The Gentle Art of Cooking Wives Part 23

"It ain't no matter fer discussion," he said, "but she's been into my pockets, an' thet's what I can't stand."

"What do you steal her money for, then?" demanded Nannie.

He stared at her in stupid astonishment.

"It's you who steal!" continued Nannie in ringing tones. "There she is, earning more than you do, and----"

"I don't know how you make that out," said the man in a sulky tone.

"Try to hire some one to take her place, and you'll learn. She could hire your work done fast enough, but there never has been and there never will be money enough in all your horrid pockets put together to hire what she does for you and the children; and then you are so nasty, and mean, and dishonest as to clutch the money and pretend you have the right to dole out what belongs to her. I wonder you aren't ashamed to be alive!"

He certainly did look ashamed now. He had probably never before viewed matters from this point.

"Well, I don't suppose I done just the right thing. I'm not going ter deny it, but money comes hard, anyhow."

"And her life is hard enough, anyhow, without your making it harder by tyrannizing over her."

Here one of the five little ones began to cry, and the mother started forward to take it, but Nannie intercepted her.

"You go and get your dinner," she said. "I'll look after the children."

And taking the two youngest in her arms she coaxed the others along, and they all went out into the warm, pleasant sunlight, and there Nannie sang to them, told them stories, washed their dirty little faces, and mothered them generally until their own poor mother could recover herself and their father had time to see the error of his way and repent.

The sun was setting when Nannie wended her way homeward. She dreaded to see Steve, but found relief in the thought that he would probably appear as usual. When she learned that he had not returned she felt surprised, but decided not to wait dinner, and so ate alone.

She spent the evening at her cousin's house. She did not quite dare to go to Constance's, for she instinctively felt that Constance would heartily disapprove of her leaving home in that way at a time when her husband was likely to be alone.

Returning, she found the house dark. Steve had probably retired, and she remembered she had given Bridget permission to go to the city for the night to look after a sick cousin. Something impelled her to do an unusual thing--open Steve's door a crack and peep in. He was not there.

The shock of this discovery was so great that for a moment Nannie was almost too bewildered to know what she did, and was half frightened when she found herself at the front door calling "Steve! Steve!"

The leaves rustling on the trees in the soft night wind was her only answer, and she closed the door with a feeling of desolate misery new to her experience.

At no time was she afraid. The fact of her being alone in the house merely served to emphasize her realization of her loss, for she had no doubt that Steve had left her. There was no resentment in her att.i.tude now; she felt that she deserved her fate. None the less she also felt that she could not endure it--could not live without Steve. And yet she had told him that very day that she had neither love nor respect for him. How could he stay with her after that?

The night pa.s.sed somehow, and morning found Nannie with a white face, save where the shadows rested 'neath her large eyes.

Bridget had not yet come home, and she could not endure to stay alone any longer, so she wrapped a little parcel and started over to Constance's. The parcel was one of a set of articles she was learning to make. Some weeks before this she had appeared at Constance's one day, and unrolling a large bundle she carried, had spread upon the latter's bed a quant.i.ty of tiny clothing, cut and made in most original fashion.

"Why, Nannie!" exclaimed Constance, who had no other idea than that they were meant for little baby Chance. "How lovely of you! Thank you ever so much!"

"They're not for you," said Nannie in her crude way. "They're mine."

The chagrin and embarra.s.sment Constance might have felt over her mistake was swallowed up now in her amazement and delight.

"Yours! Oh, Nannie, I'm so glad."

"I haven't any use for them," said Nannie, bluntly, "but"--and here there was a hardly perceptible quiver of her lips--"I just wanted them around."

"I declare, that's really pathetic," said Randolph afterward when Constance told him. "Why don't you teach her, sweetheart--teach her to make the pretty little things?"

And Constance did, and as a result of all the ripping and cutting over Nannie had made some exquisite little garments, two of which she presented to Constance, and the rest kept in a little chiffonier in her room, to gaze at and kiss many times a day.

Returning from her sewing lesson rather earlier than usual, for she longed and dreaded to go back to her house, she found Steve awaiting her.

He was sitting in the little parlor, and his face was flushed and his eyes strangely bright.

Nannie stood stock-still on the threshold when she saw him.

"Steve," she asked at length, "have you come back to live with me?"

"Yes," he said, and then something impelled him to hold out his arms to her.

She hesitated, wavered for a moment like some beautiful wild bird that had strayed from the forest; then she ran to him in headlong fashion.

"Steve!" she fairly cried, "I can't make the words, but you know! you know!"

Steve folded her in his arms and--the dream came true. In the rapture of that moment he knew indeed--knew that this strange, untutored child was the one woman in all the world to satisfy him.

XVI

Time has run on. It is just three years from the morning Steve came home. He was quite ill for awhile after that, and from his feverish talk Nannie learned several things. In his convalescence they became acquainted, and Steve felt that his wife's handy, pretty nursing was the sweetest experience he had ever known.

Shortly after he was on his feet again Nannie returned from Constance's, whither she had run of an errand one morning, with a great distress working on her face.

She entered the study, where Steve sat at his desk writing, and tried to speak, but words failed her, and she sobbed instead.

Steve went to her quickly, and his gentle face and manner were eloquent with concern and sympathy.

"Why, my dear, what _has_ happened?"

"It's the little baby! She's been _so_ ill all night! She can't live!"

"Oh, my dear! Oh, that is too sad!" and Steve's face flushed and quivered.

"You must come right back with me, Steve; they are in such grief."

They went in without pausing to ring and tiptoed their way to Constance's room. The house was very still.

In response to their soft tap Randolph opened the door. When he saw Steve he broke into a great sob and laid his head on the shoulder of the dear friend of olden days.

"Oh, is she gone?" cried Nannie, entering the room.

Constance nodded and turned away, but Nannie burst into uncontrollable grief as she saw the little white-faced figure lying in the crib.