What deep relief and blessed peace. She lay on her bed, now smiling,
now inert, eyes closed, weak and relaxed, but already aware from time to
time of the beginnings within herself of new vitality, food for her
child. Her body felt profoundly changed, and so it was with her spirit.
Again the thought rose in her mind that this had settled and sealed her
life. But she was glad of the certainty. Slowly, as her strength
returned, all the vague desires and dreams of the last few months came
back, grew clear; and she planned and planned for the small boy whom the
nurse kept bringing to her bed. At such moments the new love within her
rose like some fresh bursting spring.
The city, though so vast, complex, came to be like a place full of
miracles. The voices of its ceaseless life came into her window day and
night, the hoots and distant bellows of ships, the rattle of wheels, the
rush of cars, the long swift thunder of the "L," and bursts of laughter
from the streets, and animated voices. She remembered her first night
in New York; she recalled her earlier visions of the city as a place of
thrilling aspirations, wide, sparkling, abundant lives. And Ethel
smiled and told herself:
"All the glory I dreamed of is here."
The thought came to her clearly that Amy it was who had hidden it all,
who had stood smilingly in the way and had said, "All this is nothing."
But she felt a rush of pity now for the woman who was left behind, cut
off so completely by the birth of this small son. The nurse was
bringing him into the room, and Ethel smiled at her and said:
"Ask Susette if she doesn't want to come, too."
It was only a day or two later that her husband broke his news. He had
been so dear to her, his visits had been such a joy, and although behind
his tenderness vaguely she had sensed some change, some new excitement
in his mind, in her own absorption in their boy she had attributed it to
that. But early one evening he came in with a sheaf of roses in his
arms, and when she had exclaimed at them and breathed deep of their dewy
fragrance, Joe bent over and kissed her, and said a little huskily:
"I've got some big news for you, little wife. It's big. It's going to
mean so much."
"What is it, Joe?"
She stared up intently into his eyes. He was telling her he had made
money. He was telling how the approaching birth of their small son had
made him feel he must put an end to these ups and downs, and how he had
worked and racked his brains. He told of heavy borrowing, of anxious
weeks, of a wonderful stroke of luck at last which not only made him
rich for the moment but opened the way to wealth ahead. He was speaking
of what this would mean to them here. He knew how hard it had been for
her and how pluckily she had come through without ever asking for
anything. But all that was over now. He had made money! What was the
matter? She heard it all in fragments, topsy turvy. What was wrong?
"Here is a Joe I've never known!" Still staring up into his eyes, she
saw their strange exultant light; the excitement in his husky voice
struck into her sensitive ear and jarred; and she nearly shrank from the
clutch of his hand. She lay wondering why she was not glad, till
suddenly she saw in his face his sharp disappointment at the way she was
taking his news. With a pang of alarm she roused herself and said:
"Oh, Joe, it's too wonderful! It's so sudden it strikes me all of a
heap!" And she laughed unsteadily, seized his hand and kissed it,
talking rapidly, her eyes glistening all the while with foolish tears.
Fiercely then she asked herself, "Why can't you enter in and be gay?"
But though she was doing better now and had him talking as before, again
and again she felt he was thinking how different Amy would have
been--how in an instant, laughing and crying, she would have thrown
herself into his arms!
Yes, indeed, a Joe she had never known, shaped and moulded by the wife
who had had him in those early years when a woman can do so much with a
man, can do what sets him in a groove in work and living, tastes,
ideals. "And I thought I had done so much!" But Amy's hand had still
been there; he had been her husband, all the time!
It was a relief to have him gone. Alone she could think more clearly.
"What are you so frightened about? Of being rich, you little fool?" No,
she had always wanted that, money enough to forget it existed, money to
open all the doors. "But this money is coming too soon! I'm not ready.
I'm too young! And he'll expect so much of me now. There'll be no
excuse for holding back, for going slow till I find what I want. He'll
expect me to find friends at once! But where shall I find them all of a
sudden? It isn't as though we were millionaires, really big ones, all
in a minute. The newspapers won't be very excited; the town will take
it quite calmly, quite! And for the life of me I don't see any friends
rushing at us! And yet he'll expect it! So much he'll expect! He'll
give and give and give me things and then wonder why I don't get
anywhere!" The angry tears leaped in her eyes. "Because he's different
now, he's changed! All bursting with his big success, his 'strike,' his
business--money mad! Oh, how I hate his business--and that detestable
partner, too!"
A wave of rebellion swept over her at the way she had been caught,
tangled into the life of a man and the fortunes of his business. But
then she thought of the son she had borne him, and this brought quick
remorse and tears, from which she fell into a deep sleep. And when she
awoke she found the nurse was waiting with the baby.
And the days which followed with their peace, their slow return of
health and strength, brought assurance, too, and she laughed at herself
for having been such a foolish child. She recalled her panic on her
wedding night. Then, too, she had found a Joe unknown. But had that
turned out so dreadful? He came often to her bedside now; and although
she could feel how changed he was, it no longer frightened her. She had
her wee boy; and Emily Giles and Susette and her nurse kept coming in;
and the room grew very gay, as they had little parties there.
"Who needs friends so all of a sudden!"
But one day Emily came in and grimly remarked, "There's a woman outside
who owns this apartment."
"What?"
"She acts that way. She's walking 'round that sitting-room--picking
things up and putting things down-" Emily's voice was rising in wrath.
"Emily! Sh-h! She'll hear you! Who is she? Didn't she give her
name?"
"Here's her name!" And Emily poked out a card, at which Ethel looked in
a startled way.
"Fanny Carr! Now why has she come here?"
"Will you see her or shall I tell her the flat is already rented?"
"No, no! Emily--don't be rude! She's a friend of my--my husband's!"
And a few moments later, propped up in bed with a pretty lace cap on her
head, Ethel was smiling affably at her visitor, who was exclaiming:
"My dear girl, I'm so glad to see you again! So good of you, letting me
in like this! I didn't have the least idea! I didn't know of your
baby--I hadn't even heard you were married! I've been abroad for over a
year. I got back to New York only last week and heard from one of Joe's
men friends of the luck he has had--how his business is simply booming
along! It's perfectly gorgeous, Ethel dear, and I'm so glad for you, my
child! When I heard the news--"
She talked on vivaciously. And Ethel lay back, her gaze intent on
Fanny's handsome features, on her rich lips, pearl earrings, her eyes
with their curious color, grey green, that were so sparkling and alive.
And Ethel thought to herself in dismay: "How much more attractive she
is! Was my first feeling about her all wrong, or is it that I'm getting
used to these New Yorkers? I thought she was just hard--all brass! She
isn't! She's--she's dangerous! What is she poking 'round here for?
What does she want? Is she married again? No, her name was the same on
her card. Still single--yes, and looking around--for somebody with
money!"
By the questions Fanny was asking, plainly she was trying to find what
friends Ethel had made in New York. And although the girl on the bed
talked of the town in glowing terms, in a few moments Fanny was saying:
"I'm afraid you've been rather lonely here."
"Oh, no!" And Ethel laughed merrily. "If you knew how my time is
filled--every hour! My small boy--" and she went eagerly on to show how
full her life had become.
"Oh, you darling!" Fanny laughed. And then with an envious sigh she
said, "You make me feel so old and forlorn. With all your beauty, Ethel
Lanier, and youth--your whole life starting--well, you've just got to
let me in and take you about. Oh, I know, I know, it's so wonderful
here, and fresh and new, and you're quite contented and all that. But
after all, it's a city, you know--a perfectly good one, full of
life--and people you'll like--old friends of Joe's." She went on in a
crisp gay tone to paint the pleasures of the town. And meanwhile
glancing at Ethel she thought, "What a perfect devil she thinks me, poor
child, a bold bad creature on Joe's trail--when all I want is to take
her around and help her spend her money. I need it badly enough, God
knows!"
At last she rose.
"I mustn't tire you. Good-bye, dear. You'll let me come again, of
course."
"Oh, yes, do." At Ethel's tone, Fanny smiled to herself, as deftly she
adjusted her furs. She turned to look in the mirror and her eye was
caught by the photograph of Amy over on Joe's chiffonier. She moved a
step toward it, paused, turned back, and with a good-bye to Ethel went
out.
Ethel's eyes went back to the photograph. How strong and alarming, all
in an hour, Amy's picture had become. As she looked, it seemed to take
on life, to be saying, "Money! Money at last!" And with dismay she told
herself:
"Now they'll come in a perfect horde!"