A WINTER’S VIGIL
Everything was ready for the long drive shortly after midnight. As
Bess stepped out-of-doors and beheld the glorious moonlight making
everything as bright as gold, she wished she were being tucked snugly
into the seat beside her friend, that she might enjoy the drive over
the hard, smooth road.
The good-byes had all been said, but Bess climbed up beside Berenice
Morton to give her one more farewell kiss, then ran quickly into the
house. She flung herself upon the couch and burst into passionate,
burning tears, the first which had come to release the tension upon the
overwrought nerves.
Mrs. West sat quietly beside her, soothing her, gently touching her
brow and hands. At length the quiet, regular respirations told her that
Bess had fallen asleep. She softly folded a blanket about the girl;
then, replenishing the fire in the grate, sat down to watch and wait
until she should awaken. Once, when she could not hear a breath nor see
the slight movement of the blanket, she hastily touched the unconscious
form. The eyes opened for a moment, then, with a smile upon her lips
Bess immediately relapsed into sleep. All night the woman watched,
heedless of the chill creeping upon her, disregardful of her own great
weariness. The dawn crept in at the window and peered into her white,
careworn face, pointing a warning finger; then lifted it toward the
mountain-tops and behold ’twas morning!
With stiffened limbs Mrs. West arose, and leaving a tender kiss upon
the girl’s hand, turned to leave the room. With the flash of a sun-beam
shining into her eyes, Bess sprang to her feet just as Mrs. West
reached the door.
“Little Mother! Is it late? Why! I have not been in bed!” she exclaimed
with bewilderment, as she saw that she was still dressed.
“Do not hurry, dear. I—I just came in to make a fire, and
to—to—see—if—you were—warm,” came with effort, as the woman held onto
the door for support. Bess ran quickly to her.
“Mother—Mother, what is it? See! you are cold,—your hands, your face!
You have been here with me all night? Oh! why—why?” cried Bess, half
beside herself. She almost carried Mrs. West across the hall into her
room. Quickly she disrobed the shaking form and placed it in bed. She
worked with all her strength, now hurrying with hot water, now rubbing
and chafing the rigid limbs. For hours she labored unceasingly, but no
relief came to the stricken woman. Mrs. White had been summoned, and
together they worked, doing everything within their power and knowledge
to relieve the sufferer.
A physician could not reach the ranch before the next day, and Bess
feared that he might then be too late. Oh, if Henry had only sent one
of the men to make the drive to Selish instead of insisting upon going
himself, she thought, as she went to the door at frequent intervals to
see if he were coming.
When he came and saw how ill his mother was, dire forebodings filled
his mind. She did not know him as he sat by her side and spoke her
name, but kept calling “Helen.” Bess would respond to the call and at
once the woman would be pacified.
For days Henry West and Bess attended the sick woman, relieving each
other, that a few hours’ sleep might be snatched. Once when she called
her son’s name Henry answered eagerly, “I’m near, Mother dear! Don’t
you know me?”
With great effort she lifted her pale, wan hand and gently touched his
cheek with her fingers. Tears of joy that she knew him rushed to his
eyes, but in a moment more she was again calling hopelessly for her son
to come.
Pneumonia, the physician had named the illness. He came often by boat
from Kalispell and remained for several hours each time. Bess would not
permit her place to be supplanted by a nurse so long as the physician
approved of her work. In fact, he told Henry West, that no one could
do better nor more than Miss Fletcher. Yet, when he saw that the girl
was growing thin and pale, tired from the hard work of nursing, and
worn because of the mental strain, he tried to force her to desist lest
she should become ill. With a look of entreaty in her brown eyes and a
determined smile upon her firm lips she said that no one could attend a
Mother like a daughter.
When the first snow came late one November day, filling all the
land with purity, crowning every rock with softness, clothing each
outstretched limb on pine and fir with a garment of whitest down, there
also came a change in the sick-room. Mrs. West had lain in a profound
slumber for several hours, and when she awoke her mind was cleared of
the mist. She was too weak to move and very faintly came the words,
“Henry—Bess,” as her eyes moved to the two silent watchers on either
side of the bed. Oh, the joyous looks of understanding which these two
exchanged, to know that after all, their care and watching and waiting
had been rewarded!
Weeks followed. Mrs. West was propped up against her pillow for a short
time on Christmas day, when the Yuletide was marked with decorations of
beautiful Oregon grape and long sprays of kinnikinick which Bess had
dug from beneath the snow and placed artistically in the sick-room.
Bess sang, at her request, one of her beautiful songs. Tokens of
remembrance came from James and Berenice Morton, which filled the girl
with sadness and loneliness. Toward evening, as she went out to refresh
herself with a short ride, she discovered a beautiful, new saddle and
bridle upon her horse.
When at last the long, anxious winter gave place to promising
springtime, Mrs. West slowly convalesced from her tedious illness. May
came with calling birds, the tender greens, the soft air at noon-day,
bringing strength to her each day. Bess, too, was growing rosy cheeked
and strong from her long rides in the fresh, pure air. She seemed to
be as happy and vivacious as when she had come to _HW_ Ranch a year
before. The ordeal of Mrs. West’s illness had crowded out her own
painful experience and had made her sweeter, stronger, better than she
ever had been before. When bitter moments of remembrance occurred to
her she fought out her misery alone, and no other eyes ever saw her
pain or knew that the sting was not wholly gone. Once James had written
her that he had seen Dave Davis—or rather Dayton Davies—in New York;
that at first he had not recognized him so changed and dissolute was
his appearance.
Now that Mrs. West was fully recovered, Bess had written to her brother
that she would soon rejoin him in New York. She had wished first to
spend a few days in witnessing the round-up of horses in June. Bess had
been anxious to attend one of the round-ups, and now she decided to
avail herself of the opportunity of witnessing some of the marvelous
exhibitions of which she had heard so much.