Re-Creations (8 page)

“It ought to have something pretty like a flower here, too,” sighed Louise, taking a final glance around as Cornelia folded the old down quilt in a self-respecting puff at the foot of the bed and gave another pat to the clean white pillow. “I know!” said Louise, suddenly flitting downstairs to her own room and hurrying back again with a small oval easel picture of her mother, dusting it carefully with her handkerchief as she came. “There! Won’t that look better?”

“Indeed it will,” said her sister, her eyes filling with tears as she looked into the loving eyes of the dear mother from whom she had been separated so long. “And perhaps it will do Carey good to look into his mother’s eyes when he comes home, who knows?”

So they went down together to put the finishing touches to the supper and to talk of many things. Louise even got around to the play and the costume she was going to try to make, and Cornelia delighted her heart by saying she was sure she had just the very costume in her trunk, one that she wore in a college play herself, and she would help her make it over to fit.

Everything was ready for supper at last, and it was time within three minutes for Father’s car to arrive. Harry would likely meet him at the corner and come with him. Cornelia was taking up the pot roast and telling Louise about beating the mashed potatoes to make them lighter. The waffle iron had been found under the piano stool in the parlor and was sizzling hot and well greased awaiting the fluffy batter. The hot maple syrup was on the table and everything exactly ready. Suddenly they heard a noisy automobile thunder up to the front of the house and pause, a clatter of voices and the car thundered on again. Footsteps up the walk, and the front door banged open and shut; feet stamped up the stairs, while a faint breath of cigarette smoke trailed out and penetrated into the kitchen to mingle with the fragrance of the dinner. The two cooks stopped and looked at each other understandingly.

“He’s come,” said the eyes of the little sister.

“We must make him very welcome,” answered the eyes of the big sister, so tired she could hardly hold her young shoulders straight.

“Maybe he won’t stay,” whispered Louise softly a minute later. “Sometimes he doesn’t; he might have a date.”

“Here’s hoping,” said Cornelia cheerfully, as she dabbed the batter into the irons for the first waffle. “You’ll have to contrive to catch him if he tries to go away, Lou.”

“I wonder what he thinks of his room,” giggled the little sister. “I guess maybe he thought he’d made a mistake and got into the wrong house.”

It was all very still upstairs. There were not even any footsteps going around, not for what seemed like several minutes, then slowly the footsteps came down the stairs again, hesitating, paused at the second flight, and came on until they reached the open dining room door.

Carey stood there gazing at the table as Louise came in bearing the dish of potatoes, and Cornelia followed her with the platter of meat, both earnestly intent and flushed with their work; and just at that moment, before the girls had looked up, the front door opened, and in came the father, with Harry whistling happily behind him.

“Oh, gee!” he cried, stopping his whistling. “Don’t that supper smell good? Here’s hoping there’s plenty of it.”

It was at that instant that Cornelia looked up, and her eyes met the eyes of her handsome, reckless-looking brother, astonishment, bewilderment, shame, delight, and embarrassment struggling in his face.

Chapter 6

N
ell!”

There was genuine delight in the boy’s tone as he came forward to greet her, shyly, perhaps, and with a bit of shamed hesitancy because he could not but remember that the family had probably told her all about him, and she would of course disapprove of him as much as they did.

But Cornelia, with the steaming gravy boat in one hand and a pile of hot plates in the other, turned a warm, rosy cheek up to him, her eyes still intent on putting down the dishes without spilling the treacherous gravy on the clean tablecloth.

“It’s great to see you again, Carey,” she said heartily, trying to make the situation as casual as possible. “Sorry to seem brief, but I have something luscious on the stove, and I’m afraid it’ll burn. Sit down quick, won’t you—and be ready to eat it while it’s hot? We’ll talk afterward. I want to have a good look at you and see if you’ve grown more than I have.”

Her voice trailed off into the kitchen cheerily, and not in the least as though she had been palpitating between hope and fear about him all the afternoon and working herself to a frazzle getting his room ready.

She returned almost immediately with the first plate of golden-brown waffles and stole a furtive glance at him from the kitchen doorway. He had not yet seated himself, although the others were bustling joyously and noisily into their chairs. He was still standing thoughtfully, staring around the dining room and at the table. As she approached, he gave her a furtive, sweeping look, then dropped his lashes and slid into his chair, a half frown beginning to grow on his brow. He looked as if he were expecting the next question to be: “Why weren’t you here last night? Where were you? Don’t you know you were rude?” but none of those questions were voiced. His father did clear his throat and glance up at him gravely, but Louise with quick instinct began to chatter about the syrup that Cornelia had made. His attention was turned aside, and the tense expression of his face relaxed as he looked around the pleasant table and noticed the happy faces. “It hasn’t looked this way since your mother went away,” said the father with a deep sigh. “How good that bread looks! Real homemade bread again! What a difference that makes!” And he reached out and took a slice as if it were something merely to look at and feel.

“I’ll say! That looks unbelievable!” Carey volunteered, taking a slice himself and passing the plate. “Some smell, this dinner!” he added, drawing in a long, deep breath. “Seems like living again.”

His father’s tired eyes rested on him sadly, contemplatively. He opened his lips to speak, but Cornelia slid into her chair and said, “Now, Father, we’re ready,” and he bowed his head and murmured a low, sad little grace. So Carey was saved again from a much-deserved reproof. Cornelia couldn’t help being glad, and Louise looked at her with a knowing gleam in her eye as she raised her head and broke into a brilliant smile. Louise had bitter knowledge of what it meant to have Carey reproved at a meal. There was always a scene, ending with no Carey.

“Yes, and,” began Louise swiftly as soon as the “Amen” was concluded, “there’s waffles
and
gingerbread! Think of that! And Nellie had time to fix up your bedroom, Kay. Did you go up there?”

“I should say I did! Nell, you’re a peach! I never meant to have it looking that way when you came home. I sure am ashamed you had to dig that stuff all out. Some junk I had there. I meant to take a day off and clean house pretty soon.”

“Well, now you can help me with some of the other rooms, instead,” his sister replied, smiling, and hastened back to turn her waffles.

“I sure will!” said Carey heartily. “When do you want me? Tomorrow morning? Nothing in the way of my working all day if you say the word. We used to make a pretty good team, Nell, you and I. Think we could accomplish a lot in a day.”

“Yes, Carey hasn’t any job to hinder him doing what he pleases,” put in Harry with a bitter young sneer. “I’d’ve had it all done by myself long ago if I hadn’t had a job after school!”

“Yes, you young brag!” began Carey with a deep scowl. “You think you’re it and
then
some!”

“It would seem as if you might have given a little time, Carey,” began his father almost crossly, with a look about his mouth of restraining less mild things that he might have said.

Louise looked apprehensively at her sister.

“Oh, well,” put in Cornelia quickly, “you couldn’t be expected to know what to do, any of you, till your big sister got home. You’ve all done wonderfully well, I think, to get as much done as you have; and I only blame you, every one of you, especially Father dear, for not sending for me sooner. It was really—well, criminal, you know, Daddy, to keep me in expensive luxury and ignorance that way. But I’m not going to scold you here before folks. We’ll have that out after they’ve all gone to bed, won’t we? We’re going to have nothing but pleasant sayings at this supper table. It’s a kind of reunion, you know, after so many years. Just think, we haven’t all been together for—how long is it?—Four years? Doesn’t that seem really awful? When I think of it, I realize how terribly selfish I have been. I didn’t realize it in college because I was having such a good time, but I have been selfish and lazy and absolutely thoughtless. I hope you’ll all forgive me.”

Carey lifted wondering eyes, and his scowl faded while he studied his pretty sister’s guileless face thoughtfully. The attention was diverted from him, and his anger was cooling, but somehow he began to feel deep in his soul that it was really he that had been selfish. All their scolding and nagging hadn’t made him in the least conscious of it, but this new, old, dear, pretty sister taking the blame on herself seemed to throw a new light on his own doings. Of course, it was merely momentary and made no very deep impression, but still the idea had come and would never be quite driven away again.

The supper was a success from every point of view. The pot roast was as tender as cheese, the mashed potatoes melted under the gravy like snow before the summer sun and were enjoyed with audible praise, and the waffles sizzled and baked and disappeared, and more took their places, until at last the batter was all gone.

“Well, I couldn’t hold another one,” said Carey, “but they certainly were jim-dandies. Say, you haven’t forgotten how to cook, Nell!” And he cast a look of deep admiration toward his sister.

Cornelia, so tired she could hardly get up out of her chair after she dropped into it, lifted a bravely smiling face and realized that she had scored a point. Carey had liked the supper and was over his grouch. The first night had been ushered in greatly. She was just wondering whether she dared suggest that he help wash the dishes when he suddenly jerked out his watch, glanced at it, and shoved his chair back noisily.

“Gee! I’ve gotta beat it,” he said hurriedly as he strode to the hall door. “I’ve gotta date!” And before the family had drawn the one quick, startled, aghast breath of disappointment and tried to think of some way to detain him or find out where he was going or when he was coming back, he had slammed the front door behind him.

The father had an ashen-gray, helpless look; Louise’s mouth drooped at the corners, and there were tears in her eyes as she held up her head bravely and carried a pile of plates out to the kitchen; while Harry with an ugly sneer on his young lips shoved his chair back, noisily murmuring, “Aw, gee! Gotta date! Always gotta date! When I grow up, I’ll see if I always have to have a date!” Then he snatched an armful of dishes and strode to the kitchen, grumbling in an undertone all the way.

Cornelia cast a quick, apprehensive look at her father and said cheerily, “Oh, never mind. Of course young men have dates, and when you’ve promised, you know it isn’t easy to change. Come, let’s get these dishes out of the way quickly, and then we can sit down and talk. It’s great to all be together again, isn’t it? Father, dear, how long do you suppose it will be before Mother is well? Have you had a letter today?”

The father beamed at her again, and putting his hand in his pocket, drew out an official-looking envelope.

“Yes,” he said wistfully. “That is, a note from the nurse with the report. Of course she is not allowed to write. She just sends her love, that’s all, and says she’s getting well as fast as possible. She seems to be gaining a little. Here’s the report.”

They all gathered around it, studying the little white, mysterious paper that was to tell them how the dear mother was getting on, and then turned away little wiser. Suddenly Harry, noticing the sag of Cornelia’s shoulder as she stood holding on to the back of her father’s chair, turned with a swift motion and gathered her into his strong young arms like a bear. Before she could protest he bore her over to the old, lumpy couch, where he deposited her with a gruff gentleness.

“There you are!” he puffed commandingly. “You lie there, and Lou and I will do the dishes. You’re exhausted, and you don’t know enough to know it.”

“Nonsense!” said Cornelia, laughing and trying to rise. “I’m used to playing basketball and hockey and doing all sorts of stunts. It won’t hurt me to get a little tired. I’m going to wash those dishes, and you can wipe them.”

“No, you’re not. I say she’s not, Lou, is she?” and he held her down with his rough young force.

“Certainly not,” said Louise grown-uply appearing with her hands full of knives and forks. “It’s our turn now. She thinks we don’t know how to wash dishes. Harry Copley, you just oughta see all she’s done by herself upstairs, cleaning Carey’s room and washing blankets and all, besides making bread and gingerbread and everything. Come on upstairs and see. No, we won’t go yet till the dishes are done. ’cause Nellie would work while we were gone. Daddy, you just sit there and talk to her, and don’t let her get up while we clean up. Then we’ll take you upstairs.”