Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) (19 page)

"You can wear my green. I don't mind. Mother will—"

"I hate your green. I hate it. It's ugly. I'd never, never wear anything that ugly."

It was out. She had said it. She had told Annabelle exactly what she thought of the dress that Annabelle had worn so proudly.

For an awful moment there was silence, and then Annabelle stamped a foot. "Don't wear it then," she stormed. "Don't. Wear your ugly old school uniform— or—or your white with the buttons popped—or—or stay home and feel sorry for yourself. I don't care. I don't care!"

By the time she had finished her speech, she too was crying. She fled from the room, slamming the door behind her. Rebecca was left to herself, weeping over the fact that the party was the next day and she had no appropriate dress for the occasion. And it was to have been her first real party. The first time that she would share the games with boys. And now, to top things off, her best friend was mad at her.

She had one of two choices. She could wear the sickly green dress and look sick herself—maybe even be teased—or she could stay home and miss the most important event of her life. The very thought made Rebecca cry even harder. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. Her mother should have sent the money. She should have. It was the first time that her far-off mother had let her down. But it was the first time that it really mattered. She should have known.

***

In the end Annabelle's mother had intervened in the situation, and Rebecca was allowed to wear another dress of Annabelle's in a soft lavender shade. She was much happier with the color. In fact, she felt quite grown-up and rather ladylike in the swirls of lavender lace.
If only I could wear my hair up,
she thought to herself as she studied her reflection in the mirror before leaving for the party.

"We should do our hair up," she said, turning to Annabelle, who did not seem to be in nearly as much of a hurry to appear adult as Rebecca did.

But Annabelle, who thought the idea a splendid one, entreated her mother to let them, just this once, and Mrs. Foster had denied the request. "That will come soon enough," she said firmly. "There is no need to rush into things before you're ready." Both girls had been sorely disappointed, but Annabelle knew better than to press further. They pouted for a few minutes and then turned their attention back to guessing which of the boys would be invited to Carolyn's party.

"She's c-r-a-z-y over Daniel," said Annabelle, pretending to swoon. "I just know he will be there."

Rebecca turned up her nose. "Well, she is welcome to him. He's a show-off," she maintained.

Both girls giggled, the matter of pinning up their hair quite forgotten. After all, this was their first real party and both of them intended to make the most of it.

Passing Years

Carefully Sarah counted out her money. She had enough. Enough for the final payment to the bank. That meant there could easily be new dresses for Rebecca. Rebecca was thirteen now. Thirteen and "blossoming," according to Mrs. Foster's recent letter. She tried hard to picture her daughter, but in her mind she still saw a coming-on-six-year-old with big brown eyes and masses of curls tied up with a ribbon.

"What is she like now?" she asked herself often.

Over the years Rebecca's letters had changed, in tone and frequency. Sarah often had to wait weeks for one to come. Rebecca seemed to be terribly busy with her whirl of social activities, various lessons, sports, and school. She still loved the piano and had sent Sarah little clippings from the school news, telling of her accomplishments at various recitals and school programs. It made Sarah proud. Her struggle to earn the funds to send Rebecca off for her education seemed well worth all the long, trying days. Sarah couldn't believe that so many years had already slipped by. Years without Rebecca. But there had never been money to bring her little girl home for a visit.

And now the bank would be paid off—finally. Sarah was back to receiving the full rewards of her work. She could hardly wait to send the first generous sum to Mrs. Foster to bring Rebecca's wardrobe up-to-date. For the moment, Sarah felt that was more important than putting aside money for a train ticket.

***

"You look lovely. Both of you," said
Mrs. Foster, beaming at the two girls. Rebecca had grown to be very much a part
of the Foster family. In fact, Mrs. Foster often boasted that her family came in
twos. First the two fine sons—still at school at the Academy. Then Annabelle and Rebecca from the school for young ladies, and then her two youngest, always thought of as the babies of the family and treated accordingly.

Rebecca smiled demurely at Mrs. Foster's compliment, and Annabelle couldn't suppress a nervous giggle.

They were to participate in the morning church service, and Mrs. Foster had gone to great pains to make sure that "her girls" were appropriately attired for the occasion.

"Now remember to stand tall, Annabelle," she went on. "Be proud of your height. You look—regal." And Mrs. Foster gave her eldest daughter a smile of encouragement and placed a hand in the middle of her back to urge her to straighten the slump in her stance.

The woman turned to Rebecca. "Make sure your skirts cover your ankles when you seat yourself at the piano," she reminded her.

Rebecca's feet were always being inhibited by the mass of skirts. She wished she could just hoist them up a little, out of the way of the feet that reached for pedals. But she nodded her assent. She would do as bidden—and likely pay the consequences with a few errors in her presentation.

"You will both do fine. I know you will make us proud," Mrs. Foster went on and gave each girl a little hug.

Rebecca did not usually feel nervous when playing in public. She loved it. But today was different. Today Robert and Stanley Foster, home from school, would be sitting with their parents.

Rebecca had never really thought of them as her brothers, though Mrs. Foster had tried hard to encourage that kind of relationship. In the first years that Rebecca had spent time in the home, the two older boys were teases, their presence dreaded and avoided whenever possible. She and Annabelle, who took the brunt of the teasing, stayed as far away from the boys as their room would allow. Rebecca had come to think that having brothers was a dreadful burden.

And then things changed. The boys seemed to avoid the girls. When they were home from the Academy, all they talked about, all they ever seemed to want to do was sports, sports, sports. Rebecca got quite tired of hearing of football games and soccer matches and tennis tournaments. She would have been happy to snub the two growing sons—but it would have gone totally unnoticed. They seemed to ignore her and Annabelle with near contempt.

But this time—this time it was different somehow. She had met Robert in the upstairs hall—quite by accident on his first morning home—and he had looked at her. Looked at her as if he actually saw her there. Then he had smiled and wished her a good morning.

It had taken Rebecca's breath away.

Later when they had been called to the noon meal, Rebecca had seen Robert's elbow nudge his brother and clearly heard him whisper to Stanley, "See!" and Stanley had looked at her, swallowed, and his eyes widened and misted for a moment—as if he might choke.

Rebecca had not understood what the one word "see" might be meant to convey, but she felt two pairs of eyes turned upon her several times during the meal and found it hard not to squirm under the scrutiny.

They still talked of sports. They still talked a bit loud. They still drew critical comments from Annabelle, but Rebecca knew that somehow things had changed.

And now she was to play the piano before them in the morning service. She did hope her hands would not tremble—that she would not entangle her feet in the folds of her long skirt and do something dreadful with the foot pedals.

It was all so strange—this funny little nervousness that was so unwelcome—but it was also rather exciting. Rebecca tried to still the beating of her heart. She was
so
thankful that Mrs. Foster had finally allowed her to pin up her hair. She tossed her head slightly now just to get the feel of it. It held firmly in place. Pinning it up made her look so much taller—so much more a young woman. No—a lady, for at fourteen Rebecca felt that she was fast becoming a lady.

***

Sarah slumped into the chair near the kitchen door. It was as far as her weary body could go. It had been a particularly trying day. By now both freight loads had just grown and grown, and in spite of the help of the loaders Sarah was exhausted. She had even skimped on her brushing down of the horses. Something that normally she never did.

She put a hand to her forehead. She hoped she wasn't coming down with something. That would never do. In all the years she had been hauling the freight, she had been sick only twice. On the one occasion, Mr. Curtis had driven her team. On the other, she forced herself to carry on despite how she felt.

She detected no fever. For that Sarah was thankful. But she was so tired. So weary with all of the driving and hauling and bumping over the rough roads. If only she could sleep. Could just sleep and sleep and sleep.

But then Rebecca would never have the new things she needed. Rebecca would be forced to leave her school before graduation. Rebecca's most recent letter warmed Sarah's tired body with its presence in her pocket.

At the thought of the letter, Sarah reached in and drew it forth.

Dear Mother,

(Sarah thrilled to see the word mother, though she was bothered when Rebecca had used it in a previous letter to refer to Mrs. Foster.)

Thank you for the last sum of money that you sent to Mother Foster.

(There it was again, and Sarah felt a twinge prick her heart.)

She had two lovely dresses sewn for me. We also bought a pair of new slippers to wear with them. They are gorgeous. Even Annabelle envies me. I also had enough to buy some very nice under-things. I needed them badly.

School starts again soon. It doesn't seem possible that I will soon graduate. Mother Foster is already planning a big party for Annabelle and me. It is fun to think about it.

I plan to be on the honor role again. It seems a bit harder each year because we are kept so busy with other activities during the school year. This year we are even to exchange parties with the young men from the nearby Academy. (It is not the same one that Stanley and Robert attend.) Miss Peabody says that it is important for us to learn how to "properly" conduct ourselves in the presence of gentlemen.

I must run as Annabelle is waiting on me to go play tennis. We are playing doubles with Stanley and his friend.

Affectionately,

Rebecca

P.S. I really do need a new bonnet. My last year's doesn't fit well at all, now that I am pinning up my hair.

I
must get the money off to her,
thought Sarah. And rubbed her hand over her forehead again. She was so weary. She wished she didn't face tubs of laundry. She hated washing the heavy, masculine trousers that now formed most of her wardrobe. But it just didn't make any sense to dress in any other fashion during the cold winter months.

***

"Where are you from?"

A new girl had come to share their dorm room, a girl full of uninhibited questions. Priscilla had graduated. Annabelle and Rebecca and Jo still had to finish the present term, plus one more year. The bed by the window now belonged to a girl named Peony. Rebecca and Annabelle had snickered over the name when they had first been informed by Miss Peabody who their new roommate would be, but as proper young women they did not laugh when introduced to its bearer.

"I am from the West," answered Rebecca a bit stiffly. "A town called Kenville."

"The West? What's it like? Oh, I've always wanted to go west," enthused the girl. "It's—it's so romantic."

Rebecca frowned. She had never thought of her little hometown in those kinds of terms.

"What's it like?" the girl prodded again.

Rebecca scrambled to remember the town that had been her home for her first years. She really couldn't remember much about it. She remembered her mother— vaguely. She remembered Aunt Min and Uncle Boyd— vaguely. Had it not been for letters that kept her in touch, she might well have forgotten that they existed.

"Well—I—I was quite young when I came back East to school," admitted Rebecca.

"How did you come?" asked the girl.

Rebecca sorted through her memories.

"By stagecoach—the first of the way. I remember it—something happened and we had to sit and wait and wait. Then we traveled by train."

"Oh-h," squealed Peony. "That is just so—so romantic."

It hadn't been very romantic, Rebecca remembered. It was hot and dusty and she had become so thirsty and hungry and tired. It hadn't been romantic at all.

"Did your mother and father—?"

"No," said Rebecca tersely. "My father is dead."

The girl looked a bit shocked. She even fell silent— but not for long.

"Where's your mother?"