Norton, Andre - Novel 23 (18 page)

 
          
 
How could he! Suddenly that old pricking
constriction was back in her throat and she fought tears. Mr. Fowke— how could
he believe that she would be happy—or even safe with the man she had seen
beating a helpless animal? One who, when he looked at her, made her
feel
as dirty as if she had slipped and fallen into a bog?
How much did he know about Rufus Parton? Or was he only accepting Honora's own
report on Rufus' character?

 
          
 
"Saranna—" She looked up, startled.
There was no lamp lighted in the room. But the gray of twilight displayed Damaris
standing between her and the window. ''She told Gerrad you want to marry
Rufe—"

            
"Yes!" Saranna echoed a
little forlornly. "I heard her talking about it when they came back this
afternoon. He wanted to know why she let Rufe hang around; he spoke sharp about
it. She let him think you asked to have
him, that
you
knew Rufe before you came here, when he was away. I don't think Gerrad liked
that. His face went stiff and his eyes stared at her. She was all laughing and
fluttering," Damaris' voice was scornful, "like she always is when he
is around. But I am afraid he believed her."

 
          
 
"Since it is not the truth, in time Mr.
Fowke must learn that," Saranna answered without any confidence herself in
that reply.

 
          
 
"Not with her around," Damaris
stated.
" 'Water
and words are easy to pour,
impossible to recover.'
" There
was almost a note
of smug satisfaction in what must be another quote from her grandfather's store
of Chinese wisdom. ''She 'most always gets her way. She couldn't with Grandfather,
though—and she isn't going to with me!" Damaris' assertion had the fervor
of a vow.

 
          
 
"Damaris, you must be very careful,"
Saranna warned. "She told me you made a scene when a visitor picked up a
vase once before. If you do that again, before witnesses, she will have backing
in—"

 
          
 
"In trying to prove I'm a crazy person? I
know, I told you I know!
A lot more than you do.
For
example, I know why she wants me gone from Tiensin—why she talked at first
about sending me to a school up North, and now"— for the first time
Damaris' voice wavered a little—"and now to someplace else—worse. She
wants Tiensin. When she married my father, she thought she would get it. He had
been sick for a long time. But she married him. And then she tried to play
mistress here. But Grandfather soon put her to rights. She didn't like that,
but she was afraid of Grandfather. You see—he knew what she was. She couldn't
get around him with smiles and sweet talk, not at all.

 
          
 
"But she knew he was old and when he
died, my father would be master. Then she could have everything her own way.
Only my father died when the boat upset, he was going down to
Baltimore
to see a new doctor. And Grandfather was
still alive. Then she thought she would still be able to give orders when he
was gone.

 
          
 
"Only he called in Judge Ralestone and
Squire Barkley and he talked to them a long time. After that, he made the will
and she did not get anything at all—'cept a little money my father had left
her."

 
          
 
Saranna seized upon the two names Damaris
mentioned. "Judge Ralestone and Squire Barkley—where are they now,
Damaris?"

 
          
 
The younger girl shook her head. "They're
no help. The Judge—he had a stroke and has to stay in bed over at Bremeade. And
Squire Barkley has gone west to see about some land claims out there."

 
          
 
Saranna sighed, for a moment it had sounded so
easy —that there might be two responsible members of the community to whom she
could appeal if Damaris were placed in any danger, two who knew her
grandfather's desires for her.

 
          
 
"Saranna," Damaris put out her hand
to touch that of the older girl, "don't worry so. Maybe I can tell you
more. But I have to wait and see—for a while. And I promise that I won't do
anything she won't like. At least not until I know more about what may happen."

 
          
 
"I Ching again?"
Saranna asked anxiously. She did not want the child to depend on some
superstition out of another world.

 
          
 
Damaris laughed.
"Perhaps.
Only this time, I won't be using the wands. Only—I do promise, Saranna.
And—" she moved forward, putting out her hand to touch the older girl's
sleeve, with some of that same outpouring of emotion she had shown when she had
said she was glad Saranna had come to Tiensin, "please don't worry."
She repeated earnestly, "There's—there's something here which Honora
doesn't know anything about, something Grandfather said would protect me if I
ever need help. We'll be safe—'cause I'm going to see that you are, also. That
I promise, too."

 
          
 
There was complete confidence in Damaris'
tone. However, when she had gone, the thoughts ran round and round in Saranna's
head. She could not concentrate on her
book,
she had
no wish to look at the clothes she had put to one side to deal with.
Restlessness drove her from her rocker, set her to looking out of the window
down on the high-grown hedge. There were no points of light there which might
be eyes, no sign of any life beyond it.
Dream—?

 
          
 
At last she dragged herself to bed. But this
night the Emperor's cat had no influence on sending her any deeper into
slumber. She had only broken snatches of sleep, and awoke in the morning with a
slightly aching head and heavy eyes. At least Honora was leaving and tomorrow
was Sunday. They were to drive to the small church for the service. Perhaps in
the peace and quiet it offered, she could find some ease of mind.

 
          
 
Honora was in a bustle of leave-taking during
their early breakfast which she interrupted several times to give further
orders to Mrs. Parton concerning the preparations for the coming company, to
ask about the whereabouts of various articles of luggage which she was sure had
been, or promised to be, forgotten. Her attention was completely on herself and
her own concerns—which was a relief Saranna had not quite expected.

 
          
 
Damaris, on the other side of the table, ate
quietly what was offered her, said nothing. She did not even watch her
stepmother with those sudden sidewise glances which always seemed to Saranna to
be too measuring, too knowing for her years. She walked sedately down the
box-walled avenue to the wharf and stood there beside Saranna, as if there had
never been a rebellious thought in her head, while the sloop Gerrad Fowke had
put at Honora's disposal pulled out into the current of the river.

 
          
 
But when her stepmother was well out of
earshot and nearly out of sight, Damaris came to life.

 
          
 
"You have the use of the sewing
machine," she caught at Saranna's hand eagerly. "You must show me how
to use it, too. Then I can have it just as Grandfather always intended I
should. Come on—I want to show you something first!"

 
          
 
Tugged by that demanding grip, Saranna
returned to the house, was urged by Damaris into the upper hallway. But they
did not go to the younger girl's own chamber. Instead, Damaris stood by the
last door of all, and from under her apron, she brought a large key which she
had tied about her middle with a length of somewhat grimy string.

 
          
 
"In here! And you mustn't tell
now—promise!"

 
          
 
"I must know what I am promising,"
Saranna objected.

 
          
 
"This—in here are
some more things Grandfather brought home. He told me they were to be mine when
I was a grown-up lady—some of them—others—
Well,
those
are part of the secret. But I can show you all—'cause they are mine to have, or
give away!"

 
          
 
She had turned the key even as she
spoke,
now she pushed open the door. Saranna hesitated for a
moment, wondering just what new mystery lay beyond, but Damaris' hand on her
arm again fairly jerked her inside.

 
          
 
"Come on! The Poker is never going to get
in here. And even she doesn't know anything about it. If she did, she'd be
pushing in in a minute. But it's not hers and she's not going to take it.”

 
          
 
There was an uncurtained window, and, from it,
the morning sun made a golden path across a dusty floor. Set around the walls
of the room were chests made of red leather, decorated with golden cut-out
ornaments.

 
          
 
"One for each
season."
Damaris relocked the door firmly behind them. With a
pointing finger she indicated the chests in turn. "Spring,
Summer
, Autumn, Winter. The Chinese people keep their
clothes this way—folded up ready for each time of year. Only it
isn't clothes that is
inside them now. Look!"

 
          
 
She flung up the lid of
Spring
so Saranna could gaze down upon a richness of fine brocade such as she had
never known existed. The material was a green-blue and interwoven with gold
thread in a pattern of a long-legged bird in flight. Damaris quickly lifted the
edge of its folds to show another such length below, this of a delicate
apple-green shade, also with an intricate woven pattern. Below that was one
which was neither coral nor true red, but between them in shade.

 
          
 
Around the room Damaris sped showing what lay
in each box. There were not only brocades, but silks, some so fine to the touch
that they seemed hardly heavier than a gossamer veiling—all colors except
yellow—all like a garden of flowers released to the sunlight.

 
          
 
Carefully Damaris closed
Winter
when she had displayed the last of this woven richness.
"No
yellow—because that is the Emperor's color and Grandfather could not ever buy
anything which might be woven for the Palace.
But all the rest—they're
to make dresses. And if you can teach me how to sew— I would never show these
to Prune Face, She would have run right away to tell her. And think how she
would want this!"

 
          
 
"Damaris, these are too precious, too
rich for us to work with." Saranna was appalled at the thought of putting
scissors to any of those shimmering, priceless lengths.

 
          
 
"Not now." To her relief, Damaris
nodded. "I would have to learn a lot. But someday, yes. And you must
choose a piece too, Saranna." She stood back and studied the older girl.
"One of the greens, I think—maybe that lighter one in the
Spring
box. It makes one think of new plants pushing up into
the sun. Yes, I do believe you must have that green from
Spring
."

 
          
 
"Not now—" Saranna denied.

 
          
 
" 'Course
not.
If you had a dress like that now, she would be right after us to know where you
got it. But someday— you'll have it for your own self."

 
          
 
"We'll wait and see," Saranna
temporized. She watched Damaris once more unlock and lock the door, return the
key to hiding under her apron. In the finest shops in
Boston
, the older girl had never seen such lengths
as Captain Whaley had gathered. That a man would buy such material and store it
puzzled her a little. Damaris had not been born, she understood, until long
after his retirement from the
Far East
.
Had it been the color, the texture, the sheer beauty which had so awakened the
Captain's covetousness that he could not resist adding them to his collection?
What had he originally intended to use them for?
Curtains?
The heavy brocades might have served well in that manner. But the light silks,
no. It puzzled
her a
little as Damaris turned to her
once more and said eagerly.