CHAPTER XXVIII
Those next weeks were full of plans and hopes on Eleanor's part, andgratitude on Maurice's part. But she would not let him say that he wasgrateful, or that she was generous; he had told her, of course, how Mrs.Houghton had guessed long ago what had happened, and how she had urgedhim to trust his wife's nobility--but Eleanor would not let him call her"noble"; "Don't say it! And don't be 'grateful,' I just love you," shesaid; "and if you only knew what it means to me to be able to doanything for you! It's so long since you've needed me, Maurice."
The pathos of her sense of uselessness made his eyes sting. "I couldn'tget along without you," he told her.
Once, on a rainy April Sunday morning, when they were talking aboutJacky (Maurice had gone to see him the day before, and was gnashing histeeth over some cheerful obliquity on the part of Lily)--Maurice said,emphatically: "Gosh! Nelly, I don't know what I'd do without you!"
She, sitting on a stool at his side (and looking, poor woman! old enoughto be his mother), was radiant.
"And you don't enjoy talking to Lily?" she said--just for the happinessof hearing, again, his horrified protest, "I should say _not_! There'snothing she can talk about."
"She doesn't know about books and things? She hasn't--brains?"
"Brains? She probably never read anything in her life! She has lots ofsense, but no intellect. She hasn't an idea beyond food and flowers--andJacky."
"I wish I had her idea about food," Eleanor said, simply.
It was her fairness toward Lily that amazed him; it made him reproachhimself for his stupidity in not having confessed to her long ago! "Whywas I such a fool, Eleanor, as not to know that you were a big woman?Mrs. Houghton knew it. Why, even Edith knew it! She told me you'dforgive anything."
"_What_!" She rose abruptly and stood looking at him with suddenly angryeyes. "Does Edith know?" she said.
"No! Of course she doesn't know--_this_! But one day she and I weretaking a walk, and I was thinking what a devilish mess I was in.... AndI suppose Edith saw I was down by the head, and she got to talking aboutyou--"
"You let her talk about me!"
"She was saying how perfectly fine you had been about the mountain--"
"I don't need Edith Houghton's approval of my conduct, Maurice." She wastrembling, and her face was quite pale. He rushed in deeper than ever:
"I was only saying I felt so--badly, because I had failed to make youhappy. Of course I didn't say how! And she said, 'Don't have any secretsfrom Eleanor!'"
"So it was Edith who made you--"
For a moment Maurice was too dismayed to speak; besides, he didn't knowwhat to say. What he did say was that she misunderstood him. "Goodheavens! Eleanor, you didn't think I'd tell Edith a thing like _that_?Or that I'd tell any woman, when I didn't tell you? But Edith knew youbetter than I did; she said no matter what I'd done (I just happened tosay I was a skunk), you loved me enough to forgive me. And you haveforgiven me."
"Yes," she said, in a whisper; "I've forgiven you."
She went over to the window, and stood perfectly silent. It was rainingsteadily; the river, a block away, was hidden in the yellow fog; down inthe yard, the tables and chairs under the poplar dripped and dripped. Asfor Maurice, it was as if some dark finger had stretched out and toucheda bubble.... She was the same Eleanor.
But he did not dwell upon this revealing moment; it was enough that atlast he could stop lying, and that Eleanor would help him about Jacky!He called her back from the window and made her sit down again besidehim, pretending not to see how her hands were trembling. Then he went ontalking about Jacky.
"His latest achievement is an infernal mouth harmonicon."
She said, listlessly, "I wish I could give him music lessons."
"He's crazy about music; trails hand organs all over Medfield!" Mauricesaid, with a great effort to be cheerfully casual; "but, Heaven knows,I'd be glad if you could give him lessons in anything! Manners, forinstance. He hasn't any. Or grammar; I told him not to say 'ain't,' and,if you please! he told his mother _she_ mustn't say it! Lily got on herear."
She smiled faintly. "I wish I could see him," she said.
She had urged this more than once, but it had not seemed practicable. "Ican't bring him here," Maurice explained; "he'd blurt out to Lily wherehe'd been, and she'd get uneasy. Even as it is, I live in dread thatshe'll pack up and clear out with him."
"She _shan't_ take him away!" Eleanor said; she was eager again;--afterall, Edith, for all her impertinence in advising Maurice how to treathis wife!--Edith could not break in upon an intimacy like this!
Her incessant talk about Jacky (which might have bored Maurice just alittle, if it had not touched him) gave her, in some subtle, spiritualway, a sense of approaching motherhood: _she made preparations_! Sheplanned little gifts for him;--Maurice had told her of Jacky's livelyinterest in benefits to come; once, she thought, "I suppose he's too oldto have one of those funny papers in his room? I saw such a pretty oneto-day, little rabbits in trousers!"--For by this time she haddetermined that, somehow, she would get possession of him! In thesematernal moments she feared no rivalry from Edith Houghton. Jacky wouldsave her from Edith!
"Oh, Maurice! I _must_ see him," she said once.
"I'll fix it so you can," he told her. But it was two months before hewas able to fix it; then "Forepaws" came to town, and the way was clear!He would take Jacky, and Eleanor should go and have a seat near by, andcome up and speak to the youngster, as any admiring stranger might, and,indeed, often did, for Jacky was a striking child--his eyes blue andkeen, his skin very clear, and his cheeks glowing with health. "If hegoes home and tells Lily a lady spoke to him," Maurice said, "she won'tthink anything of it."
"May I give him some candy?"
"No; he has too much of it as it is; get one of those tin horns for him.He'll raise Cain for Lily, I suppose; but we won't have to listen tohim!" (That "we" so fed Eleanor's starved soul, that she thought ofEdith Houghton with a sort of gay contempt: "_I'm_ not afraid of her!")
The plan for seeing Jacky went through easily enough. "I'll take thatboy of yours to the circus," Maurice told Lily, carelessly, one day.
"Why, that's awful kind in you, Mr. Curtis; but ain't you afraidsomebody'll see you luggin' a child around?"
"Lots of men take kids to the circus--just as an excuse to gothemselves."
So Maurice and the eight-year-old Jacky, in a new sailor suit, and aface so clean that it shone, walked in among the gilded cages, felt thesawdust under their feet, smelled the wild animals, heard the yelps ofthe jackals, the booming roar of lions, and the screeching chatter ofthe monkeys. And as Jacky dragged his father from cage to cage, a yardor two behind them came Eleanor.... Now and then, over Jacky's head, shecaught Maurice's eye; and they both smiled.
When a speechless Jacky was taken into the central tent to sit on anarrow bench, and drink pink lemonade and eat peanuts, Eleanor was quitenear him. He was unconscious of her presence--unconscious of everything!except the blare of the band, the elephants, the performingdogs--especially the poor, strained performing dogs! He never spokeonce; his eyes were fixed on the rings; he didn't see his fatherwatching him, amused and proud; still less did he see the lady who hadbeen at his heels in the animal tent, and who now kept her mournful darkeyes on his face. When the last horse gave the last kick and trotted outthrough the exit, with its mysterious canvas walls, Jacky was in a dazeof bliss. He sat, open-mouthed, staring at the empty, trampled sawdust.
"Come along, young man!" Maurice said; "do you want to stay here allnight?"
"I'm going to be a circus rider," said Jacky, solemnly.
It was then that the "lady" spoke to him--her voice broke twice: "Well,little boy, did you like the circus?" the lady said. She was so palethat Maurice put his hand on her arm.
"Better sit down, Nelly," he said, kindly, under his breath.
She shook her head. "No ... Jacky, don't you want to tell me your name?"
"But you _know_ my name," said Jacky, with a
bored look.
Maurice gave her a warning glance, and she tried to cover her blunder:"I heard your father--I mean this gentleman--call you 'Jacky,'" sheexplained--panting, for Maurice's quick frown frightened her. "Here's apresent for you," she said.
"_Present_!" said Jacky--and made a joyous grab at the horn, which heimmediately put to his lips; but before it could emit its ear-piercingscreech, Maurice struck it down.
"Where are your manners? Say 'Thank you' to the lady."
Jacky sighed, but murmured, "'Ank you."
Eleanor, her chin trembling, said: "May I kiss him?"
"'Course," Maurice said, huskily.
She bent down and kissed him with trembling lips--"Ach!--you make me allwet," Jacky said, frowning at her tears on his rosy cheek.
Later, as Maurice pulled his reluctant son out on to the pavement, hewas so moved that he almost forgot that she was still the old Eleanor;he didn't even listen to his little boy's passionate assertion that hewould be a flying-trapeze man. As he walked along beside his wife to puther on the car he spoke with great tenderness:
"I'll leave him at Lily's, and then I'll come right home, dear, andwe'll talk things over."
When he and his son got back to Maple Street, Jacky was blowing thatinfernal horn so that the whole neighborhood was aware of his ecstasy.Lily, waiting for them at the gate, put her hands over her ears.
"My soul and body! For the land's sake, stop! Who give you that horridthing?"
"An old lady," said Jacky--and blew a shattering screech on Eleanor'shorn.
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