MASTER AND MISTRESS
Fetzer, though small of stature and retiring of mien, had no misgivings
about her ability to manage the Lanfair house. Her instructions to
Ellen were given with as much positiveness and intimacy of detail as
though human destinies waited upon the tying of an apron string.
She stood with Ellen at the head of the broad main stairway leading
from the lower hall to the second floor, on every hand closed
mysterious doors, and there admonished her. The early morning was
bright and the river sparkled in the sun. Ellen's body was sore, but
her spirit marched bravely.
"Now, what you don't need of this you don't have to take to yourself."
Fetzer cocked her smooth head upon one side and looked at Ellen, her
eye expressing increasing satisfaction with her acolyte. "I give
always this instruction; some don't like it, but they do it; others
don't like it and they leave, and I'm glad they're gone--what _lumps_
I had already--oh, my! Well, a bath every day, morning, afternoon, or
night, it makes no difference, but a bath." Mrs. Fetzer liked to say
"bath"; the _th_ was an achievement, _v_ she had not conquered. "In the
morning a blue dress and white apron--every day a clean one, you don't
have to do the washing nor yet the ironing. In the afternoon a black
dress and a little apron and cap. I have some you can borrow. Rubber
heels on your shoes and always a low woice. It should be our object
in such a position to be as little seen and heard as possible with
faithfulness to our duty." The last sentence had been memorized from
"The Expert Maid and How to Train Her." "We speak when we are spoken to
and we hear nothing that is not meant for us to hear. The mistress in a
well-conducted home respects the independence of her maid and the maid
respects the independence of her mistress. The two spheres are on the
same plane, but they do not commingle.
"Now we go through the house." She spoke more briskly, glad that the
theoretical portion of her address was safely delivered. "This is her
sitting-room."
Ellen looked with awe at the large bay-windowed room with its shrouded
furniture.
"This is her bedroom and bath. Further back are guest-rooms and baths.
Now on this other side are his bedroom and dressing-room, and from
there a stairway goes down to his office. Now the other rooms on that
side are guest-rooms, too, except this small one which is for sewing
and this one where brushes and brooms and such things are kept." She
pointed with pride to the shelves. "Soap, towels, ammonia, cloths.
"Upstairs, beside our bedrooms are other rooms for company and
storage-rooms. These two floors are your care, and sometimes she may
ask you to button a dress or something. Mostly she don't like people
round her."
This comment upon her future mistress confirmed Ellen in a vague
suspicion that Mrs. Lanfair was an old woman. It was like an old woman
to need help and at the same time to resent it. She had the kindliest
of intentions toward her.
Taken downstairs she was presented to the cook; then she and Mrs.
Fetzer had their breakfast together in the little dining-room.
"They" were coming home, Fetzer said, in three weeks, and after
breakfast preparations to receive them were begun. Windows were washed,
curtains were unpacked and hung, and rugs were unrolled from moth-proof
wrappings. After the first few days Fetzer left Ellen to proceed alone
while she directed other operations in distant parts of the house. So
pleased was she with her silent, capable assistant that, as she walked
about, even her gait a little sidewise, she sang her favorite revival
songs.
Harrisburg seen from the river front was a different place from
Harrisburg seen from above the railroad yards. One found refreshment
for one's eye at every glance, in fine old trees, beautiful against the
winter sky, in the broad river and in the distant movement of trains
on the other bank which suggested, not showers of grime, but romantic
journeys. Heard at this distance their roar did not disturb sleep, but
induced pleasant dreams.
One had at hand food for one's soul. Fetzer exhibited with pride the
long parlors and the library with its many cases of books, its deep
chairs, its blackened fireplace, and its shaded lamps. She saw the
hunger in Ellen's eyes.
"You dare read them," she offered. "I take the responsibility."
Ellen went with Fetzer to a Methodist church and there was presented as
"Miss Lewis." She felt for the first time the anomalous character of
her position which was uncomfortable even though it was only temporary.
Fetzer corrected her but once. At her suggestion Ellen bought a winter
dress and hat and coat, and when the new dress came home, she put it on
and inspected herself in the glass. The view did not satisfy her. She
studied her profile, then she unbraided her thick hair and coiled it
loosely on the top of her head. Ringlets escaped and curled back on her
neck and over her forehead, low and broad and white, without wrinkle,
like the favorite forehead of mediæval romance. She put on her dress
again and smiled and flushed as she did long ago when she studied the
effect of her red necktie.
Fetzer flushed, but she did not smile. She laced and interlaced her
fingers and exhibited an uneasiness apparently inappropriate to the
occasion. Like Stephen, she misunderstood entirely the vagaries of
Hilda's mind.
"I hardly knew you! It's all right for you and me when we're by
ourselves, but not for about your work. It's too fancy."
Ellen smiled and braided her hair in the old fashion at the back of her
head.
In mid-January Fetzer received the cablegram for which she had been
watching, and immediately the machinery of the establishment, so
carefully oiled and inspected, began to revolve. She remained cool,
though great matters waited upon her word.
The doors were opened into the beautiful rooms and were left open,
shades were lifted, sunshine streamed in where it had been long
excluded, potted plants were set in jardinières, magazines were
arranged in orderly rows on the library table, fires were laid and
bells were tested. Even the odor of the house changed; the faint
mustiness vanished, and a sensitive Ellen sniffed with delight the
fragrance of flowers and the scents of fine soaps placed by her in
tiled bathrooms.
Through a door under the stairway drifted a new odor, the faint,
pleasant smell of drugs. Sent to the offices she trembled with a sad
and reminiscent delight. There were three large rooms in line--a
waiting-room with comfortable chairs and books and plants and a canary
in a sunny window, an office with three desks and tall filing-cabinets,
and beyond an examining-room from which opened a little laboratory. In
the second room a short, middle-aged woman in a blue serge dress stood
before a filing-cabinet; in the third a tall nurse in a white uniform
was in the act of mounting a stepladder before one of many cupboards.
"Are you Ellen?" the nurse called from the ladder. "I'm Miss Knowlton
and that is Miss MacVane. Fetzer says you work quietly and you don't
drop things. Those are fine compliments from her."
Ellen smiled. Miss MacVane lifted her head and glanced in her
direction, then bent closer to her work. Ellen went into the inner room
and held out her hands for the bottles.
"Put them on the table, each shelf together."
When the bottles were placed, she washed the shelves while Miss
Knowlton examined the drugs, pouring some away and making frequent
notes on a tablet.
The next afternoon Ellen helped to complete the task. At five o'clock
everything was in order, even to a little stand on Miss Knowlton's desk
which held flasks of dilating fluids and droppers. Miss MacVane was
frequently called to the telephone.
"To-morrow, yes." The telephone rang again. "To-morrow, yes. Nine
o'clock. I'll give you the first appointment. I'm sorry to hear that."
Many persons, it seemed, awaited the return of Dr. Lanfair.
Fetzer went to the little side door, through which Ellen had learned
all the employees went and came, to speak to silent Fickes, who brought
round in succession three cars of different styles and who said that
doubtless the car which the boss brought home would be fit only for the
junk-heap.
Ellen felt a growing excitement and a fear that she would not know her
part. She depended upon Fetzer to support her, and Fetzer, as though
she understood her anxiety, patted her arm encouragingly.
At ten o'clock Fickes brought his master and mistress home. Ellen,
bidden to open the door, saw Fetzer stand with one arm upon the other
like a feudal retainer while there entered a short, slender woman and a
tall man.
It was the relation of one to the other in height which first
startled her--she had seen those figures before! For a moment she
was incredulous, then dumfounded; a moment more and she realized her
stupidity. No wonder that her father had stared at this house! No
wonder that he had come close to read the doctor's name! Her knees
trembled and excited thrills ran up and down her body.
Both the newcomers shook hands with Fetzer.
"I'm glad to see you back!"
There was a light, slightly scornful laugh.
"Glad to see me too, Fetzer?"
"I mean you too, Mrs. Lanfair."
Ellen trembled. They had not looked at her, but what would they
say when they did? Would not Mrs. Fetzer be astounded? How were
explanations to be begun? Should she take a step forward or wait for
their eyes to find her? She hoped that she would not cry!
But her anxiety was wasted. Neither Stephen nor Hilda greeted her,
unless Hilda's careless "A new housemaid, Fetzer?" could be called a
greeting. She spoke as though the matter of a new housemaid was one
which concerned her only slightly.
"Yes, Mrs. Lanfair. Ellen Lewis is her name."
At last Stephen nodded absently in her direction. He wore a gray suit
like the one he had worn at Ephrata. He moved and spoke more quickly
and nervously, and his lower lip twitched occasionally.
"Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane here?"
"Yes, and everything is in order." Fetzer looked at Ellen, thinking
sympathetically that she seemed afraid. The ways of the Lanfairs had
once paralyzed her, too.
Hilda paused on the second step. She was more slender and there was a
queer change in her aspect; her dress was tawdry and ill-fitting. Dr.
Good would have detected from her appearance and from her moroseness
and indifference a marked advance in her malady.
"You can't wait till morning!" she said lightly.
Fetzer lifted one of the bags.
"Take this, Ellen."
Ellen followed Fetzer who followed Hilda to her bedroom. Ellen did not
look back; there would be no immediate and dramatic presentation of
herself. In the bedroom she set down the bag where she was told.
"You may go, Ellen."
Obeying with relief she heard a question.
"A little stupid is she, Fetzer? She looks stupid."
Ellen went out into the hall and back to the door which led to the
service stairs. In her room she opened her books and finished her
evening's task. She had power of concentration equal to her strength
of purpose; besides, the event was too startling and complex to be
approached at once.
An hour later, sitting up in bed with her hands clasped round her
knees, she heard the door open.
"Are you awake yet?"
"Yes."
Fetzer sat down on the foot of the bed. The pale moonlight was not
bright enough to show the flush on her cheek, but the trembling of her
body shook the bed.
"Why, Mrs. Fetzer, what ails you?" Asking the question Ellen believed
that she understood. Mrs. Lanfair had spoken unkindly.
But Fetzer's thoughts were not upon Hilda.
"I'd do anything in the world for him!" she declared.
"For Dr. Lanfair?"
"There are some that are just like beasts and some that are all the
while angels," wept Fetzer.
Ellen waited. Neither description seemed to fit Lanfair.
"If it weren't for him I'd be blind. I was shot once. My husband shot
me when he was drunk. He was good-for-nothing. They gave up my eyes in
the hospital, doctors and doctors examined me and gave me up, both my
eyes, but he wouldn't have it. He watched me day after day, sitting
sometimes for hours by me. They told me, when they took the bandage
off, to look at the beautiful river." There was scorn in Fetzer's
voice. "I looked at him. He was more to me than any river."
The multitude of her emotions kept Ellen silent.
"Jim's in jail for another year. He got a long term. I've often prayed
that God would convert him and take him home. That's the only thing for
him."
Ellen knew no consolatory word which seemed adequate.
"She thought I was stupid!" said she at last.
Fetzer answered coldly.
"I hope you won't be spited at that!"
"I'm not spited. Perhaps I am stupid."
Fetzer rose from the bed.
"I'm so tired I could drop. And nervous! Lay down and go to sleep,
Ellen."
But sleep was not to be so easily commanded. Ellen sat long with
her hands clasped round her knees. The strange impressions of that
July afternoon came back to her; then in a wave grief wiped out all
recollection of Hilda's behavior. She had never ceased to hope that
she would find her father's friend, that he would in some fashion help
her; but now she had seen him and he had not known her, had not even
looked at her. She had no eyes for his disquiet. She felt alone in the
great house. Presently her cheeks burned. She made no allowance for the
transforming years which had changed her into a woman. She resented
their failure to recognize her. When she was learned and famous and not
until then she would tell them who she was! Now she hated them.