Brenda's Summer at Rockley/Chapter 20
XX
THE ROSAS AGAIN
In their travelling suits, with only their hand-bags, the two cousins journeyed from Manchester to Boston. Their trunks had gone on to Rockley; but, to save time, they had decided to travel directly to the city.
How strangely still and deserted seemed the streets of the Back Bay! As the cab drove toward Mr. Barlow’s house, hardly a person was to be seen, except the policeman on his beat, and here and there a stray individual of the tourist type.
The sun poured down on the hot asphalt of Beacon Street, and the air was oppressive.
“How awful the city is in the summer!” said Brenda. “I don’t wonder that no one stays here.”
“I fancy that there are a few hundred people in town in spite of the heat.”
“Oh, Julia, you are so practical! Certainly nobody one knows stays here.”
“There’s Agnes at the window,” cried Julia, without heeding the implied reproach in the tone, and in a second later Agnes had opened the front door for them.
“I’m to go with you to the dressmaker’s,” she said, “and there may be a few errands for us to do in the shops. You must make out a list, Brenda, so that you can get all your shopping done to-day. Mamma does n’t wish you to spend two nights in town.”
“Very well,” responded Brenda; “we have n’t so very much to do, have we? We wish to get all through to-day, because we have another plan for to-morrow morning, if mamma will let us carry it out.”
When Brenda disclosed her intention of going to Shiloh to see the Rosas (I am afraid that she brought the matter up as if she had settled in her own mind that she was to go), she found her mother at first disinclined to give the desired permission. But on Julia’s assuring her that it was very easy to reach the Rosas’ house from the station, Mrs. Barlow gave her consent. The prospect of this little journey buoyed Brenda up during the long hour while she stood in Madame Manteau’s fitting-room, having this “effec,” as Madame Manteau phrased it, and that “effec” tried, so that the two bridesmaids, as far as the clever dressmaker could bring it about, should be above reproach.
“I ’ll tell you, Julia,” said Brenda, “when Agnes comes back we must get her to go into one or two shops. I want to buy a few little things for the Rosas, and then I am going to get some of my prints at the photographers; I ’ve had duplicates made of those Fourth of July pictures, and I might as well get them as have them sent by mail. Now, Julia, it’s your turn; I can’t sit down on account of pins and things, but I must keep this on until Agnes comes back. I hope that this short drapery will suit you, for the two gowns ought to be just alike, and I must have mine just like this.”
So Brenda rattled on, while the finishing touches, as far as the fitting was concerned, were given to the two white crepe gowns. Then, with Agnes’s help, all the shopping was accomplished, even to the little things that the girls wished to take to Shiloh. At last, tired with their day’s work, they returned to the large house, which seemed so unnatural with carpets rolled up, furniture shrouded in white linen, and ornaments put out of sight.
“As if the family was getting ready for a funeral instead of a wedding,” whispered Brenda.
“Be careful!” cried Julia; “it might worry Agnes even to hear such a suggestion.”
“Julia,” said Brenda, the next morning, as the train rolled toward Shiloh, “in one way I feel very uncomfortable when I think of seeing Mrs. Rosa. I suppose you think that I never worry about that money, because I never speak about it; hut really I do.”
“Why, you silly girl,” cried Julia, “why should you worry?—the thing is all settled.”
“There, Julia,” responded Brenda, “you are really rather unkind. How can you call the thing settled! That two hundred dollars is gone, and—”
“But you know, Brenda, that Mrs. Rosa is no worse off.”
“I know it, Julia; in one way, she is n’t, for you certainly behaved like an angel; but you forget the rule that papa made. I am to have only one-third of my allowance until the two hundred dollars is made up. It will take ages—perfect ages.”
“Uncle Robert need not have made that rule on my account,” responded Julia, gravely. “I do not wish the money returned that I gave to make up the loss.”
“I know it, Julia; but papa has some theory about abstract justice, and about making me more careful in the future. He does n’t wish me to feel that I have escaped without any punishment.”
“You poor thing!” said Julia.
“Well, I haven’t said much about it this summer because I did n’t wish any one to pity me. But I ’ve hardly had a penny to spend. Have n’t you noticed? ”
“You could always borrow from me,” said Julia, smiling.
“Well, I have n’t wanted to borrow. Of course I ’ve been able to get along. But I just hope that sometime I ’ll come across that Portuguese man. I ’m going to ask Mrs. Rosa his name to-day. If ever I do, how I shall enjoy calling a policeman.”
“Would you know how to call a policeman?” asked Julia. “I’m sure I should n’t have the least idea myself.”
“Well, I only hope that I may have the chance sometime,” and Brenda shook her pretty head vindictively.
The money to which she referred with so much feeling was two-thirds of the proceeds from a bazaar which had been held at Edith’s house the preceding spring. “The Four,” as Edith, Nora, Brenda, and Belle were then called, had been the chief workers. But toward the last Julia had been permitted to assist, as well as her friend Ruth Roberts. Of course on the day of the Bazaar many other girls from Miss Crawdon’s school had been called upon to help in various ways. In the end the Bazaar had been a great success, and after all expenses were paid, three hundred dollars remained for the beneficiaries. But, alas! the money was put in the hands of Brenda for safe-keeping, and the temptation to show her independence proved too strong. Without the knowledge of the others, who were equally interested, she took two hundred dollars of the money to the North End to show to Mrs. Rosa, the poor Portuguese woman, for whom they hoped to expend the money. The plan was to remove Mrs. Rosa and her family to Shiloh, a country town, where people in the first stages of consumption were often greatly helped, or even cured. The money raised at the Bazaar was to establish the family in a home of their own, and the change was expected to benefit the children as much as the mother.
When Mrs. Rosa saw the two hundred-dollar bills she begged Brenda to let her keep it in the house over night, and Brenda had weakly consented. Soon after her departure from Mrs. Rosa’s, a young man of Mrs. Rosa’s nationality had appeared, who claimed the payment of a large debt which he said Mrs. Rosa had owed his mother. On this pretext he had taken the two hundred dollars from the sick woman, and had then gone away from Boston. The report was that he had gone to South America.
Brenda, of course, was very much blamed both by her own family and by all the girls who had interested themselves in the Bazaar. Poor Mrs. Rosa, indeed, might have suffered had not Julia come forward with an offer to make good the loss of the money, and thus Mrs. Rosa’s removal to Shiloh had been accomplished in spite of Brenda’s foolish act.
But Mr. Barlow, realizing that Brenda ought to be made to feel the effects of her folly, had taken the way which she had described to Julia, and her allowance had been cut down to one-third of the usual amount. Brenda had had too much pride to refer to this fact during the summer, and as her wants were always well supplied by indulgent parents, it is hardly likely that she really suffered. Nevertheless, she had had to economize in some of her pet extravagances, and this to a girl of Brenda’s disposition meant a great deal. Deep down in her heart, therefore, she cherished a feeling of undying vindictiveness toward the man whom she considered the cause of all her mortification and inconvenience. She forgot—as we are all apt to—her own thoughtlessness had first of all been the cause of her misfortunes.
In front of the neat little cottage where Julia and Brenda and the others had established Mrs. Rosa in the spring, the two cousins ordered the driver of the depot wagon to stop that August morning. At the sound of wheels, a head pushed itself out of the half-open door, then it withdrew, and in a few seconds another head appeared. Then this, too, withdrew; but just as the carriage came to a full stop, the door was pushed wide open, and a small whirlwind flew toward the girls. It was Manuel, there was no doubt of that, in real clothes,—that is, in jacket and trousers,—with his hair cropped close, and a broad grin on his sunburned face. He was speechless at sight of his old friends, but he clasped Brenda around the knees, so vigorously that if she had tried she could n’t have moved a step. Behind Manuel rushed Angelina, with a red ribbon tied around her neck. She had evidently waited a minute to add this adornment to her costume.
“Why, Miss Barlow, and Miss Bourne, who would ever have expected to see you? Dear me, mother will be so surprised! There, she’s coming, too! Did you come all the way from the beach to-day? Mother, mother!” turning toward the house, “here’s Miss Barlow and Miss Bourne.”
But Mrs. Rosa had already reached the group, and Julia and Brenda looked at her in astonishment. There was no doubt that Shiloh had agreed with her. She stood more erect, her color was better, and her general appearance was neater than when they had last seen her. She had lost her former hopeless and unambitious expression.
“Awful glad,” she said, in her somewhat uncertain English,—“awful glad to see you. Come right in. Please ’scuse us,” she added, as the girls followed her,—“please ’scuse us if we ain’t all fixed up. We works in the garden every morning.”
“Why, I’m sure that you look as neat as you need,” said Julia, as they seated themselves in the little room that was at once parlor and dining-room. Probably if she had looked closely at the floor she might have seen that a broom could have been used on it with advantage, and if she had glanced around the kitchen, of which she could see only a little through the half-open door, she might have discovered that the breakfast dishes were still standing unwashed on the sink. But who could expect a North End family to overcome North End habits of long standing all in the space of two or three months? What a contrast this home was to the Rosas’ former ill-ventilated abode! Here the sunlight was pouring in, the windows were wide open, and a canary bird in a cage in the kitchen sang so loudly as almost to drown conversation.
“I have a bed all of my own,” said Manuel, pointing to a bedroom in which a small cot stood near the larger bed,—Mrs. Rosa’s larger bed. In fitting up the house, the girls had made an effort to have a separate bed for each member of the family, whereas in the city two beds had been made to do duty for the seven.
Angelina, as Julia carried on a conversation with Mrs. Rosa, was expressing unbounded admiration for everything worn by Brenda,—her hat with its masses of flowers, her pongee parasol lined with pink, the chatelaine on which she carried a number of useless silver things,—she even ventured to finger the sleeve of the soft silk shirt-waist with an expression of approval.
“Come off!” cried Mrs. Rosa, in a tone of reproach. “Eet ees not nice to touch the lady that way. How many times I tell you, Angelina, to be polite!”
Angelina shook her head impatiently, and sat down, holding Brenda’s parasol across her knee.
“Where’s John?” asked Julia, trying to divert the conversation from Angelina.
“Oh, he’s beesy now. He ’n a great help to me.”
“Yes,” explained Angelina, “he’s earning two dollars a week, running errands for Mr. Smith. They give him a great many things, too; they say he’s so obliging.”
Angelina never hesitated to express her approval for her younger brother. Apparently she had no jealousy, although his good qualities were in shining contrast with her own.
“But I thought that you were working, too; don’t you go to the boarding-house regularly? ”
“Well, almost regularly,” said Angelina; “but I did n’t feel just like it to-day. I got a scolding yesterday for breaking some plates, and I just thought I’d show them to-day that I would n’t put up with it.”
“But that is n’t the way to treat people who have hired you. It may be that they won’t take you back.”
“That’s what I say,” and Mrs. Rosa shrugged her shoulders, as if Angelina were altogether beyond her control.
Just at this moment the two younger girls, and the boy who was next in age to Manuel, appeared. They had been blackberrying, and their pails showed that they had been successful.
The three youngsters, freckled and happy, stood before Brenda and Julia too much overwhelmed by the sight of visitors to say a word for themselves. Angelina had taken their tin pails from them, and busied herself in the kitchen, while Brenda amused herself with the children. Julia took advantage of this lull in general conversation to question Mrs. Rosa about various things, following, indeed, certain suggestions that Miss South had made; and she was very glad to find from Mrs. Rosa’s answers that the change had really been to the great advantage of the whole family, and that Angelina was the only one who longed for the city.
“When winter comes, it will be harder for you all,” she said to Mrs. Rosa; “but we will see that you have plenty of fuel for your fire, and if you have enough to eat, and can keep warm, why, it seems to me, that you ought to be contented.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. Miss,” replied Mrs. Rosa,—who could understand English rather better than she could speak it,—“Oh, yes, Miss; and if Angelina don’t like it I ’ll just whip her.”
“Oh, no, she’s too old to be whipped—”
“There, Julia,” cried Brenda, “we have n’t opened that box; we left it out on the steps.”
Running to the door, Brenda found Manuel keeping guard over the box. When Brenda asked for it, he lifted it in his arms—and although it was not a large box, it made a good armful for him—and carried it to a table in the house. Brenda left the children to exclaim over the various little gifts that she had brought, and with some impatience she tore open the envelope of photographs that she had brought from town.
“There, Mrs. Rosa, I want you to see these pictures of Rockley, and other places on the shore. I took them myself, and sometime I ’m going to make some pictures of you here at Shiloh; I have a camera. You understand?”
“Oh, yes, Miss; you make them yourself. Oh, my, how pretty!” and Mrs. Rosa took up one after another of the prints.
“I ’ll give you some,” said Brenda, “to remember me by.”
“Oh, yes,” and Mrs. Rosa smiled too.
Then one of the photographs fell from her hand. “You make these all?” she asked, excitedly.
“Why, yes.”
“Who’s this? where you make him?” and she held up one of the photographs that had been taken near Tucker’s landing on the Fourth.
“Why, at Marblehead, way down by the sea,” replied Brenda. “That’s a foreign man, too, but not like you; he’s an Italian,” she added.
“No Italian,” responded Mrs. Rosa. “Why, that’s Miguel Silva, that bad, bad man!” and she threw the photograph on the floor and stamped on it.
At the name “Miguel Silva” Julia had looked up in surprise.
“Why, what is it? Have you heard from Miguel Silva?”
“No, no, he’s there,” and Mrs. Rosa pointed to the despised photograph. As Julia stooped to pick it up Mrs. Rosa threw a second photograph on the floor. She had torn it in four pieces; and as Julia picked them up, she saw the face of the foreigner who had saved Brenda from a bicycle accident. While she had n’t seen the affair herself, she had been much interested in the story, as Nora and Brenda had told it to her, and she had thought it a wonderful coincidence that the man who had acted so promptly should have been the same man whom Brenda had photographed on the Fourth.
But here, apparently, was an even more wonderful coincidence. At least, it would be wonderful, if Mrs. Rosa should prove to be right; if “Brenda’s foreigner,” as they had called him in fun, should prove to be the man who had taken Mrs. Rosa’s money a few months before. Miguel Silva had certainly been the name of this man, and there was no doubt that Mrs. Rosa thought that she recognized Brenda’s photograph as a portrait of him.
Brenda herself was puzzled by Mrs. Rosa’s words, and half angry that her pictures should have been treated with disrespect.
“Angelina, Angelina, come here!” cried Mrs. Rosa; and at her mother’s summons Angelina appeared. She carried before her a little tray, on which were two saucers of blackberries and a plate of biscuit. But she set the tray down quickly, and ran over to her mother to look at the photograph which Mrs. Rosa had taken from Julia’s hand.
“Why, it’s Miguel Silva!” she exclaimed, angrily,—“the bad man. Where did you get it?”
Brenda now began to make explanations, and though Mrs. Rosa may not have understood her perfectly, Angelina comprehended that within a comparatively short time Miguel Silva had been seen on the North Shore, whereas he had been thought to have run away to South America.
“Why, he says that he lives at Salem. That’s where his little boy died,” said Brenda.
“His little boy dead?” asked Angelina. “Oh, mother, you hear that; little Miguel’s dead. Miss Barlow says so.”
“Oh, the poor little thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Rosa. “He was a nice little boy, though I never saw him since he was a baby. Poor Maria!” and for a moment her hatred of Miguel seemed to be lost in pity for his wife, who, she said, loved the little boy so much.
The disclosure brought about by the photographs overshadowed all other subjects of conversation between the two cousins and the Rosa family. They looked, to be sure, at the garden, and praised the work which each of the children had done. They ate the blackberries and biscuit which Angelina had so thoughtfully prepared for them. But Mrs. Rosa could talk of nothing except Miguel Silva, and Brenda promised to see if something could not be done to make him give up the money; and Angelina made many suggestions, even to the extent of going to Salem to testify against Miguel.
“I think that she’d like to be in a lawsuit,” whispered Julia to Brenda. “I don’t believe she’d care whether she was witness or prisoner, as long as she could be a centre of observation.”
“We ’ll surely let you know if anything can be done,” said Julia to Mrs. Rosa, as they said good-bye. “But I really think that to try to punish Miguel would be more trouble than it would be worth.”
“I cannot say that I agree with you,” said Brenda, after they had left the Rosas. “If that man is Miguel Silva, I think that he ought to be punished. He had n’t a bit of right to that money; you know papa looked into the account and found that it was hardly twenty-five dollars, and the man had trumped up all the rest of it. If that is n’t stealing, I don’t see what would be. But still—dear me—I can’t bear to think that that interesting man is the one. Perhaps Mrs. Rosa is wrong about him.”
“You know his name now; shall you take the photographs to him at Salem?” asked Julia, mischievously.