The Carter Girls' Mysterious Neighbors

And so she wrote the following letter to Bobby’s employer:

    Preston, Va., R. F. D. Route 1.
    November 1, 1916.

Dear Dr. Wright:

I am sorry to inform you that your chauffeur, Robert Carter, Jr., is misbehaving at school in such a way that his teacher is afraid he will have to be expelled. She has done everything in her power to make him be more considerate but he is very, very naughty and tries to worry his teacher all the time.

Very sincerely,

Douglas Carter.

Dr. Wright telephoned that he would be down to see them on Saturday after receiving Douglas’s note; but the message was sent via Grantly, as the Carters had no telephone, and Miss Ella and Miss Louise could not agree just what his name was or when he said he was coming. So the matter was lost sight of in the wrangle that ensued and the word was not delivered until too late.

CHAPTER VI

CHLOE

To Helen had fallen the most difficult and trying part of the program: training a cheap, country servant to the ways of civilization. Many times did she think of Miss Louise’s trained monkey as she labored with Chloe, with whom she had to start all over every day.

A seven o’clock breakfast must be ready for Nan and Lucy, and the one morning that she left it to Chloe the girls had to go off with nothing more comforting on their little insides than cold bread and milk. That was when the new maid had first arrived and Helen had not sounded the depths of her incompetence and ignorance.

“What would you have done in your own home if you had had to have an early breakfast for someone?” asked Helen, curious to know if the girl knew how to do anything.

“I’d ’a’ done what I done this mornin’: let ’um fill up on what col’ victuals they was lef’ on de she’f.”

Helen endeavored to introduce Chloe to the mysteries of the fireless cooker, which they had brought with them from camp, but the girl seemed to think there was some kind of magic in a thing that cooked without fire and would none of it.

“I ain’t a-goin’ ter tetch no sich hoodoo doin’s as dat ’ere box,” she asserted. “It mus’ hab a kinder debble in it ter keep it hot ’thout a piece er dry wood or nothin’.”

Helen was lifting out the pot full of steaming oatmeal that she had put in the cooker the night before, determined that her sisters should not have to go off again with such cold comfort.

“All right, you keep up the wood fire and I’ll attend to the fireless cooker,” laughed Helen. “What makes the stove smoke? It was burning all right yesterday.”

“Smoking ’cause dat hoodoo debble done got in it,” and Chloe rolled her great eyes until nothing showed but the whites.

“Smoking because you’ve got the damper turned down,” and Helen righted the appliance. “Have you set the table?”

“Yassum!”

“Put everything on it just as I showed you yesterday?”

“Nom! I ain’t put nothin’ on it. I jes’ sot the cheers up to it, but all the gals is got ter do is jes’ retch the things off’n the sidebo’d.”

That meant that Helen must run and get the table set as quickly as possible as it was three minutes to seven.

Chloe followed her meekly to the dining-room to do her bidding.

“Run back to the kitchen, Chloe, and look at the biscuit, and see if they are burning,” cried Helen as she rapidly placed the silver on the table.

A few minutes later, having set the table she hastened to the kitchen. An ominous odor greeted her.

“Chloe, did you look at the biscuit?”

“Yassum! They was gettin’ ready to burn. I guess they is ’bout burned by now.”

“Oh, Chloe, why didn’t you take them out?” and poor Helen thought maybe she was going to weep with exasperation.

“You nebber tol’ me ter do mo’n look at ’em. My maw an’ Sis Tempy both done caution me not to be too frisky ’bout doin’ things ’til the white folks tells me. Tempy says white folks laks ter boss ’bout ev’ything.”

“Oh, for a trained monkey!” thought Helen. “I could at least give one a good switching.”

Chloe had only two characteristics to work on: one was perfect good-nature, the other unbounded health and strength. Helen wondered if she had enough material to go on to evolve even a passable servant. Anyhow she meant to try. She determined to do the cooking herself for a little while with Chloe as scullion, and also to have the girl do the housework.

Of course Mrs. Carter was of absolutely no assistance. She held to her purpose of semi-invalidism. The family would not listen to her when she offered the only sane suggestion for the winter: that they should oust the tenant and move back into their own pretty, comfortable, well-furnished home; Douglas to make her début in Richmond society and the other girls continue at school. As for money – why not just make bills? They had perfectly good credit, and what was credit for but to use? Dr. Wright had been so stern with her, and Douglas so severe and unfilial, and they had intimated that she wanted to kill her dear Robert, so she had just let them have their own way. She insisted she had not the strength to cope with these changed conditions and took on the habits of an invalid.

Helen, remembering how Susan, who was supposed to help with the cooking at the camp, had been kept busy waiting on her mistress, feared Chloe would be pressed into lady’s maid service, too. Indeed Mrs. Carter attempted it, but Chloe proved too rough for the job, and that poor lady was forced to run the ribbons in her lingerie herself.

Chloe’s cleaning was even worse than her cooking if such a thing was possible. She spread up the beds, leaving great wrinkles and bumps, which proved to be top sheets and blankets that she had not thought fit to pull up. When Helen remonstrated and made her take all the covers off to air before making the beds she obeyed, but put the covers back on regardless of sequence, with counterpanes next to the mattress and sheets on top, with blankets anywhere that her fancy dictated. She swept the dirt safely under the rugs; wiped up the floor with bath towels; and the crowning glory of her achievement was sticking all the tooth-brushes together.

Now when we remember that Helen herself had perhaps never made up a bed in her whole life until about eight months before this time, we may indeed have sympathy for her in her tribulations. Her days were full to running over, beginning very early in the morning and ending only after the family was fed at night. The cooking was not so difficult, as she had a genius for it and consequently a liking. Chloe could wash dishes after a fashion and clean the kitchen utensils, which was some comfort.

Mr. Carter always carried his wife’s breakfast tray to her room and waited on her like a devoted slave. He would even have run the ribbons in had she trusted him. All he could do for her now was wait on her and spoil her, and this he did to perfection. She was the same lovely little creature he had married and he was not unreasonable enough to expect her to be anything else. He did not think it strange that his little canary could not turn herself into a raven and feed him when he was hungry. His tenderness to his wife was so great that his daughters took their keynote from him and their patience towards their mother was wonderful. They vied with one another in their attentions to the parent that they would not let themselves call selfish.

Helen cooked her little dainties; Nan kept her in light literature from the circulating library in town; Lucy scoured the fields for mushrooms that a late fall had made plentiful; Douglas always brought her the choice fruit and flowers that her pupils showered on her; even Bobby did his part by bringing her ripe persimmons that the frost had nipped just enough to make delicious. Mr. Carter was often able to bring her in a partridge or a young hare. On the whole life wasn’t so bad. When one felt perfectly well, semi-invalidism was a pretty pleasant state. As for society: the count was a frequent visitor and the ladies from Grantly most attentive. The Suttons had called, too, several times, and other county families were finding the Carters out. It was easy to treat the fact that they were living in the overseer’s house as a kind of joke. Of course, anyone could tell that they were not the kind of persons who usually lived in overseers’ houses.

Chloe was the thorn in the flesh, the fly in the ointment for Mrs. Carter. Chloe could not be laughed away, – Chloe was no joke. Accustomed to trained, highly-paid servants to do her bidding, this rough, uncouth ourang-outang was more than the dainty little lady could stand.

The very first time Count de Lestis called, Mrs. Carter happened to be alone in the house except for Chloe, Mr. Carter having gone to Preston for much-needed nails and Helen having run up to Grantly to ask the advice of Miss Ella on the best way to preserve some late pears. A knock and Chloe promptly fell down the steps in her eagerness to get to the door. She had been up in Douglas’s and Helen’s room attempting to make up the bed to suit Miss Helen.

“Thank Gawd I fell down instidder up! If’n I had ’a’ fell up I wouldn’t ’a’ got ma’ied dis year,” and she picked herself up and dived at the front door.

“Are Mr. and Mrs. Carter and the young ladies at home?” Mrs. Carter heard in the count’s fine baritone.

“Nawsir! The boss is done gone ter Preston ter fetch some nails ter try ter bolster up this here ole shack, an’ Miss Douglas is done gone ter her teachin’ job an’ Miss Helen is done stepped up to see Miss Ellanlouise ’bout ’zervin’ some ole hard pears – ”

“And how about Mrs. Carter?” in an amused voice.

“Oh, she is a-layin’ on the sofy tryin’ ter git sick.”

“Is she ill?” solicitously.

“Naw! She is jes’ plum lazy. She’s too lazy ter chaw an’ has ter have all her victuals fixed soft like.”

“Well, will you please take her this card?”

“That there ticket?”

Imagine Mrs. Carter’s mortification, when the grinning Chloe came running into the sitting-room with the count’s card crushed in her eager hand, to discover that the wretched girl was in her stocking feet; capless, with her wrapped plaits sticking out all over her head like quills upon the fretful porcupine; her apron on hind part before.