Understood Betsy by Dorothy Canfield Fisher (recommended ebook reader TXT) 📕

Elizabeth Ann got down from her chair, poured some milk into the saucer,

and called: “Here, Eleanor! Here, Eleanor!”

Aunt Abigail looked at her sharply out of the corner of her eye and her

lips twitched, but a moment later her face was immovably grave as she

carried the last plate of pancakes to the table.

Elizabeth Ann sat on her heels for a long time, watching the kitten lap

the milk, and she was surprised, when she stood up, to see that Cousin

Ann and Uncle Henry had come in, very red-cheeked from the cold air.

“Well, folks,” said Aunt Abigail, “don’t you think we’ve done some

lively stepping around, Betsy and I, to get supper all on the table for

you?”

Elizabeth Ann stared. What did Aunt Abigail mean? She hadn’t done a

thing about getting supper! But nobody made any comment, and they all

took their seats and began to eat. Elizabeth Ann was astonishingly

hungry, and she thought she could never get enough of the creamed

potatoes, cold ham, hot cocoa, and pancakes. She was very much relieved

that her refusal of beans caused no comment. Aunt Frances had always

tried very hard to make her eat beans because they have so much protein

in them, and growing children need protein. Elizabeth Ann had heard this

said so many times she could have repeated it backward, but it had never

made her hate beans any the less. However, nobody here seemed to know

this, and Elizabeth Ann kept her knowledge to herself. They had also

evidently never heard how delicate her digestion was, for she never saw

anything like the number of pancakes they let her eat. ALL SHE WANTED!

She had never heard of such a thing!

They still did not ask her how she had “stood the trip.” They did not

indeed ask her much of anything or pay very much attention to her beyond

filling her plate as fast as she emptied it. In the middle of the meal

Eleanor came, jumped into her lap, and curled down, purring. After this

Elizabeth Ann kept one hand on the little soft ball, handling her fork

with the other.

After supper—well, Elizabeth Ann never knew what did happen after

supper until she felt somebody lifting her and carrying her upstairs. It

was Cousin Ann, who carried her as lightly as though she were a baby,

and who said, as she sat down on the floor in a slant-ceilinged bedroom,

“You went right to sleep with your head on the table. I guess you’re

pretty tired.”

Aunt Abigail was sitting on the edge of a great wide bed with four

posts, and a curtain around the top. She was partly undressed, and was

undoing her hair and brushing it out. It was very curly and all fluffed

out in a shining white fuzz around her fat, pink face, full of soft

wrinkles; but in a moment she was braiding it up again and putting on a

tight white nightcap, which she tied under her chin.

“We got the word about your coming so late,” said Cousin Ann, “that we

didn’t have time to fix you up a bedroom that can be warmed. So you’re

going to sleep in here for a while. The bed’s big enough for two, I

guess, even if they are as big as you and Mother.”

Elizabeth Ann stared again. What queer things they said here. She wasn’t

NEARLY as big as Aunt Abigail!

“Mother, did you put Shep out?” asked Cousin Ann; and when Aunt Abigail

said, “No! There! I forgot to!” Cousin Ann went away; and that was the

last of HER. They certainly believed in being saving of their words at

Putney Farm.

Elizabeth Ann began to undress. She was only half-awake; and that made

her feel only about half her age, which wasn’t very great, the whole of

it, and she felt like just crooking her arm over her eyes and giving up!

She was too forlorn! She had never slept with anybody before, and she

had heard ever so many times how bad it was for children to sleep with

grown-ups. An icy wind rattled the windows and puffed in around the

loose old casings. On the window-sill lay a little wreath of snow.

Elizabeth Ann shivered and shook on her thin legs, undressed in a hurry,

and slipped into her night-dress. She felt just as cold inside as out,

and never was more utterly miserable than in that strange, ugly little

room, with that strange, queer, fat old woman. She was even too

miserable to cry, and that is saying a great deal for Elizabeth Ann!

She got into bed first, because Aunt Abigail said she was going to keep

the candle lighted for a while and read. “And anyhow,” she said, “I’d

better sleep on the outside to keep you from rolling out.”

Elizabeth Ann and Aunt Abigail lay very still for a long time, Aunt

Abigail reading out of a small, worn old book. Elizabeth Ann could see

its title, “Essays of Emerson.” A book with, that name had always laid

on the center table in Aunt Harriet’s house, but that copy was all new

and shiny, and Elizabeth Ann had never seen anybody look inside it. It

was a very dull-looking book, with no pictures and no conversation. The

little girl lay on her back, looking up at the cracks in the plaster

ceiling and watching the shadows sway and dance as the candle flickered

in the gusts of cold air. She herself began to feel a soft, pervasive

warmth. Aunt Abigail’s great body was like a stove.

It was very, very quiet, quieter than any place Elizabeth Ann had ever

known, except church, because a trolley-line ran past Aunt Harriet’s

house and even at night there were always more or less hangings and

rattlings. Here there was not a single sound except the soft, whispery

noise when Aunt Abigail turned over a page as she read steadily and

silently forward in her book. Elizabeth Ann turned her head so that she

could see the round, rosy old face, full of soft wrinkles, and the calm,

steady old eyes which were fixed on the page. And as she lay there in

the warm bed, watching that quiet face, something very queer began to

happen to Elizabeth Ann. She felt as though a tight knot inside her were

slowly being untied. She felt—what was it she felt? There are no words

for it. From deep within her something rose up softly … she drew one or

two long, half-sobbing breaths … .

[Illustration: “Do you know,” said Aunt Abigail, “I think it’s going to

be real nice, having a little girl in the house again.”]

Aunt Abigail laid down her book and looked over at the child. “Do you

know,” she said, in a conversational tone, “do you know, I think it’s

going to be real nice, having a little girl in the house again.”

Oh, then the tight knot in the little unwanted girl’s heart was loosened

indeed! It all gave way at once, and Elizabeth Ann burst suddenly into

hot tears—yes, I know I said I would not tell you any more about her

crying; but these tears were very different from any she had ever shed

before. And they were the last, too, for a long, long time.

Aunt Abigail said, “Well, well!” and moving over in bed took the little

weeping girl into her arms. She did not say another word then, but she

put her soft, withered old cheek close against Elizabeth Ann’s, till the

sobs began to grow less, and then she said: “I hear your kitty crying

outside the door. Shall I let her in? I expect she’d like to sleep with

you. I guess there’s room for three of us.”

She got out of bed as she spoke and walked across the room to the door.

The floor shook under her great bulk, and the peak of her nightcap made

a long, grotesque shadow. But as she came back with the kitten in her

arms Elizabeth Ann saw nothing funny in her looks. She gave Eleanor to

the little girl and got into bed again. “There, now, I guess we’re ready

for the night,” she said. “You put the kitty on the other side of you so

she won’t fall out of bed.”

She blew the light out and moved over a little closer to Elizabeth. Ann,

who immediately was enveloped in that delicious warmth. The kitten

curled up under the little girl’s chin. Between her and the terrors of

the dark room loomed the rampart of Aunt Abigail’s great body.

Elizabeth Ann drew a long, long breath … and when she opened her eyes

the sun was shining in at the window.