“I don’t think Mrs. Wetherill knew much about you either,” said Marjorie slowly, thoughtfully. “Not till Mother came to see her. And she never told me about that at all. She just left a letter. I think she couldn’t get courage to talk with me about it when she knew she was going to leave me so soon. You see, when I was little, they just told me they had picked me out from all the babies in the world to be theirs, and I was more to them than if I had even been born to them. That satisfied me when I was small, but as I got older and went to school and heard more about adoption, I began to wonder why my parents had been willing to give me up. It seemed very heartless of them. But when I asked more questions about them, I got very little satisfaction, just that somebody had been sick and they couldn’t afford to keep me. So I confess I grew up feeling rather hard toward my own parents. Oh, I was having a good time, of course, and not a hardship in the world, everything money could buy heaped upon me, but sometimes I got a little depressed or sentimental or something, and felt that I had been cheated by my own folks.
“You aren’t the only one, Betty, that had hard feelings! I sometimes felt like a castaway. My own mother being willing to give me up when I was tiny and helpless. And, of course, I loved Mrs. Wetherill all the more fiercely in consequence because she had come to my rescue. There! That’s the way it looked to me! Now I guess we’re somewhat even, and perhaps we can understand each other better. Anyhow, it wasn’t any of it our fault.”
“I see,” said Betty sadly. “I was all wrong, of course. But I guess that was what made Mother suffer so, thinking she had let you go. She has cried and cried over that. Whenever she wasn’t well, she would cry all night. She said Mr. Wetherill came to her when she was weak and sick and didn’t realize fully what she was doing. Father was threatened with tuberculosis. He had had lung fever, and the doctor said he simply must get away from the office and out into the open for a few years, and Mr. Wetherill promised to put him on a farm and start him out, with the privilege of buying the farm if he wanted to. He also gave them quite a sum of money to have me treated. It seems I wasn’t very strong and had to be under a specialist for a long time. They said I wouldn’t live if I didn’t have special treatment.”
Betty’s eyes grew stormy with bitterness.
“I used to wish sometimes they had let me die. I thought Mother didn’t love me at all, she mourned for you so much.”
“Oh, my dear!” said Marjorie, coming close and putting her arms about her sister. “My dear! I think we are going to love each other a lot!”
It was very still in the little dreary kitchen for a minute while the two sisters held each other close. Then Betty lifted her head.
“I’m glad you’ve come, anyway!” she said. “You’ve been wonderful already. And I’m glad for Mother that she needn’t fret for what she did anymore. As soon as the doctor’s been here, I want to tell her. It will cure her just to know you are here. I know it will.”
“Well, you’d better ask the doctor if it won’t excite her too much. There! Isn’t that the door? Perhaps he’s come! But it isn’t quite two o’clock!”
Betty hurried to answer the knock, and Marjorie, lingering in the kitchen, saw through the crack of the door that it was the doctor. Betty took him upstairs at once, and Marjorie stood for a minute by the kitchen window looking out, staring at the minute frozen backyard and its dreary surroundings, wondering if her mother were very sick, wondering at herself that she cared so much already for a mother whom she had not yet seen. And this dear, fierce sister seemed already another self. And yet, they had lived such different lives! Marjorie felt almost ashamed of her own sheltered existence. It seemed terrible to think of her leisurely, butterfly life, when everything Betty had had seemed to have been gotten by the hardest. Well, perhaps not all the time. She had spoken as if there were times when they had nice things. But the last few months must have been simply terrible! If she had only known sooner! If she might only have saved her mother and father in their distress. Oh, suppose it should be too late for either of them? She recalled the ghastly look of her father as he stumbled into the hall a little while ago with that great burden in his arms. How white and desperate he looked. How his voice shook as he said he must get it warm for the mother! Her heart thrilled at the desperate love in his voice. It was so grand to have them love one another that way! Even through trials and adversity!
Then she remembered the pantry, which she had been putting to rights, setting the supplies up in an orderly manner on the shelves. She might as well get it done before her sister got back. It was better to be doing something than just standing there waiting to know what the doctor said.
She dampened a cloth she found, wiped off the shelves, and set about putting things away systematically. She stepped on a box to reach the top shelf, and there she discovered a handleless cracked cup with little tickets in it. Were they milk tickets or what? She wiped off the shelf, stepped down with the cup in her hand, and stood there examining the bits of paper. Each one had something written on it.
“Six plain sterling spoons,” one said. “One Brussels carpet,” said another. “Three upholstered chairs.”
Marjorie stared at them in dismay as she realized what these bits of paper must be. They were pawn tickets! She had never seen pawn tickets before. They represented the downfall of a home! A precious home where these her own flesh and blood had lived!
She went on with the tickets. “One baby crib. Six dining room chairs.”
And now she noticed there was a date on each one and a price. Was that all they got for each of those articles? How pitifully little in exchange for surrendering their household necessities! “Two double blankets!” And they had been cold! Her mother was threatened with pneumonia—perhaps more than threatened! She went on with the tickets. “One wrist watch. Fifty cents.”
She stood studying them, trying to make a rough estimate of the entire amount loaned for all those articles, when suddenly she heard the kitchen door open and a boy’s voice.
“What’s the idea, Betts, of having the cellar window open? Did you think it was milder out than in?”
And then as the door shut behind him:
“Gosh! You’ve got a fire! What did you do? Burn up our only chair? That’s too bad. I found a place where they would pay sixty cents for it, since it’s almost new!”
Marjorie turned, startled, letting the pawn tickets fall back into the cup, and facing him, not realizing that she still held the cup in her hands.
“Gee, but it feels good in here, anyway! But how did you manage a fire? There wasn’t even a match! Did Dad—?” And then he turned and looked her straight in the face!
Chapter 4
She saw a tall boy, lean and wiry, with a shock of red hair and big gray eyes that had green lights in them. Under the mahogany brows and lashes they looked enormous, and they were weary, haunted eyes that seemed to have been perpetually puzzling out some anxious problem. There were shadows under them, too, and he looked too utterly worn for one of his age.
He stared at her first with a bewildered gaze, like one who had come in out of the sun and could not rightly see in the dimmer light. He put up his hand and passed it over his eyes, and then his gaze grew puzzled, and then frightened, almost as if he were afraid his sight had played him a trick. Marjorie began to sense what he was feeling and spoke quickly.
“You are Ted, aren’t you?” She did not know how much her voice was like Betty’s, only for that rich silken note that a luxurious surrounding had given her, and the boy was still more startled. He stiffened visibly, realizing that he was in the presence of a stranger.
The light of the pantry window was behind Marjorie’s head which made the likeness to Betty still more elusive.
“Yes?” he said coldly, lifting his head a trifle, with a gesture that in a man would have been called haughty. He was alert, ready to resent the intrusion of a stranger into their private misery.
Then he saw the cup in her hand, and putting down the bucket of c
oal he had picked from the dump, he stepped over and took the cup possessively.
“That wouldn’t interest you,” he said coldly, reprovingly.
“Ted!” said Marjorie impulsively, “I’m your sister! Don’t speak to me that way!”
“My sister!” said Ted scornfully. “Well, I can’t help it if you are, that doesn’t give you a right to pry into our private affairs, does it?”
An angry flush had stolen over the boy’s lean cheeks, and his eyes were hard as steel.
“Oh, please don’t!” said Marjorie, covering her face with her hands. “I wasn’t prying. I was trying to help!”
“Well, we don’t need your help!” said the boy, with young scorn in his eyes, “and it would be much better if you were to go back wherever you came from. This wasn’t a very good time to select to visit us. We’ve got sickness in the house, and we’ve been unfortunate!”
“Oh, I know!” moaned Marjorie, “but you see, I didn’t know anything about you till three or four days ago. I didn’t even know I had a brother! But now I’ve come, and I want to help.”
“Well, I don’t think there is anything you can do,” he said icily. “We’ll manage somehow by ourselves. You might leave your address and we can let you know when things are more prosperous, and then you could come and see Mother. Just at present it wouldn’t be possible for us to have visitors.”
“But you see, Ted, I’m not a visitor. I’m one of the family, and Betty and I are working together.”
“Betty! Does my sister Betty know you are here? Where is she?”
“She’s upstairs now with the doctor.”
“The doctor! Is my mother worse?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her yet, but as soon as I heard she was so sick, I begged Betty to get the doctor. You know, pneumonia is a very treacherous disease.”
“Yes, and who did you think would pay the doctor?” asked Ted in that hard, cold young voice so full of anxiety and belligerence.
“Oh, Ted! I’ll pay it, of course!”
“Yes, and what do you think Mrs. Wetherill will say to that?”
“She won’t say anything, Ted. She’s dead!” There was a bit of a sob in Marjorie’s voice, in spite of her best efforts. She was tired, and this strange manly boy’s repulsion hurt her terribly.
“Dead?” said Ted. “Well, that’s just too bad for you, but I guess somehow we’ll get along here without having outside help!”
“Oh, please, Ted, I’m not outside! I’m family!” she said, and now there were tears on her cheeks.
The boy looked at her speculatively and frowned.
“If you are family, why didn’t you ever turn up before, when Mother was fretting for you?”
“Because I didn’t know anything about her or any of you except that you had let me be adopted! I thought my mother didn’t want me. I only found out three days ago who she was. Mrs. Wetherill left a letter for me in her desk. I found it after she died. It was there I discovered my mother’s address. I didn’t even know whether my father was living, and I didn’t know there were the rest of you. But I came as quick as I could, and now I’m here, I’m going to do my best to make you love me a little.”
The hardness in the boy’s face relaxed.
Then they heard the doctor coming downstairs, with Betty just behind him, and by common consent they froze in silence, Marjorie with a hand at her throat to still the wild throbbing of her pulses. Then they heard the doctor’s voice.
“No, I don’t expect her fever to go higher tonight. Oh, perhaps a little more. All she needs is rest and nourishment and good care. Be careful about the temperature of the room. Of course, don’t let her get chilled. That is the greatest danger. No, I don’t think her lungs are involved yet. Good care and rest and the right food will work wonders. But I do think, as I said, that you should have a trained nurse for a week, at least. If you want me to look one up for you, I’ll do it.”
“Oh!” said Betty in a frightened voice. “I don’t believe Mother would like that. I’m sure I can take care of her. I have before.”
“Well, all right if you think so, but you look to me as if you needed a little nursing yourself.”
“Oh, I’m all right!” said Betty, summoning a cheerful voice. “I’ve just been worried about Mother.”
“Well, don’t worry any more. Just be cheerful. That’s what your mother needs above all else, cheerful surroundings and no anxiety. Don’t let her worry about a thing!”
“Doctor, my sister has been away some time. She has just come back. Do you think it will hurt Mother to know she has come? She has been grieving to have her at home.”
“What kind is she? Will she worry your mother, or will she be a help?”
“Oh, she’ll be a help. She’s rather wonderful!”
Ted stole a sudden shamed glance at Marjorie, with the flicker of a grin of apology in his young face.
“Well, then, tell her about it by all means. Joy never kills. Perhaps you’d better wait till she wakes up. Give her a sleeping tablet after her egg and milk and she’ll settle down to sleep, I think. And don’t you worry about your father. He’s just worn out. Told me he had had reverses in business. A lot like that today. But he’ll be all right after a few days’ rest and feeding up. Give him plenty of fruit and vegetables. I suggested his getting away, but he didn’t seem to think it possible. However, if you just lift the worry from his heart, he’ll be all right, I think. No, I don’t think there’s any organic trouble with his heart, not yet. But you know hearts can’t stand everything, especially when they are beginning to get older. Well, I’ll step in again in the morning just to see if all is well, and don’t hesitate to call me if you need me or if there is any change. It’s better to come unnecessarily than to wait too long, you know.”
When the door closed behind the doctor, Marjorie had a sudden feeling of let down, as if she wanted to sit down and cry with relief.
Betty’s face was eager as she came out into the kitchen. She looked straight at Marjorie. Perhaps she didn’t see Ted at first.
“He thinks maybe she won’t have pneumonia after all,” she said with relief. “And he says she must be fed every two hours. He wants her to have an egg and milk right away.”
“I’ll fix it,” said Marjorie. “I know how to make wonderful ones. Have we got an egg beater? A fork will do if we haven’t.”
“Sure we’ve got an egg beater!” volunteered Ted.
Then Betty whirled upon her brother.
“Oh, Ted, you’ve got back. I’ve been so worried! You went off without any breakfast, and you had no dinner last night!”
“Aw, whaddaya think I am? A softie?” said Ted.
“I’ve been keeping the soup hot for him,” and Marjorie. “Here it is, Ted.” She placed a bowl on the box and brought the thermos bottle. “There’s coffee, too, and a plate of sandwiches.” She set the things before him.
“Gosh!” said Ted, dumbfounded. “Where did you get all this layout?”
“You don’t know what’s happened since you left, Theodore Gay! A miracle has come, that’s what!” said Betty. “We’ve got another sister, and she’s just like Santa Claus. She did it all!”
“Gosh!” said Ted, wrinkling his nice mahogany brows. “But I don’t think we ought to take it.”
“Well,” said Betty, “I thought so, too, but I found out it was a choice between that and dying, and she seemed determined to die with us if we did, so I let her have her way. Sit down and eat that soup while it’s hot. You’ll be down sick next if you don’t, and we can fight it out later when things get straightened out again. I’m so glad Mother and Father aren’t so sick as I thought, that I’m willing to take anything anybody hands me. But, Ted, you’re mistaken about that egg beater. It was in the kitchen table drawer when you took it away to sell it. I missed it after you were gone.”
“Okay! I’ll beat yer eggs with a fork!” said Ted, settling down on another box and diving into the bowl of soup. “Say, is this good!
Or is it good!” he murmured, and then ate away in silence.
“I’m going up to fix Father up in the other room so he and Mother won’t disturb each other,” said Betty. “I’ll be back for the egg and milk.”
“No, I’ll bring it up when it’s ready,” said Ted.
Marjorie got out the milk and eggs and fixed a tray. Ted eyed her silently.
“How did you get a fire?” he growled out suddenly as he took a big bite from the sandwich.
“Why—Father—” Marjorie brought out the name hesitantly, it was so new a name for a father she had never known—“Father came just as I was starting out to try and find the coal yard. He had two big bags in his arms, and he was dizzy. He had to sit down on the stairs.”
Ted suddenly put down the cup of coffee he was drinking and half rose.
“Dad hasn’t had a thing to eat!” he said, horror stricken. “It was raining last night, and he didn’t go out to the mission to get his dinner! He said he wasn’t hungry!”
Ted had forgotten the new sister. He was talking aloud, accusing himself for having eaten when his father was hungry.
“I’ll take this right up to him! I ought to have thought!”
“No,” said Marjorie, putting out a protesting hand, “he has had plenty now. I went right up to the drugstore and got soup and coffee. But while I was gone, he insisted on going down cellar and starting the fire. He had matches and a patent kindler. Betty took some coffee down to him and then made him go up and lie down afterward.”
“That fire won’t last long,” said Ted wisely, “not on one bag of coal. I’d better go out and rustle some more. I’ve got one bucketful here, but it isn’t very good, all partly burned. I mustn’t let this house get cold again.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of coal in the cellar now,” said Marjorie happily. “The man said the bin would hold two tons so I got that. He’s just got done putting it in. That will last a good while, won’t it?”