"Merrick said something about a wedding as we came in, but I didn't quite catch the drift. He seemed to think it had something to do with his mother's condition."
"Yes, I shouldn't wonder. Maris is marrying into swelldom. A big snob, if you ask me. But don't say I said so. Of course, he's rich and painfully good looking, but she's too nice a little girl to let that count for everything. Oh, I guess he's all right, decent and all that, but acts like he was frozen in the making. Wait till you meet him. However, I wouldn't wonder if it has been rather hard to keep up to the social standards of his set. Not that the Mayberrys aren't every bit as good socially, and better, than the Thorpes, only they're not so afraid people won't know it. But I imagine there's been a lot of hard work and worry connected with trying to get ready all the fuss and feathers the Thorpes would expect. That's all. The good little mother is just worn out."
"But you think she could get well?"
"Yes, I think--I hope she could. That is, if she pulls through the next few days, she'd have a chance. But--there's more to it than that. She needs a quiet place away from everything that could possibly worry her. A place where she wouldn't hear anything but the clouds going by, and the flowers growing, and a bird or two now and then. If she could have about six months to a year in a place like that, yes, I'd say there was a good chance she might be her old self again and live out a healthy life. But I don't know how they could ever afford a place like that."
Lane Maitland was still for a whole block, and then he said thoughtfully, "I know a place like that, and it's standing idle. Let me know if it's needed, will you, Doctor?"
"I certainly will, son. And maybe I will let you know soon. And then again--I might not get the chance. You can't tell. But I'll not forget."
Lane stopped at his garage and picked up his car. He drove thoughtfully back to the Mayberrys' to get Merrick and take him after Sally. But he said nothing to Merrick about his talk with the doctor. He was remembering Maris when she was fourteen with her gold hair like a halo and her eyes shining. He used to carry her books home for her every day from school that last year before he went away. He wondered why he'd never kept up the correspondence with Maris. Only a Christmas card or two, and then they had lost sight of each other!
But something had to be done to help Mother Mayberry get well.
Then suddenly Merrick spoke.
"It's that doggone wedding that's got Mother's goat!" he broke forth. "I don't see why Maris doesn't see it."
"What could she do about it if she did?" asked Lane gravely.
"Well, that's just it. It seems that when a girl lets herself think she's in love with a man, that's the end of her. She's mesmerized or something. She has to do just exactly what he tells her to, no matter if the whole family is going to the dogs on account of it."
Lane considered this and then asked, "Is Maris in love with this man? Really in love?"
"Oh, gosh! How should I know? What is love, anyway? Thank goodness I've never been in love yet, but when I see any signs of it in myself I hope I'll have sense enough to consider whether my family that have loved me and slaved for me all my life are going to be alienated by it. It isn't right. It isn't reason."
"No," said Maitland, "it isn't right, but what are you going to do about it? The world has been going on that way pretty much ever since it was made, I guess. Of course, people ought to consider, but they don't. It's just glamour, I suppose, and you can't help yourself. But what's the matter with Maris's man? Isn't he all right?"
"All right? Well, I suppose most folks think he is. I guess he has pretty much that opinion of himself, but not me! Oh, how we don't love each other! I tell you, when this wedding is over he and I are going to be the most unloving brothers-in-law that ever were mismatched. And I don't mean maybe. And as for my mother and his mother, they're about as much alike as a wood thrush and a turkey."
"Not a very pleasant outlook," said Maitland, "but how does your sister reconcile all this?"
"My sister? Oh, she's crazy! That's what I say; love makes you crazy. You don't know what you're doing when you get in love. I hope I never get that way. Why, he rushed her, see? Took her out in his limousine. All the girls thinking he's grand just because he has curly eyelashes and wavy hair. He got her a great hog of a diamond, and he's taking her on a trip to Europe for the honeymoon, and she's completely numbed. She doesn't know what it's all about yet. She'll wake up sometime when it's too late and see what she's done to all of us, and to herself! I only hope our mother doesn't have to die to make her see!"
"She mustn't!" said Lane Maitland. "We mustn't let her! You know, I had a kind of a share in her, too. She nursed me through typhoid, and I'll never forget it."
"So she did, brother. You're one of us. Mother thought a lot of you."
"Well, look here, Merrick, I want you to promise me something. I want you to give me your word of honor that you will let me help just as if I were a real son and brother, will you?"
Merrick gave him a look of appreciation that held almost a hint of surprise.
"Why, sure, Lane, but I don't see how you could help just now. Oh, errands and things like that. Sure, we'll count on you, and love to do it. But----you sort of speak as if you had some inside information. The doctor didn't say anything leery about Mother, did he?"
"He said she was tired out. He said she needed a long rest. And if it comes to that, I've got just the place. I want you to promise if she has to go away you'll call on me."
"Sure I will, and don't you be afraid I'll forget it, either. That's great! But here's Sally's house, and I imagine we'd better get her back as soon as possible to the kitchen, for there's plenty for her to do there, I guess. Let's hope she's at home."
But just then Sally appeared at her door, curiously peering out to see what car was stopping before her place.
"Oh, there you are, Sally. Can you come along with us right away?" called Merrick. "Mother's been taken very sick, and we need you all kinds."
"Sure I'll come, Mr. Merrick! Your ma sick! Now I jes' thought 'twould end up that way. I was so sure, I didn't unpack my things much. I'll get my workin' clothes and come right in a little minute."
And true to her word, Sally didn't take long. She was soon out lugging a neat suitcase and climbing into the backseat of the car.
As they turned into the home street, Merrick sighted the limousine standing before the door.
"What the dickens!" He began scowling. "Why does that boob have to barge in on us when he knows we don't want him around?"
And then as the doctor's car shot around the corner and drew up behind the limousine, "Great Scott! Is that the doctor again? I thought he had to be at the hospital all the rest of the morning. He didn't tell you he was coming back, did he? You don't suppose Mother's worse, do you? You don't suppose they've sent for him again, do you?" And with a white face, Merrick leaned over, opened the door, and was out on the sidewalk before the car had really stopped.
"Easy, boy!" warned Maitland in a low tone. "Remember, it's important there be no noise!"
Merrick nodded and flung himself silently across the lawn and in at the door, his heart beating wildly, anxiously.
The doctor was there before him, though, and bending over the bed. Maris made way for him and slipped out into the hall.
"Mother wasn't breathing right and the nurse sent for him," she whispered to her brother, her white, anxious face showing him that there was still cause for alarm.
Solemnly the sister and brother stood together, breathless, watching what went on in the sickroom, grasping each other's hands without realizing it as their anxiety increased.
The doctor was very grave at first. They could tell by the way he touched the pulse, by his low-toned inquiries to the nurse, by the way he listened to the heart, that this was no light matter. It seemed a long time before the tenseness around the bedside decreased, and fear seemed to be vanquished, sliding out of the room once more. It was almost as if the room itself had drawn a sigh of release at
the respite. Glancing at their father on the other side of the bed, still holding his wife's hand, they could see that the grayness was breaking about his eyes and lips once more, and hope was dawning again on his face. They hardly dared be sure till they heard the doctor's voice in a low murmur to the nurse: "That was a close shave," and saw her nodded response. They welcomed her alert, hopeful movements as they watched her putting the medicine glass on the table and writing something on the report card.
Then, and not till then, they withdrew to the hall window.
"What's the idea of that chauffeur out there?" murmured Merrick resentfully. "Is he waiting for something?"
Then suddenly Maris remembered.
"Oh!" she said, the color coming back into her white face. "I forgot! He's waiting for an answer to a note."
"Well, you'd better let me go down and tell him you haven't time to write any answers now, that your mother has been near death's door again. You look fit to go to bed yourself."
"No!" said Maris quickly. "I must write it. You wouldn't understand. It won't take but a minute! Lend me your pencil."
Maris took the pencil and wrote on the back of the crumpled letter.
Please do not send the dress. I cannot accept it on any condition. If it comes here, I shall call the shop and tell them it is a mistake. You do not understand how you have hurt me. Mother is worse. I have no time to write more.
Maris
She slipped it into an envelope and went down to the waiting chauffeur. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," she said, "but my mother was taken very sick again. I have had no time to write but a line."
But even as the chauffeur took the note and turned to go, Maris, to her dismay, saw a handsome delivery truck drive up and stop. A man in a plum-colored uniform with silver buttons got out and came up the walk bearing a mammoth white box tenderly.
Maris, with hardening countenance, stood and watched him come. She mustn't let him ring that terrible bell again, and she must remember to muffle it as soon as he was gone.
"Are you from Leon Archer's shop?" she asked. "Well, this is a mistake. You'll have to take it back. I just found out that it had been ordered and was about to call up and tell them not to send it."
"But I was told to leave it here, ma'am!" said the man.
"Yes, but I'm telling you to take it back. I cannot receive it. It was a misunderstanding. I will call the shop immediately and explain."
Reluctantly the man turned with his magnificent box and went back to the truck, and Maris hurried to the kitchen to see what she could do to suppress the bell.
But she found Lane Maitland there ahead of her, perched on the stepladder, working away at the bell, which already showed signs of submission.
"Oh," said Maris with relief, "how did you know what I wanted?"
"Well, you see, I remembered that bell of old. You won't recall it likely, but I was sick in this house once, and I know how that bell used to go through my head when my fever was the worst."
"You're Lane Maitland, aren't you? I haven't had time to recognize you before. Of course I remember. Didn't I play jigsaw puzzles with you when you were getting well? You've been very kind. I don't know how you happened to be here after this long absence, but I'm really grateful."
She gave him a tired little smile, and he grinned back like an old chum.
"That's all right; I'm here and you can just count on me for anything I can do to help. I'm only too glad to get the chance to pay back some of the kindness I received. Is your mother worse that the doctor came back?"
"She was," said Maris, the trouble starting in her eyes again. "I think she is easier now. The doctor and nurse seem more cheerful. Now I must go back and see if I'm needed."
"Better lie down a bit yourself," advised Maitland. "You look rather all in."
"Perhaps I will after a little."
Then Sally eased in from the maid's room off the kitchen.
"Oh, Sally! I'm so glad you've come!" said Maris, and she almost choked with tears as she said it, her relief was so great.
"That's all right, Miss Maris. You just go lie down. I'll tend to all this," she said with a wave of her hand that included the disheveled kitchen. "I'll have a meal ready on time. Don't you worry."
"I'll wipe dishes and set the table for you, Sally," said Lane Maitland cheerfully. "It won't be the first time I've helped in this kitchen, will it?"
"Sure, you wiped dishes for me many a time, an' set tables, too. He's a good worker, Miss Maris. You run along. We'll get along fine!"
So Maris turned and went away, feeling suddenly that she must sit down quickly or lie down, or she would presently crumple up on the floor the way her mother had done that morning.
She flung herself down on her own bed for a minute, trying to get rid of that whirly feeling, and as her head sank into her pillow it seemed that all her troubles rushed over her at once. Mother sick, dear Mother! Of course, that was the worst. And the possibility that even if she should get well she would be an invalid all her life. How could the family get on without her?
For the moment her own marriage had sunk out of sight. Never once in all her bright plans had she considered the possibility of Mother out of the picture, and herself away across the ocean where she couldn't help. Now it suddenly rushed over her as an impossibility to consider any such thing.
Well, she mustn't go on so far in the future. She could dare to live but one day at a time just now, perhaps only one hour. There was no telling what an hour might bring forth.
But there was the question of those invitations, and that dress! She hoped she had settled the dress, but there was no telling. Mrs. Thorpe had a very firm chin, and when she wanted a thing, she was in the habit of getting it. Would there have to be more battling? For she was determined on one thing. She would wear no other dress for her marriage than the one her precious mother had made. Even if it were not lovely and suitable, she would wear it anyway!
Well, she had done all she could about the dress for the present at least. If the Thorpes didn't like it, they could stand it. Of course, Tilford would be angry, and she would have him to deal with next. She had seen him in a towering rage with other people two or three times, and she did not look forward to the experience. But it didn't matter, did it? Not anything mattered till Mother got well. Why did such trifling, unimportant matters have to come in and torment her now, when her heart was wrung with anxiety? And there were those invitations. What should she do about them? That all-important date that the postmark was supposed to bear was rapidly passing by and could not be recalled. There would be a terrible rumpus among the Thorpes if the day went by without their being mailed. But it was unthinkable that she should invite people to her wedding when her mother lay at death's door! They surely couldn't expect that of her!
Yet, on the other hand, if Mother should suddenly get well and the wedding go on as planned--though in her heart she felt this was not in the least likely, hardly possible--if the day had to be changed to please the Thorpes' ideas about when the invitations should go out, that would mean that Father would have another awful expense. All those costly invitations engraved over again! Oh, she couldn't do that to Father.
Well, and suppose she simply mailed them as had been planned all along, and then they all had to be recalled? Oh, it was too much of a problem for her weary mind to work out. She turned her head on her pillow and let slow tears trickle down her cheeks.
Oh, God, she suddenly cried in her heart. Show me what to do. Please make it very plain. I don't know how to go on. I know I haven't been living very close to You these last few months. I've done nothing to deserve help. But won't You please straighten things out and bring Mother back to us again?
In the midst of her prayer she became aware of voices, children's voices outside, the boys and little Alexa coming home from school. Alexa wasn't quite five and was only in kindergarten. Eric and Alec were in grade school. But what were they doing home at this hour? They usually took their lunch and didn't return
till two o'clock. Was it a half-day holiday?
She sprang up quickly. They mustn't be allowed to make a noise and disturb Mother. Would Gwyneth be back from the store yet?
She hurried down and met the children as they were about to enter the house.
"Shhh!" she said softly. "Mother is sick. You must be very quiet! Come around this outside way to the kitchen and Sally will give you some lunch. Why are you home at this hour?"
"Lexie has a sore throat," said Eric, the ten-year-old.
"The teacher sent us home. She said we'd havta have the doctor and see if Lexie has the measles. If she has, we can't any of us come back till we see if we get it, too."
Maris's heart sank. Measles! More trouble!
"My froat is sore, an' I want my muvver!" wailed Alexa with a quivering lip.
"That's all right, darling. Sister will take care of you," said Maris, putting her arm around the little girl and drawing her close. "Come on; we'll go up to sister's room. You can get into my nice bed and have a pretty little nightie on, and some lovely orange juice to drink," coaxed Maris, trying to think how she was to manage this new complication.
"No, I don't want to go to your bed. I want to go to Muvver. I want my muvver!" Her voice had increased to a shrill roar.
Maris gathered the child up in her arms and carried her out through the garden to the hammock under a big tree and sat down with her in her arms.
"Listen, Lexie," she said soothingly, "Muvver dear had a bad fall down on the kitchen floor and she hurt herself, and we had to send for the doctor. He put her to bed until she gets all mended up. He said she must lie very still and sleep a lot, and we mustn't try to wake her up for anything for a while, so she would get all well."