PROFESSOR AND PROFESSORESS
WHEN it was finally decided that Jack was to go home to the Rainbow
ranch with her babies and Olive and Frieda for a visit, Frieda
strenuously objected. No reason was given her by her sister except the
ordinary one, that Jack wished to get away from the sad atmosphere of a
country at war and also to see her family.
"Certainly you don't show much consideration for Frank," Frieda
protested when she first heard the news. "It seems to me that England is
_his_ country and he has a good deal more work to do and goes through a
lot more than you do, Jacqueline Ralston. I never could make up my mind
to leave my husband under such circumstances."
Then although Jack flinched, she did not make the reply she might so
obviously have made.
However, Frieda went on just as if she had.
"I know what you are thinking of, but it was quite different with Henry
and me. He did not need me, he thought I was a butterfly and my wishing
to go out and dance and do exciting things disturbed his work. He didn't
allow me to go with other people because he thought it was his _duty_ to
look after me. He said so, said I was too young to be expected to take
care of myself. He wasn't a bit jealous like Frank, I shouldn't have
minded a jealous husband. If I said he was jealous, I was only
pretending because I wanted to seem interesting."
"Frank jealous?" Jack laughed. "You are too silly, Frieda."
Nevertheless Frieda tossed her yellow head, but also flushed a little,
having said more than she intended. If Frank did not know he was jealous
of Captain MacDonnell and Jack was also unaware how much this had
unconsciously influenced his decision concerning his friend's request,
it was not her place to tell them.
"Just the same you'll be sorry and ashamed of yourself some day, Jack
Ralston. You need not pretend anything to me, I understand the present
situation perfectly. Frank was rather horrid to you and he ought not to
be allowed to be a bully, but you could really twist him around your
finger if you tried. You can now at any rate because he adores you. And
Frank is pretty nice you know, most women would be glad to have him.
After all he has a title and money, and men are going to be scarce when
this war is over."
"Frieda!" Jack exclaimed in such a tone of disgust that Frieda departed
hastily, if still gracefully, out of her sister's room.
However she stopped at the door.
"You know it will look perfectly absurd for us both to go back home
without husbands," Frieda tossed out. "I didn't mind half so much when
Frank was around and there was at least one man in our family. But of
course it looks now as if we had something the matter with us, horrid
dispositions, so that no man could make up his mind to live with us."
This time Jack betrayed herself a little more by showing anger.
"You have no right to assume I am behaving as you did, Frieda, because I
want to go to the old ranch for a time. Frank has given me his consent,
I've no idea of running away."
Then, as Frieda burst into tears at the allusion, Jack had to draw her
small sister back into her room from the doorway, and do what she could
to apologize and console her.
She felt rather a hypocrite, too, because after all Frieda was not so
far wrong in some of her suppositions, and she had had no right to
pretend to superiority.
There was at this time no danger to passenger vessels through
submarines, so that it was arranged for the travelers to leave for the
United States early in April that they might spend the spring at the
Rainbow Ranch.
Olive was anxious to go. She had not intended remaining in England so
long, and wished to take up some course of study at home, to return
later when she might make herself more useful.
Jack was torn between her desire to make a visit to her own home, to get
away for a breath of freedom and the chance to decide what she ought to
do in the future when Frank opposed her right to decide important issues
for herself and the thought that, perhaps, Frieda was right and that she
was not playing fair in leaving her husband at so trying a time. But
Frank had not opposed her going, had really said he thought it might be
a good thing, and she did not know whether he meant this from her
standpoint or from his own. It might be that Frank also would enjoy a
certain relief from the presence of a wife who would not trust his
judgment. Certainly Frank's affection had never seemed the same since
that time. He had been wonderfully good in agreeing to her new wish, but
there were moments when, womanlike, Jack wondered if she would not have
liked it better had he shown more opposition.
So there was only Frieda who unqualifiedly stormed against leaving. Of
course she put it all on disapproving of her sister's action, but
naturally her family wondered if the fact that Frieda wished to be near
her husband, whom she believed to be fighting in France could have
anything to do with her point of view. However, no one dared to make
this suggestion to her. It would have done no good in any case since she
would probably have promptly denied it.
However, Frieda would not remain in England without her sister and Jack
was unwilling that she should. Nevertheless, insisting on maintaining
the attitude of an aggrieved character, Frieda separated herself from
her own family whenever she could.
Twice a week for instance she went into Granchester to tea with Mrs.
Huggins. Frieda had a private reason for this. One day she had
overlooked the fact that her own "Dame Quick" had not been her nurse or
foster mother and had confided to the old woman some of the things which
were troubling her. She did not want advice, what she wanted was to say
those things aloud which she had been saying to herself, and she knew
her old friend would simply listen and be kind to her. One might think
she would have feared that the old woman, with her passion for spreading
news, would have gossiped about her, but Frieda knew better than this.
One afternoon, about ten days before their sailing time, Frieda started
off alone to walk to Granchester. She was earlier than need be since
Olive had asked her a question which had offended her and she had been
irritable. She thought she had caught the suggestion of a lecture in her
sister's expression and so had hurried off before Jack had a chance to
speak.
Frieda recognized the fact that she was a little difficult to live with
these days. But then she excused herself by saying that no one knew how
worried and nervous she was. There were times when Frieda was afraid she
might be losing her prettiness through worry, until her mirror reassured
her. For Frieda understood her own appearance, just as she understood a
great many things. She knew that Jack had developed into a beauty from a
merely handsome girlhood and that she was only pretty. But she also
realized that prettiness often makes more appeal, especially to men,
than a higher type of loveliness. Therefore, Frieda had no idea of not
preserving her own charms as long as she possibly could.
She walked slowly so as not to arrive too early and because she was
enjoying the country more than she usually did. The quietness of the
English landscape, its look of a carefully kept garden, appealed to
Frieda more than the vastness of her own windswept western prairies. It
was one of the many odd ironies of fate that Jack, who loved the
prairies must live in England, while until lately Frieda's life had been
cast at least on the edge of the western country.
The old English laborers passing back and forth from their ploughing of
the spring fields were almost the only persons she met.
When Frieda reached the little house at the edge of the village, of
which Mrs. Huggins had once told her some story, she stopped for a
moment without any particular motive.
She did not remember exactly what the story was, if she had ever known.
But the little house rather interested her. For one thing she had
noticed every time she passed, at no matter what hour, the blinds were
always drawn halfway down.
The house was set in the middle of a small yard and had a little, low
ivy covered stone fence surrounding it and a wooden gate. However, the
front of the house was only a few yards from the street so that one
could see it distinctly.
Frieda was not standing still, but was loitering a few feet from the
gate, gazing absently toward the lower windows.
Then suddenly and certainly unexpectedly she heard a strange noise, a
kind of muffled roar. Then an explosion burst forth so that several
panes of window glass broke and puffs of smoke blew out.
For an instant there appeared back of the window, and surrounded by the
smoke like a cherubim among clouds, a face which Frieda did not really
believe she saw. Yet of course she knew she did see it, or else was
suddenly mad or dreaming.
As a matter of fact she had the sensation that she was taking part in a
ridiculous and improbable detective story, of the kind one reads in the
weekly magazines.
Yet without hesitating, or feeling the proper amount of uncertainty, or
fear, Frieda jerked open the little wooden gate and rushed up the path
to the front door of the house.
There at least she did stop to give the bell a fierce pull, but she
might have rushed in had she supposed the door unlocked.
However, the next second a little white faced maid appeared at the door,
and Frieda simply swept by her. The door of the room, where she had seen
the apparition, was on the left side of the hall and without knocking
she opened this. Just how Frieda would have explained her own behavior
had she made a mistake did not trouble her.
But she had not made a mistake. There standing in the centre of the room
and still somewhat surrounded by smoke and with the blood coming from an
injury to his hand, stood the person whose face Frieda believed she had
seen through the broken window. No, she did not really believe she had
seen it, though of course she knew she had.
[Illustration: I ASSURE YOU I HAVE OFFICIAL PERMISSION]
"Are you a deserter, Henry, hiding from justice?" Frieda demanded
scathingly, and still following the example of the method employed in
detective stories, since her experience was so exactly of the same kind.
"I most certainly am not, my dear," Professor Russell answered firmly,
but still somewhat apologetically.
"I was slightly wounded soon after my arrival at the front. But I also
found that my scientific knowledge could be of more service than my
abilities as a soldier. So I came back to England and have been
experimenting with gas bombs with that in mind. I assure you I have
official permission."
"Then why have you been hiding and why did you come down here?"
Professor Russell looked at Frieda and smiled slowly.
"You are the answer to both those questions, Frieda."
Unexpectedly Frieda's blue eyes filled with tears.
"I don't see how you can say that, Henry, when you have never even tried
to see me, or to let me know what had become of you. You knew I was
suffering horribly for fear you might be hurt or dead or something and
you wouldn't write me."
Professor Russell's lips twitched at the thought of his being blamed for
not writing after the worst had happened to him. But he made no other
sign.
"You are mistaken, I have seen you, my dear, many a time when you have
passed this window and at least I have had the satisfaction of realizing
you were well and happy."
"But I am neither," Frieda protested. "Besides I don't understand how
you knew, unless, unless--do you mean Frank and Jack were both aware
that you were here and never told me? They preferred I should suffer. I
shall never forgive either of them, never." And Frieda drew herself up,
very stately and very injured. But in truth her lips were trembling.
"You are not to blame your sister or brother, Frieda," Professor Russell
interrupted. "They have simply done what I asked, what I required of
them. You came over to England to be rid of my presence. I had neither
the desire nor the right to thrust myself upon you."
"Then I don't see why you didn't go and live somewhere else," Frieda
remarked petulantly. But at the same instant she sank down into a chair.
"I do wish, Henry, you would give me some tea. You seem to have an
extraordinary looking little girl to look after you. And I feel very
much overcome from the shock of hearing an explosion outside a strange
house and then seeing your face floating in space on the inside.
Moreover, if you are so extraordinarily scientific I should think you
would know enough to go and wash that gas bomb out of your hand."
This time Professor Russell openly laughed.
"It is scarcely a gas bomb inside my hand, Frieda. One of the chemicals
simply went slightly wrong."
But Frieda had closed her eyes and dropped her head back and really
looked so pale that her husband hurried out after his small maid and the
tea things.
The moment he had disappeared however she opened her eyes again.
"I am going to take Henry Russell back to the United States with me in
ten days," she remarked aloud, but in a very small whisper. "I don't
know how I am going to manage him or the British Government, but I am
going to, somehow. I thought I was bored with Henry and I was and I'll
probably be again. But I suppose all women are bored with the men they
live with sometimes. Anyhow, I had to think I had lost Henry to know I
wanted to keep him. He does get a little upset now and then when I want
my own way all the time, but really under the same circumstances I don't
suppose any other man would be half so nice to me as Henry is. Besides,
oh well, I believe I'm pretty fond of him."
When Professor Russell returned, Frieda again managed to have her eyes
closed and she really was upset by the events of the past few moments,
as was to be expected.
Therefore she seemed very languid while Professor Russell and his little
maid set out the tea things. She did offer faintly to help, observing
that her husband had full use of only one hand. But as it was his left
hand and he insisted on getting along alone, she permitted it, even to
the actually pouring and handing her of the first cup of tea.
Later he took a seat in a chair opposite her.
The unfortunate thing with Frieda was that she seldom could control her
appetite, had never been able to since her chocolate drop days. So she
concluded she had best begin her plan of procedure early.
"I don't see how Jack and Frank could have told you I was well, Henry,"
she said plaintively. "I don't suppose you have noticed but I have lost
a good many pounds."
As a matter of fact Frieda had lost several pounds, although she was
still reasonably rounded.
"No, I had not noticed before, but I observe you have," the Professor
returned. "I trust there is nothing serious the matter. What is the
doctor's opinion?"
Frieda shook her head. "I have not seen a doctor. Really, I have not
spoken of this to any one before, Henry. But do you know I think,
perhaps, I have not been well for a good many months, even before I left
Chicago. Maybe that is what made me cross sometimes, Henry. Maybe that's
why I ran away without telling you I was going. I really think I ought
to have talked the matter over with you, Henry. You would have been
quite willing for me to make Jack a visit wouldn't you, Henry, just as
Frank is allowing Jack to go home to the ranch?"
Frieda's hand holding the tea cup shook a little.
"But I didn't know this was a visit, Frieda. I thought you had gone away
for good. Indeed, I am under the impression that you said you never
wished to see me again."
Frieda shook her head.
"I never could have really said that, Henry, or if I did, you were
silly to think I meant it. I often say lots of things I don't mean. And
I have wanted to see you lots lately."
Professor Russell took Frieda's cup away and laid firm hold on both her
hands.
"Look at me, Frieda," he ordered quietly, "and don't answer me until you
have thought carefully about what you wish to reply. You have been a
child a long time, Frieda, but my dear, you have to grow up. All of us
must sooner or later. I am a good deal older than you and not only that
but I care for a lot of things which seem dull and uninteresting to you.
So do you care for things which do not seem vital to me. But I'm willing
to confess I'm an old fogy and sometimes I believe, Frieda dear, I did
you a great wrong when I married you at such a youthful age. I want you
to know, my dear, that I want to do whatever is best for your happiness.
I am willing to go out of your life, to relieve you of me altogether if
in any way it can be managed without reflection upon you."
"Then you mean you don't love me any more, Henry, you can't forgive me
for what I did," Frieda gasped, turning really honestly pale this time.
Professor Russell shook his head.
"I don't mean any such thing, Frieda child. Moreover, you know perfectly
well that I don't and that it is exceedingly reprehensible for you to go
on flirting in this way with your own husband unless you also care for
him."
Frieda sighed with satisfaction and lifted up her face to her husband,
plainly suggesting by her expression what she expected him to do.
The moment after, she said, with that funny look of gravity which no one
ever paid any special attention to from her.
"Do you know, Henry, if you say things like that to me oftener, I feel
sure I will care for you more. But please get your hat and come with me
now, I want to introduce you to a very dear, old friend of mine in
Granchester. Afterwards, if your hand does not hurt, you must go up to
Kent House with me to dinner. I intend to let Jack and Frank know that I
can manage my own affairs and do not in the future intend to be kept in
the dark as if I were a silly child."
The Professor obeyed orders.