Sometimes when Jack was feeling very lonely at the thought of the house and the dreary life they lived, especially when there were low gray clouds in the west and there was no sunset, he would think of his mother’s coffin there in the parlor as it had been five years ago. He could press his eyelids and bring back the white still features and the sweet young look that was not she, but some bright thing related to her and reminding of her, so far, so very far away! At such times Jack was fairly savage, and often went off without his supper.
Tonight Eugene halted as he reached the hallway, hesitating in the dusk, as if something imperceptible had put forth an unseen hand and stopped him. It was too near dark in the house to tell what had happened, but he knew at once by all his senses that something had. Things did not assert themselves in the same way as they usually did. The sense of confusion was gone. The dusty, musty smell had departed. He did not become aware at once of how much everything needed cleaning up. He felt a sudden calm; he might almost have called it peace if he had been analyzing it. And, speaking of smells, what mingling of delicious savoriness was this that greeted his famished senses? Not coffee with an aroma like that! They made coffee for themselves, and it never sent forth fragrance of such a sort. Could his father have come home first and had an unusual spirit of unselfishness? The odor began to differentiate itself. Was that roasting meat? When had they had a roast? It suggested Christmas and other days of long ago. But that other spicy fragrance? What was it? Newly baked bread? Gingerbread? What? He could not tell, but something sweet and succulent and toothsome that recalled far-distant days of festivity.
And last his faltering mind took in the sense of a sweet foreign influence, he might almost think a presence, so much so that he stood still and held his breath to listen for a stir of garments, or a voice to speak. But the only real sound that came was the contented bubbling of the coffee in the kitchen. Without any reason he felt sure that, whatever presence was or had been about, it was not his father. Something sweet and tender and brooding was in the atmosphere, and how he knew all this without even putting it into thoughts he could not have told. It just entered his consciousness like the joy of a day that one has expected to be grim and gray and suddenly the sun bursts through and glorifies everything. So stood Eugene Hathaway in the doorway of his home and took in the difference.
He stood still till Jack, with his head turned to get the last glimpse of crimson in the west, ran full into him and halted with an exclamation that denoted shock rather than any other emotion. Jack’s highly strung temperament was always keyed up to the highest pitch when he entered the door of his home, he dreaded it so.
Then there happened to him, too, that wonderful sense of something new, the perception of cleanliness and comfort, of something good to eat and good cheer; and he too stepped in beside his brother, and stopped looking around in the gloaming, as though in a mood of thoughtlessness he had stepped unaware into a sanctuary and found the people worshipping. He stood abashed, and looked around.
The car had stopped, and their father’s step was heard uncertainly, aimlessly coming up the gravel walk before they bestirred themselves. It was Eugene who made the first move into the strangeness and lighted up. Then both stepped forward with a curious look about them as if they were exploring new regions, on into the hominess of the dining room where that delicious dinner sat inviting them to eat!
Clean tablecloth! Napkins! Clean dishes! A glass salt shaker! These were things that spoke eloquently of the newness. A great roast, steaming hot, and brown as velvet! Gravy, real gravy! Steaming, too. Potatoes cracking open, and ah! That delicious spicy sweetness, more definite now and more alluring! It was Jack who first discovered the pie, and tiptoed over to stoop down and smell again, as if he might scare it away if he did not walk lightly. They stood and gazed in silence, gazed again as famished travelers sometimes dream of all the good things they would like to eat, and see them in mirage; so they feasted their eyes upon it, as on something that might vanish in a moment.
It was Jack again who, feeling that sense of a foreign presence, stole into the kitchen to investigate, and came back with awe in his young face, and stood once more gazing.
The father found them so when he stepped into the lighted dining-room, his senses less alert than his sons’, and noticed nothing till he came full into the doorway. Then he drew back startled, passed his hand across his eyes, and looked again. Looked, and turned his head aside, and gave a great gasp like a sob. Turned back and gazed, shamedly, first at one son and then the other; saw they knew now more than he how this miracle had come to pass; then suddenly dropped into a chair, burying his face in his hands, with another gasp like a sob. The table had not looked so since his wife died, those five long years ago. His body shook with dry, inarticulate sobs. His sons looked at him and at each other, and were speechless. There were no words to meet the occasion. They knew without words what those sobs meant. It was the first glimpse they had had into their father’s soul since they were little lads.
But the embarrassment of the moment aroused Jack to action, and dismissed the sudden hush and awe that had come over his young spirit.
“Well, I say, let’s eat it, anyway! It’s here, and it’s getting cold. It was evidently meant to eat. That is, if it’s real. I’m not sure, but I mean to make a stab at trying it. Who’s going to carve! Here, you, Dad, sit up there at the head of the table, and carve! I’m hungry as a bear. We had spoiled fish at the restaurant at the works today, and I couldn’t eat a mouthful for the smell of it. Get on to your job, Dad, and slice her down.”
But the man lifted his head, and shook it helplessly. There were tears in his eyes and trickling down the furrows in his cheeks. They understood that he did not feel himself worthy to divide that banquet. They turned away, and sat down with more respect for him than they had felt for years. They would not look upon his shame and sorrow. It touched them that he should feel as he did.
But they were young and hungry, and the food was good. So Eugene went to the head, and cut the meat in an awkward way, and served it on the plates; and Jack went out to the kitchen, and brought in the coffeepot. They made their father draw up his chair, trying in sudden tenderness to extend a warmth which they had not felt for him of late. His breath was strong of liquor, but it had not affected him much. They had ceased to reproach him or to reason with him. It was useless. Let him go his way, and they would go theirs, endure the little contact necessary, and see that it was the least possible.
But now tonight in the strange new surroundings, with the delicious meal before them, they treated him as they might have treated a naughty child who was sorry and wanted to be comforted. And so they heaped his plate with good things, and made him sit up to the table. But he could not eat. He would sit and look at his plate, and try to take a mouthful; and then he would lay down his fork, still with the delicate bit of roast beef upon it, and say, “Did you do it, Jack?”
“No, Dad, I just got home.”
“Did you do it, Gene? You never liked to cook. You couldn’t cook like this.”
“No, Dad, I didn’t do it. I just got home, too. We just came in the door as your car came.”
“There’s only one could cook like this!” the father said, and bowed his head in his hands, so that they had to cheer him up again to make him eat.
They could see what he was thinking. In his bewilderment superstition had taken hold of him. He was going back to the days that were past. The food was miraculous to him. He could not eat it. He felt himself unworthy.
And when at last they had made him eat a little, and the comforting food had warmed his body and strengthened him, he sat and looked about on the rooms and at the table in a daze of wonder and sorrow.
They finished that pie thoroughly. The father ate only one small piece. The two boys ate all the rest, and easily. They could have demolished the other two, possibly, if they had discovered them in time. But at last they sat back satisfied.
“Some dinner!” approved J
ack as he folded his napkin reverently, and carefully scraped all the crumbs from the tablecloth upon his plate. “Say, old boy, keep the table looking this way awhile! Let’s clear it off, and wash up the dishes, and get things in shape for tomorrow. There’s meat enough for a good spread, and succotash, too,” peering into the dish. “We’ll have a regular high-class Sunday dinner without much work. Come on; let’s tote the things out and wash up.”
When they turned up the light in the kitchen they were amazed to find that the cleanliness and order had penetrated there too. The disgusting flood in the sink had vanished, along with the accompanying smell. The range was washed clean, and the shelves were all in order. The kitchen table was arranged with the dishpans for washing the dishes, and there appeared to be something clean to wipe them with. A scratching at the laundry door led them to open it for the cat, which walked in lean and gaunt, sniffing the air offendedly. All this prosperity, and she not asked to share it? Her eyes fairly blazed with the indignity, but Jack had time to notice the order in the laundry before he shut the door behind her and came back to give her some scraps of beef and the potato-skins. She was not a dainty cat. Her experience had taught her better. This was a banquet for her.
The young men tidied up the supper-table, put away the food, and washed the dishes, for the most part in silence. But when they found the pumpkin pies set up on the dresser shelf to cool, they looked at each other; and a great question was in their eyes.
“Say, you don’t suppose Elsie could have done it.” Jack voiced the thought at last.
“No chance!” said Eugene contemptuously. “She’s too much of a find lady. I don’t suppose she ever sees the inside of a kitchen. How could she make a pumpkin pie? Besides, she wouldn’t lift one of her dainty fingers for us. We’re only poor relations. The last time I saw her she was all dolled up like a plush horse. She probably spends all her time out of school learning how to bob her hair a new way. And what would she do it for?”
Sure enough. That was a puzzle. Jack had been fond of Elsie but he couldn’t answer that.
“Well, who could have, then?” he said at last after he had wiped the three cups and set them on the shelf.
“Search me! I give up. It does seem uncanny.”
“Rebecca couldn’t do it. She never cooked like that.”
“Not on your life she couldn’t unless she’s met with a change of heart and hand.”
“Well, how do you explain it?” insisted Jack.
“I don’t explain it,” said Eugene. “Just take it as it is. Think it just happened.”
“I wish it would happen again!” sighed Jack, turning thoughtful toward the door and looking into the pleasant dining room, his eyes resting on the flowers in the middle of the table.
“Flowers, too! Gee! It’s queer!” he pondered.
“What you going to do tonight, Jack? Going to the movies?”
“I was,” said Jack uninterestedly, “but I don’t know that I will tonight. It’s so pleasant here I’d like to enjoy it while it lasts. It won’t take long for it to get back the way it was. Been into that hall? I haven’t seen that closet door shut for two years. And somebody’s mended the staircase pillar. I say, old boy, why didn’t we ever think to do that?”
“H’m! Don’t know. Didn’t seem worth while, I guess, there was so much else the matter. Say, it looks nice, don’t it? I s’pose we might fix up a little now and then ourselves but I never have time. I’ve got a date tonight. Ought to be gone by now. What time is it?”
He looked at his watch.
“Good-night, kid, did you know it was almost nine o’clock? No use going now. Well, I wouldn’t have believed it was so late. We must have been almost two hours eating our supper. Some banquet, eh?”
“Yes, some banquet!” echoed the younger brother. “Well, why don’t we have some music?” He strolled toward the long-neglected piano, and opened it. Sitting down, he began to play a modern popular piece and to chant in a deep, not unmusical bass, some unintelligible words, whose main object seemed to be to crowd into the rhythm with remarkable speed.
The father dozed in his chair; awoke, looked around again with tears in his eyes; dozed again dreaming of his dead wife; and the boys sang on for some time.
At last Jack closed the piano and got up. He couldn’t play much but chords, but he bluffed the rest, and really managed to get quite a bit of pleasure out of it.
“Gee!” he said wistfully, yawning and looking at his watch. “Gee! I wish we had a sister or something in the house! Now I s’pose we’ve got to crawl up to that old hole and get some sleep. I’ve a notion to lie here on the floor tonight. I get a nightmare up in my room sometimes just thinking how it looks.”
“Don’t turn on the light,” suggested his brother; “then you can’t see.”
“H’m! You don’t know what you’re talking about. I couldn’t find the bed without a light; the floor’s knee-deep with junk. Well, so long! I’m going to hit the hay. All this excitement’s bad for a working man.”
Jack slowly, reluctantly ascended the stairs, putting his hand affectionately on the old bannister. The top quivered under his grasp, toppled an instant, and fell crashing to the floor.
As if he had hurt a child, the boy hastened back, picked it up, examined the difficulty, hunted up the hammer which he remembered to have seen on the pantry shelf, and drove the nails securely into place again. Then he went upstairs without more ado.
Chapter 6
Eugene took the evening paper from his coat pocket, and settled down to read a few minutes, but it was not quiet overhead. Jack’s footsteps had paused for a moment on the upper landing with that queer, indefinable breathlessness that both boys felt when they first entered the house that evening, and then started excitedly from room to room on the second floor. The noisy footsteps pounded up the third-story stairs, and there was a moment’s quiet, a long moment during which Eugene began to read the athletic scores of the day. Suddenly Jack’s feet were heard again clattering down the stairs.
“Say, Gene! Come up here!” he shouted excitedly before he had reached the second-story landing. There was something in his tone that brought his brother up three steps at a time.
It was to the bathroom shining in its purity that Jack first led his brother. The tub white as enamel could be, the faucets bright, the soap dish immaculate, the floor so clean the pattern of the old linoleum could be seen again, and the towel-racks literally overflowing with white, luxurious towels!
It was at those towels that the brothers gazed longest, reaching out to feel them, unfolding one to see its length and breadth. They had so long used little, inadequate affairs of doubtful character that a bath had become an unpleasant necessity rather than a pleasure.
“Some class!” murmured Eugene rapturously. “I believe I’ll take a bath! Say, I’d like to know who the fairy is that has touched this house with her magic wand while we were away.”
“Just wait till you see!” exclaimed Jack, gripping his brother’s shoulder and whirling him about face.
Eugene stood in his own room doorway, and looked about dazed. The clean white bed, the dainty bureau-scarf, the cleared-up appearance, was almost unbelievable. Something softening came over his face, which was inclined to be cynical.
“Goodnight!” he said at last softly. “I guess I’ll go to bed. But I’ll have to take a bath before I get into that bed. I wonder if I’ve got any clean pajamas. Say, Jack, did that laundry come? I wonder.”
But Jack kept a firm grip on his shoulder, and marched him on to see the rest of the house.
“Third story, too?” asked Gene, surprised as Jack pushed him toward the stairs after a glimpse of his father’s room. “Well, there must have been a fairy god-mother along, too, to get all this done in one day. I think it would take several wands working double time to accomplish so much. It looked like a pretty hopeless dump to me when I left here this morning. I was thinking as I left the house that I’d like to touch a match to it and burn the whol
e thing up and begin again. It certainly was a mess!”
“Some mess! Especially my dump!” assented Jack as he threw his own door wide open and waved his brother inside.
“Some change I should say!”
Gene’s eyes traveled all about, and halted at his mother’s picture on the bureau. He went over and stood before it, looking long and earnestly. Then he spoke, and his voice was husky and unnatural.
“Things would’a been different if she’d lived, kid,” he said half embarrassedly.
“Sure!” agreed Jack in a faint, shy tone, turning his back and looking out the window.
“Do you remember what a wonderful woman she was, kid?”
“Sure, I do!” came the voice from the window with a little tremble to it.
The older brother sighed, and turned to go downstairs. “Gee! ’twould be great if she could come back! Things like this all the time! And she’d be here every night when we came home!” he said, unexpectedly voicing the wistfulness that was in both their minds.
“Wouldn’t it, though?” Jack sauntered down behind his brother as though he could not quite give up the subject, but neither spoke of it again. Gene pushed Elsie’s door open, and glanced in.
“Nothing doing in there! Fairy godmother doesn’t approve of her!” declared Jack flippantly.
Gene brought it shut with a bang, and sighed heavily. The room they had by common consent tried to keep as it had been for the sake of the sister to whom it belonged—for the sake of having some shrine in the house—looked bare and desolate beside the other rooms now. He wanted to shut it away in its dust and emptiness and forget it.
“Wake Dad up and bring him up here!” he commanded. “I’m going to light the hot-water back, and have a bath!”
THE HONOR GIRL Page 5