Janice Day, the Young Homemaker

  Janice Day, The Young Homemaker

  by Helen Beecher Long

  CHAPTER I. WHEN MOTHER WAS A GIRL

  "Why, that is Arlo Junior. What can he be doing out of doors soearly? And look at those cats following him. Did you ever!"Janice Day stared wonderingly from her front bedroom window atthe boy crossing the street in the dim pre-dawn light, with a catand three half-grown kittens gamboling about him. OccasionallyArlo Junior would shake something out of a paper to the groundand the cats would immediately roll and frolic and slap playfullyat one another, acting as the girl had never seen cats actbefore.

  The pleasantly situated cottage belonging to Mr. Broxton Daystood almost directly across the way from the Arlo Weeks' placeon Knight Street. Therefore Janice often said that, "the daysand nights and weeks are very close together!"

  Knight Street, as level as the palm of one's hand, led straightinto Greensboro, where it crossed Market and Hammond Streets,making the Six Corners--actually the heart of the businessdistrict of this thriving mid-western town.

  The Day cottage was a mile and a half from the Six Corners andthe Farmers & Merchants Bank in which Mr. Broxton Day held animportant salaried position. Besides his house and his situationin the bank, Mr. Day considered another of his possessions veryimportant indeed, although he did not list it when he made outhis tax return.

  This that he so highly valued possessed the very brightest hazeleyes in the world, wore a wealth of free brown hair in two plaitsover her shoulders, and was of a slender figure without borderingupon that unfortunate "skinniness" which nature abhors as shedoes a vacuum.

  Janice possessed, also, even teeth that flashed when she smiled(and she smiled often), a pink and white complexion that the sunwas bound to freckle if she was not careful, and a cheerful,demure expression of countenance that went a long way towardmaking her good to look upon, if not actually good looking.

  In a spick and span blue-checked bungalow apron, she stood at herwindow just as Dawn swept a brush of partially-hued color acrossthe eastern horizon. Having had it in her mind when she went tobed the night before to arise early, she had of course awakenedlong before it was really time to get up to make sure that daddy,for once, got a proper breakfast.

  For the Days, father and daughter, were dependent on hiredservice, and such service in the form of Olga Cedarstrom wasabout as incapable and stupid as fate had yet produced.

  Having caught the first glimpse of that mischievous youngster,Arlo Weeks, Junior, with the cats, Janice raised her windowsoftly as far as the lower sash would go, to peer out at thestrange procession. The boy and the cats entered the Day's sidegate and disappeared around the comer of the kitchen ell.

  "Now! what can that rascal be about? If he does anything tobother Olga there will be trouble. And everything here goescrossways enough now, without Arlo Junior adding to it, Ideclare!"

  Janice could very clearly remember when the cottage had been areal home instead of "just a place to stay"; for her mother hadbeen dead only a year. The experiences of that year had beentrying, both for the sorrowing widower and the girl who had beenher mother's close companion and confidant.

  Janice was old enough and well trained enough in domestic affairsto have kept house very nicely for her father. But she had to goto school, of course; an education was the most important thingin the world for her. And the kind of help that came into theDays' kitchen often balked at being "bossed by a slip of agur-r-rl," as one recent incumbent of the position had said.

  Olga Cedarstrom was stupid and often cross in the morning; andshe was careless and slatternly in her ways. But she did notobject when Janice came down early to get her father's breakfast,and serve it daintily, as her mother had taught her.

  Only, Olga could not be taught to do these things. She did notwant to learn. She said she had a "fella" and would be marriedsoon; and under the circumstances she did not consider that sheneeded to learn anything more about domestic work!

  Janice did not wish to go down into the kitchen so early, forthat would awaken Olga who would come from her room, bleary-eyedwith sleep and with her temper at a saw-tooth edge, to ask, "whyshe bane get oop in de middle of de night?"

  Janice had washed and dressed and read her morning Bible chapter,which she always managed to find time for, even when she did notget up as early as on this occasion. For her age, and perhapsbecause of her mother's death, which still seemed recent toJanice, she was rather serious-minded. Yet she was no prig, andshe loved fun and was as alert for good times as any girl of herage in Greensboro.

  The talk she had had overnight with daddy had perhaps put her ina rather more serious mood than usual. The talk had been allabout her mother and the hopes the mother and father had had andthe plans they had made for their little girl's future.

  To carry through those plans necessitated the proper schooling ofJanice Day. She was already in the upper grade of the grammarschool. Even if the household affairs were all "at sixes and atsevens," she must stick to her books, for she had ambitions. Shewas quite sure she wanted to teach when she grew up.

  There was another reason that spurred Janice Day to the point ofearly rising, although daddy had not even hinted that he missedthe comfortable, daintily served breakfasts which he used toenjoy when Mrs. Day was alive. It was something he had saidabout an entirely different matter that started this serioustrain of thought in the girl's mind.

  She had expressed herself as so many of us do when we are indifficulties, or when we see conditions we would like to havechanged: "Oh, if things were only different!"

  Broxton Day had looked at her with his head held sideways and aquizzical smile in his eyes as well as on his lips.

  "Different? Do you want to know how to bring about a change? Dosomething. Don't just talk, or think, or wonder, or wish, orhope; but do! It is all right to say that good things become areality because somebody has a good thought. Actually, thinkingdoes not bring things about. It is doing. Do something in theworld, my dear. Don't wait for somebody else to set the example,or to lead. Do what you can yourself while you are waiting for aleader. Do something.

  "Of course thought must precede action, and, furthermore, mustaccompany action if action is not to run wild. But in the endthought must become action and we must all of us--little girls,as well as adults--do something if the conditions we do not likeare to be changed."

  That was really what had got Janice Day out of bed so early onthis morning. Poor daddy! He sometimes had most awful mealsserved to him. And the house was usually in a state of confusionif it was not actually dirty.

  Olga had come straight from a peasant cottage in her

  country, and her idea of scrubbing the kitchen floor was to dashpails of water over it and then sweep the water out of the backdoor with a broom.

  There was a Swedish colony established around the picklefactories on the northern edge of the town, and Olga went overthere with her "fella" to a dance or downtown or to a pictureshow almost every evening. No wonder she was not fit for work inthe morning.

  When Janice had come up to bed the previous evening she hadbrought with her the "treasure-box" which daddy usually kept inthe wall safe in the living room. It contained certain heirloomsand trinkets that had been her mother's, and were now Janice'smost sacred possessions.

  She had had to beg daddy for the treasure-box, for he, too,prized its contents beyond words. But Janice was a careful girl,and daddy trusted her, and he knew, too, that the mementoes ofher dead mother seemed to bring the woman closer to the littledaughter; and so, in the end, he had allowed Janice to carry thetreasure-box to her room to be kept for the night, but to bereturned to its usual place after the girl had had it by her andlooked
at its contents for a while.

  There were a few pieces of jewelry--more valuable for theirassociations than for their intrinsic worth, the gold framedphotographs of Grandfather and Grandmother Avion, which claspedlike a little book, and the miniature of Janice's mother paintedon ivory when she was a girl by a painter who had since becomevery famous.

  This last was the girl's dearest possession--the memento of hermother which she cared for above everything else. Daddy had putit into her keeping with a reverence that could not fail toimpress Janice Day, young as she was. Broxton Day had worshippedhis wife for her higher qualities as well as having loved her forher human attributes.

  Something of this attitude toward his dead wife Janice, young asshe was, understood. She knew, for instance, that there was noother woman in the world as a mate for Broxton Day now that hermother was gone. All the more must she try, therefore, to fillher mother's place in his life.

  She had taken the miniature out of the treasure-box and waslooking with dimming eyes at it by the window when, shifting herglance, she had seen Arlo Weeks, Junior, crossing the street.This was her mother when she was a girl! What a sweet, demureface it was. Janice did not realize that much of the expressionof the countenance in this miniature was visualized in the fleshin her own face.

  No wonder daddy had fallen in love with such a pretty, prettygirl! So thought Janice Day. And--

  What was Arlo Junior, the mischievous torment of theneighborhood, doing with those cats? This sudden query shatteredher dream completely. She returned the miniature to thetreasure-box, and closed and latched the cover.

  "Goodness knows," murmured Janice Day, "there are cats enougharound this house without Arlo Junior bringing any more upon thepremises. Sometimes I hear them squalling and fighting when Iwake up in the night."

  With the treasure-box in her hand, she opened her bedroom doorand crossed the hall to the storeroom. The window of this roomwas over the back porch. She heard a step on the porch flooring.The door of the summer kitchen was seldom locked. Was ArloJunior down there?

  That boy was constantly getting into trouble with the neighbors.There was a regular feud between Olga Cedarstrom and Arlo Junior.Olga had chased him half a block only the other day, threateninghim with a broom.

  And the cats! Here they came from all directions--overthe back yard fences and from the barn. Fat cats, lean cats,shabby "ash-barrel" cats, and pet cats with ribbons and collars.Amazedly, Janice Day owned to herself that she had never seen somany cats gathered in a more or less harmonious group before.

  Instead of fighting or "mauling," they approached the back porchof the Day house as though on pleasure bent. Was that Arlo Juniorgiggling down there?

  She put down the treasure-box and tried to open the window. Butthe sash stuck. She distinctly heard the door below close andfootsteps receding from the porch.

  Wishing to make sure that it was Arlo Junior who had been below,the girl ran back to her bedroom. Yes! there he was scuttlingacross the street in evident haste to get under cover.

  "Now, isn't that odd?" murmured Janice. Suddenly a soundfloated up from below--an echoing wail that seemed wrenched fromthe very soul of a tortured cat. The cry reverberated through thehouse in a most eerie fashion.

  Fortunately her father slept in the front of the house and therewas a closed door between the front and the back halls on bothfloors. But Janice heard Olga's big, flat feet land upon thefloor almost instantly. That feline wail had evidently broughtthe Swedish girl out of her dreams, all standing.

  That sound sent Janice out of the room on a run. She must reachthe seat of trouble before Olga got to the place! Otherwise, thetrouble was bound to increase and become--what? Even Janice'simagination, trained, as it was, by the succession of incompetentand unwilling kitchen helpers, could not picture that.

  Before Janice Day could reach the hall, Olga was padding down thestairs to the kitchen. From the rear arose increasing howls.The cats may have mysteriously gathered in apparent amity; but somany of them shut up in that outer kitchen with no escape couldnot possibly dwell for long in harmony.

  There certainly was no harmony in these mounting wails. Theprinciple motif seemed to be furnished by the cat that had firstvoiced his complaint. But now, as Janice plunged down the stairsafter Olga, the thin, high scream of the initial feline choristerwas crossed, in warp and woof, by basset strains.

  The sounds rose and fell, as though proceeding from cats intorment--an agonizing oratorio like nothing Janice had ever heardbefore. She screamed to the Swedish girl, but her voice wasdrowned by the caterwauling in the back kitchen. Olga wrenchedopen the door. Janice, arriving to look over her shoulder at thevery moment she did so, saw the back kitchen practically filledwith cats.

  When one cat loses its temper it seems as though every other catwithin hearing gets excited. In the corners, out of the way ofthe battlefield, kittens and tabbies were rolling and playingupon the dried twigs and leaves that Janice knew must be catnipthat Arlo Junior had flung upon the floor to bait the cats intothe kitchen. But the cats in the middle of the room werepreparing for the representation of a busy day at DonnebrookFair.

  "Them cats! In de clean kitchen what I scrubbed last night onlyI bane kill them cats!" And there was not a cat in the lot asmad as Olga Cedarstrom.

  There was a hod of coal beside her. Olga seized the good-sizedlumps of stove coal, one after another, and began volleying witha strong overhand throw at the excited animals.

  Olga proved to be an excellent shot. She hit a cat with almostevery lump of coal she threw. But she could not, after all, haveeasily failed to do this, there were so many cats in the kitchen.

  "Oh, don't! Don't, Olga! Stop!" shrieked Janice. "You will hurtthem"

  "Hurt them?" repeated the girl. "I bane mean to hurt dem" and,slam! went another lump of coal.

  "But they can't get out!" gasped Janice.

  "Den how dey get in, huh?" demanded Olga, and threw another lumpwith terrific force.

  There was a howl, higher and more blood-curdling than any thathad heretofore assailed their ears. One big cat scrambled up thewall, and up the window panes, seeking an exit. One of thecreature's legs dragged limply.

  "Olga Cedarstrom!" shrieked Janice, "you have broken that poorcat's leg."

  "I bane break all his legs!" rejoined this quite ferocious girl."How dese cats coom here? I bane sure you know!"

  She turned to glare at Janice Day so savagely, a lump of coalpoised in her smutted hand, that the girl was really frightened.She backed away from the angry woman.

  Then she thought of something she might do to save the cats andthe back kitchen from complete wreck. Janice darted out of theroom to the porch. In a moment she had unlatched thesummer-kitchen door and flung it wide open.

  Instantly there boiled out of the room cats big and cats little,cats of all colors and every degree of fright. One of the lastto escape was the poor cat with the broken leg. There wasnothing Janice Day could do for it. She did not dare to try totouch it.

  She ventured back into the house to find Olga Cedarstrom stillbreathing out threatenings and slaughter. Olga was in hernightgown and a wrapper. She had not even stopped for slipperswhen she came from her bed. Now she padded to the back stairs,turning to shake her clenched fist at Janice and cry:

  "I leave! I leave! I bane going to pack my troonk. The man payme oop to last night, and I leave!"

  "I am glad of it!" gasped Janice, finding her voice again. "Itwasn't my fault, and it wasn't the poor cats' fault. I am gladyou are going, so there!"

  But she became more serious as she prepared the nice breakfastshe had promised herself the night before her father should have.She heard Olga go to the telephone in the hall. She called anumber and then talked in Swedish for several minutes to whoeveranswered.

  Janice's father came into the dining room just as his littledaughter brought in the breakfast. When he saw the steamingcoffee pot and the covered dishes and toast-rack his facebrighten
ed. But he had to be told of the domestic catastropheimpending.

  "Well," he said cheerfully, "we couldn't get anybody any worsethan Olga, that is sure. I will see what they have at theintelligence office, and I may send a woman up after you get homefrom school this afternoon. I'll 'phone you first, daughter. Idon't have to see Olga, do I? She was paid last night."

  No, Janice told him, he need not bother about a servant who wason the point of going. Before it was time for Janice to leavefor school, a taxicab appeared, driven by a man of Olga's ownnationality. He went upstairs for the girl's trunk.

  This he shouldered and carried out to the cab. Olga followedhim, wearing the red hat with the green plume which had so amusedJanice when the Swedish girl had arrived. She drove away in thecab without even looking back at Janice Day.

  The latter had tidied up the kitchen and dining room. The backkitchen would have to remain as it was until later. And Janicefelt that she would like to get hold of Arlo Weeks, Junior, andmake him clean up that kitchen!

  She changed to her school dress, strapped together the books shehad studied the night before, put on her hat, and stood a momentin the hall, wondering if all would be right until she shouldreturn at three o'clock.

  And then for the first time, and suddenly, Janice remembered thetreasure-box.

  She darted upstairs to her bedroom. How careless of her to haveleft it there! She knew the simple combination of the wall safein the living room, and She determined to open the safe and putthe box away.

  But when she entered her bedroom she found that the treasure-boxwas not there. Instantly she remembered having taken it with herwhen she ran into the storeroom to see what Arlo Junior was doingwith the cats.

  In trying to open the window in the storeroom she had set the boxdown on a trunk--on Olga's trunk.

  Startled, indeed alarmed and shaking, Janice Day went as fast asshe could to, the storeroom. Olga's trunk was gone. She did notsee the treasure-box anywhere in the room.

  She searched the room diligently. She ran from room toroom--Olga's, her own, even the other bedrooms. She halted atlast in her own room, sobbing and alarmed.

  The treasure-box was gone. Olga's trunk had gone. Olga herselfhad gone.

  And the photographs of Grandfather and Grandmother Avion, theold-fashioned jewelry, the diary her mother had kept as a littlegirl, the miniature Janice thought so much of--all, all thekeepsakes her father had entrusted her with the night before,seemed to have gone With Olga and the trunk.