  Miss Dearborn had returned to Hillcrest, and with her were a small girl and boy, the children of her dear college friend, who, with her baby, had been taken from this world. Jenny, with Lenora, had gone that afternoon to see her and had learned that Miss Dearborn was to make a home for the little ones for a year, during which time their father was to tour the world, then he would return and make a home for them himself. Neither Miss Dearborn nor Jenny spoke their thoughts, but oh, how the girl hoped that there would then be a happy ending to Miss Dearborn’s long years of sacrifice. If the young woman were thinking of this, her next remark did not suggest it. “Jenny, dear, we will have three classes in our little school next year to suit the ages of my three pupils.” Then it was that Lenora said impulsively, “How I do wish, Miss Dearborn, that you could take still another pupil. My father and brother think best to have me spend the winter in California. Our Dakota storms are so severe. I am to live with the Warners just as I have been doing this past two months.” Miss Dearborn’s reply was enthusiastic and sincere: “Splendid! That will make our little school complete. I know how Jenny will enjoy your companionship. She has often told me that if she had had the choosing of a sister, she would have been just like you.” Lenora glanced quickly at the speaker, wondering if Miss Dearborn knew who Jenny’s real sister was, but just then the little Austin girl ran to her “auntie” with a doll’s sash to be tied, and the subject was changed. On that ride home behind Dobbin, Lenora wondered if Jenny would ever learn that Gwyn was her real sister. Charles had confided in her, and so she knew that in the autumn Gwynette would be her sister by marriage and that would draw Jenny and Lenora closer than ever. How she wished that she could tell Jenny everything she knew, but she had promised that she would not. When the girls returned home they found Susan Warner much excited about something. Gwynette had been over to call, actually to call, and she had remained on the side porch visiting with Grandma Sue even when she had learned that Jenny and Lenora had driven to Miss Dearborn’s. “More’n that, she left an invite for all of us to come to a party Mrs. Poindexter-Jones is givin’ on Charles’ birthday. Gwyn said she hoped I’d make the chocolate cake with twenty-one layers like Harold wanted, just the same, but we’d have the party over to the big house.” Jenny, at first, looked disappointed. Then her expression changed to one of delight. Clasping her hands, she cried, “Oh, Grandma Sue, that will be a real party, won’t it, and I can wear the beautiful new dress Lenora has given me. I was afraid I never, never would have a chance to wear it.” The old woman nodded. Then she confided: “Thar’s some queer change has come over Gwynette Poindexter-Jones, and I’ll say this much for her, she’s a whole sight nicer’n she was, for it, whatever ’tis. I reckon her ma’s glad. I cal’late, on the whole, she’s been sort o’ disappointed in her.” Then Jenny astonished them by saying: “Gwyn is a beautiful girl. No one knows how I want her to love me.” Susan Warner looked up almost suspiciously from the peas that she was shelling. That was a queer thing for Jenny to say, and even after the girls had gone indoors, that Lenora might rest, Susan Warner thought over and over again, now of the yearning tone in which Jenny had spoken, and then of the words, “No one knows how I want her to love me.” What could it mean? There wasn’t any possible way for Jenny to know that she and Gwyn were sisters. Tears sprang to Susan’s eyes unbidden. “If she ever learns that, she’ll have to know Si and me ain’t her grandparents.” Then the old woman rebuked her selfishness. “I reckon Si was right when he said ’twouldn’t make a mite o’ difference in Jenny’s carin’ for us. Si said nothing could.” But her hands shook when, a few moments later, she dumped the shelled peas into the pot of bubbling water that was waiting to receive them. Taking up one corner of her apron, she wiped her eyes. Jenny had entered the kitchen. At once her strong young arms were about the old woman, and there was sweet assurance in her words: “Grandma Sue, I love you.” Then, after pressing her fresh young cheek for a long, silent moment against the one that was softly wrinkled, the girl held the old woman at arm’s length as she joyfully cried, “Oh, Grandma Sue, isn’t it wonderful, wonderful, that you and Grandpa Si and Lenora and I are going to a real party, the very first one that I have ever attended?” But the old woman protested. “Now, dearie, Grandpa Si an’ me ain’t plannin’ to go along of you young folks. ’Twouldn’t be right, no ways you look at it, us bein’ hired by Mrs. Poindexter-Jones.” The brightness faded from Jenny’s flower-like face. She stepped back and shook a warning finger at her companion. Her tone expressed finality. “Very well, Mrs. Susan Warner, then we might as well take the party gown back to the shop it came from, for, if you and Granddad aren’t good enough to attend Gwynette’s party, neither am I. So the matter is settled.” “What’s the argifyin’?” a genial voice inquired from the open door, and there, coming in with a brimming pail of milk, was Grandpa Si. Jenny turned and flung at him her ultimatum. The old man pushed his straw hat back on his head and his leathery face wrinkled in a smile. “Ma,” he said, addressing his wife, “I reckon I’d be on your side if ’twan’t that I give my word of honor to Harry and Charles, and now it’s give, I’ll not go back on it. They said ’twouldn’t be no party to them if you’n me weren’t at it. An’ what’s more, Mrs. Poindexter-Jones sent Harry over special to give us a bid.” Jenny nodded her golden brown head emphatically. “There, now, that’s settled. Oh, good, here’s Lenora, looking fresh as a daisy from her long nap.” Then, beaming at the pretty newcomer, she exclaimed, “Come this way, Miss Gale, if you want to see Grandma’s masterpiece.” “Tut, tut, Jenny-gal; ’twan’t me that prettied it up,” the old woman protested. Jenny threw open a pantry door, and there, on a wide shelf, stood a mountain of a chocolate cake. “Honestly, there are twenty-one layers. They’re thin, to be sure, but light as feathers, for I ate up the sample. And the chocolate filling is just foamy with whipped cream.” “How beautiful it is.” There were tears in Lenora’s eyes, as she added wistfully: “How I wish our dear mother could see the cake you have made for her son’s twenty-first birthday.” Then, going closer, she added, admiringly, “Why, Jenny, however did you make those white frosted letters and the wreath of flowers? They look like orange blossoms.” Jenny flashed a smile of triumph around at her grandparents. “There,” she exclaimed, “doesn’t that prove that I am an artist born? Miss Gale recognizes flowers. See, here is the spray I was copying. We’re going to put a wreath of real blossoms around the edge of the plate.” “But I thought orange blossoms meant a wedding—” Lenora began. She wondered if Charles’ secret was known, but Jenny, in a matter of fact way, replied: “A twenty-first birthday is equally important. Our only other choice would have been lemon blossoms, and, somehow, they didn’t seem quite appropriate.” Grandma Sue had again busied herself at the stove, while Grandpa Si strained the milk. “Come, girls,” she now called, “everything’s done to a turn. You’ll be wantin’ a deal o’ time to prink, I reckon.” The old man removed his straw hat, washed at the sink pump, and, as he was rubbing his face with the towel, his eyes twinkled above it. “I cal’late it’ll take quite a spell for me’n you to rig up for this here ball, Susie-wife,” he said as he took his place at the head of the table. The old woman, at the other end, shook her gray curls as she protested: “I sort o’ wish yo’ hadn’t been so hasty, makin’ a promise on your honor like that to Harry. We’ll feel old-fashioned, and in the way, I reckon.” “Wall, I’m sort o’ squeamish about it myself, but the word of Si Warner can’t be took back.” The old man tried to assume a repentant expression. “You’re a fraud, Grandpa Si!” Jenny laughed across at him. “I can see by the twinkle in your eyes that you intend to lead the dance tonight.” * * * * * * * * Such a merry, exciting time as they had in the two hours that followed. Jenny insisted on helping her grandparents to dress in their best before she donned her party gown. Grandma Sue had a black silk which had been turned and made over several times, but, being of the best of material, it had not grown shabby. “Old Mrs. Jones gave it to me,” she told Lenora, “when Si and I were figgerin’ on gettin’ married.” Susan Warner’s cheeks were apple-red with excitement. “Oh, Grandma Sue,” Lenora suddenly exclaimed, “I have the prettiest creamy lace shawl. It belonged to my grandmother, and there’s a head-dress to go with it. She’d just love to have you wear it. Won’t you, to please me?” “I cal’late I will if you’re hankerin’ to have me.” Lenora darted to her trunk and soon returned with a small but very beautiful shoulder shawl of creamy lace, and a smaller lace square with a pale lavender bow which she placed atop of Susan Warner’s gray curls. Grandpa Si arrived, dressed in his best black, in time to join in the general chorus of admiration. “Grandma Sue, you’ll be the belle of the ball!” Jenny kissed both of the flushed cheeks, then flew to her room, for Lenora was calling her to make haste or their escort would arrive before they were ready. And that was just what happened, for, ten minutes later, wheels were heard without, and a big closed car stopped at the side porch. Harold bounded in, and, when he saw Grandma Sue, he declared that none of the younger guests would be able to hold a candle to her. “It’s a blarneyin’ batch you are.” The old woman was nevertheless pleased. A moment later Jenny appeared, arrayed in her blue silk party gown, her glinting gold-brown hair done up higher than ever before, and her flower-like face aglow. For a moment Harold could not speak. He had not dreamed that she could be so beautiful. Then Lenora came, looking very sweet indeed in a rose chiffon. “Silas,” Grandma Sue directed, “you’ll have to set up front, along of Harry, an’ hold the cake on you’re knees. I do hope ’twon’t slide off. It’s sort o’ ticklish, carryin’ it.” But in due time the big house was reached, and the cake was left at the basement kitchen door. Jenny felt a thrill of excitement course over her, yet even she could not know how momentous that evening was to be in her own life. |
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