Brenda, Her School and Her Club
Copyright© 2024 by Helen Leah Reed
Chapter 2: Julia’s Arrival
As the two girls went downstairs, Brenda politely urged Belle to go ahead of her. She, herself, lingered a moment to look over the balusters, and thus, when they reached the broad hall at the foot of the stairs, she was several steps behind her friend.
Belle, with a quick eye, before she reached the bottom of the stairs, noticed a little group near the fireplace, —an elderly woman with a shawl over her arm, who looked like a maid; Mrs. Barlow, holding the hand of a slight girl in black, and last but not least, a large Irish setter which lay at the young girl’s feet. All this Belle had hardly time to notice when the young girl rushed forward and throwing her arm around her neck, cried,
“Oh, Cousin Brenda, I’m so glad to see you.” Belle for a moment looked disconcerted, and Mrs. Barlow, without showing any surprise at Belle’s presence, relieved the latter by saying:
“This isn’t Brenda, Julia, but one of her friends.”
Julia, still with her hand in Belle’s, smiled pleasantly.
“I’m glad to see you,” she said, and just at that moment Brenda came in sight.
Julia was hastening forward to greet her cousin as she had greeted her friend, but something in Brenda’s face forbade her. Brenda could not, perhaps, have explained why she felt so annoyed at Julia’s mistake. She was not unduly vain, yet it annoyed her that her cousin had mistaken Belle for her. For well as she liked Belle, she knew that all the other girls considered her not especially good-looking. Though she could not, probably would not, have put it into words, the thought flashed through her brain that Julia was stupid to have made such a mistake. The thought took form in a rather repelling glance as her eye met her cousin’s.
“Come, Brenda, you should not make Julia go more than half-way to meet you,” called her mother from her place near the fire.
“No’m,” replied Brenda, hardly knowing what she said, for really she felt a little shy about the new cousin, who was more than a year her senior. “With her hand outstretched, she stepped toward Julia, moving with the dignity that her lengthened skirt demanded.
“Dear me! What can it be?” she thought, as she felt something hindering her progress. It could not be that the skirt was too long. She stooped a little to raise it from beneath her feet, and then, how mortifying! she felt a string snap. She clutched wildly at her skirt with both hands. But it was too late, and making the best of the situation, she stood before her cousin in her short ruffled petticoat, instead of her long, grown-up gown.
“There, Brenda,” cried her mother, comprehending the situation at a glance, for this was not the first time that Brenda had tried to lengthen her skirts. “There, Brenda, I hope you won’t be as foolish as this again. Speak to your cousin, and then go up and put on your skirt properly.”
Poor Brenda! What a loss of dignity! She hardly knew what she said to Julia, or what Julia said to her. She resented Belle’s offer of help, for had she not heard a decided giggle from her friend at the moment of the catastrophe? So rushing to her room, she locked the door and did not leave it until called to dinner.
Now Brenda, though by no means perfect, was not ill-natured, and she seated herself at the table with the intention of making herself agreeable to Julia.
But there are times when nothing seems to go exactly right, and this evening was one of them. In the first place it disturbed Brenda to see her father’s glance of amusement as his eye fell on her new style of hair-dressing.
“Which is it now?” he laughed, “Marie Antoinette or Queen Elizabeth? Dear me, Brenda, it’s a long time since we’ve seen you masquerading in this fashion.”
Brenda reddened. In spite of the mishap to her dress, she wished her cousin to believe that she always wore her hair on the top of her head. Vague hopes were floating through her mind that she could persuade her mother to let her give up her childish pigtail altogether.
“Why does papa always say things like that?” and she reddened still more as Julia’s eyes fell on her. She remembered, however, her duties as assistant hostess.
“Did you have a pleasant journey?” she asked politely.
“Yes, indeed,” answered Julia. “That is, I was just a little tired, but it was so delightful to look out of the car window and know that I was really in Massachusetts. It seemed too good to be true.”
Mr. Barlow looked pleased. “Ah, Julia, it gratifies me very much to have you say this. Sometimes when people have traveled they lose their love for their early home.”
“Yes, Uncle Robert, I’ve always loved to think of Boston as my real home. Although it’s so long since we lived here.”
“Why, what do you really remember of Boston?” asked Mr. Barlow.
“Well, the State-House, Uncle Robert, and the Common—of course—and—and Brenda.”
“Oh, you can’t remember Brenda?”
“Yes, indeed I can. She was the dearest little thing! You see when I was five years old, Brenda seemed almost a baby—a year and a half between two girls makes a good deal of difference, —when they’re little.”
But even this last saving clause did not prevent Brenda’s heart from giving a sudden thump, especially as she caught a sympathetic glance from Belle which seemed to say,
“Ah, she’s reminding you how much older she is than you.”
Brenda straightened herself up. She tried to think of something to say that would show that though younger, she at least had some knowledge of the world.
“Can you eat raw oysters, Julia?” were the rather strange words that came to her lips. Julia, unable naturally to follow the train of thought leading to this question, answered brightly,
“I’ve never tried. You see we don’t have very good oysters in the West, and some way I’ve never thought I’d like them raw.”
“Oh, if you want to seem really grown-up you’ll have to eat oysters off the shell,” said Mrs. Barlow. “I believe Brenda has practised so that she can eat them without wincing.”
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