The Key West Citizen

HER SECRET STAR
CHAPTER 9
SUMMER had come to New England. It was as though some giant hand had turned the pages of a fabulous book, skipping several chapters. Just as David Warren had predicted, there had been no spring season: One day it was winter; the next day, miraculously, summer had come. And what a summer!
This morning, as she stood at a window in her bedroom looking out at the panorama spread before her, Betty was sure she had never seen anything quite so beautiful. It was, she decided, a technicolor picture come to life. It seemed incredible that she had ever disliked New England.
"I must have been mad," she murmured, "completely mad. It's Heaven—pure and unadulterated Heaven!"
It wasn't precisely Heaven, although the immediate surroundings were as near to perfection as Aunt Minniebelle and her City Improvement Club had been able to make them, in view of limited funds and a slight difference of opinion as to what constituted perfection.
Nor had Minniebelle's illness proven too great an obstacle. The ladies had rallied nobly to her assistance. Therefore she had been able to direct activities—first, from her sick-bed, and then from a chair placed in front of the living room window overlooking the Green.
In fact, Minniebelle sick had been able to do more than Minniebelle well. Her untimely attack of pneumonia, her Spartan courage in carrying on in the face of death itself, had spurred her cohorts on to greater efforts. The results were highly satisfactory—even to Minniebelle.
Moreover, Carrolton, unlike most of the nearby villages, did not indulge in summer super-salesmanship. Except for the souvenir stores along Main Street and a few women who sold hooked rugs in the poorer section, Carrolton was not catering to a transient trade.
Tourists, Carrolton argued, would come automatically—for patriotic reasons. If they wanted to buy anything, they could patronize the church rummage sales, which was only right and proper. If they mistook Mrs. Hague's old bureau for a genuine antique—well, it wasn't the Ladies' Aid's fault.
The Warren house, which Betty had come to think of as home, was one of a group of two-story white houses facing the famous "Green," where the statue of William Bradford stood guard.
Betty could see the simple stone structure which sheltered the Rock where the forefathers landed. All through the summer people would come from far and near, to stand with bared heads before this historic shrine. And to make caustic remarks about the improbability of a hundred and two Pilgrims being able to land on such a small rock.
Carrolton, she felt, had every reason to be proud of the Rock, which was part of its heritage. She was proud of it too. Although she had seen very little of the town and the surrounding countryside, she was sure she loved every inch of it. Certainly the view from her window was perfect. Even the perennials that flanked the William Bradford Statue on the Green did not disturb her too much, though she did feel that Mr. Bradford looked a little silly standing knee-deep in a flower bed.
However, she could understand the reason for the flower bed, just as she had come to understand so many things that had puzzled her at first. Mr. Bradford did look sort of grim and uncompromising—like winter, for instance. It was right that Aunt Minniebelle and her ladies should plant flowers around him. Otherwise he wouldn't fit in at all with the incredible beauty which was New England in the summer.
She understood the Warrens too, and was less critical of them. Their small squabbles had ceased to disturb her. She knew now that they didn't mean anything. The Warrens had their ups and downs, just as all families did. But back of every minor spat there was a strong bond of love and loyalty that never failed to assert itself. Certainly they had more than enough virtues to compensate for the faults that made them human.
Besides, they were her family. If she had been over-critical at first, it was only because she knew so little about the strange inconsistencies that go to make up normal family life. Aunt Minniebelle's querulousness, Gertrude's young insolence, Uncle Dave's unfortunate habit of sticking his neck out—all were just part of the pattern which Betty had come to accept. She only wished they understood one another as well as she understood them. That she was being a little presumptuous at this point didn't occur to her.
In a way, Mrs. Warren's illness had proved to be a blessing in disguise. Gertrude, frightened into a temporary docility, had presented no problem at all. Now that her mother was safely convalescing, she was away from home most of the time. Her long, shiny new car and her bright blonde curls were a familiar sight on the various highways. Every morning she would jump up from the breakfast table and sing out: "Well, good-bye now. I've got to get a move on. The gang's waiting, and I mean waiting."
(To be continued)