X

  MRS. VOLSKY PROMISES TO TRY

  As Lily pattered across the room, on her soft, almost noiseless littlefeet, Rose-Marie stopped talking. She had been having one of her rareconversations alone with Mrs. Volsky--a conversation that she had almostschemed for--and yet she stopped. It struck her suddenly as strange thatLily's presence in any place should make such a vast difference--that thechild should bring with her a healing silence and a curious tenderness.She had felt, many times before, a slowing up in conversations--she hadseen the bitterness drain from Ella's face, the stolidness from Bennie's.She had even seen Pa, half intoxicated, turn and go quietly from a roomthat Lily was entering. And now, as she watched, she saw a spark leapinto the dullness of Mrs. Volsky's eyes.

  With a gentle hand she reached out to the child, drew her close. Lilynestled against her side with a slight smile upon her faintly coral lips,with her blue, vacant gaze fixed upon space--or upon something that theycould not see! Rose-Marie had often felt that Lily was watching beautifulvistas with those sightless eyes of hers; that she was hearing wonderfulsounds, with her useless little ears--sounds that normal people could nothear. But she did not say anything of the sort to Mrs. Volsky--Mrs.Volsky would not have been able to understand. Instead she spoke ofsomething else that had lain, for a long time, upon her mind.

  "Has Lily ever received any medical attention?" she asked abruptly.

  Mrs. Volsky's face took on lines of blankness. "What say?" she mouthedthickly. "I don' understan'?"

  Rose-Marie reconstructed her question.

  "Has Lily ever been taken to a doctor?" she asked.

  Mrs. Volsky answered more quickly than she usually answered questions.

  "When she was first sick, years ago," she told Rose-Marie, "she had adoctor then. He say--no help fer her. Las' year Ella, she took Lily by afree clinic. But the doctors, there, they say Lily never get no better.And if there comes another doctor to our door, now--" she shrugged; andher shrug seemed to indicate the uselessness of all doctors.

  Rose-Marie, with suddenly misting eyes, lifted Lily to her knee... "Theonly times," she said slowly, "when I feel any doubt in my mind of theDivine Plan--are the times when I see little children, who have neverdone anything at all wicked or wrong, bearing pain and suffering and..."she broke off.

  Mrs. Volsky answered, as she almost always answered, with amechanical question.

  "What say?" she murmured dully.

  Rose-Marie eyed her over the top of Lily's golden head. After all, shetold herself, in the case of Mrs. Volsky she could see the point of Dr.Blanchard's assertion! She had known many animals who apparently werequicker to reason, who apparently had more enthusiasm and ambition, thanMrs. Volsky. She looked at the dingy apron, the unkempt hair, the saggingflesh upon the gray cheeks. And she was conscious suddenly of a feelingof revulsion. She fought it back savagely.

  "Christ," she told herself, "never turned away from people because theywere dirty, or ugly, or stupid. Christ loved everybody--no matter how lowthey were. He would have loved Mrs. Volsky."

  It was curious how it gave her strength--that reflection--strength tolook straight at the woman in front of her, and to smile.

  "Why," she asked, and the smile became brighter as she asked it, "whydon't you try to fix your hair more neatly, Mrs. Volsky? And why don'tyou wear fresh aprons, and keep the flat cleaner? Why don't you try tomake your children's home more pleasant for them?"

  Mrs. Volsky did not resent the suggestion as some other women might havedone. Mrs. Volsky had reached the point where she no longer resentedeven blows.

  "I uster try--onct," she said tonelessly, "but it ain't no good, no more.Ella an' Bennie an' Jim don' care. An' Pa--he musses up th' flat wheneverhe comes inter it. An' Lily can't see how it looks. So what's th' use?"

  It was a surprisingly long speech for Mrs. Volsky. And some of it showeda certain reasoning power. Rose-Marie told herself, in all fairness,that if she were Mrs. Volsky--she, too, might be inclined to ask "What'sth' use?" She leaned forward, searching desperately in her mind forsomething to say.

  "Do you like _me_, Mrs. Volsky?" she questioned at last, "Do you likeme?"

  The woman nodded, and again the suggestion of a light flamed up in hereyes.

  "Sure I like you," she said, "you are good to all of us--_an' to Lily_."

  "Then," Rose-Marie's voice was quivering with eagerness, "then won't youtry--_for my sake_--to make things here," the sweep of her hand includedevery corner of the ugly room, "a little better? I'll help you, verygladly. I'll make new aprons for you, and I'll"--her brave resolutionfaltered, but only for a moment--"I'll wash your hair, and take you tothe free baths with me. And then," she had a sudden inspiration, "thenLily will love to touch you, you'll be so nice and clean! Then Lily willbe glad that she has you for a mother!"

  All at once the shell of stupidity had slipped from Mrs. Volsky's bentshoulders. All at once she was eager, breathlessly eager.

  "Miss," she said, and one thin, dingy hand was laid appealingly uponRose-Marie's dress, "Miss, you can do wit' me as you wish to! If yout'ink dat my bein' clean will make Lily glad"--she made a suddenimpetuous gesture with her hand--"den I will be clean! If you t'ink datshe will like better dat I should be her mother," the word, on her lips,was surprisingly sweet, "den I will do--_anyt'ing_!" All at once shebroke into phrases that were foreign to Rose-Marie, phrases spokenlovingly in some almost forgotten tongue. And the girl knew that she wasquite forgotten--that the drab woman was dreaming over some youthfulhope, was voicing tenderly the promises of a long dead yesterday, and wasmaking an impassioned pledge to her small daughter and to the future! Thewords that she spoke might be in the language of another land--but thetone was unmistakable, was universal.

  Rose-Marie, listening to her, felt a sudden desire to kneel there, on thedirty tenement floor, and say a little prayer of thanksgiving. Once againshe had proved that she was right--and that the Young Doctor was wrong.

 
Margaret E. Sangster's Novels