I
Grandma awoke with a start. She gained consciousness with the feeling
that something was just about to happen. Then she sank back again on
the pillow with a comfortable sigh of remembrance. Of course—this was
the day on which she was going travelling.
Even on usual days, Grandma could not lie in bed, idle. So much more
reason why she should be up and about, to-day, with so much to do.
Her train left at twelve o’clock—she had had her ticket and her berth
reservation for over a week, her trunk was all packed, there were just
a few necessary articles to put into her bag—but the morning would be
busy, as all mornings were at Fred’s.
Grandma bathed and dressed hurriedly, her bent, rheumatic fingers
grasping each hook and button with a nervous haste. As usual, she was
the first one in the bathroom. This morning she was especially glad.
For at Fred’s, Grandma’s second son’s house, where she was visiting
now, there was only one bathroom and there were eight in the family
without her, if you count the two babies. If you didn’t get in the
bathroom first....
Grandma put on her neat housedress, as was her wont. She could change
her dress later, and stuff the housedress into her bag. She arranged
her thin grey hair in neat waves around her face—she could smooth that
again, too.
From a room at the other end of the house Grandma heard a baby commence
to cry. It was Ruthie, Nell’s youngest baby, just a year old, one of
Grandma’s two great-grandchildren. Grandma loved little Ruthie a great
deal, a fine baby—still, it did seem good that she wouldn’t have to
take care of her any more for a long time. Not that Grandma minded
work—she had always worked, she liked something to do—but here at
Fred’s house there were so few moments when she wasn’t working. Not
that Fred’s family were mean to her! Grandma would have been indignant
if you had suggested that. Didn’t they work as hard as she did, and
harder? At seventy-three, Grandma was still strong and capable; no
wonder they expected her to do her share and accepted it without
comment.
Fred was a good son and a good husband and a good father. Could you
expect much more? But Fred never had much of a business head. Here he
was, at forty-nine, just about where he had been fifteen years before,
bookkeeper at the Harper Feed Store, a good enough position when times
were better, but, with everything so high, Fred’s salary didn’t go very
far. Still, no use complaining or worrying him about it, it was the
best he could do. Fred never had had much ambition or “get up.” It was
a good thing he had bought the house, years before. It had seemed too
big and rambling then. It was just about the right size now, though not
so awfully modern—and quite hard to keep clean.
Emma, Fred’s wife, was a good woman and a good housekeeper. She wasn’t
like the average daughter-in-law, either. She never quarrelled with
Grandma about things—in fact, she was awfully kind, in her hurried,
brusque way. Grandma sometimes wished she wasn’t so quick about things,
and decided—still, when one is as busy as Emma....
Emma was nearly Fred’s age. They had been married twenty-five years and
she had always been a good wife to him. They had three children, all
girls. Grandma had been sorry there couldn’t have been a son to help
Fred share the burden of supporting the family. But things seemed going
all right now—a little better than they had been, or so the family
seemed to think—and, as long as they were satisfied....
Nell, Fred’s oldest daughter, had married, four years before, and had
gone to housekeeping. But Homer Billingsley, the boy she had married,
had been sick for almost a year, so they had given up their little
cottage and were living “with the old folks.” They had two children
now, Freddie and Ruthie, nice good children, too. Grandma liked Homer,
Nell’s husband, though she was sorry he was so much like Fred in his
lack of ambition and power. Now that Homer was able to work again he
had his old job at Malton’s Hardware Store. There didn’t seem much
chance of his getting ahead there. Still, he was a good boy and awfully
fond of Nell and the children.
Edna, Fred’s second daughter, was stenographer at the First National
Bank and made fifteen dollars a week. Edna was fine looking, really the
beauty of the family. She paid her board every week, but never had
much left over because she bought Alice’s clothes, too, and, of course,
being in the bank, she had to look nice herself. Alice, the youngest
daughter, was seventeen and in High School. Grandma loved Alice, too.
Of course the child was thoughtless, she could have helped her mother
a little more with the housework or Nell with the babies, but Grandma
knew that, at seventeen, it’s pretty hard to sweep floors or take
babies out. After all, Alice was young, and she ought to have a good
time.
While she stayed at Fred’s house, Grandma did her share of the work.
Even this last morning she followed her usual routine.
She hurried to the room where Ruthie lay and soon had her quieted.
When Ruthie had her bottle—Grandma had learned all about sterilizing,
though she hadn’t known there was such a thing when she brought up
her own children—Grandma set the table, a plate, knife and spoon for
each, salt and pepper castors that had been a wedding present to Emma
and Fred, a butter dish with an uneven piece of butter in it, a sugar
bowl containing rather lumpy sugar and a fluted sugar spoon, a dish of
home-made plum preserves. She had the table all set when Emma hurried
into the kitchen with a cheery, abrupt “Morning, Ma,” and started the
coffee.
At half-past seven all but Alice were ready for breakfast. Grandma had
got the oatmeal out of the fireless cooker and boiled the eggs for
Homer, who was rather delicate and needed eggs for breakfast. When the
family sat down to their meal, Grandma put milk and sugar on little
Freddie’s oatmeal and saw that he ate it—Freddie didn’t like oatmeal
much.
“Well, Ma,” said big Fred, who sat comfortably coatless, “so to-day’s
the day you go travelling.”
“Yes, it is,” said Grandma and smiled.
“You got a good day for it. Let’s see, you leave Lexington to-day at
noon and get to New York to-morrow at two, don’t you?”
“Yes, Fred,” said Grandma.
“You know,” he went on, munching toast as he talked, “I believe you
enjoy travelling, going places. Never saw anything like it. Seems to
me a woman your age would want to settle down, quiet. You could stay
here all the time if you wanted to, you know that. Got a room all to
yourself—more than you get at Mary’s—and yet, off you go, after four or
five months. Here you’ve got a good home and all that.”
“Well,” said Grandma, in her gentle, even tones, “you know you aren’t
the only child I’ve got, Fred. There’s Albert and Mary.”
“Yes,” Fred frowned. He disliked even hearing the name of Albert. It
was the one thing that made him angry. “But we really want you, honest
we do, Ma. Emma and the girls always miss you after you’re gone.”
“You bet,” said Emma.
Grandma smiled. At least at Fred’s home she was welcome and helpful. If
she were only younger and stronger! At Mary’s and Albert’s, there was a
wordless agreement that her visits end, almost mechanically, at the end
of four months. Only mere surface invitations of further hospitality
were extended “for politeness.”
Fred and Homer finished eating and hurried off to business. Alice came
down, then, and Grandma served her, bringing in hot coffee and oatmeal,
as Emma started to clear away the dishes.
Alice ate rapidly, then kissed Grandma good-bye—she didn’t come home
at noon—and skipped off. Grandma and her daughter-in-law washed the
dishes and, when the dishes were done, they made the beds, one standing
on each side, straightening the sheets and pulling up the covers
simultaneously.
“Sure will miss you, Ma,” said Emma. “Nell’s no help at all. Don’t
blame her. Freddie tagging at her heels and the baby crying.”
While Emma straightened up the downstairs rooms, Grandma helped Nell
bathe and dress the babies. Then the expressman rang and Grandma
hurried to the door, saw that he took her trunk and put the check in
her purse. Then Grandma cleaned up the room she had occupied. It was
time, then, for Grandma to get ready for her journey. Usually, she
helped prepare dinner after these tasks were done, peeling potatoes,
setting the table, for at Fred’s one ate dinner in the middle of the
day.
Grandma put on her travelling dress. It was her best dress, of soft
grey silk crêpe, trimmed with a bit of fine cream lace at the throat.
Albert had given it to her on her birthday, two years before. Over this
she put her best coat of black ribbed silk, also a gift of Albert. She
adjusted her neat bonnet—five years old but made over every year and
you’d never guess it.
Emma and Nell were too busy with dinner and the babies to go to the
station with Grandma, but the street-car that passed the corner went
right to the station, and Homer and Fred would be there to tell her
good-bye. At eleven—Grandma believed in taking plenty of time, you
never could tell what might happen on the way to the station—Grandma
kissed Emma and Nell and Freddie and Ruthie, giving Ruthie a very
tender hug and Freddie a hearty kiss, in spite of much stickiness from
the penny lollypop he had been eating. She took her bag and hurrying as
fast as she could—Grandma took little, slow rheumatic steps—she caught
the surface car.
In the railway station Grandma sat down gingerly on one of the long
brown benches, carefully pulling her skirts away from suspicious
tobaccoy-looking spots on the floor, and waited for Fred and Homer and
the train.
Fred and Homer came up, together, puffing, just before the train was
due. Homer presented Grandma with a half-pound box of candy and Fred
gave her a paper bag filled with fruit.
When the train came in, Fred and Homer both assisted Grandma in getting
on, took her to her seat and kissed her, loudly, before their hurried
exit—the Limited stops for only a minute at Lexington.
Then, as the train moved away, Grandma waved a fluttering good-bye to
the two men and sighed again, with happiness. She was travelling!