The room was very still. The gaunt figure on the bed lay motionless save
for a slight lifting of the chest at long intervals. The face was turned
toward the wall, leaving a trail of thin gray hair-wisps across the
pillow. Just outside the door two physicians talked together in low
tones, with an occasional troubled glance toward the silent figure on
the bed.
"If there could be something that would rouse her," murmured one;
"something that would prick her will-power and goad it into action! But
this lethargy--this wholesale giving up!" he finished with a gesture of
despair.
"I know," frowned the other; "and I've tried--day after day I've tried.
But there's nothing. I've exhausted every means in my power. I didn't
know but you--" He paused questioningly.
The younger man shook his head.
"No," he said. "If you can't, I can't. You've been her physician for
years. If anyone knows how to reach her, you should know. I suppose
you've thought of--her son?"
"Oh, yes. Jed was sent for long ago, but he had gone somewhere into the
interior on a prospecting trip, and was very hard to reach. It is
doubtful if word gets to him at all until--too late. As you know,
perhaps, it is rather an unfortunate case. He has not been home for
years, anyway, and the Nortons--James is Mrs. Darling's nephew--have
been making all the capital they can out of it, and have been
prejudicing her against him--quite unjustly, in my opinion, for I think
it's nothing more nor less than thoughtlessness on the boy's part."
"Hm-m; too bad, too bad!" murmured the other, as he turned and led the
way to the street door.
Back in the sick-room the old woman still lay motionless on the bed. She
was wondering--as she had wondered so often before--why it took so long
to die. For days now she had been trying to die, decently and in order.
There was really no particular use in living, so far as she could see.
Ella and Jim were very kind; but, after all, they were not Jed, and Jed
was away--hopelessly away. He did not even want to come back, so Ella
and Jim said.
There was the money, too. She did not like to think of the money. It
seemed to her that every nickel and dime and quarter that she had
painfully wrested from the cost of keeping soul and body together all
these past years lay now on her breast with a weight that crushed like
lead. She had meant that money for Jed. Ella and Jim were kind, of
course, and she was willing they should have it; yet Jed--but Jed was
away.
And she was so tired. She had ceased to rouse herself, either for the
medicine or for the watery broths they forced through her lips. It was
so hopelessly dragged out--this dying; yet it must be over soon. She had
heard them tell the neighbors only yesterday that she was unconscious
and that she did not know a thing of what was passing around her; and
she had smiled--but only in her mind. Her lips, she knew, had not moved.
They were talking now--Ella and Jim--out in the other room. Their
voices, even their words, were quite distinct, and dreamily,
indifferently, she listened.
"You see," said Jim, "as long as I've got ter go ter town ter-morrer,
anyhow, it seems a pity not ter do it all up at once. I could order the
coffin an' the undertaker--it's only a question of a few hours, anyway,
an' it seems such a pity ter make another trip--jest fer that!"
In the bedroom the old woman stirred suddenly. Somewhere, away back
behind the consciousness of things, something snapped, and sent the
blood tingling from toes to fingertips. A fierce anger sprang instantly
into life and brushed the cobwebs of lethargy and indifference from her
brain. She turned and opened her eyes, fixing them upon the oblong patch
of light that marked the doorway leading to the room beyond where sat
Ella and Jim.
"Jest fer that," Jim had said, and "that" was her death. It was not
worth, it seemed, even an extra trip to town! And she had done so
much--so much for those two out there!
"Let's see; ter-day's Monday," Jim went on. "We might fix the fun'ral
for Saturday, I guess, an' I'll tell the folks at the store ter spread
it. Puttin' it on Sat'day'll give us a leetle extry time if she
shouldn't happen ter go soon's we expect--though there ain't much fear
o' that now, I guess, she's so low. An' it'll save me 'most half a day
ter do it all up this trip. I ain't--what's that?" he broke off sharply.
From the inner room had seemed to come a choking, inarticulate cry.
With a smothered ejaculation Jim picked up the lamp, hurried into the
sick-room, and tiptoed to the bed. The gaunt figure lay motionless, face
to the wall, leaving a trail of thin gray hair-wisps across the pillow.
"Gosh!" muttered the man as he turned away.
"There's nothin' doin'-but it did give me a start!"
On the bed the woman smiled grimly--but the man did not see it.
It was snowing hard when Jim got back from town Tuesday night. He came
blustering into the kitchen with stamping feet and wide-flung arms,
scattering the powdery whiteness in all directions.
"Whew! It's a reg'lar blizzard," he began, but he stopped short at the
expression on his wife's face. "Why, Ella!" he cried.
"Jim--Aunt Abby sat up ten minutes in bed ter-day. She called fer toast
an' tea."
Jim dropped into a chair. His jaw fell open.
"S-sat up!" he stammered.
"Yes."
"But she--hang it all, Herrick's comin' ter-morrer with the coffin!"
"Oh, Jim!"
"Well, I can't help it! You know how she was this mornin'," retorted Jim
sharply. "I thought she _was_ dead once. Why, I 'most had Herrick
come back with me ter-night, I was so sure."
"I know it," shivered Ella, "but you hadn't been gone an hour 'fore she
began to stir an' notice things. I found her lookin' at me first, an' it
give me such a turn I 'most dropped the medicine bottle in my hand. I
was clearin' off the little table by her bed, an' she was followin' me
around with them big gray eyes. 'Slickin' up?' she asks after a minute;
an' I could 'a' dropped right there an' then, 'cause I _was_
slickin' up, fer her fun'ral. 'Where's Jim?' she asks then. 'Gone ter
town,' says I, kind o' faint-like. 'Umph!' she says, an' snaps her lips
tight shet. After a minute she opens 'em again. 'I think I'll have some
tea and toast,' she says, casual-like, jest as if she'd been callin' fer
victuals ev'ry day fer a month past. An' when I brought it, if she
didn't drag herself up in bed an' call fer a piller to her back, so's
she could set up. An' there she stayed, pantin' an' gaspin', but
_settin' up_--an' she stayed there till the toast an' tea was
gone."
"Gosh!" groaned Jim. "Who'd 'a' thought it? 'Course 't ain't that I
grudge the old lady's livin'," he added hurriedly, "but jest now it's
so--unhandy, things bein' as they be. We can't very well--" He stopped,
a swift change coming to his face. "Say, Ella," he cried, "mebbe it's
jest a spurt 'fore--'fore the last. Don't it happen sometimes that
way--when folks is dyin'?"
"I don't know," shuddered Ella. "Sh-h! I thought I heard her." And she
hurried across the hall to the sitting-room and the bedroom beyond.
It did not snow much through the night, but in the early morning it
began again with increased severity. The wind rose, too, and by the time
Herrick, the undertaker, drove into the yard, the storm had become a
blizzard.
"I calc'lated if I didn't git this 'ere coffin here purty quick there
wouldn't be no gettin' it here yet awhile," called Herrick cheerfully,
as Jim came to the door.
Jim flushed and raised a warning hand.
"Sh-h! Herrick, look out!" he whispered hoarsely. "She ain't dead yet.
You'll have ter go back."
"Go back!" snorted Herrick. "Why, man alive, 'twas as much as my life's
worth to get here. There won't be no goin' back yet awhile fer me nor no
one else, I calc'late. An' the quicker you get this 'ere coffin in out
of the snow, the better't will be," he went on authoritatively as he
leaped to the ground.
It was not without talk and a great deal of commotion that the untimely
addition to James Norton's household effects was finally deposited in
the darkened parlor; neither was it accomplished without some echo of
the confusion reaching the sick-room, despite all efforts of
concealment. Jim, perspiring, red-faced, and palpably nervous, was
passing on tiptoe through the sitting-room when a quavering voice from
the bedroom brought him to a halt.
"Jim, is that you?"
"Yes, Aunt Abby."
"Who's come?"
Jim's face grew white, then red.
"C-ome?" he stammered.
"Yes, I heard a sleigh and voices. Who is it?"
"Why, jest-jest a man on--on business," he flung over his shoulder, as
he fled through the hall.
Not half an hour later came Ella's turn. In accordance with the sick
woman's orders she had prepared tea, toast, and a boiled egg; but she
had not set the tray on the bed when the old woman turned upon her two
keen eyes.
"Who's in the kitchen, Ella, with Jim?"
Ella started guiltily.
"Why, jest a--a man."
"Who is it?"
Ella hesitated; then, knowing that deceit was useless, she stammered out
the truth.
"Why, er--only Mr. Herrick."
"Not William Herrick, the undertaker!" There was apparently only pleased
surprise in the old woman's voice.
"Yes," nodded Ella feverishly, "he had business out this way, and--and
got snowed up," she explained with some haste.
"Ye don't say," murmured the old woman. "Well, ask him in; I'd like ter
see him."
"Aunt Abby!"--Ella's teeth fairly chattered with dismay.
"Yes, I'd like ter see him," repeated the old woman with cordial
interest. "Call him in."
And Ella could do nothing but obey.
Herrick, however, did not stay long in the sick-room. The situation was
uncommon for him, and not without its difficulties. As soon as possible
he fled to the kitchen, telling Jim that it gave him "the creeps" to
have her ask him where he'd started for, and if business was good.
All that day it snowed and all that night; nor did the dawn of Friday
bring clear skies. For hours the wind had swept the snow from roofs and
hilltops, piling it into great drifts that grew moment by moment deeper
and more impassable.
In the farmhouse Herrick was still a prisoner.
The sick woman was better. Even Jim knew now that it was no momentary
flare of the candle before it went out. Mrs. Darling was undeniably
improving in health. She had sat up several times in bed, and had begun
to talk of wrappers and slippers. She ate toast, eggs, and jellies, and
hinted at chicken and beefsteak. She was weak, to be sure, but behind
her, supporting and encouraging, there seemed to be a curious
strength--a strength that sent a determined gleam to her eyes, and a
grim tenseness to her lips.
At noon the sun came out, and the wind died into fitful gusts. The two
men attacked the drifts with a will, and made a path to the gate. They
even attempted to break out the road, and Herrick harnessed his horse
and started for home; but he had not gone ten rods before he was forced
to turn back.
"'T ain't no use," he grumbled. "I calc'late I'm booked here till the
crack o' doom!"
"An' ter-morrer's the fun'ral," groaned Jim. "An' I can't git
nowhere--_nowhere_ ter tell 'em not ter come!"
"Well, it don't look now as if anybody'd come--or go," snapped the
undertaker.
Saturday dawned fair and cold. Early in the morning the casket was moved
from the parlor to the attic.
There had been sharp words at the breakfast table, Herrick declaring
that he had made a sale, and refusing to take the casket back to town;
hence the move to the attic; but in spite of their caution, the sick
woman heard the commotion.
"What ye been cartin' upstairs?" she asked in a mildly curious voice.
Ella was ready for her.
"A chair," she explained smoothly; "the one that was broke in the front
room, ye know." And she did not think it was necessary to add that the
chair was not all that had been moved. She winced and changed color,
however, when her aunt observed:
"Humph! Must be you're expectin' company, Ella."
It was almost two o'clock when loud voices and the crunch of heavy teams
told that the road-breakers had come. All morning the Nortons had been
hoping against hope that the fateful hour would pass, and the road be
still left in unbroken whiteness. Someone, however, had known his duty
too well--and had done it.
"I set ter work first thing on this road," said the man triumphantly to
Ella as he stood, shovel in hand, at the door. "The parson's right
behind, an' there's a lot more behind him. Gorry! I was afraid I
wouldn't git here in time, but the fun'ral wan't till two, was it?"
Ella's dry lips refused to move. She shook her head.
"There's a mistake," she said faintly. "There ain't no fun'ral. Aunt
Abby's better."
The man stared, then he whistled softly.
"Gorry!" he muttered, as he turned away.
If Jim and Ella had supposed that they could keep their aunt from
attending her own "funeral"--as Herrick persisted in calling it--they
soon found their mistake. Mrs. Darling heard the bells of the first
arrival.
"I guess mebbe I'll git up an' set up a spell," she announced calmly to
Ella. "I'll have my wrapper an' my slippers, an' I'll set in the big
chair out in the settin'-room. That's Parson Gerry's voice, an' I want
ter see him."
"But, Aunt Abby--" began Ella, feverishly.
"Well, I declare, if there ain't another sleigh drivin' in," cried the
old woman excitedly, sitting up in bed and peering through the little
window. "Must be they're givin' us a s'prise party. Now hurry, Ella, an'
git them slippers. I ain't a-goin' to lose none o' the fun!" And Ella,
nervous, perplexed, and thoroughly frightened, did as she was bid.
In state, in the big rocking-chair, the old woman received her guests.
She said little, it is true, but she was there; and if she noticed that
no guest entered the room without a few whispered words from Ella in the
hall, she made no sign. Neither did she apparently consider it strange
that ten women and six men should have braved the cold to spend fifteen
rather embarrassed minutes in her sitting-room--and for this last both
Ella and Jim were devoutly grateful. They could not help wondering about
it, however, after she had gone to bed, and the house was still.
"What do ye s'pose she thought?" whispered Jim.
"I don't know," shivered Ella, "but, Jim, wan't it awful?--Mis' Blair
brought a white wreath--everlastin's!"
One by one the days passed, and Jim and Ella ceased to tremble every
time the old woman opened her lips. There was still that fearsome thing
in the attic, but the chance of discovery was small now.
"If she _should_ find out," Ella had said, "'twould be the end of
the money--fer us."
"But she ain't a-goin' ter find out," Jim had retorted. "She can't last
long, 'course, an' I guess she won't change the will now--unless some
one tells her; an' I'll be plaguy careful there don't no one do that!"
The "funeral" was a week old when Mrs. Darling came into the
sitting-room one day, fully dressed.
"I put on all my clo's," she said smilingly, in answer to Ella's shocked
exclamation. "I got restless, somehow, an' sick o' wrappers. Besides, I
wanted to walk around the house a little. I git kind o' tired o' jest
one room." And she limped across the floor to the hall door.
"But, Aunt Abby, where ye goin' now?" faltered Ella.
"Jest up in the attic. I wanted ter see--" She stopped in apparent
surprise. Ella and Jim had sprung to their feet.
"The attic!" they gasped.
"Yes, I--"
"But you mustn't!--you ain't strong enough!--you'll fall!--there's
nothin' there!" they exclaimed wildly, talking both together and
hurrying forward.
"Oh, I guess 't won't kill me," said the old woman; and something in the
tone of her voice made them fall back. They were still staring into each
other's eyes when the hall door closed sharply behind her.
"It's all--up!" breathed Jim.
Fully fifteen minutes passed before the old woman came back. She entered
the room quietly, and limped across the floor to the chair by the
window.
"It's real pretty," she said. "I allers did like gray."
"Gray?" stammered Ella.
"Yes!--fer coffins, ye know." Jim made a sudden movement, and started to
speak; but the old woman raised her hand. "You don't need ter say
anythin'," she interposed cheerfully. "I jest wanted ter make sure where
'twas, so I went up. You see, Jed's comin' home, an' I thought he might
feel--queer if he run on to it, casual-like."
"Jed--comin' home!"
The old woman smiled oddly.
"Oh, I didn't tell ye, did I? The doctor had this telegram yesterday,
an' brought it over to me. Ye know he was here last night. Read it." And
she pulled from her pocket a crumpled slip of paper. And Jim read:
Shall be there the 8th. For God's sake don't let me be too late.