Tranquillity House/Chapter 16
CHAPTER XVI
BACK TO TRANQUILLITY
"CONNIE CURTIS!” I gasped. “You don’t mean that we are to get in touch with this boy ourselves, and right now?”
“I most certainly do!” she announced coolly. “Why not? We’ve gone so far and we might as well push the thing through to the finish as quickly as possible. Uncle is in a very critical condition; Miss Carstair told me so this morning after she had been calling up the hospital. The doctors think there’s some crisis coming soon. And it will take something very definite and unusual to bring him out of this. He’s had a shock of a very unfortunate kind. Now, they think if he could have one of the other sort, and very soon, it might turn the tide and bring him out of it. That wasn’t just the way Miss Carstair expressed it, but I can’t remember all her medical terms. That’s what she meant, anyhow!”
“But how shall I get hold of this young fellow?” I demanded. “Princeton’s an awfully big place, you know.”
“Just the same way you managed the other,” Connie replied. “Begin by asking for the one you want, and never let up till some one gets him for you. Say it’s awfully important, a life-and-death matter. That’ll make ’em stand around lively, or I miss my guess!”
“But what shall I say to him, if I do get him?” I asked helplessly.
“Tell him that a very urgent matter that concerns him has arisen and that he must leave immediately and come over here to Tranquillity,” she dictated. “Say that he cannot get here too quickly!”
“But suppose he asks who I am and what it’s all about?” I still objected, for somehow the thing seemed pretty high-handed, and I couldn’t imagine any one coming all that way because some unknown person asked it and wouldn’t tell the reason.
“Well then, tell him it’s a legal matter that concerns his father, Campbell Mason, who died in India. That’ll fetch him, I reckon. And tell him you are talking for Mr. Azariah Benham. That’s perfectly true; you are talking for Uncle and he would heartily approve of it, too, if he could only know!”
Well, I went back to my task, for by that time I felt like an automaton who worked simply at the dictation of Connie. I had rather a hard time getting the university, and harder work yet to find out whether there was an Anthony Mason on their rolls. But at last there came a “yes” over the wire. Greatly encouraged, I then set about the task of locating him, which took more than an hour. But about three o’clock there came a nice, boyish voice over the wire, saying: “I’m Anthony Mason. What is it you wish?”
At the sound of that, I almost uttered a hurrah, and was so confused with excitement for a moment that I could hardly answer. But at last I managed to make him understand, and urged him to drop everything and come to Tranquillity at once. He replied that he had a very important chemistry lecture at four, and asked if the next day wouldn’t do just as well. He said he didn’t quite understand what it was all about, and I didn’t blame him much for that! But I implored him to drop everything and come immediately, and at last he agreed, though quite reluctantly, I thought. After all, I could scarcely wonder at it. It must have all sounded rather wild to him, I imagine.
When I told Connie the results, she gave a whoop of joy and commanded me to call up the hospital at once, get Tomkins, and tell him to come over immediately.
“What do you want him for?” I wanted to know.
“You’ll see when he gets here!” she answered mysteriously.
I got Tomkins, but he said he couldn’t get over till between five and six, know if anything was wrong. I told him it was just something that had come up that we wanted to talk over with him, and left it there. Then we sat down to wait.
“Do you realize,” I suddenly asked Connie, “that probably by the time that young man and Tomkins arrive here, Miss Carstair will be on hand and we can’t possibly keep the thing a secret?”
“I don’t care a thing about that anymore!” laughed Connie. “The whole world may know it now. But I am glad that Tomkins took charge of those jewels and papers and things, and put them in a safe-deposit vault in the city. I hated to have them on my mind.”
It seemed as if the moments would never pass and we tried to hurry them by imagining what kind of a person young Anthony Mason would prove to be. I said I did hope he would be a fine young fellow, for Uncle’s sake, and that his voice sounded very pleasant over the telephone. Connie said he would probably be a great, strapping football fiend with tousled hair and torn sweater and knobby shoes.
Mother strolled in with the baby, about half-past four, saying she had come to look me up, as I hadn’t been home since morning. I realized guiltily that this was so, for I’d been too much interested and occupied even to think of home! But I signaled to Connie to ask what we should do now, and she whispered:
“All right! It doesn’t matter; only don’t say anything. I want to see the fun!”
At quarter-past five, who should also drop in but Daddy, who said he had gotten away early, found no one at home, so decided we must all be over here and came to join the party. Then Miss Carstair arrived and Connie whispered to me that we had a very satisfactory audience to see the show. I was fearfully nervous about it all, myself, but Connie seemed to be enjoying the prospect.
At last we heard a car drive up to the front of the house, and I knew by that it was a station taxi and not Tomkins, who would have gone round to the garage. I got cold all over and my knees began to shake, and they shook more when Connie whispered to me:
“Go down, yourself, and let him in! See him first down there and tell him a little about it. Then bring him up here. I want to surprise every one!”
I don’t know how I got out of the room and downstairs to the front door, but I some how found myself confronting a very pleasant, slim, and even handsome young fellow who introduced himself as Anthony Mason and asked very shyly if I could explain why he had been asked to come here. He seemed rather surprised to have to talk to as young a person as myself, and said he had expected to meet a Mr. Azariah Benham on some legal matter concerning his father.
The most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do in my life was to break into the matter and tell that boy his father's real name wasn’t Campbell Mason at all, and who he really was. And I don’t remember to this day how I did it. My main impression is the look of perfectly blank dismay that came into his fine blue eyes (so like Uncle's!) when finally he grasped my meaning.
“I think—I’m sure—there must be some mistake!” he stammered. And I was just trying hard to assure him that there wasn’t, when who should appear in the room but Tomkins, who had just driven over from the hospital. He stood stock-still and simply stared at the young fellow, mouth open, eyes wide with amazement, and his hands working convulsively.
“This, Tomkins, is Mr. Anthony Mason, whose real name is Benham!” I announced.
Tomkins wiped his forehead with a big handkerchief and gasped:
“Oh, miss! I’ve had that bad a shock! It’s like as if Mr. Azariah or his brother stood before me, the way they used to look when I first came into their service—the very image, miss!”
Poor Anthony looked more confused than ever at this, and I took compassion on him and said:
“Let’s all go upstairs and see Daddy and Mother and Connie, and get this straightened out. I don’t know what else to say.”
So we went upstairs to find a pretty bewildered audience there, with Connie grinning delightedly among them. But Daddy, who is a lawyer and quick at grasping things and handling situations, got hold of the matter in short order and took young Mr. Mason right under his wing and after a while the muddle began to straighten itself out. None of them could get over the wonder of what Connie and I had accomplished, all by ourselves, and we quite shared the honors of the occasion with Anthony.
But the climax was reached when Tomkins brought out an old miniature of Uncle, painted when he was a young man of about twenty, which had been put away for years. It was Anthony himself, in every feature, even to the straight yellow hair and sensitive mouth. So accurate was the likeness that even Anthony was convinced and began to settle down into the belief of his changed identity.
Tomkins, still all aquiver with excitement, hurried back to the hospital to tell the doctors the wonderful news, and Daddy and Mother suggested that Anthony should come and make his headquarters at our house for a few days, till it could be decided what he was to do. And he seemed very glad to accept their invitation.
When it was all over and they had left us alone, Connie and I clasped each other tight and laughed and cried hysterically, in sheer relief of pent-up feelings.
“Oh, it was worth it! It was worth it all!” sighed Connie at last, mopping her eyes and sinking back with a sigh of content. “I’d do it all over again; yes, I’d be willing to roll down those stairs again and break every bone I possess, to have things turn out like this! And now, if only dear Uncle can understand it all and get well!”
Then came the question of how and when, or whether it would be wise at all, to break the news to Uncle, who remained in the same condition. There were long consultations with doctors and specialists. Some declared the new shock would kill him, others believed that such good news, if he could understand it, might bring about the very change that was desired. At last it was decided to tell him, but not in the ordinary way. And I, much to my consternation, was chosen to be the one to disclose the tale. This was because they knew Uncle was very fond of me and might be less disturbed if I could just tell him quietly than he would if even Tomkins were to try.
I shall never forget the day I went to the hospital to talk to him. I had taken him some fruit and flowers and placed them on the table by his bed. I used to chat with him a while, though never in a way that would need an answer, for he was incapable of making any response. But I would tell him all the simple news of our lives, about how Connie’s ankle was healing and my progress in high school and Baby Ralph’s new double tooth. He always lay and looked at me gravely, and sometimes it seemed as if he tried to smile, though even this faculty had been seriously impaired. But his eyes were never any thing but beautiful and understanding; they made me certain his mind was not affected.
On that day I chatted as usual, though horribly nervous under my calm, well knowing that two doctors and another famous specialist were listening and watching beyond the half-closed door. Presently I said—and I tried to make it sound as casual as if I were speaking of the weather:
“By the way, Uncle, I have some good news for you. We have found that the son of your twin brother, Ashbel, has been living in this country for some years. He is studying at Princeton, and is an awfully nice young fellow. They call him “Anthony Mason, and he has been at Tranquillity for several days, lately—”
I stopped there, for I simply could not go on. I was too frightened at the look in those beautiful blue eyes, that seemed fairly to burn with astonishment and—well, helplessness! All I could add, was:
“I know you’ll be pleased at the news, Uncle! And now I must run away and not tire you by talking any more.”
His eyes followed me as I kissed him and tiptoed away, and there was not the slightest doubt in my mind that he had understood. But the doctors, while praising me for the quiet way in which I had done it, were awfully worried about what the result might be.
We all sat together that night in Connie’s room, Miss Carstair and Anthony and Connie and I, wondering if we should hear anything from the hospital before bedtime. Anthony was taking it all very wonderfully, when one considered the curious position he was in. He was jolly and attractive, yet shy and simple in manner, and we all felt that we had become very fond of him, even in that short time.
“It’s strange, isn’t it,” he had just begun, “that I have never even seen my uncle, yet here I am hanging on the news of his condition as if I’d known him all my life! Why, I never dreamed I had a single living relative until—”
But at that moment the telephone rang and I rushed out to it. I was back the next moment with astounding news.
“Oh! Doctor Sprague has just called up to say that Uncle moved his head, and spoke, not fifteen minutes ago! He said only five words, but they were, ‘I want to see him!” The doctors are sure he means Anthony; and Tomkins is rushing here with the car and they want Anthony to come to the hospital—at once!”
It all seems very strange to look back on now. For Anthony has finished at Princeton and is giving his time to managing the big estate and dairy business, while Uncle sits and basks in the sun in the beautiful garden and hasn’t a care on his mind. Old Cookson recovered and got out of sight as soon as he could leave the hospital. Uncle refused to take any legal steps against him, saying that it would be no satisfaction to him to have Cookson held for his duplicity and deceit. Uncle thought the man’s own conscience would punish him sufficiently and we were all glad to forget him.
On the anniversary of Connie’s accident, Uncle Benham invited us all to Tranquillity to dinner in the evening, not even forgetting Miss Carstair. We found, when we got there, that Anthony, who loves a joke, had bought and hung up a wreath of artificial forget-me-nots over the paneling below the window-seat! It was a delightful reunion, and we all had a jolly time over the delicious dinner that Beulah had cooked, served by a smiling yet important Tomkins who tried in vain to preserve the proper dignity and not to laugh at Anthony’s absurd remarks and comical stories of college.
When the dinner was nearly over and we were cracking nuts and sipping the heavenly fruit punch, Uncle rose from his chair and announced:
“I have a toast to propose, and I suggest that we all drink it standing. To Tranquillity House—with its long-lost heir—and the co-heirs who will share it with him!”
At these words we all stared at him in such bewilderment that he could not restrain a smile. And then he explained:
“The co-heirs, I scarcely need mention, being the Misses Elspeth and Constance Curtis, the two loving, unselfish, and loyal little friends who have always felt this a second home, and through whose clever instrumentality Anthony was restored to us!”
I cannot begin to describe the surprise written on every face but Uncle's and Anthony's. (Anthony had plainly been in the secret.) We learned afterward that Uncle had that day made and executed a will, leaving two thirds of the big estate to Anthony and the remaining one third to us,—who he said had always been to him as his own nieces. But he gave us no time to speak, only repeating, “My friends, to Tranquillity House!”
And so we stood about the table, Uncle's dear face smiling at us from the head and Anthony’s from the foot, with Tomkins radiating benevolence from the background and Beulah grinning at us from the pantry door—and we drank to the prosperity of Tranquillity House!
THE END