WHAT THE THUNDER STORM BROUGHT
In the past few weeks Jinnie Grandoken had been driven blindly into
unknown places, forced to face conditions which but a short time
before would have seemed unbearable. However, there was much with
which Jinnie could occupy her time. Blind Bobbie was not well. He was
mourning for the cobbler with all his boyish young soul, and every day
Peggy grew more taciturn and ill. The funds left by Theodore were
nearly gone, and Jinnie had given up her lessons. She was using the
remaining money for their meagre necessities.
So slowly did the days drag by that the girl had grown to believe that
the authorities would never bring Lafe to trial, exonerate him, and
send him home. Then, too, Theodore was still in the hospital, and she
thought of him ever with a sense of terrific loss. But the daily
papers brought her news of him, and now printed that his splendid
constitution might pull him through. It never occurred to her that her
loved one would believe Lafe had shot him and Maudlin Bates. Theodore
was too wise, too kindly, for such suspicions.
For a while after receiving permission from the county attorney, she
visited Lafe every day. Peggy had seen him only once, being too
miserable to stand the strain of going to the jail. But Mrs. Grandoken
never neglected sending by the girl some little remembrance to her
husband. Perhaps it was only a written message, but mostly a favorite
dish of food or an article of his wearing apparel.
One afternoon Bobbie sat by the window with his small, pale face
pressed close to the pane. Outside a great storm was raging, and from
one end of Paradise Road to the other, rivulets of water rushed down
to the lake. Several times that day, when the boy had addressed Mrs.
Grandoken, she had answered him even more gruffly than of yore. He
knew by her voice she was ill, and his palpitating heart was wrung so
agonizingly that he was constantly in tears. Now he was waiting for
Jinnie, and the sound of the buffeting rain and the booming roar of
heavy thunder thrilled him dismally. To hear Jinnie's footsteps at
that moment would be the panacea for all his grief.
Peg came into the shop, and Bobbie turned slightly.
"Jinnie's stayin' awful long at the jail to-day," said the woman
fretfully. "Do you hear her comin', Bobbie?"
"No," said Bobbie, "I've been stretchin' my ears almost to the hill to
hear her. If she doesn't come soon, I'll die--my stars've been gone a
long time."
"I wish she'd come," sighed Mrs. Grandoken.
"Bend over here, Peg," entreated Bobbie, "I want to touch your eyes!"
Without comment the woman leaned over, and the boy's fingers wavered
over her wrinkled countenance.
"You're awful sick, dearie," he grieved, pressing against her. "Can
Blind Bobbie do anything?"
Peg dropped her arm around him.
"I'm afraid," she whispered. "I wish Lafe and Jinnie was here."
One long shiver shook Bobbie's slender body. That Peg could ever be
afraid was a new idea to him. It terrified him even to contemplate it.
He began to sob wistfully, but in another instant raised his head.
"She's comin'," he cried sharply. "I hear 'er. I got two stars, mebbe
three."
When Jinnie opened the door, the water was dripping from her clothes,
and her hair hung in long, wet curls to her waist. One look into Peg's
twisted, pain-ridden face, and she understood.
"I'm glad you're here," said the woman, with a gesture of
helplessness. And Bobbie echoed, with fluttering hands, "I'm glad,
too, Jinnie. Me and Peg was so 'fraid."
The girl spoke softly to Bobbie, and drew Peggy into the bedroom.
There, with her arm thrown across Mrs. Grandoken's shoulder, she gave
all the assurance and comfort of which she was capable.
Long after midnight, the rain still came down in thrashing torrents,
and through the pieces of broken tin on the roof the wind shrilled
dismally.
There was a solemn hush in the back bedroom where Peggy lay staring at
the ceiling. In front of the shadowy lamp was a bit of cardboard to
protect the sick woman's eyes from the light. At Peggy's side sat
Jinnie, and in her arms lay a small bundle. Jinnie had gained much
knowledge in the last few hours. She had discovered the mystery of all
existence. She had seen Peg go down into that wonderful valley of life
and bring back Lafe's little boy baby, and the girl's eyes held an
expression of impenetrable things. She moved her position slightly so
as to study Mrs. Grandoken's face.
Suddenly Peg's eyes lowered.
"Jinnie, gimme a drink, will you?"
Placing the child on the bed, the girl got up instantly. She went to
the kitchen and returned with a glass of milk. It had scarcely touched
the woman's lips before she raised her hand and pushed it away.
"I mustn't drink that," she whispered feebly.
"I got it specially for you, Peggy dear," insisted Jinnie.... "Drink
it," she wheedled, "please."
Then Jinnie sat down again, listening as the elements kept up their
continuous rioting, and after a while they lulled her to rest.
Suddenly her head dropped softly on the bundle in her arms, and the
three--Peggy, Jinnie and the tiny Jewish baby--slept.
Jinnie's name, spoken in low tones, roused her quickly. She raised her
head, a sharp pain twisting her neck. Peggy was looking at her, with
misery in her face.
"I feel awful sick, Jinnie," she moaned. "Can't you say somethin'
t'me, somethin' to make me feel better?"
Something to make her feel better! The words touched the listener
deeply. Oh, how she wanted to help! To alleviate Peg's suffering was
her one desire. If it had been Bobbie, or even Lafe, Jinnie would have
known exactly what to say; but Peggy, proud, stoical Peggy!
"Let me put the baby with you where it's warm, Peg," she said, gently.
"I'm going to talk to you a minute.... There, now, you're all safe,
little mister, near your mammy's heart."
Then she knelt down by the bed and took the woman's hot fingers in
hers.
"Peggy," she began softly, "things look awful bad just now, but Lafe
told me once, when they looked that way, it was time for some one to
come along and help. I'll tell you about it, Peg! Eh?"
"Who c'n come?" demanded Mrs. Grandoken, irritably. "Mr. King can't,
an' we hain't no other friends who'll come to a cobbler's shop."
The question in her voice gave Jinnie the chance she was looking for.
"Yes, there is," she insisted. "Now listen, while I say something;
will you?"
"Sure," said Peg, squeezing Jinnie's fingers.
Then Jinnie started to repeat a few verses Lafe had taught her. She
couldn't tell exactly where they were in the Bible, but the promise in
them had always made her own burdens lighter, and since seeing Lafe
daily, she had partially come back to her former trust.
"'The Lord is my Shepherd,'" she droned sleepily. Then on and on until
she came to, "'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death,'" and Peg broke into a sob.
"'I will fear no evil,'" soothed Jinnie, amid the roaring of the wind
and the crackling of the thunder over the hill.
"'For thou art with me,'" she finished brokenly. "He's the one I was
talking about, Peggy. He'll help us all if we can believe and be----"
Then she quickly ended, "Happy in Spite."
Peg continued to sob. One arm was across her baby boy protectingly,
and the other hand Jinnie held in hers.
"Somehow things seem easier, Peggy, when you hold your head up high,
and believe everything'll come all right.... Lafe said so; that's why
he started the club."
"I wisht I could think that way. I'm near dead," groaned the woman.
Jinnie smoothed the soft, grey-streaked hair.
"Wouldn't you like to come into the club, dear?" she faltered,
scarcely daring to put the question. "Then you'll be happy with us
all--with Lafe and Bobbie and--and----"
Jinnie wanted to say another name, but doubted its wisdom--and then
abruptly it came; "and Jinnie," she finished.
Peggy almost sat up in bed.
"Darlin'," she quivered. "Darlin' girl, I've been cussed mean to Lafe
an' you. I've told you many a time with my own mouth I hated you, but
God knows, an' Lafe knows, I loved you the minute I set eyes on you."
She dropped back on the pillow and continued, "If you'll take me in
your club, an' learn me how to believe, I'll try; I swear I will."
For a long time Jinnie sat crooning over and over the verses she'd
learned from Lafe, and bye-and-bye she heard Peg breathing regularly
and knew she slept. Then she settled herself in the chair, and sweet,
mysterious dreams came to her through the storm.