CHAPTER XX
_From Miss Helen Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt_
_Dearest Auntie:_
It is again the little girl to whom you have been a mother for so manyyears who comes to you now, to lay her weary head upon your dear shoulderand seek from you the kindness and sympathy you have always so freelygiven me.
Last night I slept. Yes, slept like some dead thing that never caredwhether it ever returned to life, but which would awaken, at times,stupidly, and toss until oblivion returned. I don't exactly know what itis that affects me so. It may be the long watching, I suppose, and theuneasiness of a heart that has lost its owner, and seeks and seeks again,turning for comfort like a poor lost dog to every face which may provefriendly. Just now things seem to be in such a dreadful tangle that I cannot even find a thread of it that I can unravel.
Late in the evening, the day before yesterday, I was sitting by the bedwhere Dr. Grant was lying, and the conviction kept on growing upon methat he was becoming worse all the time. I could not help whispering myfears to Mr. Barnett, who gulped when he answered, as if he also knewwhat it is to have that dreadful lump in one's throat.
The long, weary hours dragged themselves along, and presently the doctorbegan to speak, and we bent forward to listen, because it was not veryloud and he spoke fast. At first it was all a jumble of delirious words,but suddenly he looked at me and shook his head.
"My own poor darling," he said. "I am afraid that the sea has 'ketched'me, and that I shall never make that cove again."
Then he was still again, so very still that I was afraid, and the tearscame and my head went down in my lap, between my hands, and the worldbecame so full of bitterness that I did not feel as if I could stand itfor another minute. The dear little parson put his hand on my shoulder,in that curiously gentle way of his.
"We must be strong," he told me, "and we must pray for power to endure."
He then rose, quietly, and moistened the doctor's lips and his brow whileI looked on, feeling that I was the most desolate and helpless thing inthe world, and as if I could weep for ever. And then all of a sudden,through the recurring booming voices of the waves breaking on the cliffsoutside, burst out the shrill voice of the _Snowbird's_ siren and Irushed to the door. Frenchy followed me, and I was so weak that I hungupon his big arm. In the sodden blur of everything I saw our boat comingin, like a great white ghost, and there were more blasts of her whistle.She knew what a welcome awaited her and how we had despaired of herarrival.
In the darkness I could see that people were rushing out of their houses,cheering, and I heard piercing cries of women.
"Th' white ship she've come back," some of them were screaming.
They were scrambling down towards the landing, just hoping that theymight in some way be of service. The yacht had lost her headway but thepropeller was still churning, and I could see that she was turning aroundto her mooring. Then I heard them putting the yawl overboard. Lights werebreaking out of some of the fish-house windows, and lanterns swung on thelittle dock, and at last I dimly saw the rowboat coming. I ran down also,with Frenchy, and met Stefansson.
"I got all of that stuff there was in St. John's," he said, "and thisgentleman is the doctor. We hunted high and low for a nurse but couldn'tget one right off."
But what cared I for nurses just then? Was I not ready to do all that awoman possibly could? Was there a nurse in the world as ready as I to laydown her very life for her patient?
I seized the doctor's hand. I had never been so glad in all my life tosee any one. He looked just like a big boy, but he represented renewedhope, the possibility of the achievement of a longing so shrewd that itwas a bitter pain to endure it.
"You are going to help us save him!" I cried.
"I will most gladly do all I possibly can," he answered, very simply andquietly.
These doctors are really very nice people, Aunt Jennie dear. They speakto you so hopefully, and there seems to be something in them that makesyou feel that you want to lean upon them and trust them.
When I had a better look at this one he appeared to be really veryyoung, and perhaps just a little gawky, and he wore the most appreciablystore-clothes, and the funniest little black string of a neck-tie. Isn'tit queer that silly things should enter one's head at such times? But helooked like a fine, strong, honest boy, and I liked him for coming, andwhen he smiled at me I really thought he had a very nice face, and onethat gave one the impression that he knew things, too.
"Please hurry," I said. "Come with me quick. Dr. Grant is dying, youknow. I am sure he is dying, but perhaps those things you have broughtwill make him well again."
"I hope so," answered that doctor boy, and together we ran up the path tothat poor little hut that holds all the world for me, perhaps a dyingworld, like those I have been told are fading away in the heavens.
He wasn't a bit out of breath, though I was panting when we reached theshack. He cast a quick look about him, and just nodded briskly to Mr.Barnett, like a man who has no leisure for small talk. He first went upto the little boy's bed, and looked at the parson, enquiringly.
"He's getting better," said the latter.
At once the new doctor turned away and stood by John's bed. I must sayJohn now, Auntie dear, just when you and I are talking together. Perhapsit will only be for a few hours, or a day or two, that he can be John tome, in my heart and soul, for after that he may be only a memory, akilling one, as I feel now.
For a moment he stood there, immobile, looking at John, noting that awfulgrey color, and the rapid, hard breathing that sometimes comes in littlesobs. And then he felt the pulse, coolly, and counted the respirations,in so calm a way that I began to feel like shrieking to him to dosomething. But all this really took but a very short time. He went to thelittle table, on which a lamp was burning, rather dimly, and opened thepackage which contained all those vials they had brought from St. John's.Captain Sammy had just come in, and stood near the door, and he sought myeyes for some message of comfort, but I could only shake my head sadly.
"This lamp gives a very poor light," said Dr. Johnson.
At once the old man leaped out and sprinted towards the nearestneighbor's. There he dashed in, seized the lamp around which the familysat at their evening meal, and rushed out again, leaving them in totaldarkness. Of course it went out in the wind and had to be lighted again,and I noticed that the young doctor gave a calm, curious glance at me,and Frenchy, and that his eyes swiftly took in all of the poor, sordid,little place.
I stood in a corner, out of the way, for now it seemed to me that I wasof very little moment. This man was going to do everything that reallymattered, and I would only sit by the bed, afterwards, and watch, and tryand do things to help.
Dr. Johnson filled a syringe with the antitoxine and injected the stuffin Dr. Grant's arm, which looked awfully white, and then he turned to me.
"You need not stay any longer, Miss Jelliffe," he said, civilly. "I shallwatch him all night."
"You are not going to drive me away?" I cried.
Then he looked at me again, curiously, and there was a tiny little nod ofhis head, as if he had just understood something, after which he took thepoor little chair and pushed it near the bed.
"Won't you sit down?" he said, so gently that my eyes filled with tears,and again everything was blurred as I blundered to the seat.
He did some other things, and mixed medicines that he took out of a blackbag, and made John take some. After this he sat down on a wooden box,near me, and watched in silence, and I felt that he was a friend. Mr.Barnett left, promising to return soon, and we remained there, listeningto the quick breathing, and dully hearing the long, low booming of thegreat waves outside, till I fancied they were saying things to me, whichI could not understand.
After a time Susie came in.
"Yer father says won't you please come in an' have yer supper," she said."I knows ye'd rather stay here, but there ain't no jobs folks kin dobetter starvin' than when they's had their grub. A
n' th' poor dear manwants yer that bad it makes me feel sorry fer him."
"You ought to go and have something to eat, and rest a little, MissJelliffe," said the doctor. "This young person appears to have somerather sensible ideas, and you can return whenever you want to."
So I rose, because it wasn't fair to poor old Dad to leave him alone allthe time. Of course it was hurting me to leave, but it would also havehurt to think that he would be having his supper all alone, so sadly.
"You will let me know if...."
"Of course I will," interrupted the doctor boy. "You may depend on me.I'll send the big chap here over, if there is any change."
"You are very good," I said. "I think--I think you are a very nicedoctor."
To my surprise he blushed just a little.
"Thank you," he said. "Thank you very much."
There was a smile on his face, and I think I managed to smile a littletoo, and then I went off with Susie.
"They is some o' th' old women as tells about love medicines as can makefolks jist crazy fer one another," she said, as we walked away, rapidly."Seems ter me 'twould be good enough if some o' them doctors found outsome drug as worked t'other way. This bein' in love is harder'n theteethache, an' is enough ter make one feel like hopin' ter be an oldmaid."
"Perhaps it does, Susie," I assented.
"Come in," cried Dad, as I pushed the door open. "Glad to see you, Helen.I hope the poor chap's better. I just had Stefansson up here, and he saysthat old Sammy tried his best to drown them all and smash the yacht tokindling. But he admitted that the way the old fellow slapped her throughwas a marvel. But next year he's going back to racing boats; says he'shad enough of cruising."
He looked at me, as I sank wearily in a chair, too tired to answer.
"What's the matter, daughter?" he asked. "You are not ill, are you?"
He rose and came towards me, his dear loving face full of concern, and Ijumped up too and kissed him.
"That's my own dear little girl," he said, much comforted. "And--andHelen dear, I don't suppose you will want to sail to-morrow, will you, orin a day or two?"
There was something very pleading in his voice, it seemed to me.
"Perhaps in a day or two it won't--it won't matter much what I shall do,Daddy dear," I answered.
He took me and pressed me to his breast and I felt as if many years werepassing away, and I was again the desolate little girl who used to cometo him with her woes, when a kitten died or a doll was broken. He satagain in his armchair, and I rested on the arm.
"Let us talk as in the old days, girlie," he said. "Let us be the lovingfriends we've been all these years. I want to see you happy. Yourhappiness is the only thing in the world that really concerns me now. Toobtain it for you I would spend my last cent and give the last drop of myblood. You believe me, don't you?"
"Indeed I do, Daddy dear," I answered. "I don't deserve such kindness.I'm afraid I am a very selfish girl."
"You haven't an atom of selfishness in you, Helen. You are a woman, atrue, strong, loving woman. We shall remain here as long as you want to.Now that there is another doctor here I am not so much afraid for you. IfGrant should--should not recover, your old Dad's love may comfort you.And if, as I earnestly hope, he does get well, then come to me and tellme what you want. It shall be yours, girlie, with all my love. That'swhat I wanted to say."
I slipped off the arm of the chair, and sat down at his feet, looking upat him, through the blur that was in my eyes.
"I--I hardly dare hope he will get well, Daddy," I said, "and--and Idon't know yet whether he loves me or not. This evening, in his delirium,he called me his darling, but never before this has he ever said a wordof love to me. He's just been a friend to me, Daddy, such a friend!"
"How can he help loving you?" said the dear old man.
But I did not answer, and for a time we remained in silence, watching thewood fire in the tiny chimney, until Susie came in.
"Th' kittle's biled," she announced. "Me cousin Hyatt he've brung somemeat off'n the mash, an' I briled some."
"I'm not very hungry, Susie," I told her.
"Nor me neither, ma'am, with all them goin'-ons," she confided. "Butwhat's th' use o' despisin' any of th' Lord's blessin's, specially whenthey gits kinder scarce?"
So Daddy and I had our supper together, very comfortably, and really Idid manage to eat a little, because the thought struck me that a girlcouldn't possibly be beyond all hope of comfort as long as she had such aDad, and I did my best to be brave. But soon after we had finished Ibecame very restless and nervous, and Dad looked at me and patted myhand.
"I expect you'd better run along, my dear," he told me. "But you mustreally try to have some rest to-night. If that doctor promised to sit upyou might just as well have a little sleep. You mustn't be ill, you know,for we all need you too much for that."
So I kissed him and hurried back to the shack, overtaking Mr. Barnett,who was also going there. Frenchy met us at the door.
"Mebbe heem Docteur no die now, _hein_! Mebbe heem leeve now. I thinkheem no die. What you think?"
"We hope and pray he may get well, my good man," answered the parson.
We went in, and Dr. Johnson rose.
"I can see no change as yet," he said, "but then it is hardly possiblethat any should occur so soon. At any rate he is no worse."
So Mr. Barnett and I sat down by the bed, and Dr. Johnson went away forsome supper; I am sure he must have been nearly starving.
"He's been muttering a good deal," said the doctor before leaving, "butthat is of no very great moment. The important thing is to watch him toprevent his getting out of bed, if he should become excitable. We musthave no undue strain on his weakened heart."
So the little parson and I sat quietly by the patient, who appeared to besleeping, and for a long time there was no sound at all, and I think wedreaded to move lest the slightest noise might rouse him.
But after a time, so suddenly that it startled me, came the hoarse, lowvoice that was so painful to hear, and I bent further forward to listen.At first the words were disconnected, with queer interruptions, so thatthey possessed no meaning, but presently I was listening, breathlessly.He appeared to be giving orders.
"You, Sammy, cast away the lines! Look lively there! Time, time, time!"he muttered. Then he seemed to be waiting for something and began again.
"I told you to be ready! The years, do you hear me? You are wasting theyears. She's good for sixty miles an hour and it will take forty millionyears to reach the nearest star, where Helen waits. Can't make it, yousay? Don't I see her beckoning!"
Then he turned his head, slightly, as if he were addressing some one verynear.
"One has to have patience," he said. "They don't understand, and theirfingers are all thumbs, and the hawser is fouling my propeller, andHelen calls, and--and I can do nothing."
His head, that had been slightly uplifted, fell back again, and two greatdrops gathered in the dark, sunken eyes and slowly ran down the hollowedcheeks.
Mr. Barnett turned to me. In his eyes there was a strange look ofapprehension, as when one awaits yet fears an answer. But there wasnothing that I could say to him. My heart was beating as though ready toburst. I cared nothing then for the little man who stared at me, and sankon my knees beside my poor unconscious John, lifting his limp hand to mylips.
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