Books: Pollyanna Grows Up
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Eleanor H. Porter >> Pollyanna Grows Up
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"Then you don't--you don't! I can see it in your eyes that you
don't--care!"
Pollyanna shrank back. She was white and trembling.
"Jimmy, what do you mean? What do you mean?" she begged piteously.
"I mean--you don't care for Uncle John, that way. Don't you
understand? Jamie thinks you do care, and that anyway he cares for
you. And then I began to see it--that maybe he did. He's always
talking about you; and, of course, there was your mother--"
Pollyanna gave a low moan and covered her face with her hands. Jimmy
came close and laid a caressing arm about her shoulders; but again
Pollyanna shrank from him.
"Pollyanna, little girl, don't! You'll break my heart," he begged.
"Don't you care for me--ANY? Is it that, and you don't want to tell
me?"
She dropped her hands and faced him. Her eyes had the hunted look of
some wild thing at bay.
"Jimmy, do YOU think--he cares for me--that way?" she entreated, just
above a whisper.
Jimmy gave his head an impatient shake.
"Never mind that, Pollyanna,--now. I don't know, of course. How should
I? But, dearest, that isn't the question. It's you. If YOU don't care
for him, and if you'll only give me a chance--half a chance to let me
make you care for me--" He caught her hand, and tried to draw her to
him.
"No, no, Jimmy, I mustn't! I can't!" With both her little palms she
pushed him from her.
"Pollyanna, you don't mean you DO care for him?" Jimmy's face
whitened.
"No; no, indeed--not that way," faltered Pollyanna. "But--don't you
see?--if he cares for me, I'll have to--to learn to, someway."
"POLLYANNA!"
"Don't! Don't look at me like that, Jimmy!"
"You mean you'd MARRY him, Pollyanna?"
"Oh, no!--I mean--why--er--y-yes, I suppose so," she admitted faintly.
"Pollyanna, you wouldn't! You couldn't! Pollyanna, you--you're
breaking my heart."
Pollyanna gave a low sob. Her face was in her hands again. For a
moment she sobbed on, chokingly; then, with a tragic gesture, she
lifted her head and looked straight into Jimmy's anguished,
reproachful eyes.
"I know it, I know it," she chattered frenziedly. "I'm breaking mine,
too. But I'll have to do it. I'd break your heart, I'd break mine--but
I'd never break his!"
Jimmy raised his head. His eyes flashed a sudden fire. His whole
appearance underwent a swift and marvelous change. With a tender,
triumphant cry he swept Pollyanna into his arms and held her close.
"Now I KNOW you care for me!" he breathed low in her ear. "You said it
was breaking YOUR heart, too. Do you think I'll give you up now to any
man on earth? Ah, dear, you little understand a love like mine if you
think I'd give you up now. Pollyanna, say you love me--say it with
your own dear lips!"
For one long minute Pollyanna lay unresisting in the fiercely tender
embrace that encircled her; then with a sigh that was half content,
half renunciation, she began to draw herself away.
"Yes, Jimmy, I do love you." Jimmy's arms tightened, and would have
drawn her back to him; but something in the girl's face forbade. "I
love you dearly. But I couldn't ever be happy with you and feel
that--Jimmy, don't you see, dear? I'll have to know--that I'm free,
first."
"Nonsense, Pollyanna! Of course you're free!" Jimmy's eyes were
mutinous again.
Pollyanna shook her head.
"Not with this hanging over me, Jimmy. Don't you see? It was mother,
long ago, that broke his heart--MY MOTHER. And all these years he's
lived a lonely, unloved life in consequence. If now he should come to
me and ask me to make that up to him, I'd HAVE to do it, Jimmy. I'd
HAVE to. I couldn't REFUSE! Don't you see?"
But Jimmy did not see; he could not see. He would not see, though
Pollyanna pleaded and argued long and tearfully. But Pollyanna, too,
was obdurate, though so sweetly and heartbrokenly obdurate that Jimmy,
in spite of his pain and anger, felt almost like turning comforter.
"Jimmy, dear," said Pollyanna, at last, "we'll have to wait. That's
all I can say now. I hope he doesn't care; and I--I don't believe he
does care. But I've got to KNOW. I've got to be sure. We'll just have
to wait, a little, till we find out, Jimmy--till we find out!"
And to this plan Jimmy had to submit, though it was with a most
rebellious heart.
"All right, little girl, it'll have to be as you say, of course," he
despaired. "But, surely, never before was a man kept waiting for his
answer till the girl he loved, AND WHO LOVED HIM, found out if the
other man wanted her!"
"I know; but, you see, dear, never before had the other man WANTED her
mother," sighed Pollyanna, her face puckered into an anxious frown.
"Very well, I'll go back to Boston, of course," acceded Jimmy
reluctantly. "But you needn't think I've given up--because I haven't.
Nor I sha'n't give up, just so long as I know you really care for me,
my little sweetheart," he finished, with a look that sent her
palpitatingly into retreat, just out of reach of his arms.
CHAPTER XXX
JOHN PENDLETON TURNS THE KEY
Jimmy went back to Boston that night in a state that was a most
tantalizing commingling of happiness, hope, exasperation, and
rebellion. Behind him he left a girl who was in a scarcely less
enviable frame of mind; for Pollyanna, tremulously happy in the
wondrous thought of Jimmy's love for her, was yet so despairingly
terrified at the thought of the possible love of John Pendleton, that
there was not a thrill of joy that did not carry its pang of fear.
Fortunately for all concerned, however, this state of affairs was not
of long duration; for, as it chanced, John Pendleton, in whose
unwitting hands lay the key to the situation, in less than a week
after Jimmy's hurried visit, turned that key in the lock, and opened
the door of doubt.
It was late Thursday afternoon that John Pendleton called to see
Pollyanna. As it happened, he, like Jimmy, saw Pollyanna in the garden
and came straight toward her.
Pollyanna, looking into his face, felt a sudden sinking of the heart.
"It's come--it's come!" she shivered; and involuntarily she turned as
if to flee.
[Illustration: "Involuntarily she turned as if to flee"]
"Oh, Pollyanna, wait a minute, please," called the man hastening his
steps. "You're just the one I wanted to see. Come, can't we go in
here?" he suggested, turning toward the summerhouse. "I want to speak
to you about--something."
"Why, y-yes, of course," stammered Pollyanna, with forced gayety.
Pollyanna knew that she was blushing, and she particularly wished not
to blush just then. It did not help matters any, either, that he
should have elected to go into the summerhouse for his talk. The
summerhouse now, to Pollyanna, was sacred to certain dear memories of
Jimmy. "And to think it should be here--HERE!" she was shuddering
frantically. But aloud she said, still gayly, "It's a lovely evening,
isn't it?"
There was no answer. John Pendleton strode into the summerhouse and
dropped himself into a rustic chair without even waiting for Pollyanna
to seat herself--a most unusual proceeding on the part of John
Pendleton. Pollyanna, stealing a nervous glance at his face found it
so startlingly like the old stern, sour visage of her childhood's
remembrance, that she uttered an involuntary exclamation.
Still John Pendleton paid no heed. Still moodily he sat wrapped in
thought. At last, however, he lifted his head and gazed somberly into
Pollyanna's startled eyes.
"Pollyanna."
"Yes, Mr. Pendleton."
"Do you remember the sort of man I was when you first knew me, years
ago?"
"Why, y-yes, I think so."
"Delightfully agreeable specimen of humanity, wasn't I?"
In spite of her perturbation Pollyanna smiled faintly.
"I--_I_ liked you, sir." Not until the words were uttered did
Pollyanna realize just how they would sound. She strove then,
frantically, to recall or modify them and had almost added a "that is,
I mean, I liked you THEN!" when she stopped just in time: certainly
THAT would not have helped matters any! She listened then, fearfully,
for John Pendleton's next words. They came almost at once.
"I know you did--bless your little heart! And it was that that was the
saving of me. I wonder, Pollyanna, if I could ever make you realize
just what your childish trust and liking did for me."
Pollyanna stammered a confused protest; but he brushed it smilingly
aside.
"Oh, yes, it was! It was you, and no one else. I wonder if you
remember another thing, too," resumed the man, after a moment's
silence, during which Pollyanna looked furtively, but longingly toward
the door. "I wonder if you remember my telling you once that nothing
but a woman's hand and heart, or a child's presence could make a
home."
Pollyanna felt the blood rush to her face.
"Y-yes, n-no--I mean, yes, I remember it," she stuttered; "but I--I
don't think it's always so now. I mean--that is, I'm sure your home
now is--is lovely just as 'tis, and--"
"But it's my home I'm talking about, child," interrupted the man,
impatiently. "Pollyanna, you know the kind of home I once hoped to
have, and how those hopes were dashed to the ground. Don't think,
dear, I'm blaming your mother. I'm not. She but obeyed her heart,
which was right; and she made the wiser choice, anyway, as was proved
by the dreary waste I've made of life because of that disappointment.
After all, Pollyanna, isn't it strange," added John Pendleton, his
voice growing tender, "that it should be the little hand of her own
daughter that led me into the path of happiness, at last?"
Pollyanna moistened her lips convulsively.
"Oh, but Mr. Pendleton, I--I--"
Once again the man brushed aside her protests with a smiling gesture.
"Yes, it was, Pollyanna, your little hand in the long ago--you, and
your glad game."
"Oh-h!" Pollyanna relaxed visibly in her seat. The terror in her eyes
began slowly to recede.
"And so all these years I've been gradually growing into a different
man, Pollyanna. But there's one thing I haven't changed in, my dear."
He paused, looked away, then turned gravely tender eyes back to her
face. "I still think it takes a woman's hand and heart or a child's
presence to make a home."
"Yes; b-but you've g-got the child's presence," plunged in Pollyanna,
the terror coming back to her eyes. "There's Jimmy, you know."
The man gave an amused laugh.
"I know; but--I don't think even you would say that Jimmy is--is
exactly a CHILD'S presence any longer," he remarked.
"N-no, of course not."
"Besides--Pollyanna, I've made up my mind. I've got to have the
woman's hand and heart." His voice dropped, and trembled a little.
"Oh-h, have you?" Pollyanna's fingers met and clutched each other in a
spasmodic clasp. John Pendleton, however, seemed neither to hear nor
see. He had leaped to his feet, and was nervously pacing up and down
the little house.
"Pollyanna," he stopped and faced her; "if--if you were I, and were
going to ask the woman you loved to come and make your old gray pile
of stone a home, how would you go to work to do it?"
Pollyanna half started from her chair. Her eyes sought the door, this
time openly, longingly.
"Oh, but, Mr. Pendleton, I wouldn't do it at all, at all," she
stammered, a little wildly. "I'm sure you'd be--much happier as--as
you are."
The man stared in puzzled surprise, then laughed grimly.
"Upon my word, Pollyanna, is it--quite so bad as that?" he asked.
"B-bad?" Pollyanna had the appearance of being poised for flight.
"Yes. Is that just your way of trying to soften the blow of saying
that you don't think she'd have me, anyway?"
"Oh, n-no--no, indeed. She'd say yes--she'd HAVE to say yes, you
know," explained Pollyanna, with terrified earnestness. "But I've been
thinking--I mean, I was thinking that if--if the girl didn't love you,
you really would be happier without her; and--" At the look that came
into John Pendleton's face, Pollyanna stopped short.
"I shouldn't want her, if she didn't love me, Pollyanna."
"No, I thought not, too." Pollyanna began to look a little less
distracted.
"Besides, she doesn't happen to be a girl," went on John Pendleton.
"She's a mature woman who, presumedly, would know her own mind." The
man's voice was grave and slightly reproachful.
"Oh-h-h! Oh!" exclaimed Pollyanna, the dawning happiness in her eyes
leaping forth in a flash of ineffable joy and relief. "Then you love
somebody--" By an almost superhuman effort Pollyanna choked off the
"else" before it left her delighted lips.
"Love somebody! Haven't I just been telling you I did?" laughed John
Pendleton, half vexedly. "What I want to know is--can she be made to
love me? That's where I was sort of--of counting on your help,
Pollyanna. You see, she's a dear friend of yours."
"Is she?" gurgled Pollyanna. "Then she'll just have to love you. We'll
make her! Maybe she does, anyway, already. Who is she?"
There was a long pause before the answer came.
"I believe, after all, Pollyanna, I won't--yes, I will, too.
It's--can't you guess?--Mrs. Carew."
"Oh!" breathed Pollyanna, with a face of unclouded joy. "How perfectly
lovely! I'm so glad, GLAD, GLAD!"
A long hour later Pollyanna sent Jimmy a letter. It was confused and
incoherent--a series of half-completed, illogical, but shyly joyous
sentences, out of which Jimmy gathered much: a little from what was
written; more from what was left unwritten. After all, did he really
need more than this?
"Oh, Jimmy, he doesn't love me a bit. It's some one else. I mustn't
tell you who it is--but her name isn't Pollyanna."
Jimmy had just time to catch the seven o'clock train for
Beldingsville--and he caught it.
CHAPTER XXXI
AFTER LONG YEARS
Pollyanna was so happy that night after she had sent her letter to
Jimmy that she could not quite keep it to herself. Always before going
to bed she stepped into her aunt's room to see if anything were
needed. To-night, after the usual questions, she had turned to put out
the light when a sudden impulse sent her back to her aunt's bedside. A
little breathlessly she dropped on her knees.
"Aunt Polly, I'm so happy I just had to tell some one. I WANT to tell
you. May I?"
"Tell me? Tell me what, child? Of course you may tell me. You mean,
it's good news--for ME?"
"Why, yes, dear; I hope so," blushed Pollyanna. "I hope it will make
you--GLAD, a little, for me, you know. Of course Jimmy will tell you
himself all properly some day. But _I_ wanted to tell you first."
"Jimmy!" Mrs. Chilton's face changed perceptibly.
"Yes, when--when he--he asks you for me," stammered Pollyanna, with a
radiant flood of color. "Oh, I--I'm so happy, I HAD to tell you!"
"Asks me for you! Pollyanna!" Mrs. Chilton pulled herself up in bed.
"You don't mean to say there's anything SERIOUS between you and--Jimmy
Bean!"
Pollyanna fell back in dismay.
"Why, auntie, I thought you LIKED Jimmy!"
"So I do--in his place. But that place isn't the husband of my niece."
"AUNT POLLY!"
"Come, come, child, don't look so shocked. This is all sheer nonsense,
and I'm glad I've been able to stop it before it's gone any further."
"But, Aunt Polly, it HAS gone further," quavered Pollyanna. "Why, I--I
already have learned to lo-- --c-care for him--dearly."
"Then you'll have to unlearn it, Pollyanna, for never, never will I
give my consent to your marrying Jimmy Bean."
"But--w-why, auntie?"
"First and foremost because we know nothing about him."
"Why, Aunt Polly, we've always known him, ever since I was a little
girl!"
"Yes, and what was he? A rough little runaway urchin from an Orphans'
Home! We know nothing whatever about his people, and his pedigree."
"But I'm not marrying his p-people and his p-pedigree!"
With an impatient groan Aunt Polly fell back on her pillow.
"Pollyanna, you're making me positively ill. My heart is going like a
trip hammer. I sha'n't sleep a wink to-night. CAN'T you let this thing
rest till morning?"
Pollyanna was on her feet instantly, her face all contrition.
"Why, yes--yes, indeed; of course, Aunt Polly! And to-morrow you'll
feel different, I'm sure. I'm sure you will," reiterated the girl, her
voice quivering with hope again, as she turned to extinguish the
light.
But Aunt Polly did not "feel different" in the morning. If anything,
her opposition to the marriage was even more determined. In vain
Pollyanna pleaded and argued. In vain she showed how deeply her
happiness was concerned. Aunt Polly was obdurate. She would have none
of the idea. She sternly admonished Pollyanna as to the possible evils
of heredity, and warned her of the dangers of marrying into she knew
not what sort of family. She even appealed at last to her sense of
duty and gratitude toward herself, and reminded Pollyanna of the long
years of loving care that had been hers in the home of her aunt, and
she begged her piteously not to break her heart by this marriage as
had her mother years before by HER marriage.
When Jimmy himself, radiant-faced and glowing-eyed, came at ten
o'clock, he was met by a frightened, sob-shaken little Pollyanna that
tried ineffectually to hold him back with two trembling hands. With
whitening cheeks, but with defiantly tender arms that held her close,
he demanded an explanation.
"Pollyanna, dearest, what in the world is the meaning of this?"
"Oh, Jimmy, Jimmy, why did you come, why did you come? I was going to
write and tell you straight away," moaned Pollyanna.
"But you did write me, dear. I got it yesterday afternoon, just in
time to catch my train."
"No, no;--AGAIN, I mean. I didn't know then that I--I couldn't."
"Couldn't! Pollyanna,"--his eyes flamed into stern wrath,--"you don't
mean to tell me there's anybody ELSE'S love you think you've got to
keep me waiting for?" he demanded, holding her at arm's length.
"No, no, Jimmy! Don't look at me like that. I can't bear it!"
"Then what is it? What is it you can't do?"
"I can't--marry you."
"Pollyanna, do you love me?"
"Yes. Oh, y-yes."
"Then you shall marry me," triumphed Jimmy, his arms enfolding her
again.
"No, no, Jimmy, you don't understand. It's--Aunt Polly," struggled
Pollyanna.
"AUNT POLLY!"
"Yes. She--won't let me."
"Ho!" Jimmy tossed his head with a light laugh. "We'll fix Aunt Polly.
She thinks she's going to lose you, but we'll just remind her that
she--she's going to gain a--a new nephew!" he finished in mock
importance.
But Pollyanna did not smile. She turned her head hopelessly from side
to side.
"No, no, Jimmy, you don't understand! She--she--oh, how can I tell
you?--she objects to--to YOU--for--ME."
Jimmy's arms relaxed a little. His eyes sobered.
"Oh, well, I suppose I can't blame her for that. I'm no--wonder, of
course," he admitted constrainedly. "Still,"--he turned loving eyes
upon her--"I'd try to make you--happy, dear."
"Indeed you would! I know you would," protested Pollyanna, tearfully.
"Then why not--give me a chance to try, Pollyanna, even if
she--doesn't quite approve, at first. Maybe in time, after we were
married, we could win her over."
"Oh, but I couldn't--I couldn't do that," moaned Pollyanna, "after
what she's said. I couldn't--without her consent. You see, she's done
so much for me, and she's so dependent on me. She isn't well a bit,
now, Jimmy. And, really, lately she's been so--so loving, and she's
been trying so hard to--to play the game, you know, in spite of all
her troubles. And she--she cried, Jimmy, and begged me not to break
her heart as--as mother did long ago. And--and Jimmy, I--I just
couldn't, after all she's done for me."
There was a moment's pause; then, with a vivid red mounting to her
forehead, Pollyanna spoke again, brokenly.
"Jimmy, if you--if you could only tell Aunt Polly something
about--about your father, and your people, and--"
Jimmy's arms dropped suddenly. He stepped back a little. The color
drained from his face.
"Is--that--it?" he asked.
"Yes." Pollyanna came nearer, and touched his arm timidly. "Don't
think--It isn't for me, Jimmy. I don't care. Besides, I KNOW that your
father and your people were all--all fine and noble, because YOU are
so fine and noble. But she--Jimmy, don't look at me like that!"
But Jimmy, with a low moan had turned quite away from her. A minute
later, with only a few choking words, which she could not understand,
he had left the house.
From the Harrington homestead Jimmy went straight home and sought out
John Pendleton. He found him in the great crimson-hung library where,
some years before, Pollyanna had looked fearfully about for the
"skeleton in John Pendleton's closet."
"Uncle John, do you remember that packet father gave me?" demanded
Jimmy.
"Why, yes. What's the matter, son?" John Pendleton had given a start
of surprise at sight of Jimmy's face.
"That packet has got to be opened, sir."
"But--the conditions!"
"I can't help it. It's got to be. That's all. Will you do it?"
"Why, y-yes, my boy, of course, if you insist; but--" he paused
helplessly.
"Uncle John, as perhaps you have guessed, I love Pollyanna. I asked
her to be my wife, and she consented." The elder man made a delighted
exclamation, but the other did not pause, or change his sternly intent
expression. "She says now she can't--marry me. Mrs. Chilton objects.
She objects to ME."
"OBJECTS to YOU!" John Pendleton's eyes flashed angrily.
"Yes. I found out why when--when Pollyanna begged if I couldn't tell
her aunt something about--about my father and my people."
"Shucks! I thought Polly Chilton had more sense--still, it's just like
her, after all. The Harringtons have always been inordinately proud of
race and family," snapped John Pendleton. "Well, could you?"
"COULD _I_! It was on the end of my tongue to tell Pollyanna that
there couldn't have been a better father than mine was; then,
suddenly, I remembered--the packet, and what it said. And I was
afraid. I didn't dare say a word till I knew what was inside that
packet. There's something dad didn't want me to know till I was thirty
years old--when I would be a man grown, and could stand anything. See?
There's a secret somewhere in our lives. I've got to know that secret,
and I've got to know it now."
"But, Jimmy, lad, don't look so tragic. It may be a good secret.
Perhaps it'll be something you'll LIKE to know."
"Perhaps. But if it had been, would he have been apt to keep it from
me till I was thirty years old? No! Uncle John, it was something he
was trying to save me from till I was old enough to stand it and not
flinch. Understand, I'm not blaming dad. Whatever it was, it was
something he couldn't help, I'll warrant. But WHAT it was I've got to
know. Will you get it, please? It's in your safe, you know."
John Pendleton rose at once.
"I'll get it," he said. Three minutes later it lay in Jimmy's hand;
but Jimmy held it out at once.
"I would rather you read it, sir, please. Then tell me."
"But, Jimmy, I--very well." With a decisive gesture John Pendleton
picked up a paper-cutter, opened the envelope, and pulled out the
contents. There was a package of several papers tied together, and one
folded sheet alone, apparently a letter. This John Pendleton opened
and read first. And as he read, Jimmy, tense and breathless, watched
his face. He saw, therefore, the look of amazement, joy, and something
else he could not name, that leaped into John Pendleton's countenance.
"Uncle John, what is it? What is it?" he demanded.
"Read it--for yourself," answered the man, thrusting the letter into
Jimmy's outstretched hand. And Jimmy read this:
"The enclosed papers are the legal proof that my boy Jimmy is really
James Kent, son of John Kent, who married Doris Wetherby, daughter of
William Wetherby of Boston. There is also a letter in which I explain
to my boy why I have kept him from his mother's family all these
years. If this packet is opened by him at thirty years of age, he will
read this letter, and I hope will forgive a father who feared to lose
his boy entirely, so took this drastic course to keep him to himself.
If it is opened by strangers, because of his death, I request that his
mother's people in Boston be notified at once, and the inclosed
package of papers be given, intact, into their hands.
"JOHN KENT."
Jimmy was pale and shaken when he looked up to meet John Pendleton's
eyes.
"Am I--the lost--Jamie?" he faltered.
"That letter says you have documents there to prove it," nodded the
other.
"Mrs. Carew's nephew?"
"Of course."
"But, why--what--I can't realize it!" There was a moment's pause
before into Jimmy's face flashed a new joy. "Then, surely now I know
who I am! I can tell--Mrs. Chilton SOMETHING of my people."
"I should say you could," retorted John Pendleton, dryly. "The Boston
Wetherbys can trace straight back to the crusades, and I don't know
but to the year one. That ought to satisfy her. As for your father--he
came of good stock, too, Mrs. Carew told me, though he was rather
eccentric, and not pleasing to the family, as you know, of course."
"Yes. Poor dad! And what a life he must have lived with me all those
years--always dreading pursuit. I can understand--lots of things, now,
that used to puzzle me. A woman called me 'Jamie,' once. Jove! how
angry he was! I know now why he hurried me away that night without
even waiting for supper. Poor dad! It was right after that he was
taken sick. He couldn't use his hands or his feet, and very soon he
couldn't talk straight. Something ailed his speech. I remember when he
died he was trying to tell me something about this packet. I believe
now he was telling me to open it, and go to my mother's people; but I
thought then he was just telling me to keep it safe. So that's what I
promised him. But it didn't comfort him any. It only seemed to worry
him more. You see, I didn't understand. Poor dad!"
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