Christmas gold, p.386
Christmas Gold, page 386
And so for Jimmy the winter had passed and spring had come—a joyous, blossoming spring full of soft breezes, gentle showers, and tender green buds expanding into riotous bloom and fragrance. To Jimmy, however, it was anything but a joyous spring, for in his heart was still nothing but a gloomy winter of discontent.
"If only they'd settle things and announce the engagement, once for all," murmured Jimmy to himself, more and more frequently these days. "If only I could know SOMETHING for sure, I think I could stand it better!"
Then one day late in April, he had his wish—a part of it: he learned "something for sure."
It was ten o'clock on a Saturday morning, and Mary, at Mrs. Carew's, had ushered him into the music-room with a well-trained: "I'll tell Mrs. Carew you're here, sir. She's expecting you, I think."
In the music-room Jimmy had found himself brought to a dismayed halt by the sight of Jamie at the piano, his arms outflung upon the rack, and his head bowed upon them. Pendleton had half turned to beat a soft retreat when the man at the piano lifted his head, bringing into view two flushed cheeks and a pair of fever-bright eyes.
"Why, Carew," stammered Pendleton, aghast, "has anything—er—happened?"
"Happened! Happened!" ejaculated the lame youth, flinging out both his hands, in each of which, as Pendleton now saw, was an open letter. "Everything has happened! Wouldn't you think it had if all your life you'd been in prison, and suddenly you saw the gates flung wide open? Wouldn't you think it had if all in a minute you could ask the girl you loved to be your wife? Wouldn't you think it had if—But, listen! You think I'm crazy, but I'm not. Though maybe I am, after all, crazy with joy. I'd like to tell you. May I? I've got to tell somebody!"
Pendleton lifted his head. It was as if, unconsciously, he was bracing himself for a blow. He had grown a little white; but his voice was quite steady when he answered.
"Sure you may, old fellow. I'd be—glad to hear it."
Carew, however, had scarcely waited for assent. He was rushing on, still a bit incoherently.
"It's not much to you, of course. You have two feet and your freedom. You have your ambitions and your bridges. But I—to me it's everything. It's a chance to live a man's life and do a man's work, perhaps—even if it isn't dams and bridges. It's something!—and it's something I've proved now I CAN DO! Listen. In that letter there is the announcement that a little story of mine has won the first prize—$3,000, in a contest. In that other letter there, a big publishing house accepts with flattering enthusiasm my first book manuscript for publication. And they both came to-day—this morning. Do you wonder I am crazy glad?"
"No! No, indeed! I congratulate you, Carew, with all my heart," cried
Jimmy, warmly.
"Thank you—and you may congratulate me. Think what it means to me. Think what it means if, by and by, I can be independent, like a man. Think what it means if I can, some day, make Mrs. Carew proud and glad that she gave the crippled lad a place in her home and heart. Think what it means for me to be able to tell the girl I love that I DO love her."
"Yes—yes, indeed, old boy!" Jimmy spoke firmly, though he had grown very white now.
"Of course, maybe I ought not to do that last, even now," resumed Jamie, a swift cloud shadowing the shining brightness of his countenance. "I'm still tied to—these." He tapped the crutches by his side. "I can't forget, of course, that day in the woods last summer, when I saw Pollyanna—I realize that always I'll have to run the chance of seeing the girl I love in danger, and not being able to rescue her."
"Oh, but Carew—" began the other huskily.
Carew lifted a peremptory hand.
"I know what you'd say. But don't say it. You can't understand. YOU aren't tied to two sticks. You did the rescuing, not I. It came to me then how it would be, always, with me and—Sadie. I'd have to stand aside and see others—"
"SADIE!" cut in Jimmy, sharply.
"Yes; Sadie Dean. You act surprised. Didn't you know? Haven't you suspected—how I felt toward Sadie?" cried Jamie. "Have I kept it so well to myself, then? I tried to, but—" He finished with a faint smile and a half-despairing gesture.
"Well, you certainly kept it all right, old fellow—from me, anyhow," cried Jimmy, gayly. The color had come back to Jimmy's face in a rich flood, and his eyes had grown suddenly very bright indeed. "So it's Sadie Dean. Good! I congratulate you again, I do, I do, as Nancy says." Jimmy was quite babbling with joy and excitement now, so great and wonderful had been the reaction within him at the discovery that it was Sadie, not Pollyanna, whom Jamie loved. Jamie flushed and shook his head a bit sadly.
"No congratulations—yet. You see, I haven't spoken to—her. But I think she must know. I supposed everybody knew. Pray, whom did you think it was, if not—Sadie?"
Jimmy hesitated. Then, a little precipitately, he let it out.
"Why, I'd thought of—Pollyanna."
Jamie smiled and pursed his lips.
"Pollyanna's a charming girl, and I love her—but not that way, any more than she does me. Besides, I fancy somebody else would have something to say about that; eh?"
Jimmy colored like a happy, conscious boy.
"Do you?" he challenged, trying to make his voice properly impersonal.
"Of course! John Pendleton."
"JOHN PENDLETON!" Jimmy wheeled sharply.
"What about John Pendleton?" queried a new voice; and Mrs. Carew came forward with a smile.
Jimmy, around whose ears for the second time within five minutes the world had crashed into fragments, barely collected himself enough for a low word of greeting. But Jamie, unabashed, turned with a triumphant air of assurance.
"Nothing; only I just said that I believed John Pendleton would have something to say about Pollyanna's loving anybody—but him."
"POLLYANNA! JOHN PENDLETON!" Mrs. Carew sat down suddenly in the chair nearest her. If the two men before her had not been so deeply absorbed in their own affairs they might have noticed that the smile had vanished from Mrs. Carew's lips, and that an odd look as of almost fear had come to her eyes.
"Certainly," maintained Jamie. "Were you both blind last summer?
Wasn't he with her a lot?"
"Why, I thought he was with—all of us," murmured Mrs. Carew, a little faintly.
"Not as he was with Pollyanna," insisted Jamie. "Besides, have you forgotten that day when we were talking about John Pendleton's marrying, and Pollyanna blushed and stammered and said finally that he HAD thought of marrying—once. Well, I wondered then if there wasn't SOMETHING between them. Don't you remember?"
"Y-yes, I think I do—now that you speak of it," murmured Mrs. Carew again. "But I had—forgotten it."
"Oh, but I can explain that," cut in Jimmy, wetting his dry lips.
"John Pendleton DID have a love affair once, but it was with
Pollyanna's mother."
"Pollyanna's mother!" exclaimed two voices in surprise.
"Yes. He loved her years ago, but she did not care for him at all, I understand. She had another lover—a minister, and she married him instead—Pollyanna's father."
"Oh-h!" breathed Mrs. Carew, leaning forward suddenly in her chair.
"And is that why he's—never married?"
"Yes," avouched Jimmy. "So you see there's really nothing to that idea at all—that he cares for Pollyanna. It was her mother."
"On the contrary I think it makes a whole lot to that idea," declared Jamie, wagging his head wisely. "I think it makes my case all the stronger. Listen. He once loved the mother. He couldn't have her. What more absolutely natural than that he should love the daughter now—and win her?"
"Oh, Jamie, you incorrigible spinner of tales!" reproached Mrs. Carew, with a nervous laugh. "This is no ten-penny novel. It's real life. She's too young for him. He ought to marry a woman, not a girl—that is, if he marries any one, I mean," she stammeringly corrected, a sudden flood of color in her face.
"Perhaps; but what if it happens to be a GIRL that he loves?" argued
Jamie, stubbornly. "And, really, just stop to think. Have we had a
single letter from her that hasn't told of his being there? And you
KNOW how HE'S always talking of Pollyanna in his letters."
Mrs. Carew got suddenly to her feet.
"Yes, I know," she murmured, with an odd little gesture, as if throwing something distasteful aside. "But—" She did not finish her sentence, and a moment later she had left the room.
When she came back in five minutes she found, much to her surprise, that Jimmy had gone.
"Why, I thought he was going with us on the girls' picnic!" she exclaimed.
"So did I," frowned Jamie. "But the first thing I knew he was explaining or apologizing or something about unexpectedly having to leave town, and he'd come to tell you he couldn't go with us. Anyhow, the next thing I knew he'd gone. You see,"—Jamie's eyes were glowing again—"I don't think I knew quite what he did say, anyway. I had something else to think of." And he jubilantly spread before her the two letters which all the time he had still kept in his hands.
"Oh, Jamie!" breathed Mrs. Carew, when she had read the letters through. "How proud I am of you!" Then suddenly her eyes filled with tears at the look of ineffable joy that illumined Jamie's face.
Chapter XXIX.
Jimmy and John
Table of Contents
It was a very determined, square-jawed young man that alighted at the Beldingsville station late that Saturday night. And it was an even more determined, square-jawed young man that, before ten o'clock the next morning, stalked through the Sunday-quiet village streets and climbed the hill to the Harrington homestead. Catching sight of a loved and familiar flaxen coil of hair on a well-poised little head just disappearing into the summerhouse, the young man ignored the conventional front steps and doorbell, crossed the lawn, and strode through the garden paths until he came face to face with the owner of the flaxen coil of hair.
"Jimmy!" gasped Pollyanna, falling back with startled eyes. "Why, where did you—come from?"
"Boston. Last night. I had to see you, Pollyanna."
"To—see—m-me?" Pollyanna was plainly fencing for time to regain her composure. Jimmy looked so big and strong and DEAR there in the door of the summerhouse that she feared her eyes had been surprised into a telltale admiration, if not more.
"Yes, Pollyanna; I wanted—that is, I thought—I mean, I feared—Oh, hang it all, Pollyanna, I can't beat about the bush like this. I'll have to come straight to the point. It's just this. I stood aside before, but I won't now. It isn't a case any longer of fairness. He isn't crippled like Jamie. He's got feet and hands and a head like mine, and if he wins he'll have to win in a fair fight. I'VE got some rights!"
Pollyanna stared frankly.
"Jimmy Bean Pendleton, whatever in the world are you talking about?" she demanded.
The young man laughed shamefacedly.
"No wonder you don't know. It wasn't very lucid, was it? But I don't think I've been really lucid myself since yesterday—when I found out from Jamie himself."
"Found out—from Jamie!"
"Yes. It was the prize that started it. You see, he'd just got one, and—"
"Oh, I know about that," interrupted Pollyanna, eagerly. "And wasn't it splendid? Just think—the first one—three thousand dollars! I wrote him a letter last night. Why, when I saw his name, and realized it was Jamie—OUR JAMIE—I was so excited I forgot all about looking for MY name, and even when I couldn't find mine at all, and knew that I hadn't got any—I mean, I was so excited and pleased for Jamie that I—I forgot—er—everything else," corrected Pollyanna, throwing a dismayed glance into Jimmy's face, and feverishly trying to cover up the partial admission she had made.
Jimmy, however, was too intent on his own problem to notice hers.
"Yes, yes, 'twas fine, of course. I'm glad he got it. But Pollyanna, it was what he said AFTERWARD that I mean. You see, until then I'd thought that—that he cared—that you cared—for each other, I mean; and—"
"You thought that Jamie and I cared for each other!" exclaimed
Pollyanna, into whose face now was stealing a soft, shy color. "Why,
Jimmy, it's Sadie Dean. 'Twas always Sadie Dean. He used to talk of
her to me by the hour. I think she likes him, too."
"Good! I hope she does; but, you see, I didn't know. I thought 'twas Jamie—and you. And I thought that because he was—was a cripple, you know, that it wouldn't be fair if I—if I stayed around and tried to win you myself."
Pollyanna stooped suddenly, and picked up a leaf at her feet. When she rose, her face was turned quite away.
"A fellow can't—can't feel square, you know, running a race with a chap that—that's handicapped from the start. So I—I just stayed away and gave him his chance; though it 'most broke my heart to do it, little girl. It just did! Then yesterday morning I found out. But I found out something else, too. Jamie says there is—is somebody else in the case. But I can't stand aside for him, Pollyanna. I can't—even in spite of all he's done for me. John Pendleton is a man, and he's got two whole feet for the race. He's got to take his chances. If you care for him—if you really care for him—"
But Pollyanna had turned, wild-eyed.
"JOHN PENDLETON! Jimmy, what do you mean? What are you saying—about
John Pendleton?"
A great joy transfigured Jimmy's face. He held out both his hands.
"Then you don't—you don't! I can see it in your eyes that you don't—care!"
Pollyanna shrank back. She was white and trembling.
"Jimmy, what do you mean? What do you mean?" she begged piteously.
"I mean—you don't care for Uncle John, that way. Don't you understand? Jamie thinks you do care, and that anyway he cares for you. And then I began to see it—that maybe he did. He's always talking about you; and, of course, there was your mother—"
Pollyanna gave a low moan and covered her face with her hands. Jimmy came close and laid a caressing arm about her shoulders; but again Pollyanna shrank from him.
"Pollyanna, little girl, don't! You'll break my heart," he begged. "Don't you care for me—ANY? Is it that, and you don't want to tell me?"
She dropped her hands and faced him. Her eyes had the hunted look of some wild thing at bay.
"Jimmy, do YOU think—he cares for me—that way?" she entreated, just above a whisper.
Jimmy gave his head an impatient shake.
"Never mind that, Pollyanna,—now. I don't know, of course. How should I? But, dearest, that isn't the question. It's you. If YOU don't care for him, and if you'll only give me a chance—half a chance to let me make you care for me—" He caught her hand, and tried to draw her to him.
"No, no, Jimmy, I mustn't! I can't!" With both her little palms she pushed him from her.
"Pollyanna, you don't mean you DO care for him?" Jimmy's face whitened.
"No; no, indeed—not that way," faltered Pollyanna. "But—don't you see?—if he cares for me, I'll have to—to learn to, someway."
"POLLYANNA!"
"Don't! Don't look at me like that, Jimmy!"
"You mean you'd MARRY him, Pollyanna?"
"Oh, no!—I mean—why—er—y-yes, I suppose so," she admitted faintly.
"Pollyanna, you wouldn't! You couldn't! Pollyanna, you—you're breaking my heart."
Pollyanna gave a low sob. Her face was in her hands again. For a moment she sobbed on, chokingly; then, with a tragic gesture, she lifted her head and looked straight into Jimmy's anguished, reproachful eyes.
"I know it, I know it," she chattered frenziedly. "I'm breaking mine, too. But I'll have to do it. I'd break your heart, I'd break mine—but I'd never break his!"
Jimmy raised his head. His eyes flashed a sudden fire. His whole appearance underwent a swift and marvelous change. With a tender, triumphant cry he swept Pollyanna into his arms and held her close.
"Now I KNOW you care for me!" he breathed low in her ear. "You said it was breaking YOUR heart, too. Do you think I'll give you up now to any man on earth? Ah, dear, you little understand a love like mine if you think I'd give you up now. Pollyanna, say you love me—say it with your own dear lips!"
For one long minute Pollyanna lay unresisting in the fiercely tender embrace that encircled her; then with a sigh that was half content, half renunciation, she began to draw herself away.
"Yes, Jimmy, I do love you." Jimmy's arms tightened, and would have drawn her back to him; but something in the girl's face forbade. "I love you dearly. But I couldn't ever be happy with you and feel that—Jimmy, don't you see, dear? I'll have to know—that I'm free, first."
"Nonsense, Pollyanna! Of course you're free!" Jimmy's eyes were mutinous again.
Pollyanna shook her head.
"Not with this hanging over me, Jimmy. Don't you see? It was mother, long ago, that broke his heart—MY MOTHER. And all these years he's lived a lonely, unloved life in consequence. If now he should come to me and ask me to make that up to him, I'd HAVE to do it, Jimmy. I'd HAVE to. I couldn't REFUSE! Don't you see?"
But Jimmy did not see; he could not see. He would not see, though Pollyanna pleaded and argued long and tearfully. But Pollyanna, too, was obdurate, though so sweetly and heartbrokenly obdurate that Jimmy, in spite of his pain and anger, felt almost like turning comforter.
"Jimmy, dear," said Pollyanna, at last, "we'll have to wait. That's all I can say now. I hope he doesn't care; and I—I don't believe he does care. But I've got to KNOW. I've got to be sure. We'll just have to wait, a little, till we find out, Jimmy—till we find out!"
And to this plan Jimmy had to submit, though it was with a most rebellious heart.
"All right, little girl, it'll have to be as you say, of course," he despaired. "But, surely, never before was a man kept waiting for his answer till the girl he loved, AND WHO LOVED HIM, found out if the other man wanted her!"
"I know; but, you see, dear, never before had the other man WANTED her mother," sighed Pollyanna, her face puckered into an anxious frown.
"Very well, I'll go back to Boston, of course," acceded Jimmy reluctantly. "But you needn't think I've given up—because I haven't. Nor I sha'n't give up, just so long as I know you really care for me, my little sweetheart," he finished, with a look that sent her palpitatingly into retreat, just out of reach of his arms.
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