Rainbow Cottage Read online

  Grandmother sat with bowed head as if wave after wave of sorrow were passing over her. She seemed to have aged in that few minutes. Suddenly Sheila looked up, and her eyes, which had been hard and hopeless, softened, and the tears began to come down her face, too.

  “I’m not doing this to hurt you,” she said sorrowfully. “I just thought I had to come and tell you about my mother. I didn’t come here to sponge on you nor to touch your sympathy and get you to help me. I came because I couldn’t stand it not to have you know what a wonderful mother I had. Why, she has been father and mother both to me, and she has gone to work night after night when she was almost too weak to stand up. No, please don’t stop me yet. I must tell you all.”

  Grandmother had lifted her hands in protest and opened her lips to say something, but she dropped her hands again in her lap submissively and sat still, with the tears flowing and a look of utter humiliation on her sweet old face.

  “My father went away several times,” went on Sheila in an obvious struggle to get through with the story, “and every time he came back we had prosperity for a little while, but it never lasted long, and my mother always had to go back to her singing. They liked her at that place and were kind to her. I always thought the proprietor was mixed up with Father in some sort of deal. But as I grew older, Mother wouldn’t let me go near the place, and she made me promise I would never go there even if she were taken away. She wanted me never to let people know I could sing.”

  Grandmother’s face kindled at that.

  “But this last time when Father went away,” went on Sheila, “Mother didn’t find it so easy to get her place back again. There was a young girl who sang jazz and danced and was more familiar with men. Mother wasn’t like that. She was always very distant to everybody, just did her part gorgeously and went off to her dressing room. Some of the new people didn’t like that, and if it hadn’t been for the old proprietor, she would have been dropped at once, but he insisted that Mother had to be kept on, too. But there was a new manager; the old man had had a stroke and couldn’t do much, and the new manager was hateful to Mother. Made her sing twice as much, encores and things, and cut down her pay. I was working evenings, too, at the Junction Hotel, waiting on tables and washing dishes. Mother hated it for me, and I was still in school, you know, so it kept me pretty busy, but it was the only way to make ends meet.”

  “Oh!” groaned Grandmother. “To think that I—”

  “You don’t need to feel that way,” said Sheila pityingly. “I knew how to take care of myself. My mother taught me to keep away from everybody as much as possible and not let anyone get familiar with me. No, don’t stop me yet, Grandmother, I must tell the rest. I’m almost done.”

  The old lady wiped away the tears and set herself to listen again.

  “That last winter was a hard one. I knew Mother was sick, but I didn’t know how sick till afterward.” Sheila took a deep breath and held her lip between her teeth to keep it from quivering. “I tried several times to keep her from going to sing, but she would do it. She said if she stayed away just once the new manager would have something to complain of and she would lose the job entirely. But that last night it was raining and she was very weak. She had been lying on the bed all day, too sick to eat, but she would go. I begged her to let me take her place. She knew I could do it. I could sing all her songs. But she rose right up as if she were frightened and began to dress.”

  Sheila paused to close her eyes and take a deep breath, as if the memory hurt her too much for words. Then she hurried on.

  “I got off from my work that night because I was worried about her. But I could not stop her. Then I begged her to let me go with her, but she grew so excited I was frightened. I think she dreaded that place for me worse than anything she knew. So when she started out in the rain, I followed her. I dared not let her go alone. The wind was blowing a terrific gale, and she was like a willow wand in its power. How she ever got to the hall I do not know. It was all I could do sometimes to keep my footing. And once she reeled and almost fell but caught hold of a tree and went on when the blast was over.”

  Grandmother had lifted her face now, and her eyes were bright with excitement as she listened breathlessly to a tale that was cutting her soul with anguish. But Sheila had forgotten her listener perhaps. Her face was tense; her eyes were far away as she went rapidly on.

  “After she had reached the door and gone in, I hovered about in the shadow by the side entrance until I got a chance to steal in when no one was looking. I knew the way around, of course, for I had been with her so much when I was little. I slipped into the end of the hall behind her dressing room where I knew people seldom came. There was a closet nearby where I could hide if it became necessary, and I watched and listened. When she came out of her dressing room, I watched her from the dark and saw her totter. I was afraid she would fall before she got on the platform, and I stole out to keep near if she needed me. But I was amazed when I heard her voice. It was rich and clearer than it had been for years. It seemed as if she had put all she was and all she ever had been into that song. It was an old Irish ballad, and it seemed to me I could see the castle where she was born and the shamrock gleaming like emerald. She had told me about Ireland, and it always seems to me that I have been there, it is so real to me.”

  Sheila’s eyes were large and filled with tears, but she went on with her tale without stopping to wipe the tears away.

  “The audience went wild. They cheered and cheered and called her back again and again. And each time, instead of growing weak, her voice seemed stronger and clearer than the last. I couldn’t believe my ears, and she so sick all day! But then after she had sung over almost her whole repertoire, I heard her speak, sweet and clear, and there was something in her voice that I had never heard before, a kind of command and confidence and a great tenderness. The clapping stopped, and the room was so still it seemed as if I could hear people breathe, almost hear them think. She said, ‘I can give you only one more tonight. I am very tired. Listen! It is an old song I love. I leave it with you!’ And then she began to sing—it was slow and sweet and tender but so clear that every word reached out into the far shadows of the room:

  ‘Jesus, lover of my soul,

  Let me to thy bosom fly,’

  “I had never heard her sing like that. Every word seemed as if it were a cry from her soul to God.

  ‘Hide me, O my savior hide,

  Till the storm of life is past,’

  “It broke my heart to listen, but I was drawn closer and closer to the door just behind the stage till I could see her standing there in her little old white dress, with her face so white and sweet and her eyes looking up as if she saw beyond the gaudy garlands of the place.”

  Sheila’s voice broke, and she buried her face in her hands for an instant then lifted her head once more and hurried on.

  “As I watched her, I seemed to know that she was not singing anymore, she was praying, really praying to God. I think the people in the room all felt it, too, for some of them were crying. Even the rough men stopped drinking and the women stopped laughing and listened and had tears in their eyes. But she wasn’t thinking of them anymore, she was singing right on:

  ‘All my trust on Thee is stayed,’

  “She sang all through the verses, and no one spoke nor moved:

  ‘Thou, O Christ, art all I want;

  More than all in Thee I find:’

  “Her voice grew with each line into a great crescendo:

  ‘Plenteous grace with Thee is found,

  Grace to cover all my sin,’

  “Her accompanist at first had just struck chords here and there. He was used to following her, just wandering into her key and improvising, but when she came to the last verse, he broke into great triumphant strains, as if he sensed for an instant how real it all was, and then he suddenly died away and left her to sing those last four lines alone:

  ‘Thou of life the Fountain are,

  Freely let me
take of Thee

  Spring Thou up within my heart,

  Rise to all eternity.’

  “She sang it so triumphantly, so pleadingly. I saw the pianist suddenly look up as if he half expected to see God standing somewhere above. There wasn’t a waver of her full, wonderful tone to the last word sustained to the end, and then, suddenly, as the sound died away to a whisper, I heard a great sob come from somewhere down by a table back by the door, and Mother dropped softly down in a little white heap—

  “Even before I started to run out there to her, I knew she was gone, and it seemed to me as if God had somehow let her sort of glorify the awful work she had to do, the work she hated so and only did for my sake.”

  Sheila was still for an instant, looking out the open door down toward the lilies where the hummingbird was glancing here and there with green and gold flashes; then she raised her great blue-drenched eyes and said quietly, “I think she is in someplace like that over there, now, for that’s as near to heaven as I could ever dream, and I’m sure if there’s a heaven she is in it.”

  She said the last words defiantly and looked at her grandmother sitting there so silently, weeping great tears down upon her withered clasped hands.

  Then the girl suddenly closed her eyes and lay back wearily as if the effort of talking had been too much for her, and for an instant the old lady’s tears dropping softly on her hands was all that could be heard in the room.

  Chapter 3

  I wasn’t going to come here at all.” Sheila’s tired voice took up the story again. “I was going somewhere to find some work. Even after I’d sent you the telegram from Chicago saying what train I would take, I almost backed out. But somehow I had to come and tell you about my mother once—let you see how mistaken you were—before I did another thing. But—I—guess—maybe—it was no use. I suppose—you’ll go right on—thinking what you’ve always done—!”

  There was a catch in her voice like a sob as it trailed off into silence again, and the grandmother sprang up as if she had been struck and went over to kneel beside her.

  “Oh, my dear!” she said in a little catchy voice full of tears. “It is of use. I don’t think so anymore. I think your mother was wonderful! And I wish so much I’d known her and could have helped her in her hard time. Oh, I was a fool, a fool! I knew my boy was a black sheep, but I kept right on blaming outside influences, and I was afraid of everything that came in his way that might lead him farther astray. Oh, forgive me, forgive me, little Sheila! I’m a poor silly old fool of a grandmother. I shall never forgive myself that I did not help her. It was all my fault, dear child! Can you forgive your wicked old grandmother?”

  They were both crying now together, their arms locked around one another, their tears mingling. Grandmother drew her newfound girl close and kissed her, and Sheila’s lips answered to the tender pressure of the soft ones.

  Then a great weakness came over the tired girl again; her arms dropped away from around her grandmother, her head fell back on the pillow of the couch, and her breath came feebly.

  Grandmother sprang up, conscience smitten.

  “Child!” she said in great concern. “You aren’t able to talk. You need a good hot bath and then a long sleep. Come, we will go up to your room—”

  Sheila roused again.

  “I couldn’t really,” she said with a sweet dignity that made her grandmother marvel. “I didn’t come here to work on your sympathies. I came to tell you that you need not be ashamed of my mother, and you need no longer think of me as a disgrace. No, please, I really understand. You didn’t know, of course, and I have no hard feeling about it now that you know it all. I am content to go. Just let me have another taste of that wonderful cold drink and I can go on.”

  “Go on?” said Grandmother with dismay in her voice. “But you have come to stay with me! I have invited you! Dear child, if I ask you to forgive me for the ignorance and unkindness, the mistaken notion I had of your mother, won’t you believe me that I had no ill will against her?”

  “Yes,” said Sheila, giving her a clear, steady look. “You look as if you were a good grandmother and told the truth. I’ll believe you. And sometime later if you still want me, I’ll come back and visit you. But I’ve got to find a job now somewhere and get some decent clothes first. I wouldn’t want to come back to you even to visit this way.”

  “Dear little girl!” said the grandmother, letting the tears flow down unheeded. “Do you suppose I care about your clothes?”

  “Perhaps not,” said the girl wearily, “but my mother would not have liked me to come to you this way. I must not disgrace her. If I hadn’t been afraid of that man, I would not have even come to talk to you until I was fitly dressed. But I had to leave suddenly.”

  “Sheila, dear child, don’t you know that it will be my greatest pleasure to get you all that you need? Don’t you know that I shall never feel that I can do enough to undo the terrible mistake made when I did not help my poor misguided boy to make a good home for your mother? Oh, child, I shall never feel that you have forgiven me unless you stay with me now, and let us get to know each other and heal all the hurts of the years! Sheila, my baby Andrew’s little daughter, don’t you see my heart is hungry for you? Maybe I’ve been wrong and proud, but don’t you be proud, too. Two prides never make a right. It’s been all wrong. Let’s begin again, will you, little girl?”

  Grandmother’s arms were around her again, her dear old eyes wet with bitter tears, pleading, her white hair fallen in little soft silver waves around her flushed, eager face.

  Then at last Sheila’s pride broke, and she bowed her head upon the frail old shoulder and gave herself up to the tender arms that encircled her.

  Suddenly Grandmother came to herself.

  “Child! You are roasting alive in that hot coat and hat! There’s a land breeze today, and it’s unusually sultry. Get it off right away. No matter how you look. There’s nobody here to see, and nobody shall ever know even if your blouse is soiled. Get up, dearie, and come right upstairs with me. Where are your things? At the station? Did you order them sent up?”

  Sheila laughed wearily. “Oh, Grandmother!” she said almost hysterically. “All the things I own in the world are out there at your gate in an old suitcase that is just ready to drop to pieces.”

  “I’ll call Janet to bring it in—” began the old lady.

  “No, please,” said Sheila, springing up, “I wouldn’t have her see it for anything! She’d never forget it. Please, I’ve carried it all the way from the station, and I guess I can carry it a few steps farther.” And Sheila fairly flew out the door and retrieved her decrepit baggage.

  The old lady held the door open for her and watched the sag of the young shoulders as she lugged the old satchel into the house.

  “And you carried that all the way from the station! Why, child, it’s a good six miles! Oh, my poor little girl!”

  “It’s not so heavy,” panted Sheila, feeling a great weakness suddenly steal over her again. “Now, where do I take it?”

  “Right up the stairs, dear, the first room on the right.” And Grandmother trotted excitedly up after the girl.

  The old lady gave one glance, aghast, at the oilcloth satchel.

  “Put it in the closet, dearie,” she said. “Don’t try to unpack now, you’re too tired. I’ve got a nice little cool nightie in my room that I bought for your cousin Jessica, but I never gave it to her. I found she had taken to wearing outlandish pajamas, so I never even told her about it. I’ll get it.”

  She was off on her excited old feet and came back in a moment with a wisp of pale pink and lace over her arm and a soft silk robe of pale green crepe.

  “There! Those were just made for you,” she declared, throwing them down on the foot of the bed. “Now, there’s your bathroom!” And she threw open the door into a white-tiled sanctum that looked like a corner of heaven to the soiled, travel-stained girl. “You take a good hot bath and then a cold shower. You know how to work the show
er? It turns on here. Now, I’ll run down a few minutes and see to having your lunch on a tray. Yes, you’re going to get right into that bed and eat your lunch and then you’re going to sleep! There’s no use protesting. I’m boss here now at least till you get rested. After that we’ll let you have as much of your own way as is good for you, anyway. Now, be smart and mind me! And when you’re done washing, get right into that bed and lie still till I come back. Now, will you be a good girl, or do I have to stay here and see that you are?”

  Sheila laughed wearily with a great relief in her voice. “Oh, I’ll be good. For to tell you the truth, I’m so absolutely all in that I don’t believe I’d get farther than that lovely wicket gate even if I tried to run away and have a decent self-respect.”

  So Grandmother trotted away downstairs to the kitchen almost gleefully and gave exultant little commands to her sullen maid.

  “Get the tray, Janet; no, not that one. The silver one from the dining room. And yes, the lace doilies! And the Dresden china!”

  There was a “this my son” lilt in her voice.

  “A bowl of the hot soup with plenty of rice, Janet! Yes, hot! Not frozen. She’s worn out with a fearful journey and needs stimulating! And the breast of a chicken, Janet, the whole half! And isn’t there a potato roasted yet? A small one could be done, wouldn’t it? When did you put them in? That will do nicely, Janet. You have a pan of hot rolls up in the warming oven, haven’t you? And plenty of butter. Roasted potatoes take a lot, you know, and so do rolls.”

  Janet went about with a disapproving air still, but Grandmother ignored it, talking as if Janet were as eager as herself, as indeed she had been but a short hour ago, before she saw the shabby little stranger that was turning out to be the expected granddaughter.