A MOTHER'S LOVE
Mrs. Boyd had not stirred. Lilian bent over her and found the breathing
very faint. Miss Arran sat by the window and merely glanced up. The girl
buried her face in the pillow and heard again the soft, finely modulated
voice, the clasp of the hand that meant so much, the promise for
tomorrow.
"If they were not so rich," her musings ran, "If I could do something
for her. Oh, it seems too much. If we could go away--but to face all the
girls, to hear the comments."
"Miss Boyd, can you spare me a few moments," said Mrs. Dane. "Mrs. Arran
will watch."
Lilian followed to Mrs. Dane's room.
"Miss Boyd, I have an apology to make to you, and I am honest enough to
confess it. I can't just tell why, but I did take a dislike to you and
your mother. She seemed very weak and as if she was afraid a baleful
secret might come to light, and you were the master mind holding some
curious power over her."
"Oh, it was not that," cried Lilian, eagerly. "It was because in her
simple life she had not been accustomed to the usages that obtained in
the larger world. Often I did guide her a little. She was very timid."
"And it seemed to me--of course I understand it now, that you held your
head quite too high for your mother's daughter. I was brought up to do
my duty in that station of life to which it should please God to call
me, and not try to get out of it. You seemed above it--somehow----"
"Oh, did I act that way? I was only trying to do _my_ duty to the
classes and to Mrs. Barrington. I did not mean to seem above my
station," and there was sob in her voice.
"My dear, don't cry. My apology would not be worth half so much if I
held back part of the price. I think I was a little jealous of Mrs.
Barrington's favor for you, as I had a curious suspicion that something
not quite orthodox might come out about you, that you really were not
her child. You see I was not so far out of the way after all, and that
evening I accused you of having gone to the Clairvoyants--we had just
heard the death was from malignant scarlet fever. It would have ruined
the school for a long while to have it break out here, you know. If the
person had come out in the open so that I could have seen, but her
darting back, and I think there was more than one. It seems even now as
if it did look like you, but it might have been because it was like the
Tam you wore. And you appeared so embarrassed over it."
"Oh, could you believe that I would have told such a falsehood?" she
cried, hurt to the very quick.
"We thought it best to take precautions. Then Mrs. Boyd had her stroke
and then came her confession and all that has happened since. Your
devotion to that poor woman was enough to stamp the nobleness of your
character, and it is not because you are Major Crawford's daughter that
I say this--that I am ashamed of my prejudices and beg you to forgive
me. Mrs. Barrington was right from the beginning and you are worthy of
the best of fortune."
"Oh, Mrs. Dane--" and her voice broke.
"I should have felt myself contemptible if I had not made this amends,
and now if you will shake hands with me----"
"Gladly. And I thank you for the kindliness towards my--yes, she _was_
my mother all these years and the sympathy you showed me even before it
was proved who my real father was."
"And I wish you much joy and happiness, which you will surely have. And
you will be fitted to grace any position. You will have one of the
loveliest of women for a mother, and two brothers who, so far, have been
most exemplary. And that darling, Zay--the whole town loves her."
Lilian wiped her eyes, and pressed Mrs. Dane's hand fervently. Would Zay
proffer her a sister's love?
She went back to Mrs. Boyd, who suddenly opened her eyes and smiled,
then the thin lids fell. How she had wasted away! She tried to recount
to herself all the kindnesses, the sacrifices Mrs. Boyd had made. And
though the boarding house had been of the commonest sort there had never
seemed any real pinches. She had even saved up money. It was the long
illness and the changes incident to it that had not only reduced their
little store, but broken her health and made her fearful of the future.
She had taken up the sewing then. Four years there had been of that.
Lilian remembered how proud she had been to enter the High School among
the best scholars.
And some day she would teach. It was such a delightful vision. She
studied other things beside the ordinary lessons. She loved to play and
at times when she had turned her brain almost upside down she ran out
and had a game of tag with the girls.
There were other evenings when she overcast long seams and pulled
bastings, and the last year she had learned to sew on the machine. With
scanty living and steady work, her mother had dropped down and down. But
she was glad she had offered to go in the shop. When matters were a
little easier she might try night school she had thought.
And this beautiful school was like an entrance into a land of romance.
The luxurious living, at least it seemed so to her, would soon restore
her mother's health. The duties were light. She had time for reading and
oh, the lovely things! She did at times wish there had been some other
position for her mother, like that of Miss Arran's. But she understood
that Mrs. Boyd could not fill that. She lacked something, she had no
real dignity, no self-assertion. She allowed the girls to order her, and
Lilian wondered how these rich girls, who in some respects had polished
manners, could be so ill bred. For somehow she understood the
difference.
There were several with whom she might have been good friends, but she
was too proud to step outside of what she considered her real station.
And now this wonderful event had come to her and she seemed to
understand the thoughts and feelings that had been such a mystery. When
she had been clasped to her true mother's heart, it appeared to her as
if a veil had been drawn aside, and she had stepped into a larger room,
replete with all she had vaguely dreamed about. That Crawford House was
one of the fine old places, she knew, but she never thought of that
luxurious living where all the tomorrows had been provided for. She
would have gone to the simplest cottage for that mother's love.
Would Zaidee Crawford give her a sister's warm welcome? She would never
grudge her anything money could buy; but she, Lilian, must seem like an
interloper to them. And to share her mother's love with a stranger!
Miss Arran entered the room.
"You ought to go to bed, Miss Boyd. I will sit here and watch. Your
mother seems asleep."
Lilian changed her dress for a comfortable wrapper, kissed her mother's
forehead and pressed the cold hands. She did not stir; but then she had
lain this way for hours at a time. The girl drew up her cot to the side
of her mother's bed and laid down. The clocks all about were striking
midnight.
It had not been so tranquil at Crawford House. Dinner had been rather
quiet; no one seemingly to want to talk at any length. Afterward, Major
Crawford had said--
"Let us all go up to mother's room. I have a singular explanation to
make to you two children. Aunt Kate has known it these two days."
"There has seemed something mysterious in the air," exclaimed Willard,
"only I am sure nothing worse has happened to mother. She looks so
extraordinarily happy, and Zay is about again."
"We must go back to the time of the accident," began the Major. "We
thought we had overlived the sorrow and we had never expected any joy
for the outcome."
He paused to steady his voice, then began the story of the other woman,
the only passenger who carried an infant, her hours of unconsciousness,
her hearing the cry of the child and claiming it and then learning that
the woman she believed its mother had been killed and full of pity for
it, since her own had been mangled and carried away, resolved to take it
and care for it. She left the next day--
"Oh, you don't mean she took our baby," cried Willard passionately, his
eyes aflame.
"She took our baby. She has cared for it all these years through poverty
and failing health and now that she is dying, she thought the child
ought to know. They have been at Mrs. Barrington's since some time in
August."
Zaidee sprang up, but her face was ghostly pale and there was a
tremulous protest in her voice.
"Oh, it is that Mrs. Boyd, the caretaker and her daughter!" she
exclaimed, drawing a long strangling breath full of protest.
"Our daughter," said her father with emphasis. Then he went on to relate
how the matter had been brought to his notice and his unreasonable anger
at first as he could not doubt the story vouched for by Doctor
Kendricks, his interview with the child and Mrs. Barrington, Mrs.
Crawford's visit to her yesterday.
"What a wonderful story!" Willard sprang up and began to pace the
floor. "I suppose it _is_ true. That baby couldn't have died and she
adopted another one."
"How do we know that she did not?" said Miss Crawford, protestingly.
"She was anxious that the girl in some manner might find her father's
people. You see, she was sure the mother was dead. Oh, there is enough
to convince you all. Dr. Kendricks and Mr. Ledwith have no doubt of the
truth of her story. There is no scheme in it. And it was thought best,
in her weakened state, not to try any explanations."
"It was nurse Jane who died, and the dead baby was buried with her. Ah,
one glance at the girl would convince you," said the mother in the
tenderest voice.
"But--why didn't she come here at once?"
"She was very noble about it. And this is another factor in the story.
She would not leave the mother who had worked and toiled for her; so you
see she was not tempted by the thought of advancement. She was afraid to
believe the outcome of the story at first. Oh, I am proud of her, though
at first I was really cruel. I wanted the woman punished."
"After all," said Willard, "if the baby had been friendless and an
orphan it would have been very noble in her."
"You shall read her confession some day. It is pathetic. She thought
she had lost her all and clung to the baby. Oh, we must all forgive
her."
"And what do you mean to do?" asked Miss Crawford. "It is going to make
a great stir for it cannot be kept a secret, and I hate gossip about
families."
"Yes, the thing must be explained. I have given what of the story I want
known to a reporter this afternoon. After the poor woman has gone,
Marguerite will come here to her true home and life."
"Why, Zay, you must have known her at the school," said Willard. "It
seems she was studying----"
"Oh, they are all on the other side away from the boarders. She was in
the study room an hour in the evening, with the smaller girls. We were
all at a different table that we had to ourselves. And--somehow, I never
saw much of her. I didn't have to go to Mrs. Boyd for my mending."
Aunt Kate had put her arm about Zay at the beginning of the story. The
mother noted with a pang that there was no real welcome in this
daughter's face. Was it jealousy?
Willard stood between his parents and laid a hand on the shoulder of
each.
"Oh," in a voice freighted with emotion. "I can't tell you how glad and
thankful I am that this sorrow of years is to be turned into such a
great all-pervading joy. We will be a perfect family again. Why, it will
be the romance of our lives! It almost makes me wish I were not going
away. And since you have seen her and are satisfied--mother----"
He stooped to kiss her.
"Oh," she returned, brokenly, "I want you all to love her, and be
patient with Zay. She has always been first so long."
"I think if I was a girl I'd be wild to have a sister to tell things
to--the little things a fellow tells his sweetheart, I suppose, when he
has one," laughing. "Vin and I discuss our gettings along and our hopes
and some funny scrapes that boys get into. But girls look at the
romantic side. And you can't think--but _I'm_ proud of this romance.
Why, it will be something to tell over to our children, and father's
been a trump, but I think it's a good deal owing to you. Oh, I hope
_she_ is like you."
The mother smiled as she kissed him.
Zay came to say good-night. Her face had grave lines that were not wont
to be there.
"Oh, my darling," the mother said, "this is one of the things that
cannot make any difference in our love for you. And if you could only
understand the burthen it had lifted off my soul. A hundred times I have
said: 'Oh, why did I take baby Marguerite on that journey?' She was so
strong and well and I was so proud of her, I wanted your father to see
her."
"And you will be proud of her again. She is going to be a fine scholar,
and I'm just pretty to look at, that's all! I can't make myself love
anyone all in a moment," and she gave a little sob.
"My child, the love will come if you do not steel your heart against it.
Think, Zay, a twin sister----"
"But she is larger, different and a sort of story heroine. Everyone will
be interested in her and I shall be pushed quite to the wall."
"Oh, Zay, you are a foolish little girl. But you have had all the
admiration and love, and we must wait patiently until you understand
that love can never be impoverished by giving. Think of this, pray for a
generous heart, and let her love you."
Aunt Kate was waiting in her room. And Zay's overcharged heart gave way
to a passion of weeping on the friendly bosom.
"Dear, I know how hard it is to be crowded out. Of course everyone will
flock around her for a while and never having had much admiration she
will be the more eager for it. And as will be perfectly natural when the
first interest is worn off, the real grain will be apparent and I dare
say she will show her common breeding. Why, this Mrs. Boyd had next to
no education. I shouldn't want anyone to see that so-called confession,
but I dare say your father will keep it close enough, for he would be
ashamed to have any one see it. I'm sorry the story had to get abroad,
but your father thought there would be so many surmises, and perhaps,
exaggerations. It's a horrid thing to live through, but your mother is
so much happier. Why, she seemed ten years younger. And you will always
have a staunch friend in me. No one can oust you from my heart if she
had all the gifts of the nine graces. Oh, you will come back to your
rightful place, never fear."
But Zay wept herself to sleep with an ache in her heart that crowded out
all tender feelings.
After a long while Lilian Boyd fell asleep and there came no
disturbance. Just at daylight Miss Arran leaned over the bed and touched
the cold face, felt for the heart. There was not the faintest motion.
There had not been a sound or a sigh, she had just lapsed into her
dreamless sleep. She summoned Mrs. Dane.
"It is much better so. There will be nothing painful to remember," said
that lady.
"Mother, mother!" and Lilian roused suddenly.
"My dear," said Miss Arran, "she has gone to her rest in the most
peaceful manner. The doctor said it might be so, and you have done your
full duty. My dear, you can go to your own mother's arms with the
clearest conscience. I am glad, we are all glad that you elected to
stay, though your father, in his first indignation, would have swept you
away. I hardly see how you won your way. Come to Mrs. Dane's room and
have a cup of coffee."
She gave one long look at the still face. Oh, how thin and worn it was,
yet there was a certain peacefulness that comforted the girl. Mrs.
Harrington came in and kissed her tenderly. "It is all as we would have
it," she said. "And whatever mistake Mrs. Boyd might have made must be
balanced by the thought that if there had been no one, as she believed,
she would have taken you to her heart just as gladly, done for you with
the same cheerfulness. This is what she did; you must always keep it in
mind. And now--can you help make some arrangements? Whatever money is
needed----"
"Oh, Mrs. Barrington, I think there will be enough. She still had some
of her insurance money that she had used only in emergencies. And we
have needed so little here. Oh, you have all been so kind," in her
grateful, broken voice.
Then Dr. Kendricks was announced.
"I supposed it would be that way," he said.
"Shall I make arrangements for the funeral. There is no one, I
suppose----"
"It is too far away from her old friends for any of them to come, and I
am sure Lilian would like it as simple and quiet as possible. I should
say tomorrow morning. No one will go out of curiosity."
"Then I will see about it at once. The Major is all impatience to have
his daughter."
"You must come and share my room," Mrs. Barrington said to Lilian.
"Oh, she really doesn't seem any different to me," the girl returned.
"She has slept so much the last few days, and it is what we have
expected. God has taken her in His keeping and she will have those
belonging to her. It is a blessed thought."
She sat reading by the window when the Crawford phæton drove up. Her
first feeling was that she could not meet her father. But a young man
sprang out and the coachman took charge of the horses.
"It is your brother," announced Mrs. Barrington. "Oh, do try and see
him. Your mother wishes it so much."
Lilian went down and was clasped to her mother's heart and held there
many seconds.
"This is your brother Willard, who is soon to leave for Washington and
he begged so much to see a little of you. His will be a three years'
cruise, and I am doubly glad to have found another child in view of his
long absence."
Lilian glanced up. It was such a frank, kindly face, too young yet for
any of his father's sternness.
"Oh, my dear, I wonder if you will ever understand how precious you are
going to be to us all. It is like one raised from the dead. I shall go
away with a lighter heart, seeing that mother and father have you. We
boys have been so much to the house with our stirring interests; now it
will be you and Zaidee. I shall think of you so often. Why, I can
readily believe any fairy story, and it almost breaks father's heart
that you have been so near all these months and none of us known it. You
will not feel hurt if he sometimes should show a little--" he paused
with a flush. "For after all it might have been her child who was
saved----" and she felt the shiver go over him.
"And to know that you were loved all these years," said the mother
holding out her arms, and both children went to them. "And that you
never really suffered for anything. Sometimes I hardly dare believe in
and accept this great blessing."
"Oh, I hope I will prove a blessing," Lilian said, with a great tremble
in her voice. "You are so good to take me in, to love and trust me,
knowing so little about me."
For of late she had been learning how much children could be to parents.
"But I think Mrs. Barrington had opportunities of knowing," returned her
mother with a warm pressure, and fond smile.
Willard had been studying her. "There's something about her like you,
mother, and something that recalls Vincent. Oh, won't he be surprised!
He will want to fly home again. Oh, you will not mind if Zaidee carries
off the family beauty. She is such a dear! And we ought to have one
star of the goodly Crawford family."
"I am glad, and I thought her lovely at the first glance. Why, the girls
are quite wild about her. I shall not mind anything so long as you all
love me. Oh, I will try to deserve it."
There were tears in her eyes and her mother kissed her tenderly. Then
they talked about her coming home which could not be until her whole
duty was performed and there was no omission to think of.
Yet they went lingeringly, loth to leave her.
"She has a great deal of character;" said Willard. "She seems more
mature than Zay. I am glad they are not alike, though it seems rather
out of the order for twins. Oh, mother, I can foresee that she will be a
great deal to _you_ in a womanly way. We can never thank God enough for
her."
"And all these years, amid the suffering, I have always thought if I had
left my darling at home. I was so proud of her I wanted your father to
see her. Zaidee was not such a fine looking baby. We had both so
ardently desired a daughter; indeed we had often said two boys and two
girls was an ideal family."
"And I wouldn't give up Vin--boys have a delightful interest in each
others' lives and doings. I suppose sisters feel the same way. That
is--well, it will be a little strange at first. Zay has been our queen
so long, and it can't be quite like living together from infancy."
"No. So we must make allowance for both of them until they reach the
true level of birthright. Marguerite is very proud and has unusually
well defined ideas of duty, while we have never put anything but love
before Zay. I expect we have spoiled her."
Mount Morris was startled in the midst of its Christmas festivities by
the remarkable announcement that Marguerite, the twin baby of Major and
Mrs. Crawford, had been miraculously saved from the wreck, where the
nurse and several others had perished. Another passenger whose baby had
been killed, thinking the nurse was the true mother of the child, had
taken it to her heart out of pity for the helpless little creature, and
gone farther westward before real inquiries could be made as to whether
there were any relatives living.
Mrs. Crawford had insisted upon softening what her husband had
considered a crime on the part of Mrs. Boyd.
"Think how she must have loved the little creature she thought
friendless, to burden herself with it. And I am so thankful _my_ baby
found loving care. Why, she might have perished with neglect through
that dreadful time. We can do nothing for her and we will not, must not,
traduce her motives, when they were prompted by an overwhelming love."
So it was represented that Mrs. Boyd had taken the position at Mrs.
Barrington's that her adopted child might be better educated as her own
health was failing, which after all was the truth, though Lilian's
pleading had been a special factor.
The poor woman's burial had been quiet, in the early morning. Mrs.
Barrington and Miss Arran had gone with Lilian whose great regret had
been that there was not sufficient money to send her to Laconia to sleep
beside her husband and her little son, but she gave thanks that there
was no need of benevolence though Mrs. Barrington had insisted she
should supply any need.
She had begged that she might be left at the school over Sunday, and
Mrs. Crawford found herself so shaken by all the excitement that she
assented the more readily. Zaidee was quite well again and laughed at
herself for having been so easily alarmed. There had been no cases of
illness in the town and the clairvoyant had taken her family to a city
at some distance.
"It really would be the part of wisdom to go to the city if you felt
well enough," Aunt Kate said to her sister-in-law. "Of course there will
be a good deal of talk, and it is but natural that our friends should
desire to see the new daughter of the house. It is a most excellent
thing that Dr. Kendricks has been mixed up with it all and can vouch for
the truth. And the child might get some training to fit her for her new
position."
"Mrs. Barrington has had her in training for some time, and from the
very first was attracted by her natural grace and dignity; and her
strength of character," was the reply, "and her father found
resemblances to me in the first interview!"
"But the years before would naturally leave some impress. Mrs. Boyd, it
seems, had not much education, and they must have lived in the commoner
streets with all kinds of people. I feel something as brother does, that
I can hardly forgive her for robbing the child of her natural
birthright and subjecting her to plebian surroundings."
Mrs. Crawford winced and flushed a little. Her last remembrance of the
smiling, cooing baby, bright eyed and full of health and sweetness,
never faded from her mind, and she fancied now she should have the same
instinctive impressions that had puzzled Mrs. Barrington. Aunt Kate
might be rather captious at first, but she could pardon it and
understand it as well, for she had been a most devoted mother to Zaidee.
Then, too, school would begin so soon and all these little breaks would
bring about the finer claims of relationship.
No one went to church on Sunday. Mrs. Crawford was not quite up to the
mark, and Aunt Kate declared she could not face the curious eyes or
answer a question. The Major longed to go over to Mrs. Barrington's but
some feeling of delicacy restrained him.
Lilian had come home from the lonely burial like one in a strange dream.
The brief illness, the excitement of the confession, the quiet passing
out of existence had transpired so rapidly that she could hardly make it
real. She almost expected to find Mrs. Boyd lying there on the bed when
she entered the room. She felt that Mrs. Boyd had never taken root at
Mount Morris; she smiled sadly thinking of Mrs. Dane's suspicions that
there was some secret between them, that she, Lilian, was afraid would
come to light. But she had never in her wildest moments dreamed of the
truth. Mrs. Boyd had all the limitation of a commonplace nature, sweet,
devoted, with no lofty aspirations. The refinements of Barrington House
wore upon her. She did try, for Lilian's sake, to adapt herself to some
of them but the effort was plainly visible to practiced eyes. If she had
lived--but then the confession would hardly have been made. For, with
all the unlikeness, Lilian had never suspected the truth.
Oh, why had not God given this poor starved life its rightful
surroundings? If Mrs. Boyd had lived! If there had been a number of
merry, satisfied children going cheerfully to work in shops and
factories when school days were over, having lovers, marrying and
repeating their mother's life! For the world was full of ordinary happy
people with no high ideals. Was there something in heredity?
No, she could not have been content with that destiny. She must have
worked and striven for a higher round, for some intellectual
advancement. Yet, how many of these girls at school really cared for it
with all their advantages? It was not mere money that inspired one, and
she almost wished she were not going in that upper atmosphere.