The Street of the City (7 page)

And so at the doorway of the little brick house they parted, and Frannie rushed up the stairs to find her mother.

At the closed door she paused, startled. Her mother’s door! Had something dreadful happened this afternoon? Was her mother worse? Oh, she ought to have come home before! She knew she should not listen to the persuasions of strangers, not even to the voice of caution for her job. She should have come at once.

Softly, cautiously, with trembling fingers she grasped the doorknob firmly, and turned it ever so softly. Why, it didn’t open! It seemed to be locked! What had happened? She glanced wildly around, and then called softly.

“Bonnie! Oh, Bonnie!” And then in a desperate wail, “Mother!”

Suddenly she heard small footsteps downstairs, Bonnie hurrying to answer. Bonnie at the foot of the stairs, her important young face bright with grown-up responsibility.

“Here I am, Frannie,” she whispered, “Mother’s asleep. You mustn’t wake her up.”

“Oh, Bonnie dear!” gasped Frannie, the tears rushing to her eyes. “How is she? Is she worse?”

“No indeed!” said the little girl with childish gravity. “She’s a great deal better. But Nurse Branner is trying to keep her quiet till the men are gone so she won’t try to get up.”

And then suddenly the key turned in the lock and the door was opened by a pleasant-faced nurse in full uniform.

“Oh, this is Frannie, isn’t it?” she said in a low, clear voice. “Come right in. Your mother is awake now and has been asking for you. Don’t let her talk too much. She wants you to give directions to the movers where to put things. Just be as quiet about it as you can, and smile a good deal!” She gave Frannie a knowing look that changed Frannie’s tears into sunbeams.

“Of course,” said Frannie, smiling and giving a quick wipe to her wet lashes. Then she stepped to the side of the bed and knelt beside her mother.

“Oh, Mother dear! To think you’ve been sick and I wasn’t here!” she whispered, but there was a bright smile of relief on her face as she said it. “But you’re better now, Mother dear, aren’t you? And what wonderful neighbors we have! Bringing a nice nurse and a doctor. I was so happy when I got the message that you were being taken care of. I wanted to fly right home, of course, when I heard you had fainted, but they said you sent word I mustn’t, so I stayed. But Mother, I did a lot of praying all day.”

Her mother smiled peacefully.

“Yes, dear, there wasn’t any need for you to come home. I was perfectly all right. Just a little faint. I was only tired, and perhaps some worried about your going off alone on that dreadful ice.”

“Oh, mother dear! But the ice was lovely, as smooth as glass.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re safely home again,” sighed the mother with a smile of relief, “and I suppose I’ll get used to it. Only really, my dear, I didn’t need to be put to bed. I could perfectly well have stayed up and gotten dinner for us, I’m sure.”

“Why yes, of course you could,” the nurse said cheerfully. “I told you that when I was putting your nightgown on, don’t you remember? You could have got up and gone to work, of course, but since I was here and there really wasn’t anything important to do all day but what Bonnie and I could do, it didn’t seem worthwhile, did it? You know, Miss Frannie, I wouldn’t have felt comfortable to stay here without doing something to help pay my board,” and she gave a merry little twinkle of a wink toward Frannie. “So you see Bonnie and I got everything fixed up as well as we could without bothering your mother and just let her have a rest. And then that nice Lady Winthrop sent that lovely lunch over to us, and we certainly were in fine shape to enjoy it. Your mother ate a whole cup of the chicken broth, and we put some in a cup in the tin pail with snow around it and had enough for her this afternoon when she woke up. She really enjoyed it a lot, didn’t you, Mrs. Fernley?”

The mother’s eyes assented with a sweet smile.

“How lovely that was, Mother,” said Frannie, catching the idea of cheerfulness from the nurse. “Wasn’t it grand of Mrs. Winthrop to be so thoughtful? You thought we would be so lonely among strangers for a long time, and you were going to miss the dear Bluebell people. But even Bluebell couldn’t have been any kinder.”

“Yes,” said Bonnie who had come upstairs importantly to join in the conversation. “There was hot water bags, and an ice bag, and blankets, and soup. It was grand!”

The mother lay there looking at her children and smiling almost hopefully now, relaxing on her pillows, realizing after many hard days that someone was caring and helping, and she could lie still and get rested before she had to get up and go on with her troublesome life.

“And now, Mrs. Fernley,” said Nurse Branner, “what were those things you wanted your daughter to look after when the movers came? They have brought in some of the larger pieces, and I did my best to have them placed where you said, but maybe she had better run down and see if everything is just as you planned. I think you’ve talked long enough for a little while, so you take a nap while she goes, and Bonnie and I will get the kitchen to rights. I saw them bring in the barrel of dishes, and we can rinse them off and get them in the cupboards so we’ll be all ready for supper. You shut your eyes and be real rested when the doctor comes back before supper, won’t you? I want him to think we’ve done a good job of nursing you, you know, so you can get up sooner.”

“Oh!” said the sick woman, with a troubled look. “I really ought to get up now. I’m feeling quite well enough,” and she lifted a frail hand and tried to raise herself to her elbow.

But the nurse gave her a soft little push back to her pillow.

“No, you don’t pull any tricks like that on me, my lady!” laughed the nurse. “I promised the doctor I’d keep you perfectly quiet in bed until he came back tonight, and I mean to keep my promise or he wouldn’t let me nurse for him any longer.”

So the nurse fluffed the pillows, drew the blanket a little closer, opened the window just a crack, watched the tired eyelids droop down, and the sick woman’s breath come softly, steadily, until she knew she was on the way to sleep again. Then she slipped away to see what Bonnie was doing in the kitchen and whether the movers were anywhere near through their work.

D
uring the day Marietta had more or less perfected her plans for the defense of her country. After all, she would be the one to plan, and she expected it to be an easy matter to bring Val Willoughby to her way of thinking. Of course he hadn’t always been easy to move. He never by any chance saw things, even the things of mere play, exactly as she did. But he was polite. She could always count on that. And in things that did not seem to him to matter he always gave in to the lady. He had been trained that way. Though she could recall times, a few of them, when he had stood out against her in the matter of what he called fair treatment to someone else, even someone whom she disliked very much. He never would consent to let anyone be put out of the game for some trifling matter. He always insisted that one child was as good as another, even if the one was the small, meek daughter of the cleaning woman, who had to come along with her mother because there was no place for her to stay alone while her mother was working. Marietta saw no reason for that child to join in their game, but Val insisted that she should be asked. Val used to be strange that way. He said little Annie was lonely, and he took special pains to teach her how to hide so that she would not be too easily found, how to run to the base when opportunity came. Marietta never had liked that in him. She felt that it somehow took from her some of the prestige that should have been hers. She wanted all the attention herself. She felt it was her due.

Marietta was not unduly proud, though she was well aware that she was beautiful and better dressed than most of the other girls. On the strength of all that, she assumed a precedence for herself that gave her the right to rule, to order the lives and coming and goings of her companions, and such menials as should be related to their individual groups. And when an occasion arose in which some unfortunate friend balked her plans, either intentionally or otherwise, Marietta usually dealt out a punishment in the form of cold words and sharp looks; sometimes followed by honeyed forgiveness and restoration to high favor if they were duly repentant.

Val Willoughby formerly was one of her most devoted subjects at the age of ten to twelve years. But advanced prep school and then college had removed him from her immediate neighborhood, and she had had little contact with him of late, except for a few isolated hours now and then when he stopped off for a brief visit with his aunt. But now that he had come back to be with his aunt indefinitely, or at least “for the duration,” Marietta fully expected to take over again, and this “defense plan,” as she called her scheme of a series of dances, was the first move in that direction. She was therefore greatly annoyed not to be able to get in touch with him at once to make him aware of his part in the activities.

So it was with a deeper frown than mere annoyance would have caused that Marietta turned from the telephone at last and wondered what to do next. She wasn’t often balked so fully and so continuously as this. Surely, surely Val would come home to dinner soon. She would wait a little longer and call again. Then she interviewed the cook and had their own dinner hour delayed a half hour, just to allow time to get hold of Val.

Meantime Val was helping the Fernley family move in and watching Frannie as she went capably about, directing the arrangement of furniture, putting dishes and pots and pans away in the cupboards, showing that she had calculated to precision just where everything would fit and be convenient.

He watched her gracious young face as she thanked her former neighbors for bringing their goods so safely. She urged them to stay a little while and let her get them some supper before they would begin the long drive back to Bluebell.

“No, Frannie,” said the older man, speaking for them both, “we gotta get back. I promised Mother I’d get back along the edge of dark, and she’ll be worrying till we get there. And don’t you worry about us. Mother, she put up a lunch for us, and she sent you some of her raisin cookies you like so much. Here they are. I calculate you’ll have enough to do to get supper for your own family without any of us added to it, so if you’re sure that is all you need we’ll just be hurrying right along. We’ll be back some day next week with the pianna. Then that’s all your things, but don’t forget, if you should need anything else from us, don’t hesitate to write us, or telephone my son’s house and he’ll let us know.”

So they were gone, and Frannie turned to thank the young man who had helped her so materially all day.

“You’ve been just wonderful!” she said again.

“Nothing like that,” he said smiling. “I’ve been having the time of my life. It’s fun to help other people get settled. Say, this is going to be a real handy little house, isn’t it? I never dreamed there would be so much room here. And now, what do we do next? Don’t we have to get supper? And by the way, how did you find your mother?”

“Why, she seemed really bright, although I could see she is still very tired. She has been through an awful beating, it’s true, and I suppose we didn’t realize what it was doing to her, although I’d been terribly worried about her. But she really is getting a good rest. She went to sleep when the nurse told her, like a tired little child. I’m so thankful for that lovely nurse. I can see she knows how to manage Mother. If I’d been here alone with her I’m positive she’d have gotten right up and tried to get supper. But isn’t that a car stopping at the door? You don’t suppose those men have come back, do you? Perhaps they forgot something.”

Willoughby looked out the side window.

“That’s the doctor,” he announced. “I’m glad he’s come. Now we’ll know just how your mother is. I was hoping he would come before I left. Shall I open the door? You know he won’t be surprised to see me here. He and I really opened this hospital together this morning, you remember. Come in, Doctor Ransom. This is Miss Fernley.”

Frannie looked up to meet the kind eyes of the old doctor and her heart gave thanks at the instant confidence he gave her.

“Oh, is my mother very sick?” she asked him, her keen young eyes on his face, a sweet wistfulness in her voice.

“Why, I trust not, my dear,” assured the hearty voice of the old doctor. “I thought she was doing very well when I was here at noon. How does she seem now? Where is the nurse?”

“She’s upstairs with Mother. Will you go up? The movers have just gone. I hope the noise wasn’t too much for her!”

The doctor smiled at the anxious young face.

“Why, I don’t see why that should harm her,” he said. “Suppose we go up and see. I think your mother is simply tired out and needed a little rest. I’m sure she’s going to be all right very soon. Val, suppose you wait here till I come down. I want to see you a minute.”

“Yes sir, I’ll do that,” said Willoughby.

Very quietly the doctor entered the sick room, and Mrs. Fernley’s eyes opened instantly, as if his coming were what she had been waiting for even in her sleep. The doctor’s presence was like a ray of sunshine in the little room. He came over and sat down on the chair by the bed with a cheery smile.

“Well, little lady,” he said, “how are you feeling by now?”

He peered keenly into her eyes and put a fine, soft hand over her wrist with a friendly motion, searching for the pulse which had been so weak that morning. Then he looked up at the nurse and gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head.

“Yes, Nurse, this is a good strong pulse,” he said decidedly. “You’ve done a good job of nursing here today. I think this lady will be coming around in a very few days. What do you think?”

The nurse smiled at Frannie.

“Yes, I thought she was getting along nicely,” she said happily.

Frannie’s heart rose, and her joy was reflected in her happy eyes.

“Oh, I’m so glad!” she breathed. “I was so afraid I should have come home, even though you did send me word it wasn’t necessary. I knew those movers were coming, and I knew Mother would worry about that.”