THAT CROWDED DAY’S END
Trixy brought Jane back with her. And she, being Jane, asked no foolish
questions. It did, however, take her a few minutes to regain her
composure. It was so long since she had seen her darling “Glory.” And to
find her here, in all this misery, like a ministering angel with her
eyes now begging liberation!
Jane clasped and reclasped the slender form. Gloria choked and gurgled
back her own tears.
“Jane! Oh, Jane!” she hardly whispered. “I’ve needed you so!”
“Then why—”
“If you will just give your orders, Miss Glorified, Beautified, Florence
Nightingale Doane,” interrupted Trixy, “I’ll shoo Marty off for the Berg
nurse. We really must make rapid strides now if we are too cover the
rest of the high spots.”
“You’re right,” said Jane, tilting her chin down on the baby’s fist that
was so intimately exploring her neck lines. She had rescued the child as
her first maternal act following the reckless joy of reclaiming her own
baby, Gloria. “I thought my sister’s children were active,” she
declared, “but these, the poor neglected darlings!”
“Pile them all in the car and shoot them off with Marty,” suggested
Gloria, using Trixy’s apt term. “They will be enthralled with such a
ride.”
“The very thing,” agreed Trixy.
“And perhaps then I can move my feet,” hoped the rather confused Jane.
She wanted to do so many things to right the upset place, but nothing
she could do would have seemed magical enough to achieve that. The
disorder was appalling, but not unpardonable.
Jennings again spread the robes to save the handsome car, and when all,
even tiny May and shy little Dick, were piled in and started off, with
Marty up front and Ellen in the middle of the back seat, Gloria and
Trixy indulged in a life saving laugh.
“Thrills!” cried Trixy. “And more thrills! Gloria, I’ll never call life
in Sandford dull again! You would make an irresistible nurse!”
“And you a captivating ambulance driver!”
“At a football game!”
“Played in the mud!” they chuckled.
Jane was actually singing to that benighted infant.
“If Mrs. Berg is not at home yet, what ever shall we do?” asked Gloria
seriously, when Jane stalled on a high note.
“She will be,” said Trixy. “And, Glo, I must ’fess up. I’ve had a little
interest in this case myself. You see, Sherry Graves, who made the
unfortunate little park and planned the disastrous model house,
was—still is—a friend of mine!”
“Trixy!”
“Yes. And I used to go out there with him—and watch it grow.”
“Oh!” The sigh was eloquently affectionate.
“Yes!” Trixy kicked her heels against the old lounge. “And it all seemed
so stupid. Father sent for engineers, but they wouldn’t do a thing until
Spring. Couldn’t tell where the water came from and didn’t even take a
serious interest.” She sighed now. The ebullient Trixy was at last
revealing herself. “Then Sherry’s health failed and he sailed away!”
Gloria’s arms were trying to show her sympathy. She was too overcome to
speak, but Trixy went on:
“Until you came, Glo, I was just a wreck. Of course we don’t call it
love, but Sherry is a wonderful boy and certainly talented.”
“And people around here are so—so uncharitable!” breathed Gloria. She
knew now that every one associated with the Echo Park venture was being
made subject to public censure.
“Yes, I know. Sherry isn’t here but I can’t help hearing their
continuous slurs!” Trixy looked mature and very handsome just now, this
young girl with the lilt of the lark and the heart of a dove, thought
Gloria.
“But we’ve done something,” Gloria said. “This is at least an attempt at
reparation. Poor little Aunt Lottie! That her money should have worked
such misery!”
The big car swung into the lane again, and the round capable face of
Mrs. Berg was unmistakably in the group that peered out as they came.
Just how the final arrangements were made no one could tell, for
confusion developed into veritable Bedlam. But the two girls willingly
enough found their own places in the car, while Jane delayed to make
sure that Marty would go over to Logan Center, first thing next morning.
Mrs. Berg, fortified with a ten dollar bill from Trixy, had agreed to
give up her place at cooking for some overburdened farm woman, and stay
with the Gorman children until their mother “was cured.” She also added
that crowning feat of wonder—she would notify the absent Mr. Gorman.
“’Tain’t no bother a’tall,” she smiled. “Joe Smith goes into Franklin
with his team every mornin’.”
Marty clung to the car until Jennings warned him with the hum of the
engine. Then he called out to Gloria:
“Don’t forget!”
“I won’t. First thing?”
“Sure!”
“Good-bye!”
“Good-bye!” and the little faces faded away in the softening eventide.
Jane was too overcome to speak. But she finally did gasp: “That baby!”
“Mrs. Berg will take good care of it,” Gloria assured her, sinking down
comfortably against the familiar shoulder.
“But I want to know,” spoke up Trixy, “what was the date you made with
Marty?”
“Oh,” faltered Gloria, betraying real confusion. “He promised to show me
around a little.”
“Oh yes,” retorted Trixy. “Out around Echo Park?”
“Yes,” assented Gloria, and then the question was mercifully changed to
matters Jane could comprehend.
She was promptly told about Mrs. Towers’ sudden illness, but her own
knowledge of that woman’s nerves offset any show of surprise at this.
“But don’t you get excited, Glo,” warned Trixy. “You have had enough
excitement for one day, I’ll testify.”
This advice, however, could not possibly forestall Gloria’s excitement
when she was actually confronted with her Aunt Hattie’s condition a
short time later.
Jane and Trixy kept in the background, preferring to wait in the living
room, while Gloria, in spite of an officious person called Martha Drake,
made her way directly to her aunt’s room.
“Oh, Gloria,” wailed the woman from the pillows. “I’m almost dead! Where
have you been?” She was seriously changed—even with a quick glance
Gloria saw this and tried to calm her.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Auntie dear,” she murmured, “but I couldn’t help it.”
“I don’t blame you! I knew you’d go. You couldn’t stand it here!” gasped
the sick woman.
“It was all my fault, Glory. But I tried—”
“Please don’t talk so, Aunty,” begged Gloria, now on her knees beside
the bed, “I only went to see a—sick friend, and I couldn’t get away!”
“I know. You went on Mona’s wheel and you took all your money, and I
thought—”
“That I had run away! Oh, Auntie! Of course I didn’t. I wasn’t unhappy
here, and you have been good and kind to me—”
“After cheating you! After sending Hazel in your place! After stealing
Lottie’s money!”
“Hush, Auntie, don’t!” begged Gloria, feeling the hand of Martha Drake
urging her to leave the room. “You are only excited and worked up. I
know you did nothing wrong, and you must not blame yourself so—”
A grateful look came over the face of Harriet Towers. “You have taught
me, you with your quiet, determined spirit. But I’ve done what I could.
Squire Hanaford now has the deed of that—that place, and it’s to be made
out over in your name.”
“In my name? But I don’t want it,” protested Gloria, going toward the
door.
“I couldn’t live another day until I did it, and I’m afraid—”
“You did too much in one day. And a lot of it was my fault,” murmured
Gloria contritely.
“When I found you had taken your money, your fur coat money—”
“I needed it for—the sick friend.”
“Was it—was it—for—that poor wretched little woman, Margaret Gorman?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I’m so glad. She has been so sick and she dragged herself here, and
I promised—”
“But she’ll be all right again soon,” broke in Gloria. “We took her—that
is we sent her to Marie Hospital this afternoon.”
A perfect flood of relief swept over the face of Harriet Towers. Surely
the weight of her anxiety had been hard to bear.
“You must come out,” insisted the officious Martha. “The doctor ordered
quiet and you can’t call this—’’
“He couldn’t have ordered miracles,” spoke up the Aunt Hattie, “but they
came, just the same. Glory, come over here and kiss me.”
Gloria did, fondly and gently.
“Now with a night’s sleep I’ll be able to go up to Squire Hanaford’s and
sign that deed. When your Uncle Charley comes tell him I’m
just—napping!”
“She needs it,” snapped Martha, putting the shade before the light and
smoothing the bed clothes.
Gloria crept down stairs. She found Dr. Daly talking to Jane and Trixy.
“She’s sleeping!” was Gloria’s announcement.
“And that’s all she needs,” declared the doctor. “This thing has been
preying on her mind until she’s all but a wreck. Of course, she was
always frail, but sick women are like flivvers. They give and take a
lot. I need not see her,” he protested as Martha attempted to lead him
to the sick room. “I was just passing and I wanted to tell you all that
I left poor Mrs. Gorman very comfortable indeed.”
“And my folks are waiting dinner,” spoke Trixy. “Gloria—”
“I couldn’t—”
“You have got to, young lady,” directed Dr. Daly. “I don’t mind having
patients but I don’t like to have them all in one day. You must rest
quietly tonight with your friend.”
And so it was arranged. Jane was driven on to her sister’s but every rod
of the way out to Trixy’s she and Gloria made plans—new ones and record
breakers.
Gloria, once started, never turned back, and the mystery of Echo Park
was yet to be solved.