Re-Creations Read online

  Later on the second afternoon Cornelia went to a telephone booth and looked among the B’s for Barlock. When she had found it, she called up the one with the initials R. B., taking a chance between that and Peter, Mary, Silas, and J.J., and trembling put in her nickel and waited. It was a young girl’s voice, fresh and snappy, that answered her, for she had called the residence and not the business office, and she tried to control her voice and answer calmly as she asked whether Mr. Brand Barlock was at home. The girl’s voice at the other end was a trifle haughty as she answered, “No, he’s motored down to Baltimore. I don’t know when he’ll be home. Maybe two or three days. Who is this?”

  “Oh,” said Cornelia a trifle relieved, “then I’ll call again,” and hung up the receiver in the face of the repeated question, “Who is this?” Her cheeks were glowing as she emerged from the telephone booth and hastened out to the street as if she were afraid someone would chase her. That was likely Brand Barlock’s sister on the telephone, and Cornelia had appeared to her like a bold girl calling up her brother and then retreating without giving her name, but it had been the only way. At least, she knew this much: that Brand also was still away. Carey was likely safe; that is, probably nothing had happened to his body, though there was no telling what had happened to his soul on such a wild trip with such companions.

  But the third day the carpenter took down the parlor partition, and turned the hall and parlor into one, and Cornelia could no longer conceal the interesting changes that had been going on within the old front room.

  There was a fine big window on each side of the big fireplace hole, with a box window seat under it, and the little “bay” had been put into the long, dark wall of the hallway, with a row of three diamond-paned windows opening just over the staircase. Cornelia had managed to conceal the first bay window, which had been put in the second day, by means of an old curtain tacked across the wall. But, when the third night came, there stood the big new room with all its windows, a place of great possibilities.

  “Now,” said the carpenter as he stood back and surveyed his finished task, “there’s just two more things I’d like to see you do to this room. You need to break that there staircase with a landin’ about four steps up. You got plenty-a room this side yer dining room door, an’ ‘twould jest strike them three winders fer the landin’. They got a half-circle an’ two long, narrer side winders down to the shop would jest fit around that there front door. If you say the word, I’ll put ‘em in tomorra. I jest about could do it in a day. But I’d like to turn them stairs around. I certainly would.”

  So, with fear and trembling Cornelia told him to go ahead. He assured her she needn’t worry about the pay, that his mother-in-law and his two cousins’ wives all wanted curtains, and it began to look as if she would be stenciling birds the rest of her natural life, so she had no fear but she would be able to pay him sometime. She was getting five dollars a set for her curtains and felt quite independent. Perhaps, after all, she would be an interior decorator someday, even if this was a day of small things, scrim curtains instead of rich fabrics and rare hangings.

  That night, when the children came home, they discovered the changes in the front part of the house, of course, and their sister found them standing in awe on the stairs looking around them as if they had suddenly stepped into a place of enchantment.

  “Oh, Nellie, Nellie, how did you do it?” they cried when they saw her. “Isn’t this great? Isn’t it wonderful?” And then, with a look at the yawning cavity in the floor where the fireplace was to be, “Oh, what will Carey say? Why doesn’t he come home?”

  And that night after they were all in bed Carey came.

  Even the children heard the car drive up to the door, and the whole shabby house seemed to be straining every alert nerve to him.

  Carey came whistling a jazzy little tune up the path and with a careless happy-go-lucky swag, not at all like the prodigal son that he was, with the whole family in a long three days’ agony over him. It was almost virtuous, that whistle and the way he subdued it as he unlocked the dining room door and groped his way through the dark to where the foot of the stairs used to be. They heard him strike a match, and then, as if they had all been down there to watch him, they could visualize his amazed face as he stood in the little halo of the match and looked around him at the strange room and the strange staircase, with a turn in the stairs and only one rail up yet, and a platform. They heard him strike another match, and then they heard his footsteps and more matches as he walked around looking. Cornelia knew when he spotted the bay window and the seats under the two windows by the fireplace. She heard the gentle thud of the top as he opened it and closed it again. She heard the soft whistle of approval and drew a long breath of relief. At least he was interested.

  She knew that the little sister heard, too, and was following Carey’s every movement, for she felt the quick grip of the little hand on her shoulder and the soft, tense breath against her cheek, and somehow it gave her courage and strength. With all the family united in loving anxiety for him.

  Afterward she thought about it and wondered at herself, and resolved to pray regularly again, even if just to pray for Carey. It was so necessary that Carey be saved and made a good man. It was necessary just for their mother’s sake, and it must be done before she came home, or she would be likely to get sick again worrying about him.

  Carey came slowly up the stairs and went to his room. The family listened to his movements overhead, listened for his shoes to fall and then to the creak of the springs as he at last got into bed. Listened longer as the springs continued to creak while Carey rolled around, settling himself—thinking, perhaps?—and then at last when all was quiet, they slept.

  It was well for Carey that a night intervened between his homecoming and the meeting with his family. The sharp words that swelled in the heart of each of them, and would surely have arisen to the lips of them, would not have been pleasant for him to hear. They might have been beneficial; they undoubtedly would have been true; but it is exceedingly doubtful whether in his present state of mind he would have endured them graciously. He had had a good time, and he had come home. He was in no mood for faultfinding. The sight of the unfinished fireplace in the wide desolation of the renovated and enlarged room had given him a good-sized pang of remorse, which was in a fair way to stay with him for a day or so. Sharp words would most certainly have dispelled it instantly and put him on the defensive. To blame as he undoubtedly was, he preferred to blame himself rather than to have his family do so; and the fact that he arose before light, before any of the others were even awake, and descended to the cellar quietly to pursue his interrupted work proved that he had begun to apprehend the likelihood of blame and wished to forestall it.

  It was Harry who awoke first, feeling rather than hearing the dull thuds of the silent worker in the cellar. Hastily dressing, he stole down in wonder and delight and was so well pleased with what he saw and with the most unusually cordial greeting from his elder brother that he remained to help and not to blame. When Louise came down, followed almost immediately by Cornelia, and found the two brothers working so affably, with a whole row of stones reared in the parlor, they gave one another a swift, understanding glance and greeted their brothers collectively and joyously as if nothing had happened for the last four days.

  Carey rattled off jokes and worked away like a beaver, keeping them all in roars of laughter; and the father, waking late from his troubled sleep, heard the festive sound and hurried down, relieved that the cloud of gloom had lifted from his home. He had had it in mind to give Carey a regular dressing down when he returned. Words fitly framed for such a proceeding had been forming red hot in his worried mind all night. But the sight of his four children in gales of laughter over some silly story Carey had told, and the sight of the clock hastening on to the moment of his car, restrained him, and perhaps it was just as well. Cornelia hurried him into his place and gave him his breakfast, chattering all the time about the rooms and t
he changes and so kept his mind busy. At last they all got away without a word of reproof to Carey, and Cornelia was left to wonder whether she ought to open the subject.

  All the morning they worked eagerly together, finding personal conversation impossible because of the presence of the carpenter. At lunch time, however, Carey, having been most courteous and apologetic, seemed to feel his time had come. Or perhaps he appreciated his sister’s silence. At any rate, he remarked quite casually that he had been out for a job in Baltimore and hadn’t got it. Worse luck! Missed the man he went to see by half an hour but had a dandy time.

  Cornelia took the news quietly, thoughtfully, and presently raised her eyes.

  “Carey, dear, next time you go wouldn’t you be good enough to tell us where you are going and how long you expect to be gone? You’ve given us all an extremely anxious time, you know.”

  She managed to make her voice quiet and matter-of-fact, without the least bit of fault-finding, for a black cloud hovered almost imperceptibly over the handsome young brows across the table, and she had no mind to spoil the pleasant atmosphere that had surrounded them all the morning.

  “The idea!” said Carey, excited at once. “Why should I do that? I’m not a baby, am I? I’m a man, ain’t I? I guess I can go as far as I like and stay as long as I like, can’t I?”

  “Yes, you can, of course,” soothed his sister. “But, if you really are a man, you’ve noticed how gray and worn Father looks. How sick he looks! He’s been through a lot, you know, and he can’t help thinking that maybe something else dreadful is coming. He has to worry for himself and Mother, too, you know. Because just now everything is very critical on Mother’s account. I know you wouldn’t want to worry Mother, and you wouldn’t want to worry Father, either, if you just stopped to think.”

  “Well, but how absurd! A trip down to Baltimore that any fella would take. You aren’t such a goose as to worry over that, are you?”

  “Of course it is a bit silly,” admitted the sister. “But I must confess I lay awake several hours every night myself. You remember you had just got done telling me what a wild driver that Brand Barlock is and how he put ether in the mixture. And one can’t help knowing there are hundreds of terrible automobile accidents every day. They might happen even to a man, you know, and then—well, we love you, Carey, you know.”

  “Oh, gosh! Well, I didn’t know you were that sort of a goose. I know of course Mother—but then she isn’t here.”

  “Well, when it comes down to it, Carey, I guess we all care about as much as Mother.” She smiled at him through a sudden mist of tears that all unexpectedly welled into her eyes. “And you know it was quite sudden, and well, if you had just thought to telephone, you know, to say you would be gone several days.”

  “Aw, gee! Well, I suppose I might have done that. I will next time. Sure, Nell, I’ll try to remember. It was wrong of me not to say anything, but I figured that if I didn’t get it, no one would be the wiser.”

  “Well, I guess you can’t cheat your family.” She smiled again, ignoring the mist in her eyes. “We’re a kind of gang together. Isn’t that what you call it? And what affects one affects all. Why, even little Louie cried herself to sleep in my arms last night because she thought maybe you had been killed.”

  “Aw! Gee!”

  Carey got up swiftly and went over to the window, where he gazed out past the neighbor’s blank wall until he had control of himself, then he turned with one of his lightning smiles.

  “All right, Nell. I’ll give you the tip next time. I’m sorry I had to stay so long, but I waited for the man. See?”

  “Well, Carey, I suppose you thought that was the right thing to do, but I’ve been wondering since you’ve been talking whether there isn’t something good for you in all this big city where we live without going away to Baltimore.”

  “I’d like to see it,” gloomily answered the boy, with a sudden grim look in his eyes. “I’ve tried everything I heard of.”

  “Well, it will come,” said his sister brightly. “Come, let’s get this house finished first, and then we’ll be ready for the big position you’re going to have. Next week, you know, you’ve got to go back to the garage and earn that suit. You need it badly.”

  Carey caught her suddenly and gave her a bear hug and then spun her around the room till she was dizzy; and so, happily, they went back to their work, Cornelia wondering whether she had done right to pass the matter off so lightly. But brother, as he worked away at his stones silently, was thinking more seriously on the error of his ways than he had thought for four years past.

  Chapter 12

  It was several weeks before the Copley house was finished. Even then there were cushions to make out of old pieces brightened up by the stitches of embroidery or appliqué work of leaves cut from bits of old velvet. There were rugs to braid out of all the old rags the house afforded, and there were endless curtains to wash and hem and hemstitch and stencil and put up. All the family united to make the work as perfect a thing of the kind as could be accomplished. Every evening was spent in painting or papering, or rubbing down some bit of old furniture to make it more presentable, and gradually the house began to assume form and loveliness.

  Paint, white paint, had done a great deal toward making another place of the dreary little house. The kitchen was spotless white enamel everywhere, and enough old marble slabs had been discovered to cover the kitchen table and the top of the kitchen dresser and to put up shelves around the sink and under the windows. Mr. Copley brought home some ball-bearing casters for the kitchen table and spent an evening putting them on so it would move easily to any part of the kitchen needed. Cornelia and Louise rejoiced in scrubbing the smooth white surfaces that were going to be so convenient and so easily kept clean. Even the old kitchen chairs had been painted white and enameled, and Cornelia discovered by chance one day that a wet sponge was a wonderful thing to keep the white paint clean; so thereafter Louise spent five minutes after dinner every evening going about with her wet sponge, rubbing off any chance fingermarks of the day before and putting the gleaming kitchen in order for the next day.

  The dining room had gradually become a place of rest and refreshment for the eyes as well as for the palate. Soft green was the prevailing color of furniture and floor, with an old grass rug scrubbed back to almost its original color. The old couch was repaired and covered with pretty cretonne in greens and grays, with plenty of pillows covered with the same material. The curtains were white with a green border of stenciling. The dingy old paper had been scraped from the walls, which had been painted with many coats of white, and a pretty green border had been stenciled at the ceiling. The carpenter had found an old plate rail down in the shop, which, painted white, made a different place of the whole thing, with a few bits of Mother’s rare old china rightly placed; two Wedgwood plates in dull yellow, another of bright green; a big old Blue Willow ware plate; and some quaint cups hung on brass hooks under a little white shelf. One couldn’t ask for a pleasanter dining room than that. It dawned upon the family anew and joyously every time any one of them entered the room and made them a little better and a little brighter because it spoke “home” so softly and sweetly and comfortingly.

  “Mother won’t know the place!” said Louise, standing back to survey it happily after putting the sideboard in perfect order with a clean linen cover. “She won’t know her own things, will she? Won’t it be great when she comes?”

  But the living room was the crown of all: wide and pleasant with many windows, with its stone fireplace and wide mantel, adorned with a quaint old pair of brass candlesticks that had belonged to the grandmother; the walls covered with pale-yellow felt-paper like soft sunshine; the floor planed down to the natural wood, oiled and treated with shellac; and the old woolen rugs in two tones of gray, which used to be bedroom rugs when Cornelia was a baby, washed and spread about in comfortable places; it no more resembled the stuffy, dark little place they used to call a “parlor” than day resemble
s night. Soft white sheer curtains veiled the windows everywhere, with overcurtains of yellow cotton crêpe, and the sunshine seemed to have taken up its abode in that room even on dark days when there was no sun to be seen. It was as if it had stayed behind from the last sunshiny day, so bright and cheerful was the glow.

  The little “bay” was simply overflowing with ferns the children had brought from the woods, set in superfluous yellow and gray bowls from the kitchen accumulation. Harry ran extra errands after hours and saved enough to buy the yellowest, throatiest canary the city afforded, in a big wicker cage to hang in the window.

  Cretonne covers in soft gray tones covered the shabby old chairs and couch, and Carey and his father spent hours with pumice stone and oil, polishing away at the piano, the bookcase, and the one small mahogany table that was left, while Cornelia did wonderful things in the way of artistic shades for little electric lamps that Carey rigged up in odd, unexpected corners, made out of all sorts of unusual things: an old pewter sugar bowl, this with a shade of silver lace lined with yellow, a relic of some college costume; a tall gray jug with odd blue Chinese figures on it that had been among the kitchen junk for years, this with a dull-blue shade; a bright-yellow vase with a butterfly-yellow shade; and a fat green jar with willow basketwork around it on which Cornelia put a shade of soft green with some old brown lace over it.

  The room was really wonderful when it was done, with two or three pictures hung in just the right spots and some photographs and magazines thrown comfortably about. Really one could not imagine a pleasanter or more artistic room, not if one had thousands to spend. The first evening it was all complete the family just sat down and enjoyed themselves in it, talking over each achievement of cushion or curtain or wall as a great connoisseur might have looked over his newly acquired collection and gloated over each specimen with delight.