Jerry and Jennifer slept like logs after their hard work, but the children wakened and complained and there seemed to be little peace to be had, even tired as they were.
Moreover the plumbing was atrocious. The water ran continually, filling them with a sense of something decidedly wrong. Jerry tinkered at it and then found he had done more harm than good and so gave up. They didn’t want workmen coming into their house to fix things up and report to the police how many there were of them, but it began to look as if it was going to be necessary.
Somehow they got through the night, though in the morning the children’s faces and arms and hands were badly bitten. Jerry confided to Jennifer that he didn’t know whether that was all the work of mosquitoes. “You know there are such things as bedbugs, Jen!”
“Oh, do they bite?” she asked, aghast.
“Sure they do!” said Jerry cheerfully. “Wait, I’ll look. We had ’em at camp one summer when I went out with the kids. I know the signs.”
So Jerry looked.
And then Jerry went down to the drugstore and bought some deadly concoction that was supposed to kill them. And the next night they attempted to sleep again.
But the army who were supposed to have been poisoned came out in full force and attacked them in their sleep. And when Jennifer turned on the light and saw the vile little creatures walking serenely over the nice new sheet on which she had been sleeping, she uttered a squeal of disgust and decided that they had better move on as quickly as possible.
So quite early in the morning they took their own blankets, and whatever of their personal clothing had been used to supplement the blankets, and hung them out on a line made from the rope that was used to lash their goods to the running board of the car. There they hung in the sunshine, until late in the afternoon, when they started on their way again.
Jerry had asked many questions at the store and filling stations and had studied maps, so he wasn’t altogether without a chart in his mind as he drove away from the little abandoned house.
The agent lived about a mile up the road, so they took the key to him.
“Though there’s no sense in locking up,” said Jerry. “There isn’t a thing in the place that would be worth stealing except the sheets we bought and are leaving behind us.”
But the agent told them he had no authority to give back even five dollars of the rent they had paid. If they were foolish enough to throw up their bargain it was none of his business, and if they changed their minds and wanted to come back by night it was all the same to him. He’d wait three days before he rented it again, but after that they needn’t ask to come back.
So they drove away a sadder and wiser little group, fifty dollars’ worth wiser than when they first took that house.
A storm came down and covered the mountains. It slithered down the windshield like suds and filled the hearts of the little runaway family with despair. How were they ever to find a place to live in a storm like that?
So they plodded on into the night and the unknown roads and realized that the way ahead looked very dark indeed.
Robin began to sneeze again, hoarsely, and Jennifer’s heart was gripped with fear. There was something about that hoarse little voice that awakened memories of nights in which there had been hurrying footsteps, anxious voices breaking into normal sleep. And though she had never taken much cognizance of it before, she now was burdened with the awful responsibility that she had sometimes seen in her mother’s face. It had been understood that if those attacks of Robin’s were not nipped in the bud there might be serious consequences, and she recalled the words bronchitis and pneumonia. Oh, if Robin should get sick now! She couldn’t call in a doctor if they had no place to call him to, and anyway, if they did he would have to know their names and where they lived. Doctors always asked those questions on their first visit.
And they couldn’t leave Robin in a hospital alone; it would break his heart. And, of course, no hospital would let any of them stay with him. Oh, it was all awful.
Of course, if worse came to worst they would have to call up Uncle Blake and ask him what to do. Uncle Blake would surely come to them. But that would mean to fail in their purpose of trying to stay away until nobody had any right to tell them what to do! Oh, if she were only of age right away now and could take the children to their own dear home and stay there, and tell the aunts please to let them alone and not try to boss them!
With aching arms she held Robin close that night and soothed him, began to try to pray in her heart for him. And when the morning dawned they saw a little house, up the side of the mountain, just a tiny thing, with a low curving roof reaching out over a wide front porch and boxes of flowers around the porch. There were mountain pinks around the doorsteps and rhododendrons up the mountainside behind the house.
“Oh, if we could just have that!” said Jennifer piteously, lifting a white face from her night’s vigil and looking up.
“Maybe we can,” said Jerry hopefully and turned the car up a winding road that apparently led near the cottage.
“It won’t be for rent, of course. Such a little gem! It would be snatched up the first thing.”
But when they got up there and stopped where the road ended, at the little swinging gate in front of the cottage, Jerry climbed out and went up the steps.
This time it was a brisk middle-aged woman in a clean blue-and-white gingham dress who opened the door, carrying an open letter in her hand.
“I suppose this cottage isn’t for rent, is it, even for a little while?” There was perhaps a wistfulness in Jerry’s tone that arrested the woman’s attention.
She glanced at Jerry, looked beyond at the respectable car and the nice-looking young woman with a child in her arms and then down at the letter in her hand, a slow, wondering little pucker coming between her eyes.
“Well,” she said, smiling, “to tell the truth, it wasn’t five minutes ago, but”—she looked down at the letter again—“since I got this letter just now I’ve been wishing I had rented early in the summer and visited my sister instead of coming up here. She wanted me to come. She isn’t well, and her husband’s away.” She gave Jerry another troubled glance.
“I don’t know but I might rent it to you,” she said, looking off frowning toward the opposite mountain, “if you are willing to pay enough.”
“Oh!” said Jerry with a note of relief in his voice, and then “Oh!” anxiety coming to the fore. “How much would you want?”
“Well, I couldn’t think of renting it under a hundred and twenty-five at the least. For a month, you know. I couldn’t rent it for longer than that. I like to be here myself at the end of the season to close up.”
“A hundred and twenty-five,” meditated Jerry. “Wait! Let me ask!” And he dashed down to the car and told Jennifer.
The woman finished reading her letter and was ready to talk when he came back.
“Could we see it?” asked Jerry.
“Why, of course,” said the woman, afraid now that she might have asked too much, when they saw how really tiny it was.
But there was no question in Jennifer’s mind when she saw the neatness of the whole place. Not a cockroach nor a bedbug would dare show its face in that immaculate place, and it was completely screened with copper wire so there would be no trouble on that score.
But there were only two bedrooms; and downstairs a living room, a tiny kitchen, and the tiniest kind of a bathroom. For an instant Jennifer hesitated. Could they possibly get along with so little room? Of course! It was bigger than a car, and that was all they had had for several awful nights.
“Can we get along with so little room?” asked Jerry, breathless.
“Oh yes,” said Jennifer, drawing a deep breath. “We’ll manage. It is so lovely up here it will be wonderful!”
Then it developed that there was electric lights and a gas stove, and Jennifer said, “Oh yes, we would get along!”
There was no cleaning to be done when they moved into the little hou
se on the mountainside; they had only to contrive how they could sleep, but that seemed a mere trifle considering all they had gone through before.
It was all settled in a little while, and soon the good lady had gone smiling on her way to her sister’s. Jerry had taken her down the mountain to the station and put her on the train.
When he came back they went around together and surveyed their mansion. They felt as if they had fallen heir to a castle.
“Some of us can sleep on the floor,” said Jerry resignedly. “It looks clean enough to eat from.”
“Yes, it’s clean all right,” said Jennifer. “But you won’t have to sleep on the floor. Tryon and I have got it all fixed. There are two couches downstairs in the living room, and you and Tryon can have those. Heather and Hazel will take the smallest of the two bedrooms, Karen and I will take the other, and I found a cot in a closet that will be the very thing for Robin. It’s evidently been made for a child, for it is shorter than most cots. It has woven wire springs that must have been taken out of a larger cot, and it has a lovely thick mattress pad. It will be more comfortable than most of the beds we strike.”
So they settled themselves with delight and were almost as happy as the night they reached the boat. They felt that another month at least was safely planned for their exile.
But that night, in the dark, Robin woke up with that sharp bark that meant croup, and fear came and sat in the cottage on the mountainside, where they had all gone so happily to sleep a few hours before.
Chapter 16
Jennifer arose hastily and tried the few remedies at hand. Some cough syrup. A hot water bag. A drink of hot milk!
But Robin couldn’t swallow the syrup or the milk, and the hot water bag seemed only to distress him.
Hazel woke up and came to the rescue.
“Here, I know what to do. You have to have a cold compress. I’ve fixed ’em for him many a time. Get me a little bit of ice in a cup, Jerry. Jennifer, have you got one of your handkerchiefs here and a piece of flannel? You have to fold the handkerchief in a little oblong, and then squeeze it out of the coldest water you can get, and put it at the base of the throat like this, and then you fold the flannel around it to keep out the cold air. Yes, that little wool shirt of his will do. It ought to be wool. Mother always kept a piece. And then every few minutes, as soon as you think the compress is getting hot from his neck, you slip it out without letting the air get in, dip it in the ice water again, squeeze it hard as you can, and lay it in again.”
Marvelously, it worked! The hoarse outcry ceased. Little by little, that whoop that so alarmed subsided, and the household settled into comparative quiet again.
But an hour later there was another whoop, wilder than the first. The flannel cloth had slipped down and let the cold air in, and the child seemed almost choking.
The brothers and sisters gathered around in another alarm. Poor little Robin, gasping for his breath, crying out, and looking from one to the other in anguish.
Again Hazel did her best, and again there was a little relief, but not so much as the first time, and when morning dawned it was evident that Robin was still a very sick little boy.
Jerry went for a doctor, but the only doctor he could discover had gone off for four days. Nobody seemed to be taking his place. There were doubtless other doctors, but this was a quiet district where there were few houses, and the people nearby were all tenants and didn’t know the local doctors. The people at the store knew only the local doctor who was away. At Jerry’s earnest plea the wife of the absent doctor promised to try to get in touch with her husband by telephone, and Jerry had to be satisfied with that. He hurried back to the cottage, and they waited and babied Robin until he almost smiled. But still he coughed on, and the cough had a hoarse, shrill sound to it.
Two days went by with no doctor and then Jerry went after him again. But this time the wife was gone, too, having left a note on the doorbell that the doctor would return in a couple of days. A casual doctor! Jerry didn’t know what to do. It didn’t seem right to go off and leave the children all in Jennifer’s care, and it would be equally wrong to try to put Robin in the car and drive until they found a doctor.
He went back to consult with Jennifer.
Robin seemed a little better that morning, so they wrapped him in blankets and took him out on the porch to lie on Jerry’s cot, and he did seem to improve, although the cough still persisted.
The days went by, and at last came the casual doctor. He frowned at Robin and felt his pulse and said there didn’t seem to be much the matter with him. He guessed he had weathered it and might as well get up and run around.
So the next day, very briefly, Robin got up, herded back to bed again by Jennifer, who felt much worried. But day by day he seemed to improve, until finally he was dressed and out running around with Karen.
They were all much relieved and began to think they had got through that hard place well, without even having to all Uncle Blake, whose weekly bulletins in the New York paper they no longer received, of course, because they were sent to Captain Andy, and Captain Andy no longer knew where they were again in a world of their own and didn’t realize what anxieties poor Uncle Blake might be going through on his own part.
The housework in their new abode was like child’s play, and to the intense delight of the three little girls, Jennifer delegated much of it to them and so had opportunity for much-needed rest herself.
One afternoon she was lying down on the cot on the porch. Jerry and Tryon had gone off to a mountain stream to fish; Hazel and Heather were walking down to the little store on the highway to get some tomatoes to go with the fish the boys would catch. Karen and Robin were out playing by a great tree whose gnarled roots made a lovely playhouse behind the cottage.
It had grown very still, and Jennifer sank deeper in her sleep than she had meant to. She did not know how long she had lain there when she suddenly awoke and looked around. Had she dreamed it, or did she hear a voice of distress up in the woods?
She lay quietly alert for a little, listening. There was no sound in the air but the droning of bees and the chirp of the birds in the high tree beyond the flower beds. There were no voices at all. It must be that Hazel and Heather were not back yet, or else they were at their everlasting reading. Dear little girls! How happy they had been to find that the cottage contained a bookcase filled with sweet old-fashioned storybooks that they might read. But it must be time that they came in and began to set the table. The boys would surely be back soon.
And where were Karen and Robin? Why, it was strange she could not hear their voices at all. Where could they be?
She started up, the habit of watching Robin lest he get too tired still upon her.
And then she heard that cry of distress again, nearer this time. Was that Robin, crying? Why, Robin scarcely ever cried aloud.
She heard it again and started to her feet, looking around.
“Robin! Where are you?” she called and seemed to hear her own voice echo back to her. And then she heard distinct sobbing, coming nearer fitfully and dying away.
“Robin! Karen!” she called again.
The crying was from up the mountain. Looking up she could see nothing. But she hurried down the steps and up the path that led behind the house, her heart beating wildly. Surely they knew better than to climb up the mountain. She had told Karen very carefully not to let Robin get tired or he might be sick again, but all her calling did not good; and, quite frightened now, she hurried up the mountainside herself, following the sound of crying.
At last she came in sight of a woebegone little figure stumbling down a few steps at a time, and stopping to call and cry aloud, and then pausing to put his head down in his arms and sob. It was Robin! Poor little sick Robin, coming down the mountain, and just as she recognized him she saw him stumble over the root of a tree and fall headlong, rolling over and over down toward her.
“Robin! Darling!” she cried out and ran up the hill after him as fast as s
he could run.
She gathered him up in her arms and sat down on a log, snuggling his face in her neck, trying to soothe him.
“What is it, Robin dear? What are you crying about? Did something frighten you?” she questioned.
“I vast fwightened,” he sobbed out at last. “I vas tired!”
“Oh, my dear! Why did you walk so far? Why did you go up the mountain? You know I told you to stay right there behind the house.”
“Wes, b–b–b–but Karen vented, an’ I vanted to go! So I vented. But then I got, too, tired, an’ Karen vouldn’t come back. Her¾her¾her sayed Jerwy an’ Twyon vas tumin’ an’ ve vould meet them. But th–th–they didn’t come, an’ I got awful tired, an’ I told Karen to c–c–come home, but she sayed it vasn’t much father. So I c–c–come b–b–back vif out her!”
He stopped and, burying his face in Jennifer’s arms, sobbed again.
“But where is Karen?” asked Jennifer in sudden alarm.
“Her¾her¾her vented on vif out me!” said Robin solemnly and then sobbed again.
“Karen!” called Jennifer sharply. “Karen, where are you? You are a naughty girl! Don’t you know I told you Robin was a sick boy and you must take care of him? Karen, where are you?”
But no Karen answered.
Robin lifted his head and looked up.
“Her is vented avay. Her is all gone!” he said. “Her can’t hear you. Her is all gone.”
“Where has she gone, Robin? Tell me quick!”
“Her is vented vay over the top of the mountain. Her said there vas birds and fairies on the other side, an’ Jerwy and Twyon was over zere!” And then he sobbed again at the remembrance.
Jennifer stood up with the sick child in her arms and called and called, wildly, distractedly, but there was no answer, and finally she knew that she must get Robin back to the house and to bed at once or there would be serious consequences. So she started down with him, carrying him, for when she stood him on his feet he swayed and would have fallen if she had not caught him. It was no easy task to get down the steep places on the mountainside with the heavy child in her arms. But at last she struggled down and into the house and laid him on the couch in the living room, tears suddenly springing to her own eyes, she felt so helpless.