In the Country

Once a year we were accustomed to visit our grandparents, and this was generally made a real family reunion. There we met with all our uncles and aunts and cousins. It was also a joyful occasion for Teresa who was very fond of Justina, grandmother’s faithful old servant. Grandfather had been a very successful farmer, intelligent, hard-working, and economical without being stingy. After many years’ work he had amassed a considerable fortune. The big farm which to Catalina and Rosa was but a dim memory, but whose glories Teresa had often recounted to us, had been sold quite a number of years before. My grandfather had then bought a beautiful house nearby, with a few acres surrounding it just to remind him of his former activities. The garden itself was large and imposing and well-cared for under the critical eyes of both of our grandparents, who specialized in new and rare plants. The flowers, appearing in profusion in all seasons of the year (even in winter in the great hothouses), filled the air with their delicious perfumes.

Our grandparents reigned over this domain and it was here that they loved to welcome us. Our father was their especial pride and joy as he was the oldest son.

Our grandfather had a enormous, gruff voice and possessed a pair of great square shoulders; in fact, he was a real “countryman.” But beneath his rude exterior he had a heart of gold, and no one could gain the confidence of a little child quicker than he.

Grandmother was of a different type, with her long black dress and her beautiful white hair, of which she was justly proud. She could easily have been mistaken for a noblewoman. She was a strong character and had had the advantage of considerable schooling. She was every inch “the fine lady,” with her firm step and resolute voice and her brilliant black eyes. Nevertheless, we all loved her dearly, for there was a simple, loving heart hidden away beneath all her magnificence.

Justina, who had been her faithful servant for forty years, never tired of singing the praises of her “Madame.” If during our short stay at “Las Lilas” we showed ourselves unduly boisterous, or when we disobeyed orders, Justina would say to us after we had been properly reprimanded, “You never, never will be like your grandmother!”

Grandfather always met us at the little railway station. On our arrival he embraced everybody, including our father, whom he would kiss on both cheeks as if he had been a child. Catalina would first be hoisted up into the great carriage and we would follow one after the other. Louis took unto himself the honor of holding the reins, and after everybody was well-seated, except my father and grandfather, who marched on ahead of the horses, the slow procession to the house would begin.

In half-an-hour we could see the great house where Grandma and Justina, decked out in their Sunday gowns, awaited our arrival. There, after various comments on our growths and states of health, Catalina would be conducted by her grandmother to her room to rest after the tiresome journey, while Justina would carry off Teresa to the kitchen, and the rest of us would hurry to the orchard where grandfather with a vigorous hand would shake down the apples and pears into our outstretched aprons. Those were ecstatic moments when we could bury our teeth in the newly-fallen fruit. Soon Father would cry, “That’s enough! That’s enough! There’ll be nothing left for anybody else!”

But Grandfather, continuing to shake down more fruit, would answer with his great gruff voice, “First come, first served! Besides, look over there to the right! There are thousands of apples that we haven’t even touched!”

Soon after this there would appear in a cloud of dust the carriages of our uncles August and Edward with their families from Havre and Paris, carrying all sorts of bundles mixed up with the children and nurses.

In the doorway of the garden would be our grandmother waiting to welcome everybody, her numerous grandchildren clambering about her and embracing her affectionately, each one fighting for the first kiss. “Me, me, Grandma; I’m the smallest.” “No, me, me, Grandma; I’m the biggest” When they had been all finally satisfied, she would embrace with great tenderness all her sons, inquiring of each in turn as to his health.

Sometimes in the conversation there would come a cloud of sadness as some relative would be mentioned who had departed since the last family reunion. Then finally, after having returned to the garden to play for a while under the great trees, the bell of the nearby church would strike the hour of noon, and Justina would appear at the grape arbor entrance crying, “Come one, come all! The soup is getting cold!”

Then there would be a wild race on the part of all the cousins to see who would be first at the long table placed in the cool shade under the great spreading vines, that wonderful table with its wide damask covering which only appeared on state occasions. Grandma’s loving hospitality was shown in the minutest details of that elaborate feast; for she had remembered the favorite dishes of each one of her three sons and each found himself confronted with the delight of his childhood. When under the maternal eye in bygone days, he was not allowed to overeat; but now each was left to his own discretion to satisfy the most ample appetite.

And then came those delicious desserts followed by fruits and nuts which had been especially kept as the crown of the feast to accompany the final coffee cup. Again the afternoon was spent in the garden, while the babies slept in the shade under the eye of the respective mothers.

The most solemn moment of our visit was when we had to make our report to our grandparents as to our progress in school. I remember especially one year when Rosa was the first in her class, and Santiago, our tall cousin, had taken the first prize in the great school of “Louis the Great,” from which each year he carried new laurels. For them it was of course a time of triumph—but for me! Oh, with what shame I presented my report card. My grandmother read it. “Lisita Dumas—last place!” and I hid my face in my hands.

“Come, come,” Grandma said, “don’t cry. Try to do better next time.”

My cousins were not quite so charitable as they passed my poor card from hand to hand.

“Tell us, Lisita,” Santiago said, when he thought we were well out of earshot of our elders, “you certainly do love to ride in the seat behind, do you not?” And he pulled my hair with the remark, “Better let somebody else sit there, hereafter.”

But Grandmother overheard him and she said, “Go a little slower, my fine fellow. Lisita might have a more brilliant future than you think. And besides, when you, my fine grandson, are scintillating in the world of letters and Rosa is director of the great normal school, perhaps Lisita may be occupying a comfortable post right here in this great house.” I didn’t understand the full import of these remarks, but I noticed it had the effect of silencing my tormentor, who slunk away abashed.

We would play happily in the garden until suppertime, and even the grown folks joined us in some of our games. Sometimes Father would gather all of us children around him, and we would never tire of hearing the stories of his adventures when, as a young man, he had gone far beyond the boundaries of France. These wonderful stories seemed so strange to us as we looked upon our father’s sad and severe countenance; but our uncles August and Edward informed us that at one time he was the happiest and gayest of them all.

After supper came the problem of housing us all. The boys always slept in the hay barn. “A good preparation,” said Uncle August, “for their future training in the army.” The rest of us found resting places somehow here and there in the great house. On the following day we would gather at breakfast, and then the menfolks would be off again to their various tasks in the big towns. After a good time in the garden in the morning, the two carriages to Paris and Havre would be loaded up again, and we would take the train once more, generally leaving Catalina to pass an additional week in the invigorating air of “Las Lilas.”

This short visit in the country was the great event of the year in my young life. I talked about it six months beforehand and for six months afterward. The other scholars made fun of me in school, and dubbed me “Las Lilas” because I talked so much about my grandfather’s home in the country. But Paula was a most sympathetic listener. She never tired of hearing me repeat over and over our experiences at “Las Lilas.” It must be confessed that I exaggerated in describing many things about my grandfather’s place, until my country cousin came to believe that my grandfather’s house was a palace and that the garden was a veritable Eden.

“You shall see, you shall see!” I exclaimed as I ended my description.

The cow appeared to be the most interesting thing to Paula. “If your grandfather has a cow, it must be that he really lives in the country,” she said.

“Of course he lives in the country,” I said. “It is so beautiful there. But don’t you think that we also are living in the country here in ‘The Convent’?” Paula laughed heartily at this but made no further comment.

At last the annual letter of invitation arrived. I recognized it on account of the beautiful handwriting of my grandmother. “It is for next Saturday,” announced my father, “and we are all invited to stay until Monday. And now listen, Paula, this concerns you. Grandmother writes, ‘It would delight me very much to embrace our new little relative. I hope that from now on she will keep a warm place in her heart for her old grandmother who loves her without having ever met her.’ ”

Teresa, who was indeed tired out with the care of Catalina, and who was very sensitive to warm weather, was no less happy than we were, for she, too, was to go with us. Only Catalina manifested no enthusiasm over the coming visit. My father observing this said to her anxiously, “You have nothing to say, daughter mine?”

“I’m not going, Father.”

“What’s that you say? You’ve been much better these last days and are well able to stand the trip. You weren’t very well last year, and yet you went to ‘Las Lilas’ and found it so beneficial to your health.”

“Yes, I know, Father,” answered poor Catalina, “but I know also that I’ve always been a source of great trouble for you, and Teresa would never have a minute’s peace because of me. I shall go a little later, Father, when I’m stronger, if Grandmother will have me. She knows very well how I long to go to ‘Las Lilas,’ but I fear that the trip would only bring on an especial spell of weariness and that would spoil the fun of everybody. Maria, who works in the garden here, can look after me for a day or two. She is very kind and thoughtful, and I know she’ll care for me very well.”

We all stared at Catalina! It was the first time in all her history that I had ever seen her forget herself. It was a great struggle, for she had become so accustomed to think only of her own comfort. Tears welled up in her eyes as she smilingly awaited Father’s decision. “But this is going to be a great disappointment to you,” he said, passing his hand over the feverish forehead of the invalid.

“No, Father; it will give me great pleasure this time,” came Catalina’s brave answer.

“Be it therefore as you wish,” he said.

Pleasure? I couldn’t understand what pleasure there would be for Catalina to stay behind alone with Maria, especially at this time of the great event of the year.

My father looked at Catalina tenderly as if he read her very heart, and saw there something he had never seen before. “Thou hast changed much, daughter mine, since your last sickness.”

“For better or worse?” asked Catalina with a mischievous smile.

“For better, my daughter. Indeed, far better!”

“It’s because I’m older than I was, perhaps, Father.”

“No, no; it’s more than that.”

“I wonder if I could dare tell you the truth.”

“Never fear. Tell me what’s on your mind, Catalina.”

“Well, it’s this, Father dear. God has spoken to me and I have answered Him.”

“How has He spoken to thee?” said my father, and there was no sternness in his look either.

Catalina pointed furtively at Paula.

“And how hast thou answered Him?”

“I’ve asked Him that He might save me and that He might make me a real Christian.”

There was a strange look in my poor father’s face as he answered quietly, “If I could believe that there was a God, I would say that He had heard thee.”

Catalina wrote a long letter to Grandmother, the contents of which she did not care to show us. So it was as Catalina wished, and Maria promised to take good care of the invalid.

At last the great day arrived. Paula and I, up at sunrise, scurried to the window to look at the weather, and, oh, joy! It was a magnificent day without a cloud in the sky! A little later when Teresa arrived to call us, great was her surprise to find us all ready to start.

“What a wonderful thing,” she remarked dryly. “You’d never be late to school if you did this every morning.”

After the first moment of enthusiasm, Paula strangely enough began to lose little by little the happy atmosphere which usually surrounded her. I discovered soon the cause. She was thinking of Catalina.

“It’s going to be terribly lonely for her,” she said.

“Never fear,” I said, “she can go another time.”

But she shook her head as if trying to throw off something painful that seemed to be on her mind.

“Oh, Lisita, if you could but know how lonely Catalina will feel as she sees us go without her. When I took her breakfast to her yesterday and saw that she had been crying I simply could not bear the thought of leaving her at home alone.”

“But if Papa says it is all right, it can’t be so bad. Besides, Father loves her as much as you do.”

Paula didn’t answer me.

Soon the time came to start. Teresa started calling to one and another. One had lost this thing, another had misplaced something else. My father scolded and helped, at the same time trying to get us off. Then Rosa wasn’t ready and Louis, always unprepared, couldn’t find his favorite blue necktie. At last we were ready. The only thing that remained was to say goodbye to Catalina. Louis, impatient to be off, performed that ceremony quickly; Rosa who had reserved a surprise for the invalid, put a new book into her hand as she kissed her; Teresa, as she embraced her in her turn, left many instructions; then, as Paula came forward, we heard a sob as she buried her face on my oldest sister’s shoulder.

“What’s the matter now?” said my father.

An unintelligible sound was heard; but Catalina understood and her eyes moistened with happiness. “Oh, Father,” she said, “I know; she’s crying on my account, she doesn’t want to leave me alone here.”

“Is that it, Paula?” questioned my father.

“Yes, please leave me here, uncle; I shall be so happy to be at Catalina’s side while you are gone.”

But Catalina refused this sacrifice, saying, “No, no, my dear little Paula. I’ll not be lonely. You have too tender a heart. Now go, things will be all right here. Everything has been arranged for me, and it will make me happy to know of the good time you are all to have with our grandmother.”

My father didn’t know what to do. The time was passing. “Come, Paula, come,” he said; “it’s time to go.”

Paula raised her head. “If you order me to go, I’ll go, for I must obey you, and I know they are waiting for us. But if you will permit me to stay”—and she put emphasis on the word permit in her peculiarly irresistible manner—“I would be a whole lot happier here than in ‘Las Lilas.’ ”

“Stay then,” said my father, as he added with a smile, “You certainly are a little despot, for you seem to twist me to your will in everything.”

Paula laughed at this, as happy as if she had received the most valuable of gifts, as she kissed him.

“Oh, yes; kisses are all very well,” said father, pretending to be angry, “but what will the grandparents say?”

“You will tell them”—but the rest of the sentence I could not hear, as she bent close to my father’s ear.

“Where’s Paula?” everybody cried, as we went through the door downstairs.

“Look,” said my father, pointing to the upper window. There was Paula, with a radiant face, waving her handkerchief in goodbye to all of us!

“Come, come, hurry up; stop your fooling!” cried Louis.

“I’m staying here.”

“How is that?”

“Oh, I’m just staying with Catalina.”

“That’s too much!” cried Louis, “to stay here while the rest of us go on a holiday. Papa, you won’t permit such a silly thing; will you?”

“Well, she begged me with tears to let her stay and there she is,” said Father.

“Goodbye, uncle; goodbye, Teresa—A happy journey to you all,” cried Paula. “Give a good hug and a kiss to Grandmother and to Grandfather,” we heard her say as we turned the corner.

“She isn’t a bit like the rest of us,” said Louis. “She never seems to seek her own pleasure, and yet the funny thing about it is, she’s always happy. I can’t understand a nature like that.”

“It’s because she finds her happiness in making other people happy,” said Teresa.

This was also what our grandmother said, when we explained Paula’s absence.