On the way back to the flat in West Sixty-sixth Street, Peter stopped at
a store and asked for Dr. Kerley's book. The clerk was sorry that it was
not in stock. Of course he could order it.
"I want something right away," said Peter. They rummaged around on a
shelf marked miscellaneous and found, "Your Child," and "The Christian
Nursery." Neither seemed from its title quite to answer the needs of
Peter, but since there was nothing else he took them both. Arriving at
his flat in West Sixty-sixth Street three doors away from Central Park,
Peter found Kate on hand. He had seen her just for a minute on his
return from Goldfield but not since he had learned his news at the
hospital. He did not know whether or not she knew.
"My wife's gone away," he said. "And she won't be back."
"Yes, sir," replied Kate. Peter liked her for that. Whether she was
surprised or not she made no sign.
"Now," he continued, "I've got to bring the baby back here tomorrow.
It's a boy. There isn't anybody I know to turn him over to. I want you
to come and live here and be his nurse. I'll pay you fifteen dollars a
week. You remember you said you would come for ten when we were talking
about it before. I'm going to pay you more because you'll have to do the
whole job now."
"I want one night a week off, Mr. Neale," said Kate.
"That'll be all right if you make it Sunday. I guess I can learn enough
to take care of him once a week. I've got a couple of books here that
tell how to do it. This baby's going to be brought up right, Kate. I
want you to read these books too."
"Mr. Neale, I've broke my glasses and I can't see print at all without
them. I'm an old woman, Mr. Neale."
"That's all right, Kate, I'll read you some of it so we can be ready for
this baby when he comes tomorrow. Don't stand up. Sit down, Kate. This
is called 'Your Child.' It's written by a woman named Alice Carter
Scott."
Peter opened the book and decided to skip the preface.
"I had a sister in Brooklyn once," said Kate, "that was married to a man
named Scott. She's dead these ten years, God rest her soul."
"It says," began Peter, skimming over the first page and deciding that a
summary would be sufficient, "that the most important task in the world
and the greatest blessing is to bring up children."
"'The first years of the child's life'" he read, "'roughly speaking from
birth to the age of six, constitute the most important period of the
child's whole existence.'"
He skimmed ahead again until he found a heading, "Constructive
Suggestions."
"'First of all,'" he read, "'I would say that the home cannot be a
normal home unless the mother herself is a normal being---- '"
Peter tried to skip ahead rapidly. "'She must learn to discriminate
between the essentials and the non-essentials in life. She must give the
best of herself to important things and she must learn to eliminate or
subordinate the non-important--'" Here Peter broke off and put the book
down.
"This doesn't seem to be much good for us," he said. "It's all too
general. Maybe we can get something more out of this one. This one's
called 'The Christian Nursery,' That doesn't sound much good, but we'll
see. 'Functions of the Family--.' 'The Functions of the family in human
life are five-fold: (1) biological; (2) educational; (3) moral; (4)
social; (5) religious.'"
He put it down impatiently. "These aren't what I wanted at all. I'll
have to go and get that Dr. Kerley book they told me about in the
hospital. I can get it in the morning."
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Neale," said Kate, "there's no need for me to
have a book about babies. I raised five children and buried four. I'm
not saying, mind you, that books aren't the great things for wisdom but
it's not wisdom that little children do be needing. The Blessed Virgin
herself, she didn't have to read in no books. I'll be bringing him up
like he was my own son, Mr. Neale, and that's better than you'll be
finding in all your fine books."
Peter was disposed to argue the proposition that all a woman needs to
know about motherhood can be learned by having some children, but Kate
got up and walked out into the kitchen to show that the interview was
over. Peter never did get around to buying Dr. Kerley even for his own
education. Still he could not quite dismiss the little he had read that
night. He could not remember whether it was in the Christian book or the
other that he had come across the paragraph about the mother--"She must
learn to discriminate between the essentials and the non-essentials in
life." He wondered whether it was essential that Maria should devote
herself to the gurgling little child who cried about everything but
spilt milk, or that she should go on dancing to the strains of that tune
by Weber. He tried to hum it and couldn't. Then he sat and thought for a
long time. In reply to a question from Kate he said that he didn't want
any dinner. He was going out. Would she please be at the flat at ten
o'clock as he expected to have the baby back by that time.
Presently Kate went out. Peter sat by the window and looked up towards
the park. He could catch a glimpse of it by leaning out. There was a
moon. A wind whipped through the trees and they were swaying back and
then rushing forward again whenever the gusts gave them an opening. That
was a sort of dance. He turned away from the window. There was nothing
in the room to remind him of Maria except the grand piano. He would get
rid of that. His mind began to lose its ache. He could accept the fact
that Maria had gone. He would remember her now always as he had seen her
that first night standing still in the centre of the stage just before
she began to dance. The sight of Maria washing a baby would have been
queer. It was all right for nurses and old Irish women and sporting
writers to mess around with babies and soap and rubber-tipped milk
bottles. Somehow or other he was glad he had never seen the greatest
dancer in all the world with a mouth full of safety pins.