UPHEAVAL
"Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two,
fifty-three,--for goodness' sake!--fifty-four, fifty-five." Carol
looked helplessly at her dusty hands and mopped her face desperately
with her forearm.
David, watching her from the bed in the adjoining room, gave way to
silent laughter, and she resumed her solemn count.
"Forty-six, forty--"
"Fifty-six," he called. "Don't try any trickery on me."
"Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty." She sighed
audibly. "Sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four--sixty-four
perfectly fresh eggs," she announced, turning to the doorway and
frowning at her husband, who still laughed. "Sixty-four perfectly
fresh eggs, all laid yesterday."
"Now, I give you fair warning, my dear, I am no cold storage plant, and
you can't make me absorb any sixty-four egg-nogs daily just to even up
the demand with the supply. I drank seven yesterday, but this is too
much. You must seek another warehouse."
"You are very clever and facetious, Davie, really quite entertaining.
But what am I to do with sixty-four fresh eggs?"
"And I may as well confess frankly that I consider a minister's wife
distinctly out of her sphere when she tries to corner the fresh egg
market, particularly at the present price of existence. It isn't
scriptural. It isn't orthodox. I am surprised at you, Carol. It must
be some more Methodism cropping out. I never knew a Presbyterian to do
it."
"And as for milk--"
"There you go again,--milk. Worse and worse. Yesterday I had milk
toast, and milk custard, and fresh milk, and buttermilk. And here you
come at me again first thing to-day. Milk!"
"Seven whole quarts have arrived this morning,--bless their darling old
hearts."
"The cows?"
"The parishioners," Carol explained patiently. "Ever since the doctor
said fresh milk and eggs, we've been flooded with milk and--"
"Pelted with eggs. But you can't pelt any sixty-four eggs down me."
"David," she said reproachfully, "I must confess that you don't sound
very sick. The doctor says, 'Take him west,' and I am taking you if I
ever get rid of these eggs. But I do think it would be more
appropriate to take you to a vaudeville show where you might coin some
of this extravagant humor. There's a market for it, you know."
"Here comes Mrs. Sater, with a covered basket," announced David,
glancing from the window. "I just wonder if the dear kind woman is
bringing me a few fresh eggs. You know the doctor advised me to eat
fresh eggs, and--"
Carol clutched her curly head in despair. "Cock-a-doodle-doo," she
crowed.
"You mean, 'Cut-cut-cut-ca-duck-et,'" reproved David.
Mrs. Sater paused outside the manse door in blank astonishment. Dear,
precious David so terribly ill, and poor little Carol getting ready to
take him away to a strange and awful country, and the world full of
sadness and weeping and gnashing of teeth, and yet--from the open
windows of the manse came the clear ring of Carol's laughter, followed
closely by David's deeper voice. What in the world was there to laugh
at, since tuberculosis had rapped at the manse door?
They were young, of course, and they were still in love,--that helped.
And they had the deathless courage of the young and loving. But Mrs.
Sater bet a dollar she wouldn't waste any time laughing if tuberculosis
were stalking through her home.
"Come in," said Carol, in answer to her second ring. "We saw you from
the window, but I was laughing so I was ashamed to open the door.
David's so silly, Mrs. Sater. Since he isn't obliged to strain his
mental capacity by thinking up sermons, he has developed quite a funny
streak. Oh, did you bring us some nice fresh eggs? How dear of you.
Yes, the doctor said he must eat lots of them."
"They were just laid yesterday," said Mrs. Sater complacently. "And I
said to myself, 'Nice fresh eggs like these are too good for anybody
less than a preacher.' So I brought them. There's just half a
dozen,--he ought to eat that many in one day."
"Oh, yes, easily. He is very fond of egg-nog."
David sputtered feebly among the pillows. "Oh, easily," he echoed
helplessly.
"I knew a woman that ate eighteen eggs every day," said Mrs. Sater
encouragingly. "She got well and weighed two hundred and thirty
pounds, and then she had apoplexy and died."
David turned on Carol reproachfully. "There you see! That's what
comes of eating raw eggs." Then he added suspiciously, "Maybe you knew
it before and have been enticing me to raw eggs on purpose."
Both Carol and David seized this silly pretext to relieve their
feelings, and laughed so heartily that good Mrs. Sater was quite
concerned for them. She had heard it sometimes affected folks like
that,--a great nervous or mental shock. She looked at them very
anxiously indeed.
"Are you selling your furniture pretty well?" she asked nervously.
"Oh, just fine. Mr. Barker at the drug store has promised to fumigate
everything after we are gone, so we won't scatter any germs in our
wake." Carol spoke hurriedly, her heart swelling with pity as she saw
the sudden convulsive clutching of David's hands beneath the covers.
"Mr. Daniels has a list of 'who bought what,' and will see that
everything is delivered in good shape. Only, we take the money
ourselves in advance. Now look at this chair, Mrs. Sater,--a lovely
chair," she rattled, thinking wretchedly of that contraction of David's
hands and the darkening of his eyes. "A splendid chair. It isn't sold
yet. It cost us eight seventy-five one year ago, and we are selling it
for the mere pittance of five dollars even,--we make it even because we
haven't any change. A most beautiful chair, an article to grace any
home, a constant reminder of us, a chair in which great men have
sat,--Mr. Daniels, and Mr. Baldwin, and the horrible gas collector who
has made life wretched for every one in the Heights, and--all for five
dollars, Mrs. Sater. Can you resist it?"
Carol's voice took on a new ring as she saw the shadow leave David's
eyes, and his lips curve into laughter again.
"Well, I swan, Mrs. Duke, if you don't beat all. Yes, I'll take that
chair. It may not be worth five dollars, but you are."
Carol ostentatiously collected the five dollars, doubled it carefully
into a tiny bit, and tied it in the corner of her handkerchief.
"My money, Mr. David Arnold Duke, and I shall buy candy and talcum with
it."
Then she ran into the adjoining room to answer the telephone.
Mrs. Sater looked about her hesitatingly and leaned forward.
"David," she said in a low voice, "Carol ought to go home to her
father. It's dangerous for her to stay with you. Everybody says so.
Make her go home until you are well. She may get it too if she goes
along. They'll take good care of you at the Presbyterian hospital out
there, you a minister and all."
The laughter, the light, left David's face at the first word.
"I know it," he said in a heavy voice. "I have told her to go home.
But she won't even talk it over. She gets angry if I mention it.
Every one tells me it is dangerous,--but Carol won't listen."
"Just until you get well, you know."
"I shall never get well unless she is with me. But I am trying to send
her away. What can I do? I can't drive her off." His hands closed
and then relaxed, lying helplessly on the covers.
When Carol returned she looked suspiciously from the stern white face
on the pillow to the disturbed one of her caller.
"David is tired, Mrs. Sater," she said gently. "Let's go out in the
other room and visit. I have made him laugh too much to-day, and he is
weak. Come along and maybe I can sell you some more furniture." Then
to David, brightly, "It was Mrs. Adams, David, she wanted to know if we
needed any nice fresh eggs." She flashed a smile at him and his lips
answered, but his eyes were mute. Carol looked back at him from the
doorway, questioning, but finally followed Mrs. Sater into the next
room.
"Mrs. Sater, you will excuse me now, won't you?" she said. "But I have
a feeling that David needs me. He looks so tired. You will come in
again, and--"
"Certainly, my dear, David first by all means. Run right along. And
if you need any more fresh eggs, just let me know."
"Yes, thank you, yes."
"Carol," whispered the kindly woman earnestly, "why don't you go home
and stay with your father until David is better? They will take such
good care of him at the hospital, and he will need you when he is well,
and it isn't safe, Carol, it positively is not safe. Why won't you do
as he tells you?"
Carol stood up, very straight and very tall. "Mrs. Sater," she said,
"you know I am an old-fashioned Methodist. And I believe that God
wanted David to have me in his illness, when he is idle. If He hadn't,
the illness would have come before our marriage. But I think God
foresaw it coming and thought maybe I could do David good when he was
laid aside. I know I am a silly little goose, but David loves me, and
is happy when I am with him, and enjoys me more than anything else in
the world. I am going with him. I know God expects me to do my part."
And Mrs. Sater went away, after kissing Carol's cheek, which already
was paling a little with anxiety.
Carol ran back to David and sat on the floor beside him, pulling his
hand from beneath the cover and kissing the white, blue-veined fingers.
She crooned and gurgled over him as a mother over a little child, but
did not speak until at last he turned to her and said abruptly:
"Carol, won't you go home until I get well? Please dear, for my sake."
Carol kissed the thumb once more and frowned at him. "You want to
flirt with the nurses when you get out there, and are trying to get me
out of the road. Every one says nurses are dangerous."
"Carol, please."
"Mrs. Sater has been talking to you. Oh, I knew it. She is a nice,
kind, Christian woman, and loves us both, but, David, why doesn't God
teach some people to mind their own business? She is a good Christian,
I know, dear, but I do believe there is still a little work of grace to
be done in her."
David smiled a little, sadly.
"Carol, it would break my heart if you got this from me."
"I won't get it. They will teach us how to be careful and sanitary,
and take proper precautions, and things like that. I am going to be
very, very careful. Why, honey, I won't get it. But, David, I would
rather get it than go away and leave you. I couldn't do that. I
should never be happy again if I left you when you were needing me."
David turned his face to the wall. "Maybe, dear," he said very gently,
"maybe it would be better if you did go home,--better for me. I need
perfect rest you know, and we talk and laugh so much and have such good
times together. I don't know, possibly I might get well faster--alone."
For a long moment Carol gazed at him in horror. "David," she gasped.
"Don't say that. Dear, I will go home if it makes you worse to have
me. I will do anything. I only want to help you. But I will be very
nice and quiet, like a mouse, and never say a word, and not laugh once,
if you take me with you. David, do I make you feel sicker? Does my
chatter weary you? I thought I was helping to amuse you."
"Carol, I can't lie like that even to send you away from me. Maybe I
ought to, but I can't. Why, sweetheart, you are the only thing left in
the world. You are the world to me now. Dear, I said it for your
sake, not for mine, Carol, never for mine."
Slowly the smiles struggled through the anguish in her face, and she
resumed her kissing of his fingers.
"Silly old goose," she murmured; "big old silly goose. Just because
he's a preacher he wants to boss all the time. Can't boss me. I won't
be bossed. I like to boss myself. I won't let my beautiful old David
go off out there to flirt with the nurses and Indian girls and whoever
else is out there. I should say not. I'll stick right along, and
whenever a woman turns our way, I'll shout, 'Married! He is mine!'"
[Illustration: "Silly old goose," she murmured.]
David laughed at her passionate discussion to herself.
"Besides, I have been learning a lot of things. I've been talking to
the doctor privately when you couldn't hear."
"Indeed!"
"Oh, yes, and we are great friends. He says if we just live clean,
white, sanitary lives, I am safe. I must keep strong and fat, and the
germs can't get a start. And he has been telling me lots of nice
things to do. David, I know I can help you. The doctor said so. He
says I must be happy and gay, and be positively sure you will be well
again in time, and I can do you more good than a tonic. Yes, he said
that very thing, Doctor O'Hara did. Now please beg my pardon, and
maybe I'll forgive you."
David promptly did, and peace was restored.
A committee of brotherly ministers was sent out from the Presbytery to
find how things were going in the little manse in the Heights. Very
gently, very tenderly they made their inquiries of Carol, and Carol
answered frankly.
"With the furniture money we have six hundred dollars," she told them,
rather proudly.
"That's just fine. It will take you to Albuquerque and keep you
straight for a few months, and by that time we'll have things in hand
back here. You know, Mrs. Duke, you and David belong to us and we are
going to see you through. And then when it is all over we'll get him a
church out there,--why, everything is going splendidly. Now remember,
it may be a few months, or it may be ten years, but we are back of you
and we are going to see you through. Don't ever wonder where next
month's board is to come from. It will come. It isn't charity, Mrs.
Duke. It is just the big brotherhood of the church, that's all. We
are going to be your brothers, and fathers, and--mothers, too, if you
will have us."
The devoted mansers rallied around them, weeping over them, giving them
good advice along with other more material, but not more helpful,
assistance and declaring they always knew David was too good to live.
And when Carol resentfully assured them that David was still very much
alive, and maybe wasn't as good as they thought, they retaliated by
suggesting that her life was in no danger on that score.
On the occasion of Doctor O'Hara's last visit, Carol followed him out
to the porch.
"You haven't presented your bill," she reminded him. "And it's a good
thing for you we are preachers or we might have slipped away in the
night."
"I haven't any bill against you," he said, smiling kindly down at her.
Carol flushed. "Doctor," she protested. "We expected to pay you. We
have the money. We don't want you to think we can't afford it. We
knew you were an expensive doctor, but we wanted you anyhow."
He smiled again. "I know you have the money, but, my dear little girl,
you are going to need every cent of it and more too before you get rid
of this specter. But I couldn't charge David anything if he were a
millionaire. Don't you understand,--this is the only way we doctors
have of showing what we think of the big work these preachers are doing
here and there around the country?"
"But, doctor," said Carol confusedly, "we are--Presbyterians, you
know--we are Protestants."
The doctor laughed. "And I am a Catholic. But what is your point?
David is doing good work, not my kind perhaps, and not my way, but I
hope, my dear, we are big enough and broad enough to take off our hats
to a good worker whether he does things just our way or not."
Carol looked abashed. She caught her under lip between her teeth and
kept her eyes upon the floor for a moment. Finally she faced him
bravely.
"I wasn't big or broad,--not even a little teensy bit," she said
honestly. "I was a little, shut-in, self-centered goose. But I
believe I am learning things now. You are grand," she said, holding
out her slender hand.
The doctor took it in his. "Carol, don't forget to laugh when you get
to Albuquerque. You will be sick, and sorry, and there will be sobs in
your heart, and your soul will cry aloud, but--keep laughing, for David
is going to need it."
Carol went directly to her husband.
"David, I am learning lots of perfectly wonderful things. If I live to
be a thousand years old,--oh, David, I believe by that time I can love
everybody on earth, and have sympathy for all and condemnation for
none; and I will really know that nearly every one in the world is
_very good_, and those that are not are _pretty_ good."
David burst into laughter at her words. "Poorly expressed, but finely
meant," he cried. "Are you trying to become the preacher in our
family?"
"All packed up and ready to start," she said thoughtfully, "and
to-morrow night we leave our darling little manse, and our precious old
mansers and turn cowboy. Aren't you glad you didn't send me home?"