DARK DAYS
Early in the morning Janice went to Mrs. Beasely’s cottage. She was
diffident about offering her services to the widow; but she was sure
Aunt ’Mira would see nothing wrong in her doing so. She just couldn’t
enter into any discussion of Nelson’s illness at home, that was all.
Not many people were astir on the side street; the front blinds of the
widow’s home were closed, and that fact startled the girl. Mrs. Beasely
was in her kitchen, clearing the breakfast table.
“It’s the first chance I’ve had to do ’em,” she said, referring to
the dishes. “That poor boy’s an awful one ter care for. Out of his
head most of the time; and when he ain’t, he’s fussin’. Dr. Poole says
there’s something on his mind--his school work, like enough. Mr. Haley
works awful hard. Some folks says he gads about with that Bowman gal
too much; but I must say he spen’s enough time over his books. He’s the
one that burns the midnight ile, if anybody does.”
“Is he better this morning?” asked Janice.
“I dunno. The doctor ain’t been. He never left him till midnight and
I jest caught cat-naps on the sofa in his room until daybreak. Thank
goodness! Mr. Haley’s asleep now. But his room looks like the wrath o’
doom had struck it.”
“Can’t I help you?” queried Janice. “I can clear up his room and dust.
I won’t make any more noise than a mouse.”
“Well--if you _would_,” said Mrs. Beasely, with a sigh. “And if you’d
watch till he wakes up, I could git another little nap and feel fresh
for the day. He ain’t to be waked for his medicine; but when he does
wake you can run and tell me and I’ll give it to him.”
“I’ll do that, dear Mrs. Beasely, gladly,” said Janice. “He needn’t
know that you haven’t been with him all the time. Maybe he wouldn’t
like anybody else to be in his room.”
“Humph! I don’t know as it would hurt him. But it might fret him, as
you say. So we’ll say nothing about it.”
The girl went rather tremblingly to the big chamber in which Nelson
slept. It was easily “ridded up,” as Polktown housewives expressed it.
Nelson lay quietly on his bed and at first Janice did not even look at
him. She feared if she approached the bedside she might disturb the
young man.
But when he groaned and turned uneasily, she came nearer. His face was
so pale and wan that it troubled her. The veins in his closed eyelids
were startlingly blue. He had not shaved for two days and the sparce
down upon his cheeks and lip made him look even more boyish than usual.
He did not awaken; but Janice saw that his pillow was rumpled and must
be uncomfortable. She slipped her strong arm under his neck and lifted
him a little, while with the other hand she plumped up the pillow.
Nelson groaned and muttered something. His wandering hand caught at
hers as she drew it away, and clung to it for a moment.
“Janice! Janice!” he murmured.
The girl was really frightened. She stood with palpitating heart,
fearful that he had recognized her. What would he think if he knew that
she had come to his sick room after they had been so long estranged?
But Nelson was not conscious. He might have been dreaming of her--the
thought afterward thrilled Janice; but he actually knew nothing of her
presence. She finished tidying the room and then sat down by the window
where a little light came through the blind, and waited.
What would Daddy say if he knew she was doing this? She tried to
remember all her father had written regarding her feeling for Nelson
Haley and his feeling for her. During those months when circumstances
had separated them, Janice had missed his companionship sorely.
Had he missed her? Was he as unhappy as she was regarding the breaking
off of their friendship?
Daddy had said that one of the finest inspirations for a young man
just starting out in life was the friendship of a young girl. Janice
was sure that she had never done anything to harm Nelson; quite the
contrary.
But Annette Bowman! Janice distrusted the civil engineer’s sister. Her
influence over Nelson could not be good.
Since the barn dance at Judge Slater’s Annette had not been so popular
in Polktown. The tongue of gossip wagged industriously about her. It
was told that she had been requested to leave the barn dance because of
her disgraceful actions. Her name was coupled with “that foreigner,”
Bogarti. The very ladies who went to the dancing master for instruction
sneered at Annette for having been so familiar with him.
Had Janice been a revengeful girl she could have gloated over Annette’s
fall in public estimation. Not that the city girl’s pedestal had been
one to envy from the beginning. She had gained no faithful friends,
nor any real place in the public estimation. She had catered merely to
the thoughtless and frivolous and had influenced only such people as
desired to be showy and up-to-date.
Annette was another kind of “do something” person. She had stirred
Polktown, it was true; but Janice doubted if the girl had stirred it
to any good purpose. Dress, and dancing, and social life played a very
small part, after all, in the real progress of the town.
Unfortunately, Nelson Haley had been swept into the current of
Annette’s influence. The fact had been publicly commented upon. Janice
knew that it was very fortunate for him that he had not chanced to
attend her at the barn dance and that her own brother had brought
her back to town. Otherwise the tongue of scandal would surely have
been busy with his name, too. Why, right now, Janice knew, there were
mothers who had forbidden their girls to speak to Annette on the
street, or go to houses where she was made welcome.
There was a feeling, too, throughout the town, that the person in
charge of the children, delegated to instruct and lead them, should
not be too frivolous. Nelson’s association with Miss Bowman might be
used as a lever to oust him from the principalship of the school. Elder
Concannon did not like the young man and would be glad to put him out
if he could.
“And it would be a dreadful thing,” thought Janice as she sat quietly
in the sick chamber, “if this third year in the Polktown school should
injure Nelson’s career instead of helping him. Those people at the
college are watching him sharply, I am sure. He can fail just as surely
this year as he could last.
“Oh, dear me! I wonder if he does really care for Annette? I don’t see
how he can admire her; yet her brother loves her and overlooks her most
glaring faults. I suppose there is nobody so mean that they haven’t
some good traits. And Annette Bowman is pretty, accomplished, bright,
and can be pleasant company. I expect she has all the airs and graces
that attract young men--and she knows how to use them.
“Am I doing right--have I been doing right since last summer--to let
Annette have him without a struggle? He was my friend before he was
hers. For his own sake, should I have put forth more effort to win
Nelson away from that girl?”
The thought made Janice blush; yet now she seriously contemplated the
question, which she had refused to do before. Her natural delicacy had
kept this phase of the situation at a distance. But why shouldn’t she
think of it? Now that Nelson was ill, she wanted to do everything that
she could for him. If he was entangled in the skein of Annette Bowman’s
machinations, then he was mentally and spiritually ill and needed her
assistance quite as much.
Nelson was without a single relative save his old aunt; and she was
at a distance. As far as Janice knew, he had few close friends, even
among his college associates. She had been as close to him as anybody.
Why shouldn’t she undertake to save him from Annette just as she might
help save his life now that he was ill? Was her duty not the same in
either case?
There was a movement from the young fellow on the bed. Janice sprang up
and tiptoed to his side. Nelson suddenly started into a sitting posture
and his eyes were wide open.
“You get her to come here--you get her,” he murmured, clutching at
Janice’s hand.
“Yes, yes! Lie down, Nelson, do,” she said, firmly, trying to put him
back upon the pillow.
“Is she coming?” he whispered, hoarsely. His poor voice did not sound
at all as it used to sound.
“Yes, yes!” Janice declared. “Do lie down.”
“You tell her I’ve just got to speak to her. I’ve got to!” went on the
hoarse voice, wildly.
Janice feared he would awaken Mrs. Beasely. He would not lie down.
“Yes,” she promised him. “I’ll get her to come and see you. You--you
mean Annette, don’t you?”
The name did not seem to catch his ear, and he kept muttering that he
“must see her.”
“She shall come, Nelson,” Janice promised again, her own voice broken.
“You mean you want to see Annette?”
“Annette? Yes--Annette,” he muttered. “Poor Annette--and--and----”
He allowed her to replace his head upon the pillow. His words faded
into incomprehensible murmurings. His eyes closed. He seemed to breathe
more easily and regularly.
Janice tiptoed away from the bed. Nelson seemed appeased and relieved
when she had promised to bring Annette to his bedside. The girl
experienced a pang that hurt her physically. She could feel her heart
throbbing under the hand with which she attempted to still it.
There must be a serious attachment between Nelson and Annette.
Otherwise, it seemed to her, he would not be worrying about the city
girl when he was delirious. Janice’s experience with seriously ill
people had been very limited indeed.
She sat down by the window again and waited. The doorbell rang and Mrs.
Beasely was awakened. Janice heard her go heavily to the door.
“Good morning, Doctor!” the widow said, and Dr. Poole’s heavy voice
replied:
“Just as bad as ever, Mrs. Beasely. How’s the patient?”
Janice whisked out of the room and went into the kitchen. There she
waited until Mrs. Beasely came back for hot water with which to
sterilize the doctor’s instruments.
“What does he say?” asked the girl, breathlessly.
“Seems encouraged. But I ain’t,” groaned the widow. “Nobody can live
long and refuse vittles like Mr. Haley does. It was the trouble with my
Charles,” she continued, referring to her husband, who frequently was
the subject of Mrs. Beasely’s conversation. “If he could have kep’ on
eatin’ he’d ha’ been alive to-day,” with which unanswerable argument
she stalked back into the sick chamber.
Janice waylaid Dr. Poole as he was going out. “Hello, Janice Day!” he
exclaimed, cheerfully. “Are you on the job? Then I’m sure my patient is
going to get better right away.”
“I am only helping Mrs. Beasely a little,” she said. “But I wished to
ask you, Doctor, if it would hurt Mr. Haley to--to see people?”
“Not a bit! Go right in and see him--only keep quiet. Your cheerful,
pretty face is better than any drug----”
“Oh! I don’t mean myself,” gasped Janice. “But he has expressed a
desire to see somebody else.”
“Hah! I knew there was something on his mind. Who does he want to see?”
demanded the doctor.
“A--a young lady.”
“Hah!” snorted the physician again. “I thought he had more sense! Well,
who is she?”
“Miss Bowman, who lives down at the Inn with her brother.”
“Hah!” and the doctor’s third snort was greater than those that had
gone before. “I did think Nelse Haley had more sense. But if he wants
her he might as well have her. But only for a few moments, and tell
her to humor him. She can cross him as much as she wants to when he is
well; but his mind must be at rest now, or I shall not answer for the
consequences,” and the gruff old doctor strode away, shaking his head
as he went.
And he went before Janice could finish her observations. She had wished
to ask the doctor to stop in and speak to Annette himself. But, it
seemed, the duty devolved upon her.
When she left Mrs. Beasely’s, having done all she could to help the
troubled lady, she went straight to the Inn. She knew that Frank was
away and that made her visit all the harder. At this time of year Ma’am
Parraday, as the traveling salesmen called her, kept but one maid to
help her--a Swedish girl so blankly ignorant that she scarcely knew
enough “to lift one foot out of the way of t’other,” as the innkeeper’s
wife expressed it. There was no use giving her name to this girl, for
she wouldn’t have remembered it till she got to Annette’s sitting-room
door; so Janice followed on behind the hulking figure and waited while
the girl thundered a summons on the portal.
“For the love of the land, come in!” cried Annette’s querulous voice
from within. “You’ll be the death of me, Amalia. My nerves are all
frazzled by your pounding on the door. What is it--towels? or a pitcher
of water? Or---- My goodness! Janice Day! What do you want?”
The welcome she received did not help Janice in her errand; but perhaps
it brought her more bluntly to it.
“Mr. Haley is very ill,” she said. “He is threatened with pneumonia.
Dr. Poole says he seems troubled about something, and he has expressed
a desire to see you.”
“To see _me_?” gasped Annette. “Oh! I don’t like to see sick people.
I--I’m not a bit of good in a sick room.”
“But you can help make him well by calling on him for a few minutes,
can’t you?” demanded Janice, sharply.
Annette caught the tone, and seemed to see something in Janice’s face
that displeased her.
“I suppose you are in close attendance upon him, Miss Day?” she
drawled. “Dear me! I shouldn’t think he would want anybody else.”
“I am not in attendance on him,” Janice said, sternly. “And he has not
asked to see me. It is you he wants. I should think that you would have
no hesitancy in going at such a time.”
“Oh, dear me!” said Annette, with one of her silliest smiles. “I have
my reputation to think of. To go to a young man’s boarding place--of
course, he’s ill----”
“Mrs. Beasely will be there, and Mrs. Beasely is above reproach,” said
Janice, wearily, and turning toward the door. “You will come?”
“Now, really, I’d like to, of course. Poor Nelson! And he wants to see
me? Just fancy!”
“And she never expressed any feeling for him at all,” Janice said over
and over to herself as she trudged home. “What a wicked, heartless
girl!”
Nelson was not so well that evening. Janice learned that Annette had
called, but had remained only a few moments and had refused to enter
the sick chamber save with Mrs. Beasely. That good lady said, with a
sniff:
“Poor gal! if she’s in love with him she must ha’ felt turrible bad,
for of course she couldn’t tell him so with me there. She said folks
had talked so mean about her that she didn’t dare give way as she’d
like to an’ come right up here and help nuss him. I’m awful glad _you_
air sech a practical, sensible gal, Janice. An’ ye air a mortal help to
a body.”
Janice was curious enough to ask if Mr. Haley seemed to recognize
Annette and be aware of her presence.
“Oh, yes! he cheered up right away,” declared Mrs. Beasely. “But he’s
as flighty as an unbroken colt again now. I guess we’ll have a time
with him to-night.”
For Janice, having gained her aunt’s permission, had brought a wrapper
and felt-soled slippers, determined to help watch with the patient that
night. Mrs. Beasely was grateful for her help, too, before morning.
Nelson was very uneasy and excitable. He seemed to have forgotten that
Annette had come, and was talking all the time about her--wishing she
would come, and declaring that he must speak to her.
In the morning the doctor shook his head more gravely than before.
Nelson was very weak. The drugs he took seemed not to take hold upon
him as they should.
“Trouble here,” said Dr. Poole, tapping his forehead. “But what it is I
don’t know. That girl came to see him? Well! it didn’t seem to relieve
his mind any.”
That was Thanksgiving Day; but there was little thanksgiving in two of
the homes of Polktown. It was a worrisome day at the Widow Beasely’s
and at the old Day house Marty declared there “warn’t no taste to
nothin’, not even to the turkey, without Janice.”
That, and several days that followed, were indeed dark days for Nelson
Haley. His name was mentioned in the Friday night prayer meeting at the
church, and Mr. Middler spoke feelingly of the young man who had given
so much of himself for the benefit of the children of Polktown.
If there had been those who criticized Nelson’s association with
Annette Bowman, they were shamed to silence now. The shadow of death
hovered over the young schoolmaster, and the tongue of slander was
stilled.