Re-Creations Read online

  It was twelve o’clock when she at last got permission of herself to go upstairs, and she carried with her broom, mop, soap, scrubbing brush, and plenty of hot water and old cloths. She paused at the door of the front room long enough to rummage in the bureau drawers and get out an old allover gingham apron of her mother’s, which she donned before ascending to the third floor.

  In the doorway of her brother’s room she stood appalled once more, scarcely knowing where to begin. Then, putting down her brushes and pails in the hall, she started in at the doorway, picking up the first things that came in her way. Clothes first. She sorted them out quickly, hanging the good things on the railing of the stairs, the worn and soiled ones in piles on the floor, ready for the laundry, the ragman, and the mending basket. When the garments were all out, she turned back, and the room seemed to be just as full and just as messy as it had been before. She began again, this time gleaning the newspapers and magazines. That made quite a hole in the floor space. Next she dragged the twisted blankets off the mattress and threw them down the stairs. Somehow they must be washed or aired or replaced before that bed would be fit to sleep in. After a thoughtful moment of looking over the banisters at them, she descended and carried them all to the little backyard, where she hung them on a short line that had been stretched from the fence to the house. They made a sorry sight, but she would have to leave them till later. The sun and air would help. There wasn’t much sun, and there was still a sharp tang of rain in the air; it had been raining at intervals all the morning. Well, if it rained on them, they certainly needed it, and anyhow it was too late in the day for her to try to wash any of them. She must do the best she could this first day.

  Thus she reasoned as she frowningly surveyed the grimy blankets, her eyes lingering on a scorched place near the top of one. Suddenly her expression changed. “You’ve just got to be washed!” she said firmly, and snatching the blankets from the line, rushed in to arrange for large quantities of hot water, cleared off the stationary tubs and dumped in the blankets, shaved up the only bar of soap she could find, and then went rummaging in the front room while the water was heating. Of course all this took strength, but she was not realizing how weary she was growing. Her mettle was up, and she was working on her nerve. It was a mercy with all she had before her that she was well and strong, and fresh from gymnasium and basketball training. It would take all her strength before she was done.

  She emerged from the parlor twenty minutes later triumphant, with a number of things that she was sure would be needed. She went to work at the blankets with vigor, rubbing and pulling away at the scorched place until it was almost obliterated. Did Carey smoke in his sleep, she wondered, or did he have guests that did? How dreadful that Carey had come to this, and she away at college improving herself and complacently expecting to make her mark in the world!

  The blankets were drying on the line in half an hour more, and she glanced at the clock. A whole hour had gone, and she must hasten. She sped back upstairs and went to work again, dragging out the furniture to the hall, picking up books and magazines from the floor, till the room was stark and empty except for cigarette buds. She surveyed them in disgust and then assailed the room with brushes, brooms, and mop. She threw the windows wide open and swept the wall down vigorously. Before her onslaught dust and ashes disappeared, and even the dismal wallpaper took on a brighter hue.

  “It’s got to come off and be repapered or painted some pretty, soft, pastel shade,” she threatened in an undertone to herself as she surveyed the room after soap and water had done their best on floor, woodwork, and windows. She was looking at the bleary wallpaper with a troubled frown.

  Of course she couldn’t do everything in a day, but Carey’s room must be clean and inviting before she would be satisfied. No wonder he stayed out late nights, or didn’t come home at all, perhaps, with such a room as that. There ought to be more windows, too. What a pity the builder had been so stingy with them! It was a dark, ugly hole, and there was no need for it, for the room occupied the whole end and could have had openings on three sides and been delightful.

  Suddenly she began to feel a great weariness stealing over her and tears coming into her eyes. She was overwhelmed with all that was before her. She sat down on the upper stair and looked about her discouragedly. All these things to be put somewhere! And time going so fast! Then she remembered her bread and with an exclamation rushed down to put it into the pans.

  It had risen almost to the top of the bread raiser, and with a mental apology for her forgetfulness she hastened to mold it out into loaves and put it into the greased tins. When it was neatly tucked up under a bit of old linen she had found in the sideboard drawer, she began to prepare the meat for dinner and put it on to cook—a beautiful big pot roast. She deftly seared it with an onion in a hot frying pan and put it to simmer in boiling water with the rinsings of the browned pan, being careful to recall all her mother’s early instruction on the subject. She could remember that pot roast was always a favorite dish at home, and she herself had been longing for a taste of real home-cooked pot roast ever since she had been away.

  She fixed the fire carefully so that the meat would simmer just enough and not boil too hard and make it tough, and gave a despairing glance at the clock. How fast the minutes flew! She ought to go back upstairs, but it was a quarter to three, and she wanted to get the table set for dinner before she left so that the dining room would have a pleasant look to the children when they came home. She was quite breathless and excited over their coming. She felt as if she would be almost embarrassed before them after the conversation she had overheard in the morning.

  So she attacked the dining room with broom and duster, wiped off the windowpanes and straightened the shade, swept away a mass of miscellaneous articles from the clock shelf, cleared off the sideboard, hunted out a clean old linen cover, polished the mirror, and found a clean tablecloth. But the tablecloth had a great hole in it, and fifteen valuable minutes were wasted in finding a patch and setting it hastily in place with a needle and thread that also had to be hunted for. Then some of the dishes had to be washed before they were fit for use, as they were covered with dust from packing. And all together it was five minutes to four before Cornelia finally had that table set to her satisfaction and could stand back for a brief minute and take it in with tired but shining eyes. Would they notice the difference and be a little glad that she had come? They had taken her for a lazy snob in the morning. Would they feel any better about it now?

  And the table did look pretty. It was set as a table should be set, with dishes and glasses and silver in the correct places and napkins neatly folded, and in the center was a small pot of pink primroses in full bloom. For it would not have been Cornelia if there had not been a bit of decoration about somewhere, and it was like Cornelia when she went out to market and thought of meat and bread and milk and butter and all the other necessities, to think also of that bit of brightness and refinement and go into a small flower shop she was passing to get this pretty primrose.

  Then in panic the weary big sister brought out one loaf of gingerbread, cut several generous slices, left it on the sideboard in a welcome attitude, and fled upstairs to finish Carey’s room.

  Five minutes later, as she was struggling with the bedsprings, trying to bring them into conjunction with the headboard, she heard their hurrying feet, and leaning from the window, called, “Children! Come up here a minute and help me.”

  “I can’t,” shouted Harry with a frown. “I got a job afternoons, and I gotta hustle. I’m late a’ready, and I have to change my clo’es!” And he vanished inside the door.

  “I have to go to the store for things for dinner!” reproved the young sister stiffly, and vanished also.

  Cornelia felt suddenly in her weariness like sitting down on the floor in a fit of hysterical laughter or tears. Would they never forgive her? She dropped on the floor with her head wearily back against the window and closed her eyes. She had meant to tell them ab
out the gingerbread, but they had been in such a hurry, and somehow the spirit seemed gone out of her surprise.

  Downstairs it was very still. The children had been halted at the entrance by the appetizing odor of cooking.

  “Sniff!”

  “Oh, gee!” said Harry. “It smells like Mother was home.”

  Louise stalked hurriedly to the dining room door.

  “Harry Copley, just look here! Now, what did I tell you about college girls?”

  Harry came and stood entranced.

  “Oh, gee!” he murmured. “Isn’t that just great? Oh, say, Lou Copley, just gaze on that sideboard! I’ll tell the world this is some day!” And he strode to the sideboard and stopped all further speech by more than a mouthful of the fragrant gingercake.

  The little housewife took swift steps to the kitchen door and sniffed. She took in the row of plump bread tins almost ready to go into the oven, the gently bubbling kettle with its fragrant steam, and the shining dresser with its neat rows of dishes that she had never been able to find, and then she whirled on her astonished brother.

  “Harry Copley! You answered her real mean! You go upstairs and apologize quick! And then you beat it and change your clothes and get to work. I’ll help her. We’re going to work together after this, she and I.” And seizing a large slice of gingerbread in her passing, she flew up the stairs to find her sister.

  Chapter 5

  They appeared in the doorway suddenly, after a sound like locomotives rushing up the stairs, and surrounded her where she sat, after one astonished pause at the doorway staring around the unfamiliar room. They smothered her with hugs and kisses and demanded to know how she got so much done and what she wanted of them anyway, and they smeared her with gingerbread and made her glad; and then just as suddenly, Harry disappeared with the floating explanation trailing back after him:

  “Oh, gee! I gotta beat it.”

  A few rustling movements in his own little closet of a room, and he was back attired in an old Boy Scout uniform and cramming down the last bite of his gingerbread.

  “Anything I can do before I go? Oh, here!” as he saw his sisters about to put the bed together. “That won’t take a second! Say, you girls don’t know how to do that. Lemme.”

  And, surprising to state, he pushed them aside and whacked the bed together in no time, slatted on the mattress with his sturdy young arms, and was gone down through the dining room and out into the street with another huge slice of gingerbread in his hands.

  Cornelia straightened her tired shoulders and looked at the subdued bed wonderingly. How handily he had done it! How strong he was! It was amazing.

  Louise stood looking about with shining eyes.

  “Say, Nellie, it looks lovely here, so clean and nice. I never thought it could be done; it looked so awful! I wanted to do something, and I know Mother felt fierce about not fixing his room before she left, but I just couldn’t get time.”

  “Of course you couldn’t dear!” said Cornelia, suddenly realizing how wise and brave this little sister had been. “You’ve been wonderful to do anything. Why didn’t they send for me before, Louie? Tell me, how long had you been in this house before Mother was taken sick?”

  “Why, only a day. She fainted, you know, trying to carry that marble bureau top upstairs, and fell down.”

  “Oh! My dear!”

  The two sisters stood with their arms about each other mingling their tears for a moment, and somehow as she stood there, Cornelia felt as if the years melted away, the college years while she had been absent, and brought her back heart and soul to her home and her loved ones again.

  “But Louie, dear, what has become of the best furniture? Did they have to rent the old house furnished? I can’t find Mother’s mahogany or the parlor things, anything but the piano.”

  The color rolled up into the little girl’s face, and she dropped her eyes. “Oh, no, Nellie. They went long ago,” she said, “before we even moved to the State Street house.”

  “The State Street house?”

  “Why, yes, Father sold the Glenside house just after you went to college. You knew that, didn’t you? And then we moved to an old yellow house farther toward the city. But it was pulled down to make room for a factory; and I was glad, for it was horrid, and a long walk to school. And then we went to a brick row down near the factory, and it was convenient for Father, but—”

  “Factory? Father? What do you mean, dear? Has Father gone into business for himself? He was a bookkeeper at Dudley and Warner’s when I left.”

  “Oh, but he lost that a long, long time ago, after he was sick so long.”

  “Father sick? Louie! And I not told?”

  “Why, I didn’t know they hadn’t told you. Maybe Mother wouldn’t like it—”

  “Tell me everything, dear. How long was Father sick?”

  “About a year. He lost his position and then wasn’t able to do anything for ever so long; and when he got out of the hospital, he hunted and hunted, and there wasn’t anything for him. He got one good job, but they said he had to dress better, and he lost that.”

  Cornelia sank down on the floor again and buried her face in her hands.

  “O Louie! And I was wearing nice clothes and doing nothing to help! Oh, why didn’t Mother let me know?”

  “Oh, Mother kept saying she thought she could manage, and it was Father’s dream you should get your education,” quoted the little girl with dreamy eyes and the memory of many sacrifices sweetly upon her.

  “Go on, Louie, what next?”

  “Oh, nothing much. Mother sold the furniture to an ‘antique’ woman that was hunting old things, and that paid for Father’s medicine, and they said they wouldn’t touch the money they had put in the bank for your college; and then Father got the place at the factory. It’s kind of hard work, I guess, but it’s good pay, and Father thought he’d manage to let you finish, only Mother gave out, and then everything went to pieces.”

  The small, red lips puckered bravely, and suddenly the child threw her arms around her sister’s neck and cried out, sobbing, “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come!” and Cornelia wrapped her close to her heart.

  Into the midst of this touching scene there stole a sweetly pungent odor of meat boiling dry, and suddenly Cornelia and Louise smelled it at the same instant and flew for the stairs.

  “I guess it’s not really burned yet,” said wise Louise. “It doesn’t smell that way,” she said comfortingly. “My, it makes me hungry!”

  “And oh, my bread!” exclaimed Cornelia as she rounded the top of the next flight. “It ought to go into the oven. It will get too light.” They rescued the meat not at all hurt but just lusciously browned and most appetizing, and then they put the bread into the oven and turned their attention to potatoes and waffles.

  “I’m going to make some maple syrup,” said Cornelia. “It’s better homemade. I bought a bottle of maple flavoring this morning. We used to make maple fudge with it, and it’s good.”

  “Isn’t this great?”exclaimed the little girl, watching the bubbling sugar and water. “Won’t Father be glad?”

  “But Louie, where is Carey?” asked Cornelia suddenly.

  The little girl’s face grew dark.

  “He’s off!” she said shortly. “I guess he didn’t come home at all last night. Father worries a lot about him, and Mother did, too, but he’s been worse since Mother was sick. He hardly ever comes in till after midnight, and then he smokes and smokes. Oh, it makes me sick! I told Harry if he grew up that way I’d never speak to him. And Harry says if he ever does, he gives me leave to turn him down. Oh, Carey acts like a nut! I don’t see how he can, when he knows how Father has to work and everything. He just won’t get a position anywhere. He wants to have a good time. He plays ball, and he rides around in a rich fellow’s car, and he has a girl! Oh, he’s the limit.”

  Cornelia felt her heart sinking.

  “What kind of a girl, Louie?”

  “Oh, a girl with flour on her face, a
nd an awful tight skirt; and when she goes out evenings, she wears her back bare way down almost to her waist. I saw her in a concert at our church, and she was dressed that way there, and folks were all looking at her and saying it wasn’t nice. She dances, too, and kicks, with lots of skirts and ruffles and things, made of chiffon; and she makes eyes at boys; and I know a girl at school that says she saw her smoking cigarettes at a restaurant once. You see it isn’t much use to fix up Carey’s room when he does things like that. He doesn’t deserve it.”

  Cornelia looked aghast.

  “Oh, but we must, Louie! We must all the more then. And perhaps the girl isn’t so bad if we knew her, and—and tried to help her. Some girls are awfully silly at a certain age, dear.”

  “Well, you oughta see her. Harry knows, and he thinks she’s the limit. He says the boys all talk about her. She wears makeup, too, and big black earrings down on her shoulders sometimes, and she wears her hair just like the pictures of the devil!”

  Cornelia had to laugh at the earnest, fierce little face, and the laugh broke the tension somewhat.

  “Well, dearie, we’ll have to find a way to coax Carey back to us,” she said soothingly, even while her heart was sinking. “He’s our brother, you know, and we love him, and it would break Mother’s heart.”

  “Oh yes,” said Louise, not noticing her sister’s face. “We hadn’t any side windows at all there; the houses were close up, and there were very unpleasant people all around. It wasn’t at all a good neighborhood. Carey hated it. He wouldn’t come home for days and days. He said it wasn’t fit for pigs.”

  “Where did he go? Where has he gone now, do you suppose?”

  “Oh, off with the boys somewhere. Sometimes to their houses. Sometimes they take trips around. One of them has a car. His father’s rich. But I don’t like him. His name’s Brand Barlock. He drives wherever he likes. They went to Washington once and were gone a week. Mother never slept a wink those nights, just sat at the front window and watched after we went to bed. I know, for I woke up and found her so several times. He might’ve gone to Baltimore now. There’s a game down that way sometime soon. I guess it was last night. Harry heard ‘em talking about it. They go with the gang of fellows that used to play on our high school team when Carey was in school.”