'TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP
The night following Justin Ware's visit, Persis slept as soundly as a
tired child. It was not that the interview had relieved her
apprehensions nor in any way set her mind at rest, but after prolonged
uncertainty, even the realization of one's worst forebodings may come
as a relief. She slept late and rose more weary than when she went to
bed. Yet in spite of that numbing sense of lassitude which clung like
weights to her limbs, and for all her unaccustomed aversion to the
thought of work, she knew her battle was won. Never again would she
watch and listen and strangle at their birth, poor futile prayers for
some assurance that a man's heart was still hers.
As if some evil spell had been broken, she recalled with pangs of
self-reproach various duties she had neglected, in her unwonted
self-absorption. She had not even kept her promise to Doctor Ballard
to see his obdurate patient. Persis realized how completely she had
regained her poise when she chuckled over the plan which had suggested
itself as she listened to Doctor Ballard's diagnosis of Mrs. Richards'
ailment.
"I'm so kind of headachy and restless that my sewing's bound to be a
fizzle. I'll run in to see Charlotte this afternoon. It's a shame I
haven't been there before. Don't know what the doctor'll think of me."
Considering that she was merely planning a little friendly call on a
sick neighbor, Persis made her toilet with surprising care. In putting
up her hair she again selected Annabel Sinclair as a model. She donned
the gray crêpe, a startling innovation, for in Clematis to wear a new
dress on week-days, for any occasion less important than a wedding or a
funeral, argued constitutional extravagance. As a final step in her
preparation she rubbed her cheeks violently with a rough crash towel,
the resulting brilliant complexion successfully obliterating all traces
of weariness, the flotsam and jetsam of anxious days and haunted
nights. And then with a jauntiness remarkable under the circumstances,
Persis departed, resolved by fair means or foul to distract the
thoughts of Mrs. Nelson Richards from the occupancy of a reserved
apartment in the Heavenly mansions.
Charlotte Richards had always been a pretty woman of that ethereal type
of beauty that is not noticeably diminished by fragility. Persis,
looking her over, estimated that the thirty pounds the doctor credited
her with losing had been appreciably increased since he made his appeal
for aid. At the same time, the dressmaker admitted with grudging
admiration the effectiveness of the picture the invalid presented as
she lay back in her rocking-chair, bright-colored pillows heaped about
her, a slender figure in black, the wide blue eyes matched by the blue
veins in the temples, and with violet shadows below. In the bright,
prosaic little sitting-room she looked as out of place as a Raphael's
cherub in a kindergarten, a creature unmistakably belonging to another
sphere.
"Dear Persis," breathed Mrs. Richards, and extended a transparent hand.
"You'll forgive my not getting up," she added gently.
"Don't mention it." Persis' ringing tones had a heartiness which
seemed plebeian contrasted with Mrs. Richards' subdued murmurs. "You
look the picture of comfort in that big chair. I'd hate to have you
disturb yourself."
The faintest imaginable shadow crossed the other's face.
"I have very little strength, Persis. Day by day I am growing weaker.
But don't think I am complaining. I am quite happy as I lie here
picturing the glories of the New Jerusalem."
"I've found that rare beef was the best thing in the world for that
kind of thoughts," responded Persis. "I buy the round and scrape it.
You can take it raw if it's ice-cold, but I like it best made into a
ball and just scorched on both sides, enough to heat it through."
The invalid's smile was distinctly superior.
"You are trying to encourage me, Persis, but you have nursed too many
of the sick not to see that I'm very near the river. Earthly remedies
are of no avail," declared Mrs. Richards, who had the constitutional
incapacity of numberless people to speak of death and the hereafter,
and yet remain simple and unaffected. "But I do not find the thought
depressing. Far from it. My heart is light when I think of the joys
that await me."
"I didn't know but on your husband's account you'd feel like making an
effort."
Mrs. Richards sighed.
"Poor Nelson! Yes, my heart bleeds when I think of Nelson left in his
loneliness. But it won't be for long. He will soon follow me."
Persis elevated her brows.
"Well, no, Charlotte. Don't deceive yourself about that. Nelson will
feel your going, and for a time he'll take on something terrible. But
he won't die of it. He comes of good long-lived stock, Nelson does,
and though he's no boy, he's likely got twenty-five or thirty years
ahead of him. And that brings me around to what was in my mind when I
came over."
She relapsed into silence, studying a figure in the carpet, and
apparently not quite certain how to continue. "Well?" questioned Mrs.
Richards, and for the first time during the interview there was a
querulous note in her voice.
"It's about Nelson's future. Of course, as far as you're concerned,
there's no reason to worry. There's some folks that are naturally
constituted to enjoy Heaven, and there's others who seem to belong to
this earth. Nelson's one sort and you're another." This time her
pause was protracted.
"Well?" Mrs. Richards prompted feverishly. "Go on."
"I really don't know, Charlotte. Maybe I've been a little mite
impulsive speaking out this way. Perhaps I'd better not say anything
more."
"Anything more? You haven't said anything yet, as far as I can see,"
returned Mrs. Richards tartly. "Don't be mysterious, Persis."
"Well, for some days now, I've been deliberating opening up my mind to
you. They do say that folks that are kind of on the border-line
between the two worlds, can see things plainer than other people. But
I won't say another word unless I get your solemn promise that what I
tell you don't go any further."
"Of course I shall respect your confidence, Persis." Mrs. Richards
swallowed impatiently. "I always tell Nelson everything, but except
for him--"
"But Nelson's the very last one I want to hear this. Never mind,
Charlotte. I see it was a crazy idea, my coming over this afternoon.
I don't know what got into me. We won't talk about it any more. Did
those dahlias grow in your garden, Charlotte? They're the finest I've
seen this year."
"Persis Dale, you certainly can be an aggravating woman when you try.
What about Nelson?"
"Do you promise you'll never breathe a word to any soul alive, least of
all to Nelson himself?"
Mrs. Richards hesitated. But curiosity was not altogether foreign to
her saintly nature, and Persis' reluctance to impart the confidence
naturally increased her desire to hear it. "I promise," she agreed,
with an effort to keep the eagerness out of her voice.
"Well, then, this is what I was coming at. Of course I see that as you
lie here you're bound to be thinking about Nelson, and worrying over
what's going to become of him while you're enjoying yourself on the
other side."
"That is all arranged," Mrs. Richards interrupted. "His sister Hetty
is coming to keep house for him."
"Hetty's no kind of companion for Nelson. He's a man who likes
cheerful company, and Hetty's what I call a natural widow. You know
some folks are born that way. They kind of hang crêpe on everything
they touch. Hetty drizzles tears as easy as a sponge."
"Well, really, Persis, as long as Nelson and I are satisfied with the
arrangement I don't know as you have any call to trouble yourself."
Persis met the invalid's irritated protest with an air of disarming
frankness.
"Of course you wouldn't see, and that's just what I'm coming at. I
suppose Nelson has told you that he and I had a little boy and girl
affair when we was both of us too young to know our own minds."
Mrs. Richards' incredulous gasp indicated with sufficient clearness
that she had not been favored with her husband's confidence regarding
that chapter in his past.
"You and Nelson?"
"Yes. Now, I don't mean, Charlotte, that we was ever engaged. Mother
thought I was too young to have steady company, and Nelson was just a
boy, and he took her snubbings to heart more'n he would have done if
he'd been older."
"He's always given me to understand," said the wife with dignity, "that
I was the only woman he ever cared for."
"I guess they generally say that, don't they, Charlotte? It's kind of
like the 'honor and obey' in the marriage service. Women say it when
they know they _can't_ honor and they _won't_ obey. It's just a form.
But as far as Nelson goes," explained Persis thoughtfully, "I dare say
he could fix that up with his conscience without any trouble, seeing
our sweethearting never got beyond a few kisses at the gate. He did
give me a ring once, but 'twas nothing but carnelian. Land! Who'd
think of that twice?"
Mrs. Richards, breathing hard, had no comment to offer on that delicate
point.
"Now the case is just this." Persis spoke briskly. "After you're dead
and gone, Nelson's bound to marry again. A widower just can't help
himself. What with all the women scheming to catch him, he's got about
as much chance as a potato-bug turned loose in a chicken-yard. Queer
thing, the difference between bachelors and widowers," mused Persis,
straying temporarily into generalizations. "By the time a bachelor's
as old as Nelson, the women have kind of given up on him. But if a
man's been married once it proves that he's got a soft spot somewhere,
and all that's needed is for them to keep on trying till they find it.
But as I was saying. Charlotte, I thought that it might ease your mind
to know that he ain't going to be allowed to throw himself away. While
I don't want to seem boastful about it, I don't mind saying to you that
there's not another woman in the town who would stand any show
alongside me, if Nelson was free to pick and choose. And I'll give you
my solemn promise that he shan't put anybody in your place that you'd
be ashamed to acknowledge for your husband's second wife."
Forgetting her pitiful lack of strength, Mrs. Richards sat erect, her
hollow cheeks aflame.
"Persis Dale, have you got the nerve to sit there and tell me to my
face that you're going to set your cap for my husband after I'm dead?"
"Now lie down, Charlotte, till I explain." Persis' soothing tone
suggested readiness to excuse the natural peevishness of an invalid.
"You mustn't go to exciting yourself, and hastening the end."
Mrs. Richards promptly resumed her recumbent position.
"I've talked plain to you, Charlotte," Persis said, "because you're not
of the same clay as most women. You've always been wrapped up in
celestial things since you was a girl. But a woman can't live with a
man as long as you've lived with Nelson and not feel responsible for
him. And I've told you this so there won't be a single shadow on your
mind these last days. I'll look out for Nelson." She spoke with the
air of one accepting a sacred trust.
"I never heard of such a thing," breathed Mrs. Richards from the
pillows.
"Of course while you were living, Charlotte," Persis continued, as if
the release so cheerfully anticipated by the invalid had already been
consummated, "I never should have allowed myself to think of Nelson
twice. But I own I've blamed my mother more than once for sending him
about his business the way she did. Nelson is a man in a thousand,
steady and affectionate and a careful provider. If he's been so good
to you, Charlotte, just think what the second wife has reason to
expect!"
In muffled tones Mrs. Richards confided to the pillow that never in all
her life--and seemed unable to proceed further.
"Well, I must be going." Suiting the action to the words, Persis rose.
"Send for me any time, Charlotte. Ever since I heard about your state
of health, I've felt drawn to you, same as if you were a sister. Mind,
I'll drop my sewing and everything any time you want me. And as for
Nelson's future, don't you give yourself an anxious thought about that."
"Good-by," said Mrs. Richard's faintly, and closed her eyes. And with
a commiserative glance in which lurked a spice of humor, Persis
withdrew. At the door she encountered Nelson Richards hurrying home
early from his work to spend as much time as possible with his wife.
Anxiety had left its signature on Nelson's jovial face. He walked with
dragging step and drooping shoulders, apprehension counterfeiting age.
But at the sight of Persis he roused himself from his customary
abstraction.
"Hello, Persis. Well, I declare you're a sight for sore eyes." He
regarded her with frank admiration, an unconscious tribute to the
effectiveness of the gray crêpe. "Looks like you was renewing your
youth," he continued with heavy gallantry. "Ain't seen you look so
handsome since you was sixteen."
Persis had not invented the episode of Nelson's boyish admiration. In
all important details she had held rigidly to the truth, though it is
doubtful whether those innocent, sexless kisses at the gate had been
recalled in the past dozen years by either party to the transaction.
But it was true that Nelson Richards had always had a warm spot in his
affections for his first sweetheart, and the cordiality of his greeting
was by no means perfunctory.
Persis smiled upon him kindly.
"Thank you, Nelson. Wish I could say as much for you, but to tell the
truth, you look to me a little peaked."
"Well, I have felt better." He lowered his big voice discreetly.
"Fact is I'm worried pretty near to death over Charlotte. What do you
think about her, Persis? Doctor says he don't find nothing out of
shape with her organs. Looks as if she'd ought to pick up, don't it?"
He swallowed hard as he put the question, his eyes eloquent with dumb
misery, and Persis laid a friendly hand upon his arm as she answered
with reassuring certainty: "Don't you worry, Nelson. I feel it in my
bones that Charlotte's going to be better before long."
"I'd as soon take your say-so as any doctor's." The big man looked at
her gratefully. "Come in as often as you can, Persis. There ain't
nobody we'd rather see."
He tramped into the house, armed in his splendid masculine obtuseness,
stooped to kiss his wife's hot cheek, and said, as was inevitable, the
last thing he should have thought of saying.
"Saw Persis Dale out here just now, and I'll be darned if she ain't
getting better looking every day."
"I can't see that that's enough to excuse profanity," said Mrs.
Richards witheringly. "Persis Dale is a coarse scheming creature."
Then as her husband burst into astonished protests, she showed signs of
hysteria.
"Oh, of course you'll stand up for her. I wouldn't have expected
anything else. You go out to the ice-chest, Nelson Richards, and heat
up that cup of beef tea you set away last night." Left to herself she
lay back upon the pillows, gazing at the ceiling with vindictive eyes.
"As long as she hasn't got the decency to wait till I'm in my grave,"
said Mrs. Richards tearfully, "I'll fool her. I'll show her there's
many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip."