“Yes, I know, but somehow I think this would be too tame a matter for her, attendant on a sick father. I don’t believe I’ll be bothered with her. If I am mistaken, I’m sure to find a way out.”
Then Paige went up to get another hour of study in preparation for his Bible class on the morrow before going to his rest.
Chapter 15
They were to start away early Monday morning, while the freshness of the day was still in the air, and they were going in the Chalmers car, of course. That fact alone seemed a pleasant thought, for Paige was not above enjoying a chance to drive such a car!
The mother kissed him good-bye as if he were on his way to a second world war again, and his father stood behind in the morning shadows out of sight, proud of a son who had attained a place with such a well-known firm of businessmen, yet fearful of what the outcome of such a connection with the alien world might be going to mean to him.
Old Phoebe the cook watched from the sheltering kitchen curtain, swelling with pride that the boy she used to care for as a mere baby was going out in such style.
Mrs. Harmon, next door, struggling to get her husband’s breakfast in time for his train in the absence of her maid, watched him drive away, Yes, there was no doubt about it. That was Paige Madison driving Mr. Chalmers in his handsome new car she had heard so much about. She neglected the bacon she was cooking until it burned and sent a message all through the house. She hurried back to the bacon but resolved that she would renew her efforts with Mrs. Madison and make her join the Woman’s Club.
And Priscilla Brisco, from her modest little back room on a side street, saw them turn to the shortcut that went to the highway, and bustled away to the side window to make sure who it was. This would be something worth telling! She even ran to the back hall window to verify just which way they were going, and just how many were in the car. No girl? No, no girl. Definitely no girl!
And there were others who would have been glad to look and wonder if only they had been on the route of travel, even so early in the morning. But the mighty car, with its expensive setup, rolled quickly out of sight, and even the suburban newspaper missed getting a glimpse.
As they drove along in the pleasant morning, and Paige realized that his parents had been where they could watch the departure, he reflected happily that Mother had been wrong in her fears about that girl, and he was glad she was where she could see that she had been wrong and that the obnoxious girl was not along.
How unhappy they all would have been could they have known that this whole expedition, including the magnate’s severe threatening illness, was a figment of that dreaded girl’s imagination, and entirely instigated by her. But they did not know it, and they settled down to be calmly, almost fearfully glad at their beloved son’s earthly success.
Meantime, June Culbertson was having a bad time at her aunt’s home. The old lady was undoubtedly getting better, but the more she improved, the more impatient she grew at having to lie still so long and the “household going to ruin with the slipshod ways of those who were running it.” June was practically in despair, for she had never had to endure so much faultfinding in her life, and many times a day she was on the point of giving it up and going home. She was tired to death and not really doing anything herself of actual work, just going around from one part of the house to another, passing on to others her aunt’s criticisms.
She was not writing about all these things in her letters home, for she knew they would distress her mother, but now and again something would creep in between the lines that the wise-eyed mother could read aright; and more by what June did not say than by what she did, the mother knew things were not going happily with her beloved daughter. The parents talked it over whenever they were not too occupied with parish duties, and they really worried a lot about it and wondered what they ought to do about it, or if they ought to do anything yet. Surely that cousin would come home pretty soon and relieve June.
It was the next day after Paige’s telephone message that June decided to do something about a better photograph than any she had with her, and she told her aunt that she was going to do some shopping in the nearby town that day, if she didn’t mind, and would she like any errands done for her?
But Aunt Letitia was in a very irritable mood and was greatly aggravated by the idea that June would desert her duties and go shopping. What did she want to shop for? Surely if it was any clothes she needed, there were enough things in the house she could borrow. If they didn’t fit her right, she could make them over. Anyway, this was no day to leave the house—sweeping day—it was June’s duty to supervise all that went on. Her aunt would have nervous prostration if she thought there was no supervision going on. And nothing that June could say could convince the good lady that her servants were amply able and willing to carry on without her. So, with a sigh, June surrendered and said she would not go.
Instead, she went to the telephone and called up the photographers in the East where her last good likeness was taken, and ordered a picture sent at once to Paige. Then, while she was at the telephone, she called up a nearby city store and ordered a few slips and other garments sent to her C.O.D. She had come off in such a hurry that she hadn’t brought many garments, and found herself greatly hampered. Certainly with all the requirements her aunt demanded constantly, she did not have time to make over old clothes to fit her, especially since those that had been suggested were old ones of her cousin’s and were much too long and wide without being entirely cut over.
When she answered her aunt’s bell, which had been impatiently ringing while she was telephoning, she took her purse down with her, having asked the price on the long-distance call she had made, but the old lady was too excited to listen to her at first.
“I should like to know why I can get no service when I ring my bell?” she demanded. “Isn’t it bad enough for me to lie here all day long and have to endure agonies, knowing what must be going on, how my house is being neglected, without being able to get anybody to come when I call?”
“I’m sorry,” said June meekly. “I was on the telephone and didn’t hear until just now.”
“Well, really! If you were gossiping on the telephone, I should have supposed you might have excused yourself and gone on with your gossiping later.”
June laughed.
“Gossiping!” she said pleasantly. “Just who would I gossip with? I don’t know anybody in this town well enough to gossip with them. And I was on long distance besides, so it would have been rather expensive to cut it off and call back again.” She was trying her best to put a humorous side to the situation, but nothing did any good.
“Long distance! Did you actually dare to call long distance without asking permission? Don’t you know I never allow that? So this is what has been going on. This explains why my telephone bills have been so enormous since you have been here.”
“I beg your pardon, Aunt Letitia. This is the first time I have ever called up on long distance since I came. I asked the operator just now to give me the amount of this call that I made, and I brought my pocketbook down to pay for it so it wouldn’t be forgotten.”
“Oh!” said the indignant lady. “Well, I don’t like it! I tell you I don’t like it! Who did you presume to call? Your home? I should think you could say all you needed to say to your people in a letter, and there wouldn’t be any special rush about that. You seem to have been brought up in a very wasteful way, telephoning long distance! And who was your other call to? Some young man, I suppose.”
June’s eyes were flashing indignantly, but she held her peace till Aunt Letitia’s snorting was done.
“Who, I say, were you telephoning to?”
“No, Aunt Letitia, I did not telephone to my home, nor to any young man. I was simply sending to a business house for something I wanted. The other calls were to your city store. I was ordering some garments I needed. It didn’t seem convenient for you to have me go shopping today, so I thought it would be quicker to get the things sent C.O.D.
I’m sorry I annoyed you. But here is the money for the telephone bill. I called up to know how much it was. The whole bill was seven dollars and fifty cents. You can check that up with your bill when it comes, and here is a ten-dollar bill to cover it. Now, is there anything else you wanted? You rang your bell, I believe.”
“Why yes, I did, but you have distracted me so with your nonsense that I forget what it was that I wanted. Oh, yes, I remember. I want a dose of soda in hot water. Something I ate for breakfast didn’t agree with me, and I wanted the soda quickly before I get started on one of my spells of indigestion.”
June quietly went down to the kitchen and got some soda, bringing it back swiftly and trying not to have an annoyed look on her face when she handed it to her aunt. This day seemed to be the one when nothing went right.
It was three days before the incident of the long-distance telephoning was forgotten. Aunt Letitia brought it up on every possible occasion, with sarcastic remarks about people who had so much money they had to use the long-distance telephone instead of writing a postcard.
By the end of that week June’s nerves were all in a jangle, and if it had not been for her habit of constantly calling for help from above, she would probably have broken down and cried. Some of this bottled-up agony undoubtedly crept into the tone of her letters home, for more and more her parents were worried.
But there was one source of comfort that came to June, and that was her letter from Paige. There was another now, and Aunt Letitia grew curious to know why the postman came so often.
“Are you engaged?” she asked June abruptly one day.
“Engaged? Oh no,” laughed June.
“Well, why do you get so many letters then?”
“Do I get a great many letters?” laughed June, feeling as if she wanted to cry, but wouldn’t.
“You certainly do,” said the accusing voice of the aunt. “You know I’m well acquainted with the postman’s ring, and nobody else seems to get letters. Who do you write to? If you’re not engaged to him, you ought to be.”
“Why, Aunt Letitia! I don’t know what you mean. I’m not engaged, and most of my letters are either from my father and mother or from my Sunday school class of girls. There’s one of them who has been very sick, almost died, and I was taking care of her for two or three days before I came away. She writes to me every few days, just little childish letters, misspelled and funny, but she’s very faithful, writing at least twice a week. And mother writes me every day almost. Dad, too, writes often, and several of my friends in the church. You see, I was doing a lot of church work when you sent for me, and I was president of the young people’s work, and they keep writing to me to know what to do about this and that.”
“Oh,” said Aunt Letitia, “how long did it take you to make up that story? I can’t think a girl would come all this way out here and keep up her interest in a lot of common young people in a church. You needn’t try to make me think those weren’t men you were writing to. Maybe only one man, maybe several, though I hadn’t thought that a daughter of your parents would be a common flirt.”
“Aunt Letitia, stop! This is awful! I won’t listen to another word like that!”
“Oh, you won’t, won’t you? Well, my young lady, you’ll listen to just what I choose to tell you.”
“No, Aunt Letitia, I won’t listen to another word. You’ve practically told me that I lied. I was telling you the truth, and you know I was. You know I don’t lie.” And then suddenly June’s self-control gave way, and she burst into terrible tears and rushed from the room, upstairs, and threw herself on her bed, shaking with sobs.
After a little her sobs calmed, and she lay utterly still and tried to think. Just what was she weeping so bitterly for? What difference did it make that Aunt Letitia had been utterly insulting? She would get over it after a while. And she, June, had no right to say those sharp things, even if her aunt was insulting. Her Lord was caring for her. Nothing could really hurt her under her Lord’s protection.
Finally she got up and washed away the signs of her weeping, made herself bright and pleasant, and then sat down to consider what she should do next. Of course, she could get all her letters together, tie them in little bundles, labeled, and take them down for her aunt to look them over, but she resented that idea. She was old enough to run her own life, and the letters were her own. She would not subject her precious letters to her aunt’s critical eyes. No, not even her own dear mother’s letters would she show, nor of course not Paige’s few letters that were so dear to her. She could not stand the cold, prying questions that would surely be asked. No, there was no reason why she should have to submit to that. But she would be quiet, dignified, and speak gently if she had to go into her aunt’s room. She would try to carry on in such a way that there could be no charge of resentment or hatefulness in her conduct. Just gentle kindness.
But while she was thinking it over, and just as she rose from her knees after praying it over, there came a tap at the door.
It was her gentle uncle’s voice that answered as he opened the door and came in.
“Junie,” he said, and his voice was almost apologetic as he took the chair she offered him, “your aunt is in a terrible way. She says you have been very rude to her, and she is almost in hysterics. I have had to send for the doctor, and the nurse says you’ll have to do something about it, or she’ll do herself some harm. She’s flinging herself about in the bed, and the nurse is afraid there will be some harm to the injured bone. Could you, would you come down and see if you can do anything about it? I know she must have been very trying to you. I know her, what she can do to the people she is fondest of, and I can’t blame you if you answered her back, but Junie, you have always had such a sweet forgiving nature, I thought perhaps you would forgive her this once and come down and see if you can help. We’re all beside ourselves with her actions.”
“Why yes, of course, Uncle. I was just coming down, though I wasn’t sure she would want to see me.”
“Well, I think she would, but it isn’t likely she’ll tell you so. I hate to acknowledge it, Junie, but your aunt is a very self-centered woman and has a very stubborn nature. She is most outspoken, also, and never realizes how hard she makes it for other people. If you could find it in your heart to forgive her this time—”
“Why, of course, Uncle Barnard, I’ll come.” She reached for his hand and gave it a little squeeze. “I understand she is sick and probably didn’t realize that she had told me I lied. We’ll forget it.” For June still felt the presence of the Lord with whom she had just been talking.
“That’s my Junie!” said the old man in an almost pitiful tone. “I just knew you would come.”
So June went down and entered the sickroom as if nothing had happened, and although her quiet face had no real smile on it, still there was no animosity in her eyes.
But more and more after that day, June began to question whether this was the place that the Lord would have her to be. There really wasn’t anything important for her to do. The two maids were doing the work and doing it well. She never had to check on them. They had been in the house for years, and, better even than she did, they knew the habits of the mistress, and when they were not too mad at her for her crankiness, they did their work well. The nurse was a quiet, practical person, who knew how to save herself as well as take good care of her cranky patient, and there just didn’t seem to be any place where June fitted in, except as maybe a buffer to bear the blame that might otherwise have fallen on some other hapless member of the household.
But at last one morning there came a letter from the cousin, and her heart leaped as she carried it to Aunt Letitia. Now at last there was going to be a message that her cousin was coming home, and she would be free to leave!
But her heart fell when the word drifted back to her by way of angry complaints from the invalid. Cousin Ella was not coming back. She had reenlisted and was going back to work in the navy because she thought it was her duty, and because she loved i
t.
So now June had to do some serious thinking and finally sat down and wrote a despairing little letter to her father, asking his advice about what she ought to do. She dreaded to broach the subject of her staying, as she knew her aunt considered that was what of course was her duty, especially just now when there was such a loud complaint about Cousin Ella and her decision not to return.
Of course, June couldn’t blame her, not if her mother blamed her as much when she did her best as she blamed June, but somehow she felt it was Ella’s mother, and burden, and not hers indefinitely. And yet she wanted to do the right thing.
When June’s father got that letter, he sat down and wrote one back to her, very brief and very gentle.
June dear,
Your mother is very much tired out, and I think she needs you. She isn’t exactly sick, but I’m afraid she is heading for illness. So, dear, if you can possibly be spared, I think you should come home as soon as possible. After all, you owe something to your own dear mother, and she has been doing both your work and hers since your absence, not only in the house but also in the church, and I think we should begin to look after her at once before she becomes a chronic invalid.
Mother doesn’t know I have written you, for she would of course protest that she is all right, as she always does, but I shall feel easier in my mind if you find it possible to come at once. We’re just a-wearyingfer you.
Your loving father
He sent this letter special delivery, airmail, and it was not long in reaching June. Her heart leaped as she caught sight of the envelope in the postman’s hand, and she rushed upstairs to read it before anybody found out what it was, for if Aunt Letitia discovered that such a letter had arrived from June’s home, she would have raised such a hue and cry that all the joy of the letter, whatever it was, would be extracted before she had even read it.
So June read her letter carefully, several times, read it on her knees, praying for her mother, but reading clearly between the lines that her father did not mean her to be worried about her mother. Only to bring her sense of duty to her own to bear upon the problem that had been worrying her. Then she went down on her knees with thanksgiving and with petition that she might be enabled to make this break with her relative in the right way.