III
Mrs. Merwent had watched John and Jim until they turned the corner. When they were out of sight she came and sat by the kitchen table where Lucy was washing the breakfast dishes.
“Let me help you, dear,” Nannie offered.
“No, thank you, Mamma. It isn’t much and it’ll be done in a minute.”
“Now you mustn’t hesitate to ask me to do anything I can,” went on the older woman. “I don’t want to be a burden on John and you. I want you to realize that I am willing to help and that I cherish no ill feeling about anything that has happened.”
Lucy looked at her in surprise.
“Well, you rest up today from your journey,” she answered after a moment. She was placing dishes in the china cupboard. “You must be tired.”
“I never saw such a poor service on any railway,” resumed Mrs. Merwent, having interrupted the conversation by going into the dining room and bringing a rocking chair out into the kitchen for herself. “There were no sterilized drinking cups and no electric lights in the berths. I don’t think they should be allowed to run such old, out-of-date cars.”
Lucy worked a moment in silence.
“But I must say the service on the diner was good,” pursued Nannie. “I had some fried spring chicken that was so tender and juicy it fairly melted in your mouth.”
“I haven’t been on any but a suburban train since our wedding journey,” Lucy observed.
“Oh, Lucy, what a terrible time that was for me!” Mrs. Merwent drew out her handkerchief.
“I thought you said in your letter that we wouldn’t discuss what happened, Mamma,” Lucy accused gently.
“Oh, Lucy, anyone who went through what I did can’t forget it all at once,” Mrs. Merwent protested.
Lucy was silent again.
“But I cherish no hard feelings,” Nannie went on, “although poor Mother never got over your going away.”
After a few moments Nannie returned to the subject of travel.
“Don’t you ever go away from the city, Lucy? I should think it would be dull staying in one place so long.”
“We can’t afford travelling.” Lucy spoke emphatically.
“Well, I can’t either, now.” Mrs. Merwent settled herself more comfortably in the rocking chair. “It was only the kindness of my dear friend, Professor Walsh, that made it possible for me to have any comfort at all on the way. He came part way with me and arranged that I was to be looked after until the end of my journey.”
Lucy busied herself with the preparations for luncheon.
“I do wonder if my trunks are safe!” exclaimed Nannie after a short pause. “I didn’t like the looks of the man who took the checks.”
“They’re safe,” Lucy assured her. “Don’t worry about them.”
“Have you got a cup of coffee made, Lucy?” her mother then asked, surveying the kitchen.
“Why, I thought you and John had had breakfast,” Lucy apologised.
“We did, but it was so early and I was so excited I hardly ate a bite. If you could let me have a cup of coffee and a tea cake or two—I’m afraid it will give me the headache if I eat nothing until luncheon.”
“Why, of course, Mamma. It’ll only take me a minute to make coffee.” Lucy measured the water as she spoke.
“I thought it was already fixed or I wouldn’t have asked for it,” protested Nannie. “I don’t want to make any extra work.”
“Oh, that’s nothing.” Lucy put cup, saucer, spoon, and plate on the kitchen table.
“Now you must let me wait on myself,” Mrs. Merwent objected as Lucy placed the sugar bowl and cream pitcher before her.
“It’s all ready, Mamma.”
“I had no idea you’d do all this,” Nannie remarked as she resigned herself to the consumption of coffee, cookies, and some muffins left from breakfast.
“We’ll be all alone for luncheon. John never comes home at midday,” Lucy informed her mother. An inviting odor rose from the range as she raised the lid of a pot.
“Let’s have strawberries and ice cream,” suggested Nannie. “I just love strawberries. It makes me fairly tremble with delight when they go down my throat.”
“I don’t know whether they’re in yet,” said Lucy.
“Oh, yes, they are. I saw some in a big fruit store in the city, and John got me some for breakfast.”
“I doubt whether we can get any out here, but I’ll send Dimmie to the store around the corner with a note to see.”
“Now don’t let me interfere with your arrangements. It doesn’t make any difference what I eat. I don’t want to make any bother while I’m here.”
“It’s no bother,” disclaimed Lucy.
She had already planned the dessert but did not know what else to say.
When Dimmie returned from the fruiterer’s he came into the kitchen and, with great pride, delivered the parcel to his mother.
“The man only had two boxes,” he announced, “an’ he said the money wasn’t enough for ’em, but it was all right. It’s all wrote in the note.”
“Thank you, darling,” said Lucy, kissing him.
“You should wipe your feet before you come into the house, Jimmie,” remonstrated his grandmother. “See how you have brought dirt into the kitchen. Little boys should learn to be thoughtful of others and not make work unnecessarily. That’s not helping.”
“Oh, it’s not mud. It will sweep out easily,” explained Lucy, smiling at Dimmie whose face had grown troubled.
“Well, I’m sure I didn’t mean to interfere, Lucy,” said Nannie. “I was only trying to help. You’re the one who has to clean up after him, not I. You are so different from what you used to be. We never used to have the slightest difference of opinion.”
Lucy continued to smile.
“I don’t think I am any different,” she replied.
“Yes, you are,” insisted her mother. “Getting married has changed you. I must say, though, I was agreeably surprised in your husband. John is really delightful, so kind and considerate. I overlooked everything and we became friends in no time. How much does he make?”
Lucy opened her eyes wide.
“He and Mr. Sprague are in partnership in business for themselves. Some months they make more than others.”
“What a sweet little house you have,” went on Nannie, whose conversation consisted mostly of beginnings. “How I long to have a home again!”
“John and Jim and I planned it out together,” explained Lucy, ignoring the last remark. “All those watercolors in the dining room and sitting room are John’s. I think they make the house look intimate and homelike.”
“This Mr. Sprague seems to be quite at home here,” Nannie interrupted. “Aren’t you afraid people will say things?”
Lucy gazed at her mother a moment without answering.
“Let me tell you about the house,” she suggested finally.
“You really must have a sideboard in your dining room, Lucy. It looks so bare. Do you remember the rosewood sideboard that Papa bought for Mamma when I was born? Cousin Minnie has gotten a table and chairs from an antique store and they match it beautifully.”
Lucy’s sense of humor came to her rescue.
“When we get rich we’ll have rosewood sideboards and lots of other things,” she said laughingly.
“Now you’re making fun of me, Lucy,” her mother complained in a hurt tone. “I only thought you might have a little interest in the furnishings of my old home. I didn’t mean that you could get one like it.”
Lucy went up and put her arms around Nannie.
“No, I wasn’t making fun of you, Mamma. Come into the sitting room and I’ll show you Dimmie’s baby pictures.”
“Really I’m so tired I think I’ll look at them later. I think I’ll lie down till luncheon is ready, if you don’t mind. I always make it a point to rest thoroughly for a few minutes during each day. You have no idea what a difference it would make in your looks, Lucy. You ought to make that a rule which nothing should interfere with. I think we owe it to others to keep ourselves attractive.”
“I’m afraid that’s easier said than done, Mamma. But try to get your nap. It will refresh you. I’ll call you when luncheon is ready.” Lucy spoke with determined good humor.
“Are you sure those trunks of mine are in safe hands, Lucy?” Nannie questioned again as she rose to go. “I have a presentiment that something will happen to them.”
“Now please don’t worry any more about them, Mamma. John wouldn’t employ any firm that was not perfectly reliable.”
“Well, I hope so,” sighed Nannie, moving toward the hall.
When, at six o’clock, the gate clicked and John’s step sounded on the walk, Lucy was occupied in making a gravy that Nannie had suggested, and so was unable to run with Dimmie to meet him as she usually did. She was conscious of a queer feeling of being left out as she heard him and Nannie come into the dining room together.
Mrs. Merwent had on a gown of lavender organdy, open at the throat, and a net fichu was draped about her shoulders. In the less trying light she looked more out of place in her maternal role than on the occasion of her arrival in the morning.
“Where’s Lucy?” John asked. He appeared to be tired and there was perspiration on his forehead. He smiled on Nannie’s fresh appearance.
“In the kitchen, I believe,” Nannie answered. “I’ve been busy getting the table ready.” She held some flowers in her hand, and as she spoke she was occupied in placing them in a vase. One half-opened rose she laid by John’s plate.
He went into the kitchen and kissed Lucy as usual. Her muslin dress was covered by an apron. Her face was flushed and a loose strand of hair brushed her cheek as she bent over her cooking. She replied to his greeting without stopping her work. Instead of sitting across the old rush bottomed kitchen chair with his arms over the back and talking about his experiences in the city, as was his custom, he returned at once to the dining room.
Notwithstanding John’s watercolors on the walls, it was rather a bare little place, as Nannie had said. The twilight entered between the muslin curtains, however, and the modest array of silver and glassware glittered on the table. A breeze scattered the odor of the small bouquet of flowers.
As John entered Nannie switched on the electric light.
Lucy placed the food on the dishes and Nannie carried them to the table.
“My, that smells good!” John exclaimed boyishly. “What have you got for us?” He and Nannie had seated themselves.
“It’s a steak en casserole with mushrooms,” explained Nannie, picking a tiny bit of lint from his sleeve. “I hope you enjoy it. Poor boy, how hungry you must be working until this hour of the day!”
“I’m hungry, too,” announced Dimmie, who had come in and seated himself unnoticed.
Lucy now appeared, her apron removed. “Are you, dear?” She hesitated by the table without seating herself.
“Why don’t you sit down, Lucy?” John asked.
Lucy seated herself.
“Will you hand me my napkin ring, Mamma,” she requested, at the same time passing a folded napkin without a ring to her mother.
“Why, is this your place?” exclaimed Nannie, rising. “Come, let’s change. I didn’t notice.”
“It makes no difference, Nannie,” put in John. “Sit down and let’s have dinner.”
“No, it makes no difference,” acquiesced Lucy, and Mrs. Merwent reseated herself.
“Well, as I’m here, I might as well serve the plates,” remarked Nannie. “I want to do something to help.”
During the meal John talked of art, his manner youthfully eager, and his hair falling over his forehead from which he pushed it back with the graceful gesture peculiar to him.
“I have to design cheap houses, Nannie,” he bewailed whimsically, “instead of listening to the voices of the unseen that are calling to me.”
“It’s a pity you haven’t money so you could follow your natural bent and be an artist,” said Nannie.
“I am an artist,” John rejoined, rather warmly. “One doesn’t need to hold oneself aloof from common life to be an artist. On the other hand one must learn not to despise common things, but to see beauty in them.”
“I only meant I wished you didn’t have to worry about money,” she persisted.
“Of course, I know you understand, Nannie, but one doesn’t need to crowd his soul with small things just because he’s poor. If he will he can see beauty that is not for the eye of his senses.” John glanced up at his pictures.
“Lucy tells me all these beautiful watercolors are yours, John.” Nannie let her gaze travel about the room. “They’re simply exquisite.”
“Well,” John’s tone was deprecating, “if I’d had a chance I might have done something at it.”
“It’s too bad you don’t have time to be more with artistic people, John,” Lucy put in with an affectionate look at her husband.
“I love pretty things too, John,” Nannie said quickly. Lucy glanced at her mother, who was regarding John.
“I’ll have to play for you after dinner,” Nannie offered a few minutes later.
“I remember Lucy told me you played,” he answered. “We got the piano over a year ago, but Lucy never has time to touch it, and I can’t do anything but drum.”
“It takes a lot of willpower to practice regularly,” replied Nannie, “but then I love my music so. I never let a day go by without practicing.”
“We’ll have to go to some concerts next winter,” John continued.
“How nice,” Nannie smiled, “but I don’t know whether I shall be here next winter. There may be somebody else who’ll have something to say about that.” She glanced down demurely.
“Listen to that, Lucy!”
“Of course you’ll be here next winter, Mamma.” Lucy spoke with an effort.
“And we’ll go to the symphony concerts.” John was enthusiastic. “It’ll be great, Nannie. Lucy and I went to some of them, but it’s hard to drag her out of the house in cold weather. You remember, Lucy, we heard Beethoven’s ‘Symphony in C Minor.’ It was simply grand, Nannie.”
“It must have been,” Nannie agreed sweetly.
“The allegro makes me think of the human soul struggling against its fate.” John’s gaze was rapt. “The andante is—is the doubt and questionings of the heart—and their answer.” His face was flushed. Dimmie, his mouth open, stared at his father with a fascinated look.
“Music makes me feel just that way, John,” Nannie confided, “but I can’t express myself as well as you.”
“It takes me right off my feet, Nannie. There’s the scherzo of that C Minor. There’s where the struggle gets breathless. The trio and recapitulation sort of wonder about the struggle and tragedy. Then there’s a little pianissimo that is near the answer. Then the finale comes along and takes it up till it winds up in a kind of shout of victory. It’s great, Nannie!”
Lucy watched John admiringly.
“You ought to have been a critic, John,” Nannie declared. “Music means so much to me, too.”
“I’m nutty about it, Nannie,” John vowed boisterously. “We’ll go to all the concerts that come along and have a general good time.”
Lucy said nothing.
“Can I have a good time, too?” asked Dimmie suddenly.
“Sure, Son,” John agreed. “Now Nannie’s here we’ll all have a good time, won’t we?”
After dinner John and Nannie went into the living room where John smoked while she played to him. The Winters had a good piano but Lucy played indifferently and, being very busy and not strong, had discontinued practice. They had often talked of buying a player piano, but the amount asked by the dealer above the value of their own instrument had put the luxury out of their reach.
Dimmie helped his mother clear the table and wash the dishes, and when the tasks were done these two joined John and Nannie. However, Dimmie soon grew sleepy and Lucy led him away to bed, remaining with him to tell stories and sing lullabies until he was sound asleep.
When she returned to the living room John and her mother were talking earnestly.
“Come here, Lucy,” John called from the lounge. “Nannie has been telling me more about her trouble with your father. I had no idea how badly he had treated her. It’s a real shame!”
“I can’t talk about Papa, John. I thought we weren’t going to discuss the past, Mamma.” Lucy’s tone was strained.
“She wasn’t accusing anyone.” John drew Lucy to the lounge beside him. “Don’t be so touchy,” and he put his arm around her and kissed her forehead.
Lucy began to smooth back his disheveled hair.
“Cooing doves,” murmured Nannie, smiling. “I certainly hope it will always be so with you.” She put her hand to her eyes. “My life has turned into nothing but unhappiness—nothing but a tragedy—that is if it had not been for the friendship and understanding of—the person whom neither of you know—” She stopped.
“Poor Nannie!” John reached and took her hand.
“I want some affection, too,” she pleaded, pressing his hand. John drew her from her chair and down to the lounge, so that he was between her and Lucy.
“You will be happy here with us and forget your trouble. We must go out more, Lucy, now that Nannie is here. It will take her mind off the past and keep her from dwelling on it.”
Lucy gently disengaged herself from John’s embrace and rose.
“Where are you going, Lucy?” he asked.
“I forgot to count the clothes. The washerwoman is coming for them early in the morning.”
“Poor Lucy! She don’t realize that this is your only time to relax, John. I could easily have counted the clothes before dinner if she had told me about it,” remarked Nannie when she and John were alone.
After some time Lucy was heard ascending the stairs and John called out, “Why don’t you come in here, Lucy?”
“I am going to bed early,” she answered. “I’ve a lot to do tomorrow. Is there anything I can do for you, Mamma? You know where everything is, don’t you?”
“Why of course I do,” responded her mother, coming out into the hall. “I can look after myself. I don’t want you to ever worry about me. Kiss me good night.” Lucy leaned over the balustrade and kissed her.
“I hope you rest well. You’ve been working too hard. I’m glad I’m here to help you now. I used to think when we were separated how much you needed my care. Poor Mother often spoke of it. You must get strong again.”
“I’ll be up in a little while,” called John.
Lucy undressed herself and lay down. The murmur of the voices of her mother and her husband came to her faintly. She lay and thought.
When John came to bed he supposed her to be asleep, and tiptoed about the room, undressing in silence without a light and getting into bed with the greatest gentleness to avoid waking her. Before reclining on his pillow he leaned over her and saw her eyes wide open.
“Why, Lucy, I thought you had gone to bye-bye,” he said, and, lying down, took her in his arms.
She drew away from him.
“Why, Lucy, what’s the matter?” he asked in a hurt tone.
She made no answer but he could feel that she was silently sobbing. He took her in his arms again. This time she did not resist.
“Tell me what it is, darling,” he pleaded.
“Oh, John, do you want anybody but me?” She wept.
“Of course I don’t,” he returned vehemently. “What made you think that?”
“I don’t know,” she answered evasively, vaguely comforted by his ardent denial.
“Was that what you were crying about?” he asked.
“No.”
“Well, what was it? Won’t you tell me, sweetheart?”
“Oh, John, it wasn’t anything—except I’m—so tired.”
“I know you must be,” he whispered. “It’s been an exciting day for you. But now that Nannie’s here she can take a lot of things off your hands. It will make things easier for you. You poor little girl, you have had to work so hard, and you aren’t strong.”
“I don’t think so, John.”
“Don’t think what?”
“That she will make it easier.”
He considered a minute.
“Lucy.”
“Yes?”
“Were you crying because I stayed and talked with Nannie instead of coming upstairs with you?”
“No—not that alone. I—”
He caught her tightly to him.
“You dear, sweet, foolish, jealous little thing,” he whispered, laughing. “The idea! Why you precious darling, I was only trying to be nice to your mother on her first day for your sake. Lucy, don’t you ever, ever dream for a second that anyone could take your place for a tiny instant. Why, sweetheart, I love you. I only like other people.”
Lucy kissed him.
Soon they were asleep in each other’s arms.