Spice Box

by Grace Livingston Hill

  The bugle for closing sounded and a moment later Miss Spicer stepped out of her office and came walking down the aisle, laughing and talking with one of the cash boys as if they had a joke together. What could it all mean?

  “For the love of Mike, girls, what can have come over her? She’s been smiling all day!” whispered one girl. “And now she seems to have a case on Bobbie!”

  “I’ll bet she’s going to be married to some rich old guy,” said the blond girl. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “Nothing like that,” said another. “She wouldn’t come back and work in the store if she was marrying a rich guy, would she?”

  It did not take many days to make the people in the store realize that there was a wholly different Miss Spicer at the head of the underwear department, but it did take many weary, lazy, self-sufficient people before the young women under her began to understand that while she still meant business and must be obeyed in any command she issued, yet she could and would be tender and sympathetic and loving to them all at times. Not until a number of them had been to her pretty home and breathed its loving atmosphere did they quite understand. And even then they came back puzzled and thoughtful, and wondered what had done it.

  But gradually, one by one and two by two, they capitulated to her, till it got to be quite the thing for the girls, and the cash boys, to seek Miss Spicer in any time of need and to know that she would be a rock of strength and always a sympathetic friend.

  Her little world grew gradually larger and larger, as one by one she added new people to her list of friends, who later shared the hospitality of the rejuvenated brick house. Almost every day somebody needed a ride or some advice and rode home with Martha. And so in time many people from the store came to know and love Ronald’s friends and many of the neighbors in the street. And Ernestine, of course, was beloved by all of them.

  Janice got along beautifully at the store, both with her work and with her co-laborers. Her smiling face and charming ways were part of the great attraction to go and see Martha Spicer. And always at the pleasant little dinners and teas, Janice acted the part of the young hostess, like a daughter of the house.

  “How they love you at the store!” said Janice to Martha one evening as they went up to their rooms for the night. “They are so fortunate to have had you and known you all these years.”

  “Love me?” said Martha with a smothered sigh. “My dear, they used to hate me. Yes, I know, for I have heard them say so!”

  “How could they!” said Janice, aghast. “You are so good, good, good and dear!” She flung her arms about Martha’s neck and covered her face with soft little kisses.

  “I don’t see how you could possibly have been lonely, as I was. People everywhere must love you wherever you go.”

  “Oh my dear, you don’t know. You don’t understand. Do you know what they all used to call me at the store? Spice Box. I have heard them many a time. Old Spice Box.”

  Janice was quiet for a minute or two, her arms still around Martha’s neck.

  “Oh, but a spice box is a lovely thing,” she said with a smile.

  “Don’t you know it is? It’s used to make everything taste just right. Without it, things would be flat. Why, I remember how lovely my mother’s spice box used to smell when I was a little girl! Besides, Martha dear, those people didn’t know you the way I do. You’ve just been an angel to me!”

  “You are a dear child,” Martha said chokingly, “and I thank God for sending you to me!”

  Chapter 17

  Those were the days of delight to Martha and Janice. Every morning they got up some new idea about how to fix something for the house, and every evening they developed some new corner or window or bookcase for the admiring inspection of the workmen, who were getting tremendously interested in this house they had been making over.

  The work was going forward rapidly, and if one might judge from the number of people who dropped in from the street to see what in the world Miss Spicer could be doing to her perfectly good, respectable old house, Mr. Roberts must be gaining name and fame. One and another householder would come the second time and ask the architect his price for taking down a partition or putting in a window, which showed that the new neighbor in the district had started something that wouldn’t stop at her own house. It began to appear that almost every family on the block, and a few on the next one, were contemplating alterations. Those who had no alleys and couldn’t hope to have bay windows would have to be content with taking down partitions.

  There were a few who looked on such innovations as unnecessary, almost unrighteous, and clung to traditions and old customs with a stolid zeal. They declared Miss Spicer might better have rented out a room or two in these wartimes if she had so much room to spare, rather than to make a great big room with no hall and only a little vestibule to keep out the cold in winter. Entering into the parlor right like that wasn’t decent, they declared. But Martha went on her serene, happy way and never knew.

  Martha and Janice went about the store almost every noon now and browsed around among curtains and furniture, coming home at night with something pleasant. And then among the artworks Martha came upon the little head of exquisite marble, a representation of Joan of Arc, the one she had admired for so long. She recognized that its beauty had had some effect upon her. She could see a bit of art like that would somehow bear a message of sorts to anyone who looked at it, and when she brought Janice to see it and found that she too felt its power, she bought it. Shades of the ancestors, how they would have raved! But she had long ago ceased to listen to them. This was an acquisition that would do something beautiful to her home, and to all who came to it, and she felt she must have it. It represented all the things that had been starved out of her young life. It was a little expensive, of course, but so was everything that had real intrinsic value, and she felt she could not afford to pass this by. In fact, she was beginning to see that it did something to both herself and Janice to be in that store and feel that they were a part of it.

  The morning came at last when Mr. Roberts announced that the living room and dining room, even down to the catches on the windows and the fasteners on the delightful corner china closets, were complete, and they might take possession of it.

  They had watched the painters and paper hangers in their slow, tedious process of finishing, and now they were all eagerness to move in. For indeed the kitchen and laundry were over-congested with things new and old, and it was growing more and more difficult to get any meals at all.

  It happened that Ronald and his gang, as he called them, came strolling in as if by appointment, probably having received a tip from Mr. Roberts, and presented themselves for work. They took their orders from Ronald and started a procession of furniture out of the kitchen and laundry and into the grand new apartment that the old house had become. Ronald got his directions in a low tone from Martha if he wasn’t just sure where something went. It was remarkable how often he knew without asking.

  Janice and Martha had been at work every night rubbing and polishing the fine old mahogany, and now the boys brought them carefully in and set them in place as if they were sacred articles. The sideboard, its brass handles shining brightly, the table and chairs, the high chest of drawers, the couch, the rockers, the round center table, and the old secretary with its high glass doors and its desk that would draw out. These all appeared with new dignity and beauty in the pleasant setting of the new rooms. There was some new furniture, upholstered in fine bronze leather like billows of air, a couch and chairs the color of the woodwork.

  The walls were pale cream like faint sunshine, and there were curtains of silky woven sunshine. The three helpers came downstairs with their arms full of books and paused in amazement. They couldn’t tell what unearthly atmosphere had suddenly fallen into that place to make it different from anything they had ever seen before. There were pictures being hung on the walls, one of the ocean upon which they gazed and gazed. There were bronze green velour curtai
ns hung from the arch where the partition between dining room and parlor had been, and there were cushions to fit the seats around the fireplace to match the curtains. There were built-in bookcases, and Martha was bringing beautifully bound books and placing them. Every touch was telling now. Ronald pointed to the rugs and showed the boys where to place them. Two big ferns and some scarlet geraniums were in the bay windows. At last Ronald, with a great awe in his face, and cautious handling, brought forth Martha’s one great extravagance, the little head of Joan of Arc.

  Carefully, he undid the wrappings until the exquisite bit of art stood forth in all its beauty, and the group of helpers and the men who had helped to build all stood around and looked with reverence as if in the presence of something holy. Perhaps it was the feeling the artist had put upon the stone and who recognized the purity of the consecrated girl. It was just as Martha had hoped. That little statue with its lovely profile had power to arrest attention and uplift the thoughts of even the lowliest, for as they looked, those men felt this was a living, breathing mortal before them—calling them to higher purposes and nobler aims. The soft tints of the amber and deep brown in the coloring of the marble, the strange trick the artist had of chiseling life into the pupils of the eyes, deepened the impression.

  But nothing could keep Ronald, the irrepressible, still very long. He was the first one to come to himself.

  “Some looker!” he drawled. “Who was she? Say, Janice, she looks like you!”

  That broke the silence, and the company began to move about and try to express their delight, but ever as they moved they kept turning back to look at the girl in marble and to recapture that fleeting impression that she was a real, living being wishing to speak to them all about something most important.

  “Who is she?” It was Pace who asked the question again, timidly. He could not get away from feeling she was somebody real.

  “Joan of Arc? Oh, don’t you know her?” said Janice. “She’s a wonderful character in history. You must have studied about her in school.”

  “Oh sure!” said Ronald confidently. “She was a dame that could ride horseback to beat the band, wasn’t she? And she had all kinds of nerve and got a lot of men to follow her, but couldn’t get enough, so she had to beat it. Or did she croak? I forget. Janice, why don’t you tell us the story about her?”

  “Why, I will,” said Janice pleasantly, “if you will all come over when you have time. How about tomorrow afternoon, Martha? It’s a good story for Sunday.”

  “By all means,” said Martha, smiling. Her extravagance was doing its work, all right. There ought to be enough in one of Janice’s stories to help those boys a lot.

  So the boys shuffled away, chiming forth “So long” at the door as they went out.

  After they were gone there was a patter of velvet feet and Ernestine came and stood in the archway, the first time she had ventured alone into that room since the horde of awful strangers fell upon their house and devastated it with their poundings and sawings and rendings and thumpings. And so this was what they had done to it! If Janice and Martha hadn’t been there she wouldn’t have recognized a thing in that place. She felt her whole world had come to an end. Such a vast space where there used to be narrow walls! Such myriads of little wooly mats where an ugly carpet used to be! Such grand chairs upon which to curl up and take a nap! She had never read of Aladdin’s Palace or she would have thought herself in it, surely. She uttered a low “Meow” and advanced over the slippery polished floor till she was safe beside Martha. From this haven she took a survey, sniffed the new odors of plaster and leather and varnish, gave a glance at the bay windows and the big staircase with its landings, and then her eye fell upon the fireplace, and straight to it she went with almost a sigh of joy, and stood there looking. “Meow!” she said, as if to say, “This is what I have longed for all my days and dreamed of all my nights. I am content!”

  Then on a little old rose rug she curled, rumbling a joyful purr, and sat staring into the empty grate.

  “She wants a fire,” said Ronald and dashing out to the kitchen, came back with some wood shavings and matches and a small stick of wood. In a moment there was enough blaze for Ernestine to realize what life was going to be like that winter.

  It was then that Janice threw her arms around Martha’s neck and cried out, “Oh Martha, it’s so wonderful! Your dear house and everything! I’m so happy to be a part in it.”

  “Yes,” said Martha happily, “I’m glad, too. I’m glad you and Ronald are both here with me. I’m thinking if it hadn’t been for Ronald, I never would have had this made-over house. He was the one that put it into my head. And I’m so glad. I think it’s lovely, don’t you, Ronald?”

  “Swell!” said Ronald joyously, tickling Ernestine’s ear.

  And about that time Dr. Howard Sterling stood in the wide entrance hall of the hospital at Enderby, saying good-bye to the nurses and interns and the new house doctor.

  Now that the time to leave had come, he was feeling sad about it. This was the place he had come to begin his work, and the place in which one of the sweetest experiences of his life had occurred. He hadn’t known he would feel sorry to leave it. The nurses smiled and watched him and wondered if he was going to see Rose Bradford before he left that part of the state. They whispered that he looked tired and awfully handsome, and it was such a pity he was leaving. And then Sam drove up with the house car and he was whirled away.

  “Yes ma’am,” said Sam when he got back from the station and was being questioned by the nurses, “he took the same train to go to Martins’ bof times, but I couldn’t say whether he were going to Bradford Gables or not.”

  But Sterling did not go to Bradford Gables. Instead, he took the taxi to the cemetery at Willow Croft.

  At the gate he left the taxi and walked in the moonlight through the gate and over to where Louise Whitmore Stuart and her baby girl were buried. He stood there, alone by the side of that dead unknown sister, thinking of the girl he loved who had gone from him, whom he perhaps would never see anymore. Before he left he knelt by that sister’s grave and said aloud, “Oh God, take care of her!”

  Then he walked back to the Junction and took the late train that brought him, a little after midnight, into the distant city that was his goal, and there he found his old friend Ted Blackwell waiting for him.

  They drove to Blackwell’s quarters and had a long talk, and when they parted for the night Blackwell said, “I’ll never forget this that you are doing for me, Howard! It’s as if you were giving me a hope of life again, for I’m satisfied that without this operation I cannot live. And now there are three or four patients I want to take you to see in the morning, or during the day, and the next day I’m off, if all goes well. I hope you won’t have too rotten a time of it carrying on for me. I have some very good friends among my patients I want to introduce, and I know you’ll like them. And good night! I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Chapter 18

  The new piano arrived that Saturday night and was put in place where its voice could be heard to best advantage, and Janice and Martha had hard work to drive themselves to bed that night, it was so interesting to listen to, as Janice rippled off different portions of melody out of her past. Ernestine was really startled at first and looked at Martha as if to say, “Now what do you think Aunt Abigail and Uncle Jonathan would think of having a thing like that in the house?” But after a little she settled down and tried her voice with it, deciding that it would be all well enough for her to sing to if they played her tune. She couldn’t be expected to learn newfangled tunes, like ragtime or swing, or modern music. She didn’t hold to that.

  And so the piano was there in the room when the boys entered that first Sunday afternoon. It startled them, because they didn’t know anything about its coming. Except Ronald, of course, who always knew beforehand everything connected with the house.

  The boys came in in awkward silence following Ronald. Coming there in their old clothes to place the
furniture was one thing, but coming there all dolled up in what they called their Sunday best and seeing that room in all its finished glory with other people present was entirely another story. They felt for the first minute or two as if they wouldn’t have come at all if they had realized. And then they got so interested in looking around and getting the amazing effect of all that had been done that they forgot to be awkward and just sat and enjoyed.

  The Robertses and three workmen had asked if they might come, too, and hear the story, and they were sitting back by the kitchen door, unobtrusively, enjoying all the changes that they had helped to bring about in this commonplace house.

  Janice was there, and as they all settled down to look around, she stepped across to the piano bench and sat down, letting her fingers ripple over the keys in what seemed to them a marvelous shower of beautifully colored sounds. They sat and stared and stared and drank it all in, till the music suddenly broke into a well-known hymn that they all had heard more or less everywhere, even though they were not regular attendants at church. And when the music sounded through a verse and chorus, Janice turned toward her audience, smiling, and called a challenge, “Come on, let’s sing! You all know this, don’t you?” And she began to sing:

  “On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,

  The emblem of suffering and shame,

  And I love that old cross where the dearest and best

  For a world of lost sinners was slain.

  So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,

  Till my trophies at last I lay down,

  I will cling to the old rugged cross,

  And exchange it someday for a crown.”

  Suddenly she whirled about toward them and said engagingly, “Come on now, sing that chorus with me. I’m sure you all know it. Everybody knows that. And then I’ll sing the next verse and you all come in on the chorus. Now sing!” And she struck a great chord on the piano that fairly drew the song from their lips. One by one, the boys began to growl out a note now and then, till when they reached the last line, everyone was singing cautiously, trying not to be heard, but singing.