THE ARRIVAL
DESPITE the startling nature of that last announcement Ray answered
the summons quietly enough; she was used to Jean. As she neared
the living-room she could hear her uncle getting off smooth,
easy-flowing sentences that somehow gave the impression of thoughts
clothing themselves in words without any help from the speaker.
“Yes, the limited stopped at the junction for us; I didn’t think it
would, we were so late getting in; it is interesting to see what
diplomacy will accomplish; saved us nearly two hours, which is a good
deal of time to a busy man, not to mention having an invalid
in charge; but Elsie is a capital traveller in spite of her crutches.
I made it as easy for her as I could, of course; parlor car and all
that sort of thing; and Dick here did the honors at the station
splendidly. I say, Dick, you are almost a man, aren’t you? I was
expecting to see a little chap; I had forgotten how time flies;
I’ve reached the age, you know, when it is convenient to forget the
passing years; let me see—how old are you, anyhow?”
At this point Ray decided to open the door; there seemed to be no use
in waiting for a full period. Her entrance simply changed the current
of the flow of words.
“Hello! if here isn’t—let me see—not Jean, of course, but—oh, yes,
Ray, to be sure. I’m great on mixing names. It is a good while since
I’ve seen you, though.”
Ray helped him by reminding that she was away from home on the
occasion of his visit three years before.
“That’s so,” he said, briskly. “I remember all about it now; you are
the oldest girl, of course. Bless me! Elsie, think of Joe’s oldest
being a fresh young girl yet in her teens.”
Ray, in all the dignity of her twenty years, only laughed; Uncle
Evarts never really desired information, and she felt that he neither
knew nor cared how old she was. Words flowed on.
“It is bewildering, anyhow; here is Dick sprung up in the night like
a mushroom! I should never have known him in the world if he hadn’t
claimed me for an uncle. By the way, Dick, what is it to be? Law,
medicine or theology?”
But Derrick, every line of his pressing annoyance, muttered something
about not being absolutely driven toward any of them, and made his
escape under cover of his mother’s entrance. She had emerged from the
“oven” with her face much flushed and a dab of flour on her left
cheek. Her brother-in-law effervesced again at sight of her.
[Illustration: THE STREAM OF COMPLIMENT WAS STILL FLOWING]
“Upon my word, Louise, I can’t see that you look much older than you
did the day Joe brought you home a bride. How do you contrive
to cheat old Father Time so successfully? Look at those cheeks,
Elsie.”
“They must be reflecting the cook stove,” Mrs. Forman managed to say,
while the stream of compliment was still flowing.
Ray, in the background waiting for a chance to carry off her aunt and
minister to her comfort, felt her face rippling into laughter as she
recalled a remark of her mother’s, made several years before: “If
Evarts ever said anything he would be worth listening to, he has
so many words at his command.”
It would have been hard to find two people more unlike in every
respect than were Evarts Forman and his sister Elsie. He was above
medium height, straight as an arrow and well proportioned; he wore
his clothes with the air of one who knew they were faultless, and
gave one the impression of being always at ease, knowing to a
fraction what ought to be said or done next. His sister was much
below the average height of women, and was used to being described
by her sister Caroline as “dumpy.” She had scant gray hair
unbecomingly arranged, and although her blue eyes must once have been
bright they had faded and were growing dim. Her dress was plain
to severity, and was unmistakably the work of a country dressmaker.
As for her conversational powers, on this day at least, she seemed
to have almost no words; but, after all, that was not strange when
her brother Evarts was present to furnish volumes.
In the privacy of Jean’s room that evening her disrespectful nephew
expressed his opinion to his boon companion.
“Isn’t she just about the homeliest critter you ever looked at?
Turned-up nose, and no eyes to speak of, and the oddest little wad
of gray hair perked on top of her head. I can’t imagine how she and
Aunt Caroline ever came to be sisters.”
“She is mortally homely,” Jean agreed. “But then she isn’t the least
bit like Aunt Caroline in other ways, and I’m sure that is a comfort.
I can see why she didn’t plan to go and live with her, can’t you?
Aunt Caroline would simply crush her!”
“She would sit down on her, all right; you can bet your life on that.
If it weren’t for having her around all the time spoiling everything,
a fellow could be almost glad that she is to have mother, instead of
a woman like Aunt Caroline; mother will be lovely to her.”
Jean sighed. “Yes, and so will Ray. I don’t see why people who belong
to the same family are so different; there are regular sets of us;
mother and Ray make one set and you and Florence and I the other.”
“Father doesn’t belong to the family, I suppose!” Derrick chuckled.
Jean joined the laugh, then grew suddenly serious.
“Father doesn’t belong to the sets,” she said. “He is all by himself;
he tries, but he doesn’t rise above things as mother and Ray do.
I suppose it is because responsibilities rest heavier on him. Dick,
what is going to become of us all, anyhow? Can’t you see that things
are growing harder all while? I’m just afraid that by the time
you and I get ready to take hold there won’t be any father to help.”
“Don’t croak!” said Derrick, in a changed and as cross a tone as he
ever used to this favorite sister. He left her at once, but did not
whistle as he went down stairs, nor for a full half-hour afterwards.
Uncle Evarts, notwithstanding his joy over those two hours saved from
the train, thus enabling him to continue his journey that same
evening, changed his mind and stayed over night. His brother and
sister-in-law gave him their newly acquired room and took refuge
in Derrick’s, and that long suffering youth “slept around in any old
place” to quote his own language. Also Uncle Evarts stayed for
morning family worship and led in prayer, and the two who were sure
to talk things over together discussed him from this standpoint
on their way to school, Jean leading with:
“Do you know, Dick, I like Uncle Evarts less when he prays than at
any other time?”
Derrick laughed. “I ‘like him less’ so much on all occasions,”
he said, “that I don’t often stop to particularize. What is the
special grievance about him then?”
“Oh, I don’t know; I can’t put it into words; he has a lot of
high-sounding phrases that would mean really wonderful things if one
only meant them at all; but when he uses them, they seem like
cathedral bells tolling simply to be heard; just sound, you know,
no soul behind them. I can’t describe the feeling they give me,
but—father’s prayers never seem like that.”
Derrick’s only reply was a request that she would have the goodness
not to mention father and Uncle Evarts in the same sentence, because
he didn’t think he could stand their being brought so close together.
On the whole it was evident that their uncle’s suave efforts
at comradeship had not been successful. Ray and Florence were less
outspoken, but they, as well as the younger ones, had resented their
uncle’s attempts to be sympathetic with their mother.
“It is too bad, Louise,” he had said, a few minutes before his
departure, “to have Elsie foisted upon you in this way. I told
Caroline that I thought she ought to plan to have her for part of
the winter, at least; but I made no impression; she insisted that it
was no more than fair for Joe to take his turn first, since he was
the oldest. She doesn’t realize how hard up poor Joe is; I didn’t
myself, until I saw him this time; grows old fast, doesn’t he?
Poor old chap! Between you and me, Louise, Caroline is a bit tempted
think of her own comfort first. Well, I wish I could do something
myself, but you know how my hands are tied. Elsie is a good soul,
she won’t make any more trouble than she can help; and perhaps
by another year something will turn up. Who knows? That’s my car,
isn’t it?”
As they watched him spring briskly to the platform, and wave his hand
in graceful farewell, Florence gave vent to her pent-up feelings.
“I must say I detest that man! He talks about Aunt Elsie as though
she were a bale of cotton to be dumped down wherever it happened.
Wouldn’t I hate to be beholden to him! ‘Poor Joe’ indeed! what right
has he to speak in that way of father? Didn’t you feel like choking
him, mother?”
But Mrs. Forman’s only reply, after a moment of eloquent silence,
was:
“I am glad your father had to go down town early.”
For the next two days the Forman family struggled with the problem
of being and doing just as usual, with the consciousness always
upon them that there was an added member who made all things
different. They succeeded fairly well. Ray spent most of the time
with her aunt, unpacking and regulating, and stooping over boxes and
baskets and reaching up to hooks and shelves that were all beyond
the powers of the little lame woman. Much planning had been necessary
in order to lodge many things in a small space, for Aunt Elsie
had certainly brought many things. Jean grumbled over that fact
in her characteristic way: “Whatever Uncle Evarts and Aunt Caroline
meant, that little woman has evidently planned to spend her life
with us.” And Derrick replied, with energy:
“Humph! they did the planning. You bet your life those two know what
they are about. They mean that ‘poor Joe’ shall do his share with a
vengeance! If I were father I wouldn’t stand that sort of thing.”
However, the two who had done most of the settling were well pleased
with the result. At the Friday evening dinner table Aunt Elsie
announced that, thanks to the most efficient helper a lame woman
ever had, she was all settled, ready to begin to live. She had owned,
however, to being very tired and had gone early to her room. The
younger Formans speculated as to whether that might be her usual
habit, every one of them owning to the hope that such was the case;
though Ray did her best to keep the cheerful side of the innovation
in the forefront. Aunt Elsie, she said, had been ever so nice,
all day; not a bit fussy or overparticular. She had loads of pretty
things, but she had not been afraid to have them touched, and had been
cheery and genial throughout the weariness of unpacking and settling.
She had not lost her good nature even when none of her boxes would
fit on the shelves where she wanted them to go. But Florence was not
to be comforted.
“Why shouldn’t she be good-natured?” she had demanded, fiercely. “You
did all the work and she had only to sit and look on and give orders.
Oh, you needn’t tell me; I know as well as though I had watched the
whole performance that you worked all day like a slave, and fixed
every last thing exactly as she wanted it. I only hope she has sense
enough to realize what a downy nest she has dropped into! Father
treats her as though she were a queen, and mother—well, we all know
what mother is.”
“But think of poor Ray,” Jean interrupted. “She lives almost in the
same room, ready to be summoned any minute, day or night. The rest
of us can go on living much as usual except at meal times, and
prayers, and a few such functions, but Ray will have her all
the time. I’m glad I’m not in your shoes, Ray Forman! It’s a blessed
thing that I am not the oldest daughter; I couldn’t play the part
worth a cent; but you will do it beautifully.”
Still, on this Saturday morning things were not quite as usual
anywhere in the Forman household. Or rather they were, as Jean
expressed it, “a good deal more ‘usual’ than they usually were.”
Trouble had begun when it was admitted that Ray must go to town
to look after errands that only she could manage. Jean had complained
that the business in hand would keep Ray in town “the whole blessed
day,” and her mother had looked so grave when she acknowledged this
that it had immediately called forth another outburst.
“Mother remembers that she must get through with Saturday’s baking
and frying and all other extra-ing without the help of her efficient
eldest daughter, and only Jean to take her place. O mommie! I’m
almost sorrier for you than I am for myself.” Whereupon she flew
at her mother with kisses and caresses, petitioning her not to worry;
that she, Jean, would help all day like a tornado; see if she didn’t.
Florence’s dismay over the state of things had been too deep
for words. She felt that they all ought to know without her saying it
that she would be by far the greatest sufferer through Ray’s absence.
A function of importance in her social world was to take place
that evening. A classmate who was about to marry into aristocratic
circles had invited a very select few to meet the prospective groom,
and Florence, being one of the elect, had her best gown partially
ripped ready to undergo a severe refurbishing. Of course, there had
been a tacit understanding that Ray was to assume the lion’s share
of the work. Mrs. Forman had not for several years been able to do
much sewing, and she frankly admitted that since Ray had come to the
front she had lost what little skill in that direction she had
possessed. No wonder that Jean, having almost smothered her mother,
had turned to the trouble-faced seamstress with another doleful:
“Poor Florence! I’m awfully sorry for you; if I only knew how,
I could help you like a whirlwind.”
“I have no doubt but you would, and be almost as useful!” was
Florence’s answer.
She was too troubled to be other than sarcastic over the doubtful
offer. It was just at that moment that the thump of a crutch
was heard in the hall.