She followed him out the front door down to the alley and watched his eager face while he pointed to the blank brick wall.
“There’s one down on Diamond Street got a bay window with flowers in it and a bird in a gold cage. You ought to see it. You’ve got room here for any number of windows. I’d get a carpenter if I was you and knock a hole there.” He pointed to the place he visioned for a window. She found her heart leaping with the desire to follow his suggestion, knock out the old dark wall and let in the air and light. What a beautiful thing that would be to do! But what would Aunt Abigail and Uncle Jonathan think if they knew that she even allowed such a thought to be mentioned in her presence? They would look upon it as desecration of their property!
A boy was coming down the street and Ronald put up two grimy fingers to his lips and let forth a shrieking whistle. Martha jumped before she realized what it was. But the boy’s attention was no longer on bay windows and elderly female neighbors. Something was evidently attracting his attention down the street.
“I gotta beat it,” he said hastily. “If you want anything, let me know. I’ll see you! So long!” And he was gone like a flash.
Martha Spicer recovered her senses eventually and realized that she was standing alone in her alley, gazing after a vanishing boy. The neighbors might have cause to think her crazy if she stayed here. She gave one lingering, comprehensive, considering glance at the ugly wall that reared above her, and turned to go in.
Ernestine met her at the door as she went in, and she stooped to pat her lovingly. A sense of well-being and a new zest for life entered into her.
Yet as the night latch clicked, the shadows of Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Abigail met her accusing eyes. Would she tear to pieces a good, respectable house in which they had lived a lifetime? She, a poor relation? What was good enough for them ought to be good enough for her! And there were the dull old curtains and the solid, respectable furniture. They all seemed to chime in with the protest. All except Ernestine, who seemed glad and rubbed up against her lovingly, and when she sat down, made a sudden spring into her lap and curled down, purring happily. She looked at the cat wonderingly for an instant and then laid her white hand on the thick fur and let the warmth of the friendly creature comfort her.
After that she sat for a long time rocking back and forth and thinking, What if I should tear it down and make one big room? What if I should have a bay window? What if I should make a bright spot in the world for myself, and maybe some other people? What if I should?
Suddenly she looked at the clock, and the habit of a lifetime was upon her. It was time to go to bed.
But as she gave Ernestine a good-night pat and reached to turn out her light, she said to herself, “Tomorrow I will go down to the store and get the best Roman history book I can find and read up about the Colosseum.”
Chapter 5
Janice Whitmore was creeping very steadily back to life, and every time that Dr. Sterling went in to see her he felt more and more encouraged about her. It was almost like a miracle, he still felt, for she had been down at the very depths, and it had seemed so impossible to save her. It perhaps gave him more real professional pleasure than any case he had yet cared for. But there was a personal element about it, too, as if he had been given special supervision over this girl, the only one who had been present to do anything for her at the crucial moment, and he felt his responsibility was great.
He had spent much time thinking about her, wondering what her history might be and how soon he dared begin to question her a little. He had been letting the matter drift until she should seem to rouse from the deep apathy that had been over her since she first began to be conscious.
But there came a morning when he entered her room to greet her as usual and she turned to him with a faint smile on her lips, making her face for the instant almost startlingly beautiful. There was a reminder of the lovely beauty he had seen in that face lying against the snow that first night. He drew a quick breath and recovered his normal calm, but somehow he felt the time had come to go forward in the case. To that end, he sat down a few moments to talk.
“You are feeling better, aren’t you?” he asked. “I knew the day would come when I should see the look in your eyes as if you really wanted to live again.”
He was watching her very carefully, and he saw her start and catch her breath.
“Oh no,” she said with a slow quivering breath. “No, I don’t really want to live, only I know it is right to go on as long as God wills it so.”
“Yes,” he said, “it is. God knows what He has ahead for you, and there is a reason why He put you here, I suppose. I don’t know so much about these things, but I’m sure there is a reason God made you. But now, what is it that has made you feel you do not want to live? Wouldn’t it be better if you were to tell me? Can’t you trust me? I shall not make it public.”
“Oh,” she said, and great tears suddenly welled up into her lovely eyes and fell down slowly. “Yes of course,” she said softly. “You see, my only sister died, and her little baby girl died, too, and I’m quite alone in the world.”
Her lip quivered pitifully as she spoke, though she was evidently struggling for self-control.
“Oh, you poor child! That is very hard,” the doctor said sympathetically. “I know those things seem very terrible, especially at first. Were these deaths recent?”
“Yes, the baby died three months ago, and my sister was just buried …” She was going to say “today” till she realized that it wouldn’t be today anymore, for she had perhaps been here on this bed for a long time. “She was just buried the day—I came here—I guess. I can’t quite remember. It was in a storm, I know.”
“Yes,” said the doctor quietly, “it was in a storm. Do you know where I found you?”
She gave him a startled look.
“Did you find me? Where?”
“You were lying in the snow at the entrance to the cemetery near Willow Croft. Do you remember enough about it to know what you were going to do?”
She was quiet, thoughtful a moment.
“Yes, I remember a little. I think I was going to my sister. There seemed no other place to go then, and the storm was terrible. I couldn’t go any farther. I was so very tired.”
“Poor little girl,” said Howard Sterling, gently laying his hand on her white one for an instant. “I know. And perhaps this telling about it is too hard for you, yet. Would you rather wait till you feel stronger?”
“No, it is better to get it over,” she said with a sigh, closing her eyelids quickly and shaking off a couple of tears that were rolling down her cheeks. “It’s all right. If I’ve got to live, I’ve got to snap out of this. I thought perhaps I could die and go away where Louise went, but since I can’t, I’ve got to get strong enough to get a job and earn my living. I want to repay you people for all you’ve done for me. I realize it’s been a lot.”
“There, now, you’re not to think about that,” he said soothingly. “We’ve all been glad to do everything we could to help, and we’re so happy that you are really on the mend now.”
“You’ve all been wonderful!” she said with another of those quivering sighs.
“But haven’t you any friends? Wouldn’t you like to have us send for some of them?”
A great fear came into her eyes.
“Yes, I have a lot of ‘pleasant’ friends, but no such very close ones. You see, my sister was sick for quite awhile before and after the baby died, and I stayed at home with her most of the time for a couple of years. We didn’t go out much. They are nice people, but I don’t want any of them now, please.”
“Well, of course you do not have to have them if you do not want them,” said the doctor. “I just thought there might be a few who are missing you and greatly pained that you have disappeared.”
“No,” she said. “They weren’t as intimate as that.”
“I’m sorry,” said the doctor. “I was hoping there was at least one or two who would come and
cheer you up if they knew where to find you.”
She shook her head sadly, and Sterling felt that the interview for the present was at an end, till suddenly he thought of another question.
“Do you know, my friend, you haven’t told me your name?”
“Oh,” said the girl, and a look of fright came into her eyes. “Do I have to?”
“Well, of course we’ve got to call you something,” he said, smiling genially. “We have to have something to put in the hospital records. You don’t want to just go by a number as if you were a convict, do you? The nurses and officials would think it was very strange if you had no name. Would you want to use an assumed name?”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t like to do that,” she sighed. “But—I seem to have arrived here in such a dramatic style. I wouldn’t like to be talked about, nor have it get into the papers. My sister would have hated to have that happen to me. You see, we are very quiet people.”
The doctor bowed gravely.
“I can quite understand how you feel,” he said gently, “and I thought you would be pleased to know that I told only the officials of the hospital when I brought you here. I told them that you were found at the entrance of the cemetery as if you were going to the grave of a dear one. You have a right to your own privacy, of course, but haven’t you a middle name that you could use in some way? I think that would be pleasanter for you while you are here. Do you have any friends who live about here, who are in this immediate vicinity, who would be likely to come visit someone and perhaps see you or hear of you?”
Janice looked up with a sudden, faint smile.
“I don’t know where here is, you know,” she said quaintly.
“Of course, I forgot. Well, we’ll have to remedy that as soon as possible. How soon do you think you will feel well enough to take a ride with me? When you are, I’ll drive you around and give you a glimpse of the place. It is called Enderby, and it is about ninety miles from the place where I found you. Enderby is a very pretty spot, especially at this time of year. I really think a drive might do you a lot of good, put some color into those white cheeks and a little brightness in your eyes. Then we can talk more about all these things and perhaps settle on some name by which you can be known. Be thinking up a few questions you would like to ask me if you want to. How soon do you think you would enjoy getting out in the spring air?”
Janice smiled gently.
“You are very kind,” she said, “but you don’t need to go to all that trouble. I am all right, and I’ll be up and around soon now. But there is one question I would like to ask you. Would you be likely to know of any place around here where I can get a job so that I can pay the hospital here what I owe them, and pay you? That is the only question that interests me now.”
“Well, perhaps I might,” said the doctor thoughtfully, “but I wouldn’t want you to try any hard work at present. I want to keep a close watch on you for a while to make sure there are no complications lingering around to make trouble for you later in your life. But I’ll be thinking about it. I wonder—how would you like to be doing something around the hospital for a while? There are light office jobs, work at the desk, meeting parents of the child patients, something like that. Would that interest you? And later you might even start to take nurse’s training if you are interested in that.”
A light came to Janice’s eyes and a quick flush of color to her cheeks.
“Oh, that would be wonderful! Could I really? Yes, I should like to do anything like that, in fact, anything you feel I can. At least until my bills are paid.”
“Well, don’t fret about bills. That will all come in good time. Get well first. And in the meantime, take a little nap right away, and then begin to think about the name you want to be called.”
“I don’t want to think anymore about that,” she said. “You may tell them I am Mary Whitmore.”
He looked at her keenly for an instant, wondering if that was real or an assumed name, but he took it in his best style, with an easy smile.
“Fine!” he said. “That sounds good. I think it fits you nicely. Now, close your eyes and go to sleep. Set your thoughts on getting ready for that drive in the country as soon as possible.”
Then with a cordial smile he left her, and she lay there thinking how very kind he had been and how easy he had made the matter of her name. After all, she had not had to tell him whether that was her real name or not, and she didn’t feel worried now about it, for Mary was her middle name, although she never used it. The people she knew would not remember it. They had never known her as Mary, and she doubted if Herbert had ever known about it either. At least he wouldn’t be looking for her under that name.
Drifting off to a restful sleep, she thought again how kind and helpful that doctor had been. She owed her life to him, and she supposed she ought to be grateful, although it would have been such a happy release if she could have gone on to heaven with her sister. But then that was not a thing she had any right to think about. God had put her here, as the doctor had said, with some purpose, and she must stay until He took her away. That was practically what the doctor had said. He must be a Christian. It was what her Christian mother and father had taught her before they left her. It was what her sister believed, and what she had been trained to believe. Of course it was right. And of course she must be glad that her life was saved. Maybe sometime she would reach the place where she could be thankful about it. But certainly the doctor was kind, for apparently he could very easily have left her lying in that snowbank to die and not taken all that trouble to bring her here. God had been good to her, and probably there was going to be a way made for the next things that had come to her.
So thinking, she dropped off to sleep and dreamed there were angels somewhere near, and her sister with the baby who had gone to heaven such a little while before.
When she awoke later, she felt a pleasant hope at the memory of the job the doctor was going to help her get as soon as she was strong enough.
These bright thoughts made a brighter outlook on life, and she began to feel decidedly better. It wasn’t long before she felt quite equal to the ride the doctor had suggested.
It was a beautiful morning when the nurse came up to say that the doctor wanted her to take a ride, and, donning a borrowed uniform, she was soon ready. To think she was to go into the great out-of-doors again! It seemed so very long that she had been here in this little hospital bed. And spring was now come. There would be nothing to remind her of that awful storm in which she had arrived.
The doctor drove into quiet lanes and away from houses. Indeed, there seemed to be very few houses, even in the distance. It was just sweet countryside. Farmers plowing and harrowing ground, planting seed. The low, even furrows in the wide fields seemed restful. And then they drove through wooded land with perfume of wild growing things in the air, the pine trees’ resinous tang, slippery elm, and the mingling of fresh earth, newly washed with rain.
The doctor watched her furtively, saw the sad look fade out of her eyes and a sparkle of interest in the beauty about her grow in its place.
“Oh, there are blue violets all over that bank!” she exclaimed. “How many there are! Oh, I would like to get out and pick them.”
“Well, you may try it,” said Sterling, parking on the side of the road. “Just a minute. Not too long, and if picking the first one tires you, stop immediately!”
He helped her out and stooped down beside her, picking with her, watching her white fingers moving among the broad leaves. And when he put her back in the car, he laid his own handful of purple blossoms in her lap and smiled to see how eagerly she arranged them and drew them up to her face to touch them and smell their freshness.
They did not talk much that first ride, just spoke now and again of the blue of the sky, the loveliness of the hills in the distance. Quite casually he pointed out the notable spots in the landscape, but he did not make much of them. He wanted to ease her back into the world again with as little ado about it as
possible. To make her feel that she was back into living, and had been a long time, and that the sorrow and sickness were far behind her. When he brought her back to the hospital, her face seemed really bright, almost happy.
They hadn’t talked personally at all, until just as they turned into the drive of the hospital grounds, he said quite casually, “Well, if you are still of mind to go to work, I think I can promise you that there will be a place for you, perhaps by next week, if you still feel strong enough for it.”
“Oh!” she said, catching her breath with a pleased exclamation. “I am so glad. I’m sure the knowledge of that will help me to get strong quickly.”
He smiled down at her.
“You’ve a better color already,” he said. “We must try this again. How about day after tomorrow? I have to take Dr. Severance over to see a patient near Crystal Springs, and there is no reason why you shouldn’t go along if you are so minded.”
“Oh, thank you!” she said with a quick, appreciative look. “I’ll be glad to go. I wouldn’t want you to take any extra trouble for me, but if you have to go anyway, I’m sure I shall enjoy it.”
And so it was that Sterling managed to get Janice out in the open frequently, sometimes when he was taking others, sometimes alone. And when they went alone, he would always manage somehow to get a bit of information about her family and her life with her sister, or her early upbringing. Yet he never appeared to be seeking such information. It seemed just to happen into their talk, and he stored all such knowledge in his mind in case there should come a time when he might need further information about her for her own good.
So little by little and without consciousness of what was happening, they grew into good fellowship, which both enjoyed.
By this time Janice was beginning to have little duties assigned to her every day, and she enjoyed feeling that she was doing something really useful. The doctor watched her carefully, making sure that she was not overdoing, and rejoiced to see a light growing in her eyes as if she was really interested in living again. There was a spring in her step now as she went about each duty, and more and more they were beginning to assign real duties to her, till finally she began her training in earnest and was very proud of her success.