GRANNY
Thoroughly exhausted by the nervous strain of the day before Robin slept
late. When she awakened it was to the alarming realization that Beryl
was not with her--her bed was empty, the room deserted, from the
bathroom came no sound of splashing water, with which Beryl usually
emphasized her morning dip.
The unhappy happenings of the evening just past flashed into Robin's
mind. Beryl had not even said good-night, had pretended to be asleep.
What if she had gone away from the Manor?
The thought was so upsetting that Robin dressed in frantic haste, paying
careful regard to her stockings, however, and tumbled down the stairs,
almost upsetting Harkness and a tray of breakfast.
"Where's Beryl?" she demanded.
"Miss Beryl's gone, Missy. She got up early and went off directly she
had breakfast."
"Did she--did she have a bag?" faltered poor Robin.
"Why, yes, Missy, she had that bag she come with 'near as I can
remember. Didn't she tell you she was going?"
"Well--not so early," Robin defended.
"If it's a quarrel, and young people fall out more times 'n not, Missy,
don't you feel badly. Miss Beryl'll be back here, mark my words! She's
smart enough to know when things are soft."
"Don't you ever, _ever_ say that again, Harkness! Beryl didn't want to
stay here in the first place. She's proud and she's fine and she had
ambitions that are grander than anything the rest of us ever dreamed of.
It's just because it _is_ soft here that she didn't want to stay. She
thought she wasn't really earning anything. I should think--" and oh,
how her voice flayed poor trembling Harkness, "I should think if you
_cared_ anything about me you'd be dreadfully sorry to have me left
alone here--"
"Now, Missy! Miss Robin! Old Harkness'll go straight down to the village
and bring Miss Beryl--"
Robin laid her hand on the old man's arm. "I just said that to punish
you. No, I'll be very lonesome here but I will _not_ send for Beryl.
We'll get along someway. If I only were not rich, everything would go
all right, wouldn't it, Mr. Harkness?"
"Well, I don't just get your meaning but I will. And I guess so, Missy.
And now what do you say to a bite of breakfast--fetched hot from the
kitchen to your own sunny room?"
Robin knew she would break the old man's heart if she refused his
service so she climbed back up the stairs to the sunny window of the
deserted sitting-room and awaited the tray of hot breakfast. And as she
sat there her eyes suddenly fell upon Cynthia, sitting straight among
the cushions of the chaise longué, staring at her with faded, unblinking
eyes. Beryl had not taken the doll!
A great hurt pressed hard against Robin's throat. Beryl had _wanted_ to
make her feel badly. But why--oh, what had she done?
"You can stay there, Cynthia. _I_ won't touch you," she cried, turning
to the window, and at the same time she registered the vow in her heart
that by no littlest word or act of hers should Beryl know how her
desertion had hurt her.
A week of stormy weather, which made the roads almost impassable, helped
Robin. She threw herself into her studies with a determination almost as
upsetting to Percival Tubbs as her former indifference. And when the
studies were over she buried herself in the great divan before the
library fire with books piled about her while Harkness hovered near at
hand, watching her with an anxious eye.
Robin did not always read the open page. Sometimes, holding it before
her, she let her mind go over word by word what Dale had said to her as
they walked home from the store. It had not been much, to be sure, but
it had been enough to make her feel that her Prince had opened his heart
to her, oh, just a tiny bit. With her blessed powers of imagination and
with what Beryl had told her from time to time concerning him, she could
put everything together into a beautiful picture.
Dale was splendid and brave--_he_ had not been afraid of being poor! And
he dreamed, too, like Sir Galahad, but a dream of machinery. And he had
had a beautiful light in his face when he had said that about his
shoulders being broad enough to support his family. Oh, Robin wished she
could see him in a scarlet coat like Sir Galahad wore in the picture.
The snowstorm abating, Robin sent Williams to the village with a basket
of flowers for Mrs. Lynch and fruit for big Danny, and Williams brought
back a tenderly grateful little note from Mrs. Lynch--but not a word
from Beryl.
"Everything must be all right or she'd have told me," Robin assured
herself. "Anyway Mr. Norris would be _afraid_ to arrest anyone like
Dale."
What Robin did _not_ know--for it was not likely to disturb the
Manor--was that something far crueller than Norris was claiming the
anxiety of the Mill workers. A malignant epidemic had lifted its ugly
head and had crept stealthily into several homes, claiming its victims
in more than one. Norris feared an epidemic more than labor trouble;
unless it could be quickly stamped out it gave the Mills a bad name and
made it difficult to get hands. So, at its first appearance he called
the Mill doctor into consultation, and urged him to do everything in his
power to check the advance of the disease.
The Mill doctor, an overworked man, wanted to tell Norris that it was a
pity that the whole "old village" had not gone up in smoke, but he
refrained from doing so; instead spoke optimistically of the weather
being in their favor, and went away.
On an afternoon three weeks after Beryl's sudden and inexplainable
departure, the drowsy quiet of the old Manor was broken by a shrill
voice lifted in frenzied protest against Harkness' deeper tones. It
brought Percival Tubbs from his nap, Mrs. Budge from the pantry and
Robin from the library. There in the hall stood poor little Susy, her
old cap pushed back from her flaming cheeks, her eyes dark with fright,
struggling to escape from Harkness' tight hold.
At sight of Robin her voice broke into a strangling sob.
"Oh! Oh! _Oh!_"
"She won't tell me her errand," explained Harkness, looking like a
guilty schoolboy caught in a bully's act.
"Harkness, shame on you! Let her go," cried Robin.
Freed from Harkness' hold Susy ran to Robin and clasped her knees. She
was shaking so violently that she could do nothing more than make funny,
incoherent sounds which were lost in the folds of Robin's skirt.
"See how you've frightened her! Susy-girl, don't. _Don't_. You're with
the big girl. Tell me, what is the matter?"
Suddenly Susy pulled at Robin's hand and, still sobbing, dragged her
resolutely toward the door. Robin caught something about "Granny."
"Something dreadful must have happened to frighten her," Robin declared
to the others. "Won't you tell Robin, Susy? Do you want Robin to go with
you to Granny's?"
At this Susy nodded violently, but when Robin moved to get her wraps she
burst forth in renewed wailing and clung tightly to Robin's hand.
"Harkness, please get my coat and hat and overshoes. I'm going back with
Susy. Something's happened--"
"Miss Gordon, indeed, you better not--" implored Harkness.
"Hurry! Haven't you tormented the poor child enough? Don't stand there
like wood. If you don't get my things _at once_ I'll go bareheaded!"
Harkness went off muttering and Percival Tubbs advanced a protest which
Robin did not even hear, so concerned was she in soothing poor Susy.
In a few moments she was hurrying down the winding drive which led to
the village, with difficulty keeping up with Susy, leaving behind in the
great hall of the Manor an annoyed tutor, a worried butler and an
outraged housekeeper.
More than one on the village street turned to stare at the strange
little couple, Susy, pale with fright, two spots of angry red burning
her cheeks, running as though possessed, and Robin limping after her
with amazing speed and utterly indifferent to anyone she met.
As they neared the old village Susy's pace suddenly slowed down and
Robin took advantage of that to ask her more concerning Granny.
"Granny's queer and all cold and she won't speak to me, she won't!" Susy
managed to impart between gasps.
A terrible fear gripped Robin. Perhaps Granny was dead! And her
apprehension was confirmed when a neighbor of the Castles rushed out to
head her off.
"Don't go in there! Don't go in there!" she cried, waving the shawl she
had caught up to wrap around her head. "They've got the sickness. The
old woman's dead. Tommy's staying at Welch's. My man's reportin' it this
mornin'. Poor old woman, went off easy, I guess, but it's hard on the
kid. Say, Miss, you oughtn' get close to her. It's awful catchin' and
you c'n tell by the look o' her she's got it, too." And the neighbor
edged away from Susy.
In a sort of stupefied horror Robin looked at the neighbor, the wretched
house and Susy. Susy had begun to cry again, quietly, and to tremble
violently.
"Susy Castle, you go like a good girl into the house n' stay 'til the
doctor comes and takes you," commanded the woman. "Don' you come near
anyone! Y' got the sickness! See y' shake!"
"Go _'way_!" screamed Susy, clinging to Robin. Robin pulled her fur
from her throat and wrapped it about the shivering, sobbing child.
"Yer takin' awful chances, miss--just _awful_," warned the neighbor,
edging backward toward her house with the air of having completed her
duty. "If y' take my advice you'll leave the kid there 'til some'un
comes. They'll likely take her t' the poor-house!" And with this
cheerful assumption she slammed her door.
"There! There! Robin'll take you home. Don't cry," begged Robin,
kneeling in the path and encircling poor little Susy in her arms. "We'll
go back to the big house and Robin'll make you nice and warm."
"I want Granny!" wailed the child, feeling her miserable little world
rocking about her.
Robin straightened and looked at the house. Granny was dead, the
neighbor had said; nothing more could be done for her. But something in
the desolation of the place, the boarded door, the dingy window stuffed
with its rags, smote Robin. Poor Granny must have died all alone. No one
had even whispered a good-bye. And she lay in there all alone. Robin
knew little of death; to her it had always meant a beautiful passing to
somewhere, with lovely flowers and music and gentle grief. This was
horribly different--there was no one left but little Susy and she was
going to take Susy away at once. Ought she not to just go softly into
that house and do _something_--something kind and courteous that
Granny, somewhere above, might see--and like?
"Wait here, Susy. I'll be back in a moment." She walked resolutely
around to the door which Susy, in her flight, had left half-open. At the
threshold a cold dread seized her, sending shivers racing down her
spine, catching her breath, bringing out tiny beads of moisture on her
forehead. She had never seen a dead person--had she the courage?
She tiptoed softly into the room, her eyes staring straight ahead. In
its centre she stopped and looked slowly, slowly around as though
dragging her gaze to the object she dreaded--across the littered table,
the cupboard, the stove crowded with unwashed pots and pans, the dirty
floor, an overturned chair, the smoke-blackened lamp and last--last to
the bed. There, amid the tumbled quilts, lay poor Granny.
Robin swallowed what she knew was her heart and walked to the bed.
"Granny," she said softly, because she had to say something, then almost
screamed in terror at the sound of her own voice. Strangely enough there
was a smile on the worn, thin lips. In her high-strung condition Robin
thought it had just come--she liked to _think_ it had just come. It gave
her courage. She smoothed the dirty gray covers and folded them neatly
across the still form, careful not to touch the withered hands. Then she
looked about. Her eyes lit on the faded pink flowers that still adorned
the what-not. Moving with frightened speed she caught them up and
carefully laid them on Granny's breast.
"They were beautiful once and so was poor Granny. Good-bye, Granny," she
whispered, moving backward toward the door. Out in the air she leaned
for a moment weakly against the door jamb--then resolutely pulled
herself together, and carefully closed the door behind her.
Susy stood where she had left her. "Come, Susy, let's hurry," Robin
cried. Catching the child's hand she broke into a run, wondering if she
could get back to the Manor before that dreadful sickening thing inside
of her quite overcame her.
But at that moment Williams appeared in the automobile, jumped from the
seat and caught Robin just as she started to drop in a little heap to
the ground.
"Miss Robin!" he cried in alarm.
The feel of his strong arms and the warmth and shelter of his great coat
sent the life surging back through Robin's veins. She laughed
hysterically.
"Take us home, quick," she implored. And so concerned was Williams that
he made no protest at lifting Susy into the car.
Both Harkness and Mrs. Budge, with different feelings, were waiting
Williams' return in the hall of the Manor. Harkness, with real concern,
(he had despatched Williams) and Mrs. Budge with defiance. She had just
announced that she'd stood about as much as any woman "who'd give her
whole life to the Forsyths ought t' be expected to stand" when Robin
half-carried Susy into the Manor.
"Harkness, _please_--Susy's very ill. Will you carry her to my room and
call the doctor?"
"You'll do no such thing while _I_ stay in this house," announced Mrs.
Budge, stepping forward and placing her bulk between Harkness and Susy.
"Bringing this fever what's in the village to _this_ house! Not if my
name's Hannah Budge. We've had just 'bout as much of these common
carryings-on as I'll stand for with Madame away and--"
"But, oh, _please_, Mrs. Budge, Susy's very sick and her grandmother's
just died and she's all alone! Harkness, _won't_ you?"
"Oh, Missy, I think Budge--" began Harkness, his eyes imploring.
Robin stamped her foot.
"Shame on you all! You're just _afraid_. Will you call a doctor at
least--one of you? Get out of my way!" And half carrying--half dragging
Susy, Robin staggered to the stairs and slowly up them.
Poor Robin vaguely remembered Jimmie once commanding Mrs. Ferrari to put
one of her brood into a tub of hot water into which he mixed mustard. So
Robin filled her gleaming tub with hot water and quickly undressed Susy
and put her, wailing, into it. Then she rushed to the pantry,
commandeered a yellow box, fled back and dropped a generous portion of
its contents into the tub. Next she spread a soft woolly blanket on her
bed, wrapped another around the child and rolled her in both until
nothing but the tip of a pink nose showed.
She found Harkness hovering outside in the hall and ordered him to bring
hot lemonade at once, taking it a few minutes later from him through the
half-open door with a gleam of contempt in her eyes which said plainly
"Coward." She slowly fed Susy, watching the child's face anxiously and
wishing the doctor would come quickly.
After an interminable time Dr. Brown came, a little shaky, and gray-eyed
and very concerned over his call to the Manor. After a careful
examination he reported to Percival Tubbs and Harkness that the child
was, indeed, desperately ill; that by no means could she be
moved--although it was of course a pity that Miss Forsyth had so
impulsively brought her to the Manor and thus exposed herself; that the
crisis might come within the next twenty-four hours, for evidently the
disease was well advanced before the grandmother succumbed; that he
would telegraph at once for a fresh nurse from New York as the one in
the village was at the breaking point from overwork; and that he,
himself, would come back and stay with the child through the night.
It was a most dreadful night for everyone in the Manor--except Percival
Tubbs, who had slipped quietly to the station and taken the evening
train to New York. Harkness sat outside of Robin's door, his ear
strained for the slightest sound within. And Mrs. Budge worked far into
the night writing a letter to Cornelius Allendyce, commanding that
gentleman to come to the Manor and see for himself how things were going
and put an end, once and for all, to the whole nonsense--that she'd up
and walk out if it weren't for her loyalty to Madame Forsyth, a loyalty
sadly strained in the last few months. Of course she did not write all
this in just these same words but she made her meaning very clear.
Behind the closed door Dr. Brown and Robin fought for the little life.
Only once the tired doctor said more than a few words--then it was to
tell Robin that she had shown remarkable judgment in her care of Susy
and that--if the child pulled through--it would be due entirely to her
prompt and thorough action. This little thought helped Robin through the
long hours, when her weary eyelids stuck over her hot, dry eyes and her
head ached. All night she willingly fetched and carried at the doctor's
command, stepping noiselessly, sometimes lingering at the foot of the
bed to watch the little face for a sign of change.
Far into the morning the vigil lasted. Then Dr. Brown, his face haggard
but his eyes shining, whispered to Robin to go off downstairs and eat a
good breakfast--that Susy was "better."
"You mean--she'll--get well?"
The doctor nodded. "I believe so. She's sleeping now. Go, my dear."
Robin peeped at the child's face. The deadly pallor and the purple flush
of fever had gone, the lips and eyelids had relaxed into the natural
repose of sleep. She tiptoed into the hall, deserted for the moment,
down the stairs, and into the kitchen. Mrs. Budge turned as she pushed
open the door.
"I--I--" The warm, sweet smell of the room sent everything dancing
before Robin's eyes. She reached out her hand as though groping for
support. "Oh, I--" Then she crumpled into Mrs. Budge's arms.
Now that faithful soul, having sent off her letter to the lawyer-man,
had given herself over to worry, lest once more the "curse" was to visit
the House of Forsyth. Not that it could mean much to Madame, for she
hadn't set eyes on this girl Gordon, but it gave her, Hannah Budge, a
sick feeling "at the pit of her stomach" to think of things going wrong
again! So when Robin just dropped into her arms like a dead little thing
she stood as one stunned, passively awaiting a relentless Fate.
"Quick--she's fainted. Let me take her! Fetch water," ordered Harkness.
"Fetch it yourself! I guess I can hold her!" retorted Budge, tightening
her clasp. And as she looked down at Robin she remembered how Robin had
kissed her on Christmas night. Something within her that was hard like
rock commenced to soften and soften and grow warm and glow all through
her. Her eyes filled with tears and because both hands were occupied and
she could not wipe them away, she shook her head and two bright drops
rolled down her cheeks into Robin's face. At that moment--even before
Harkness brought his water--Robin stirred and opened her eyes and
smiled.
"Oh--where am I? Oh--yes. Oh, I'm _so_ hungry!"
But Budge was certain Robin was desperately ill; under her direction
Harkness carried her to Madame's own room while Mrs. Budge followed with
blankets and a hot water bottle. At noon the nurse arrived from New
York, and that evening the word spread to every corner of Wassumsic that
little Miss Forsyth had the "sickness."