A WOMAN'S CARE
"He's right now, Eve, dear--right _as_ right. He'll sleep till
morning, and then he'll wake up, an'--an' forget about being ill."
It was not so much the words as the tone that brought comfort to Eve.
She was leaning over her brother's bed watching the beautiful face, so
waxen now, and listening to his heavy breathing, which was steadily
moderating to a normal ease. The boy was sleeping the result of a dose
administered to him by Doc Crombie who had been urgently summoned
immediately after winning his race with Nature in another part of the
village. Elia had been prostrated with a nervous attack which ended in
a terrible fit, and Eve, all unaware of what had gone before between
her brother and Will, had been hard put to it, in her grief and
anxiety.
When the boy first showed signs of illness she sent for Mrs. Gay to
find the doctor, and the bright, busy little woman was still with her.
Annie Gay was quite the antithesis of her husband. She was practical,
energetic and, above all things, bright. She was quite young and
pretty, and Eve and she were considerable friends. She answered the
girl's summons without a moment's delay, and, to her utmost distress,
when she arrived, she found Elia in a fierce paroxysm of convulsions.
"You think so, Annie?" Eve's eyes lifted hungrily to her friend's
face. They were full of almost painful yearning. This boy's welfare
meant more to her than any one knew.
Annie took her arm, and gently drew her from the bedside, nodding her
pretty head sagely.
"Sure." Then she added with a great assumption of knowledge, "You see
those weakly creatures like poor Elia have got a lot o' life in them.
You can't kill 'em. Angel allus says that, an' he's sure to know.
Elia's body ain't worth two cents as you might say, but he's
got--what's the word--vi--vi----"
"Vitality," suggested Eve.
"Yes, sure. That's it. Now he'll just sleep and sleep. And then he'll
be bully when he wakes. So come you and sit down while I make you a
drop of hot coffee. Pore girl, you're wore out. There's no end to the
troubles o' this world for sure," she added cheerfully, as she hustled
off to the kitchen to get the promised coffee.
Eve sat down in her workroom. She was comforted in spite of herself.
Annie Gay's manner was of an order that few could resist; it was
illogical, and, perhaps, foolishly optimistic, yet it had that blessed
quality of carrying conviction to all who were fortunate enough to
lean on her warm, strong heart. And on Eve she practiced her best
efforts.
But Eve's anxiety only lay dormant for the time. It was still there
gnawing at her heart. She knew the danger of the fits Elia was subject
to and a brooding thought clung to her that one day one of these would
prove fatal. The least emotion, the least temper, fear, excitement,
brought them on. This one--it was the worst she had known. Supposing
he had died--she shuddered. Like a saving angel Annie reëntered with
the coffee in time to interrupt her thoughts.
"Now, dear, you drink this at once," she said. Then she went on, in
response to a mute inquiry, "Oh, yes, there's plenty here for me. And
when I come back I'm going to make some more, and cook a nice light
supper, while you watch the boy, and we can sit here together with his
door open until morning."
"But you're not going to stop, Annie," Eve protested. "I can't have
that. You must get your sleep. It's very kind of you----"
"Now look right here, Eve," the busy woman said decidedly, "you've got
nothing to say about it, please. Do you think I could sleep in my bed
with you fretting and worrying your poor, simple heart out? What if he
woke up in the night an'--an' had another? Who's to go and fetch Doc?
Now wot I says is duty's duty, and Angel Gay can just snore his head
off by himself for once, and I'm not sure but what I shall be glad to
be shut of the noise."
The genuine sympathy and kindliness were quite touching, and Eve
responded to it as only a woman can.
"Annie," she said, with a wistful smile, "you are the kindest, dearest
thing----"
"Now don't you call me a 'thing,' Eve Marsham," the other broke in
with a laugh, "or we'll quarrel. I'm just a plain woman with sense
enough to say nothing when Gay gets home with more whiskey aboard than
is good for his vitals. And don't you think I'm not putting a good
value on myself when I say that. Not that Gay's given to sousing a
heap. No, he's a good feller, sure, an' wouldn't swap him for--for
your Will--on'y when he snores. So you see it's a kindness to me
letting me stop to-night."
"You're a dear," Eve cried warmly,--"and I won't say 'thing.' Where
are you going now?"
"Why, I'm going to set Angel's cheese an' pickles, and put his coffee
on the stove. If he's to home when I get around, maybe I'll sit with
him ten minutes or so, an' then I'll come right along back."
She had reached the door, which stood open, and now she paused,
looking back.
"When are you gettin' married, Eve?" she demanded abruptly.
"Two months to-day," the other replied. She was surprised out of
herself, and for a moment a warm glow swept over her as she realized
that there was something still in the world which made for other than
unhappiness.
"Two months," said Annie, thoughtfully. "Two months, eh?" Then she
suddenly became mysterious and smiled into the other's face. "That'll
be nice time for Gay to think about something that ain't--a coffin."
She hurried out on her mission of duty and affection. Gay was her all,
but she had room in her heart for a good deal more than the worthy
butcher-undertaker's great, fat image. She had no children of her own
yet, but, as she often said, in her cheery, optimistic way, "time
enough."
It was her attitude toward all things, and it carried her through life
a heaven-sent blessing to all those who could number her amongst their
friends. To Eve she had certainly been all this and more, for when a
woman, alone in the world, is set the appalling task of facing the
struggle for existence which is called Life, without the necessary
moral and physical equipment for such a battle, the support of a
strong heart generously given surely becomes the very acme of all
charity.
After drinking her coffee, Eve went to the open door and stood looking
out upon the village. It was a warm summer night, and the scent of the
prairie was strong upon the air. As yet Barnriff was neither large
enough, nor shut in enough by its own buildings to hold to itself that
stale, stifling atmosphere which cities obtain. The air was the pure
breath which swept over the vast green rollers of the grass world in
the midst of which it stood.
The velvet heavens, clad in their perfect tinsel of a glorious night,
spread a softness over the world upon which she gazed. An odd light or
two twinkled from a tiny window here and there; and, then, like a
vulgar centerpiece, the lights of the saloon stared out harshly. There
was no moon, but the mellow sheen of the stars hid the roughness from
the mind, and conveyed an added peace.
The girl breathed a deep sigh. It was an expression of relief, of
something almost like content. And it told of what Annie Gay's coming
had meant to her. As though suddenly released from an insufferable
burden her heart cheered, and hope told her that her brother would
recover; and, in her relief, she gazed up at the starlit sky and
thanked the great God who controlled those billions of sparkling
worlds.
With each passing moment her mood lightened, and her thoughts
inevitably turned upon those happier things which had been nearly
obscured. She was thinking of Will, and wondering what he was doing.
Was he in bed? Was he sleeping and dreaming of her? Or was he awake
and thinking of their love, planning for their joint future? Her eyes
drifted in the direction of his old hut, where she knew he was to pass
the night. It was in darkness. Yes, he was a-bed, she told herself.
Then she smiled. An idea had flashed through her mind. Should she walk
over to the hut, and--and listen at the open window for the sound of
his breathing?
Her smile brought with it a blush of modesty, and the idea passed.
Then with its going her eyes turned away, and, suddenly, they became
fixed upon the indistinct outline of the gate in the fencing of her
vegetable patch. She could just make out the figure of a man standing
on the far side of it. For the moment the joyous thought that it was
Will came to her. Then she negatived the idea. The outline was too
large. She thought for a moment, and then, in a low voice, called the
man by name.
"Peter? That you?"
The gate opened, and the man's heavy tread came up the narrow path.
"Yes," he said, as he came. "I was just passing, and I thought I saw
you in the doorway." He had reached the house, and with Eve standing
on the door-sill, his rugged face was on a level with hers. "You're
kind of late up, Eve," he went on doubtfully. "That's what made me
stop. There's nothing amiss with--Elia?" he asked, shrewdly.
It was by no means a haphazard question. He knew what the lad had been
through that night. He knew, too, the boy's peculiar nervous
temperament and its possibilities.
"What makes you ask?" Eve retorted sharply. She knew something must
have happened to the boy, and was wondering if Peter knew what it
was. "Why should Elia be ill?"
Peter scratched his rough, gray head. His mild, blue eyes twinkled
gently in the lamplight from within the house.
"Well, seeing you were up---- But there, I'm glad it's nothing. I'll
pass on." Then he added: "You see, when a pretty girl gets standing in
the doorway late at night--and such a lovely summer night--and she's
just--just engaged, I don't guess she wants the company of six foot
three of a misspent life. Good-night, Eve, my dear. My best
congratulations."
But the girl wanted him. Now he was here she wanted to talk to him
particularly.
"Don't go, Peter," she said. "Something is the matter with Elia. He is
ill--very ill. He's had the worst fit I've ever known him to have,
and--and I don't know if he's going to pull round when he wakes up. He
was out late this evening, and I don't know where he's been, or--or
what happened to him while he was out. Something must have happened to
him. I mean something to upset him--either to anger him, or to terrify
him. I wish I knew. It would help me perhaps when he wakes."
Peter's smile had gone. His eyes were full of sympathy. There was also
a shadow of trouble in them, too. But Eve did not see it, or, if she
did, her understanding was at fault. They stood there for some moments
in silence, he so massive yet so gentle, she so slight and pretty, yet
so filled with a concern which harassed her mind and heart. Peter was
thinking very hard, and though he could have told her all she wanted
to know, though his great heart ached for her at the knowledge which
was his, he refrained from saying a word that could have betrayed the
boy's secret, and the hideous aspect he had witnessed of the man she
was going to marry.
"You had the Doc to him?" he inquired.
"Yes, oh yes. Doc dosed him to make him sleep. Annie Gay's been with
me helping."
"Ah, she's a good woman."
"Yes, she's more than that. She's as near an angel as human nature
will let her be." Then Eve abruptly changed her tone, and it became
almost appealing. "Tell me, Peter, what do you think could have
happened to Elia? I mean, to shock him so. I've tried and tried, but I
can't think--nor can Annie. You know all the boys, you go amongst
them, you may have heard?"
But Peter was ready, and answered her with such simple sincerity that
she could not question him further.
"I guess, Eve, if the boy has had any trouble, or shock, he'll tell
you of it when he wakes--if he wants you to know. I don't reckon if I
did know that I'd have a right to speak while he--he was asleep. I
say--if I did know."
"I see." Then the girl smiled up into his face a little whimsically.
"You men have a curious code of honor in your dealings with each
other. Quite different to us women."
Peter nodded.
"Yep," he said, "we haven't the same perspective."
The eastern horizon was lighting with a golden shadow and the sky-line
was faintly silhouetted against it. It was the soft, effulgent light
which heralded the full, rising moon. Eve watched it in silence for
some moments. Peter followed the direction of her eyes while he went
on speaking.
"When are you getting married, Eve?"
The question came hesitatingly.
"Then you know. Of course you know. You always seem to know, and yet
you don't seem to nose about like Anthony Smallbones. I'm going to be
married in two months."
The man's mild eyes were kept intently fixed on the lightening
horizon.
"Two months," he said, pondering. "And Elia? What of him?"
The girl started. She turned on him, and her pretty eyes were wide
with astonishment.
"It will make no difference," she said, with a sudden coldness she
could not have accounted for. "What do you mean?"
Peter's great shoulders shrugged.
"Why, nothing," he said. "It kind of seemed a natural question."
The tone brought immediate contrition to the girl's warm heart. This
man was always kind to her. It would have been difficult to remember a
single week since she had lived in Barnriff which had not witnessed at
least one small kindness from him. Her eyes wandered over her garden.
He had not long finished digging it over for her.
"Of course it was a natural question," she exclaimed, "only I--well,
it doesn't seem to me as if there could be any question about Elia.
Wherever I am, he will be."
"Just so, just so. He'll still live with you--you and Will. Y'see, I
was only thinking. If--if you wanted a home for him for a while, while
you and Will were--honeymooning, now. Why, he'd be real welcome in my
shack. He'd want for nothing, and I'd look after him same as--well,
not perhaps as well as you could, but I'd do my best. Y'see, Eve, I
like the boy. And, and his very weakness makes me want to help him.
You know he'd get good food. I'm rather particular about my food, and
I cook it myself. He'd have eggs for breakfast, and good bacon, not
sow-belly. And there's no hash in my shanty. The best meat Gay sells,
and he could have all the canned truck he liked. Oh, I'd feed him
well. And I've always got a few dollars for pocket money. Y'see, Eve,
folks honeymooning don't want a third party around, even if he's a
sick boy. I'd take it a real favor if you said 'yes,' I would, true. I
can look after----"
The man felt one of her warm hands squeezing his arm with the
tenderest pressure. There was a moisture in her eyes as she sought
his, but she shook her head.
"Peter, Peter, I don't know where you come from, I don't know why
you're here, unless it is to help us all to be better folks. I know
why you want to take Elia off my hands. I know, and the matter has
troubled me some. Elia doesn't like Will. I know that. But Elia is my
care, he's more--he's my life. He will be with me as long as we both
live, even--yes, even if I had to give Will up. I can't tell you,
Peter, what my poor weakly brother is to me. If anything happened to
him I think it would break my heart. And it seems so strange to me
that everybody, that is everybody but Jim Thorpe and you, dislikes
him. Even Will does a little, I--I'm afraid."
"Yes. You can't say how it is," Peter nodded. "But folks can't be
blamed for their likes and dislikes. Maybe Will will get over it.
Y'see he's just a wild sort of Irish boy. He's just quicksilver. Yes,
yes, he'll maybe grow to be as fond of the lad as you, Eve. But any
time you find you'd like me to have him for a bit--I mean--sort
of--two's company, you know--you'll just be making me a happy
man--eh?"
It was a cheery voice behind him that caused his exclamation. Annie
Gay stepped briskly up the path.
"Why, it's Peter!" she declared. "Now if it had been Will," she added
slyly. "But there, young engaged girls think they're safe from
scandalous tongues like mine. Going, Peter? I've just been down to the
meat store and stolen an elegant bit of tripe. Now, if Eve's only
sensible and got some onions, why there's a lunch fit for the
President."
"Oh yes, I've got onions," Eve reassured her. Then she turned to the
man. "Good-bye, Peter," she said, as he edged away, "and thank
you----"
But Peter would have no thanks.
"No thanks, Eve, I'd take it a favor."
And he vanished in the darkness leaving Annie looking at Eve, who
instantly began to explain as they went indoors.
"He thinks Elia will be in the way when Will and I are married," she
said. "He wants to look after him. Isn't he kind?"
"Well?" Annie's merry eyes were deadly serious.
"Of course I couldn't think of it. I could never let him go. I----"
"Eve Marsham, you're a--fool, and now I've said it. Do you know why
Peter wants----?"
She broke off in confusion. But she had successfully aroused Eve's
curiosity.
"Well? Go on," she demanded.
But Annie shook a decided head.
"It don't matter. I was only thinking my own thoughts, and they began
one way and finished another."
"How did they finish?" Annie's manner was quaintly amusing and Eve
found herself smiling.
"I'd just called you a fool, an'--I'd forgot to include myself."
Nor could she be induced to speak further on the matter.