CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN.
When the first shock is over and the inevitable realized and accepted,
those who tend a long illness are apt to fall into a routine of life
which helps to make the days seem short. The apparatus of nursing is got
together. Every day the same things need to be done at the same hours
and in the same way. Each little appliance is kept at hand; and sad and
tired as the watchers may be, the very monotony and regularity of their
proceedings give a certain stay for their thoughts to rest upon.
But there was little of this monotony to help Mrs. Ashe and Katy through
with Amy's illness. Small chance was there for regularity or exact
system; for something unexpected was always turning up, and needful
things were often lacking. The most ordinary comforts of the sick-room,
or what are considered so in America, were hard to come by, and much of
Katy's time was spent in devising substitutes to take their places.
Was ice needed? A pailful of dirty snow would be brought in, full of
straws, sticks, and other refuse, which had apparently been scraped from
the surface of the street after a frosty night. Not a particle of it
could be put into milk or water; all that could be done was to make the
pail serve the purpose of a refrigerator, and set bowls and tumblers in
it to chill.
Was a feeding-cup wanted? It came of a cumbrous and antiquated pattern,
which the infant Hercules may have enjoyed, but which the modern Amy
abominated and rejected. Such a thing as a glass tube could not be found
in all Rome. Bed-rests were unknown. Katy searched in vain for an
India-rubber hot-water bag.
But the greatest trial of all was the beef tea. It was Amy's sole food,
and almost her only medicine; for Dr. Hilary believed in leaving Nature
pretty much to herself in cases of fever. The kitchen of the hotel sent
up, under that name, a mixture of grease and hot water, which could not
be given to Amy at all. In vain Katy remonstrated and explained the
process. In vain did she go to the kitchen herself to translate a
carefully written recipe to the cook, and to slip a shining five-franc
piece in his hand, which it was hoped would quicken his energies and
soften his heart. In vain did she order private supplies of the best of
beef from a separate market. The cooks stole the beef and ignored the
recipe; and day after day the same bottle-full of greasy liquid came
upstairs, which Amy would not touch, and which would have done her no
good had she swallowed it all. At last, driven to desperation, Katy
procured a couple of stout bottles, and every morning slowly and
carefully cut up two pounds of meat into small pieces, sealed the bottle
with her own seal ring, and sent it down to be boiled for a specified
time. This answered better, for the thieving cook dared not tamper with
her seal; but it was a long and toilsome process, and consumed more time
than she well knew how to spare,--for there were continual errands to be
done which no one could attend to but herself, and the interminable
flights of stairs taxed her strength painfully, and seemed to grow
longer and harder every day.
At last a good Samaritan turned up in the shape of an American lady with
a house of her own, who, hearing of their plight from Mrs. Sands,
undertook to send each day a supply of strong, perfectly made beef tea,
from her own kitchen, for Amy's use. It was an inexpressible relief, and
the lightening of this one particular care made all the rest seem easier
of endurance.
Another great relief came, when, after some delay, Dr. Hilary succeeded
in getting an English nurse to take the places of the unsatisfactory
Sister Ambrogia and her substitute, Sister Agatha, whom Amy in her
half-comprehending condition persisted in calling "Sister Nutmeg
Grater." Mrs. Swift was a tall, wiry, angular person, who seemed made of
equal parts of iron and whalebone. She was never tired; she could lift
anybody, do anything; and for sleep she seemed to have a sort of
antipathy, preferring to sit in an easy-chair and drop off into little
dozes, whenever it was convenient, to going regularly to bed for a
night's rest.
Amy took to her from the first, and the new nurse managed her
beautifully. No one else could soothe her half so well during the
delirious period, when the little shrill voice seemed never to be still,
and went on all day and all night in alternate raving or screaming or,
what was saddest of all to hear, low pitiful moans. There was no
shutting in these sounds. People moved out of the rooms below and on
either side, because they could get no sleep; and till the arrival of
Nurse Swift, there was no rest for poor Mrs. Ashe, who could not keep
away from her darling for a moment while that mournful wailing sounded
in her ears.
Somehow the long, dry Englishwoman seemed to have a mesmeric effect on
Amy, who was never quite so violent after she arrived. Katy was more
thankful for this than can well be told; for her great underlying
dread--a dread she dared not whisper plainly even to herself--was that
"Polly dear" might break down before Amy was better, and then what
_should_ they do?
She took every care that was possible of her friend. She made her eat;
she made her lie down. She forced daily doses of quinine and port-wine
down her throat, and saved her every possible step. But no one, however
affectionate and willing, could do much to lift the crushing burden of
care, which was changing Mrs. Ashe's rosy fairness to wan pallor and
laying such dark shadows under the pretty gray eyes. She had taken small
thought of looks since Amy's illness. All the little touches which had
made her toilette becoming, all the crimps and fluffs, had disappeared;
yet somehow never had she seemed to Katy half so lovely as now in the
plain black gown which she wore all day long, with her hair tucked into
a knot behind her ears. Her real beauty of feature and outline seemed
only enhanced by the rigid plainness of her attire, and the charm of
true expression grew in her face. Never had Katy admired and loved her
friend so well as during those days of fatigue and wearing suspense, or
realized so strongly the worth of her sweetness of temper, her
unselfishness and power of devoting herself to other people.
"Polly bears it wonderfully," she wrote her father; "she was all broken
down for the first day or two, but now her courage and patience are
surprising. When I think how precious Amy is to her and how lonely her
life would be if she were to die, I can hardly keep the tears out of my
eyes. But Polly does not cry. She is quiet and brave and almost cheerful
all the time, keeping herself busy with what needs to be done; she never
complains, and she looks--oh, so pretty! I think I never knew how much
she had in her before."
All this time no word had come from Lieutenant Worthington. His sister
had written him as soon as Amy was taken ill, and had twice telegraphed
since, but no answer had been received, and this strange silence added
to the sense of lonely isolation and distance from home and help which
those who encounter illness in a foreign land have to bear.
So first one week and then another wore themselves away somehow. The
fever did not break on the fourteenth day, as had been hoped, and must
run for another period, the doctor said; but its force was lessened, and
he considered that a favorable sign. Amy was quieter now and did not
rave so constantly, but she was very weak. All her pretty hair had been
shorn away, which made her little face look tiny and sharp. Mabel's
golden wig was sacrificed at the same time. Amy had insisted upon it,
and they dared not cross her.
"She has got a fever, too, and it's a great deal badder than mine is,"
she protested. "Her cheeks are as hot as fire. She ought to have ice on
her head, and how can she when her bang is so thick? Cut it all off,
every bit, and then I will let you cut mine."
"You had better give ze child her way," said Dr. Hilary. "She's in no
state to be fretted with triffles [trifles, the doctor meant], and in ze
end it will be well; for ze fever infection might harbor in zat doll's
head as well as elsewhere, and I should have to disinfect it, which
would be bad for ze skin of her."
"She isn't a doll," cried Amy, overhearing him; "she's my child, and you
sha'n't call her names." She hugged Mabel tight in her arms, and glared
at Dr. Hilary defiantly.
So Katy with pitiful fingers slashed away at Mabel's blond wig till her
head was as bare as a billiard-ball; and Amy, quite content, patted her
child while her own locks were being cut, and murmured, "Perhaps your
hair will all come out in little round curls, darling, as Johnnie Carr's
did;" then she fell into one of the quietest sleeps she had yet had.
It was the day after this that Katy, coming in from a round of errands,
found Mrs. Ashe standing erect and pale, with a frightened look in her
eyes, and her back against Amy's door, as if defending it from somebody.
Confronting her was Madame Frulini, the _padrona_ of the hotel. Madame's
cheeks were red, and her eyes bright and fierce; she was evidently in a
rage about something, and was pouring out a torrent of excited Italian,
with now and then a French or English word slipped in by way of
punctuation, and all so rapidly that only a trained ear could have
followed or grasped her meaning.
"What is the matter?" asked Katy, in amazement.
"Oh, Katy, I am so glad you have come," cried poor Mrs. Ashe. "I can
hardly understand a word that this horrible woman says, but I think she
wants to turn us out of the hotel, and that we shall take Amy to some
other place. It would be the death of her,--I know it would. I never,
never will go, unless the doctor says it is safe. I oughtn't to,--I
couldn't; she can't make me, can she, Katy?"
"Madame," said Katy,--and there was a flash in her eyes before which the
landlady rather shrank,--"what is all this? Why do you come to trouble
madame while her child is so ill?"
Then came another torrent of explanation which didn't explain; but Katy
gathered enough of the meaning to make out that Mrs. Ashe was quite
correct in her guess, and that Madame Frulini was requesting, nay,
insisting, that they should remove Amy from the hotel at once. There
were plenty of apartments to be had now that the Carnival was over, she
said,--her own cousin had rooms close by,--it could easily be arranged,
and people were going away from the Del Mondo every day because there
was fever in the house. Such a thing could not be, it should not
be,--the landlady's voice rose to a shriek, "the child must go!"
"You are a cruel woman," said Katy, indignantly, when she had grasped
the meaning of the outburst. "It is wicked, it is cowardly, to come thus
and attack a poor lady under your roof who has so much already to bear.
It is her only child who is lying in there,--her only one, do you
understand, madame?--and she is a widow. What you ask might kill the
child. I shall not permit you or any of your people to enter that door
till the doctor comes, and then I shall tell him how you have behaved,
and we shall see what he will say." As she spoke she turned the key of
Amy's door, took it out and put it in her pocket, then faced the
_padrona_ steadily, looking her straight in the eyes.
"Mademoiselle," stormed the landlady, "I give you my word, four people
have left this house already because of the noises made by little miss.
More will go. I shall lose my winter's profit,--all of it,--all; it will
be said there is fever at the Del Mondo,--no one will hereafter come to
me. There are lodgings plenty, comfortable,--oh, so comfortable! I will
not have my season ruined by a sickness; no, I will not!"
Madame Frulini's voice was again rising to a scream.
"Be silent!" said Katy, sternly; "you will frighten the child. I am
sorry that you should lose any customers, madame, but the fever is here
and we are here, and here we must stay till it is safe to go. The child
shall not be moved till the doctor gives permission. Money is not the
only thing in the world! Mrs. Ashe will pay anything that is fair to
make up your losses to you, but you must leave this room now, and not
return till Dr. Hilary is here."
Where Katy found French for all these long coherent speeches, she could
never afterward imagine. She tried to explain it by saying that
excitement inspired her for the moment, but that as soon as the moment
was over the inspiration died away and left her as speechless and
confused as ever. Clover said it made her think of the miracle of
Balaam; and Katy merrily rejoined that it might be so, and that no
donkey in any age of the world could possibly have been more grateful
than was she for the sudden gift of speech.
"But it is not the money,--it is my prestige," declared the landlady.
"Thank Heaven! here is the doctor now," cried Mrs. Ashe.
The doctor had in fact been standing in the doorway for several moments
before they noticed him, and had overheard part of the colloquy with
Madame Frulini. With him was some one else, at the sight of whom Mrs.
Ashe gave a great sob of relief. It was her brother, at last.
When Italian meets Italian, then comes the tug of expletive. It did not
seem to take one second for Dr. Hilary to whirl the _padrona_ out into
the entry, where they could be heard going at each other like two
furious cats. Hiss, roll, sputter, recrimination, objurgation! In five
minutes Madame Frulini was, metaphorically speaking, on her knees, and
the doctor standing over her with drawn sword, making her take back
every word she had said and every threat she had uttered.
"Prestige of thy miserable hotel!" he thundered; "where will that be
when I go and tell the English and Americans--all of whom I know, every
one!--how thou hast served a countrywoman of theirs in thy house? Dost
thou think thy prestige will help thee much when Dr. Hilary has fixed a
black mark on thy door! I tell thee no; not a stranger shalt thou have
next year to eat so much as a plate of macaroni under thy base roof! I
will advertise thy behavior in all the foreign papers,--in Figaro, in
Galignani, in the Swiss Times, and the English one which is read by all
the nobility, and the Heraldo of New York, which all Americans peruse--"
"Oh, doctor--pardon me--I regret what I said--I am afflicted--"
"I will post thee in the railroad stations," continued the doctor,
implacably; "I will bid my patients to write letters to all their
friends, warning them against thy flea-ridden Del Mondo; I will apprise
the steamboat companies at Genoa and Naples. Thou shalt see what comes
of it,--truly, thou shalt see."
Having thus reduced Madame Frulini to powder, the doctor now
condescended to take breath and listen to her appeals for mercy; and
presently he brought her in with her mouth full of protestations and
apologies, and assurances that the ladies had mistaken her meaning, she
had only spoken for the good of all; nothing was further from her
intention than that they should be disturbed or offended in any way, and
she and all her household were at the service of "the little sick angel
of God." After which the doctor dismissed her with an air of
contemptuous tolerance, and laid his hand on the door of Amy's room.
Behold, it was locked!
"Oh, I forgot," cried Katy, laughing; and she pulled the key out of
her pocket.
"You are a hee-roine, mademoiselle," said Dr. Hilary. "I watched you as
you faced that tigress, and your eyes were like a swordsman's as he
regards his enemy's rapier."
"Oh, she was so brave, and such a help!" said Mrs. Ashe, kissing her
impulsively. "You can't think how she has stood by me all through, Ned,
or what a comfort she has been."
"Yes, I can," said Ned Worthington, with a warm, grateful look at Katy.
"I can believe anything good of Miss Carr."
"But where have _you_ been all this time?" said Katy, who felt this
flood of compliment to be embarrassing; "we have so wondered at not
hearing from you."
"I have been off on a ten-days' leave to Corsica for moufflon-shooting,"
replied Mr. Worthington. "I only got Polly's telegrams and letters day
before yesterday, and I came away as soon as I could get my leave
extended. It was a most unlucky absence. I shall always regret it."
"Oh, it is all right now that you have come," his sister said, leaning
her head on his arm with a look of relief and rest which was good to
see. "Everything will go better now, I am sure."
"Katy Carr has behaved like a perfect angel," she told her brother when
they were alone.
"She is a trump of a girl. I came in time for part of that scene with
the landlady, and upon my word she was glorious! I didn't suppose she
could look so handsome."
"Have the Pages left Nice yet?" asked his sister, rather irrelevantly.
"No,--at least they were there on Thursday, but I think that they were
to start to-day."
Mr. Worthington answered carelessly, but his face darkened as he spoke.
There had been a little scene in Nice which he could not forget. He was
sitting in the English garden with Lilly and her mother when his
sister's telegrams were brought to him; and he had read them aloud,
partly as an explanation for the immediate departure which they made
necessary and which broke up an excursion just arranged with the ladies
for the afternoon. It is not pleasant to have plans interfered with; and
as neither Mrs. Page nor her daughter cared personally for little Amy,
it is not strange that disappointment at the interruption of their
pleasure should have been the first impulse with them. Still, this did
not excuse Lilly's unstudied exclamation of "Oh, bother!" and though she
speedily repented it as an indiscretion, and was properly sympathetic,
and "hoped the poor little thing would soon be better," Amy's uncle
could not forget the jarring impression. It completed a process of
disenchantment which had long been going on; and as hearts are sometimes
caught at the rebound, Mrs. Ashe was not so far astray when she built
certain little dim sisterly hopes on his evident admiration for Katy's
courage and this sudden awakening to a sense of her good looks.
But no space was left for sentiment or match-making while still Amy's
fate hung in the balance, and all three of them found plenty to do
during the next fortnight. The fever did not turn on the twenty-first
day, and another weary week of suspense set in, each day bringing a
decrease of the dangerous symptoms, but each day as well marking a
lessening in the childish strength which had been so long and severely
tested. Amy was quite conscious now, and lay quietly, sleeping a great
deal and speaking seldom. There was not much to do but to wait and hope;
but the flame of hope burned low at times, as the little life flickered
in its socket, and seemed likely to go out like a wind-blown torch.
Now and then Lieutenant Worthington would persuade his sister to go
with him for a few minutes' drive or walk in the fresh air, from which
she had so long been debarred, and once or twice he prevailed on Katy
to do the same; but neither of them could bear to be away long from
Amy's bedside.
Intimacy grows fast when people are thus united by a common anxiety,
sharing the same hopes and fears day after day, speaking and thinking of
the same thing. The gay young officer at Nice, who had counted so little
in Katy's world, seemed to have disappeared, and the gentle,
considerate, tender-hearted fellow who now filled his place was quite a
different person in her eyes. Katy began to count on Ned Worthington as
a friend who could be trusted for help and sympathy and comprehension,
and appealed to and relied upon in all emergencies. She was quite at
ease with him now, and asked him to do this and that, to come and help
her, or to absent himself, as freely as if he had been Dorry or Phil.
He, on his part, found this easy intimacy charming. In the reaction of
his temporary glamour for the pretty Lilly, Katy's very difference from
her was an added attraction. This difference consisted, as much as
anything else, in the fact that she was so truly in earnest in what she
said and did. Had Lilly been in Katy's place, she would probably have
been helpful to Mrs. Ashe and kind to Amy so far as in her lay; but the
thought of self would have tinctured all that she did and said, and the
need of keeping to what was tasteful and becoming would have influenced
her in every emergency, and never have been absent from her mind.
Katy, on the contrary, absorbed in the needs of the moment, gave little
heed to how she looked or what any one was thinking about her. Her habit
of neatness made her take time for the one thorough daily dressing,--the
brushing of hair and freshening of clothes, which were customary with
her; but, this tax paid to personal comfort, she gave little further
heed to appearances. She wore an old gray gown, day in and day out,
which Lilly would not have put on for half an hour without a large
bribe, so unbecoming was it; but somehow Lieutenant Worthington grew to
like the gray gown as a part of Katy herself. And if by chance he
brought a rose in to cheer the dim stillness of the sick-room, and she
tucked it into her buttonhole, immediately it was as though she were
decked for conquest. Pretty dresses are very pretty on pretty
people,--they certainly play an important part in this queer little
world of ours; but depend upon it, dear girls, no woman ever has
established so distinct and clear a claim on the regard of her lover as
when he has ceased to notice or analyze what she wears, and just accepts
it unquestioningly, whatever it is, as a bit of the dear human life
which has grown or is growing to be the best and most delightful thing
in the world to him.
The gray gown played its part during the long anxious night when they
all sat watching breathlessly to see which way the tide would turn with
dear little Amy. The doctor came at midnight, and went away to come
again at dawn. Mrs. Swift sat grim and watchful beside the pillow of her
charge, rising now and then to feel pulse and skin, or to put a spoonful
of something between Amy's lips. The doors and windows stood open to
admit the air. In the outer room all was hushed. A dim Roman lamp, fed
with olive oil, burned in one corner behind a screen. Mrs. Ashe lay on
the sofa with her eyes closed, bearing the strain of suspense in
absolute silence. Her brother sat beside her, holding in his one of the
hot hands whose nervous twitches alone told of the surgings of hope and
fear within. Katy was resting in a big chair near by, her wistful eyes
fixed on Amy's little figure seen in the dim distance, her ears alert
for every sound from the sick-room.
So they watched and waited. Now and then Ned Worthington or Katy would
rise softly, steal on tiptoe to the bedside, and come back to whisper to
Mrs. Ashe that Amy had stirred or that she seemed to be asleep. It was
one of the nights which do not come often in a lifetime, and which
people never forget. The darkness seems full of meaning; the hush, of
sound. God is beyond, holding the sunrise in his right hand, holding the
sun of our earthly hopes as well,--will it dawn in sorrow or in joy? We
dare not ask, we can only wait.
A faint stir of wind and a little broadening of the light roused Katy
from a trance of half-understood thoughts. She crept once more into
Amy's room. Mrs. Swift laid a warning finger on her lips; Amy was
sleeping, she said with a gesture. Katy whispered the news to the still
figure on the sofa, then she went noiselessly out of the room. The great
hotel was fast asleep; not a sound stirred the profound silence of the
dark halls. A longing for fresh air led her to the roof.
There was the dawn just tingeing the east. The sky, even thus early,
wore the deep mysterious blue of Italy. A fresh _tramontana_ was
blowing, and made Katy glad to draw her shawl about her.
Far away in the distance rose the Alban Hills above the dim Campagna,
with the more lofty Sabines beyond, and Soracte, clear cut against the
sky like a wave frozen in the moment of breaking. Below lay the ancient
city, with its strange mingling of the old and the new, of past things
embedded in the present; or is it the present thinly veiling the rich
and mighty past,--who shall say?
Faint rumblings of wheels and here and there a curl of smoke showed that
Rome was waking up. The light insensibly grew upon the darkness. A pink
flush lit up the horizon. Florio stirred in his lair, stretched his
dappled limbs, and as the first sun-ray glinted on the roof, raised
himself, crossed the gravelled tiles with soundless feet, and ran his
soft nose into Katy's hand. She fondled him for Amy's sake as she stood
bent over the flower-boxes, inhaling the scent of the mignonette and
gilly-flowers, with her eyes fixed on the distance; but her heart was at
home with the sleepers there, and a rush of strong desire stirred her.
Would this dreary time come to an end presently, and should they be set
at liberty to go their ways with no heavy sorrow to press them down, to
be care-free and happy again in their own land?
A footstep startled her. Ned Worthington was coming over the roof on
tiptoe as if fearful of disturbing somebody. His face looked resolute
and excited.
"I wanted to tell you," he said in a hushed voice, "that the doctor is
here, and he says Amy has no fever, and with care may be considered out
of danger."
"Thank God!" cried Katy, bursting into tears. The long fatigue, the
fears kept in check so resolutely, the sleepless night just passed, had
their revenge now, and she cried and cried as if she could never stop,
but with all the time such joy and gratitude in her heart! She was
conscious that Ned had his arm round her and was holding both her hands
tight; but they were so one in the emotion of the moment that it did not
seem strange.
"How sweet the sun looks!" she said presently, releasing herself, with a
happy smile flashing through her tears; "it hasn't seemed really bright
for ever so long. How silly I was to cry! Where is dear Polly? I must go
down to her at once. Oh, what does she say?"