I
The time went by well enough for Frankie. She was busy, and after a
fashion, happy, with the children. She had long ago trained herself not
to search her own heart, not to indulge her own emotions, not to think
of Lionel. No more now than during all the past five years.
With the assistance of Mrs. Hansen she put the house in order, all the
queer, jumbled cupboards and closets and bureau drawers. They found the
most extraordinary things. They were obliged to tell Mr. Petersen that
Minnie had been in debt to half a dozen tradesmen, enormous bills that
she would reduce dollar by dollar. He paid them at once, without
question. They found clothes of Mr. Petersen’s hidden away--no doubt to
be given to Lionel. They found pawn-tickets for some of the silver
spoons. Curious records of a subterranean life.... But at last they
cleaned away all traces of her rule; her clothes and personal belongings
were packed away, until she should send for them; she was sternly and
justly effaced.
Frances had begun to recover, to become inwardly as serene as she was in
appearance. When suddenly her makeshift peace was again destroyed.
They were at lunch, Frances, Mr. Petersen and Sandra, an exemplary
group, almost too decorous, all consuming exactly the right sort of food
for their health, served at the right moment. Then Mrs. Hansen brought
in his letter, and without thinking, Frankie tore it open, and saw his
writing again. She folded it again and sat through the meal; so very
long before she could shut herself into her own room, and read it.
“Frankie: I can’t get into the army in any branch. I got one of the
doctors to tell me, and he said I had tuberculosis and couldn’t last
more than a year or two at the most. Frankie, I can’t do it. What’s the
use, anyway, of waiting on like that, and dying in a charity hospital?
I’m going to go now, as decently as I can. Don’t tell them, not even
where I am. I want to be left in peace. But I wish you would come after
it is all over. I will leave you a note. Good-bye. God bless you, dear
old girl.