II
The slight, dark eyed, dark haired young woman who, luggage in hand, stepped off the 5:40 from Boston was greeted unceremoniously by a fresh gust of wind that threatened to sweep her off with it along its winding course. The street stretching ahead of her was deserted except for the few pedestrians hurrying home for supper, heads down, collars up, braving the ferociousness of the icy North Wind. She paused for a moment by the ticket office to watch and wait, wondering if after six years she would still recognize Miriam Astor Parker, her old friend and schoolmate.
It was funny she reflected, all that happened in the past years to reverse their positions. She, Mary Jane Lansing, had been the enviable one, while Miriam had been the poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks that she had befriended. And then, years later, Mary Jane's father died from a sudden heart attack, unbelievably leaving his lavish fortune to Amy Stanton, a woman of whom she had never heard of before. She saw once at the reading of the will, a tall sharp-tongued woman of about forty-five had been wearing black crepe and mink, a small dark hat riding atop her upswept blonde hair. Her attitude toward Mary Jane was one of sympathy and sweetness, although she took no heed of the fact that Gerry Lansing's daughter had been left almost penniless.
And that was where Miriam came in.
She had attended the auction sale at the Lansing home in Boston that was now up for immediate purchase. Unfortunately, Mary Jane had been out at the time, but Miriam had left her a note offering her a job as a governess to Miriam's young son, Richard Laurence Ashworth Parker III. It seemed in the course of time Miriam had married a rich manufacturer, Richard Laurence Ashworth Parker, Jr., no less, and was residing in Kingston, a small New York suburb, with a very definite social crowd of which Mrs. Richard Parker, Jr. was the most distinguished member.
Even as she stood there, Mary Jane congratulated herself on her good fortune. After all, she mused, it wasn't often to find a friend like Miriam, one who remembered all that the other had ever done for her. And yet it would be strange, living in Miriam's home; it would almost be like accepting charity from her, she thought; but then, Mary Jane argued with herself, it was only until she got on her feet.
She shivered a little despite the warm mink she wore, wondering as she often did now exactly what Amy Stanton had meant in her father's life. The will, her lawyers had said, was perfectly legal, and it would be a waste of their time and Mary Jane's to try to break it, besides being a strain on her already dwindling cash.
She sighed and shrugging her shoulders, in a what's-the-use attitude, turned her mind to other channels, her keen blue-eyed gaze sweeping over the surrounding snowy white landscape. In the distance the horizon curved away from the valley to an ice clogged lake, then rose steeply, forming the hilly plateau to the right. Far away from a church steeple rose straight and slender against the gray winter sky.
It was really a lovely little town. Miriam must be very happy here, Mary Jane thought idly. She wondered if Miriam had changed in the past years or if she was still as lovely as ever. Miriam had been a real beauty in her high school days, brown haired, with soft velvety brown eyes, shaded by long dark lashes, tall, unusually so, slim yet almost too thin. She had an enchanting voice, very low and musical with a husky inflected drawl. In fact, everything about Miriam was enchanting, from her slender curvaceous figure to her natural easy charm that drew people to her.
Shivering a little from the cold, Mary Jane shifted her weight from one foot to another, biting her brightly colored lip in exasperation. How like Miriam to be late to forget what train she had taken, or to perhaps even have a previous engagement and make no arrangements for someone to meet her. After a moment's hesitation, she turned away to the shabby little ticket office that was small and badly in need of paint. As she opened the heavy wooden door, she felt five pairs of curious eyes look up and sweep over her from the top of her up-swept curls on which rested the tiny mink hat to the tips of her fashionable black boots.
A round, chubby, gray haired little man, obviously the station master, a tall, stout, granite-eyed policeman with a receding hairline, and a woman about forty poorly dressed in a thread-bare black coat and a shabby felt hat, stood grouped about a small black stove glowing dimly from the coals heaped inside. A few feet away, sitting on a hard wooden bench, a white haired aristocratically dressed woman looked up briefly, flicking the ashes from her cigarette in a bored uninterested manner. At a back window overlooking the railroad tracks stood a tall teen aged girl in slacks rolled to the knees, and a tan sweater, the arms pushed to her elbows, a wide satin ribbon tied with a gaudy bow around her shoulder length brown hair. She turned and looked eagerly at Mary Jane as though a newcomer was as welcome to her as a Sunday treat.
Mary Jane left two suitcases by the door, and approached the now silent group by the stove. "Where can I find a telephone?" she asked the round little man, breaking the heavy silence.
"Around the corner to your left, Ma'am," he replied in a polite but guarded voice as though reluctant to answer her. "Thank you," said Mary Jane with an amused smile. It was quite obvious from their manner that a stranger was unusual to Kingston.
She found the telephone booth easily; it was impossible to get lost in the two by four station even if a person so desired. She lifted the phone book off a rusty metal shelf nailed to the wall, and thumbed through the heavy yellowish pages. There were two Parkers listed, Harold and Richard. She repeated the latter's number for a full minute and she was about to hang up the receiver at the other end of the line clicked and a man's brisk voice answered.
"May I speak to Miri--Mrs. Parker, please," said Mary Jane as business-like as possible.
"She isn't here, I'm sorry," was the brief smoothly polite answer.
For a moment Mary Jane was nonplussed; then she said, "This is Mary Jane Lansing; Mrs. Parker was supposed to meet me at the station; do you know…" "Oh, Miss Lansing," the man interrupted respectfully, "She left here about five minutes ago for the station."
"Thank you," Mary Jane said in relief, "I'll watch for her."
She put the receiver back into its cradle, and slid back the squeaking door of the booth. The policeman and the shabbily dressed woman had left, and the station master was busily engaged in selling a ticket to a short gray coated man, whose gray hat was pulled far down over his eyes. She returned to the door and stood there for a few seconds gazing out of side window, when the young girl joined her. Mary Jane had caught only a glimpse of her before and now she was surprised to note how pretty she was, despite the shapeless outfit she wore; her eyes were sky blue, clear and deep, and her skin was something out of a cold cream advertisement.
She smiled shyly, "You're a stranger here aren't you?" she asked in a sparkling, youthful voice.
"Yes I am," Mary Jane nodded.
"My name is Phyllis Harvey; what's yours?"
"Mary Jane Lansing."
"Are you visiting someone in town?"
"I've come to work here."
"Oh-----Do you like Kingston?" Phyllis pressed.
"As much as I've seen of it," Mary Jane assured her, just as a long, low roadster with white wheels, a tan body, and grey top slid to a stop on the gravel drive outside. The driver, a tall woman, hatless, her brown hair flapping in the wind, a fitted silver fox jacket gracing her lovely figure, started across the wooden platform toward the ticket office. "Heavens, there's my ride," Mary Jane stooped to pick up her suitcases, "Good bye, Phyllis, I'll see you again."
She opened the door against the howling wind, and began to run as fast as she could, burdened as she was with the two heavy suitcases. Meeting her friend in the middle of the platform, she threw both arms around her, suitcases and all, hugging the stately figure exuberantly. Miriam drew back from the friendly embrace with customary reserve.
"Darling, Janie," she said in her lovely, husky voice holding Mary Jane at an arm's length, "How good it is to see you!"
Mary Jane smiled, her sharp gaze taking in everything. Prosperity had done wonders for Miriam. She had gained some needed weight, and she looked wonderful. Despite the cold she had not buttoned her short jacket, and Mary Jane caught a glimpse of a pencil slim black dress underneath; she wore a beautiful pin sparkling with diamonds, and a wide diamond bracelet with exquisite matching earrings. Her easy sophistication made her seem somewhat older and much wiser than twenty-four, and there was an air of mystery about her that delighted the imagination. She was like a story book princess who had at last come out of her shell.
"Goodness, Janie, we can't stand out here all day," Miriam's voice into her thoughts, "Here give me one of those suitcases, and lets go over to the car. I have the heater on and it's nice and warm." "Good enough," Mary Jane laughed, "Any place is better than that station."
Miriam laughingly made a sign for silence, "The skeleton in Kingston's closet," she whispered, sliding in under the wheel.
The interior of the car was even more pretentious than the outside; the seats were maroon, the dashboards and paneling marbleized. Miriam turned in the radio, and leaning her head back against the seat Mary Jane listened to the swelling strains of a Bach concerto as she was whisked through the deserted, windswept streets. After a time they left the business section of town following a wide well paved boulevard South Auburn Drive to the more exclusive residential section. The road was lined on both sides with great stone and brick houses surrounded by towering iron gates or brick walls.
"We're almost there," Miriam said, "Are you tired, Janie?"
"Not at all," Mary Jane replied briskly.
"Good, I've invited my brother-in-law Harold and his wife Ruth for dinner tonight to meet you; and there'll be Ruth's brother too. Are you sure you'll feel up to it?"
"Of course I will," Mary Jane assured her, "But right now I'm more anxious to meet that son of yours. How old is he Miriam?"
"He'll be three in April. Were you surprised to learn that I was married and had a child?"
"Surprised?" Mary Jane echoed, "Electrified is a better word!"
"No more electrified than I to read in the Boston paper that your father had died and left all his money to that-that woman, Alice something-or-other, wasn't it?"
"Amy," Mary Jane corrected absently, "Amy Stanton."
"Yes," Miriam nodded, "That's the name." As she spoke she gave the steering wheel a sharp turn, "Welcome home, Janie; this is Park Louise," she said warmly, bringing the car to a grinding halt on a winding gravel drive bordered on either side by a luxurious growth of green laurel and low flowering shrubs. "We'll leave the car here by the garage and walk to the house; it's only around that bend," Miriam turned off the ignition, and pocketing her keys slid out from under the wheel.
"What about my suitcases?" Mary Jane asked, joining her friend in front of the roadster.
"Otto will bring them up to your room," said Miriam.
"Otto?" Mary Jane echoed faintly.
"Gardner, chauffeur, and general handyman," Miriam explained, "Rich would be lost without him."
They started up a wide flagstone path-flanked by smooth velvety green lawns that covered with a light blanket of powdery white snow stretched away to the far corners of the estate veering slightly from the drive, leading by a winding course to Miriam's huge Colonial home- built of bright red brick that had been mellowed and aged by the passing years-set in the midst of a landscaped paradise, half hidden from sight by gnarled century old oaks whose bare branches bent and groaned under a thick coating of slender transparent icicles.
"Oh Miriam," Mary Jane murmured in awe, "I never dreamed it would be so beautiful; it's like something out of a picture book!"
Miriam nodded, "It's even lovelier in the summertime when the flowers are in bloom. We have a tennis court and swimming pool in back of the house."
"I'm going to love it here," Mary Jane cried, her eyes shining.
"Janie, honey, I hope so," Miriam replied with deepest sincerity.
As Mary Jane's eyes followed the winding path that led to Miriam's lovely home she felt nothing but peace with the world and herself, and contentment. Another emotion stirred too, something vague and deep within her but not altogether disturbing. A premonition perhaps of things to come, but then what Mary Jane didn't know didn't hurt her for the time being anyway.