Carmen Ariza Part 102

For a moment she stood reflecting. Then apprehension began to steal over her. She went hastily, instinctively, to a window and raised the curtain. There were iron bars in front of it! She remembered suddenly that prison windows were like that. She hurried to the other. It was likewise barred. Terror's clammy hand gripped at her heart. Then she caught herself--and laughed. "How silly!" she exclaimed, sinking again into the rocker. "G.o.d is everywhere--right here!"

At that moment the door opened noiselessly and a woman entered. She was younger than the one who had met the boat. When she saw the girl she uttered an exclamation. "Lord! where did you get those clothes?"

Carmen glanced down at her odd attire and then smiled up at the woman.

"Cartagena," she said simply. "Mrs. Reed bought them for me. But are you her sister? You don't look like her."

The woman laughed, a sharp, unmusical laugh. The dry cosmetic plastered thick upon her cheeks cracked. She was not beautiful like the others, thought Carmen. Her cheeks were sunken, and her low-cut gown revealed great, protruding collarbones. "Come," she said abruptly, "get out of those rags and into something modern." She opened a closet door and selected a gown from a number hanging there.

It was white, and there was a gay ribbon at the waist.

"It'll have to be pinned up," she commented to herself, holding it out before her and regarding Carmen critically.

The girl's eyes danced. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "am I to wear that? How beautiful! Did Mrs. Reed give it to me? And is there a party down stairs?"

The woman returned no answer, but opened a bureau drawer and took from it several other garments, which she threw upon a chair, together with the dress.

"Into the whole lot of 'em," she said sharply, indicating the garments. "And move lively, for supper's waitin' and there'll be callers soon--gentlemen callers," she added, smiling grimly.

She turned and faced Carmen. Their eyes met. The woman stopped abruptly and stood with arms akimbo, regarding the girl. Carmen gazed up at her with a smile of happy, trustful a.s.surance.

The woman was the first to speak. "Where did you come from?" she demanded hoa.r.s.ely.

Carmen told her. She mentioned Simiti, Padre Jose, and Rosendo. Her voice quavered a little; but she brightened up and concluded: "And Mr.

Reed's Auntie, she met us--that is, me. Oh, isn't she a beautiful lady!"

The woman seemed to be fascinated by the child's gaze. Then, suddenly, as if something had given way under great strain, she cried: "For G.o.d's sake, don't look at me that way! Who are you?" She dropped into a chair and continued to stare at the girl.

"Well, I've told you," replied Carmen. "But," she continued, going quickly to the woman and taking her hand, "you haven't told me your name yet. And we are going to be such good friends, aren't we? Yes, we are. And you are going to tell me all about this beautiful house, and that wonderful carriage I came here in. What did make it go, anyway?

Do you ride often? Oh, I hope Mrs. Reed will take me out in it every day!"

The woman's hand tightened over Carmen's. She seemed to struggle with herself. Then, in a low voice:

"Your mother--is she living?"

"Madre Maria is," returned Carmen. "But my mother, my own real mother, she died, long, long ago, on the banks of the great river. My father left her, and she was trying to follow him. Then I was born--"

"The same old story!" muttered the woman fiercely. "I've been there, girl, and know all about it. I followed the man--but it was my kid that died! G.o.d, if I could have laid my hands on him! And now you have come here--"

She stopped abruptly and swallowed hard. Carmen gently stole an arm about her neck. "It isn't true," she murmured, laying her soft cheek against the woman's painted one. "No one can desert us or harm us, for _G.o.d is everywhere_. And no one really dies. We have got to know that.

Padre Jose said I had a message for the people up here; and now you are the first one I've told it to. But that's it: G.o.d is everywhere.

And if we know that, why, nothing bad can ever happen to us. But you didn't know it when your husband left you, did you?"

"Husband!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the woman. Then she looked up into the girl's deep, wondering eyes and checked herself. "Come," she said abruptly, rising and still holding her hand. "Never mind the clothes." A grim look settled over her features. "We'll go down to supper now as you are."

Carmen's companion led her down the stairs and through the hall to a brightly lighted room at the rear, where about a long table sat a half dozen women. There were places for as many more, but they were unoccupied. The cloth was white, the gla.s.s shone, the silver sparkled. And the women, who glanced up at the girl, were clad in gowns of such gorgeous hues as to make the child gasp in amazement.

Over all hung the warm, perfumed air that she had thought so delicious when she had first entered the house.

The noisy chatter at once ceased. The woman led her to a chair next to the one she herself took. Carmen looked around for the lady who had met her at the boat. She was not there. The silence and the steady scrutiny of the others began to embarra.s.s her. "Where--where is Auntie?" she asked timidly, looking up at her faded attendant.

A t.i.tter ran around the table. One of the women, who swayed slightly in her chair, looked up stupidly. "Who's Auntie?" she muttered thickly. A burst of laughter followed this remark, and Carmen sat down in confusion.

"Where's the Madam, Jude?" asked one of the younger women of Carmen's attendant.

"Dining alone in her room. Headache," was the laconic reply.

"She landed a queen this time, didn't she?" looking admiringly at Carmen. "Gets me, how the old girl does it! What's your name, kiddo?"

"Carmen," replied the girl timidly, looking questioningly about the room.

"That's a good handle. But what's the rest?" put in another.

"Carmen Ariza," the child amended, as her big, wondering eyes swept the group.

"Wow! That's a moniker for you!" laughed one. "Where do you hail from, angel-face?"

The girl looked uncomprehendingly at her interlocutor.

"Your home, you know. I see your finish, all right. But where'd you begin?"

"Tell them where you lived, child," said the woman called Jude in a low voice.

"Simiti," replied Carmen, tears choking her words.

"Simiti!" echoed around the table. "New York? Ohio? Or Kansas?" A burst of mirth punctuated the question.

"Do the women vote there?"

"Long way from Paris, judging by the fas.h.i.+ons."

"Where is Simiti, kidlet?"

Carmen answered in a scarcely audible voice, "South America."

Low exclamations of astonishment encircled the table, while the women sat regarding the girl curiously.

"But," continued Carmen in a trembling voice, "where is Mrs. Reed?

And isn't Mr. Harris here? Why don't they come? Don't they know I am here?"

She looked appealingly from one to another. Her beautiful face wore such an expression of mingled fear, uncertainty, and helplessness as to throw a hush upon the room. One of the women rose. "G.o.d!" she muttered, "it's a shame!" She looked for a moment uncertainly into the big, deep eyes of the girl, and then turned and hastily left the room.

The silence which followed was broken by a pallid, painted creature at the end of the table.

"What an old devil the Madam is! My G.o.d! One look into those eyes would have been enough for me!"

"What's the idea, Jude?" asked another, nodding toward the girl. "Does she stay here?"

The woman addressed as Jude shook her head. "This is only a recruiting station for the regular army. She'll go over to French Lucy's; and the Madam will get a round price for the job."

"Old Lucy'll get rich off of her! But she needs the money. Ames owns her house, too, doesn't he?"