~ Chapter Twenty-Four ~
The clock in the hall chimed four. The quiet sound of a door closing was nearly lost in the space between the third and fourth chime, but the soft footsteps came after, moving slowly along the carpeted hall and down the stairs without hurry. The hardwood was less forgiving of the sound of her heels hitting, so she relented to keeping on her toes as she moved toward the front door.
"Are you playing hide and seek?" A whisper from behind her made her jump and she dropped the fruit crate she'd been carrying, the contents spilling out across the floor. She whipped her head around even as she was crouching to try and shove everything back into it. She spied the innocent golden face and wild hair instantly.
"No, The Jon. I am not playing anything." She rose and held the crate before her, wrapped in her arms. "I am leaving."
He made a high pitched sound and moved over with a haste that sent her back a step. "You can't just go. You didn't say goodbye or anything."
"I have to. If I stay to say goodbye..." She realized the complexity of the truth was perhaps a bit hard to grasp. "You know what chivalry is, right? Knights and fair maidens, and men expected to put down their coats over puddles and give up their seat on the bus to ladies even if they're really really tired? Well, that's the problem. If I stay to say goodbye, then someone will say 'stay' but they will only do it because of chivalry. They are good men, the Walters, and they feel bad because of what happened on the train. I don't want to be anyone's burden. "
"But we like having you here." He hemmed and hawed a bit, scuffing at the carpet with his toe. "You treat us nice and you made us ice cream, and Rabbit said next time you made jelly I could come help."
She couldn't bring herself to correct him about it just being shaved ice. It was not the time to be pedantic. He seemed so dejected she began rethinking her decision, but came back around the moment she realized that what she said before had not changed. If she told the Walters they would insist on taking her to the train and hiring her a companion for the trip, they'd make her pack up all the dresses they had bought her and likely offer her more money for the trip. Things had changed though, and she could not bear the scene that would come if she told them the truth. "If you promise to not tell anyone I have gone until they ask outright, I will tell you a secret, The Jon. A secret that nobody else will know. Just you and me, alright?"
He perked a bit and nodded so hard his hat went down across his eyes and he had to push it back into place. "I like secrets."
"Okay." She gave a theatrical look left, then right before leaning in, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I'm not going home. I'm staying here in California, just for a little while. But you can't tell anyone else. If you do, then the Walters find out, they will do that... chivalry thing. " She made a small face to show it was an unpleasant thought.
He mimicked it and nodded, dragging his index finger over his heart in a giant X shape. "I promise." He cocked his head. "But what if they ask right out. I don't want to lie."
"If any of the Walters should ask, right out, if you know where I am, then you can tell them all you know." She assumed that even if he spilled the beans, 'California' was a very large place and gave no real help at all to tracking her down to turn her into a charity case. She was afraid if she weren't on the sidewalk when the cab arrived that the driver might honk and she didn't want the household roused. "I have to go, The Jon." She leaned up and kissed his cheek, a smile given. Hugging the small fruit crate, containing a single change of clothing as well as a few bits-and-bobs that the Walters couldn't use anyway but a lady needed to look her best to her chest, she stepped back and hurried to the door, stepping out and running down toward the yellowed lights that were creeping down the street. She didn't dare look back, for fear she'd break into tears and succumb to feminine weakness. Sliding into the cab, she pulled the folded portion of the paper from the crate, unfolding it. "Hotel del Coronado." She sat back, her head bowed as she re-read the ad for the hundredth time as the cab pulled away into the still dark morning.
Inside the house, The Jon's face was pressed against the glass, watching the cab's tail lights turn at the end of the street and then vanish off into the city. It was several minutes before he took his eyes off the spot, hoping that he'd see headlamps flashing, marking that she'd changed her mind and was coming back, but it was only darkness.
He stepped away and sank down, his arms wrapping around his knees. He watched the dark foyer get brighter as each hour passed, unmoving as the inky black gave way to bands of pale sunshine through the windows, dusty beams running slow as molasses along the floor like a big flashlight. He noticed then the bit of white under the hall stand. He crept forward on his hands and knees, his fingers outstretched to pull the paper out. It was a letter, the edge sliced open. He read the name as he stood up. It was Mary's letter. He was tempted to read it, but reading other people's mail was not polite. He turned it over and over in his hand thinking that if it happened to fall out of the envelope by accident , that wasn't the same as taking it out. He heard footsteps and quickly shoved it up under his hat, putting on a smile and standing straight and tall as Peter walked down the stairs.
Peter had known The Jon all his life, and that look he was wearing didn't bode well. "Good Morning, The Jon." He narrowed his eyes a bit. "What have you been up to?"
"Me? Why would you think I was up to something?" His voice going up higher, his eyes shifting left to right a time or two before returning to Peter's own, that too obvious smile again put upon his features.
That clenched it. He'd done something. "Don't move from that spot." He gave a point of his finger and began the task of checking the usual places. Everything seemed quite in order though. He questioned the others as he found them, but nobody seemed to have any idea what The Jon might have gotten himself into. Margaret and Colleen had returned and his father had woken and made his own way downstairs by the time Peter returned from his inspection of the mansion. Like the boy with the goose with the golden feathers, he had acquired a parade behind him as he reached the stairs and it was every pair of eyes in the house that were now fixed on The Jon as he stood, exactly where he'd been, in the foyer with that not-at-all-convincing smile still in place.
Peter leaned over and spoke quietly to his father who frowned a bit and nodded. The Colonel walked toward him and then gave a poke in the air, indicating that The Jon should go into the living room. "March."
The motion was more a slink than a march, not happy he'd gotten into trouble. "As for the rest of you, go on your way and get to whatever work you've got to do." He closed the sliding doors and barred everyone else out of the room. Every being, be they human or machine, who inhabited Walter Mansion, was due respect and privacy.
The groans of disappointment at getting to see The Jon get busted for whatever he did faded as the maids went to go tend to the bedrooms and collect the laundry and the robots moved to go practice their music. Peter hung about the hall for a bit, then with a frown stalked off to go find some breakfast. He had just turned the bread in the toaster when his father came into the kitchen. He was going to make a smart remark about how long was it going to take to fix what The Jon had 'improved', but seeing the seriousness of the older man's mien, he stopped. "What's happened?"
His father handed him an envelope and he turned it over, quickly reading the return address. He pulled out the letter and began reading.
Mary,
I worried greatly when you did not return home. The night spent pacing must have worn
a permanent rut in the hall carpet. As much as I was worried, add one hundred and that
was my relief to receive word that you were alive and safe. I had, in my fearful worrying,
considered it might be that you had run off with those carnival folk so when they
contacted me, I was not as surprised as I could have been. The telegram said you'd been
hurt. That you were not discovered until they were well on their way, but that you were
recovering. I do not know the whole truth of what happened the day you left, but
I write because of what has happened since.
Hazel is engaged to be married. John Peterson's boy from next door came calling, and they
spent hours talking out on the porch I had to go send him off well after sunset and he was
back just after breakfast. They spent the day on the chores that needed doing.
It was strange to see her actually look happy feeding chickens, I can tell you.
He came that night to ask her hand, and having seen how happy he made her,
I said yes. I will be giving them the farm as a wedding gift for I have, at last, asked
Mrs. Pearce to accept my hand and she proved quite willing to accept me. Come Christmas,
I will be living in the boarding house in town with Judith, and Hazel and John will have the farm.
I tell you this so you will know why I say the rest. There is no place for you here now. If you return,
you will find yourself with neither home nor prospects for respectable life as by now everyone knows
that you ran off with a stranger to a life of sin. Had you stayed, the rumors started that night
could have been rebuked, and a year or so of other gossip to wash it away might have spared
your reputation. Now no good proposals will come to you, no respectable person will
hire you, and while I love you dearly, I cannot protect you. My advice to you is to be happy in
the life you have chosen, and to put what I know is a strong arm and a quick mind to making
it the best life. The sort of life I wish most earnestly for you. I will collect your things and
send them along sometime next week. Good luck in your future, whatever it may hold for you.
Peter re-read the last portion again, then a third time to make certain he had not mistaken the letter's words. Her own father had cast her out? He looked up at his own father who shook his head.
"I couldn't believe it at first either. Then, I thought about it. Your toast is burning." He motioned to the toaster and, with a frustrated mutter, Peter dropped the side of it and plucked out the now black toast and threw it into the bin. "As I was saying..." He began when Peter again picked up the letter. "I thought about how it must look to him. His daughter goes missing and suddenly he's got a telegram saying she's in California? No explanation why or how?"
"Well, I didn't think it wise to say she was kidnapped and nearly beaten to death and that we were on the far side of Tennessee when we found her and we thought it better to get our own family home safely rather than her." Peter realized how cold-blooded it would have sounded. "That she couldn't very well be sent home looking like she'd gone six rounds with Jack Britton." He grumbled and his father motioned him to walk with him, heading out to the back lawn.
"Son, you have to put yourself in Mr. Mickelson's position. A girl runs away from home with people like us, theatrical people... it isn't expected she's coming home a virgin. She's now the owner of a bad reputation. He knows she won't be treated well if she comes home. He doesn't want her to be hurt any worse than she is now, and he has to think of this other girl too. If Mary stays away, they can publicly deny her and this Hazel person, she can marry and be considered respectable even if her sister went astray. It will be just a sad footnote that they never talk about. He knows Mary better than us, and we know she's a strong girl. Smart." Colonel Walter nodded. "He knows that whatever she puts her hand to, she'll do fine."
The outrage had begun to fade in the face of the sensible points his father was making. A small flame of something else began to spark to life. If she wasn't going home... she wasn't going home! He wouldn't have to do without her after all. "Well, it's terrible that she was treated so poorly, but ... she's been a great help to us here, and ..." He saw his father's frown deepen and he felt that little warm place utterly smothered.
"She's gone, Peter. She left this morning. The Jon caught her going out."
"Well why didn't he stop her? Why didn't he ... raise the alarm or something." He had talked himself into giving her up to the promise of home and happiness in Virginia but now, she was just...gone. "Where did she go?"
"California." The Colonel said dryly. "Clever girl gave Jon no more than that. She caught a cab outside and turned left up the street. That's as good as I was able to get from him. As for the rest, she was a guest, Peter, not a prisoner. She had every right to leave whenever she liked."
He nodded. "I just don't relish the idea of her being out there all alone. Why didn't she just tell us? Didn't she know we'd have offered her a room as long as she needed it?"
"Oh, she knew we would." The elder Walter chuckled almost. "She told Jon that was why she was sneaking out. She didn't want to be anyone's burden and she knew that our, what was the word she used, chivalry, would force us to make such an offer and of course, she was quite correct. We would have because we feel guilty."
"No." Peter said firmly. Noting his father's brows shoot up he shrugged. "We'd have offered because she'd a decent person and we like her."
"Whatever the reason, she'd have said no and we'd have argued and tried to press our will on her and she'd have gone anyway and cut the ties of friendship altogether." The circuit of the early morning garden had left their shoes wet with dew as they returned to the kitchen. "As it stands, we just have to trust in the girl's good sense. If she does well, I am sure she'll contact us and tell us all about it. If not, I trust her pride is not so iron-necked that she would not know she could, if desperate, return to Walter Mansion and find friends here that would be willing to aid her."
They progressed out through the dining room, a thundering swift sound of feet on stairs, Margaret hurrying down them with Colleen hot on her heels. "Colonel... Colonel... Miss Mary has gone!" They were panting softly, and Margaret held out a slip of paper. "We...we found it on her pillow when we went to tidy her room."
Peter snatched it before his father could and flicked it open, his eyes scanning over the words quickly.
To Colonel Peter A. Walter, Mr. Peter A Walter II, Colonel Peter A. Walter III, Mr. The Spine, Mr. The Jon, Mr. Hatchworth, Mr. Rabbit, Miss Upgrade, Miss Margaret, and Miss Colleen
I am heavy-hearted as I set pen to page to bid you goodbye. I cannot say how grateful I am to you for your generous allowance that I remain under your roof while I was recuperating and the kindnesses you have shown me while I was a guest in Walter Mansion. Now that all is well with Mr. Walter III, and everyone has come home, if not fit, then certainly in good spirits and with the promise their injuries will quickly heal, I can not expect that my presence is a help and not a hindrance. Know that I will, for the remainder of my days, think of each of you with a single wish. "Let them be well and happy."
Your friend,
Mary E. Mickleson
Peter read it again, then handed it to his father. It was true. She was gone. "You should tell everyone. Maybe then things can perhaps get back to normal around here." He moved up the stairs, feeling as if he'd swallowed a large rock. He knew it was wildly poetic to think that nothing would ever be normal again, but she was just a girl. He'd gotten hung up over women before, and he always found that absence made their faces fade away quick enough. No. He would not mope and moon about like some calf after its mother. What he needed was a day or two, a week at most, and he'd be himself again.