The Street of the City

by Grace Livingston Hill

  But Val Willoughby was not in his office.

  “Has he gone home yet?” demanded the efficient voice.

  “I couldn’t say, miss,” answered the man who was detailed to look out for phone calls.

  “Well, you know whether he is coming back to the plant, don’t you?” asked Marietta impatiently.

  “I couldn’t say, miss. Mr. Willoughby is a very busy man. He doesn’t tell us where he is going. He may be back tonight, and he may not. He doesn’t have to tell us what he does. He might be outside in the yard. He might be over to the other building. Or he might be gone into the city to see somebody. I don’t know. He comes and he goes.”

  “Well, really!” said Marietta. “I shouldn’t think that was very efficient work. Well, if he comes in will you ask him to call me? This is Miss Hollister. The number is Cliveden 725. Will you write that down?”

  “Oh sure! But I’m not sure I shall see him. I’m going off duty now, and the other man hasn’t come in yet. I’ll write the number here. Mebbe he’ll see it; I don’t know.”

  And, desperately, at last Marietta hung up.

  But Val didn’t call her. He was out on the ice dealing with the two young bullies who had set out to play a joke on a girl they thought was too stupid and too young to get it back on them.

  Spike came to somewhat while Willoughby was helping Frannie on with her other skate, which he had retrieved from a distance where it had slid at Kit’s last frantic yank before he had sighted the enemy coming toward them. He had given the girl’s skate a quick fling across the ice, and then suddenly vanished in a way he knew and had often practiced in his early youth. So when Willoughby returned with the skate in his hand enemy number two had disappeared from off the face of the earth.

  Val dropped down before the girl and helped her put her skate on. Then taking her hand he set her upon her feet and looked her over.

  Her hair was awry, the little green cap sat crazily on her brown curls, there were tears on her white cheeks, but not in her eyes, and with brave determination she was holding her trembling lips fairly still.

  “Are you sure you are able to go on home this way?” he asked her, looking into her wide eyes that had been so frightened when he first came up.

  “Oh yes,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “Yes, I can go on! I’m so sorry I made you trouble again! How wonderful that you should have come along just now! I don’t know what I should have done!”

  He smiled.

  “I’m glad I was here. Who were they? Do you know them? Have they troubled you before?”

  “No, I never saw them before till this morning. They stood in the hall when I went in and were awfully fresh. They asked me to go dancing, and when I told them no they insisted they would meet me out here at closing time. I didn’t answer them, and I forgot all about them, or I would have gone out the front door and over to the river down beyond the next street. I never knew any boys like that.”

  “There are a lot of tough fellows down in this neighborhood, of course,” said Willoughby, “but I don’t imagine they will trouble you again. Perhaps we had better curve over in the direction of that one and see if he is coming to or whether I ought to send someone to look after him.”

  Then, still holding Frannie’s hand protectively he set out slowly at first, watching the prostrate form of Spike sprawled across the ice.

  “He’s coming to,” said Willoughby. “I saw him move his arm just now. Didn’t you? There! He’s turning his head. He’ll be himself soon. I’ll just stop at the next corner and tell the plant night watchman to take a look at him and send for an ambulance if necessary, or a taxi, if he can’t navigate himself. I wonder where his companion is.”

  “He won’t come back while you are here,” said Frannie in a low, trembly voice. “He’s a coward. I watched his face when you took the other one off and flung him out on the ice. He was scared to death. And I don’t think he has any very great love for his pal, either. He won’t want it known that he was mixed up in this.”

  He looked at her and smiled.

  “You certainly are a brave girl,” he said fervently. “I watched you defend yourself while I was sprinting to the spot and you never flinched once. I was afraid you might faint.”

  “I don’t faint,” said Frannie seriously, as if it were a thing to be deplored. “I just don’t know how.”

  “Fine! That’s wonderful. There are not many girls who could claim that. But aren’t you feeling pretty well broken up after all this? I think we had better steer in to shore at the next street and take a taxi.”

  “Oh no, please! I’m all right. Just a little shaky, but I’ll be steady in a minute or two. Skating isn’t any effort.”

  “Oh, isn’t it? Well that may be so at times, but after a brisk fist fight such as you’ve been through, I can’t think it is the best thing. We’ll just steer for that corner and take the next bus.”

  “Please, no,” said Frannie frantically. “It rests me to skate. It really does. And I should be frantic hanging around waiting for buses and changing from one to another. You don’t understand. It does steady my nerves to skate.”

  He studied her face an instant.

  “Oh, very well,” he said, “but you’re going to let me help steady you. Here, cross your hands. I think we can travel faster and easier this way.” He took her mittened hands in a firm clasp, and they sailed off together. It was easier that way, of course, and she gave him a thankful little smile.

  “You’re being very kind to me, a stranger,” she said. “I can’t ever thank you enough.”

  “Don’t try,” he said with a smile. “And besides, you’re not a stranger, merely a neighbor. Now, let’s forget it and have a good journey. That will rest you more than trying to be grateful. See that color in the sky and how it reflects from the ice. It’s like sailing onto a pavement of rubies.”

  “Yes, isn’t it lovely? That’s one great reason why I like to come this way. It’s so beautiful, any time of day, especially morning and evening. I dread so to have the weather change and spoil the ice.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Weather has a good deal to do with it. I feel that way myself, watching the sky every morning when I wake up. Rejoicing when the sky is still clear and bright. But say, where did your family come from when you moved here? Was it from far away?”

  “No,” said Frannie. “It was only about seventy miles north, but it was in the country. We went to stay with my grandmother after my father died. Grandmother was quite ill and needed us. But she died three weeks ago, and Mother and I felt we should come down here where I could get a job. I think I was most fortunate in finding such a good job, just by answering an advertisement in the paper. We came from a little place called Bluebell, and that is the reason our goods are coming in sections. There wasn’t a regular moving company near, and so an old farmer, a friend of my grandmother’s, is moving us a little at a time. That’s why you found our little house so bare. But I think the rest of the things are coming today. The farmer borrowed a larger truck and is bringing his son with him to help, so we can soon get in order, I hope. He thought they might get here before dark tonight.”

  “Well, perhaps they’ll be there when we arrive. I’d like to stick around awhile and help a little if I may.”

  “Oh, but you’ve already done too much!” said Frannie.

  “It seems to me that I’ve somewhere heard that there’s a kind of law, perhaps it’s in the Bible, that the reward for doing something is that you get the privilege of doing something more a lot greater. Anyway that seems a pretty good rule to me. I’ve enjoyed what I’ve done so far immensely.”

  “That’s a beautiful way to look at it,” said Frannie wistfully.

  “There are other compensations, too,” said the young man with a smile. “I feel that I have made some very lovely friends, besides renewing the acquaintance of one whom I knew several years ago when I was a youngster. I mean Lady Winthrop. It was she who called me from the river and sent me to your mot
her. I want you to know her also. I know you will love her.”

  “Oh yes, and I shall want to thank her, too,” said Frannie eagerly. “Tell me about it again, please. That is something I shall not want to forget.”

  So he told her about it, more in detail, as they skimmed along on the sunset-colored ice, her mittened hands held firmly in his gloved ones, his strength steadying her balance. And the way did not seem long in such company.

  And then they were in sight of the little brick house and saw that two trucks were parked by the sidewalk.

  “Oh, the furniture has come!” cried Frannie. “I’m so glad. Now Mother can have her blankets and pillows. I’m afraid she wasn’t warm enough last night.”

  “Oh, but Lady Winthrop thought of that, too, and sent over some blankets with the first load I took across.”

  “How dear of her!” said the girl, her face brimming over with gratitude. “I’m eager to know her. She must be wonderful!”

  “She’s all that!” declared the young man, guiding the girl to the steps. “Well, here we are! Now, let me unfasten those skates and put on your shoes. And may I suggest that after the shock, and the unusual experience you had this afternoon, you relax as much as possible? I’m going in and help, and I want you to give me orders instead of doing things yourself. Will you? Please promise me, for I shall be worried that I let you skate home if you don’t.”

  “But I feel quite all right, really. You made the journey so much easier than it would have been if I had skated alone.”

  “Well I’m glad of that, but I want your promise all the same, because if you don’t keep it I shall have to tell your family what you have been through, and I know you don’t want that just now. Anyhow not till your mother is well and up and around.”

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t have her know it for anything. She has been awfully worried that I would get in with a tough set, and I’m afraid she wouldn’t want me to go to work anymore and would worry all the time I was away. Please, you won’t tell her, will you?”

  “Not if you keep your part of the bargain. You’ve just got to sit down as much as possible, and get to bed as early as possible, or you certainly won’t be able to go to work in the morning.”

  “All right, I’ll be very careful. And thank you so much for all you’ve done.”

  “Oh, but you’ve already thanked me. Now, let’s go in and see what we can do to get this household settled for the night. And by the way, if the morning is clear and the ice still good, are you going to skate down to work again?”

  “Oh, yes of course.”

  “Well then, may I have the pleasure of accompanying you?”

  “Why, that would be lovely, but—you mustn’t feel that you’ve got to take me over as a continual burden.”

  “Oh, it wouldn’t be a burden. It’s nice to have a skating companion, and it certainly helps to eat up the miles. Now, here we are, and the door is wide open for us. The furniture seems to be mainly inside the house, doesn’t it? Just a few more pieces. Here, I’ll help with this couch. It’s a little awkward for two to handle. And then in a minute I’ll hunt up the nurse and introduce you.”

  And so at the doorway of the little brick house they parted, and Frannie rushed up the stairs to find her mother.

  At the closed door she paused, startled. Her mother’s door! Had something dreadful happened this afternoon? Was her mother worse? Oh, she ought to have come home before! She knew she should not listen to the persuasions of strangers, not even to the voice of caution for her job. She should have come at once.

  Softly, cautiously, with trembling fingers she grasped the doorknob firmly, and turned it ever so softly. Why, it didn’t open! It seemed to be locked! What had happened? She glanced wildly around, and then called softly.

  “Bonnie! Oh, Bonnie!” And then in a desperate wail, “Mother!”

  Suddenly she heard small footsteps downstairs, Bonnie hurrying to answer. Bonnie at the foot of the stairs, her important young face bright with grown-up responsibility.

  “Here I am, Frannie,” she whispered, “Mother’s asleep. You mustn’t wake her up.”

  “Oh, Bonnie dear!” gasped Frannie, the tears rushing to her eyes. “How is she? Is she worse?”

  “No indeed!” said the little girl with childish gravity. “She’s a great deal better. But Nurse Branner is trying to keep her quiet till the men are gone so she won’t try to get up.”

  And then suddenly the key turned in the lock and the door was opened by a pleasant-faced nurse in full uniform.

  “Oh, this is Frannie, isn’t it?” she said in a low, clear voice. “Come right in. Your mother is awake now and has been asking for you. Don’t let her talk too much. She wants you to give directions to the movers where to put things. Just be as quiet about it as you can, and smile a good deal!” She gave Frannie a knowing look that changed Frannie’s tears into sunbeams.

  “Of course,” said Frannie, smiling and giving a quick wipe to her wet lashes. Then she stepped to the side of the bed and knelt beside her mother.

  “Oh, Mother dear! To think you’ve been sick and I wasn’t here!” she whispered, but there was a bright smile of relief on her face as she said it. “But you’re better now, Mother dear, aren’t you? And what wonderful neighbors we have! Bringing a nice nurse and a doctor. I was so happy when I got the message that you were being taken care of. I wanted to fly right home, of course, when I heard you had fainted, but they said you sent word I mustn’t, so I stayed. But Mother, I did a lot of praying all day.”

  Her mother smiled peacefully.

  “Yes, dear, there wasn’t any need for you to come home. I was perfectly all right. Just a little faint. I was only tired, and perhaps some worried about your going off alone on that dreadful ice.”

  “Oh, mother dear! But the ice was lovely, as smooth as glass.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re safely home again,” sighed the mother with a smile of relief, “and I suppose I’ll get used to it. Only really, my dear, I didn’t need to be put to bed. I could perfectly well have stayed up and gotten dinner for us, I’m sure.”

  “Why yes, of course you could,” the nurse said cheerfully. “I told you that when I was putting your nightgown on, don’t you remember? You could have got up and gone to work, of course, but since I was here and there really wasn’t anything important to do all day but what Bonnie and I could do, it didn’t seem worthwhile, did it? You know, Miss Frannie, I wouldn’t have felt comfortable to stay here without doing something to help pay my board,” and she gave a merry little twinkle of a wink toward Frannie. “So you see Bonnie and I got everything fixed up as well as we could without bothering your mother and just let her have a rest. And then that nice Lady Winthrop sent that lovely lunch over to us, and we certainly were in fine shape to enjoy it. Your mother ate a whole cup of the chicken broth, and we put some in a cup in the tin pail with snow around it and had enough for her this afternoon when she woke up. She really enjoyed it a lot, didn’t you, Mrs. Fernley?”

  The mother’s eyes assented with a sweet smile.

  “How lovely that was, Mother,” said Frannie, catching the idea of cheerfulness from the nurse. “Wasn’t it grand of Mrs. Winthrop to be so thoughtful? You thought we would be so lonely among strangers for a long time, and you were going to miss the dear Bluebell people. But even Bluebell couldn’t have been any kinder.”

  “Yes,” said Bonnie who had come upstairs importantly to join in the conversation. “There was hot water bags, and an ice bag, and blankets, and soup. It was grand!”

  The mother lay there looking at her children and smiling almost hopefully now, relaxing on her pillows, realizing after many hard days that someone was caring and helping, and she could lie still and get rested before she had to get up and go on with her troublesome life.

  “And now, Mrs. Fernley,” said Nurse Branner, “what were those things you wanted your daughter to look after when the movers came? They have brought in some of the larger pieces, and I did my best to
have them placed where you said, but maybe she had better run down and see if everything is just as you planned. I think you’ve talked long enough for a little while, so you take a nap while she goes, and Bonnie and I will get the kitchen to rights. I saw them bring in the barrel of dishes, and we can rinse them off and get them in the cupboards so we’ll be all ready for supper. You shut your eyes and be real rested when the doctor comes back before supper, won’t you? I want him to think we’ve done a good job of nursing you, you know, so you can get up sooner.”

  “Oh!” said the sick woman, with a troubled look. “I really ought to get up now. I’m feeling quite well enough,” and she lifted a frail hand and tried to raise herself to her elbow.

  But the nurse gave her a soft little push back to her pillow.

  “No, you don’t pull any tricks like that on me, my lady!” laughed the nurse. “I promised the doctor I’d keep you perfectly quiet in bed until he came back tonight, and I mean to keep my promise or he wouldn’t let me nurse for him any longer.”

  So the nurse fluffed the pillows, drew the blanket a little closer, opened the window just a crack, watched the tired eyelids droop down, and the sick woman’s breath come softly, steadily, until she knew she was on the way to sleep again. Then she slipped away to see what Bonnie was doing in the kitchen and whether the movers were anywhere near through their work.

  Chapter 4

  During the day Marietta had more or less perfected her plans for the defense of her country. After all, she would be the one to plan, and she expected it to be an easy matter to bring Val Willoughby to her way of thinking. Of course he hadn’t always been easy to move. He never by any chance saw things, even the things of mere play, exactly as she did. But he was polite. She could always count on that. And in things that did not seem to him to matter he always gave in to the lady. He had been trained that way. Though she could recall times, a few of them, when he had stood out against her in the matter of what he called fair treatment to someone else, even someone whom she disliked very much. He never would consent to let anyone be put out of the game for some trifling matter. He always insisted that one child was as good as another, even if the one was the small, meek daughter of the cleaning woman, who had to come along with her mother because there was no place for her to stay alone while her mother was working. Marietta saw no reason for that child to join in their game, but Val insisted that she should be asked. Val used to be strange that way. He said little Annie was lonely, and he took special pains to teach her how to hide so that she would not be too easily found, how to run to the base when opportunity came. Marietta never had liked that in him. She felt that it somehow took from her some of the prestige that should have been hers. She wanted all the attention herself. She felt it was her due.