Eleanor Porter / Элинор Портер
Pollyanna Grows Up / Поллианна вырастает. Книга для чтения на английском языке
To My Cousin Walter
Комментарии и словарь Е. Г. Тигонен
© КАРО, 2016
Chapter I
Della Speaks Her Mind
Della Wetherby tripped up the somewhat imposing steps of her sisters Commonwealth Avenue home and pressed an energetic finger against the electric-bell button. From the tip of her wing-trimmed hat to the toe of her low-heeled shoe she radiated health, capability, and alert decision. Even her voice, as she greeted the maid that opened the door, vibrated with the joy of living.
Good morning, Mary. Is my sister in?
Y-yes, maam, Mrs. Carew is in, hesitated the girl; but she gave orders shed see no one.
Did she? Well, Im no one[1], smiled Miss Wetherby, so shell see me. Dont worry Ill take the blame, she nodded, in answer to the frightened remonstrance in the girls eyes. Where is she in her sitting-room?
Y-yes, maam; but that is, she said Miss Wetherby, however, was already halfway up the broad stairway; and, with a despairing backward glance, the maid turned away.
In the hall above Della Wetherby unhesitatingly walked toward a half-open door, and knocked.
Well, Mary, answered a dear-me-what-now[2] voice. Havent I Oh, Della! The voice grew suddenly warm with love and surprise. You dear girl, where did you come from?
Yes, its Della, smiled that young woman, blithely, already halfway across the room. Ive come from an over-Sunday at the beach with two of the other nurses, and Im on my way back to the Sanatorium now. That is, Im here now, but I shant be long. I stepped in for this, she finished, giving the owner of the dear-me-what-now voice a hearty kiss.
Mrs. Carew frowned and drew back a little coldly. The slight touch of joy and animation that had come into her face fled, leaving only a dispirited fretfulness that was plainly very much at home there.
Oh, of course! I might have known, she said. You never stay here.
Here! Della Wetherby laughed merrily, and threw up her hands; then, abruptly, her voice and manner changed. She regarded her sister with grave, tender eyes. Ruth, dear, I couldnt I just couldnt live in this house. You know I couldnt, she finished gently.
Mrs. Carew stirred irritably.
Im sure I dont see why not, she fenced.
Della Wetherby shook her head.
Yes, you do, dear. You know Im entirely out of sympathy with it all: the gloom, the lack of aim, the insistence on misery and bitterness.
But I AM miserable and bitter.
You ought not to be.
Why not? What have I to make me otherwise?
Della Wetherby gave an impatient gesture.
Ruth, look here, she challenged. Youre thirty-three years old. You have good health or would have, if you treated yourself properly and you certainly have an abundance of time and a superabundance of money. Surely anybody would say you ought to find SOMETHING to do this glorious morning besides sitting moped up in this tomb-like house with instructions to the maid that youll see no one.
But I dont WANT to see anybody.
Then Id MAKE myself want to.
Mrs. Carew sighed wearily and turned away her head.
Oh, Della, why wont you ever understand? Im not like you. I cant forget.
A swift pain crossed the younger womans face.
You mean Jamie, I suppose. I dont forget that, dear. I couldnt, of course. But moping wont help us find him.
As if I hadnt TRIED to find him, for eight long years and by something besides moping, flashed Mrs. Carew, indignantly, with a sob in her voice.
Of course you have, dear, soothed the other, quickly; and we shall keep on hunting, both of us, till we do find him or die. But THIS sort of thing doesnt help.
But I dont want to do anything else, murmured Ruth Carew, drearily.
For a moment there was silence. The younger woman sat regarding her sister with troubled, disapproving eyes.
Ruth, she said, at last, with a touch of exasperation, forgive me, but are you always going to be like this? Youre widowed, Ill admit; but your married life lasted only a year, and your husband was much older than yourself. You were little more than a child at the time, and that one short year cant seem much more than a dream now. Surely that ought not to embitter your whole life!
No, oh, no, murmured Mrs. Carew, still drearily.
Then ARE you going to be always like this?
Well, of course, if I could find Jamie
Yes, yes, I know; but, Ruth, dear, isnt there anything in the world but Jamie to make you ANY happy[3]?
There doesnt seem to be, that I can think of, sighed Mrs. Carew, indifferently.
Ruth! ejaculated her sister, stung into something very like anger. Then suddenly she laughed. Oh, Ruth, Ruth, Id like to give you a dose of Pollyanna. I dont know any one who needs it more!
Mrs. Carew stiffened a little.
Well, what pollyanna may be I dont know, but whatever it is, I dont want it, she retorted sharply, nettled in her turn. This isnt your beloved Sanatorium, and Im not your patient to be dosed and bossed, please remember.
Della Wetherbys eyes danced, but her lips remained unsmiling.
Pollyanna isnt a medicine, my dear, she said demurely, though I have heard some people call her a tonic. Pollyanna is a little girl.