by Lilyan Brock
At last, one evening after dinner Jo asked Mrs. Mason to remain with Sheila until her return; then taking the car from the garage she drove into the neighboring town to telephone Nicoli, fearful of doing so at home lest Sheila might hear her.
As she drove, her thoughts dwelt on what her course of action that night would mean to her. Never again would she ride over the countryside with Sheila beside her. Never again would she wake to find her loveliness in her arms… never… never.
The pressure of her foot against the accelerator increased. She must go faster—there must be no time to think—no opportunity to weaken—faster—faster.
*
While Jo stood in the dingy telephone office waiting the completion of her call she struggled with herself not to obey the impulse strong within her to cancel the call and go home and keep that which she loved. For in her heart she was certain that Nicoli would come, and with her coming would vanish her last shred of happiness. Yet—how to forget Sheila’s sad eyes and the longing in them?
The voice of the operator sitting at the small switchboard roused her. “I’m ready with your call to New York, Miss Trent.”
Jo’s mind was newly torn by conflicting thoughts as she ‘ entered the dark booth. When a few minutes later she emerged, Nicoli’s voice was still ringing in her ears, her words pounding in her brain, for Nicoli, when Jo had told her the reason for her call, had said simply, “I’m coming at once.”
As Jo drove homeward she tried again to comfort herself, this time with the thought that she had done the one thing which would bring brightness into Sheila’s darkened life; but this time there was no grain of comfort to be derived: she had with finality excluded herself from Sheila’s life.
How could she bear to give her up, even though she had always known she could never hope to possess all of her love?
How could she bear the look she knew would come into Sheila’s dull eyes when she beheld Nicoli ?
That night Jo sat for hours by the side of Sheila’s bed making repeated attempts at conversation, trying to rouse her from the apathy which had succeeded weeks of delirium. But Sheila was unresponsive, her sad eyes looking beyond Jo as if to find the one they wished to gaze upon, a face so limned on her mind in hours of delusion that the return of reason could not erase the memory. For Jo those still hours were the death watch of her happiness. Tomorrow the first light of the sun would probably find Nicoli there—for surely she had started at once and driven all night. Tomorrow Sheila would be out of her arms forever, her nearness lost to her always, her kisses only a fragrant memory.
The sun had been up for barely an hour when Jo’s listening ears heard the approach of a car in their unfrequented lane, the dying of the motor as it reached the gate, and Ring’s sharp bark. Hastily she went downstairs, fearful that Nicoli’s voice would awaken Sheila, and reached the door just as Mrs. Mason admitted her, saying “I’ll call Miss Trent.”
Jo walked quickly to her side. “Nicoli, I’m Jo Trent. It was I who called you last evening. You made splendid time, but I know you must be exhausted. Come—let me take your things and we can sit by the fire and talk until Sheila wakes. We will have breakfast here while we are waiting.”
Jo led the way into the cozy living room. Nicoli removed her wraps and handing them to Jo, walked slowly toward the open fire. Turning, she said in a voice unsteady with emotion, “It was so good of you to call me. You see, I might never have known if you hadn’t. When Sheila’s show closed in New York I lost all track of her. Tell me, Miss Trent—how did you know about me?”
Jo’s hand trembled as she endeavored to light the cigarette she held; trying desperately to control her voice she looked into Nicoli’s questioning eyes and replied, “Sheila told me about you, Nicoli, and what you mean to her. You see… I understand.” Then reaching out and laying her hand upon Nicoli’s she continued, “She needs you, Nicoli—without you she has no desire to live. Please don’t ever let her leave you again. You can’t; you mustn’t!”
“I shan’t ever let her go!” Nicoli’s words fell upon Jo’s heart with the precision of a knife thrust.
They were interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Mason bearing a large steaming tray which she placed on a low coffee table before the fire. During breakfast Jo told Nicoli what had occurred—going, back to the time when Sheila had first left Nicoli, telling her why she had linked her life with that of Allison Graham, and omitting nothing except her own great love for Sheila.
Nicoli’s thoughts flew back to that first evening in the theater after Sheila’s return—her mental questioning as to the change she found in Sheila—and here she found her answer.
At the mention of Allison’s capture, Nicoli anxiously inquired, “Has he been safely confined, do you know? There isn’t any doubt, or any danger that he is at large?”
“No, he is in the state asylum, I am sure,” Jo reassured her. “There is a letter here for Sheila now from the state authorities—we have nothing to fear on that score.”
They fell into a moment of quiet musing from which they were called by the re-entrance of Mrs. Mason.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Trent, but Miss Case is awake and asking for you.”
Jo turned to Nicoli, gazed briefly into her anxious deep gray eyes, and in a low tone said, “I’ll take you to her at once.”
Leading the way up the broad white staircase, Jo’s body seemed to droop noticeably with the weight of the sorrow upon her heart. At Sheila’s door she paused, halted by the grim thought, “When you open this door to Nicoli, you close it to yourself.” There was nothing to be gained by waiting. What was one minute more? She opened the door and stood aside to allow Nicoli to enter; then softly closing it behind her, with weary footsteps she continued on down the corridor.
Sheila glanced up from the book she held in her thin white hands, her eyes fastening themself upon Nicoli. Then with a heartbroken cry she covered her face with her hands and sobbed bitterly.
Nicoli crossed to her quickly. Taking her up into her arms and pressing her tightly to her, she said, “My darling, my baby, don’t cry—it’s I, your Nicoli.”
Sheila raised tear-dimmed eyes to Nicoli’s. Her hands wandered over the face she loved so well as if to assure herself that it was really Nicoli she beheld and not some ghost who had come to torture her. Confident at last, her arms tightened about Nicoli’s neck, and holding her tightly she sobbed brokenly, murmuring over and over, “My darling—my Nicoli”—then, “You do love me, you’ve come to me—and oh, my darling, I’ve needed you so!”
Nicoli kissed the lovely golden head as it lay on her shoulder, its soft strands of hair brushing her cheek. Unbelievably her arms were once again holding close all that she loved.
“Yes, darling, I’ve come for you and I’ll never let you leave me again. This time it must be for always…” Nicoli’s voice died away as her mouth found Sheila’s.
Sometime later Jo knocked lightly upon the door, and Sheila’s voice bade her enter. Opening the door, her eyes raced to Sheila’s face. Was it possible that she was really looking at the woman who for days had lain so listlessly in her bed, scarcely speaking except when in her troubled sleep she called to Nicoli? Sheila sat propped up against the pillows Nicoli had tenderly arranged to support her back. Her face was animated, her eyes alive, as she said “Sit down, Jo. I want you to know Nicoli better.” Turning to Nicoli, she added, “Darling, you’ll never know how wonderful Jo has been to me. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be alive, I’m certain.”
“I’m sure you are right,” Nicoli agreed. “You have been very ill, Jo tells me. But that’s all over now, and in a week or so we’ll drive back to New York—then you’ll forget all of this.”
“How true,” Jo mused bitterly. “How true!”
“You said we’ll drive back, Nicoli—do you really mean you will stay here until I am able to travel?” Sheila asked eagerly.
Nicoli placed her hand on Sheila’s cheek. “Of course I’ll stay. You don’t imagine I’d
leave you when I’ve only just found you again, do you?”
Jo’s last bit of hope vanished at Nicoli’s words. She had rather thought that Nicoli could stay only a few days—business necessitating her return— and then would meet Sheila in New York later. Those last days were to have been Jo’s brief reprieve before entering the final prison of loneliness. But now even the comfort she would have gleaned from the few remaining days with Sheila was to be denied her. This was the finish of her life with the woman before her—and in her heart Jo bid her a loving farewell.
*
Late that evening Jo left her room where she had been sitting alone for hours and walked quietly toward the stairway, hearing as she passed Sheila’s room the low murmur of her voice and Nicoli’s as they talked. Proceeding down the stairs Jo took her tweed coat from a stand in the hall and wrapping it about her, passed silently out into the winter night. The air was cold and Jo turned the large collar of her wrap around her head. The cold was penetrating, causing her to shiver under its intensity; yet she walked on through the gate and into the lonely lane beyond.
As she turned to close the gate she glanced up at the windows of Sheila’s room. They were warm and cheerful looking, the soft amber lights sending out a gleam of friendly welcome across the snow wrapped fields. Jo’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed upon them, and in her mind she visualized the room beyond, and its occupants. Nicoli would doubtless be sitting close beside Sheila’s bed as she herself had sat so many nights during her illness. They would be talking of their plans for the future—a future from which she would be forever excluded.
At the thought of the future Jo realized that in the days to come there could be nothing for her without Sheila. Days would pass into weeks and they in turn into months—lonely months, Jo knew—filled with sorrow-laden hours. Nights when she would awake from dreams of her nearness only to find herself alone…
Jo tramped slowly down the road, her heart heavy with the knowledge that she was alone again, so cruelly alone. As she stopped to light .a cigarette the flame from the glowing match illuminated her face for an instant, disclosing eyes filled with sorrow and despair. As she plodded on with head down and eyes on the path before her, she was unconscious of the soft fine snow that had begun to fall afresh.
After wandering without purpose, without relief, for several hours Jo finally found herself back at the gate. The lights were still gleaming in the room above as she let herself in… Upstairs in her own room once more, Jo undressed mechanically and switching off the lights, slipped wearily into bed.
*
It was mid-morning when Nicoli was aroused by Sheila’s soft kiss on her hair and her voice saying, “Is this the way you take care of me? I’ve been awake and starving for an hour!”
Nicoli turned, reached out her arms and drew Sheila into them. “I’m sorry, my darling. Why didn’t you wake me?” Then looking into Sheila’s bright face she asked, “Did you rest well? I was awake several times and you looked as though you might be sleeping soundly.”
Sheila hugged Nicoli. “I slept like a top, but now I’m hungry—I want to get up and go downstairs with you to breakfast.”
Nicoli thought as she looked at Sheila what a vast difference there was in her in just the short space of one day. She had known from Jo that most of Sheila’s trouble had been mental, but still the miraculous improvement was hard to believe. Sheila seemed like herself again, and so, when she pleaded with her to be allowed to dress and go downstairs, Nicoli consented.
Mrs. Mason looked up from the waffle batter she was stirring, to find Sheila and Nicoli standing in the kitchen door. Dropping the spoon with which she had been beating the mixture, she exclaimed, “Well, land alive, Miss Case, you did give me a start!” Then studying Sheila closely she asked, “Are you sure you’re strong enough to be up and about?”
“Well, I am strong now, Mrs. Mason,” Sheila replied, “but I shall not be for long unless you hurry those waffles. I feel as though I could eat stacks of them, I’m so hungry!”
Nicoli’s hearty laugh boomed across the bright kitchen. Mrs. Mason was caught up in its infectious gayety, and she added her jolly chuckles.
“What’s funny?” asked Sheila in her old childlike way.
“You are, you ambitious little one,” said Mrs. Mason fondly. “Your breakfast is ready.”
Laughing and talking vivaciously, Nicoli and Sheila walked arm in arm into the dining room, where a few moments later Jo found them.
For a minute she could scarcely believe her own eyes as she saw Sheila looking so radiantly alive and so apparently improved. Crossing to Sheila’s chair she said, “Well, it looks as though I no longer have a patient.”
Nicoli laughed and replied, “No, but I am afraid you will have shortly if she eats another bite.”
“They have been kidding me, Jo, because I had an appetite this morning. You’ll stand by me, won’t you?” questioned Sheila.
“Of course I will,” Jo began tenderly; then turning to Nicoli, she forced herself to say matter-of-factly, “I think you can take care of Sheila now, so if you don’t mind, I’ll go back to New York today. No doubt Doctor Harkness needs me by now.”
“I’ll miss you, Jo,” Sheila said in what Jo thought was a most casual tone of voice, and Jo’s heart caught up the words with a stinging question, “But will she? Already she is putting you in the past. You are no longer necessary—you no longer have a place in her life. She doesn’t even remember! The sooner you leave the better it will be. Leave them to their love and happiness. You are an intruder here.”
Jo’s words betrayed none of the anguish she felt. “I’ll miss you, too, Sheila—very much—but then I’ll probably be running into you and Nicoli in New York.”
Nicoli spoke up. “You mustn’t wait for that, Jo. You must come to see us. We’ll be at the Sheridan-Plaza. Drop in any time. I’m sure Sheila will be happy to have some company during the day while I’m at the office.”
Jo made herself answer: “I’ll do that, first chance I get—unless of course Doctor Harkness sends me on a case right away.”
What would be the use to visit Sheila, she asked herself. How could she see her and not take her into her arms? Not tell her how she loved and wanted her? And most of all, how could she see her in Nicoli’s apartment, the very atmosphere of which would cry aloud of the love that had robbed her of Sheila—a love so great that in a few hours it had erased the tender memories of months of close association— months that had meant so much to her—months wherein she had pretended that Sheila was her own.
“If you feel that you do want to go, Jo, why not wait and leave tomorrow?” Sheila suggested. “That way you’ll have more time to pack—and besides, there’s no need to rush away.”
The nurse smiled wanly. “I may do that—I’ll think it over between now and train time.” Why discuss it, she thought. Her mind was made up: she must go, and quickly, too.
After breakfast Jo went to her room to pack. Ring quietly followed her upstairs. Inside the room he curled up beside the door and studied the strange actions of the girl as she went to and fro, her hands busily engaged in putting her effects into the scattered pieces of luggage. Why hadn’t she taken him as usual for a long walk? Why did she ignore him now? The setter whined. Jo dropped the things she carried onto the bed and went toward him. She sat down on the floor beside him.
“What is it, Boy?” she asked, stroking the dog’s fine head. Ring’s huge paw came to rest on her knee; his liquid eyes looked up into her own.
“I believe you know, Ring,” Jo said softly. “You sense what has happened to our little home.”
The dog’s gaze remained intent. “I believe you know I’m leaving here—leaving here?” Tears stole unheeded from Jo’s eyes. Her arms reached out and drew Ring nearer. “Even you can remain here beside her,” she whispered; “even you will feel the light touch of her fingers against your thick fur, while I…” Sobs racked her slender figure. The dog snuggled closer. His warm crimson tongue
licked her hands affectionately.
“Watch over her, Boy—take care of her… for me—” Jo’s words were barely audible. “I love her… so much… so much.”
*
An hour later Jo called Mrs. Mason to help her with her baggage. Then she walked down the corridor and knocked on Sheila’s door. In answer to Sheila’s cheery “Come in,” she entered the room which once had been so much a part of her life, but which was now filled with mocking memories. Sheila and Nicoli looked up as she entered. Sheila, seeing Jo dressed in traveling clothes, exclaimed, “Why, Jo! You’re not really leaving today, are you?”
“Yes, I decided I’d better. I’m leaving on the twelve-forty—I came in to say goodbye.”
Nicoli glanced at her watch, and rose. “You haven’t a great deal of time. We’ll drive you in. The air will do Sheila good, too.”
“Please don’t bother, Nicoli. I can get a car to come out for me.” Jo dreaded the drive into town with Sheila—it would be so much easier to go alone. How different it would be from the first time they had ridden along the road that led to the little village. How awful it would be to see Sheila’s face slowly receding as the train got under way! Far better to get it over with at once.
“Nonsense, Jo!” Sheila expostulated. “Of course we’ll drive you in. I’ll get my things on right away.”
“I didn’t want to put you to that trouble,” Jo protested weakly. What was the use? Nothing mattered now anyway.
“No trouble at all—I’ll have the car out in a jiffy,” Nicoli announced. She left the room hurriedly.
Jo hesitated. Perhaps after all she was to have a moment alone with Sheila. She would wait until she was finished with putting on her hat and coat. A feeling of weakness stole over Jo. The floor danced before her eyes. She was stifling under the burden of unspoken words. She couldn’t stay—after all, what could she possibly say? Jo took advantage of Sheila’s moment in the adjoining dressing room to steal blindly downstairs.