Re-Creations

  Carey came down whistling, and twinkling with good humor, and she hadn’t the heart to give him the reprimand he richly deserved. She smiled a good morning, and he went at the kitchen range with a good will.

  They had an early lunch and breakfast together, and Carey went to work at his stonework once more.

  It was a trifle after two o’clock when Brand Barlock arrived on the scene.

  Carey was down in the cellar picking up the last stones and poking them through the opening he had cut in the parlor floor. He was making such a racket that he did not hear the insistent honk! honk! of the horn. But Cornelia, polishing off the front window where some of the wet paper of the day before had stuck, did hear, and she looked out at the expensive car with a sinking heart. That must be Brand Barlock! But surely, surely, Carey wouldn’t go off now in the midst of his work, when he was so anxious to finish!

  After several almost insolent honks of the horn, and imperious looks houseward, a boy in the backseat got out, received some brief instruction from the handsome youth who was the driver, and came and knocked at the door.

  “Kay here?” asked the boy. “Oh!” Seeing Cornelia, he dragged off his cap perfunctorily.

  The boy had a pleasant face, though weak, and Cornelia smiled. If this was one of Carey’s friends, she would know him sometime, and she must make a good impression upon him. She wanted the boys to come and see Carey rather than to always be carrying him off.

  “Why, yes, he’s here,” said Cornelia. “But he’s awfully busy. We’re getting settled, you know. Could I give him a message?”

  “Why, oh, yes! Tell him Brand Barlock wants him. Tell him he wants him right away quick, please. Brand’s in an awful hurry.”

  If he had said, “The president of the United States is here and wants to see Carey,” he could not have given the order more loftily.

  Cornelia turned doubtfully. She wanted to resent this imperious tone, but perhaps Carey wouldn’t like it, and after all, boys were—well, just boys. When they were at that age, they likely thought they were it.

  “I’ll tell him,” she said pleasantly. “Won’t you step in? We don’t look very nice here yet, but we hope to be ready to offer more hospitality to our friends soon.”

  The boy looked at her as if he was surprised to find her human. “Naw, thanks. I’ll stay here,” he replied, and tapped his foot impatiently. She gathered that Carey’s family meant nothing at all and less than nothing to this uninteresting youth, but she turned and went swiftly through the hall and the dining room and down the cellar stairs rather than to call Carey through the opening in the floor. Carey might not care to see these friends of his in present attire.

  “Gosh!” said Carey, looking down at his disheveled self when she had told him. “Well, I s’pose I’ve got to go up. Can’t keep Brand waiting. Oh, gee! I thought I’d get this up through the floor today.”

  “But, Carey,” cried his sister, putting out a detaining hand, “can’t I explain to him what you’re doing? Surely he will understand that you are busy and can’t come. Can’t I ask him to come down to you if he must see you now? If he sees what you are doing, you won’t look so bad.”

  He stopped short in the cellar and looked at her witheringly.

  “Ask Brand Barlock to come down here? Well, I should say not!”

  “Why not?” she asked with unconscious scorn. “Is he as grand as all that? Who on earth is he, anyway?”

  But Carey was gone, taking the stairs three steps at a time. He was out at the car when his sister got back to her window, staying only a minute, and then tearing back and up the two flights of stairs to his room, while the car waited in front in grave importance. The sounds above stairs indicated that Carey was dressing hastily. The water gushed in the bathroom in full force, and splashing, slamming doors, dropping shoes, hurrying footsteps, succeeded one another. The jamming of a bureau drawer, the dropping of a hairbrush, told his worried sister that Carey was “dressing up” and going somewhere.

  Cornelia climbed the stairs to remonstrate but was prevented with a snort before she spoke.

  “Oh, doggone that collar button! That’s always the way when I’m in a hurry.”

  “Carey, are you—you’re not— “she stopped to gather breath and began again. “Carey, is there anything I can do to help you?”

  “Only just get out of my way—please!” he roared as he tore past her down the stairs to the bathroom again and began to strop his razor furiously.

  She came downstairs slowly, trying to think what to do. Calamity of unnamed proportions loomed ahead, and she felt she must prevent it somehow. She paused in the hall.

  “Carey, is anything the matter?” she asked anxiously.

  “There you are again, doggone it! Now you’ve made me cut myself, and I haven’t another collar. No, of course there isn’t anything the matter. I’m just in a hurry, can’t you see? They’re waiting for me!”

  “Well, but why are you so cross?”

  “Aw! I’m not cross. I’m just nervous. Now, just look at that collar! It’s just like all my luck.”

  “I think your laundry came this morning,” volunteered his sister.

  “Well! Why didn’t you say so? Where is it?”

  “Look here, Carey,” she said with fire in her eyes, “you have no need to be a bear, and if you want me to get your collar, you’ll have to speak decently, or I won’t have anything more to do with you.”

  There was silence in the bathroom for the space of half a second, then an obviously controlled voice said, “Pardon me, Nell. I’m almost cr—r—azy. Can’t you see?”

  “Why, yes!” said his sister significantly and went swiftly downstairs for the package of laundry.

  Carey was elaborately polite when she presented it, but he refrained, boy-like, from telling her that he was going after a job he had heard about, which would have made the whole affair perfectly reasonable to her. What business is it of hers? he reasoned. And then suppose I didn’t get it?

  So he stormed from the house like a whirlwind, leaving no word of when he would return, and Cornelia was too much on her dignity to ask him. She stood at the window, watching him out of sight, the quick tears springing into her eyes. What a boisterous, happy bunch they were, all of them, piling into the car, which started even before they were in. What a noise the car made, as if it, too, had partaken of the spirit of its owner and went roaring through the world with a daredevil blare and throb of a converted fire engine just to attract attention and show the world they didn’t care! Her cheeks grew hot with shame over it, and for some strange reason her imagination conjured up a possible day in the future when that fair lady, her fellow traveler of the other day, with her handsome son should perhaps come to call upon her. How terrible to have it happen when her brother would go roaring away from the house in this wild fashion! Oh, how had Carey ever grown into such a person? So impossible a combination!

  She came and stood beside the yawning hole in the parlor floor. How hard he had worked. How much in earnest he had been! And then at a snap of the finger from this young lord of creation he had dropped it all and fled on some fool whim or other, who knew?

  She felt sick and utterly tired, and as if she could not go on with her own work. She had just dropped into a chair and covered her face with her hands when there came a knock at the door. For an instant she meditated not noticing it, but thinking better of it, hastily brushed her hand across her wet eyes and hurried to answer the knock.

  It was the carpenter, tall and smiling, with a kit of tools and a big window frame on a wheelbarrow just behind him.

  “Well, I brought one along fer you to see,” he said, stooping to lift the frame and bring it in. “They said you could have ‘em for two and a half apiece, and I thought that was reasonable. Now, where was it you wanted ‘em? There’s four or five available. You can take as many as you want and leave the rest, and there’s a bay like I was telling you. He says he’ll make it five ’cause he wants to get it out of the way. It
has these here di’mon’ panes. It’s real pretty like.”

  Cornelia had stood back aghast at the sight of the window frame, but when she heard the price, she opened the door wide and forgot all her troubles for the moment.

  “Oh, how wonderful!” she said, her eyes shining. “Come in. Could you—you couldn’t—put it in now?”

  “Why, yes, that’s what I come fer, if you want it done. ‘Course I don’t want to force it on you, but I thought you could tell if it would do. We quit early today, ‘count of being all done at one place and not wanting to begin another till Monday ’cause the stuff ain’t come yet, so I just thought to me I’d bring my tools and work all day tomorrow and Saturday—course that’s a half, but then— And if you wanted, I’d go at this job right off. I oughta be able to get this winder in by dark. Of course, that’s working after union hours, but this here don’t count, being right next door to home, you know; it’s kind of a favor to a neighbor, see? I brought the sash and all; it’s standing just outside, against the house. Now, you want these one each side the fireplace, don’t you?”

  Cornelia drew a deep breath of daring and said, “Yes!” And then suddenly was glad—just a little—that Carey had been called away. Now she could surprise the whole family.

  With her heart in her mouth she stood by the open parlor door and watched a great hole arrive in the blank wall, and then with a breath of relief turned and sped quickly upstairs to make up for lost time and to put the rooms there in order. It would soon be time for the children to come home from school. How surprised they would be! She knew she could count on both of them to be delighted, but she wished it had been possible for that window to be in before they arrived; it would be such fun to surprise them with it. Then she glanced out the window and saw a little girl coming in the gate, and she hurried down to the door to see what was wanted.

  “Why,” began the small maiden, “your sister Lou said to tell you she and Harry won’t be home till late. She said they had to practice that play for the entertainment. She said you needn’t to worry. She said to tell you Harry had telephoned to the store, and it’s all right.”

  “Oh, thank you!” said Cornelia with a pleased smile. Now there would be something done to show them when the children got home. How nice that the rehearsal should happen today! She had almost forgotten her disappointment about Carey in her desire to surprise the family.

  The man went right to work, and she would see in five minutes that he was interested and was no laggard. In half an hour they had located the window, and he had half of the opening sawed out. Cornelia went back to the kitchen to get some neglected cooking underway, and when she returned, he was fitting the window frame. She looked around the little room with delight. What a difference it was going to make to have light and air from that side! She slipped happily back to her work again, and the sound of the saw and hammer was like music to her soul. There was no longer any doubt whether she ought to have waited. Now and then the thought of Carey hurt through her brain like a sting of something sharp, but she soothed herself by making custard pies for supper. Carey liked custard pies, and while she was making them it seemed easier to believe he would return in time for the evening meal.

  At a quarter to six the carpenter went home. He had finished putting in the window, and he had marked out the place for the other one. He had also ripped off the baseboards on the parlor side of the wall that was to come down and had taken off the trim of the door frame. It began to look like business. He promised to come in the morning and bring the I beam and the other window. As he had to go to his boss’s shop for them, she had no fear he would arrive before her family were away. So with a gleeful glance at the new window Cornelia carefully closed the parlor door and turned the key in the lock, putting it into her pocket. If the family questioned, she would say that she thought it safer to keep it locked, lest someone might forget in the dark and fall into that open fireplace hole. Then, hugging her secret to her heart, she hurried back to get her dinner ready to serve.

  The children came tumbling joyously into the side door, both talking at once about the play and demanding to know how much Carey had gotten done on the fireplace, and their father smiling behind, interested in all—but Carey had not come yet!

  Chapter 11

  The children found out at once that Carey had gone with Brand, and a gloom settled over the little household. Cornelia had no trouble in keeping them out of the parlor; they did not want to go in. Even Harry seemed oppressed and broke out every few minutes while he ate his supper with, “Aw, gee! If I was a fella!”

  Cornelia suddenly roused to break the gloom that had fallen upon them. She looked at her younger brother with a cheery smile.

  “Well, you will be someday. You are already, you know, really.”

  Harry looked up proudly and met her appreciation with a glow.

  “I think,” said Cornelia thoughtfully, “that this would be a nice night to clean the kitchen, if you all could help.”

  “Clean the kitchen!” They looked up unenthusiastically.

  “Why, I thought you cleaned that the first day. It looked awfully nice,” said Louise. Somehow kitchens seemed uninteresting places.

  “Oh, but not really clean,” said Cornelia, taking a deep breath and trying to get courage for the evening, for she was already weary enough to rest, but she must do something to take the family’s mind off Carey and that locked parlor door if she wanted her plans to succeed.

  “I want to paint it all white, walls and ceiling and woodwork, and then I want to paint the floor gray and put that waterproof varnish on it so it will wash up easily. Those boards are very hard to keep clean the way they are and show every grease spot. Did you ever paint, Harry?”

  “Oh sure. I painted the porch down at the grocery, and the henhouse, and all around the windowsills for Mrs. Brannon. I can paint. Got any brushes?”

  “Yes, I got one for each of us the other day and a can of paint to be ready when there was time. Then, Father, I wonder if you couldn’t put up some brackets and fix those old marbles for me.”

  “Marbles?”

  “Yes, those old marbles that came off the washstand and bureau that fell to pieces. They are out in the back shed, and I want one of them out on the dresser, screwed on, you know, so I can use it for a molding board, and the other two, the back and top of the old washstand, put up on brackets for shelves in the kitchen near the sink. They’ll save buying oilcloth and be lovely to work on and simply delightful to clean.”

  “Why, I guess I can fix them. There’s an old marble-topped table around somewhere, too.”

  “I know. I’m going to paint the woodwork white and get some ball-bearing casters for it and use it in the kitchen to work on. Then I can wheel it around where I need it, over by the sink when I’m washing dishes, over by the stove to hold the bowl of batter when I’m baking cakes.”

  “Say, that’ll be great!” cried Louise. “Oh! I never realized a kitchen could be pretty. Why, I’d like to wash dishes in a place like that—all white! Say, Nellie, is that a part of interior decorating? Kitchens?”

  “Surely!” smiled the sister. “We want to make it pleasant where we have to work the most. Now let’s get these dishes out of the way first, and then you children put on your oldest clothes, something that won’t be hurt with the paint, and we’ll go to work.”

  “You ought to have one of those ‘lectric dishwashers, Nell,” said Harry energetically, getting up with a pile of dishes and starting toward the kitchen. “They got one down to the store on exhibition. Say, it’s great! You just stick ‘em in, and they come out all washed and dried. I’ll buy you one someday when I get ahead a little.”

  “Do,” said Cornelia warmly, smiling. “That would be wonderful!”

  And so in the bustle and eagerness the disappointment over Carey was somewhat forgotten. They all worked away happily together until ten o’clock, painting and pounding and scrubbing, and when they finally put up the brushes and went to bed, the kitchen wa
s in a fair way toward reconstruction. The window frames had lost their grimy, years-old green paint under a first coat of white; the doors had been sandpapered and primed; the sidewalls had been patched with plaster-of-paris and received a coat of shellac. Everything began to look clean and hopeful.

  “Aw, gee! Carey don’t know what he’s missin’,” mourned Harry as he climbed reluctantly up the stairs, not wanting to leave till he had finished all the first coat and was persuaded to bed by his sister only on the ground that he wouldn’t want to get up in the morning.

  For three days Carey stayed away without a sign, and for two evenings Cornelia kept her family interested in the kitchen so that they did not notice the locked parlor door.

  It was a bit hard on Cornelia. She worked steadily all day then worked again all the evening and lay awake most of the night worrying about her brother. She was beginning to get dark circles under her eyes, and her father looked at her anxiously and asked her whether she didn’t think she was doing too much. But she managed to smile cheerfully and keep a brave front. She knew by the weary little wrinkles around his eyes that he, too, was lying awake nights, worrying about Carey. But the kitchen was beginning to take on the look of a lily and was rapidly becoming a spot where the family loved to go and gaze around, so transforming is a little white paint.