mustard-plaster his back, for she says his cold may run into anything. I took her up to Clara, and she sent out for sweet oil, and stopped the china straw, and set her to gargling. She says it's awful the amount she finds to do everywhere she goes, and she was in a train accident before she came to the steamer, and you ought to hear how she chopped people out. The shade in my room didn't work, and she put a chair on a wash-stand, and fixed it with a screw-driver that she carries in her pocket. Jim Freeman wants her to go under the automobile with him; but she says since she's a widow she never goes anywhere alone with one man. Uncle and Miss Clara Emily came in just then, and the effect was paralyzing. Uncle turned red, and poor Miss Clara Emily nearly sank to the floor. Mrs. Whalen advanced toward them as if she were a general leading a cavalry charge afoot, and said: "Well, so the old folks have been out sunning themselves!" Did you ever hear of anything more cruel? Miss Clara Emily looked blue with rage, and said she must go to Clara, and Mrs. Whalen said: "John, come with me," and took Uncle off behind some palms, and Lee and I went away so as not to be anywhere when he came out.

We didn't come back until nearly six, and Lee said he supposed we'd find Uncle and Mr. Peters learning to play "old maid"; but when we came in, Uncle was reading a New York paper about a month old, and Mrs. Whalen had gone out with Scott McCarthy to buy Clara a hot-water bag. Miss Clara Emily was upstairs packing, to take Clara to a specialist somewhere else. Mrs. Whalen came to my room after dinner, and said I must rub kerosene or vaseline into my hair every night for a month. I don't want to, but I'm so grateful about Uncle that I'll pour a lamp over myself if she wants me to. Uncle came to my room a while later and said: "Hum!" and shook his watch, and held it to his ear. I don't think he liked being broken up with Miss Clara Emily, but he only said that he was going out on the yacht to-morrow (that's to-day), and for me to consider myself in Mrs. Whalen's charge for the time being.

He went away early this morning with Mr. Peters and Jim Freeman and Lee, and Mrs. Whalen and I saw the Kingsleys off for Rennes at noon. I'm sure Miss Clara Emily felt dreadfully over Uncle, and Emily says she's more than ever ashamed of having such an aunt. Emily told me that if an Englishman came on this afternoon's boat from Jersey, to tell him they'd gone to Dol. She didn't want him in Rennes, because she knows two French officers in Rennes. It was not a very nice day for traveling, for there is such a wind they won't be able to have the windows down at all, and you know it's only fun when you have the windows down. Mrs. Whalen says she'd have the windows down anyway; she says she'd like to see the Frenchman that she wouldn't put a window down in his face, if she felt like it. I asked her where she was going next, and she said she had no idea, but she thought to Dol and Mont-Saint-Michel, as long as she is so near. She says it was a stroke of luck her happening here just in time to save Uncle; she's positive he was holding her hand through the marine glasses. She says it's good she came about Mr. Peters, too, not to speak of Clara.

It keeps blowing more, and Scott McCarthy says that they'll be out all night. Lee will like that, and Uncle won't, and Uncle will see that Lee likes it and then he won't like Lee. Oh, dear! But I mustn't mind anything as long as Miss Clara Emily is gone.

Mrs. Whalen has just come in to say that she's going to Dol, so as to see the tide come in at Mont-Saint-Michel, and to measure out the ginger so I can make Mr. Peters the tea. I'm sure I'm glad she is going, for she makes me so tired and nervous, always hopping up to fix something with her screw-driver, and I want to wash the petroleum out of my hair before Lee comes back. He doesn't like the smell of petroleum at all. I offered to help her pack, but she doesn't pack. She wears a sort of night-gown for underwaist and petticoat together, and the front of her blouse has pockets inside for all her toilet things. She says she washes one garment every night, and buys a clean handkerchief each Saturday and Wednesday, and has a pocket for her letter of credit sewed to her corset. I think it is awful to be so very convenient.

Later.

She went and never said a thing about me, for it left me all alone with Scott McCarthy, and I know Lee won't like that at all. The mail came, and I thought I'd better say I had a headache and come up here to stay alone till Uncle comes back. I had all your letters and Edna's. Edna is so happy, and everything goes so smooth for her and Harry that I'm almost sorry some days that I'm Uncle's favorite. Lee wants to tell Uncle right out and be done with it; but I want to wait for a favorable time, and every time that things begin to look favorable something unexpected happens to make him say "Hum." It is so trying. Edna says she's getting a lot of things twice over so that I can have half, and she says she thinks we ought to be coming back so as to meet you. I can't make her understand how helpless I am, for I can't do anything with Uncle unless I'm alone with him enough to make him think that I want to do something else. And Lee thinks it is an outrage and says he has rights, too. I do think that if I didn't love Lee I would be really glad to have the world all women, men are so difficult to get along with.

But, you know, no matter what I say, I'm having a lovely time after all, and I am grateful to Uncle for having brought us.

Lovingly,
Yvonne.

P. S. It is ten o'clock, and the yacht never came in. If Uncle gets seasick in a storm, he'll never want to lay eyes on Lee again, and he'll never forgive me.

XIV
YVONNE TO HER MOTHER

Carnac.

Dear Mama: I'm just about in despair, and Lee doesn't know where I am. We reached Carnac last night, and Uncle is "hum-ming" like a top, so to speak. But I must tell you all about it.

The yacht got too far out, and the new thumb-screw, or whatever it is on a yacht, stuck, and they blew and pitched until they pitched on to the Island of Jersey, where Lee and Uncle went ashore for Lee to send a machinist aboard. While Lee was busy, Uncle just quietly went aboard the Jersey boat and came back to St. Malo without saying please or thank you to a soul. He walked in on me and told me we were to leave for Dol the next day, and for Heaven's sake not to remind him of Aunt Jane by asking questions. I was dreadfully upset, but of course I never thought for a minute of reminding him of Aunt Jane, so I packed that evening and left a letter for Lee telling him please not to be vexed. We took an early train for Dol (it's always Dol in Brittany), and in Dol we changed for Rennes. Of course I thought that Uncle was chasing Miss Clara Emily when I saw the train marked Rennes, but I didn't dare say a word, for he never spoke but once between Dol and Rennes, and that time all he said was "Hum."

We reached Rennes, and I thought we would go to a hotel; but we changed cars again – this time for Redon. Uncle spoke again, and asked me if I had the Gaelic grammar handy. I said no, and he said "Hum." Then we reached Redon and changed cars again for Auray. Going to Auray, Uncle asked me what became of Mrs. Whalen, and when I told him that she went to Mont-Saint-Michel, he said her husband was a lucky man to be dead. Then we came to Auray and changed cars for Plouharnel, and I began to wonder why we didn't run off the end of Brittany into the sea. We reached Plouharnel about four in the afternoon, and took a tram for Carnac at once, and when we reached Carnac Uncle said to pardon the personality of the statement, but that he never again would try to keep up with the eternal activity of a young person. I thought that that was pretty hard when I didn't even know where we were going, but I didn't say anything, and when he went to wash, I gave the waiter an extra tip to feed us quickly. After Uncle ate, we went out and walked around Carnac a very little and saw all the people in their black velvet hat-ribbons and short jackets; but when I said they looked picturesque, Uncle said that they looked like darned fools, so we came home, and now we are going to bed. I have written Lee, but I don't know when he will get it, because of course it will have to go backward through all these changes.

(NEXT DAY)

Carnac.

Dearest Mama: Uncle woke up ever so much better this morning, and told me that he pitied any poor wretch who has ever been sicker than he was on "that d – d yacht." He said, too, that any one who could suppose for a minute that he should have any serious intentions toward such a woman as Miss Clara Emily would be even more of an utter idiot than Mrs. Whalen appeared to be. He said, too, that the ticket-agent who told him that Carnac was an easy place to go to, ought to be strangled by the first traveler who got back alive from the effects of believing him to be telling the truth. He said, too, that if he survived Europe and reached home again, he'd get in a bathtub and know when he was well off for one while. He said, too, that when he had once looked around the Stone Age he was going to head for Paris with a speed which he rather guessed would cause the natives to open their eyes.

Then he went to his room and broke the bell-rope ordering breakfast.

After breakfast we went to walk and saw more stone walls than I ever saw before. There isn't a wooden house or fence in the whole of Brittany, I believe. We walked to a tiny village called St. Columban's, and climbed the tower of the little church. There was a fine view, but Uncle said he could smell the oysters for miles around, so we came down right off and walked back. There was a girl who said she would drive us all over in the afternoon, and let us take the night train from Auray; so we returned to the hotel and had an early lunch, and then she came to the door with a shaky old thing like a carry-all and a fat little horse, and we started.

Mama, you never saw anything like Uncle. Everything was wrong at first – every living thing, and the one saving grace of the situation was that the girl who drove couldn't speak English. But after a while we came to the first menhirs, and Uncle just about went into a fit. They are the most curious things I ever saw, for they stand in parallel rows miles long and every one is resting on its little end and has been resting on its little end for thousands of years. At the first glance Uncle said they were arranged so just for tourists; but he got out and walked around them and tried to shake one or two, and then he said he wouldn't have missed seeing them for the world and that he should never regret coming to Europe as long as he might live hereafter. He was perfectly lovely for a while after that, and we looked at dolmens and cromlechs the whole afternoon, and sometimes we thought they were hay-mows when we saw them far ahead and sometimes we thought they were houses. We only had one unfortunate time, and that was when we had to ferry over the Crach. The ferry was on the other side, and that upset Uncle right away and he asked me if my experience had ever led me to a ferry that was not on the other side. They took nearly half an hour to bring it across, and Uncle said that it would be a great day for Europe if she ever learned what t-i-m-e spelt, and he looked at me as if I were Europe while he said it. They are building a bridge over the Crach, and as soon as we embarked on the rickety old ferry, it blew in between two of the piers and wedged tight, with us on it. Uncle asked me if I was going to have the face to tell him that we were not stuck and were not going to be stuck there indefinitely, and I really didn't know what to answer. The men in the boat hollered and hauled and swore in Gaelic, and finally we were free for fifty feet, and then the tide blew us in between two other piers. Uncle said he could but feel that being stuck twice on the same ferry was a poor reward for a kind-hearted man who was trying to the best of his ability to give some species of instructive amusement to an innocent girl, and then he looked severely at the setting sun while we came loose again and progressed fifty feet more. A great, thick wave came then and broke over the horse and smashed us in so hard and fast that I was honestly scared. Uncle was too mad for words. He said that he would just make one remark, and that was that if he ever gave me a chance to beguile him away from civilization again he would cheerfully and contentedly and silently end his days on any ferry which I would choose to designate to him. It was getting cold, and I was so tired from yesterday that I just shut my eyes and did not speak at all, and when we came loose, Uncle spoke to me quite gently and was very nice all the rest of the way.

We were too late for the train and have come back to Carnac. I feel about done up.

(NEXT DAY)

Carnac.

Dearest Mama: Lee and Edna and Mrs. Clary are all here. Just listen. Lee looks like a ghost, and it seems that no one noticed Uncle go aboard that Jersey boat because Uncle went aboard by a gang-plank that's forbidden, and he thought that he was drowned, and they dragged the dock and sent down divers, and finally came over to St. Malo to break the news to me, having telegraphed Mrs. Clary and Edna to come at once. He reached St. Malo only to find us gone, and they have been tracing us with the automobile ever since. Lee is so glad Uncle is alive that he keeps grabbing his hand and shaking it and shaking it, and Uncle says I must not mention it to Lee, for it might go to his head, but that he is one of the few young men who have a heart in the right place, and that he has always had a special fondness for him ever since he was a baby. Lee thinks that under the circumstances we had better tell Uncle to-night, and we are going to. I feel rather nervous, but Lee says he can never stand anything like these three days again.

Midnight of the same day.

My own dearest Mama: Uncle says yes! He says he has been carefully scheming and planning to bring Lee and me together for years. He says there are traits in Lee which are so like his own that he cannot but admit that Lee is one of the very few men in this world calculated to make a woman happy. He told Mrs. Clary that he had foreseen this finale to our trip all along, and I do believe that he really believes himself.

The Brewers arrived about nine o'clock to-night, and they are so delighted. Mr. Brewer is so kind; he says Uncle must go to Locmariaquer and around that way with them. I reckon he thinks I need a rest. We told them about Clara and the locket, and I thought that they would die. Mr. Brewer says that never a day passes without their remembering something fresh which she must have overheard.

I am so happy over Uncle that I hardly know what to do. He says it has been the pleasantest trip of his life, this little tour with me, and that Lee must never cease to treat me with the tender care which he has given me all along. He says Lee must remember what a sensitive organization a woman has and never indulge in temper or impatience or strong language or sarcasm. Lee is very nice and says "Yes, sir," and nods every time. I do think Lee gets nicer and nicer all the time.

We start toward Paris to-morrow.