CREEPING BACK
For days Nancy lay babbling in delirium, her head, shorn of its golden
locks, tossing from side to side. When he was first called in, Dr.
Plummer shook his head dubiously. "Who is with you here, Aunt Parthy?"
he asked.
"'Tain't nobody, doctah, jes' at de present 'ceptin' Iry. Miss Ober she
been an' stay a while, an' Miss Greenway she stay a while, dat jes' at
fust, when Miss Nancy lef' by huhse'f. Den she up an' say she don' want
nobody but jes' Iry an' me; she don' want no strangers meddlin' wif
her ma's things. She don' say dat to dem, min' yuh, but she say so to
me, an she jes' sweet an' perlite to 'em but she let 'em all know she
radder be lef' alone."
"She must have a trained nurse at once," decided the doctor.
"I kin nuss huh," declared Parthy, looking anxiously from the bed to
the doctor. "Dese yer train' nusses a lot o' trouble, dey tells me. Dey
say yuh bleedged wait on 'em han' an' foot, an' dey so high an' mighty
yuh kaint please 'em nohow. Dat what dey tells me. I kin nuss huh."
"No, Aunt Parthy, I'm afraid you can't," decided the doctor.
"What de reason I kaint?" persisted Parthy. "Ain't I nuss huh when she
have de measles an' de whookin' cough, an de chicken pox? Ain't I? What
Miss Jinny know 'bout nussin'. Law, doctah, I teks ker o' Miss Jinny
an' Miss Nancy bofe."
"I know that Parthy, and you did well, but this is quite a different
case and will require a skilful hand. I know you would do your best,
and we shall probably have to call on you to help out, but this child
has every symptom of brain fever. This ordeal has been too much for
her."
"Ain't it de troof now?" exclaimed Parthy. "I say she boun' be sick ef
she don' look out. Why, doctah, she ain't been eatin' nuff ter keep a
buhd alive, dis month pas', an' den de heat an' all huh trouble comin'
so sudden. Co'se huh brain giv out when she ain't feed it up."
Even the gravity of the situation did not prevent a little smile from
lurking around the doctor's lips at this speech. "Well, Parthy," he
said, "a trained nurse is an absolute necessity. I think I know just
the right person, and I can promise you she will give no more trouble
than is required. In the meantime I want you to carry out these
instructions"--he gave them to her--"and then I will go back and return
as soon as I can with Mrs. Bertram, the nurse I spoke of. With her help
and the Lord's I hope we can pull her through. Poor little thing! Poor
little thing!" So he left Nancy to Aunt Parthy's tender mercies.
Thus it was when at last Nancy opened her eyes to an actual world,
instead of the weird, and often terrible one, in which she had been for
so long, she beheld a strange, but kind and sympathetic face bent above
her. She gazed long and earnestly before she whispered faintly "Mamma!"
The nurse stroked the frail little hand which lay outside the coverlet,
but said nothing though her eyes were full of tenderness.
"Who are you?" Nancy added faintly. "I want mamma."
"I am your nurse, Mrs. Bertram," was the answer. "Don't try to talk,
dear. You have been very ill and must keep quiet."
Nancy, too weak to do else, closed her eyes, but gradually the
recollection of all that had happened returned to her, and tears began
to trickle from beneath her closed eyelids. But presently she heard a
soft voice ask: "She in her conscience yet, Mis' Bertry?" and opening
her eyes again she beheld Aunt Parthy standing by her bedside and
looking down upon her with loving concern. Nancy tried to lift a feeble
hand, murmuring "Oh, Mammy, Oh, Mammy," and the tears flowed faster.
"Dere, honey chile, dere now," said Parthy, soothingly, taking the slim
white hand in her strong black one. "Yo' ole Mammy gwine stay right
hyar whar yuh kin see huh ole black face. Don' yuh mou'n fo' yo' ma,
chile; she wid de angels a-lookin' down at yuh dis blessed minute. She
gone whar dey ain' no mo' weepin' an' sighin' er no mo' sickness er
dyin'. Jes yuh think o' dat. Hyah come de doctah. I say he be mighty
glad yuh come back outen dem shadders whar yuh been stayin'."
Dr. Plummer came near and smiled down benevolently upon his patient.
"Well, little one," he said, "you're better. Now we shall have you up
in no time."
"Why, why did you let me come back?" whispered Nancy. "They are all
gone, all gone, and no one wants me."
The doctor turned away and furtively wiped his glasses with what might
seem unnecessary fierceness. "Tut! Tut!" he exclaimed as he again
addressed his patient "We're not all gone, not a bit of it. You've more
friends in this place than you can count, beginning with myself and
Mrs. Bertram, not to mention Aunt Parthy. You'll be coming on finely
now. I expect you to be laughing at my stale old jokes before the week
is out."
Before the week was out she was not exactly laughing, but she was ready
to admit that life still held hopes for her, that the world offered
her beauty, that Heaven had given her friends. The presence of her
nurse was a great comfort, and she began to give her a devotion born
of helplessness and dependence. But even the doctor's jokes, Parthy's
pleasantries, or the tender, encouraging words of her calm and capable
nurse failed to alter the sad expression of her face or the sombre look
of her eyes, now all the larger because of the thinness of her face.
"Laws, chile," said Aunt Parthy one morning when she was anxiously
watching her nursling's attempts at eating breakfast, "I 'clar dem eyes
o' you'n teks up nigh de whole o' yo' purty li'l face. Kaint yuh eat no
mo' dan dat? Yuh 'min's me o' one dese yer li'l yaller chicks, picky,
picky, picky. Ain' dey nothin' yuh relishes? Ef dey anythin' yuh laks
Iry go right down town an' git it fo' yuh ef he have to comb de town
wif a fine toof comb ter git it. How yuh relishes a nice li'l weenty
piece o' duck er a slice o' young tu'key?"
Nancy shook her head. "I couldn't eat anything more, Mammy dear," she
said, "but I should like to see Mr. Weed. I think I am strong enough
now."
"Dat ole atomy? Honey, he so dry in de j'ints I don' know ef he kin git
hyar 'thout crackin', but Iry kin go fo' him ef yuh says so. He ole
atomy, dat man is. Ain't got no juice lef' in him. He 'minds me o' one
o' dese yer places in de woods whar dey ain' nothin' growin', nothin'
on de groun' but jes' pine needles. But yo' ma she trusses him, an' all
de Loomises trus' him so I reckons we bleedged trus' him, but he dat
dry he mos' choke yuh when yuh talks ter him."
Nancy smiled faintly. Nothing brought a smile to her lips more surely
than Aunt Parthy's rambling comments. She was sitting in a big chair
by the window of Mrs. Loomis's favorite room when Mr. Weed arrived.
Between the branches of the great trees she could see a far stretch
of country, the little town at the foot of the hills, and the railway
trains crossing a shining river and winding along in the distance. She
could also see the nearer view of the box-edged garden borders and the
gravelled path along which Mr. Weed was moving stiffly. She smiled as
she remembered Parthy's criticism, for his movements did suggest that
he might creak as he walked, but the smile faded away as she remembered
why she had sent for him, and she drew a deep sigh. She sat motionless
when he entered the room. She must brace herself for this ordeal.
She scarce paid attention to his inquiries after her health, his
felicitations upon her recovery, but cut these short by saying: "Please
sit down, Mr. Weed. I have something important to say to you," and she
did not wait a moment before making the announcement. "This place is
not mine, and I want you to tell me what I must do. Did you know, Mr.
Weed? Did you know?"
Mr. Weed regarded the floor for a moment before he answered, "Yes, I
knew."
Nancy drew a quick breath of relief and said with a sad little half
smile. "Then it would have been of no use if I had tried to keep it to
myself. I was tempted to at first, but I couldn't be so dishonorable,
of course. I think it was more because I hated to give up the name than
anything else."
Mr. Weed nodded. "I can believe that," he said. "It would have been
unnatural if you had not been tempted at first."
"But why, Mr. Weed, why was I not told in the first place? It would
have been so much easier for me if I had grown up with a knowledge of
the truth. But to come now, now, on top of everything else, I feel as
if I could not bear it." She gave a quick sob, but steadied herself at
once and said in a controlled voice, "Please tell me what you know and
why you didn't tell me."
The lawyer gave his sudden dry cough. "I couldn't, Miss Nancy, I
suppose it was cowardly, but I simply couldn't bring myself to the task
of hurting you. I told myself that it would be better for you to make
the discovery yourself, and that is why I suggested that you examine
Mrs. Loomis's papers. You found them, I conclude."
"Yes, I found them, papers, letters which told me----"
"Letters from your--from José Beltrán?"
"Yes. You have seen them?"
"I saw them a long time ago, when Mrs. Loomis first came to this place
after her husband's death."
"And she brought me with her. Why did she conceal the fact that I was
not her own child?"
"Because she meant to adopt you legally in place of the child she had
lost, to give you a legal right to the name she bore. She always meant
to do that, but, like many, many others, she deferred it from time to
time. She had a feeling that if it were known by her husband's family
you might not be treated with proper deference, and she was jealous for
you. She hoped to live to see you well married, then the name would
have made little difference. It was a wrong view which she took, but
it came more from a natural disinclination to trouble herself about
business than from any desire to harm you. I was able to persuade her
to make a will in which she left you all that was her own."
Nancy was silent before she asked: "Would I have had more if I had been
legally adopted?"
"Possibly; but we need not go into that now. The will was made long
ago."
"Poor, dear mamma," sighed Nancy. "At first, Mr. Weed, I felt very
bitterly toward her, as if she had done me a great wrong. I was very
wicked to feel so, for I know she thought she was doing her best, and I
have come to see that my feeling should be one of deep gratitude rather
than of bitterness. She did so much for me, me, a poor little waif but
it is a shock to know that my name is Anita Beltrán and not Nancy
Loomis, to know little of my father and nothing of my own mother. Do
you know anything more about me than is contained in those letters?"
"Nothing. I know only that you were deserted by your own mother; that
your father, in political difficulties, was obliged to leave Mexico,
that he went first to Cuba and then to New Orleans, where he died of
fever; that Mrs. Loomis took you, at the time of your father's flight,
brought you back with her from Mexico and reared you as her own."
"And her own child?"
"Was born in Mexico, lived but a short time and died there. Mr. Loomis
died while they were on their way home, and she came here a widow with
one child whom all believed to be her own. I think I was the only
person who was informed of the truth, and this because of necessity
rather than choice. Mrs. Loomis was still rather a young woman, and it
seemed possible that she might live for many years. I was not aware
that she had serious heart trouble till I learned so from Dr. Plummer
after her death."
"I never knew it, either. I knew she was not very strong, but that
there could be anything serious the matter never occurred to me. If I
had known"--she gave a little sob--"it might have been different. I
would have been more careful of her, more attentive."
"Ah, my dear, do not reproach yourself. You did not know and therefore
acted according to your lack of knowledge. I can appreciate your
feeling, for it has been my own in this case."
"It is good of you to say so," returned Nancy gratefully. "Most of what
you have been telling me, Mr. Weed, I gathered from those letters. I
shall keep them sacredly, all I have, all I shall ever have, probably,
of my own people. Now, will you please tell me what you think I should
do? I cannot live here under obligations to strangers upon whom I have
no claim. Will I have enough to live upon?"
"I would not worry about that yet. There are still some months in which
to settle up the estate. You can surely remain during the winter."
"I would rather not if it can be avoided. I have not much ready money."
"I will see that you are provided with sufficient for your needs until
your affairs are settled."
"Thank you. I suppose I could find a place where I could board cheaply,
but as soon as I am really well I must have something to employ my
time. I have been thinking that I might be able to teach. I know most
persons want trained teachers nowadays, but perhaps a family might
be willing to take me. I am rather a good musician, and I am quite
familiar with French. I know a little of Spanish, too. I see now why
Spanish was so easy to me, and why I am fond of it. I thought it was
because mamma liked it. My father was her teacher for a time, wasn't
he?"
"He was; and it was during that time that Mrs. Loomis saw you and was
so captivated by your charms, as others have been since." Mr. Weed made
a little bow.
But Nancy waved the compliment aside. "What do you think of my trying
to get a position to teach?" she asked. "It would perhaps save me from
loneliness and keep me from brooding."
"For those reasons it might be wise, yet it seems to me that I would
not undertake it, at least I would not at present."
"Shall I have enough without? If not, what would you advise me to do?"
Mr. Weed put the tips of his fingers together and gave a few moment's
frowning consideration to the question, while he sat back with
pursed-up mouth and head a little to one side. "I would advise you to
stay here for a few months," he said finally. "In the meantime we can
find out exactly the state of your finances, and then you can determine
upon your best course. It would be well if you could have some older
woman with you. Could Mrs. Bertram remain?"
"I do not know, but I shall scarcely be able to pay her, dearly as I
should love to have her with me. She has been so devoted, so helpful in
every way, and I have learned to love her very dearly."
"Then I should not be in haste to let her go."
"Can I afford to keep up this place with Parthy and Ira?"
"For the present it appears to me the best plan. I think you should
do everything possible to establish your health before taking up the
problem of a changed manner of life."
"And the doctor's bills, the druggist?"
"I will attend to them when I settle up the estate. Do not give
yourself any uneasiness about those things."
"How good you are," sighed Nancy. "I feel much more hopeful, much
easier in my mind. I thought it was wrong to let things go, but it is
a relief not to grapple with difficulties just yet. I cannot tell you
what a help you are, the one person who knows all, whose advice I can
rely upon."
Mr. Weed drew himself up stiffly and moistened his dry lips, frowning
the while, moved to the soul by the girl's words, yet fearing to show
his emotion. "I trust you will not fail to confide in me and ask my
advice whenever you desire," he said even more coldly than usual.
"And if I find I must go to work you will help me find something to do?"
He smiled in a manner which one who did not know him well might
consider sarcastic, but the smile brought to Nancy only added assurance
of his desire to befriend her. "You must get strong and well before we
talk about that," he said.
"I will try my best to get well," returned Nancy, "for I know it
is important that I should. Can you keep my secret a while longer,
Mr. Weed? I am afraid I do not feel equal yet to the ordeal of
meeting curious eyes and of answering curious questions. It would be
intolerable to me to face everyone and have them know I have been--been
an impostor all these years."
Mr. Weed shook his head and frowned. "That is morbid, entirely morbid,"
he said. "Don't get such notions into that innocent head of yours."
"But I have felt so, ever since I came back to my reason and could
think. Sometimes I have thought I would steal away by myself, without
letting anyone know. I may do it yet," she said half under her breath.
Mr. Weed wheeled around suddenly and faced her. "Are you a coward?" he
asked sharply. "If I do not mistake you are far from it. When you have
back your health you will throw aside such a thought; you will face the
world bravely. All such romantic and foolish ideas will drop from you.
I am an old man and have seen much of people. I have had opportunities
of studying character and I can tell you that you will never be a
coward. I know you better than you know yourself."
The tears rose to Nancy's eyes. "I suppose I deserve to be scolded,"
she said, "but I cannot help shrinking from what is ahead of me."
"You do not know what is ahead of you, none of us know. My advice is
for you to rest quietly, leave your affairs in my hands and think only
of what is contained in the day before you. I will guard your secret
until it becomes necessary to divulge it. The Loomis heirs do not live
here; they may never wish to. They may decide to sell the property.
Until we are assured of what their intentions are there is no use in
making any hard and fast plans."
"I feel so much better, oh, so much," Nancy told him. "I wish I could
thank you properly, but please to believe that I am very, very grateful
for your interest and your counsel, even for your scolding;" she smiled
up at him. "I am not going to be a coward. Whenever I feel like running
away I will notify you so you can head me off." She gave him her hand
which he took in both of his for a moment, then, as if half ashamed
of having been at all demonstrative, he quickly resumed his most
business-like manner and bowed himself out as if their talk had been
upon anything but intimate matters.
Nancy was watching him from the window when Parthy appeared. "Hyar him
creak, Miss Nancy?" she asked, ducking her head and chuckling.
"He is a dear, good man," said Nancy, gravely, "the best friend I have
in the world. He may be crusty on the outside, but he is fine and soft
within."
"Jes' like a croquette," agreed Parthy, not meaning to be anything but
amiably concurrent. "Dey do say he hones'," she went on, "an' dat he
nuvver 'low his lef' han' know de performers of his right, dey do say
dat."
"I can well believe it. Where is Mrs. Bertram, Parthy?"
"Mis' Bertry? She down in de gyarden. I ain't zackly proceive what she
doin'. She demonstrate wif Iry awhile ago' bout de way he doin' dem
crystyanthem baids. She say he ain't richen 'em 'nuff, an' dey too full
o' buds to come to anythin'. She know a lot 'bout flowers, Miss Bertry
do. She sutt'nly is one nice lady, rale lady ef she is a nuss. I knows.
I kin spot de quality. She ain't no po' white. No suh, dat she ain't. I
tells Iry she got good blood an' he say de same. Yas'm, Miss Nancy, she
got good blood. How long she gwine stay, Miss Nancy?"
"Not very long, I am afraid. I can't afford to keep her much longer."
"Law, honey, what yuh talkin' 'bout, 'fordin' fo'? Ain't yuh got as
much as yo' ma?"
"No, I haven't, Parthy. Some of all this goes to my father's--to Mr.
Loomis's family. Mamma had only a life interest in it."
"What dat? You means dat huh chile ain't gwine to have huh house an'
lam's? Humph! tell me dat ole atomy Weed hones'; no, he are not, not
ef he cheats yuh outen yo' rights."
"He has nothing whatever to do with it. He doesn't make the law."
"What he lawyer fo' den? He ain't no kin' o' lawyer ef he kaint mek
laws. Iry a gyardner an' he mek gyarden. I a cook an' I does cookin'.
What kin' o' lawyer dat ole atomy, kaint mek laws?"
Nancy had to laugh. "Well, but Parthy," she argued, "Ira is a coachman
but he doesn't make coaches."
Parthy disconcertedly stroked her chin. "Dat so, Miss Nancy, dat so,"
she acknowledged. "I reckons yuh got de right ob it dis time. Yuh wants
see Mis' Bertry?"
"Yes, if she is not busy."
"She come anyway. 'Tain't nothin' she won't leave ef yuh calls." And
Parthy went out leaving Nancy to smile over her arguments.