“Yes, that is what she needs; it is the only thing.” The doctor said
this very firmly and gravely; but quiet as his words were they set the
impetuous heart of Ruth Kinsolving in a fever of anxiety.
“I am sure thee is hiding something from me, Doctor Winslow; and I wish
thee to tell me the worst. If my mother is--is going to follow Margaret
Capers, I--I must know it.”
“She is not going to follow her, if you do as I say. Take Mrs.
Kinsolving away at once to the sea-shore, or to some restful place,
where she can have a complete change of air, and as little disturbance
of her habits, otherwise, as possible.”
Aunt Ruth looked up searchingly; but seeing nothing in the familiar
face of their old physician to warrant her dreadful fear, her thoughts
turned at once to a lesser trouble. It was all very well for Doctor
Winslow to say, “Go away to the sea-shore,” but how was this apparently
simple matter to be accomplished?
The death of Mrs. Capers left the invalid Melville entirely dependent
upon his aunt’s care. His grief had been profound and prostrating; for
that sorrow is always keenest which has self-reproach as a factor; and
though a fortnight had elapsed since the quiet funeral, its influence
still hung, pall-like, over the house.
Octave was better; but she could not yet put her injured foot to the
floor without great suffering; although the broken arm was mending
fast, and gave the self-helpful girl little trouble. It was astonishing
how much she could accomplish with that deft left hand of hers; and she
laughingly declared she had been gifted with her power to use it as
others use their right, expressly for this time of need.
Mr. Pickel had been obliged to leave them, or lose entirely the
business opportunities which had brought him all the way from Germany,
and which he was ambitious to improve “on his children’s account.”
It was all for the children--his care, his life, his love; and Ruth
Kinsolving could not live for so many days in the society of this
unselfish man without catching something of his spirit. From an
unwelcome burden, she had also come to regard her sister Lydia’s family
as a sacred charge; and, as each girl of the group resolved herself
into a distinct individuality, the aunt’s interest increased. She grew
almost morbidly anxious lest she should fail in her “duty” to one or
other of the orphans.
How, then, was she to leave them with only a servant to look after them?
Perplexed and troubled, she returned after the doctor’s visit to her
mother’s room, and one keen glance into the tired eyes of the sweet old
lady settled the matter for her. Her mother was more to her than all
the orphans in the world. Her mother was drooping sadly, overcome, the
doctor thought, by a burden of care she should not have assumed, and
shocked and broken by the death of her old friend, Margaret Capers.
It seemed that turmoil and confusion had come to The Snuggery only with
the coming of the Pickels. Well, she would leave them the house, and
they might tear it roof from rafter, for all she cared at that moment;
she would do her duty by her mother, let come what would come!
Her energetic movement aroused Grandmother Kinsolving’s curiosity.
“What is it, daughter?”
Ruth intended to be very prudent and announce her plan in the least
startling manner, but she was far too impulsive and too much in earnest
to do this successfully. She tried, beginning two or three sentences in
a temporizing fashion, and ending with an outburst of tears:
“The doctor says that thee is ill, so ill that I must take thee to the
sea-shore. Tell me, darling mother, that it is not so very, very bad!”
Amy Kinsolving smiled. To Ruth there was nothing so beautiful as her
mother’s smile, and that it still was left to cheer her went far toward
calming her anxiety.
“The doctor is right, Ruth. I am a little worn and tired by this
upsetting of our quiet life; but a few weeks away from it will give me
strength to face the winter without being an added burden to thy weary
shoulders. Thee needs the rest as much as I do. Thee takes things too
much in earnest, and frets thyself over imaginary shortcomings. We will
go away and leave the ‘little pickles’ to look after themselves, under
Rosetta Perkins’s direction.”
Since her mother took the proposition so quietly, and answered so
cheerfully, Ruth’s anxiety flew round to another side of the subject.
“Rosetta Perkins! A pretty woman she is to have the care of such a
houseful of young people!”
“She is an excellent cook.”
“Mother Amy! What has that to do with it?”
“More than thee thinks. Thee worries over the children’s minds and
morals, and that is well enough in a way, but if their bodies are
healthy and sound, they may be safely trusted to do pretty nearly
right. They come of good stock.”
Ruth was speechless with amused surprise. Such words seemed like heresy
on the lips of the saintly Amy; but they had the effect of checking her
own anxiety and of assuring her that her mother was not so dangerously
ill as she had feared.
“I suppose we can trust Content to keep things straight, under
Rosetta,” said Ruth, so merrily that her mother’s heart lightened.
If Ruth had been worrying about her, she had also been worrying about
Ruth; and, when matters reach this stage between two people, it is
time that somebody else stepped in and set them at ease. Good Doctor
Winslow had done so by his pleasant prescription; and, already, in less
than five minutes after he had given it, its beneficent effects were
evident. The sea-shore trip had become a matter-of-course; what was the
house to worry about, more than a house? And as for the children, how
could they go far astray in that peaceful abode?
“Content shall have her share of the task; but Paula is the elder.
Paula must be prime minister,” said Grandmother Kinsolving.
“Paula, mother? Paula is no more fit to be set over the others
than--than I am!”
“It will make a vast difference to the girl whether she is put in
authority or whether she assumes it. Paula will do right; thee may
depend upon it.”
“Mother Amy, thee is either a very foolish or a very wise woman.”
“Daughter Ruth, I have lived long. The years should teach me something.”
“And thee is not afraid to put that maid of airs and graces to rule in
thy stead?”
“Not one whit afraid.”
“Humph! I wash my hands of the responsibility!” said Ruth,
half-laughingly, half-seriously, and tossing those same shapely hands
upward in a deprecating fashion.
“Do that really, my daughter; ‘cease carrying coals to Newcastle,’ and
thee will find life a better thing. Thee is a good ‘Martha,’ but thee
remembers about ‘Mary?’”
“Thee is the ‘Mary’ of this household, sweet mother. Thee has always
had ‘the better part.’ I will try to learn of thee.” As she said this,
the daughter stooped and kissed her mother’s cheek; then she went
swiftly out of the room, intent upon setting things in readiness for
her contemplated absence.
Ruth Kinsolving found always her best antidote for anxiety in activity;
and so promptly did she settle all the details of the household
management during Paula’s and Rosetta’s reign, that she was ready on
the next morning to start with her mother for that vacation of rest
they both needed.
The group of young folks who watched their carriage out of sight felt
for a few moments a sense of desolation which even Paula’s pride in
authority, or Content’s serenity, could not banish.
“Oh, dear! I feel--I feel so lumpy, and kind of sick inside,” said
little Fritz, dropping his head on Christina’s shoulder; “I don’t see
what makes folks go away all the time.”
“Let’s all go into Melville’s room and be miserable together,” said
Content, trying to smile, yet finding the tears interfering; “I think I
heard Octave say that Melville had had a letter from your Uncle Fritz.”
To the little Pickels, that was a name “to conjure by”; and with a
quick change of sentiment, they rushed pell-mell into “the lion’s den.”