Maris (7 page)

"Wedding!" said Maris tonelessly. "We can't have a wedding if everybody is sick!"

"Nonsense!" said Tilford with his magnificent air, as if he owned the earth and would brook nobody's interference. "Sickness must not be allowed to interfere! I'm sure your mother isn't selfish enough to want you to put off your wedding just because she might not be able to attend when the day comes. And as for the child, why, I can telephone my sister in Chicago to get my little niece ready to be flower girl in Alexa's place."

Maris gave her bridegroom an incredulous look. Was it possible that he was in earnest?

"I wasn't thinking of the ceremony, or the flower girl," she said coldly. "I couldn't think of getting married while my mother was lying at death's door and my sister was so sick she needed me. You don't realize how sick Mother is, or you wouldn't talk that way. Twice today we thought she was dying. The doctor said it was a miracle that she didn't. Do you suppose I could get married and go away across the ocean with my mother sick like that?"

"Well, just what would you propose to do about it?" he asked in a cold, haughty voice. "Our reservations are all made for a certain day. We have the finest suite on the ship. I would have to forfeit a good deal of money to give them up now. Also you know that my sailing date is obligatory, as I have business appointments to meet that cannot be delayed. There is no such thing as putting off the wedding, and you'd better understand that at once. And now I think what you had better do is to run up and put a few necessities in a bag and come on home with me. It would be far better for you to stay at our home till the wedding day, and then your nerves won't be all upset. Mother will agree with me, I know, and it will give us a chance to get all the arrangements perfected at our leisure."

"Tilford!" gasped Maris, horrified. "How could you possibly think I could be spared now? Don't you know I must care for my little sister?"

"That's ridiculous, I tell you. I can get you a child specialist nurse who will handle this case much better than you can. You are just spoiling that child anyway, with so much coddling, and I positively must assert my authority and put a stop to this!"

"Authority?" said Maris and burst into a sudden hysterical giggle. "What authority have you over me?"

"The authority that the ring on your hand gives me," said the young man loftily. "You are as good as my wife now, when you are wearing that!"

"Authority!" repeated Maris slowly again, a kind of scorn creeping into her voice. "I thought it was a pledge of love and tenderness."

"Well, that, too, of course. But it is all based on authority."

"And what love and tenderness do you show when you talk in this way about my beloved family? When you want me to come away from them when they are very sick and need me. When you can suggest that I could possibly plan for a wedding with my mother at death's door!"

"Now, look here, Maris, I thought you were a sensible girl. Suppose all this had happened three weeks later, after we had been married and were halfway across the ocean? Would you have insisted that the ship turn back and take you to your precious family?"

Maris caught her breath and stared at the young man who suddenly seemed an alien, not a lover. Her face was very white. Slowly she rose from the couch and looked at him.

"It
didn't
happen three or four weeks later," she said steadily, "and we are not married yet, remember! I don't know that I ever want to be married if that is the way you feel about it."

There was a gravity in her voice that Tilford had never heard her use with him before.

"Miss Maris, your little sister is crying for you, and I can't seem to stop her. I'm afraid she'll waken your mother!" came the low, authoritative voice of the nurse.

Maris turned and flew up the stairs.

Tilford gave an exasperated look after her and said to the nurse, "Will you kindly ask her what she did with the wedding invitations? I can't find them where we left them yesterday."

The nurse gave him a calm glance and went upstairs without answering. But no word came from above, and Tilford presently took himself away.

Upstairs Maris was having her hands full trying to quiet the little sufferer and wishing the doctor would hurry. She had no time just now to think about weddings. It seemed to her that all the troubles of the universe had suddenly fallen into her pleasant life and there was just nothing that could be done to right things. Everything was jumbled up. She didn't even want to think about Tilford. Just the memory of his handsome face turned her sick at heart. What was love anyway? Just a thing for fair weather?

 

 

Maris lay down on the bed beside her small sister, holding the hot little hand in her own, and her heart seemed just about as heavy as a heart could be.

But she talked on, making up a ridiculous story about a canary bird that wore rubber boots and got the measles and had nice orange juice to drink out of a silver spoon, and all the time her subconscious mind was aware of the little boys outside playing ball and yelling to each other at the top of their lungs. Oh dear! She had tried to tell them their mother was sick, but they probably hadn't taken it in. It was good they were on this side of the house and not the other. Her mother perhaps could not hear them.

But then they drew nearer, close to the house, and began shouting some altercation about whether the ball had been out or not, and suddenly
bang! bang! bang!
came the ball against the wall of her room, close by the window.

The little girl started from her sleep.

"What's that, Maris?" she asked, opening startled eyes.

"It's only Eric and Alec throwing their ball against the house." She tried to answer in a sleepy tone. "I'll tell them to stop it." Then she called from the window.

"Boys! Eric! Alec! Stop that! You'll disturb Mother! Can't you get some books or something and keep quiet for a little while?"

"Okay!" said Eric with a frown. "Can't we go down by the pond? All the kids are down there!"

Then she heard another voice, low-modulated, calling, "Hey, boys! How about coming over and helping me mark the tennis courts? Then we'll have a game or two before night."

The boys turned, entranced, and looking down Maris saw Lane Maitland standing on the other side of the hedge that separated the property next door, vacant just now. Why, did the Maitlands still own the place? How nice that was of Lane to help her out! He must have heard her call the boys.

As if he knew her thoughts, he lifted his eyes to the window.

"How about that, Maris? Is that all right? I'll keep them the rest of the afternoon if you don't mind."

"Oh, that's kind of you!" she breathed with a relieved smile. "Gwyneth has gone on an errand for the nurse, and Sally has her hands full. I'm afraid I have a case of measles up here."

"Say, that's tough luck. Have the boys had it?"

Maris shook her head.

"Well, you can count on me for anything you need. I'll handle the boys for as long as you say. We might make a quarantine camp of our house if you find it really is measles. Go on back to your hospital, and I'll start a detention camp."

He grinned pleasantly and walked off with the two delighted boys. Maris settled down to a few minutes' rest, her mind a tumult of troublesome questions.

But it was not for long. The doctor arrived and things began to happen. Yes, decidedly, Alexa had the measles, and they were not behaving well, either. He took Maris into the playroom at the end of the back hall and told her how serious measles might become if they were not looked after most carefully. He gave most detailed directions and asked if she wanted him to get another nurse.

"No! Oh, no!" she said, appalled at the thought of the expense that would be to her already overburdened father. "I want to take care of her myself. She is going to miss Mother so. Mother always takes care of her."

The doctor grunted his approbation. This was a girl after his own heart. He had been afraid that she had been spoiled by her rich lover and his family, but she was running true to Mayberry tradition. She was loyal to her family.

"Well, we'd better get the playroom fixed up for her," he said, considering the possibilities. "It's a little farther from your mother's room, and that will give you a comfortable place for yourself. This door opening into the playroom from your room makes it just ideal. And of course you'll have the nurse to consult with in case you have any questions. You couldn't have a better one than Bonny. She's had a lot of experience. Now, don't you worry. We'll pull this little girl through in great shape. It won't be long before we get this rash out. Hard lines, Maris, but you always were a brave little soldier, even the time you had to have that cut on your chin sewed up when you were a kid!"

It was a relief, of course, to know that Alexa was not in such a serious condition as she had feared, but the immediate future loomed dismal and perplexing before her.

Maris summoned Merrick, who had just come in, and stealthily they moved Alexa's little white bed into the playroom, tiptoeing as silently as if they had been ghosts, till all was made comfortable for the little invalid. And then the nurse came and helped to get the child into the other bed, warming it carefully with warm blankets and water bottles, and little Alexa opened her heavy eyes and smiled at Maris.

"This is funny, Maris. Sleeping in the playroom!" she said in a weak little voice.

"Yes, isn't it, darling, and you can lie here and look right over to my bed in my room and wave at me in the morning. Won't that be nice?"

"Wes."

"Now, you're going to have some nice hot milk, and then you're going to go to sleep again and get well as quickly as you can."

"Are you going to take care of mees, Maris?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes. Won't that be fun, dear? We'll have some lovely times together when you get all better. Paper dollies and stories."

"Wes. I wouldn't want a weal nurse. She's too gwowed-up and starchy. I want you for my nurse, Maris."

"All right, if you'll be a good girl. You must do just what I say, and you mustn't make a noise to make Mother worse."

"Okay!" she said sleepily, meekly swallowing the spoonfuls of hot milk and closing her eyes.

Maris tiptoed into her own room to make up her bed afresh and then dropped down to rest a moment. But Gwyneth opened the door softly and peeked in, and Maris went out to speak with her.

"What am I going to do about school, Maris?" asked the little girl. "Is it really measles?"

"Yes, but you've had them, dear."

"Doesn't make any difference," said Gwyneth sadly. "They won't let me keep coming to school if I'm living in the house with it. I just telephoned over to Miss Price, and she said, no, I'd have to stay somewhere else if I wanted to keep on coming. And Maris, it's exams in three weeks now, and I'd hate awfully to get left behind and not make my grade."

Maris drew her brows in perplexity. How many problems there were that Mother usually settled.

"But where could you stay, dear? You know Mother would be terribly worried to have you away from home alone. If only we had a relative nearby. But there isn't a soul."

"Couldn't I stay with Erminie Howard? She's only half a block away, and I could telephone every day. You know Mother lets me stay all night with Erminie sometimes, and Mrs. Howard is just as particular as Mother is."

"Well, but Gwyneth, that's a great deal to ask of anybody, to take in a boarder for two or three weeks."

"I won't have to ask her; she's already asked me," said Gwyneth. "She suggested it just as soon as she heard Lexie had the measles."

"You mean Erminie suggested it. But that's not her mother."

"Oh, but her mother came out to the door just now as I was passing by and said she would love to have me come. She said she counted our mother her very dearest friend, and she would so love to do something to help while Mother is sick. She said to tell you she understood just how Mother felt and she would take just as good care of me as she did of Erminie."

"Why, that is lovely, Gwynnie. Yes, I guess that would be the best thing for you. I didn't know but you might be needed to run errands here, but you'd be near enough for us to phone you if we needed you. Yes, I guess you'd better plan to do that. Go pack a suitcase, dear, the things you'll need for school and church, and a couple of pretty dresses for dinner at night. Can you do it yourself, or do you want me to do it?"

"Oh, I'd love to do it," said Gwyneth. "But----Maris, are you
sure
I wouldn't be needed? I wouldn't like to be away if Mother got worse, not even if I failed in my exams."

"Of course not!" said Maris briskly. "We're not going to need you at all, I'm sure. Errands can be done after school, but there ought not to be many of those. And as for Mother, of course if Mother got worse I'd send for you at once. You don't need to worry about that, dear."

"You think Mother is going to get well, don't you, sister?"

"Oh, I think so. I hope so. I'm sure the doctor feels she is getting along--that is, she hasn't had any more bad symptoms for the last three hours."

"Where is Daddy?"

"He's in Mother's room close by her bed, fast asleep in the big old rocking chair, with her hand in his," said Maris with a tender inflection in her tone and a sweet look in her eyes.

"Isn't he
dear
, Maris?" said the younger sister. "If I ever get married, I'm going to marry a man just like Father! I like him a great deal better than these fancy handsome men that are selfish and think their wives have got to do as they say in everything. Daddy always acts as if Mother were the most precious thing in the world to him. I never heard him cross with her, or faultfinding!"

There was a conscious little flush on Maris's cheeks, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears as she answered quickly: "That's right, dear. Father and Mother are wonderful with each other."

"Well, there aren't so many," said Gwyneth in a wise tone out of her fourteen years of experience. "I wish you'd see Elizabeth Randall's folks! My! Her father frightens me the way he talks to Elizabeth's mother. That's why I never like to go there when he's home. He always acts as if any of us girls were spiders, or thousand-leggers or something, when he finds us there when he comes home. I never go there anymore if I can help it, though I love Elizabeth. But she hasn't got a happy home like ours. Her mother always looks awfully sad. I think folks ought to be awfully careful who they marry for the sake of their children, don't you, Maris?"