Miss Gibbie Gault Part 15

"No. Hedwig Armstrong is her name. She's an Austrian."

"I knew a girl named Armstrong once, but she was a Yorkburger. Is Armstrong Austrian, too?"

"Armstrong is American, I suppose. I don't know what it is." She laughed, pulling the petals off a rose and popping them with her lips. "Hedwig is a pretty name, and the other part I never think of. I had almost forgotten the other part."

"I didn't know there was any other part. But I heard Susie tell m.u.t.h.e.r once the Mrs. Deford and Miss Honoria Brockenborough were talking about her the day they bought their spring hats, and they said she looked like a mystery to them, and they thought 'twas very strange a nice-looking white woman should be willing to come down here and be a servant."

Mary Cary frowned quickly. "I wish they had said that to me.

Hedwig is my maid, but she is my friend as well. She used to be in my uncle's hospital. In all this big country she hasn't a relative."

"They said her letters had Mrs. on them. Somebody at the post-office told them so, but her husband ain't ever been to see her, they said, and m.u.t.h.e.r say she didn't think that sounded as righteous as it might, comin' from Mrs. Deford, whose husband don't seem to hanker after her neither, and--"

"Next time you hear anything like that you might mention that dead husbands can't visit conveniently. Hedwig's husband is dead."

Peggy sat upright, eyes wide and interested. "Poor thing! I thought she had an awful lonely look at times. I certainly am sorry he's dead. I mean if he was worth killing. m.u.t.h.e.r say all men ain't.

Hasn't she got any little children, either?"

Mary Cary bent over the rose in her hand and buried her lips in its damp depths. "No," she said, after a moment, "she has no children.

Her little girl died."

Peggy leaned back. Overhead a bluebird, straining its little throat in exultant melody, flew from branch to branch of the big chestnut-tree, and the hum of insects made soft monotone to the shrill cry of the locust, which promised greater heat next day.

In the distance the Calverton road stretched white and dusty south to town, north to the unknown land, the land of dreams to Peggy and to Peggy's mother, who had never been beyond it, and as she looked toward it she wondered if it led to the place where Hedwig had laid her little child. She would never speak of this again. She could tell by Miss Mary's face she would not like it.

For some minutes they sat in silence and then Peggy's hand reached out and touched that of Mary Cary's, which was resting on the arm of her chair. The eyes of the latter were narrowed slightly as if lost in memories, and, looking at her, Peggy hesitated, then called her name.

"Miss Mary--"

With a deep breath as if back from a journey, she stirred, and with a start looked up. "Did you speak to me?"

Peggy's hand gripped the one on which it rested. "I just want to tell you something. How long has it been since the first day I was took sick?"

"Since the first day you were took sick? Let me see." Mary Cary laughed, and her fingers closed over the thin ones, which seemed to be trembling, "It's been three weeks to-day."

"And I've been here--?"

"Three weeks to-morrow. Why?"

"I was wondering if you would mind telling me what made you do it--what made you bring me out here and nurse me and sit up with me. What made you do it?"

"What made me do it?" Her voice was puzzled. "I never thought of what made me do it. I loved you, Peggy. You are my friend, you know, and you were sick. I wanted to do it."

"Diphtheria is ketchin'."

"Not if you're careful. I knew how to take care of myself.

But your mother didn't, and with children it's a risk to have it around. I wasn't afraid."

"But you might have took it. And m.u.t.h.e.r says you've been a prisoner since I've been out here. You couldn't go nowhere, and couldn't n.o.body come to see you. Ain't any the mill folks and factory folks seen you for three weeks. You couldn't even go to see Miss Gibbie Gault."

"But she has been to see me. I'd fumigate myself and come out here and see her nearly every day, and I can talk to everybody over the telephone. Wires are germ-proof so far, though they'll tell us they're not after a while, I suppose. And I've had a good rest and chance to catch up with lots of reading. You weren't really ill but four days, and--"

"Them four days near 'bout wore you out. I know. I saw a lot of things you didn't think I saw. It ain't pleasant for n.o.body to see somebody nearly strangle, and you thought I was gone once." She turned the big, brown eyes, which too early in life had learned to understand the burden of demand without supply, upon the girl beside her, and her lips quivered.

"I don't know how to tell you what I want to tell you. When you feel something right here"--she put her shut hand upon her breast--"it's hard to put it in words. There ain't any words for it.

I couldn't no way tell you how much I thank you, and I ain't got but one way to show it. 'Tis by livin' right. But I want you to know I understand. So does G.o.d. I've been talkin' right much with Him about it, and I'm askin' Him every day to make me fitt'n' to be your friend. They say love can do a lot for a person, and make a good thing out of a bad one, quicker'n anything else. And you'll never know on this earth how much I love you, Miss Mary."

"Why, Peggy!" Mary Cary's arms were around the shaking little figure, whose face had grown white with the effort of her frankness.

"Why, Peggy dear, what are you talking about? There's nothing to thank me for. Who wouldn't do what's been done? You mustn't talk like--"

"n.o.body but you would have done it. I warn't any kin, and 'twarn't a Christian duty like goin' to church. And 'twas enough to make Miss Gibbie mad. Is she mad with me, Miss Mary?"

"Of course she isn't! You couldn't help getting sick." The pillows were patted and Peggy was forced back among them. "And now there's to be no more thanks for anything. And Peggy"--the clear eyes, suddenly a bit dimmed, were looking into Peggy's--"I've got such a grand piece of news for you. I've been waiting to tell you all the morning."

"Is it I've got to go home?" Peggy's face fell, and she blinked hard to keep back sudden tears. "Have I got to go home?"

"Mercy, no! You won't be about to go home for some time yet.

You are to stay here a week longer to get strong and then--you and your mother are to go to Atlantic City for two weeks.

Two--whole-- weeks!"

Peggy's hands fell limply in her lap, her eyes closed sharply, and down the thin little cheeks tears, no longer to be held back, rolled in big, round drops. For a moment she lay still, then threw her arms around the neck of the girl now leaning beside her, frightened a bit by the effect of her words, and sobbed in unrestraint.

"Please let it come out, Miss Mary. Please let it come out!

It's been chokin' of me for days, this thankfulness inside, and I can't breathe good till I get it out!"

For a little longer the short, quick gasps continued, and then she drew herself out of the strong arms which had been folding her close, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"You mean m.u.t.h.e.r won't have to cook for two weeks, won't have to wash dishes--I always wipe them--and can sit down as long as she wants, and can sleep till seven o'clock in the mornin'?

You mean--You ain't foolin' of me are you, Miss Mary?"

"Of course I'm not. You are to go to-morrow week."

"But how we goin'? The hens can't lay eggs enough for--"

"The hens have nothing to do with this. A friend of yours and your mother's wants you to have this holiday. This friend knows your mother is tired out, and knows the salt air will do you good."

Peggy gave a deep sigh. "m.u.t.h.e.r's said fifty times, if she's said once, that if she could go to that Atlantic City and see those things she's read about and seen pictures of she'd give her left foot and hop the rest of her life. There's a lot of water there, ain't it?"

"Ocean of it. And a beautiful beach, and surf bathing, and a boardwalk miles long, and piers, and merry-go-rounds, and shops, and hot sausages, and moving-pictures, and rolling-chairs, and lovely music, and ice-cream waffles, and orangeade, and popcorn.

Your mother will see it all, but you will have to be careful at first--just sit in the sand and not eat all those things right off."

"Do they give 'em to you?"

Mary Cary laughed. "Not exactly. Nothing is given that can be sold, but there're lots of things, the best things, that don't cost money.

If we had to buy air and sunshine and sky and clouds and stars and sunsets we'd sell all we own to get them, but because they're free they're not noticed half the time."

"Does m.u.t.h.e.r know we are goin', Miss Mary?" Peggy's face clouded suddenly. "Who's goin' to take care of things if she and me go way together? Lizzie lives away all the time, and Susie and Teeny works. Who's goin' to look after father and the boys?"

"Your Aunt Sarah. And if you will stop thinking of all those practical things and just be a child and enjoy yourself I will be much obliged to you. Time enough for you to be the mother of a family when you have children of you own."