Chapter XIV
Dorothy Blaine, Templeton's daughter, was born in the spring of 1910 and there was great joy in the Fifth Avenue house. As Templeton wrote to his sister, Mary, Helen had given up all hope of ever having a child. She had even been considering adopting one, for she loved children. Then the little stranger came smiling in. At least Helen declared that her baby was born smiling.
Templeton was in his element. He was forty-seven years old and looked older, for his hair was prematurely gray.
"My word!" he cried. "This is certainly splendid, though Fm not sure whether I'm this lady's father or her grandfather."
Helen looked at him and smiled. "What shall we name her?" she asked.
"Bright eyes," he chuckled.
"It would be quite nice," she declared, "but an awful silly name for her when she grows up. I wanted to name her Glee but did not, for the same reason. I suppose you'd like to call her, 'Northern Pacific' or 'Great Northern.'"
"At that," Templeton drawled, "they are good names. But I guess we better not decide on either because they might have a bad effect on her, cause her to make tracks from home or maybe bring on a panic among young men when she grows older."
"What do you think of Dorothy?" mused Helen.
"It's a pretty name," he agreed, "and sweet. Come to think of it, it's perfect."
So Dorothy the baby became, but even so, it did not prevent a panic among the young men when she grew older.
From the very start, Dorothy gave evidence of being strong-minded, like her father.
When she was five days old she commenced to plan her own life. She would clutch at the blankets as though she were trying to embroider. And as for crying, she was a past master. No feeble little cries for Dorothy. Nothing but tremendous wails would do. As a result, those about her would do anything to end the wails. Fortunately she did not cry often, or her mother would have had a nervous breakdown. As a rule she was as sunny as the Spring day on which she was born.
Dorothy and her father were great pals from her babyhood. It was not remarkable that, later, as soon as she was able to walk, they would ramble through Central Park every morning before he went to his office. He was not nearly as punctual at his desk as before she came. He simply couldn't tear himself away from his little girl. It was a camaraderie that was to last all through the years. They were pals. He would have bought her the moon on margin if she had wanted it.
Louella Leota arrived in Peoria at noon of the day following that on which she had decided to leave Chicago. She went by an early morning train so that she would have a little time to look about. Perhaps she would be able to find rooms that would be suitable for her purposes before nightfall. But when she reached Peoria she changed her mind. She decided she'd stop for a few days at the Hotel Niagra where she had stayed so briefly with Ed Trine. She could not help laughing as she thought of his hasty exit. As soon as he found she was in trouble, he fled. Oh gallant hero! Don Juan with a yellow streak! Casanova with trembling knees!
She remained at the Niagra for almost a week. It was restful. She felt lazy. It gave her time to think, to plan her campaign carefully. No use to jump into anything blindfolded. She had definitely decided that she would quit drinking to excess. It was the one bad habit Monty Camp had taught her. However it was quite easy to break. Save for a cocktail before dinner, now she seldom drank anything. She must keep absolute control of her faculties. She must be able to pit her mind against that of tricky men.
After looking about carefully she rented a small furnished house on Walnut Street. Her decision was arrived at because there was a splendid colored woman looking after the place. She had the euphonious name of Jobyna. Louella was never able to find out her other name. When she inquired she was met with a bland smile and the simple reply: "Just Jobyna." Perhaps she had her own reasons for persisting in refusing to tell her more about herself. In any event she was clean and neat. She had some education, was a good housekeeper, an excellent cook.
"I served Miss Keller who used to live here for seven years," she said, "and I'd been with her yet if she hadn't married Joe Gilroy, a rich harness-maker from Bloomington. He used to come here often. He was one of her steadiest customers. He was a heavy spender and just crazy about my mistress. At last he asked her to marry him. He was sick of sharing her with other men. After pondering a while, she accepted him. You should of seen the big diamond he gave her. He showered her with jewels and they have a regular mansion to live in at Bloomington, more than twenty rooms."
"She did very well," murmured Louella.
"Fine," declared Jobyna.
"But I don't understand," mused Louella, "having married so well, why she didn't take you with her."
Jobyna smiled, showing perfect, white, even teeth.
"That's easy to explain," she said. "Her husband was one of the handsomest men I have ever seen, tall, well-built, refined, cultured. But he had a few drops of Negro blood in his veins. His grandmother had been a Negress. Even though he was white and showed no trace of it, he was sensitive. He hated Negroes. He hated everything about them. He couldn't bear to have Negroes around him. He insisted that Miss Keller get a white maid. She hated parting with me but he made her. I was sorry to lose so fine a mistress but when she left she gave me a good lot of money. She even saw the landlord of this house and arranged for me to live here as care-taker until it was rented again."
"That was very kind of her," said Louella.
"Yes," replied Jobyna thoughtfully. "She always was kind, never impatient, never angry. I do so hope that she will be happy."
"Why shouldn't she be? Her husband knew the life she had been leading. There is nothing about her that he doesn't know."
"Oh, yes, there is," said Jobyna slowly. "There is one very important thing that he don't know. Miss Keller was a Negress, too, even though she had blonde hair and fair skin. Her hair was bleached and it made her very beautiful. But she had more Negro blood in her veins than he. Her own mother was a mulatto from New Orleans. She didn't mind overlooking the stain in his heritage. It is funny. He hates Negroes, even though he's one himself, partly. He wouldn't let his wife have a colored maid. Yet when he sleeps in her arms, he is feeling the warmth of Negro blood. In one thing she's fortunate. If they have any children and they are black, he'll blame himself. There's a good chance that they would be white. More likely there won't be any children. My mistress won't be known in Bloomington. Nobody will suspect her secret. Bloomington is a long way from New Orleans and besides when Miss Keller left her home town she was very young and her hair had not been bleached."