The dawn brought confidence and no small feeling of triumph to all of
them. The nurse, the Carrington specialist and Cecily’s mother all
arrived and with the verdict of the trusted doctor that the baby was
small but healthy and that Cecily was in no danger, they all began to
enjoy the adventure in retrospect. Cecily could not be moved for at
least ten days and the nurse tried to arrange the room as pleasantly and
conveniently as possible, rather arousing a smoldering ire in Mrs. Olson
until Dick, taking her aside, slipped a check into her hand of
sufficient size to feed and clothe the little Olsons for the winter.
After that the nurse had things her own way. Much of Cecily’s equipment
had been brought already and her stepfather arrived later with a great
bunch of roses that towered above Mrs. Olson’s best white water pitcher.
It was obviously impossible for them all to stay in Allenby. Mrs. Warner
took a room at a neighbor’s house, the nurse stayed with Cecily on a
camp bed imported from Carrington, and everything became quickly ordered
and made comfortable by the ease of wealth. But the shock, the healthy
encounter with an experience which is no respecter of wealth and
convenience, was to remain in the minds of each of the four participants
for a long time.
Matthew was to take Fliss back to Carrington in the afternoon, for Dick
refused to stir for another twenty-four hours. Sleeping in the kitchen
with Mr. Olson meant nothing to him, he declared. So he stayed. The
nurse was keeping Cecily very quiet, but she let the departing
adventurers in for a few moments. Matthew saw first the big clothes
basket on a chair by the window and then Cecily, with her hair braided
tightly back and dark circles under her eyes. For an instant he looked
from one to the other, obviously unable to speak.
“Take a look at my daughter,” said Cecily.
Matthew obeyed. Then he came over to the bedside and looked at Cecily,
laying a nervous, strangely hot hand on hers.
“It’s a shame I got you into all this.”
“It’s worked out all right and it wasn’t your fault at all. I insisted
on coming. The baby’s healthy and I’m strong--and the experience! You’ve
told me I lacked experience and that my life was cushioned. Well, this
wasn’t cushioned.”
“God knows it wasn’t.”
The girls looked at each other and Cecily suddenly felt her eyes fill
with tears.
“I’ll never forget your seeing me through, Fliss. Never.”
Fliss bent over her and kissed her. She had passed the stage of her
first emotion and was ready to recognize what a lucky incident the whole
thing had been for her. Mrs. Warner had said the same thing that Cecily
had just said. She was established in that family and she knew it. Now
that Cecily was comfortable, that she was out of peril and surrounded by
American Beauty roses, down comforters and in her own silk nightdress,
Fliss could afford to take account of stock and see how her own had
risen.
“Good-by, Cecily. When you get back to town I’ll be around to see you.”
“As soon as I get back,” Cecily pledged her.
“Take care of my foster daughter.”
There was an interesting moment--as Fliss crossed to the improvised
cradle and stood looking down at the baby, an expression on her face
which could mask no ulterior motive. The queer little thing that she had
seen come into the world, struggling, seemed to make her feel shaken.
“Come on, Matthew, Cecily’s tired and we must hurry.”
* * * * *
It was a strange convalescence and perhaps an unusually healthy one, for
there was no excitement and a great deal of quiet. The brunt of the
inconvenience now fell on the nurse and Cecily had only to lie for long,
silent hours, thinking over the whole wonderful event. She listened to
the voices of the children outside her window, marveling that they had
been born just as her child was born, and the roots of that solidarity
of motherhood which all mothers feel for each other began to grow in
her. She had come to that stage in marriage when the mysteries are
shared, not with one other individual, but with a whole sex. Dimly the
great expansiveness of motherhood began to dawn upon her mind.
All this expressed itself not only in her dreaming, but in her
curiosity. She plied the nurse with questions. Physiology and psychology
of other mothers fascinated her. The cases of the nurse, in so far as
she would talk about them, were an endless source of interest. Dick
joined her in her interest. Step by step they went over the story of the
birth again and again. But then Dick left it and went to town, carrying
with him the consciousness of his fatherhood, to be sure, but
temporarily overlaying that interest with business and masculine
contact. Cecily lay in bed and thought and talked on about women and
mothers. She had not the slightest intention of playing upon her
illness. She was quick to feel her energy coming back and rejoiced in
it. There was not a suggestion of querulousness in her manner. That she
took the luxury and the petting which surrounded her as things natural
to her was not to be wondered at.
But there was a great deal of praising and petting, and while Dick was
triumphant he was also surrounded by an atmosphere that made him feel
vaguely apologetic for having to undergo so little inconvenience
himself. He was ready enough to admit the apparent unfairness of the
situation. Not that it had ever struck him before. If he had considered
it at all before his marriage he would have said that women had to have
children, but men had to rustle to support them and called it fair
enough. In the face of his personal situation it seemed different.
Cecily, frail and pitiable, seemed indeed to be bearing the heavy end.
It was Fliss who got a real sociological slant on the situation. She
visited Cecily’s house before Cecily returned to Carrington, ostensibly
to return a scarf which she had borrowed of Cecily for the eventful
ride, but really to see and have a gossip with Ellen. Ellen was
scrupulous. She would not join Fliss in the living-room and Fliss was
compelled to sit in Cecily’s room while Ellen polished the furniture.
Ellen was very much excited about all that had happened--a little
disappointed at not having been nearer the center of action herself, but
determined to make up for that by making Cecily’s homecoming as
comfortable as possible. The baby having been born, the pink afghan had
been hastened to completion and now lay in state on the foot of the
crib.
“Poor Mrs. Harrison,” said Ellen, “she’s been through a lot, hasn’t
she?”
Fliss shrugged her shoulders in impatience. “You all make me sick,” she
said; “she hasn’t been through more than any other woman, has she?”
But she gave Ellen no chance to answer.
“She had a bad time for twenty-four hours--no, about twelve hours. And
for that the whole town sits back and gasps with pity, because it’s
Cecily--Cecily who’s been used to ‘everything.’ What got on my nerves
was to see what all women had to suffer. But I don’t see that Cecily
hasn’t got it so much easier than most people that she doesn’t need my
pity or any one else’s. Nurses and doctors and silk quilts and
embroidered layettes take a good deal of sting out of having babies, I
should think. And Dick acting as if he ought to grovel in the earth
because his wife presented him with a baby! I dropped in to see May
Robinson on the way here to-day. She’s expecting another and doing her
own housework. And her husband is on the road and only gets home for
week ends. May isn’t being so darn coddled. She’s worried sick about how
they’re going to afford the new one. I can’t say that I’m especially
sorry for Cecily.”
Ellen gave the dressing table a last flourishing polish and took refuge
in her usual philosophy.
“Well, that’s how things are,” she said. “Some people have more than
others. But that’s no reason why you can’t be sorry for a pretty young
girl like Mrs. Harrison having a thing like that happen when she’s miles
away from home and help and all.”
“She had me,” grinned Fliss, and went on with a brief recital of what
she and Mrs. Olson had done. Ellen listened with interest, although with
some embarrassment.
“It was certainly fine of you, Fliss.”
“Fine nothing. It was the luckiest thing that ever came my way.”
Ellen looked her question.
“Don’t you see how solid it makes me with the Harrisons? It gives me a
real connection. Cecily never will forget a single thing that happened,
and among other things she probably won’t forget that I was the first
person to hold her baby. Yes--the greatest luck I ever had, for there’s
more than that to it. Matthew Allenby knows I’m on earth at last. Of
course, it’s Cecily he’s gone on, but because he thinks I was useful for
once--especially to the angelic Cecily--he actually noticed me as if I
were more than a mechanical toy. And he’s quite a person, Ellen!”
Ellen did not answer and Fliss began to wander around the room looking
at things. She opened Cecily’s wardrobe and pushed dress after dress
along the sliding rod in envious review.
“Lord, what it must be to be rich,” she sighed, “what fun--what fun!”
“Come,” said Ellen, “come out in the kitchen and I’ll fix you a bit of
lunch. You need it,” she added sagely. “You’re always sort of longing
when you’re hungry.”
Fliss laughed and caught her cousin around the waist, waltzing her about
ecstatically.
“You old darling--wait till I am rich and see what I’ll do for you.”
“Look out--Mrs. Harrison’s rugs,” cautioned Ellen.