“Thank you, Marietta,” Camilla said, “that’s nice of you, but I couldn’t. There are some messages I have to give people and things that have to be decided when I hear what they say. Mr. Whitlock called up. He won’t be in till four forty-five, and I’d like to have the work up to the mark. If you think it’s all right for you to stay, suppose you get to work on those circulars and fold and address them. I’m staying right here till five. We mustn’t stop to talk. I hope your stepmother will get through all right, and afterward perhaps there’ll be some way I can help. Now, let’s get to work!” And Camilla’s fingers went flying on.
Mr. Whitlock came rushing in, looking tired and worn, about ten minutes to five. He cast his eyes anxiously over his desk and looked relieved when he saw the pile of letters awaiting his signature.
“You got them all done?” he said pleasantly. “Well, that’s great. Miss Pratt must be improving greatly. I was thinking I might have to ask you to stay overtime and finish them. It is most important they should go out tonight, for I find someone else is bidding for the same contract.”
“You don’t need to give me any credit,” said Marietta earnestly. “I couldn’t come till about two o’clock. My stepmother was awful sick, and I couldn’t leave her till they took her to the hospital. Camilla was here all alone most of the day, and she had a lot done before I got here.”
Mr. Whitlock raised his eyebrows at Camilla.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me when I telephoned? I’d have let the rest of the business go till next week.”
“Oh, I got along all right,” said Camilla, “and Miss Pratt is mistaken about her work. She’s been wonderful this afternoon. She did all that pile herself. And she must have been tired, too. She’s been up nearly all night with her stepmother and came down here just as soon as they took her away.”
Mr. Whitlock cast a kindly glance toward Marietta. “Well, that was great, Miss Pratt! I appreciate that. If I had known about it I would have told you not to come, even if the work had to go out to a public secretary for once.”
“Thank you,” said Marietta, blushing scarlet over the unexpected praise and kindness, “but I’m all right. I guess I can get along now. And ef you don’t mind, I’d liketa make up this lost day on Saturday afternoons.”
“Oh, that’s all right, Miss Pratt,” said the employer kindly. “You don’t need to make that up. You have a right to an emergency now and then, and you’ve been doing unusually good work the last week. I appreciate the change in your appearance, too.”
Then he turned to Camilla.
“You are moving?” he asked. “Isn’t that rather sudden, Miss Chrystie?”
“Yes,” said Camilla. “The house was sold quite suddenly, and they offered to move us if we would vacate at once, so we thought it would be to our advantage.”
“Well, I’m very sorry that you should have had to be here all day.”
“It’s quite all right,” said Camilla. “We haven’t so much to move. I did a good deal last night. The movers will do the rest.”
“Well, you must go at once!” he said, glancing at the clock and taking some papers from his pocket. “It must have been hard for you today.”
“It’s been all right,” said Camilla brightly, “and they don’t expect me till half-past five. I’ve plenty of time to finish this letter and take some dictation for tomorrow morning before I go.”
Camilla could see that this decision relieved her employer very much, though he was gracious about it. So she insisted on finishing the important matters before she left. Marietta, too, stuck faithfully by, working with her homely young face in an earnest frown and her pudgy fingers pounding away on her machine.
It was almost six o’clock when all three finally went down in the elevator together, Whitlock hurrying off to meet a man and take him to dinner.
Camilla was relieved that he did not offer to go with her and help. Somehow, though he was kind, she did not want him coming into the dilemma of their moving. On the way to the house she tried to reason it out, knowing in the back of her mind that if it had been Wainwright she would have been not only relieved but overjoyed. And yet Mr. Whitlock had been most kind and considerate and would have been the natural one to help if he had offered, which, of course, he couldn’t do with a dinner engagement on hand. She could sense that these were strenuous times in the office and that he was hard pressed, and she felt all the more obligated to be on hand early and get off those letters he had dictated just now. They should go in the nine o’clock mail, and she would see that they did, even if she had to leave a little earlier than usual to accomplish it.
She had meant to telephone home before driving there, to see if the movers had started away yet with the first load, but she didn’t want to do it in front of Mr. Whitlock and Marietta, so she drove home as fast as traffic would allow.
She found the movers just about to leave with the first load.
“Very well, then, Mother, I’ll go right along with them. Can I trust you to lie down while I’m gone? No, you’re not to go yet till there’s a place for you to go right to bed. Have you had anything to eat?”
“Oh yes,” said her mother, smiling. “I ate at five o’clock, and I’ve got the thermos bottle full of hot soup for you. Will you eat it before you go or take it with you?”
“Why, I’ll take it with me. That’s wonderful! I’ll eat it while I’m telling them where to put things. Now, can I trust you to stay right there on the couch till I get back and not lift a finger?”
“What is there left to do?” asked the mother. “But really, I don’t see why I shouldn’t go along now. I could rest on a chair until you got things fixed to your satisfaction, you know.”
“But you wouldn’t, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, I would. I’d rest much better if I was right there and the journey over.”
“All right, but isn’t there anything more here to be done?”
“Not a thing!” said Mrs. Chrystie proudly. “Mrs. Pryor is coming in after the last load is gone to sweep all the rooms. Mr. Glyndon said that was all we need to do. He said the new owner would look after all the rest.”
“Well, that’s wonderful!” said Camilla, with a troubled look around to think that all this had been accomplished without her supervision. “All right, Mother, where’s your coat and hat? It’s pretty cold out.”
“Oh, I thought you’d say that, so I got out my old fur coat before the trunks left, and I’ve filled a hot water bottle and wrapped it in a blanket. I thought I might as well fuss over myself as to have you and Miss York do it.”
“Well, you have been good,” commended Camilla, laughing. “Have you got galoshes on? The pavements are icy, you know.”
“Oh yes, I saved them out, too. Now let’s get going. Those men want to get done.”
So, for the first time since her illness, Mrs. Chrystie went out into the winter world again.
“It’s going to snow,” she announced as she stepped into the car and sat down. “No, don’t worry about me, I’m quite all right. I lay down three times today, and I haven’t done a thing the last hour but tell the men which things to take in the first load.”
Camilla wrapped her mother warmly, put the hot water bag at her feet, and started on, the big van coming close behind.
“Now,” said Camilla, “this is the first time you’ve been out and you mustn’t talk in the cold air. Just rest back and relax.”
“All right,” said her mother, but her bright eyes were watching the streets as they went along, and once when Camilla looked at her anxiously her mother smiled at her happily, almost like a child.
“Having a nice ride, Millie, darling!” she said.
“You dear!” said Camilla, with a throb of thankfulness at her heart, “I believe you’re enjoying this.”
“Why surely,” said her mother. “Who wouldn’t, after all these weeks in the house?”
“Well, I hope you like the house,” said the daughter.
Camilla laughed outright with a child’s sudden delight. “Mother! That’s lovely! Do you know, I believe when we get settled I’m just going to take a day off sometime and be thankful for the kind of mother I have. I don’t believe I ever before realized what a wonderful inheritance I have, having a mother who can take hard things that way. I wish I had such a wonderful trust as you have. I believe that’s what has kept you so young-looking in spite of all that you have been through.”
“Yes,” said her mother thoughtfully, “I guess that has helped me through. Trusting. I couldn’t have got through in my own strength, I know that. Why, Camilla, you’re stopping. This can’t be the house, is it? It’s all lit up. Do you have to ask the way or something?”
“No,” said Camilla, “I don’t have to ask the way, and this is the house, but I don’t understand its being lit up, unless Jinny is still there.”
“But, Daughter, this is a very pretty little house!”
“Oh, I’m glad it seems nice to you. Now, you sit still, Mother, till I get a chair or something taken in for you to sit on.”
“No,” said Mrs. Chrystie, “I want to go in with you now. I can sit on the stairs for a while till a chair comes. Or aren’t there any stairs? A box, then. For pity’s sake, don’t baby me now. Can’t you see I’m running over with curiosity?”
Camilla laughed and let her have her way, taking her arm and carefully leading her where the walk was icy. But when they went up the steps, the front door suddenly swung open and a wide path of light poured out, and Miss York, with a big white apron over her uniform and a towel pinned over her hair, appeared in the doorway.
“Welcome home!” she cried, bowing low before them, ushering them inside and shutting the door. “Why, it’s warm as toast!” said Mrs. Chrystie, looking around admiringly, “and you say there’s no furnace to bother with. That will be wonderful!”
Camilla and her mother walked through the rooms with Miss York bringing up the rear. It seemed so wonderful that this was their new home.
In just no time at all they had Mrs. Chrystie established in a big chair in the living room, and the movers were putting up the beds and spreading down the rugs under Camilla’s direction. It didn’t take long. And Miss York, with uncanny accuracy, found the sheets and blankets and was making up the bed, while Camilla ate her soup and gave directions to the movers. Incredibly, the house began to be like home with each piece of furniture that came in.
Miss York stayed with Mrs. Chrystie when Camilla went back with the movers to get the last load and close up the house, and soon her former patient was tucked snugly into bed with the light turned out.
“Now, you’re to go to sleep at once!” she ordered, “or we shan’t let you get up at all tomorrow, and I’ll have to give up my job and come and nurse you.”
With that threat she closed the door and tiptoed away to prowl around and see what she could do to make the house more livable.
She found two big baskets of dishes wrapped in newspapers and set to work putting them on the cabinet shelves, putting away knives and forks and spoons in the drawers. The kitchen utensils had come in with the first load, also, and before Camilla returned Nurse York had the kitchen in fair order, as far as things that had arrived, for Mrs. Chrystie, with careful foresight, had sent in the first load what would be needed first.
Back at the old home Camilla telephoned Mr. Glyndon according to previous arrangement, and before long he arrived, paid the movers, and gave Camilla a check for the rest of the money promised. She stood looking at the check in a kind of daze. It seemed so strange to her that so suddenly she had been lifted out of the appalling debt that had hung over her and threatened to engulf her and been put into ease and freedom, with a better house to live in, and for her mother the companionship at times of Miss York. She hadn’t known how she was going to get along, and now it was all fixed. Of course, she wasn’t rolling in wealth yet, but it seemed luxury just to be out of debt and have the rent ahead for a few months so that she could have a chance to lay up a little for a time of emergency. How good God had been to her!
Then as she heard the movers coming back to get another piece of furniture, she folded the check quickly, put it in her purse, and hurried off upstairs to make sure that nothing had been forgotten.
As she came downstairs again and looked down upon the emptiness and desolation in the little front hall, a sudden sadness came over her. Something brought back that night that her mother was so very sick and Wainwright had proved such a tower of strength.
There was nothing left down there now in the living room but a few chairs and the old piano. She could seem to see Wainwright’s evening coat lying across the top. And the old Morris chair! She remembered how she had found him that next morning, asleep in the Morris chair in the hall, his long dark lashes lying on his cheeks, his beautiful hair tossed back in disorder from his handsome forehead. How good and dear he had looked to her! And the orchids! Beautiful, delicate creatures! And his pleasant grin! It gave her a distinct pang to realize that she would never likely see him again. He would never appear at the door of this house and ask for her! And he wouldn’t know where else to look for her!
Suddenly she was appalled to think that she was so absolutely cutting herself off from him and there wasn’t any way she could leave a clue to herself. Her mother had duly written her note of thanks for the oranges but there had come no answer, and she had no excuse for writing again. And even if she had, she wouldn’t, of course. No, he was gone into the unknown world of people, even as he had come, and he would never be in her life again. And it was right that it should be so! But oh, how it hurt! For there still was that sharp, sweet memory of the kiss he had given her, the kiss that seemed to seal something precious between them. To think that she, Camilla Chrystie, should have to have a memory of such a thing, a kiss that could still burn and humiliate, and yet could be so precious! She, who had always prided herself on her carefulness where men were concerned, her cool reticence, and her ability to protect herself.
And suddenly she realized that she had been counting on his coming back sometime in spite of it all. And God, knowing that, had cut her off from any such possibility! God was helping her against her own weakness. Well, she should be thankful that she was going away where she would not be constantly reminded of him. How unheard of! Just a few days with a stranger and something had come into her life of which she could not rid herself! She must! She would!
When she finally locked the door and handed the key to Mr. Glyndon she felt as if she were shutting the door on one of the brightest experiences of her life, and she was rather glad that Mr. Glyndon was there, saying courteous things about regretting he had had to hurry her and hoping the new home would be all right. There really wasn’t any time to be sentimental about leaving that doorstep, that sordid little grimy doorstep where Wainwright and she had stood together a few short weeks before, and she was glad with a kind of moral approval that it was so.
Back in her car again, speeding ahead of the moving van, she reflected on life. Why did one young man have to get such a hold on her thoughts above all other young men she had ever met? Was it just the halo of romance, meeting him in the street in the dark that way and having his help in her time of need? Was it because of his wealth and position, his personal attraction, his courteous manner, his white orchids?
Why, for instance, couldn’t she be as interested in Mr. Whitlock? He was good-looking, too. He probably had plenty of wealth and social position, if one knew the whole story. And he certainly was courteous and a delightful escort. Perhaps he wouldn’t ask her to go out with him anymore, but if he did she ought to be glad to put some new thoughts and experiences into her mind. That was probably the probl
em—she had been too much to herself. She just worked too hard and never went anywhere. That must be why the first fascinating stranger held her thoughts so long and so exclusively.
Well, the new home in the new place might give her new friends and erase morbid longings for something that was never really hers.
So she arrived at the new house and realized that she was terribly tired. Such a long day with so many responsibilities. She just must stop thinking about herself and give herself to the duties before her. She had to direct the placing of all the rest of the things before she could think of getting to bed. And there was the kitchen. She ought to get things in shape for a breakfast.
So she drove into the tiny corrugated iron garage at the back of the tiny lot and shut her car in for the night, thankful that there was a garage and she didn’t have to leave the car with its new paint out in the open, for it looked as if there was going to be more snow.
But when she opened the door, there was Miss York still holding the fort and the dishes in shining rows on the shelves. A sense of comfort and peace came upon her.
“I brought over my electric toaster,” said Miss York, indicating her arrangements on the shelf of the cabinet. “You can make toast in no time in the morning, and you’re not to get up any earlier than usual. Jinny is coming over in the morning to work and see that your mother doesn’t. I found the bread box had a loaf of bread in it, and I hunted the coffee. Also, the woman next door put a note in her milk bottle to ask her milkman to leave you some cream in the morning. I started some oatmeal, and it will keep cooking a little all night on the pilot light in that double boiler. If that isn’t breakfast enough for you the first morning you can get more in the city.”
For answer Camilla flung her arms around Miss York’s neck and gave her a kiss.
“You dear angel-guardian!” she cried. “What should we have done without you?”
“There, there, now, no sob-stuff!” said the nurse, turning pink at the caress. “Hurry up and get done with those movers so I can tuck you into bed before I go.”
The Flower Brides Page 71