CHRISTMAS
Christmas that year was, as Matilda said, a failure. To begin with,
she herself was in bed, this time with a cold that really did
threaten to become serious. Dr. Bellamy of Bode, summoned by Cox on
Christmas Eve, warned Bobby that an absolutely warm and even
temperature must be maintained in her room, and this necessitated
Bobby sleeping on a couch at the foot of the invalid's bed to keep
the fire alight. This she did with complete good temper though it
meant that her own night must of necessity be a very broken one. For
Matilda was not of those who hesitate to take full advantage of such
a situation, and her demands upon Bobby's services were much more
frequent and imperious than those of the fire. Time after time her
querulous voice summoned the uncomplaining sister to her side, to
pour out the medicine at her elbow, to bathe her forehead, to
rearrange the bedclothes, till even when reluctantly she fell asleep
herself, all desire for slumber had deserted the patient Bobby, and
she merely lay wide-eyed, watching the fire, until morning broke
chill and grey to bring her another day of work.
It was pitilessly wet and cold, and she shivered as she crept
downstairs to light the kitchen fire. Her own face, reflected in one
of her shining dish-covers, looked pinched and blue, but there was no
one about to notice that, and a cup of tea made a lot of difference.
She had planned to go to an early service, but with Matilda on her
hands she knew that this was out of the question, and, since Rosemary
never went without her, she did not go up to call her any earlier
than usual. Matilda was sleeping quite comfortably, but she could
not trust her to do so for any length of time and she knew that she
would be bitterly reproached if she were not at hand when she awoke.
But she slipped out, nevertheless, to feed the pigs and poultry,
shivering afresh as she went forth into the wet gloom of the early
morning upon her errand.
The last thing she expected upon reaching the barn was to encounter
the burly figure of Silas Hickory very obviously waiting for her.
He came to meet her with a purposeful stride and spoke before she had
time to protest.
"I want the keys, please. I'll see to everything. It's what I've
come for. And the hot chicken-food! Thanks! Now will you go
straight back into the house and stay there!"
It was not a request. It was a definite command, and while he spoke
he was taking everything she held from her with a rock-like intention
to which she fully realized that it was useless to oppose herself.
"I haven't come to see you," he said. "I've come to do the work,
that's all, and I shall be round this afternoon to do it too. Now
please go straight in! You're looking rotten. And there's no sense
in your getting ill too. As you say, you can't afford to."
His grim speech was quite irresistible. Bobby abandoned all attempts
to assert herself. Meekly she surrendered everything to his
management.
"It's very, very kind of you," was all she found to say.
To which remark Silas made no response of any description.
When she was back in her own kitchen she remembered that it was
Christmas Day and wished that she had given him a suitable greeting,
but reflected that his appearance had been so forbidding that she
would scarcely have dared to offer it. She laughed to herself rather
weakly over the episode since she discovered that for some unknown
reason she would have preferred to cry, but the unexpected leisure
gave her time to pull herself together, and when she went up to
Rosemary's room she had quite regained her self-command.
She found the girl already up and dressing and eager to help. She
was surprised to hear that the outside work was finished, but Bobby
gave no explanation. She was not answerable to Rosemary. They had
an early breakfast together and she gave her a trifling gift of
handkerchiefs to mark the day. She was somewhat touched when
Rosemary responded with a cake of scented soap which she had bought
out of her very slender monthly allowance because Aunt Bobby never
indulged in such a luxury herself. No gifts ever passed between
Rosemary and Matilda, but Bobby had kept up old custom and when she
carried up her breakfast-tray it was decorated with a dainty
lavender-sachet of her own making. Of course, as Matilda remarked,
it was rather a farce to keep Christmas at all out in the wilds. She
was not attempting to do so herself since it only made her feel more
wretched, but if it gave Bobby any gratification she would certainly
put her little offering among her linen.
"That is just what it is meant for," said Bobby with her cheery smile.
There was no question of going to church in the morning, for Matilda
would not hear of being left for so long, and Rosemary fought so hard
against being sent alone that Bobby gave up the contest with a sigh.
Somehow, though she severely blamed herself for her slackness, it did
not seem worth a struggle. She was sure that Rosemary would not come
back any the better for having been sent against her will. She could
not, however, be with her much, for Matilda was in one of her most
exacting moods, and the only way of pacifying her was to give in.
And so the whole of her morning was spent between the sick-room and
the kitchen, and she scarcely knew how Rosemary was employing her
time. She attended to Dobbin and to Jess and her family, but beyond
that Bobby somewhat lost sight of her.
"It is dull for the child," she said to herself as she laid the table
for their midday meal together. "Just when everyone else is having
such a gay time!"
Silas' offer of partnership came before her, and for a few minutes
she reviewed the possibilities he had suggested. To have time to be
with her Rosemary, to give her those opportunities for amusement
which till then had been so completely inaccessible, to be a real
companion to the child so that those wild outbursts which were simply
the result of an eager nature thrown upon itself might never occur
again, to mould her day by day until she grew up into a gracious and
happy womanhood, to watch over her and guide her till all danger was
past, perhaps to see her at last happily settled in life! A great
sigh burst from Bobby, and again she was acutely conscious of a
longing to sit down and cry. For it was all hopelessly out of reach.
She could not accept this thing from Silas, even though he had made
that rugged promise that he would not seek thereby to further his
suit. She could not place herself thus under his care. She ought
not even to allow him to feed her pigs for her. It was true that she
could not very well help it, but the sense of guilt remained. In so
doing, she was taking that which she could never repay and violating
one of the leading principles of her life.
Resolutely she turned her thoughts away. Not even for Rosemary could
she incur any further obligation. Silas was a man of iron will, and
she knew already that that will of his ringed her round, even though
it might never close upon her. She believed that he was supremely
honest, and that he had every intention of keeping his promise to
her, but she had a curious feeling that it was not with Silas alone
that she had to reckon. That strange physical weakness which had
troubled her of late had made her begin to doubt herself. She had
barely held her own with Rosemary. How would it be if circumstances
combined to weaken her still further? She had always thought that
she could stand alone, but now--oddly she asked herself the
question--was she really such a tower of strength as to be
invulnerable to all attack? Could she really expect always to be
able to cope with the ever-increasing burden of responsibility thrust
upon her? Might not a time come, be even now approaching, when her
powers would begin to falter and at length to fail? Something was
happening to her already. Perhaps it was old age! She smiled wanly
at the thought. It was one of the contingencies that she had never
allowed for. But she realized it now as a definite possibility. She
had recognized for a long time that life had been much easier when
Rosemary was a child, and had ascribed the growing difficulties of
late years to her inevitable development. But was it not equally the
fact that she herself had left the golden morning-time behind her?
Could she ever summon now even a faint afterglow of the radiant youth
which once had been hers? Was she not in truth growing old, tired,
jaded?
The vision of Silas came back upon her suddenly, like a weapon of
defence swiftly grasped. She saw again the fire in his eyes--the
impulsive movement, sternly checked, to draw her nearer. And she was
conscious of a warmth spreading through her with the memory. But yet
again resolutely she turned her thoughts aside. She had no right to
view his devotion thus. He probably saw in her something that was
wholly invisible to everyone else, something which quite probably
existed in his imagination alone. He did not know--how could
he?--that the thing he sought to grasp was but a shadow, that no
answering fire could ever kindle in response to his, that the relish
of life had utterly gone from her with the long, long drudgery of the
years and the pitiful weariness of a waiting that had been in vain.
A great lump rose unexpectedly in her throat, and she stood up
quickly and turned her back to the window, for her eyes were full of
tears. Desperately she fought for self-control, knowing even while
she fought that her powers of resistance were not what they had been,
feeling as if some hidden opponent were beating them down. But in
the end she mastered herself; for Rosemary must not find her thus.
Rosemary had never come into actual touch with this unaccountable
weakness, and it must of necessity be kept from her at all costs.
All hope for the future seemed to hang upon that.
And so when Rosemary came in a little later she found her bravely
smiling and no suspicion that any cloud had arisen to dim that sunny
serenity entered her head. As a matter of fact she did not give much
thought to Bobby. Her thoughts were wrapped up deep within herself,
as was so often now the case, and when she spoke it was absently and
without interest. Like Matilda she regarded Christmas as a farce to
be ignored as far as possible. It was useless to pretend to a
jollity she did not feel. She even, when the meal was over, took out
her Schiller and sat down in the chimney-corner to con her task,
though Bobby sought to stay her with a loving hand upon her shoulder.
"What, to-day, dearest! Surely not to-day!"
Rosemary did not raise her eyes. "I may as well," she said. "Why
not? There's nothing else to do."
True beyond disputing! Bobby turned away without further words. In
earlier years they would have played some childish game together, and
the hours would have flown unnoticed. But childish games were over
now. She could not even suggest them. Rosemary had grown up.
Also, there was Matilda to be thought of,--poor, grumbling Matilda
lying alone upstairs. It came to her with a pang that Matilda's need
of her was greater than Rosemary's.
She quietly set the kitchen in order and went upstairs to sit with
her.