Maris (15 page)

"I guess you're getting rather too deep for me, but you may be right," mused Merrick. "My sister is as good a Christian as there is, at least she was till she took to going around with this worldly guy, but I don't believe she's ever tried your system, for I'm sure her precious Tilford is no Christian! She does a lot of things now that she didn't used to do, things she wasn't brought up to do. Oh, not bad things, you know, just worldly. She didn't used to think they were in her line. I don't believe she knows how she's changed."

"Yes, I feel sure your sister accepted Christ as her Savior some years ago," said Lane almost reverently. "I remember when we were kids she told me about it. Her testimony was one of the things that made me want to know the Lord myself."

"I remember," said Merrick thoughtfully. "There was a Bible class started about that time, too. I went once or twice myself. It was real interesting. But the teacher got married and moved away. That's why I say marrying is a mess. It's always breaking up things. I'm never going to fall in love."

"Well, at least wait till you find the right girl," said Lane amusedly. "You know, really, Merrick, you're young yet! So am I for the matter of that, and we don't need to get so excited about it. For, after all, the world has been going on this way for some time, marrying and giving in marriage, and where would we be if our parents had never married?"

"That's different," growled Merrick illogically.

"Just how?"

"Well, it's different from Maris marrying that poor fish, I tell you. I guess you never met him, did you? He's just too good looking for any use, and he knows it, too."

"No, I never met him, but I sincerely hope your sister will be happy!" Lane's tone was suddenly very grave and sweet, and there was a tenderness in it that thrilled Maris and soothed her tired soul. There at least was one person who wasn't criticizing her!

But Maris, as she lay there thinking for some time after the boys had said good night and gone away, felt as if somehow their conversation had thrown open a door that before had been closed and locked. A number of things were disclosed to her startled view that she had never dreamed before.

There, for instance, was her family! She had not known that they felt unhappy about her marriage. Did they really, or was that just a figment of Merrick's imagination? Merrick, jealous that his sister should be going away with anybody else?

New insight seemed to come to her as she stared at the dark wall ahead of her and began to remember little things that had been said, little actions, withdrawings, that she had not noticed at the time but that now stood out sharply. Her father, sighing heavily without explanation, only a sad smile when she questioned him. Her mother wiping away a tear and pretending it was only perspiration. Little things that in her hurry had passed without her taking much account of them. If she had stopped to consider, she might have only laid them down to the natural premonition of the coming separation while she was on her wedding trip. But now she saw that it had been more than that. A stolid indifference on the part of her father and the children to anything that was said about Tilford. Mother always asked after him and spoke brightly of him, but especially of late her father had been silent where he was concerned. Had they all taken a dislike to him? Did the rest feel as Merrick did? Of course, she had known for some time that Merrick and Tilford did not hit it off very well, but she had laid it to the fact that Tilford was a little older. She had reasoned that when they were really related and got to know each other better, all that would pass away. And they would all be fond of him and enjoy the good things of life together.

Now she suddenly saw what a fool she had been to imagine any such thing. And then once more came that shocking question, as it had the morning before when she awoke, was she
sure
that she was altogether satisfied with her choice of a life companion?

And was Tilford satisfied with her?

He had made it quite apparent that he was, until just recently, and perhaps his entire taking over of her affairs and ordering them had flattered her so that she did not see everything clearly. For certainly he had not been very comfortable to get along with the last day and a half. She had never imagined he could be as disagreeable as he had proved himself to be ever since her mother had taken sick. And that was just the time when one would have expected sympathy and devotion more than any other. It was the time when she had needed someone to lean upon. Her mother too ill to know what was going on, her father incapacitated by his love and anxiety, and Tilford only concerned about wedding invitations!

But towering head and shoulders above that thought there was another consideration that made even the choice of a life companion take second place, and that was the dire straits of her beloved family and their immediate need of herself.

It suddenly became very plain to her that the machinery of her pleasant days had been stopped short and utterly changed and that she could not possibly go on with what she had planned. For even if her mother should rally soon and get back to a semblance of her former self, they could not get along without her. She was needed right here. Mother would not be fit for a long time to take over the reins of the household, and there was just nobody else in the world to do it. It was obviously her job.

Perhaps she hadn't recognized it before she heard Lane Maitland's clear-cut statement of what he seemed so sure she would do. Perhaps she hadn't even thought ahead so far. Her heart had just stood still and gasped at the great calamity that had come to pass. The future was nothing in her mind until she should know whether Mother would live and be with them again or would go away forever from this life. This was the one and only question in her mind. All the other matters--caring for the little sick sister, making decisions about Gwyneth, ordering the household matters, and placating her angry lover--she had performed as in a dream, by a sort of automatic action of her brain. Her heart had been in attendance upon her mother, her dear, dear mother.

But now it was clear to her that even if Mother got well sooner than she could possibly hope, she would not feel free to get married and to go away to the other side of the world seeking pleasure. Her place was here, at least for the present. And somehow she had to make that plain to her irate bridegroom.

Instinctively she knew it was going to be a battle, and while the contemplation of it wearied her inexpressibly, she was surprised to find that it was not the blasting disappointment that it might have been a few weeks before. The trip to Europe had lost its glamour in the light of immediate events. Being a grand lady in a new apartment of her own, furnished in the taste of her new mother-in-law, no longer loomed large on her horizon. All those things had faded and become unreal before the glaring light of real trouble. And somehow she was too tired to think of what she ought to do about it. Had God sent all of this distress down upon her to give her pause to think what she had been about to do?

Just what she would have thought if she could have known that Mrs. Thorpe, when she found out that the wedding dress had been rejected, had sent down her check to the Archer shop and ordered the dress sent up to herself, it is hard to speculate. Fortunately, she was spared that knowledge.

But Maris did not have a night of ease; her rest was broken by a wailing voice: "Sister, I vant a dwink of vater!" And from that time on the night was disturbed. Lexie was restless and uncomfortable and cried for this and that. Once at almost two o'clock the doctor came slipping in quietly, and Maris stole out to watch and listen at her mother's door, her hungry eyes searching his face as he went away, but his only answer to her unspoken appeal was a kindly smile.

As she stole back in to Lexie again, Maris felt as if her heart would burst with the very uncertainty of it all.

For three days the strain went on, the doctor coming and going frequently but saying little. And during those three days Lexie also was very sick indeed. Maris had little time to consider herself, not even to realize that Tilford had not been near her in all that time, nor sent her any word. And when at last it did come to her mind, it was only with a sigh of relief that she had not had that to deal with also.

But the third night, during a respite, when Lexie seemed to be definitely better and was sleeping quietly and their mother was at least still with them, it did occur to her that perhaps Tilford had called and Sally had said she was busy. That would be like Sally. Sally was not given to graciousness. And after all, Tilford had his rights.

Or did he? Had he perhaps taken his ring with all it stood for and was counting himself free? Well, if he was like that, she couldn't help it, and it was better to find it out now rather than when she was married to him. But she was too tired to think about it and dropped into a deep sleep.

The doctor came earlier than usual the next morning. He shooed them all away and stayed in their mother's room a long time. When he came out, he called them into the living room, and his manner was graver than usual.

"I want to tell you all the whole situation," he said, looking straight into the anxious eyes of Mr. Mayberry. "I haven't told you much before because I wanted to be entirely sure, and I didn't want to give you hope if there wasn't any. But I'm telling you now, Mrs. Mayberry has a clot of blood in one of the valves of the heart. It is a very serious condition, and one that may take her away in a moment's time. But at the same time if she can be kept alive, and kept absolutely still, I mean
still
, without moving hand or foot, for six weeks, it is possible that the condition may clear up and she may get well. I must tell you frankly that there isn't much hope for that, but there is a little hope, and you as a family can do a great deal to help this hope become a reality."

There was a tenseness in the room during this quiet speech that was fairly electric. Gwyneth in a frightened huddle by the piano gave a little gasp and put down her young head on her folded arms on the closed lid, but no one else stirred. Maris could not have gotten whiter than she already was, but her eyes seemed to grow wider and darker as she faced the doctor, and Merrick stood with folded arms just inside the door, his young face stern with purpose.

It was the father who lifted his bowed head with a sudden light in his eyes and spoke in a husky voice, but vibrant with a new hope.

"I need not tell you, Doctor," he said, "that we will everyone do all that is in our power to keep our dear one with us!"

Even in this darkest trouble there was something about their father's voice that the children would never forget. Gwyneth lifted up her pretty little sorrowful face streaming with tears and looked at him, signing, as it were, her own small name to his promise. Merrick murmured hoarsely, "We sure will!" and turned away toward the window to hide his emotion. And Maris, wide-eyed, white-lipped, recognized that God had accepted her sacrifice and was putting her to the test, but her voice was clear and resolute as she said, "Of course," without any reservations.

"Well, now, of course I knew you would feel that way, and I'm glad to have been able to give you even an atom of hope. But you'll have to know all this entails. It will mean, first of all, a quiet house. It will probably mean another nurse so that the one you already have shall not give out before we are done, for Mrs. Mayberry must be watched every minute and run no risks of any interruption to her literally immovable condition. It is a state of things that could be better carried out to the letter in a hospital, but I do not dare risk transferring her to a hospital in her present state; therefore, we will have to bend conditions to meet the necessity and make a hospital out of this house, and to that end
everything
else must have second place. She must have nothing to frighten or startle her, nothing
whatsoever
to worry her."

The eyes of the family assented to all he said and pledged their all to carry out his instructions.

"If, at the end of six weeks, I find Mrs. Mayberry's condition such as I hope, then as soon as she is able to be moved she should be taken to a quiet, restful place that I have in mind where I am hoping she will in a few months regain her normal health."

He gave them a swift, anxious glance and then went on: "Now I realize that even with the slight hope I have been able to give you, these conditions will be hard for you all to bear and will very much upset your life as a family, yet I am relying on you all. With your help, much can be done!"

He finished with a grave, sweet smile that endeared him to them all as they realized that he had at least taken away their utter hopelessness and given them a chance to do something for the beloved mother.

Then came the father's voice: "Nothing will be too hard for us to bear if we may have our dear one back among us again!" And Maris and Merrick looked at the sudden new light that was growing in their father's eyes. Yes, their father was wonderful. They left the room with a kind of triumphal awe in their hearts that they had such a father and mother.

Half an hour later, Tilford's car drew up in front of the house and Maris, looking out of the window just in time to see him coming up the walk, realized that her time of testing had arrived.

 

 

Merrick had lingered in the hall until his father came out with the doctor, lingered as they stood at the door talking for a minute, and then, as the doctor left, he put his hand on his father's arm and spoke earnestly.

"Dad," he said, "you can count on me for every ounce that's in me. I got a job last night driving a bus on the pike. I begin as soon as exams are over. The pay isn't great, but every cent of it's yours, and at least it'll help out for the extra nurse, and maybe a little over for what I eat. And when I get something better, I'll lift all the burden I can from you!"

The father looked up and could not conquer the feeling in his voice.

"Son!" he said. "
Dear son!
Thank God for such a son!" And then he went upstairs wiping his eyes.