by Gwen Bristow
“Dwight, the fewer people around a sick man, the less noise to disturb him. Can’t you wait for me somewhere? You might drop into the library and look at the papers that came in by the steamer yesterday.”
Dwight was in a mood to please her. Besides, he was not a close friend of Loren’s. He had come here only because she wanted him to.
“Oh sure, sure,” he answered. “I’d like a look at the papers. And I’ll come back for you—how soon?”
“Half an hour?”
“All right.” Dwight glanced at the men going up and down the street and casting wishful looks at Marny. “I’ll stand here till you’re safe indoors, then I’ll walk down to the library.”
“Thanks.” Marny gave him a smile, went up the steps and knocked. She waited a moment, and knocked again. The voice of Mrs. Chase called from within.
“Who is it, please?”
“It’s Marny, Mrs. Chase.” She repeated, “Marny.”
“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Chase, and she opened the door. Tipping his hat, Dwight turned toward the library. “Come in,” Mrs. Chase said to Marny. She added, “Kendra’s in no state to see most people, but I think she’ll want to see you.”
Marny stepped inside and closed the door behind her. They stood together in the dim little hallway. Before them the stairs went up toward the landing and the room where Loren lay ill. The doors leading into the hall were closed, except the door to the parlor, and the only light in the hall was what little came in around the edges of the lowered shades at the parlor windows. But even in the dimness Marny could see that Mrs. Chase’s kindly face was drawn with grief and pity. In a low voice Marny said,
“I came to ask about Loren, Mrs. Chase.”
Mrs. Chase somberly shook her head. “The doctor’s doing all he can,” she replied. Her voice too was very low. “But it looks like that nail tore something inside of him. I don’t know enough to say what it might be.”
Marny did not know enough either. She said, “Then it’s true, what I was told—Loren is very ill indeed?”
Mrs. Chase nodded. Her lips were pressed together like lips trying to hold back a sob. Marny was surprised at such deep emotion. She had known that Mr. and Mrs. Chase thought highly of Loren, but she had not known Mrs. Chase cared for him as much as this. She asked,
“And how is Kendra?”
“Brave,” Mrs. Chase answered almost under her breath. “Brave. Braver than anybody I ever knew. But”—she made a quick gesture across her eyes—“it’s too much for her, Marny, too much. She’s already worn out. One thing on top of another.”
Marny gave a start. “What do you mean by ‘another,’ Mrs. Chase? Is something else wrong, besides Loren?”
Mrs. Chase gave her a long look. Her chin quivered as if she were trying to speak and could not. Again she nodded, dumbly.
Marny’s hand closed on Mrs. Chase’s plump elbow. “What is it, Mrs. Chase? Why do you look at me like that? Mrs. Chase, what has happened?”
Tremors of fright ran through her as she waited for an answer. Mrs. Chase wet her lips. Tears came into her eyes. At length she managed to speak.
“Marny—I guess it’s all right to tell you.”
She caught Marny’s hands and held them as she began to talk. Now that she was talking, the words poured out of her in a feverish torrent. She repeated,
“I guess it’s all right to tell you. We didn’t know. Nobody knew. We didn’t know till we came over here this morning. Kendra had told Ralph and Serena not to say anything to anybody. She was afraid somebody might tell Loren and she didn’t want him to know. She didn’t know then how sick he was, nobody knew, but he was sick and in pain and she said why trouble him and make it harder? She told Ralph not to talk about it at the store because those boys blab so, the word might get back to Loren. She wouldn’t even tell my husband. He stopped in two or three times to speak to Loren, and Loren seemed like he was doing pretty well—weak, of course, but pretty well—but he didn’t know and my husband didn’t know. But today, of course, we know. My husband has gone on down to the store because there wasn’t anything he could, do here, but before he left he promised Kendra he wouldn’t say a word to anybody there. But now you’ve come to see her, and she’s so fond of you, she’d tell you if I didn’t, she knows you wouldn’t let it out to Loren—”
Marny was trembling with impatience. “Mrs. Chase, what are you talking about?” she pled. “Say it, won’t you?”
“I’ve been trying to say it but it’s so hard to say,” murmured Mrs. Chase. Tears came into her eyes again. She blinked them back, and looked up. Speaking with an effort, she said, “Marny, it’s the baby.”
Marny’s breath caught in her throat. She gasped, “The baby!”
“Sh! Don’t say it out loud, Loren might hear. Though I don’t think he can, they keep his door closed all the time—”
“For the love of God,” Marny begged, “tell me! What about the baby?”
Mrs. Chase steadied herself. “He caught cold that night,” she answered. “It didn’t show up till after daylight, after they had brought Loren home. It seemed like just a little cold. But it got worse. Now he can’t breathe right. He’s burning up with fever. The doctor has tried and tried but he can’t do anything.”
“And Loren,” Marny said in a half whisper, “doesn’t even know the baby is sick?”
Mrs. Chase shook her head. “They had moved the crib downstairs, so Loren and the baby wouldn’t disturb each other. When they found the baby had a cold, Kendra didn’t tell Loren. She thought Junior would be all right in a day or two, and Loren was hurt already, so she said why worry him? When Loren asked how Junior was, Kendra said he was fine. Loren said he’d like to see him and Kendra said she couldn’t bring him up to the bedroom. She said the weather was so cold and damp, the doctor had told her not to take the baby out of his warm crib and carry him up these drafty stairs. Loren said this was right, keep him warm. Every day after that the baby has been getting worse, and every day she’s kept smiling and telling Loren he was fine. But he’s not. I saw him this morning.”
Mrs. Chase’s voice broke. The tears crept down her rosy cheeks as she said,
“Marny, that baby is sick. And Kendra knows it. Only a month old, and they’re so weak and helpless when they’re that little. Marny—I don’t know about Loren but I think the baby is going to die.”
51
TREMBLING WITH SHOCK AND pity, Marny held to the balustrade of the staircase. She remembered Loren’s joy when he came into the Calico Palace to tell her his son was born. She thought of her first visit to Kendra after that. And of Kendra saying, “I’m so happy about him! I didn’t know, I never dreamed, how much a baby makes up for.”
“Oh God help her!” Marny murmured. “Kendra’s baby!”
Mrs. Chase nodded, drying her tears. “Now I’ll tell Kendra you’re here,” she said.
“If Kendra doesn’t feel able to see me,” said Marny, “it’s all right. Just give her my love.”
“I think she’ll want to see you. She’s with the baby now. Wait here.”
Mrs. Chase went down the hall, past the door of the parlor, into the dining room. Marny remembered how happy they had been as they sat around the table there. How different it was now! On the table the baby’s necessities, beside it the crib, and in the crib the baby, gasping his little life away.
—If I could only do something, she thought. Anything, to help.
But she could think of nothing she could do. She had no idea of nursing. She had never rocked a cradle nor changed a diaper in her life.
Kendra came out of the dining room, closing the door silently behind her. Even in the half-light it was plain that she had grown thinner during the past week. Marny went to meet her, put her arms around Kendra’s shoulders and kissed her. “You dear brave girl,” she said softly.
Kendra moved a step backward. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said in a voice like a tired little thread. “But—please don’t give me any sympathy. I can’
t bear it.”
Beckoning Marny to come with her she went into the parlor. Marny followed.
In the parlor the air was stale and cold. Though this room too was dim there was more light here than in the hall, and Marny could see that Kendra’s face was white and rigid. Her child was dying and she was facing the fact of it.
Kendra caught Marny’s hands in a hard, nervous grip. Marny thought—She’s drawing on her strength like drawing money out of a bank. She won’t realize how much she’s taking out until it’s all used up.
Marny asked, “Kendra, is there anything I can do to help you?”
To her surprise Kendra nodded. “Yes. Be my best friend.”
“Yes, dear,” Marny said earnestly. “I am your best friend. Tell me what you want of me.”
“I think—I want—you to listen,” said Kendra. Her grip on Marny’s hands was so tight it was almost painful. Marny guessed that every muscle in her body was tense. Kendra went on. “Marny, I can’t say this to anybody else. But I can say it to you because you know already.”
Her eyes, darkly circled, looked into Marny’s with a desperate plea for understanding. Marny waited.
“Marny,” said Kendra, “you know—you haven’t said it but you know—I’ve never given anything to Loren. He has given to me and given to me. All I’ve done is take what he gave. Now I’m giving him something. He loves that child so much.”
She was speaking steadily, with a bleak and terrible courage.
“I don’t think—the doctor doesn’t think—Loren is going to get well. If we’re wrong, if he does get well, then he’ll have to know. But if he doesn’t get well, then—I’ll have spared him what I’m going through now. If these are the last days of his life, I can give him peace in these days. Will you help me?”
Marny drew a deep breath to ease the tightness in her own chest. “I’ll do anything I can, Kendra. But what can I do?”
“You can stay here,” said Kendra. “I don’t mean do anything. Serena and Ralph and Mrs. Chase and the doctor, they’re doing everything. But you—if you will—just be around.” She loosened her grip on Marny’s hands and made a gesture toward the sofa. “You can sit here. Keep out of the way. But just—be around. It will make it easier, knowing you’re here. I don’t know why, but it will. So just be around. Will you?”
“Yes, Kendra, I’ll stay as long as you want me.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” Kendra looked about the room, as if only half seeing what was before her. “If there’s any coffee on the stove I’ll tell Serena to bring you some. Thank you.”
She went out. Marny opened a window. A wind was rising, blowing the fog. The air came damply against her face.
The door opened and Serena stood on the threshold. She spoke abruptly. “There isn’t any coffee made but Mrs. Shields told me to put on a pot for you.” Usually so pleasant of manner, today she was blunt, almost harsh. “It will be ready soon,” she said.
“Thank you, Serena,” said Marny. “Mrs. Shields is a brave—”
“Please—I can’t talk about it,” said Serena. She went out as abruptly as she had come in. Marny remembered that Serena knew, better than she herself, better even than Mrs. Chase, what Kendra was enduring. Serena had watched death come to a baby of her own. As she saw Kendra now, she was almost living through it again. No wonder her manner was brusque. She was covering the memory of pain.
There was a knock at the front door. Marny gave a start. Of course—Dwight Carson, here to escort her down to the plaza. She had forgotten he existed.
She went to the door, but found Serena already opening it. Dwight was there, and with him were Hiram and Pocket. Hiram was explaining. After his midday lunch he had dropped into the library, and had been reading a New York newspaper when Dwight came in. Dwight had told them both about Loren’s attack, and they wanted to ask how he was. Could they come in for a minute or two?
“Mr. Shields is not well at all,” said Serena. “I don’t think you’d better come in.” She was speaking hesitantly, afraid she might say too much. Kendra had told her not to drop any hint about the baby, lest it get to Loren.
“I’ll speak to the gentlemen, Serena,” Marny offered. She smiled at Serena reassuringly, as if they shared a conspiracy. “We won’t disturb Mr. Shields.” She indicated the parlor. “Come in here, won’t you?”
The three men went in with her. Marny told them about Loren’s waking before daybreak with that dagger of pain stabbing his side. She said nothing about the baby, but she told them Kendra had asked her to stay here the rest of the day. “So, I won’t be going down to look at the Calico Palace,” she said to Dwight.
Dwight saw that she was distressed. He laid it to her concern about Loren, for she had made no secret of the fact that Loren was seriously stricken. He yielded at once, kind and sympathetic, so sympathetic that she liked him more than ever. He would go on with the work, he said. Everything would be done right. She could trust him. Looking straight at him, Marny said sincerely,
“I do trust you, Dwight. I’d like to go with you now, but as long as my dear friend needs me I must stay here. Thank you for understanding.”
Dwight smiled at her. Marny wondered if Pocket and Hiram caught the message that passed between them.
Dwight went out. They heard the door close after him. Pocket asked for more details about Loren. And how was Kendra? “And can’t we do something?” Hiram demanded. Hiram and Pocket were both well dressed in dark suits and white shirts, though as usual Pocket’s suit was lumpy with his possessions and Hiram’s thick tawny hair was tumbled about as if it had never felt a comb. Marny answered them carefully.
“Hiram, Pocket, Loren is very ill. It seems the nail tore some internal organ, and the nail may have been rusty. I’m afraid it was. I came here, like you, to ask if there was any help I could give. Kendra asked me to stay. But as for you two—I think you’d better go. Mr. Chase has gone back to his work because he knew he was of no use here. I believe you should do the same. I’ll tell Kendra you came in and she’ll be grateful. Now please, I think she would want you to go.”
“Oh no I don’t,” said Kendra’s voice from the doorway.
She stood there, her face like something cut out of a rock. Her hands were gripping each other, her fingers twisting around and around. She spoke again in that tight breathless voice.
“Hiram, Pocket—Serena told me you were here.” Her lips moved in a trembly little smile. “You don’t know—what it means—having my best friends with me. Please don’t go.”
Pocket and Hiram spoke together, assuring her that they would stay as long as she wanted them. Kendra drew a quick hard breath.
“You don’t know—Marny, tell them about—I can’t—”
“About what?” exclaimed Hiram.
Kendra untangled her hands and made a gesture toward the room where the baby was. “About—Marny will tell you.”
She left them. Their eyes full of anxious questioning, the two men turned to Marny. Marny was listening to Kendra’s footsteps going up the stairs, toward the room where Loren lay suffering pain of the body but mercifully spared Kendra’s pain of the heart.
Pocket came and sat on the sofa by her. Hiram sat on the floor in front of her, his big rough hands linked around his knees.
“What did she want you to tell us?” Hiram asked.
Marny told them. She did not include what Kendra had said to her about giving Loren something in return for all he had given her. She told them simply that the baby was believed to be dying, and Loren knew nothing about it. Kendra was telling him, over and over, that the baby was well.
Hiram and Pocket looked at each other. Hiram scrambled to his feet, as if movement was a vent for his feelings.
“But can’t we do something?” he demanded of the air.
Marny shook her head. Pocket gently reminded him,
“Sometimes, Hiram, people can’t do anything.”
Hiram stood there with a look of hurt disbelief. He hardly knew how to accep
t a situation where his own rugged vitality was of no use.
“There must be something!” he insisted, almost angrily.
Pocket stood up and went to him and spoke firmly. “Hiram, there’s nothing we can do. Except stay here. Kendra wants us to stay. Maybe, at that, we’re doing something. So sit in this chair, and keep your voice down if you can.” Hiram took the chair. They all three sat silently, doing nothing.
Mrs. Chase came in, bringing a tray on which there were cups and a pot of coffee. The men sprang up, so swiftly that Marny thought it looked less like good manners than eagerness to loosen their taut muscles. As she set the tray on the table Mrs. Chase said,
“It’s good of you folks to be here.”
“How is the baby?” asked Pocket.
“He’s just—there,” said Mrs. Chase. Across her plump friendly face went a twitch of pity as she added, “But he won’t be there much longer.”
“And Loren?” asked Hiram.
“Conscious. In his right mind. But—” Mrs. Chase swallowed hard and went on. “The doctor has looked at his wound again. I helped him take off the wrappings. Dreadful.” A shudder ran through her. “Festered, and blue lines shooting out of it. Dr. Rollins is going to stay here tonight. He’ll give Loren a dose to make him sleep. I’ve got to go now. Good of you to be here.”
She went out. Marny poured the coffee. Fresh and hot, it made them all feel stronger.
They waited. The parlor was chilly and unwelcoming. They had raised the window shades, but the light that came in was filtered to a dull gray by the fog. Everything in the room looked vaguely out of order. Kendra had never been the sort of housekeeper who insists that every knickknack have its place and stay there, but her home had always been well cared for. Now the room had a look of being forgotten.
Marny set down her empty cup.
“And I thought I had something to cry about,” she murmured, “when I lost the Calico Palace!”
“Kendra’s not crying,” said Hiram.
“She doesn’t dare to,” said Pocket. “Not yet. She’ll cry later.”