SHE WAITED UNTIL DINNER was over and the dishes done, and then she went up to her room. Standing at the mirror, she stared at her angry, determined face, with the big taffeta bow behind. She snatched off the ribbon, unbraided her hair and brushed it out vigorously. It rebounded in curly spirals.
“The reason I didn’t put up my hair was that I was clinging to high school,” she thought. “There doesn’t seem to be anything in my future, so I’m clinging to the past.
“But I can’t stop living. I can’t tie up my life like Chinese women do their feet. I’ve got to go on somehow.
“I don’t know just what I can do, stuck here in Deep Valley.” It was, she remembered, Don’s disparaging word. She had never forgotten it. “But I know I’m going to do something, and I’m not going to go to the game this afternoon!”
Working swiftly, she parted her hair in the middle, pomped it softly on the sides and pinned it in a psyche knot. The new arrangement was becoming but she didn’t care. She gave her image a wrathful glance.
Her grandfather was taking a nap, and her mind was still churning.
“I’ll go downtown. Get a soda or something.”
She put on her coat again. But when she put on her hat, she was forced to smile. The round school-girl felt, which had been perfect with her hair ribbon, perched absurdly on top of the psyche knot. She took it off.
“I’ll have to buy a new hat. A good thing, too. It was wrong, not getting any new clothes this fall, just because I’m not going to school.”
The snow had stopped falling and the sun had come out, shining on the tender whiteness. Her head bare, her cheeks still burning, her hands deep in the pockets of her coat, she strode across the slough.
“I’m ashamed of myself. I’m just plain ashamed. I’ve been mean to Grandpa. I’ve been self-centered and selfish and rude…”
The words sounded familiar. They were the same, she realized, that Don had applied so dramatically to himself, and she laughed aloud.
“Well, they’re true in my case!” she thought, chagrined.
She passed Heinz’s Restaurant, and shuddered. It was empty now, but soon, when the game was over, it would be filled with screaming boys and girls. How ridiculous she must have looked sitting in there alone!
She walked on to Roxey’s drugstore. “A soda will cool me off, maybe, and then I’ll go shopping for a hat.”
Climbing to a stool at the soda fountain, she caught a glimpse of an attractive-looking girl and smiled, and the girl smiled, too, looking more attractive than ever. Emily saw, with amazement, that it was herself. The new headdress gave her a winning air of maturity.
“My hair is really nice that way,” she thought.
“Hello, Emily! Why aren’t you at the football game like a loyal alumna of Deep Valley High?”
Turning, she saw Cab Edwards, Scid’s older brother.
“Why aren’t you there yourself?”
“I’d like to be. But I’m a businessman. Didn’t you know?” He ran the family furniture store next door to Roxey’s.
“Well, I’m grown up myself,” she answered, not intending to be flippant. The words came rushing out because her mind was so full of her new resolve.
Cab laughed. “Oh, you are? Think you’re pretty big, don’t you, just because you’re graduated?”
“Well, didn’t you, after you graduated?” she asked, speaking quickly to cover confusion.
“I never did graduate.” Cab hailed the clerk. “Hey, there! A little attention, please! What will you have, Emily? A banana split, or are you too grown up for that?”
“I’ll have a strawberry soda.”
“A strawberry soda for the lady. Bring me a chocolate nut.” Cab swung to a stool beside her. He looked like Scid, slim and sprightly. His suit was freshly pressed, his shoes freshly shined, and his black hair shone like patent leather.
Annette, Emily knew, would ask whether he had been kicked out. But she had never learned that form of repartee. She was quiet and Cab went on: “Never graduated. Never went to college. But I’m glad Scid could go. Have you heard from him?”
“No. But Annette mentions him in her letters sometimes. They all seem to be having an awful lot of fun.”
“Fun! Fun! It isn’t for fun we’re handing out what it costs to keep him at the U.” But Cab didn’t look as severe as he sounded. He was eating his chocolate nut sundae with relish, and he had a gay light in his eyes.
“What are you doing with yourself?” he asked.
She answered hurriedly, “Buying a new hat.” And again she found that she had been unintentionally humorous.
“Whew! There’s a winter’s work for you!”
“I have to buy a hat that will go over a psyche knot.”
At that he roared with laughter, and Emily laughed, too. She felt no constraint with him. He was only Scid’s big brother. Although he couldn’t be more than twenty or twenty-one, to her eighteen, he belonged in the adult world.
But then he said an astonishing thing, which revealed in a flash that he believed she belonged in the adult world, too.
“Say, Emily! There’s an Elks dance a week from tonight. I was just wondering who to ask, and here I run into you. It’s providential. Want to come?”
Her long training in calmness enabled her to restrain most of her surprise. “Why, I’d love it! I don’t dance very well, though.”
“Well, I’m just the one who can teach you.” He winked. “I’m awfully glad you can make it. I’ll stop by around eight-thirty. Have to get back to the old grind now.” He paid for his sundae, and her soda, picked up his hat, and was gone.
Emily sat for a long thoughtful time, looking at her empty glass. This was astonishing! She knew she would be exhilarated later, but now she was only thankful, deeply thankful.
She knew that Cab’s gesture was extremely casual. She didn’t overestimate the importance of his invitation. Cab Edwards took out first one girl and then another; she remembered having heard that about him. The astonishing thing was that he had put her in the category of girls whom men invited.
Had it happened just because she had put her hair up? Had it happened because her angry mood gave her a light and sparkle which she usually lacked? She didn’t know.
But she did know that even though she thought so much of Don—“I’m really in love with him, I suppose”—it did her boundless good to be invited to a dance.
She got up at last and walked to the millinery shop. Mrs. Murdock brought out half a dozen beautiful hats. Emily selected a broad-brimmed brown velvet with one rose underneath, and a small fox cap which matched her furs.
“It will be nice for walking, and skating,” she thought, all her normal interest in clothes aroused by Cab’s invitation.
She would wear her Class Day dress to the dance, she decided, but she went to the Lion Department Store and bought a party cap. The frivolous little caps, made of tulle, net or lace, were much in fashion.
Emerging from the Lion she heard a blare of music. The high school band was coming up Front Street. It actually took her a moment to remember that it must be returning from the St. John game.
“Cheer, cheer, the gang’s all here!”
The rooters were marching and singing with their arms around each other’s shoulders. Excited children ran along beside them.
“Who won?” Emily called.
“We did!”
“What was the score?”
“Ten to nothing.”
She was pleased, but it didn’t seem important.
That night after supper she sat down at the piano. She played Paderewski’s “Minuet,” which she had been studying when she stopped taking lessons in her busy senior year, and some of the hymns her grandfather loved.
“It seems good, Emmy,” he said, “to hear a little music again.”
“I’m going to play every night after supper like I used to. That is, when I’m not going out. I’m going to a party next Saturday.”
“That’s nice,” he answered, beaming.
She went to the bookcase and took out The Talisman. “And we must get at this! I think Scott belongs to the winter, don’t you, Grandpa? He’s so long-winded, and winter evenings are so long.”
“You’re exactly right,” he answered.
The next day at church, while the minister prayed, Emily said her own prayer, a prayer of thankfulness.
Monday afternoon she took her skates and went over to the pond. The pond was so shallow that it froze quickly, and it was already covered with boys. They had built a fire; orange flames were leaping. It was good to be on the ice again, she thought, sailing down the pond with her hands in her muff.
During the week she pressed the corn-colored silk. She cleaned her long white gloves and hung them to air and shook out her opera cape.
On the night of the party she dressed her hair with care.
“This psyche knot brought me luck,” she thought, inspecting it in a hand mirror. She put on the party cap but after a long thoughtful scrutiny she took it off.
“It doesn’t belong to me. It isn’t my type,” she decided.
But she had to wear something in her hair; headdresses were elaborate now. She rummaged through the jewel box and found a square gold comb. That might be good. It was! It looked well with her mother’s locket, too.
She put on her opera cape and gazed into the mirror, into glowing eyes, unlike her own. She felt excited and strange and uncertain, but happy. She was going to a dance!
Waiting in the little parlor, she felt a familiar twinge. It did look so old fashioned! But probably she could manage it so Cab wouldn’t come in.
She kissed her grandfather. “Leave the lamp lighted for me; won’t you, Grandpa?”
“I will, Emmy. Have a good time.”
She stood by the door and slipped out when she saw Cab coming up the walk.
Two other couples were waiting in the automobile—Dennis Farisy, Winona Root, Lloyd Harrington and Alice Morrison. They had all been in high school with Cab. Lloyd had gone on to the U but had dropped out last year. The girls had finished Teachers’ College and were teaching near Deep Valley.
Cab presented her breezily. “See what I found when I robbed the cradle?”
“You want to watch out for these graybeards, Emily,” said Winona. She was a tall angular brunette, very full of fun.
“I’ll take care of you,” said blond Alice Morrison, tucking her hand under Emily’s arm.
At the Elks Club the three girls left their wraps in the dressing room, touched up their hair, put on powder and came out into the parlors together.
It was a distinctly mixed group so far as age was concerned. There were a few girls from Emily’s class, men and girls from graduating classes of several years previous and married couples—young, middle-aged and old.
Cab introduced a number of men. “Miss Webster” sounded agreeably odd. They wrote their names on her dancing card and he scrawled his own in the vacant places.
Lamm’s Orchestra, Deep Valley’s best, was seated on a platform at one end of the room. The music of the opening waltz soared across the floor:
“To you, beautiful lady,
I raise my eyes…”
Emily wished ardently that she were a better dancer.
“I ought to take some lessons,” she thought, after getting out of step for the third time. But Cab was good natured about her mistakes.
She felt exhilarated by the music and the crowded room with its rhythmically revolving couples. The women looked so fashionable and gay in their tube-like skirts, some slit to the knee. Those who didn’t wear party caps wore feathers or bands of tulle in their hair. Emily was glad she had found the comb.
She was quiet at first, but Cab brought out her laughter. She found herself having a very good time. A buffet supper was served at midnight, and for this they joined a group which made a wide half-circle in one of the parlors. Wilson’s election was being discussed.
After supper, she felt more at ease. These people liked her. It didn’t matter to them that she hadn’t been popular with boys in high school. No one even knew it, and if they did they wouldn’t care. High school wasn’t important to them.
She fitted in well with a crowd like this—better than she had with a high school crowd. They weren’t so silly, and her dignity—a disadvantage in high school—really helped. They were interested, too, in more of the things she was interested in. She had thoroughly enjoyed that talk about the election.
“We’re glad Cab robbed the cradle,” said Winona when they parted.
“Let’s get together again,” Alice suggested. “You know, Emily, after you’re out of school you don’t stick to your own high school class. You mix up with all the other crowds.”
“Even graybeards like us,” said Dennie, poking Lloyd.
The others were going home, but Cab took Emily to the Moorish Café where they had rarebit and coffee.
Emily had never been there before. The long room with its oriental hangings was lighted dimly from brass lamps and an orchestra was playing softly. He told her that he was going to Minneapolis for the Wisconsin game.
“Scid wants me to come.”
“How did it happen,” Emily asked, “that you didn’t go to college?”
Cab’s face sobered. “Why, I had to pitch in and support the family. My father died just after I finished my junior year in high school. Old Mr. Loring ran the store in father’s place, but he needed a helper and there wasn’t money to pay for one. I learned the business, and when Mr. Loring died I took over.”
“How did you—feel about it?” Emily asked diffidently. “About giving up college, I mean?”
“Badly,” Cab answered. “I thought I wanted to be an engineer. But do you know, Emily, I’d have made a darn poor engineer. And I’m a good businessman. I really like the store. What’s more, I’ve got a head start on a lot of other boys who’ll go into business eventually.”
Emily was silent.
“It was a satisfaction to be able to send Scid to the U, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t stay more than a year or so. I’ve a hunch he’s a businessman, too. Now the next in line, my little sister, she’s different. She’ll profit by college.”
“Yes,” Emily broke in passionately. “And so would I.” She stopped in flooding embarrassment, for they hadn’t been discussing her. She had had no intention of talking about herself. The exclamation had burst out because of the fullness of her heart.
Cab asked quietly, “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” she floundered, blushing deeply, “I’m like your sister. I’m a student, too. I want more education terribly.”
“And you can’t go to college on account of your grandfather, I suppose.” Cab looked troubled. “Well, I found education here. Old Mr. Loring educated me. The U would have been just four years of play.”
“It wouldn’t be for me,” said Emily, but she stopped abruptly. She knew that Cab was sympathetic and interested, but she was ashamed of her outburst. It was so unlike her. She never confided. Besides, in the Moorish Café, after a dance, she ought to keep the conversation light.
Summoning all her poise she smiled and changed the subject. “I remember your class,” she said. “I remember Betsy Ray and Tib Muller…”
“We had a lot of fun,” Cab replied, sounding relieved. “Did you ever hear how Betsy Ray taught me Ivanhoe?”
He told her the story, which was so funny that Emily began to laugh. Cab ordered more coffee and went on to other tales of his crowd. To her infinite relief Emily saw that he hadn’t been too much disturbed by her impetuous confidences.
He took her home in Mr. Thumbler’s hack and told her at the door that it had been swell. They must do it again sometime. He sounded as though he meant it, too.
“Maybe this is the answer,” Emily thought, back in her own little room, undressing. “Maybe social life is the answer, going around with an older crowd.”