CHAPTER VI
IN THE ORCHARD
Until Webb could finish the task that Nancy had assigned to him, Nancy curbing her impatience, had to return to the study of "Joshua, Jacob and John."
"It was John that was killed in the war of 1812, and now we have progressed to the next generation of Samuel and Ezekiel," she wrote to Claire. "But let me tell you that just as soon as Webb finishes the 'rig-up' (that is what he calls my perfectly beautiful idea) I'm not going to have a minute to spend on any of the old ancestors. Won't it be wonderful to see Aunt Milly's face when she knows about it? Think of it, Claire—how we love to frolic all around this good old earth, and how awful it would be to be tied to a couch all your days—and in such a room!"
"After to-day my letters will be just scraps and you can picture your Nancy working madly in her tree-top!
"So far all is safe, and I'm really beginning to feel as though I was a real Leavitt and not walking around in Anne's shoes, especially when I am with Aunt Milly. But it's terribly hard not to talk about Dad and you and Anne, and I have to hold my lips together lots of times to keep from bursting out with something. I suppose it's good training for me—Miss Sykes used to tell me my impulsiveness would be my ruin some day.
"I have seen the hired man! Yesterday, when I went out to my nest, I deliberately walked around the edge of the orchard. I saw a lot of tumble-down sheds and things over on a rise of ground that I supposed was Judson's, and of course the lot in between was the ten-acre strip that Webb told me about. I couldn't see that it was any better than any other part of the country around here. And while I was staring, suddenly something moved, and there was that creature with a hoe standing at the other end of the lot. And he waved his hand! Says I, 'Nancy Leavitt, this is your chance,' and I tossed my head so hard that my neck truly cracked, and I stalked off back to the orchard. It was good enough for him.
"Oh, oh, oh, Webb has come! He's taken the rig-up around the lilac side (for strategic reasons, I have divided the grounds of Happy House) and out to the carriage barn. Now I shall tackle B'lindy and make ready for the blessed hour of rest.
"Adieu, dearest Claire, pray for your old pal."
The winning of B'lindy to her plan was not as easy as Webb had been. It had been a "bad" morning for B'lindy; the fire would not draw well, she had forgotten to "set" her bread, and Judson's cat had gotten into the cream. Nancy's arguments fell on deaf ears.
"I guess what's well enough's well enough," at last she threw over her shoulder. "Milly Leavitt's laid on that couch twenty years and it ain't likely she'll lay there many more, and there ain't no use meddlin' with what's what!"
"But, B'lindy, no one has ever tried this! It's so easy. Wait until you see how nice and safe Webb has made the chair. It's wonderful! It would be wicked to keep her shut up there when we could take her out! Think of it, B'lindy, all we have and poor little Aunt Milly! Why, it might make her well! I really know of such a case. It was a woman who had tried every medicine she knew of and it was just happiness she needed! If Aunt Milly could get out there in the sunshine and—and see things, she might get well, too. Anyway, she could laugh!"
B'lindy laid down her egg-beater. It was a sign of yielding.
"I guess nobody's tried happiness on Milly Leavitt!"
"We'll take her together, B'lindy. You may go with me to her room and see her face when she knows!"
"I told Miss Sabriny that there was no tellin' what'd happen in Happy House if she brought a young thing like you here," was B'lindy's way of assent. With an uplifted arm she warded off what threatened to be a hug.
"Go 'way, Anne Leavitt, or there won't be no dinner! And this is your doin's, remember."
True to her promise, Nancy waited until the last dinner dish was dried; then she and B'lindy, very like culprits, tip-toed to Miss Milly's room. Aunt Milly wore a look of expectancy, which changed to wonder when she saw B'lindy. And one glance at Nancy's eager face told her that something very, very different was about to happen!
In a whisper Nancy commanded her to peep out and "just see what you'll see." And Miss Milly, in a flutter, did peep out, and saw Jonathan below, with a curiously contrived chair on wheels.
"It's for you—Webb made it," declared Nancy. "And you're not to get excited, because that might spoil everything. We're going to take you to the orchard!"
"Oh, Nancy!" Something caught in poor Miss Milly's throat.
"You must do just what I tell you. Take this shawl, though it's warmer out there than it is in here. I'm very strong and I shall carry you right down in my arms, and you must cling tight to my neck."
Poor Miss Milly commenced to tremble violently. "Nancy—I'm afraid! I—I—It's so long—maybe I'd better—maybe it isn't—right!"
"Oh, Aunt Milly, darling, how could it be wrong to be happy! Just try it! Think of the sunshine and the birds and the nice smells and all Jonathan's growing things! And B'lindy is going along, too, to help. Try it, Aunt Milly!"
Aunt Milly's eyes filled with tears, then she commenced to laugh softly. "Maybe it'll be the only time! I'd love—once more——" She let Nancy lift her slowly. "I'm too heavy, dear," she protested.
"Heavy——" thought Nancy. The pitifully frail form was as nothing in her clasp. "I haven't played forward on our basket-ball team for four years for nothing, Aunt Milly! March on, B'lindy. Now—very still."
It was a strange procession that moved off through the garden toward the orchard. Jonathan led the way, B'lindy wheeled the chair and Nancy frisked along, first one side, then the other, picking posies here and there until Aunt Milly's lap was quite full. And Miss Milly sat very still with her hands clasped tight together and a look of ecstasy in her eyes, as though she was beholding a new and beautiful world! Every step forward brought an added wonder. She had forgotten the world was like this.
"Oh-h!" she whispered rapturously when a robin trilled from a nearby tree. "Oh-h!" she cried again when she caught a glimpse of the lake.
But when they reached the cliff it was Nancy's turn to exclaim. For there in her tree had been built the cosiest of rustic seats.
"How lovely!" she cried, springing into it. "It just fits." She shook her finger at old Jonathan. "You made this for me, you dear old thing!"
But Jonathan, wishing mightily that he had, had to admit that he "didn't know a blame thing 'bout it!"
"Then it was Webb. He wanted to surprise me, too, as well as Aunt Milly. Only—how did he know about my tree? Isn't it nice? It's as comfy as can be."
When Nancy joyously declared that everybody and everything was lovely, somehow B'lindy and Jonathan and Aunt Milly felt so, too! B'lindy, at Nancy's bidding, sat down upon the grass close to the chair, and Jonathan, too rheumatic to follow her example, leaned against the tree trunk and stared at Nancy with adoring eyes.
"At first I was going to keep my nest a secret, just between Jonathan and me. But it'll be much nicer to have all of us know about it. We can have such nice times here. We can do so many things. B'lindy, can you knit?"
B'lindy said she could not, though she could crochet.
"Then I'm going to teach you and Aunt Milly both. You can knit socks for the children in Europe, though you must begin on washcloths. Jonathan—I don't suppose there's any use trying to teach you—you must keep us supplied with flowers because Aunt Milly can't have enough—you see there are so many years she has to make up. And sometimes I'll read to you and sometimes I'll work. We'll come here every afternoon—shall we?"
B'lindy and Jonathan and Aunt Milly nodded their heads. B'lindy, watching Miss Milly's face, was beginning to think that there might be some sense in Nancy's prescription of happiness.
And if in her heart Nancy smothered any wistful longing as she glanced at the locked treasure-box, she forgot it when she, too, watched Aunt Milly.
It was Jonathan who suddenly noticed that the sun was creeping over toward the west and that he'd "better be at the lettuce."
"Goodness to gracious," cried B'lindy, scrambling to her feet with a considerable creaking of joints. "Anne Leavitt, my day's work ain't half done!"
On the way back through the orchard Miss Milly kept tight hold of Nancy's hand, giving it an occasional squeeze.
"I could die happy—now," she whispered.
At the turn of the path beyond the raspberry patch the culprits were confronted by Miss Sabrina. It was a very angry Aunt Sabrina, whose one glance shadowed every bit of sunshine. Even Nancy, the ringleader of the plot, felt her knees give way in fright.
"What are you all about?" Miss Sabrina demanded in a voice cold with anger. "Go about your work, Jonathan Allen. B'lindy, you wheel that ridiculous chair back to wherever you got it from! And you, Milly Leavitt, how dare you meddle with the ways of God?"
Everyone seemed to obey Miss Sabrina without a word of protest. Jonathan faded out of sight, B'lindy disappeared toward the kitchen with the chair and Nancy, followed by Miss Sabrina, carried the trembling Miss Milly back to her couch.
"Anne, you go out now!" Miss Sabrina jerked her head toward the door.
"I'll have a thing or two to say to Milly. She made her bed—it's the will of our Lord she should lie in it!"
Nancy hesitated one moment, but something in Aunt Milly's frightened glance seemed to say, "Go away!" So she went out and closed the door upon the two sisters.
Alone in her own room a storm of anger shook her. "I hate her!" she cried out to the ugly walls. "I hate her! She's—just—stone!"
"I'm glad I'm not a real Leavitt! We were so happy!"
Then, really frightened, Nancy listened intently to catch some word from the other room.