THE HONOR GIRL Read online

  Five minutes later she emerged from the telephone booth well satisfied. Mr. Belknap had been very energetic and complete. He had arranged to have things delivered within two hours at the latest. He had discovered a number of bargains for her benefit, and he knew all about sizes and qualities, which she did not. His suggestions were valuable. She had the comfortable feeling that everything could be returned that was not satisfactory. He had told her of some wonderful values in eider-down quilts—of course only flowered sateen, but really neat and pretty, pink, blue, and yellow. He told her which blankets were warmest, said a dimity spread was good enough for daily use, and revealed to her ignorance the advantage of buying a dozen of the Turkish and huckaback towels on sale in the basement, and getting her tablecloths and napkins ready hemmed. He also suggested washrags, and promised to look up a few plain linen bureau-scarfs and a sideboard-cover to send with the rest. On the whole, she was very happy. There was half an hour before those women would be at the house. She had time to stop at the grocery and get soap, brooms, and a scrubbing-brush. That awful sink! What could she do with that? Wasn’t it lye that Aunt Esther always used when the drainpipes got stopped up? Yes, lye and boiling water.

  Once in the store, she found a number of things that would help the work along—sand soap, silver-polish, floor-oil, a mop. It was remarkable how the list grew. For Elsie had been well brought up in ways of a household, and always had her regular duties with the daughters of the house. On Thursdays and Sundays when the cook went out she and Katharine and Bettina took turns in cooking the dinner, and each was proud of the specialties in the way of cookery in which she had learned to excel.

  Now, as Elsie came to the other side of the store, where a genial-faced white-aproned butcher was tying up a luscious beef roast, she suddenly decided to yield to her desire to get dinner and leave it behind her in the lonesome house. There was a roast. It would be nothing at all to put that into the oven and roast it while she was doing other things. Then, when it was done, she could turn the gas low to keep it hot. And why not put some potatoes to roast beside it?

  In a moment more she was bargaining for the roast and going excitedly around the store picking out various things: a head of lettuce, a few ripe tomatoes, a bottle of salad-oil, a can of corn, and another of beans to make succotash. How that dinner grew! Just as if she hadn’t a whole house to clean in one short afternoon!

  “How about some lovely canned pumpkin?” suggested the smiling storekeeper, thumping down a can with a great golden sphere pictured on the label. “Like pumpkin pies? This is a new lot. Fine! Better try it.”

  Elsie hesitated. Pumpkin pies were her specialty. She could make delectable ones. But could she possibly get time to make pie-crust? Pies would be so nice and pleasant to have on hand, two or three of them for hungry men; and she had reached the stage in her game where she desired above all things to make a pleasant spot for those three forlorn ones of her family to come home to. She inquired whether they could get her some milk; and upon finding it possible she abandoned all thought of being judicious and gave herself up to ordering. Eggs, sugar, flour, butter, lard, cinnamon, molasses, ginger, potatoes, bread, baking-powder—she would make some little biscuits too, if there was time—coffee. There seemed to be no end!

  She suddenly discovered that she had but three minutes to get back to the house before her helpers arrived; and, seizing a bar of soap and scrubbing-brush, she went away with the smiling assurance that her order would be sent up at once.

  The two black women entered the house in her wake with the air of two grim bronze censors who were about to discover for themselves what had long been an object of curiosity. They looked about alertly. Elsie was glad she had put a semblance of order into the rooms before she summoned assistance, and resolved not to let them go upstairs until she had first made some changes on the second floor.

  “Now, we shall have to wash the dishes first and put this kitchen in order,” she said, speaking firmly, as if disordered kitchens like that were quite common affairs.

  “Gracious! Mis’ Elsie, they have left a mess, haven’t they? I guess Rebecca wouldn’t know the place. It’s about a year since she went to work on the hill, isn’t it?”

  So Rebecca had gone to work on the hill. Elsie did not answer the question. She kept steadily on, giving directions. There was a mountain of work to be done, and she meant to have it done in the swiftest way.

  “Just light all those gas jets, and put on kettles of water to heat, and light the hot water back. It will take a good deal of hot water. While we are waiting for it, suppose you sort out the dishes and get them stacked neatly so there will be room for the dish-pans. Your daughter can empty out the water from the sink and get it ready to clean. Do you know how to fix that sink so it will work? I bought some lye.”

  “Yes, sure, honey, lye’ll cut that grease. Lizzie, you get that ladle, and dip out the water into that pail.”

  In a moment they were both interested in their work, and Elsie went upstairs to her room, slipped off her pretty dress, and donned an old gingham wrapper of her mother’s, which she found in a bureau drawer. Then she deliberately bundled up all the bedclothing from her father’s and brother’s beds, tied them together for future reference and carried them to the storeroom. By the time she had picked up the soiled clothes and hung up a few of the garments that were lying about, the grocery boy had come, and she went down to superintend the work below stairs. Dish-towels and dishcloths were a problem; but she solved it by having a few old napkins washed out and hung over the gas-range to dry, and putting the dishes to drain out of very hot rinsing-water while they waited.

  It is marvelous what three smart people can accomplish in a short space of time when one of them is a good leader. Elsie was not an old housekeeper; but she was a girl of great executive ability, and she had a definite idea of what she must do. She took the shortest cut she saw as a means to that end. The two hired ladies obeyed her commands with silence, respect, and growing interest. Before three o’clock every dish was washed and draining, and Lizzie had started to dry them while her mother wiped off the pantry and china-closet shelves, washed the tables, and scrubbed the kitchen floor.

  Elsie meanwhile had been clearing out the debris from the sideboard drawers and consigning it all to two pasteboard boxes in the storeroom. Then, when the drawers were wiped out, they were ready for the knives and forks; and it seemed as if there was a clean spot from which to start.

  As soon as the dishes were in their places, Elsie set Lizzie and her mother to sweeping the worn rugs and oiling around the edges of the floor, the stairs and handrail. Then with a look of almost guiltiness she stole into the kitchen and began her pies. There were difficulties to overcome in the form of no molding-board and a misused rolling-pin with dents and creases all over it; but she managed to roll out three pretty creditable bottom crusts, and it took no time at all to mix the pumpkin, milk, eggs, sugar, spices, and molasses.

  When she set the last pie triumphantly into the oven, she realized that she was tired enough to cry. Her hands were fairly trembling in their haste, and her heart was beating wildly with the amount she had yet to accomplish before six o’clock. She had set that hour because she knew that shortly after that, her father and brothers would arrive. She must have everything done by then, and be off. She felt now as if she were running a race. She ought to have telephoned Bettina that she was not going to that concert and let her give her ticket to someone else, but there was no time to think of that. She fled to the other room, and was delighted to find that her assistants had both finished their tasks and were now at the upper hall. The house smelled pleasantly of soap and cedar oil. She glanced uneasily out the front door. It was more than time for her order from the city to arrive. What if it should not come at all?

  But she must not waste time thinking. She would get dinner ready as fast as possible before she had to open her parcels and dispose of their contents.

  She selected the serving-dishes first, and s
et them in the warming-oven; it was the way her aunt had taught her at home. She washed the lettuce, prepared the tomatoes, and set them, along with three pretty plates, on the sideboard with the bottle of salad-oil. She filled the sugar-bowl and the salt and pepper cellars, opened her cans of corn and beans, washed her potatoes, and got the roast ready to be put into the oven; then the delivery-car arrived with the things, and everything had to be attended to at once. In the midst of opening her packages she almost forgot the roast; but, when it was safely in the oven, she hurried back to her bundles.

  The women had finished the sweeping on the second floor, and were scouring the bathroom. She could hear their vigorous rubbings with sand soap on the sides of the bathtub and the old linoleum. She hurried the things out of their papers, rejoicing in their newness and whiteness. But there was no time to admire. Five minutes to a bed was all she had to spare. Could she do it?

  She spread on the sheets and blanket, smoothed a white coverlet over her father’s bed, plumped the pillows into fresh cases, and tucked the pretty yellow sateen eider-down quilt in an artistic roll at the foot. What a difference it made! Then she seized one of the bureau-scarfs and whisked it upon the bureau. The room was a changed place.

  With her heart swelling with pride and her arms filled with more sheets and blankets she went on to Eugene’s room, and wrought the same magic change there. By this time the two women were scrubbing the third-story stairs, and would soon be up to Jack’s room. She would wait to make up his bed and fix things till they came down.

  She went down to the kitchen again, and found the pies gently simmering away, beginning to brown, and the roast sizzling contentedly. Then she dressed out the sideboard in its cover, and began to set the table. At once the whole house took on a comfortable, festive appearance, and the savory odors let out when she opened the oven door began creeping up even to the second and third stories, so that the two black women felt the atmosphere, and talked in low tones about it.

  “She’s a right smart little girl,” said the mother. “Reckon her mother’d be proud of her.”

  “Did you see the shoes she had on?” whispered her daughter. “Say, Ma, I’d like some like those. If she stays here and we work for her again, I’m going to find out what she paid for them.”

  When the table was set, Elsie ran out into the yard, and picked a handful of yellow roses from the straggling old bush in the yard, and put them into a vase in the center of the table. They always had flowers of some kind on the dinner table at Aunt Esther’s. It gave the one little festive touch now that showed a woman had been at work trying to make things beautiful. The two helpers stopped on the stairs to admire.

  “Say, now, isn’t that pretty?” declared the mother, her eyes fixed on the bedecked table. “Say, aren’t you handy, now? Flowers certainly do make a difference. And those pumpkin pies certainly do smell good.”

  Lizzie stood enviously watching the graceful girl as she flitted to and fro, putting the napkins around and arranging the spoons and forks.

  Elsie set her helpers to cleaning out the back kitchen and making the back door more presentable while she went up to Jack’s room. Somehow the making of that bed and the straightening of the old bureau and chest of drawers there gave her more pleasure than what she had done on the other rooms, for Jack would always seem a child to her because he was nearer her own age.

  She felt a trifle unhappy about making up the bed there on the floor, it looked so unfinished; but a swift survey of the old headboard and footboard showed her several reasons why Jack had abandoned them, for one leg was broken, and the main panel of the headboard was cracked from end to end. She returned to the low bed and made it as pretty as possible, with two plump white pillows at the head and the rosy eider-down quilt rolled artistically at the foot. She arranged the bureau-scarf, the prettiest one of all, and ran down to her room to bring up a little photograph of their mother framed in a silver frame, to set in front of the mirror.

  After all, she looked around with dissatisfaction when it was finished. There was so much more that needed doing. There were no curtains whatever at the windows, no good cheer anywhere. But she had done her best for the present, and the woman was calling from below to say she had finished the back kitchen and must go home and get supper for her husband.

  Elsie hurried down and paid her, taking a peep into the oven after they were gone. More savory odors floated out and filled the room invitingly. It was time to put in the potatoes and start the corn and beans to cooking. There was thickening to mix for the gravy, too; for she must have everything ready, and not be hindered at the last minute. It might be possible they would come home earlier than she expected, and she did not want to be in evidence when they arrived. This thought sent her flying to lock the front door and place the key under the mat as she had found it. They would be delayed for a minute to unlock the door, and she would have opportunity to slip unseen out of the back door and get away in case they came before she left.

  She hurried in at the back door again. It was a quarter to six, and there was no time to waste. She cut the bread; got a plate of butter and a pitcher of fresh water; poured what milk was left into a pitcher; set out the pies to cool, putting one on the sideboard with three pie-plates beside it; took up the roast on its platter and set it in the warming-oven; made a beautiful bowl of rich brown gravy; and hurried upstairs to change her dress and obliterate all traces of her presence. Then with an anxious glance out the window she stole quickly downstairs again, hung her hat and hand-bag on a hook in the back kitchen, left the doors unlatched conveniently for sudden flight, made the coffee, and took up her watch at the hall window where she could command both the front and side streets.

  It was ten minutes after six. She could hear the trolley car coming in the distance. Her father might come on that, perhaps, and she ought to take the return one which would come down toward the city in another five minutes. She held her breath and watched anxiously. Somehow, now that her work was completed, she longed to stay and see its effect; but something half like shame withheld her. And, besides, she was by no means sure of her attitude toward her father and brothers. She had done this today for them, but was not prepared to have more obligations placed upon her. She wanted to think out the situation before she saw them again. She was not sure she wanted to see them at all, to have them know that she had done this.

  She glanced swiftly back around the pretty table, across the tidy hall, into the shadowy depths of the living-room. It was still lonely and desolate, but nothing like what it had been when she came. She sniffed the luscious pie on the sideboard, thought of the white, warm beds upstairs, and was glad she had come. Then she looked back to her window, and saw a bus drawing up to the curb and her two brothers in working-garb getting out. They must be working over at the locomotive works.

  She turned and fled to the kitchen. There was time to get the roast on the table. She flew to the table with the platter. A glance from the window showed her that her brothers were pausing to talk with one of the men who got off the bus. She could bring the succotash and perhaps the gravy.

  As she set down the gravy boat, she saw they were to come in. One more trip with the potatoes! She could risk it, for they had to unlock the door yet, and they might not find the potatoes till after dinner if she didn’t put them on the table. The coffee she could leave on the stove, for they would smell it.

  As she paused to turn the gas jet low under the coffeepot, she heard the key grate in the lock, and she fled precipitately out the back door into the laundry, closing it noiselessly behind her. She put on her hat with trembling hands. Picking up her bag, she tiptoed down the back steps, pulling the door softly shut behind her, and slid around at the side under the old cherry tree where no one could see her. She could hear the trolley car almost here now. She must hide until it had passed, and then run down the side street a few steps and cross over where she would not be noticed.

  With the dress held back she peeked cautiously around the corner
of the kitchen. The trolley car was stopping. Yes, her father was getting out. The conductor was steadying him as he went down the steps, as if he were old or sick. Ah! Did he stagger as he went out toward the curb? Her heart sank heavily. She watched with straining eyes. He was coming up the gravel walk, slowly, dejectedly, as if he did not care, with uneven steps, as if his mind were not on his walking.

  With something like a sob in her throat the girl turned in panic, and fled noiselessly over the long, matted grass to the side street. She half expected them to come out after her, and walked almost halfway down the block before she dared look back to see that no one was following. Then simultaneously she heard the distant whir of the returning trolley car, and realized that she must hasten if she would get back to the corner before it reached there. She crossed the street and hurried along, keeping well in the shadow of the hedges, and scarcely daring to look toward her home lest some one should be watching for her and recognize her.

  But the house was very quiet. A sudden fear gripped her heart lest they should not discover the dinner before it grew cold; but the trolley was almost at hand. She could not linger to see. Then, as she turned to step out and signal the car, she saw a light flash up in the dining-room, and two—or was it three?—dim figures standing motionless in the middle of the room. Just that brief glimpse she caught as she climbed into the trolley and was whirled away cityward.

  Chapter 5

  It was Eugene who unlocked the front door and entered first. Jack lingered with a wistful look behind him at the sunset. Every night it was the same. Jack dreaded to enter that drear abode. He delayed the sight of the desolation as long as possible, and once inside the door put on a gruff, surly attitude toward everything, ate what supper he could get together in silence, made a frantic toilet in his cluttered room, and hastened away to spend the hours of leisure in whatever festivity presented itself in the dull little suburb.