The Mystery of the Sycamore

At that very moment, Maida Wheeler, alone in her room, was sobbing wildly, yet using every precaution that she shouldn’t be heard.

Thrown across her bed, her face buried in the pillows, she fairly shook with the intensity of her grief.

But, as often happens, after she had brought her crying spell to a finish – and exhausted Nature insists on a finish – she rose and bathed her flushed face and sat down to think it out calmly.

Yet the more she thought the less calm she grew.

For the first time in her life she was face to face with a great question which she could not refer to her parents. Always she had confided in them, and matters that seemed great to her, even though trifling in themselves, were invariably settled and straightened out by her wise and loving father or mother.

But now, Samuel Appleby had told her a secret – a dreadful secret – that she must not only weigh and decide about, but must – at least, until she decided – keep from her parents.

“For,” Maida thought, “if I tell them, they’ll at once insist on knowing who the rightful heir is, they’ll give over the place to him – and what will become of us?”

Her conscience was as active as ever it was, her sense of right and wrong was in no way warped or blunted, but instinct told her that she must keep this matter entirely to herself until she had come to her own conclusion. Moreover, she realized, the conclusion must be her own – the decision must be arrived at by herself, and unaided.

Finally, accepting all this, she resolved to put the whole thing out of her mind for the moment. Her parents were so intimately acquainted with her every mood or shade of demeanor, they would see at once that something was troubling her mind, unless she used the utmost care to prevent it. Care, too, not to overdo her precaution. It would be quite as evident that she was concealing something, if she were unusually gay or carefree of manner.

So the poor child went downstairs, determined to forget utterly the news she had heard, until such time as she could be again by herself.

And she succeeded. Though haunted by a vague sense of being deceitful, she behaved so entirely as usual, that neither of her parents suspected her of pretense.

Moreover, the subject of Samuel Appleby’s visit was such a fruitful source of conversation that there was less chance of minor considerations.

“Never will I consent,” her father was reiterating, as Maida entered the room. “Why, Sara, I’d rather have the conditional pardon rescinded, rather pay full penalty of my conviction, than stand for the things young Sam’s campaign must stand for!”

A clenched fist came down on the table by way of emphasis.

“Now, dad,” said Maida, gaily, “don’t thump around like that! You look as if you’d like to thump Mr. Appleby!”

“And I should! I wish I could bang into his head just how I feel about it – ”

“Oh, he knows!” and Mrs. Wheeler smiled. “He knows perfectly how you feel.”

“But, truly, mother, don’t you think dad could – well, not do anything wrong – but just give in to Mr. Appleby – for – for my sake?”

“Maida – dear – that is our only stumbling-block. Your father and I would not budge one step, for ourselves – but for you, and for Jeffrey – oh, my dear little girl, that’s what makes it so hard.”

“For us, then – father, can’t you – for our sake – ”

Maida broke down. It wasn’t for her sake she was pleading – nor for the sake of her lover. It was for the sake of her parents – that they might remain in comfort – and yet, comfort at the expense of honesty? Oh, the problem was too great – she hadn’t worked it out yet.

“I can’t think,” her father’s grave voice broke in on her tumultuous thoughts. “I can’t believe, Maida, that you would want my freedom at the cost of my seared conscience.”

“No, oh, no, father, I don’t – you know I don’t. But what is this dreadful thing you’d have to countenance if you linked up on the Appleby side? Are they pirates – or rascals?”

“Not from their own point of view,” and Dan Wheeler smiled. “They think we are! You can’t understand politics, child, but you must know that a man who is heart and soul in sympathy with the principles of his party can’t conscientiously cross over and work for the other side.”

“Yes, I know that, and I know that tells the whole story. But, father, think what there is at stake. Your freedom – and – ours!”

“I know that, Maida dear, and you can never know how my very soul is torn as I try to persuade myself that for those reasons it would be right for me to consent. Yet – ”

He passed his hand wearily across his brow, and then folding his arms on the table he let his head sink down upon them.

Maida flew to his side. “Father, dearest,” she crooned over him, as she caressed his bowed head, “don’t think of it for a minute! You know I’d give up anything – I’d give up Jeff – if it means one speck of good for you.”

“I know it, dear child, but – run away, now, Maida, leave me to myself.”

Understanding, both Maida and her mother quietly left the room.

“I’m sorry, girlie dear, that you have to be involved in these scenes,” Mrs. Wheeler said fondly, as the two went to the sitting-room.

“Don’t talk that way, mother. I’m part of the family, and I’m old enough to have a share and a voice in all these matters. But just think what it would mean, if father had his pardon! Look at this room, and think, he has never been in it! Never has seen the pictures – the view from the window, the general coziness of it all.”

“I know, dear, but that’s an old story. Your father is accustomed to living only in his own rooms – ”

“And not to be able to go to the other end of the dining-room or living-room, if he chooses! It’s outrageous!”

“Yes, Maida, I quite agree – but no more outrageous than it was last week – or last year.”

“Yes, it is! It grows more outrageous every minute! Mother, what did that old will say? That you must live in Massachusetts?”

“Yes – you know that, dear.”

“Of course I do. And if you lived elsewhere, what then?”

“I forfeit the inheritance.”

“And what would become of it?”

“In default of any other heirs, it would go to the State of Massachusetts.”

“And there are no other heirs?”

“What ails you, Maida? You know all this. No, there are no other heirs.”

“You’re sure?”

“As sure as we can be. Your father had every possible search made. There were advertisements kept in the papers for years, and able lawyers did all they could to find heirs if there were any. And, finding none, we were advised that there were none, and we could rest in undisturbed possession.”

“Suppose one should appear, what then?”

“Then, little girl, we’d give him the keys of the house, and walk out.”

“Where would we walk to?”

“I’ve no idea. In fact, I can’t imagine where we could walk to. But that, thank heaven, is not one of our troubles. Your father would indeed be desperately fixed if it were! You know, Maida, from a fine capable business man, he became a wreck, because of that unjust trial.”

“Father never committed the forgery?”