In the hall there were millions of packages, unopened cards on a tray, and messenger boys waiting for someone to sign their books. I loved it all, and having Uncle Frank there made it perfect. He kept wandering around saying “Ho hum” and hunting his spectacles, which had all gradually climbed up on his forehead. And he gave the touch of home that I had needed. It is curious, but I have found that you never realize how very much you have missed anyone until you have them near again and don’t miss them.
Lunch was a hurried affair, but at this meal Aunt Penelope became coherent long enough to suggest that I ask Mr. Kempwood up for the celebration and opening of presents, which was to be at eight o’clock, after an early dinner. I said I would love to, and I immediately telephoned him about it, and asked if he would take Uncle Frank that afternoon too. He said he would be charmed to do so, and at five we started for a drive.
Going was great fun, for there was so much excitement. All the shop windows were blazing, and people seemed happy. They always do at Christmas-time; I think even mean spirits warm up and stop refrigerating anything they touch after December twenty-third. But, unfortunately, they begin being mean again about January third or fourth. I have always had the feeling that perhaps the Christmas bills made their pessimism return, for bills are depressing to even a constitutionally happy individual.
But, to get on, we had tea, and I made mine a little heavy, because I really hadn’t had much lunch, and altogether enjoyed myself. Uncle Frank and S. K. got along beautifully and did most of the talking. Because I was hungry, I occupied myself with eating and listening.
“Doubtless that young person will take you to the Jumel Mansion,” said S. K., with a nod toward me and a smile for me.
Uncle Frank nodded.
“Audubon lived near here,” he said after he stood up and slipped out of his coat. “Wonderful man, ho hum.”
“Yes,” agreed S. K., and then slowly smiled, and as if he couldn’t help it. I do too, for Uncle Frank had a string of tinsel tied around his collar and under his chin in a great bow.
I pulled it off and showed it to him, and he explained. He had been helping Evelyn and Herbert trim the tree before we started out, and Amy had given him that four-in-hand. Then he put his hand in his pocket and brought out a bit of a broken glass ball, and then, very carefully, the rest.
“Dearest,” I said, “you will cut yourself!” But he didn’t.
“Must have slipped it in there, thinking it was my handkerchief,” he explained, “then hung my handkerchief on the tree!”
S. K. said it was easy to do those things, and then he smiled at me, and I answered it, for I could see that he liked Uncle Frank and understood him. After we finished eating, S. K. bought me a tiny Santa Claus about an inch long and pinned it on my lapel, and I bought him one and pinned it on his, and Uncle Frank stood looking on and blinking. Then we pushed through the crowd and started on. And being out was gorgeous. I hated going in, but of course we had to, for dinner was to be served very promptly at seven.
The attitude of suspense in the apartment was thrilling. The curtains that frame the living-room doors were drawn across them, and from behind them someone was tacking something up. Greens trailed over pictures, and holly bloomed in jardinières. Corners were lit by all sorts of flowers, and the air smelled like a hothouse.
Aunt Penelope, looking very tired, but happy, met me and told me to make haste about dressing, and I went toward my room. Here, I prepared to bathe, first getting out all the prettiest things I owned and laying them on the bed, for I did want to look very gay. I decided on my pink dress, for it is the most beautiful one I have, and because I thought it would look nice with a bouquet of tiny roses which I found waiting me on my return. S. K. had sent them and they were dear.
Then I began to slip from my clothes, and as I unclasped my bracelet I decided I had been silly about the whole affair and that I probably imagined a good deal of it. For nothing but the noise against the wall and the black form on S. K.’s balcony had occurred to disquiet me during that last week. I opened the drawer to put the bracelet away while I bathed, for I am careful of where I leave it, and when I opened its box I found a note. This was written on brown butcher’s paper, and it was a little hard to make out. It said:
“Natalie Page is ordered to leave her bracelet under a stone which lies beneath the first bush to the right of the side entrance of the Jumel Mansion. This must be done at five o’clock on December 28 without fail. If she comes alone and tells no one, no harm will come to her, but if she speaks of this misfortune will follow quickly and in the worst form. All will be well if instructions are absolutely obeyed, and if not, great suffering and unhappiness are bound to occur. Be wise! Take warning!”
After I read it I put it down. Then I read it again, as I sat on the edge of my bed (my knees shook), and then I wondered how the person who warned me had got it in my bracelet box without anyone’s knowing it? and then--I stood up, clasped the bracelet on, because I thought my arm was the safest place to leave it, and went to get my bath. I hurried because aunt doesn’t like people’s being late. I decided I would forget the affair for this one evening, if I could. And--begin to consider what I would do the next day.
When I was dressed, and I will acknowledge I looked as nice as I can, I hurried toward the hall, where I found S. K. (aunt had asked him to come up to dinner), Amy, who was fox-trotting with Herbert, Evelyn, who was sorting packages, and uncle, who was helping her take them to the living-room.
I sat down on a long chest which came from Holland and is beautifully carved, and S. K. sat down beside me. I told him I loved the baby roses, and he said that I looked very nice. Then he said he wished he could fox-trot with me, and I told him I liked sitting out with him better. I am very sorry that he feels badly about being lame. I think that if people who have deformities would realize that people like the deformities because of them, they would get on better. Just the sight of S. K.’s cane always makes me feel well, because it belongs to him. Awkwardly, I told him this, and he said I had made him a Christmas present of a new viewpoint which he liked and which would help him. Then he looked at me carefully and said: “Small girl, what’s worrying you?”
I replied that nothing was; he called me a cheerful prevaricator, and then Ito announced dinner, and we went in. It was positively the nicest meal I ever ate in Uncle Archie’s dining-room, and the food had nothing to do with its seeming so, but the little Santas which stood at each place and the verses on the place-cards and the laughter and talk did.
Then we got up. Uncle Archie disappeared to light the candles on the tree; we were signalled and filed in. It was a pretty tree, and opening things was the greatest fun, and we had jokes among the gifts too. Everyone gave Uncle Frank worsted spiders, papier-maché bugs, or crêpe paper butterflies. Evelyn had got a doll’s coat for Amy made of fur, and they gave me a toy pistol and a trap. Uncle Archie’s joke was a bottle of “Seven Sutherland Sisters” hair tonic and a switch, because he has hardly any hair. There were lots of others too, and a great many beautiful things. Quite everyone talked at once, paper rustled and grew to great heaps on the floor, ribbons tangled around your ankles as you stepped, and it was--just the way Christmas always is.
I had some lovely things given me. Aunt gave me a tiny string of corals because I am dark and she thought they would look well on me, and Uncle Archie a book that he had selected himself, which made me very happy. Evelyn and Amy gave me charming things to wear--handkerchiefs, silk underthings, and so on--and Uncle Frank a book on the development of bills in the wild fowl of South Africa.
“Very interesting subject,” he said, peering at me over his glasses (one pair was actually on his nose!). “Plate seventy-two--ho hum--let me see it.” I passed it to him, and he went off in a corner near the victrola and read it all the evening. Amy ran that all the time and with a loud needle. I think it bothered Uncle Frank, although he didn’t seem to realize it, but every once and again he would shake his head, as you do when you get water in your ears while swimming.
S. K. grinned at this a good deal, and very tenderly at me. “You little peach!” he said, and I loved it, although I had to protest that I did enjoy having that book and that it would mean a lot to me. S. K. had heard me thank uncle, and I had been extremely exuberant, because Amy had drawn near, looked at it, and said, “Oh----” in a kind of an “Is-that-all” manner, and I was afraid Uncle Frank might be hurt.
“Of course you liked it,” said S. K.; “you would, Nat, I swear----” But he stopped, and I don’t know what he was going to swear. He only shook his head, covered my hand with his, and squeezed it.
“It’s all right for a pal to tell you he likes you, isn’t it?” he asked.
I said it was and that he’d better, then aunt brought up a tiny package, and it was marked from S. K., and I was surprised, for I had supposed the tiny roses were my present from him. I explained this as I unwrapped it, and when I did--well, I couldn’t speak; I just held it and looked until tears made things waver, and then I began to do my champion quick-swallowing trick.
Everyone stood around and asked to look at it, and I let them, but I didn’t let go of it, and Aunt Penelope frankly wiped her eyes. “Just like her, dear,” she said, “and your good friend ‘S. K.’ had it painted from a tiny photograph I had. Come here, Frank, and see this miniature of Nelly. . . . Mr. Kempwood had it made for Natalie. . . . It’s on ivory and is simply exquisite. . . .” Then aunt turned to me and said: “You haven’t thanked him, dear.” She did it very gently, for I think she saw how greatly I cared for it.
“Yes, she has!” said S. K.
But I hadn’t, and I didn’t know how ever to do it. Something--I suppose a very full heart--made me turn to S. K., slip my arm around his neck, pull his face down, and kiss him. “I hope,” I said, “that you won’t mind, for that is the only way I know how to show you. I can’t say it.” And then I asked aunt if that was all right, and she said it was, and blew her nose and cried a little more, and Evelyn put her arm around me, and I allowed Uncle Frank to take possession of the miniature, and he stood holding that in one hand and my book on duck bills in the other, and--blinking awfully hard.
“Come,” said Amy loudly, “this won’t do; everyone is threatening weeps! And--it’s Christmas Eve!” So I put the miniature on the middle of a big table in its little case, and joined whatever went on. But I went back to the table very often to look at it.
Amy was right about it; everyone had been upset, even S. K., which was queer, for he didn’t know my mother. But when I looked at him, after I’d thanked him, I saw that his eyes, too, were full of tears. And he didn’t talk very much for the rest of the evening.
But he was so kind to me that I knew he knew I was grateful, even if I couldn’t say so properly, and that my lack of words was not what was making him quiet.