CHAPTER XII
“THEM TRIMMINSES”
Annette appeared at morning service on Sunday in one of her most striking frocks. The attention of good Mr. Middler’s parishioners was sadly distraught by the newcomer. It was quite impossible for feminine eyes to keep from turning in the direction of Miss Bowman’s seat during the sermon.
She did not come unattended, but it was not her brother who walked up the aisle with her just as the bell stopped tolling. The school teacher was her companion and, noticeably red about the ears, he handed her into the Beasely pew where he usually sat himself.
Nelson Haley’s presence as the city girl’s cavalier produced a distinct shock throughout the congregation. The comment of uplifted eyebrow, questioning smile, and—in some cases—the pronounced sniff, swept over the pews like wind over a wheat-field, as the people settled themselves in preparation for the sermon.
Elder Concannon, from the amen corner, glared in horrified amazement at the city girl and her escort. He had not felt very friendly toward Nelson Haley since the building of the new schoolhouse, and his comment after service was particularly bitter in judgment upon the teacher.
“What more could ye expect of a young man that runs after all sorts of folderols? Woe unto the foolish women! But how about the foolish men that follow after them?”
That last was applicable to a goodly number of the younger male portion of the congregation that day; for they literally followed in the wake of the city girl and Haley as the couple strolled down High Street to the Inn.
Boys of Marty Day’s age nudged each other and giggled to see the funny, beruffled skirt flopping about Annette’s shoe-tops; the older boys secretly envied the school teacher his opportunity of knowing this strange girl well enough to walk home from church with her.
The girls and their mothers gathered in groups after service to discuss Annette’s costume. A few pretended to scorn the innovation of ultra-fashionable apparel in Polktown; but most of the younger ladies were already planning new frocks and furbelows.
Old Mrs. Scattergood, who was always outspoken on every subject, declared flatly that she considered Polktown needed to be awakened in the matter of dress.
“I declare for’t!” she said, “there ain’t a town of its size in these Green Mountains that holds a bigger crowd of frumps than we be. I own up I’ve had Miz’ Link make my bonnet in one style, spring and fall, since I came from Skunk’s Holler, endurin’ two year now. It’s a livin’ truth that the women of the Holler and of Popham Landin’ are far ahead of us when it comes to style. We wait ev’ry spring for Miz’ Marvin Petrie to come from Boston with her idees of style—an’ then we copy her like the lot of copy-cats we be! I’m a-goin’ to have me a gown that’s up-to-date for oncet, if it’s the last act of my life!”
From that time on the influence of a silly girl on a more or less idle community spread with a rapidity that was really remarkable. Of course, it wasn’t Aunt ’Mira, or Mrs. Scattergood, or Mabel Woods, Elvira Snow and Icivilly Sprague only, who felt the infection.
It was true that Mrs. Scattergood appeared at the next meeting of the Ladies’ Aid Society in a gown with a modest slit on the side showing a silk petticoat, and despite all Janice could do her aunt had the salmon poplin made up and wore it with the purple plume on her hat.
“I vum!” gasped Uncle Jason, when his wife dawned on his vision as he came up from the barns, “ye look jest like a fodder stack on fire in a fog. I never see the beat of you, Almiry. When them Vermillion Queen troupers come here and tried to show at the Opry House, there warn’t one o’ them dressed as gay as you be. If you old wimmen air a-goin’ to set sech an example to the gals in Polktown, we’ll come to a pretty pass. Huh!”
Perhaps Janice herself was the person least affected by the coming of Annette Bowman with her airs, graces, and costumes. And yet she was made to feel the presence of the city girl in Polktown to a degree.
Janice saw nothing of Nelson Haley, save to bow to him, or speak to him at church, or in a store, or on the street. He always seemed in haste to get away when he spied Janice; but she heard of his being in attendance on Annette almost every day.
The school committee had held a meeting and voted to increase Nelson’s salary if he would remain in charge of the Polktown school for another year. Nelson had agreed to remain. But all this information came to Janice at second hand. A few weeks before, the young man would have discussed the matter with her, if with nobody else. But now he did not come near her.
Was it because of Annette, or of Frank? Janice could not tell.
Janice would not have had anybody know how deeply she felt his neglect, for anything in the world. It did seem as though Daddy’s present of the Kremlin car had brought her more trouble than happiness.
In those days Janice’s father was still in trouble, to judge by his letters. He was doing his best to save the mining property from confiscation by the new government. There had even been a clash of authority, and two of the guards at the mine had been wounded. Daddy had written that he would fight to the end before he would give up what rightfully belonged to him and to those in the company with him.
“He’d better give up an’ come back to the U. S. A.,” was Uncle Jason’s comment. “It’s better to be a poor man than a dead one!”
“Now don’t you go for to scare Janice,” interposed Aunt ’Mira. “Maybe it ain’t so bad after all. But I allow them Mexicaners is dreadful bloodthirsty,” she added, dolefully.
“Daddy won’t give up. He’ll fight it out to the end—I know him!” said Janice. And then she went her way with a heart that was very sore indeed.
The automobile was her solace. When things went wrong she could escape the contemplation of her girlish troubles by taking a spin in the car. Clinging to the wheel and with her well-shod feet resting lightly on the pedals, the engine purring like a huge tabby cat, and everything running smoothly, it was a delight to roll over the hilly roads about Polktown and forget everything else.
She had wonderfully good fortune in her management of the car. She had learned from Frank Bowman how to thoroughly clean the parts. Marty and she frequently spent the long summer evenings pottering over the automobile. And because of the care she gave it at home, she seldom had trouble out on the road.
Janice did not often ride merely for pleasure when she did not take out her friends. She often went up through Elder Concannon’s woodland where the Trimmins lived, and always she hoped to find some means of getting better acquainted with “them Trimminses,” as Mrs. Scattergood called the squatters.
One afternoon she carried a bag of popcorn and peanuts with her and stopped directly before the cabin. Since the time when the poor old hound had been killed most of the children had been conspicuous by their absence when Janice drove by. Especially did the black-haired girl and the red-haired boy remain under cover at such times.
Nor was this day any exception. They could hear the motor-car coming for a long distance, of course, and the muddy plot in front of the cabin was quite empty of children when Janice stopped the car. But she was not shaken from her good intention. She disembarked and went boldly up to the open door of the cabin. There was a scurrying and whispering inside, and she knew some of the children must have taken refuge there.
But all she saw was the slatternly mother in the doorway. Hers was a bulky figure. Not as bulky as Aunt ’Mira’s; but her dirty calico dress was worn with more baggy effect that it would seem really possible. Aunt ’Mira, when first Janice had come to Polktown, was a queen of neatness beside this poor creature.
“How-do!” she drawled, favoring Janice with a sickly smile. “You wanter see someone?”
“I have brought something for the children. I didn’t know but they might enjoy a little treat,” said Janice, smiling in return.
“Hey?”
Growing wonder was displayed on Mrs. Trimmins’ flabby features and they lost their innocent, weak smile. “Ye don’t want nothin’?” she babbled.
“Why, no, Mrs. Trimmins!” cried the girl, cheerfully. “I just wanted to give the little folks a good time.”
Gradually an expression that Janice could not fathom was hardening Mrs. Trimmins’ face. A light flickered in her dull eyes. She slowly shook her head.
“Y’ don’t need ter bring we-uns anythin’ ter eat. We git our own vittles,” she drawled, yet with a note of finality that surprised Janice. “Mebbe ye mean well—ye’re only a gal. But jest ’cause we live po’ don’t make us objicts of charity, I wantcher should know. We-all are as good as you-all Yanks!”
“Oh, Mrs. Trimmins!” gasped Janice. “I had no intention of offering you charity, or of insulting you in any way. Do, do believe me! I just thought it would be nice to treat the children. I love children and I’d like to make friends with yours—if they will let me,” she added.
The woman looked at her as though she scarcely understood. “Wan’t it you-all that killed our old Towser?” she drawled.
“My machine killed him, and I was very sorry. But I guess you know how he came to get under the wheels of my car,” Janice said, with some sternness.
“Wal—I s’pose I do. That Jinny an’ Tom is alius up t’ capers.”
“But I’d like to have them look on me in a friendly way,” Janice urged, thrusting out the bag of goodies again. “Do, Mrs. Trimmins, give this to the children and tell them I left it with my best wishes.”
In spite of herself the woman took the bag, and Janice ran quickly back to the car. When she went out of sight past the woods Mrs. Trimmins’ bulky figure still filled the doorway of the cabin, but she had not dropped the paper bag.
At least—so thought Janice—she had made a small beginning in her task of getting acquainted with “them Trimminses.” She had learned that the girl she particularly wished to get at was named “Jinny”—probably short for Virginia. Janice was sure the black-haired girl was bright, if she was mischievous.
Janice had never met just such people as these squatters before. Indeed, they were quite as foreign to the Vermont soil as European emigrants would have been. By Mrs. Trimmins’ speech it was easy to tell that she came from the South; and had all the dislike for the “Yanks” that a certain class of Southerners are still supposed to retain.
“But they must be reached with kindness. Perhaps nobody, since they came here, has shown them friendliness. A lot of these old farmers haven’t forgotten the Civil War yet; they’d have nothing but contempt, anyway, for shiftless people like these Trimminses.
“How amazed she seemed just because I wanted to do her children a kindness. It is dreadful to think that all the neighbors round about have been so careless and hard toward them. I must find out more about the Trimminses—and how they came to be away up here.”
She found out something more about the Trimmins children, at least, that very day. When she drove the car back along the wood road, she drove slowly by the cabin, as usual. Not a child appeared, nor was the woman herself in sight.
Just beyond was a piece of road bordered by a thick hedge of brush on either side. Janice was still driving slowly. Suddenly, out of the mask of bushes, rose a series of yells that would have done credit to a band of wild Comanches.
Involuntarily Janice shut off power. She should have speeded up instead, for through the brush on either side of the road charged the whole crowd of young Trimmins—from the sixteen or seventeen-year-old boys down to the toddlers. But “Jinny” was without doubt their leader.
“Give it to her!” shrieked the black-haired girl. “Give it to the nasty, stuck-up Yank! We’ll show her we don’t want her old charity presents! Give it to her!”
The shrieks were accompanied by a shower of popcorn and peanuts. Janice was bombarded as though with confetti, a lot of it falling in the tonneau as she accelerated the speed and shot away from the yelling, dancing crew.
She was disappointed, and, at first, a little angry. Then she had to laugh at the remembrance of her own chagrin.
And to think of that dancing, shrieking, black-haired Jinny leading such a charge and bombardment. What control she must have over her brothers and sisters, to make them give up the peanuts and popcorn. It must have been a wrench for the babies to throw away the goodies.
Then Janice began to look more closely at the missiles with which she had been showered. There wasn’t much of the pink and white popcorn; and the nuts seemed all to have been shelled out before the husks were thrown at her! She was sure this was not according to Jinny’s plan; the little virago had been too much in earnest. But her small brothers—and perhaps the big ones—had fooled her. They had shelled the “goobers” before flinging the waste at Janice and her car.