Book: Patty and Azalea

C >> Carolyn Wells >> Patty and Azalea




"Why, that's a finishing school!" exclaimed Bill, knowing of the
fashionable establishment.

"Yes; I mean when she's ready to be 'finished,'" said Patty, calmly.
"Before that, she'll go to Kindergarten,--and some other school, I
suppose."

"I suppose she will; but we'll have a few years of her company here, at
home, won't we, before her schooldays begin?"

"Yes, of course, we're having them now. But they go so fast! Oh, Little
Billee, _all_ the days fly so fast,--I can't realise we've been married
nearly two years--"

"Nonsense! A year and nearly two months--"

"Well, it soon _will_ be two years! I never saw the time fly so! It goes
like a Bandersnatch!"

"Does that mean you're so happy, Patty?"

"It means exactly that! Oh, I want to live forever! I am so happy! I
didn't know life with you and Fleurette would be so beautiful as it is!"

"Is it, dearest? I'm so glad," and the big man looked at his dainty,
sweet little wife with his whole soul in his fine clear blue eyes.

"Your eyes are wonderful, Billee, dear," said Patty, meeting his glance
lovingly; "did your mother have blue eyes,--or your father?"

"Both of them did. I was thought to look more like mother, as a
kiddy,--but they were both fair haired and blue eyed."

"You never knew your mother much, did you?"

"No, she died when I was very small. And father, when I was about ten.
Then, as I've told you, I lived four years with Aunt Amanda--"

"In Arizona?"

"Yes; in a small settlement,--hardly even a village,--called Horner's
Corners."

Patty laughed. "What a darling name! How could anybody call a place
that! Suppose it had grown to be a large city."

"Then they would probably have changed the name. Perhaps they have
already done so,--I haven't heard from there for years."

"Why didn't you keep up your relatives' acquaintance?"

"Well, Aunt Amanda died, later, and her husband never cared much for me,
anyhow. So we drifted apart, and never drifted together again."

"Wasn't your aunt your mother's sister?"

"Oh, Lord, no! She was not really my aunt, at all. She was a cousin of my
father's and when she took me in, I called her auntie. But they only took
me because they wanted my help on the place, and I worked hard for them
four years. They gave me no affection, nor even thanks for my services,
and as I couldn't learn anything or make any sort of progress in that
God-forsaken valley, I left them and shifted for myself."

"And made a great success of the shifting!" Patty's eyes glowed as she
looked at her big handsome husband.

"Yes, I found you! And, incidentally that little flower of loveliness
that's going to sleep against your breast."

"So she is! Pretty thing!" Patty gazed adoringly at the baby and then
handed her over to the nurse, who returned for her charge.

"Tell me more about Horner's Corners," Patty resumed, as they remained
seated on the porch, after Fleurette's departure.

"Not much to tell. It consisted of a store and post-office,--a church and
school,--and forty or fifty small houses. Uncle Thorpe's place was a mile
out from the Corners, proper, and I used to trudge back and forth every
day for the mail, and for provisions. And part of the time I went to
school. The teacher was a nice young girl, but we boys led her a dance!
How we _did_ plague her!" and Bill laughed at the recollection.

"Any children in your aunt's family?"

"One; a little baby girl, named Azalea."

"What a pretty name! Where is she now?"

"I don't know. Right there, probably. Let me see. I was ten when I went
there. But she wasn't born then. When I left, that child was about a year
old, I guess. She must be about seventeen or so, now."

"And she's your only living relative?"

"The only one I know anything about. Mother's people were English,--none
of them over here. No near relatives, anyhow, for she was an only child.
Dad was, too, for that matter. Little Zaly,--that's what they called
her, is about the last leaf on the tree."

"Let's ask her to visit us, can't we? I do want to know your people; and
if she's all the people there are, I want to know her."

"Why, child, I don't know anything about her,--I don't even know if she's
still in the land of the living."

"Can't you write and find out?"

"Why, I suppose so. But _why_ do you want her? She's probably an awkward,
countrified little thing--"

"I don't care for that! She's your kin, and I'm prepared to love her for
that reason."

"That's a dear thing for you to say, Patty mine, but you may get more
than you bargain for. Suppose you invite Azalea and Uncle Thorpe himself
comes trotting along, too!"

"Well, I could even live through that! I don't suppose he'd bite me!"

"But I'm quite sure he wouldn't fit into your scheme of things entire!
Oh, let sleeping dogs lie, Pattibelle. Take me for my whole family,--I'm
a host in myself."

"You are,--my lord and master,--you sure are! But, all the same, I
must hunt up your little cousin. Of course her father can't come, if he
isn't invited. And I'd like to know the child. I might do something for
her,--be of some real help to her, I mean. Maybe she's longing to get
East and have the advantages I could give her."

"Maybe she's longing to stay put in her native desert."

"In that case, she can say so. I shan't compel her to come! Let me write
her, anyway, mayn't I, Little Billee?"

"Of course you may. You may write to anybody you wish; to the Sultan of
Kasharabad, if you like."

"Is he your relative?"

"He may be,--for all I know. Some family trees branch widely."

"Well, give me Azalea's address,--I'm going to open a correspondence, at
least."

"No address, that I know of, except Miss Azalea Thorpe, Horner's Corners,
Arizona."

"I'll write, if only for the fun of addressing a letter there. I never
heard such a funny name for a place!"

Patty tore up two or three letters before she finally composed one that
suited her. It was not easy to know what attitude to take toward such a
complete stranger, and with no knowledge of what sort of a girl she was
writing to. But she at last sent off this:

MY DEAR AZALEA:

I am the wife of your cousin, William Farnsworth. Though you do not
remember him, your father will tell you about him. At any rate, as you
are of his kin, I want you to come and make us a visit--that is, if you
care to. We have a lovely home, not far from New York City, and I would
do my best to make you happy and give you a good time. You may not want
to come,--indeed, you may have moved away from your native town, and may
never even get this letter. But if you do get it, write me, at any rate,
and tell me what you think about a trip East. We both send love and hope
to hear from you soon.

Affectionately yours,

PATTY FARNSWORTH.

"You see," Patty explained to Bill, as she read the letter to him, "it
may be she can't afford such a trip. But I didn't like to hint at that,
so I asked her to write me what she thinks about it. If she thinks she
can't spend so much money, then we can offer to get her ticket."

"Very thoughtful and very delicately done, my dearest. You have the
kindest heart a little blue-eyed girl ever possessed."

"Not entirely disinterested, though. I do want to have some of your
people under our roof,--and this is my first attempt. If it fails, I
shall look up some of your English relatives."

"Yes, we will do that some day. I'd like to round them up
myself. Mother's tales of her childhood home,--as retold me by my
father,--sounded delightful. They had old country estates, and--"

"And ancestral halls! Hung with old armour! Oh, Little Billee, what fun
to take Fleurette there! Portraits of her ancestors smiling down at her
from the oaken walls of the long picture gallery--"

"Patty, Patty! how you _do_ run on! I don't know that there are any
picture galleries at all."

"Oh, of course there are. They're bound to be there. And maybe a family
ghost! A spectre, that stalks the corridors when one of the family is
about to die--"

"Hush! You bad child! What awful ideas!"

"I've just been reading a story about a family spectre. I think they're
_most_ interesting."

"Well, we'll cut out the spook show. _I've_ no liking for clanking chains
and hollow groans!"

* * * * *

Impatiently Patty waited for the answer to her letter, and one day it
came.

Farnsworth was in New York on business, and so she put it away unopened
until his return.

"Goody girl!" he cried, when she told him. "Nice of you, dear, to let us
have the first reading together."

"Oh, I couldn't gobble it up alone,--I like everything better if I have
it with you."

And so they sat side by side on the porch, and read the long looked for
missive.

* * * * *

"DEAR COUSIN PATTY;" it began.

I was so surprised and pleased to get your letter I hardly knew what to
do. It seemed as if the dream of my life had at last come true. I've
always wanted to go East,--to see New York,--oh, I'm so excited I can
hardly write! And dear Cousin William! How kind of him to tell you about
me,--for I was a very small baby when he was here. My father has told me
all about it. When shall I start? I accept your invitation with joy. I
have saved up my money and I have enough, I think, for the ticket. How
much does it cost? But I can find out somehow. Father sends his respects
and he says I may go. I am all ready. Can't you telegraph me, so I can go
soon?

With grateful thanks,
I am yours very sincerely,
AZALEA THORPE.

"Well," said Bill, "what do you think of that for a letter?"

He looked thoughtfully at Patty, as he spoke.

"Why," she hesitated,--"I think it's a very nice letter--"

"Wait, now,--be honest!"

"Well, I--oh, I don't know,--but I looked for a little more--simplicity,
I guess. This sounds as if she had resorted to a 'Complete Letter-Writer'
for help."

"Just what I thought, exactly! But I don't know as we can blame her if
she did. The poor child is doubtless unversed in polite correspondence,
and she did her best,--but she felt she needed a little more elegance of
construction and so forth, and she picked out some dressy phrases from
the book."

"It doesn't matter, anyway," said Patty, generously, "she's glad to come,
and so I'm glad to have her. Let's telegraph at once,--shall us?"

"Yes; but I don't like that haste of hers. It strikes me queer."

"Queer, how? She's impatient to start,--that's all. What else could it
mean?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. But the whole letter's queer,--if you ask me!"

"I _do_ ask you,--and I ask you _how_ it's queer."

"It's so,--so jumbly,--incoherent,--choppy."

"Pooh! don't criticise the lack of style in that poor country child. I'll
teach her to write letters,--and I won't let her know I'm teaching her,
either."

"You'll teach her lots of things,--I know,--and in that dear, gentle way
of yours, that couldn't hurt or offend anybody. Well, I'll telegraph,
then, for her to come ahead. What else shall I say?"

"Tell her what road to take, and all directions you can think of. Though
it sounds to me, as if she thought she would have no difficulty as to
travel."

"Sounds that way to me, too; but I suppose her father can look after such
details. Queer message from her father."

"Not at all. You said he wasn't overfond of you, so as he sends his
respects to you, I don't think you need ask for more."

"If she does start right off,--and I'm pretty sure she will,--she'll be
here in a week or so."

"Of course; but I'll be ready for her. I'll give her the yellow room.
It's big and sunny and has a lovely bath and dressing-room. It's all in
order, too, I'll just make some soft lacy pillows and give it some little
personal touches and it will be all ready for her. Oh, Billee,--think
what a lot we can do for her!"

Patty's eyes glowed with the anticipation of aiding the little country
girl, but Farnsworth was not so sanguine.

"You're running a risk, girlie," he said. "Suppose she turns out
impossible. The fact of her being my relative doesn't quite canonise
her, you know. Perhaps she _isn't_ a saint."

"Now, now, old calamity howler,--I don't want her to be a saint! I hope
and expect she'll be a sweet, docile nature, and her lack of culture,
if any, I shall try to remedy. Her lack of familiarity with social
customs and all that, I _know_ I can remedy. Oh, I expect a busy time
with her,--and I know I shall have to be tactful and kind,--but don't
you think I can be?"

Farnsworth kissed the wistful, questioning face upturned to his and
assured her that she most certainly could!

So Patty gaily set about her preparations of the pretty guest chamber.
She hoped Azalea liked yellow,--most girls did,--but if not, she could
easily be moved to the pink guest room.

This yellow room, however, was so well adapted for a young girl. There
was a long French window that opened on the dearest little balcony, where
the wistaria clambered and made a delightful shade. There was an alcove,
where stood a Chippendale writing desk, and a revolving book rack. There
was a sewing corner, with a fully furnished work-stand; and there was a
soft puffy couch, with a pile of down pillows and a fluffy yellow afghan.
And yet there was ample room for the bed, with its dimity draperies, and
the fascinating toilet table, with its bewildering array of ivory
fittings.

Uncertain of her guest's tastes, Patty put out few books, only a story or
two of general interest and a couple of new magazines. All such matters
could be attended to after she had sized up the newcomer.

On the day she was expected, Patty arranged the flowers in the yellow
room herself.

Naturally, she chose azaleas, and some of a lovely soft tint of buff
harmonised with pale pink ones. White ones too, with a bit of green
foliage, until the room was a bower of beauty. Not overdone, though.
Patty never made the mistake of too many flowers,--fond as she was
of them.

A last affectionate survey of the room convinced her that all was exactly
as it should be, and with a happy little sigh of contentment she went
down to the porch to await the arrival of the guest, for Farnsworth had
gone to the station to meet her, and they were due now at any minute.




CHAPTER V

THAT AWFUL AZALEA


The car came along the driveway and stopped in front of the porch where
Patty sat.

Farnsworth stepped out, with a cheery "Here we are!" and Patty rose to
greet the visitor.

Up the steps toward her flew a figure which, as Patty afterward described
it, seemed like a wild Indian! A slight, wiry figure, rather tall and
very awkward, and possessed of a nervous force that expressed itself in
muscular activity.

"Oh, how do you do?" the girl cried, explosively. "You're Cousin
Patty,--aren't you?" But even as she spoke, she stumbled on the steps,
pitched forward, falling on Patty, and but for Farnsworth's quick action
would have knocked her down.

"Jiminy crickets! Ain't I the tangle-foot! Guess I'm getting in bad at
the very start. Hope I didn't hurt you."

"Not at all," said Patty, recovering her poise, both mental and physical.
"You are very welcome, Azalea. Will you sit here a few minutes before we
go in the house?"

"Sure! I'll spill myself right into this double-decker!"

She threw herself into a long wicker lounging-seat, of the steamer-chair
type, and stretched out her feet in evident enjoyment of the relaxation.

"Well, this is comfort, after travelling cross country for days and days!
I say, Cousin, it was awful good of you to ask me."

"Think so?" and Patty tried to smile pleasantly. She avoided catching
Bill's eye, for the poor man was overcome with shame and consternation
that his relative should be so impossible.

"Yep,--I do. My! this place of yours is swell. I never saw such a grand
house--close to. You're rich, ain't you, Cousin William?"

"So, so," Farnsworth replied, gazing at the girl in a sort of horrified
fascination. "You've changed since last we met," he went on, in an
endeavour to make casual conversation.

"Well, yes, I s'pose so. They tell me I was a squalling young one when
you were at the Corners. Was I a terror?"

"Not then!" Bill wanted to answer, but of course he didn't.

"Not at all," he said, pleasantly. "You were a pretty baby--"

"But greatly changed,--hey?"

The girl gave him a quick glance. She was not ill-looking, as to features
and colouring, but her whole effect was unattractive,--even repelling.

She had flashing black eyes, which darted from one object to another in a
jerky, inquisitive way. Her scarlet lips parted over white, even teeth,
but her lower lip hung, and her half-open mouth gave her an air of
ignorance, often accompanied by rude staring.

Her black hair was concealed by a coarse straw hat, untrimmed save for
some gaudy flowers embroidered on the straw with crude coloured wools.

"How do you like my hat?" Azalea asked suddenly. "Just the shape of a
horse's hat, isn't it? But it's all the go. This dress is, too,--hope you
like it,--I do."

The dress in question was a "sport suit" of a large-sized green and black
check. It was cheap material, and badly cut, and its ill-fitting coat
hung on Azalea's slim shoulders in baggy wrinkles. Her blouse was bright
pink Georgette, beaded with scarlet beads, and altogether, perhaps her
costume could not have been worse chosen or made up,--at least, from
Patty's point of view.

She ignored the question about the hat, and asked the girl as to her
journey.

"O.K.," Azalea returned. "Had a bang-up time. Made friends all along the
line. Some of 'em coming to see me. Hope you'll like 'em."

She stretched out luxuriously in the long chair, throwing her arms above
her head, and crossing her feet, which were dressed with "gun metal"
stockings and shoes. Her hat was pushed awry, and wisps of hair fell
at either side of her face.

"Now, perhaps you'd like to go to your room," suggested Patty, at her
wits' end what to do with such an unconventional person.

"Nixy; I'm too comfortable here! I'll chuck my hat, and just enjoy
myself."

Off came the hat, and was pitched on the floor. Azalea ran her fingers
through her hair, making it a little more disordered than before. It was
pretty hair,--or, rather would have been, if it were better cared for.
Dark, almost black, with a slight inclination to curl, it was bunched
into a tousled knot that was far from picturesque.

"Oh, come," said Patty, jumping up, for she couldn't stand the girl's
uncouth actions another minute. "Come along with me, Azalea. You must
dress for dinner soon,--and some one might come to call now. We'll have
tea in your room, if you like."

"Tea! I never drink it. I like coffee,--for breakfast,--or cocoa. But see
here, Cousin, don't you make any difference for me. I ain't company, you
know,--just let me be one of the family, won't you?"

Many retorts flashed through Patty's mind, but she only said, "Certainly,
Azalea. We want you to be one of us."

Farnsworth was silent. The man was really aghast. What had he brought on
poor little Patty! He didn't excuse himself with the thought that it was
Patty's doing, not his, that Azalea was there at all, but he felt
personally to blame for having such a relative and for having her there
in their home. He looked helplessly at Patty, with such despair in his
kind eyes, that she ran over and kissed him, in spite of the fact that
they were not alone.

Azalea giggled. "That's right," she said, affably; "don't mind me! Just
go right on spoonin' even when I'm around. I don't mind. And I don't
wonder you took to her, Cousin William. She's a peach, for fair,--ain't
she?"

"She certainly is," said Farnsworth, forcing a polite smile, but
conscious of a strong desire to choke his new-found relative.

His utterly discouraged face roused Patty to fresh efforts at
hospitality, and taking Azalea's arm, she persuaded her to get up
from the lounging chair.

On her feet, the girl shook herself with a careless abandon of manner,
unheeding the fact that a hairpin flew from her loosened hair, and she
dropped the handkerchief, gloves and small bag that she had had in her
lap.

"Oh, pshaw," she said, as Bill restored them, "ain't I awful! That's
me--dropping things all the time! But I can pick them up myself--don't
you be bothering."

She stuffed gloves and handkerchief in the bag, slinging it on
her arm. "My, what a vine!" she said, pulling down a branch of the
wistaria,--and, incidentally, breaking it off.

"Oh, golly! Look what I done! Just like me! But you've got plenty left."
She tossed the broken branch out on the lawn, and then turned to follow
Patty, already in the doorway.

"I'm coming!" she said, "lead the way, Cousin, I'll trail you. What a big
house! Don't you ever get lost in it?"

"No," smiled Patty, "and you won't as soon as you're used to it. This
way, Azalea."

"Hello! _Hello_! This my room?" The Western girl looked at the pretty
yellow room as Patty ushered her in.

"Yes, if you like yellow,--if not--"

"Oh, yes, I like yellow good enough. Don't make any diff to me what
colour a room is. Nice and big, ain't it? Say, do you care if I chuck
some of the lace props into the discard?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why, these here, now, faddly-duds." And Azalea whisked off a little lace
stand-cover, swept up an armful of lace pillows, and was about to jerk
off the lace bedspread, when Patty protested.

"Oh, wait a minute,--of course you needn't have anything you don't
want,--but Janet will take off the spread."

"'Fraid I'll muss it up, hey?" Azalea laughed, "Well. I s'pose I _am_ a
terror! But honest to goodness I can't stand for those ticklers. They get
in my ears!"

Patty sighed. She had grasped the situation the instant she first
laid eyes on the girl, but somehow it seemed to be developing further
difficulties all the time.

"Now, Azalea," she began, "let me help you get your travelling dress off
and put you into your kimono, and we'll chat over a cup of tea. Oh, you
don't like tea,--will you have lemonade?"

"Yep. Love it! Plenty of sugar, though."

Patty gave the order to Janet, who had appeared to look after the
visitor, and turned back at the sound of Azalea's loud, strident
laughter.

"Kimono! At six P.M. That's good. Why, Cousin, I use my kim for a
dressing gown, I ain't going to bed,--am I?"

"No, dear. But we'll have a more cosy time, I think, if you get off your
travel things and have a refreshing bath."

"Oh, well, I'll take off this rig,--I want to be choice of it, anyway.
You have dinner at night?"

"Yes, we always do."

"Well, don't make any change for me, as I said. I ain't accustomed to it,
but I can stand it, I guess. Nothing fazes _me_!"

Azalea took off her dress and looked at the skirt with concern.

"Some dusty," she remarked, "but it'll brush off."

"Oh, yes; lay it on that chair. Janet will look after it."

"Brush it, you mean?"

"Yes; clean it and press it properly."

"My land! does your servant do that?"

"Certainly. And leave your street shoes out for her to attend to."

"Oh,--I see! She's a regular outfit! Well, I never had a maid,--but I
guess I can stand one."

Janet re-entered the room at this moment, and with an attempted air of
grandeur, Azalea flung herself into a low chair, and stuck out her foot
to have her shoe removed.

Patty gasped. The girl changed so quickly from independence to apparent
helplessness, and yet her manner was so crude and overbearing, that it
was doubtful how the maid would take it.

However, Janet was not only a well-trained servant, but she adored her
mistress and not for worlds would she have failed in her duty.

Quietly and respectfully she knelt before Azalea and took off her shoes
and waited on her as she would have waited on any of Patty's more
cultured friends.

"Yes, put on a kimono, Azalea," Patty said, this time in a decided tone,
and Azalea obeyed.

Then the tea tray was brought and the two sat together for a time.

Patty was up against a crisis. She had been thinking deeply ever since
Azalea's arrival, and she was still perplexed.

Should she try _now_ to reform the girl,--improve her manners, or at
least her general attitude,--or, should she leave her to her own ways for
a time, and trust to her observation of other people to show her her own
faults?

It was almost impossible not to correct some of Azalea's ignorant
mistakes, but still more difficult to ignore her over readiness to adapt
herself to what she thought was the proper behaviour toward servants.

On the latter point Patty permitted herself a word when they were alone.

"Be a little careful with Janet," she said, pleasantly. "She's a bit
peculiar as to disposition. A splendid maid, and a most capable
girl,--but she doesn't like to be ordered about too definitely. You
see, she knows her duties so well, and is so efficient, that it's really
unnecessary to give her directions."

"Oh, pooh, she's only a servant. You oughtn't to stand for her airs. Why,
our girl at home,--she was a Tartar! But I tamed her. I've a way with
them--"

"Please, Azalea," and Patty smiled ingratiatingly, "remember, won't you,
that this is my house and these are my servants. I have my own ways of
treating them, and I'm going to ask you to work with me,--not against
me."

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