L. Frank Baum_Aunt Jane 01 (13 page)

Her first trip was to Aunt Jane's own private garden, where the
invalid, who had not seen her niece since the accident, had asked her
to come.

Patsy wanted Kenneth to wheel her, but the boy, with a touch of his
old surly demeanor, promptly refused to meet Jane Merrick face to
face. So Beth wheeled the chair and Louise walked by Patsy's side, and
soon the three nieces reached their aunt's retreat.

Aunt Jane was not in an especially amiable mood.

"Well, girl, how do you like being a fool?" she demanded, as Patsy's
chair came to a stand just opposite her own.

"It feels so natural that I don't mind it," replied Patsy, laughing.

"You might have killed yourself, and all for nothing," continued the
old woman, querulously.

Patsy looked at her pityingly. Her aunt's face had aged greatly in the
two weeks, and the thin gray hair seemed now almost white.

"Are you feeling better, dear?" asked the girl.

"I shall never be better," said Jane Merrick, sternly. "The end is not
far off now."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear you say that!" said Patsy; "but I hope it is
not true. Why, here are we four newly found relations all beginning to
get acquainted, and to love one another, and we can't have our little
party broken up, auntie dear."

"Five of us—five relations," cried Uncle John, coming around the
corner of the hedge. "Don't I count, Patsy, you rogue? Why you're
looking as bright and as bonny as can be. I wouldn't be surprised if
you could toddle."

"Not yet," she answered, cheerfully. "But I'm doing finely, Uncle
John, and it won't be long before I can get about as well as ever."

"And to think," said Aunt Jane, bitterly, "that all this trouble was
caused by that miserable boy! If I knew where to send him he'd not
stay at Elmhurst a day longer."

"Why, he's my best friend, aunt," announced Patsy, quietly. "I don't
think I could be happy at Elmhurst without Kenneth."

"He has quite reformed," said Louise, "and seems like a very nice
boy."

"He's a little queer, yet, at times," added Beth, "but not a bit rude,
as he used to be."

Aunt Jane looked from one to the other in amazement. No one had
spoken so kindly of the boy before in years. And Uncle John, with a
thoughtful look on his face, said slowly:

"The fact is, Jane, you've never given the boy a chance. On the
contrary, you nearly ruined him by making a hermit of him and giving
him no schooling to speak of and no society except that of servants.
He was as wild as a hawk when I first came, but these girls are just
the sort of companions he needs, to soften him and make him a man.
I've no doubt he'll come out all right, in the end."

"Perhaps you'd like to adopt him yourself, John," sneered the woman,
furious at this praise of the one person she so greatly disliked.

Her brother drew his hands from his pockets, looked around in a
helpless and embarrassed way, and then tried fumblingly to fill his
pipe.

"I ain't in the adopting business, Jane," he answered meekly. "And if
I was," with a quaint smile, "I'd adopt one or two of these nieces o'
mine, instead of Tom Bradley's nephew. If Bradley hadn't seen you,
Jane, and loved your pretty face when you were young, Kenneth Forbes
would now be the owner of Elmhurst. Did you ever think of that?"

Did she ever think of it? Why, it was this very fact that made the boy
odious to her. The woman grew white with rage.

"John Merrick, leave my presence."

"All right, Jane."

He stopped to light his pipe, and then slowly walked away, leaving an
embarrassed group behind him.

Patsy, however, was equal to the occasion. She began at once to
chatter about Dr. Eliel, and the scar that would always show on her
forehead; and how surprised the Major, her father, would be when he
returned from the visit to his colonel and found his daughter had been
through the wars herself, and bore the evidence of honorable wounds.
Louise gracefully assisted her cousin to draw Aunt Jane into a more
genial mood, and between them they presently succeeded. The interview
that had begun so unfortunately ended quite pleasantly, and when
Patricia returned to her room her aunt bade her adieu almost tenderly.

"In fact," said Louise to Beth, in the privacy of the latter's
chamber, "I'm getting rather worried over Aunt Jane's evident weakness
for our Cousin Patsy. Once or twice today I caught a look in her eye
when she looked at Patsy that she has never given either you or me.
The Irish girl may get the money yet."

"Nonsense," said Beth. "She has said she wouldn't accept a penny of
it, and I'm positive she'll keep her word."

"Silas," said Aunt Jane to her lawyer, the next morning after her
interview with Patsy, "I'm ready to have you draw up my will."

Mr. Watson gave a start of astonishment. In his own mind he had
arrived at the conclusion that the will would never be executed, and
to have Miss Merrick thus suddenly declare her decision was enough to
startle even the lawyer's natural reserve.

"Very well, Jane," he said, briefly.

They were alone in the invalid's morning room, Phibbs having been
asked to retire.

"There is no use disguising the fact, Silas, that I grow weaker every
day, and the numbness is creeping nearer and nearer to my heart," said
Miss Merrick, in her usual even tones. "It is folly for me to trifle
with these few days of grace yet allowed me, and I have fully made up
my mind as to the disposition of my property."

"Yes?" he said, enquiringly, and drew from his pocket a pencil and
paper.

"I shall leave to my niece Louise five thousand dollars."

"Yes, Jane," jotting down the memorandum.

"And to Elizabeth a like sum."

The lawyer seemed disappointed. He tapped the pencil against his
teeth, musingly, for a moment, and then wrote down the amount.

"Also to my brother, John Merrick, the sum of five thousand dollars,"
she resumed.

"To your brother?"

"Yes. That should be enough to take care of him as long as he lives.
He seems quite simple in his tastes, and he is an old man."

The lawyer wrote it down.

"All my other remaining property, both real and personal, I shall
leave to my niece, Patricia Doyle."

"Jane!"

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Then do as I bid you, Silas Watson."

He leaned back in his chair and looked at her thoughtfully.

"I am not only your lawyer, Jane; I am also your friend and
counsellor. Do you realize what this bequest means?" he asked, gently.

"It means that Patricia will inherit Elmhurst—and a fortune besides.
Why not, Silas? I liked the child from the first. She's frank and open
and brave, and will do credit to my judgment."

"She is very young and unsophisticated," said the lawyer, "and of all
your nieces she will least appreciate your generosity."

"You are to be my executor, and manage the estate until the girl comes
of age. You will see that she is properly educated and fitted for her
station in life. As for appreciation, or gratitude, I don't care a
snap of my finger for such fol-de-rol."

The lawyer sighed.

"But the boy, Jane? You seem to have forgotten him," he said.

"Drat the boy! I've done enough for him already."

"Wouldn't Tom like you to provide for Kenneth in some way, however
humbly?"

She glared at him angrily.

"How do you know what Tom would like, after all these years?" she
asked, sternly. "And how should I know, either? The money is mine, and
the boy is nothing to me. Let him shift for himself."

"There is a great deal of money, Jane," declared the lawyer,
impressively. "We have been fortunate in our investments, and you have
used but little of your ample income. To spare fifty thousand dollars
to Kenneth, who is Tom's sole remaining relative, would be no hardship
to Patricia. Indeed, she would scarcely miss it."

"You remind me of something, Silas," she said, looking at him with
friendly eyes. "Make a memorandum of twenty thousand dollars to Silas
Watson. You have been very faithful to my interests and have helped
materially to increase my fortune."

"Thank you, Jane."

He wrote down the amount as calmly as he had done the others.

"And the boy?" he asked, persistently.

Aunt Jane sighed wearily, and leaned against her pillows.

"Give the boy two thousand," she said.

"Make it ten, Jane."

"I'll make it five, and not a penny more," she rejoined. "Now leave
me, and prepare the paper at once. I want to sign it today, if
possible."

He bowed gravely, and left the room.

Toward evening the lawyer came again, bringing with him a notary from
the village. Dr. Eliel, who had come to visit Patricia, was also
called into Jane Merrick's room, and after she had carefully read the
paper in their presence the mistress of Elmhurst affixed her signature
to the document which transferred the great estate to the little Irish
girl, and the notary and the doctor solemnly witnessed it and retired.

"Now, Silas," said the old woman, with a sigh of intense relief, "I
can die in peace."

Singularly enough, the signing of the will seemed not to be the end
for Jane Merrick, but the beginning of an era of unusual comfort. On
the following morning she awakened brighter than usual, having passed
a good night, freed from the worries and anxieties that had beset her
for weeks. She felt more like her old self than at any time since the
paralysis had overtaken her, and passed the morning most enjoyably
in her sunshiney garden. Here Patricia was also brought in her wheel
chair by Beth, who then left the two invalids together.

They conversed genially enough, for a time, until an unfortunate
remark of Aunt Jane's which seemed to asperse her father's character
aroused Patricia's ire. Then she loosened her tongue, and in her
voluable Irish way berated her aunt until poor Phibbs stood aghast at
such temerity, and even Mr. Watson, who arrived to enquire after his
client and friend, was filled with amazement.

He cast a significant look at Miss Merrick, who answered it in her
usual emphatic way.

"Patricia is quite right, Silas," she declared, "and I deserve all
that she has said. If the girl were fond enough of me to defend me as
heartily as she does her father, I would be very proud, indeed."

Patricia cooled at once, and regarded her aunt with a sunny smile.

"Forgive me!" she begged. "I know you did not mean it, and I was wrong
to talk to you in such a way."

So harmony was restored, and Mr. Watson wondered more and more at
this strange perversion of the old woman's character. Heretofore any
opposition had aroused in her intense rage and a fierce antagonism,
but now she seemed delighted to have Patsy fly at her, and excused the
girl's temper instead of resenting it.

But Patsy was a little ashamed of herself this morning, realizing
perhaps that Aunt Jane had been trying to vex her, just to enjoy her
indignant speeches; and she also realized the fact that her aunt was
old and suffering, and not wholly responsible for her aggravating and
somewhat malicious observations. So she firmly resolved not to be so
readily entrapped again, and was so bright and cheery during the next
hour that Aunt Jane smiled more than once, and at one time actually
laughed at her niece's witty repartee.

After that it became the daily program for Patsy to spend her mornings
in Aunt Jane's little garden, and although they sometimes clashed,
and, as Phibbs told Beth, "had dreadful fights," they both enjoyed
these hours very much.

The two girls became rather uneasy during the days their cousin spent
in the society of Aunt Jane. Even the dreadful accounts they received
from Phibbs failed wholly to reassure them, and Louise redoubled her
solicitious attentions to her aunt in order to offset the influence
Patricia seemed to be gaining over her.

Louise had also become, by this time, the managing housekeeper of
the establishment, and it was certain that Aunt Jane looked upon her
eldest and most competent niece with much favor.

Beth, with all her friends to sing her praises, seemed to make less
headway with her aunt than either of the others, and gradually she
sank into a state of real despondency.

"I've done the best I could," she wrote her mother, "but I'm not as
clever as Louise nor as amusing as Patricia; so Aunt Jane pays little
attention to me. She's a dreadful old woman, and I can't bring myself
to appear to like her. That probably accounts for my failure; but I
may as well stay on here until something happens."

In a fortnight more Patricia abandoned her chair and took to crutches,
on which she hobbled everywhere as actively as the others walked. She
affected her cousins' society more, from this time, and Aunt Jane's
society less, for she had come to be fond of the two girls who had
nursed her so tenderly, and it was natural that a young girl would
prefer to be with those of her own age rather than a crabbed old woman
like Aunt Jane.

Kenneth also now became Patsy's faithful companion, for the boy had
lost his former bashfulness and fear of girls, and had grown to feel
at ease even in the society of Beth and Louise. The four had many
excursions and picnics into the country together; but Kenneth and
Patsy were recognized as especial chums, and the other girls did not
interfere in their friendship except to tease them, occasionally, in a
good natured way.

The boy's old acquaintances could hardly recognize him as the same
person they had known before Patricia's adventure on the plank. His
fits of gloomy abstraction and violent bursts of temper had alike
vanished, or only prevailed at brief intervals. Nor was he longer rude
and unmannerly to those with whom he came in contact. Awkward he still
was, and lacking in many graces that education and good society can
alone confer; but he was trying hard to be, as he confided to old
Uncle John, "like other people," and succeeded in adapting himself
very well to his new circumstances.