At the gate, Lary kissed his little sister and sent her home, going
into the house with Mrs. Ascott. There was no need of so much as a nod
to assure him that the evening was not yet finished. She wanted to ask
him about Dr. Schubert--the tragedy that had mellowed and sweetened
him. But the revelation would come in due time. Instead, she demanded
to know the significance of Indian Summer. Only that morning the old
physician had remarked--when she told him of Dutton’s warning--“We hop
from snow to sweat, out here in Illinois,”--that one could endure the
heat if one kept constantly in mind that after frost there would be
Indian Summer.
Indian Summer. She had read a sentimental essay, years ago....
April--the arrogant, reckless abundance of Youth. August--the
passionate heat of Love. October--the killing frost of Sorrow. And
after that, the golden peace of Indian Summer. In her part of the world
there was no such division of seasons. Yet the figures had attached
themselves to the walls of her memory by tenacious tentacles. For her
there had been neither sorrow nor peace ... just the bald monotony
of a life that had been regulated by the artificial standards of her
mother or her husband. She was so deadly tired of it all. And her
work at the laboratory had not proved absorbing. It was too easy ...
the copying of formulæ and an occasional hand at an experiment that
might be dangerous. But she knew that none of them would be dangerous.
Dr. Schubert was too cautious to permit her even that zest. Sydney
Schubert, the son, who specialized in diseases of children, she hardly
knew. An epidemic of scarlet fever was raging in the mining towns of
Sutton and Olive Hill, and he was away from home most of the time.
“In order to appreciate Syd, you must know the tragedy of his boyhood,”
Lary began. “It was more terrible for his parents, of course. But to a
sensitive boy who had an instinctive love of beauty--quite aside from
his natural devotion to his mother.... Mrs. Schubert was without doubt
the most beautiful woman either of us had ever seen. Not the type my
mother admires. And it may not have been the kind that would last. She
was too fair and exquisite.”
“And she died, while the bloom was still fresh?” Judith asked.
“No, she lived eight years. We never knew how the thing happened ...
a breeze that ruffled her clothing too close to the grate, or it may
have been that her veil caught fire from an exposed gas flame. She
was dressed to go out, and was waiting for the doctor in the great
hall of their house, when she discovered that her clothing was ablaze.
She wrapped herself in a carriage robe that happened to be lying on
the settle; but she was horribly burned. One side of her face was
disfigured beyond recognition. Fortunately the eyes were saved. It was
after her recovery that Dr. Schubert had the pipe organ installed in
the hall, to occupy her time, for she never went out, and at home she
always covered her scars with a veil of white chiffon. Syd and Bob and
I took turns at pumping the organ for her, before the days of electric
motors, and she taught all of us music. One afternoon, three years ago,
they found her at the organ ... her head resting on the upper manual.
They thought at first she was asleep.”
“I’m glad she went that way,” Judith said, her throat tight with
emotion.
Lary might have resumed, but he was arrested by boisterous laughter,
out on the street. Eileen and her friends were going by, and young
Marksley was saying, with a good-natured sneer: “Cornell--nix on
Cornell for mine. The kid and I have this college business all doped
out. She’s going to cut this little Presbyterian joint, next fall, and
we’re both going to Valparaiso University. Greatest college on earth!
Place where they teach you to dissolve the insoluble, to transmute the
immutable and unscrew the inscrutable. I’m going to take commercial
law, and Eileen can go on with her music....” The voices died away, as
the group turned the corner beyond Vine Cottage.
“I wish my sister wouldn’t--” Lary checked himself, colouring.
“I shouldn’t take it too seriously. Such school boy and girl affairs
seldom come to anything. Eileen’s a stubborn child. I wouldn’t oppose
her ... openly.”