Mother: A Story Read online

  CHAPTER II

  Life in the shabby, commonplace house that sheltered the Paget familysometimes really did seem to proceed, as Margaret had suggested, ina long chain of violent shocks, narrow escapes, and closely avertedcatastrophes. No sooner was Duncan's rash pronounced not to bescarlet fever than Robert swallowed a penny, or Beck set fire tothe dining-room waste-basket, or Dad foresaw the immediate failureof the Weston Home Savings Bank, and the inevitable loss of hisposition there. Sometimes there was a paternal explosion becauseBruce liked to murmur vaguely of "dandy chances in Manila," or becauseJulie, pretty, excitable, and sixteen, had an occasional dose of stagefever, and would stammer desperately between convulsive sobs that shewasn't half as much afraid of "the terrible temptations of the life"as she was afraid of dying a poky old maid in Weston. In short, thehome was crowded, the Pagets were poor, and every one of the sevenpossessed a spirited and distinct entity. All the mother's effortcould not keep them always contented. Growing ambitions made the Westonhorizon seem narrow and mean, and the young eyes that could not seebeyond to-morrow were often wet with rebellious tears.

  Through it all they loved each other; sometimes whole weeks went by inutter harmony; the children contented over "Parches" on the hearthrugin the winter evenings, Julie singing in the morning sunlight, asshe filled the vases from the shabby marguerite bushes on the lawn.But there were other times when to the dreamy, studious Margaret thehome circle seemed all discord, all ugly dinginess and thread-bareness;the struggle for ease and beauty and refinement seemed hopelessand overwhelming. In these times she would find herself staringthoughtfully at her mother's face, bent over the mending basket, orher eyes would leave the chessboard that held her father's attentionso closely, and move from his bald spot, with its encircling crown offluffy gray, to his rosy face, with its kind, intent blue eyes and thelittle lines about his mouth that his moustache didn't hide,--with ahalf-formed question in her heart. What hadn't they done, thesedearest people, to be always struggling, always tired, always "behindthe game"? Why should they be eternally harassed by plumbers' bills,and dentists' bills, and shoes that would wear out, and school-booksthat must be bought? Why weren't they holding their place in Westonsociety, the place to which they were entitled by right of the Quincygrandfather, and the uncles who were judges?

  And in answer Margaret came despondently to the decision, "If you havechildren, you never have anything else!" How could Mother keep up withher friends, when for some fifteen years she had been far too busy toput on a dainty gown in the afternoon, and serve a hospitable cup oftea on the east porch? Mother was buttering bread for supper, then;opening little beds and laying out little nightgowns, starting Ted offfor the milk, washing small hands and faces, soothing bumps andbinding cuts, admonishing, praising, directing. Mother was only tooglad to sink wearily into her rocker after dinner, and, after a fewspirited visits to the rampant nursery upstairs, express the hope thatnobody would come in to-night. Gradually the friends dropped away, andthe social life of Weston flowed smoothly on without the Pagets.

  But when Margaret began to grow up, she grasped the situation with allthe keenness of a restless and ambitious nature. Weston, detestedWeston, it must apparently be. Very well, she would make the best ofWeston. Margaret called on her mother's old friends; she was tirelessin charming little attentions. Her own first dances had not beensuccessful; she and Bruce were not good dancers, Margaret had not beensatisfied with her gowns, they both felt out of place. When Julie'sdancing days came along, Margaret saw to it that everything was mademuch easier. She planned social evenings at home, and exhaustedherself preparing for them, that Julie might know the "right people."To her mother all people were alike, if they were kind and not vulgar;Margaret felt very differently. It was a matter of the greatestsatisfaction to her when Julie blossomed into a fluffy-hairedbutterfly, tremendously in demand, in spite of much-cleaned slippersand often-pressed frocks. Margaret arranged Christmas theatricals, Maypicnics, Fourth of July gatherings. She never failed Bruce when thisdearest brother wanted her company; she was, as Mrs. Paget told herover and over, "the sweetest daughter any woman ever had." But deep inher heart she knew moods of bitter distaste and restlessness. Thestruggle did not seem worth the making; the odds against her seemedtoo great.

  Still dreaming in the winter dark, she went through the home gate, andup the porch steps of a roomy, cheap house that had been built in theera of scalloped and pointed shingles, of colored glass embellishmentsaround the window-panes, of perforated scroll work and wooden railingsin Grecian designs. A mass of wet over-shoes lay on the porch, and twoor three of the weather-stained porch rockers swayed under the weightof spread wet raincoats. Two opened umbrellas wheeled in the currentof air that came around the house; the porch ran water. While Margaretwas adding her own rainy-day equipment to the others, a golden brownsetter, one ecstatic wriggle from nose to tail, flashed into view, andcame fawning to her feet.

  "Hello, Bran!" Margaret said, propping herself against the house withone hand, while she pulled at a tight overshoe. "Hello, old fellow!Well, did they lock him out?"

  She let herself and a freezing gust of air into the dark hall, gropingto the hat-rack for matches. While she was lighting the gas, a verypretty girl of sixteen, with crimson cheeks and tumbled soft darkhair, came to the dining-room door. This was her sister Julie,Margaret's roommate and warmest admirer, and for the last year or twoher inseparable companion. Julie had her finger in a book, but now sheclosed it, and said affectionately between her yawns: "Come in here,darling! You must be dead."

  "Don't let Bran in," cried some one from upstairs.

  "He is in, Mother!" Margaret called back, and Rebecca and the threesmall boys--Theodore, the four-year-old baby, Robert, and Duncan, agrave little lad of seven--all rushed out of the dining-room together,shouting, as they fell on the delighted dog:--

  "Aw, leave him in! Aw, leave the poor little feller in! Come on, Bran,come on, old feller! Leave him in, Mark, can't we?"

  Kissing and hugging the dog, and stumbling over each other and overhim, they went back to the dining-room, which was warm and stuffy. Acoal fire was burning low in the grate, the window-panes were beaded,and the little boys had marked their initials in the steam. They hadalso pushed the fringed table-cover almost off, and scattered thecontents of a box of "Lotto" over the scarred walnut top. The room wasshabby, ugly, comfortable. Julie and Margaret had established a teatable in the bay window, had embroidered a cover for the wide couch,had burned the big wooden bowl that was supposedly always full of nutsor grapes or red apples. But these touches were lost in the mass ofless pleasing detail. The "body Brussels" carpet was worn, the wallpaper depressing, the woodwork was painted dark brown, with animitation burl smeared in by the painter's thumb. The chairs were ofseveral different woods and patterns, the old black walnut sideboardclumsy and battered. About the fire stood some comfortable wornchairs. Margaret dropped wearily into one of these, and the dark-eyedJulie hung over her with little affectionate attentions. The childrenreturned to their game.

  "Well, what a time you had with little Dolly Scott!" said Julie,sympathetically. "Ted's been getting it all mixed up! Tell us aboutit. Poor old Mark, you're all in, aren't you? Mark, would you like acup of tea?"

  "Love it!" Margaret said, a little surprised, for this luxury wasnot common.

  "And toast--we'll toast it!" said Theodore, enthusiastically.

  "No, no--no tea!" said Mrs. Paget, coming in at this point with somesewing in her hands. "Don't spoil your dinner, now, Mark dear; teadoesn't do you any good. And I think Blanche is saving the cream foran apple tapioca. Theodore, Mother wants you to go right downstairsfor some coal, dear. And, Julie, you'd better start your table; it'sclose to six. Put up the game, Rebecca!"

  There was general protest. Duncan, it seemed, needed only "two more"to win. Little Robert, who was benevolently allowed by the otherchildren to play the game exactly as he pleased, screamed delightedlythat he needed only one more, and showed a card upon which even theblan
k spaces were lavishly covered with glass. He was generouslyconceded the victory, and kissed by Rebecca and Julie as he made hisway to his mother's lap.

  "Why, this can't be Robert Paget!" said Mrs. Paget, putting aside hersewing to gather him in her arms. "Not this great, big boy!"

  "Yes, I am!" the little fellow asserted joyously, dodging her kisses.

  "Good to get home!" Margaret said luxuriously.

  "You must sleep late in the morning," her mother commandedaffectionately.

  "Yes, because you have to be fresh for the party Monday!" exultedJulie. She had flung a white cloth over the long table, and wasputting the ringed napkins down with rapid bangs. "And New Year'sEve's the dance!" she went on buoyantly. "I just love Christmas,anyway!"

  "Rebecca, ask Blanche if she needs me,"--that was Mother.

  "You'd go perfectly crazy about her, Ju, she's the most fascinating,and the most unaffected woman!" Margaret was full of the day's realevent.

  "And Mother theth that Ted and Dunc and I can have our friendth inon the day after Chrithmath to thee the Chrithmath tree!" That wasRebecca, who added, "Blanche theth no, Mother, unleth you want tomake thom cream gravy for the chopth!"

  "And, Mark, Eleanor asked if Bruce and you and I weren't going asPierrot and Pierettes; she's simply crazy to find out!" This was Julieagain; and then Margaret, coaxingly, "Do make cream gravy for Bruce,Mother. Give Baby to me!" and little Robert's elated "I know threethings Becky's going to get for Christmas, Mark!"

  "Well, I think I will, there's milk," Mrs. Paget conceded, rising."Put Bran out, Teddy; or put him in the laundry if you want to, whilewe have dinner." Margaret presently followed her mother into thekitchen, stopping in a crowded passageway to tie an apron over herschool gown.

  "Bruce come in yet?" she said in a low voice.

  Her mother flashed her a sympathetic look.

  "I don't believe he's coming, Mark."

  "Isn't! Oh, Mother! Oh, Mother, does he feel so badly about Betty?"

  "I suppose so!" Mrs. Paget went on with her bread cutting.

  "But, Mother, surely he didn't expect to marry Betty Forsythe?"

  "I don't know why not, Mark. She's a sweet little thing."

  "But, Mother--" Margaret was a little at a loss. "We don't seem oldenough to really be getting married!" she said, a little lamely.

  "Brucie came in about half-past five, and said he was going over toRichie's," Mrs. Paget said, with a sigh.

  "In all this rain--that long walk!" Margaret ejaculated, as she filleda long wicker basket with sliced bread.

  "I think an evening of work with Richie will do him a world of good,"said his mother. There was a pause. "There's Dad. I'll go in," shesaid, suddenly ending it, as the front door slammed.

  Margaret went in, too, to kiss her father; a tired-looking, grayhaired man close to fifty, who had taken her chair by the fire. Mrs.Paget was anxious to be assured that his shoulders and shoes were notdamp.

  "But your hands are icy, Daddy," said she, as she sat down behind asmoking tureen at the head of the table. "Come, have your nice hotsoup, dear. Pass that to Dad, Becky, and light the other gas. Whatsort of a day?"

  "A hard day," said Mr. Paget, heavily. "Here, one of you girls putBaby into his chair. Let go, Bob,--I'm too tired to-night for monkeyshines!" He sat down stiffly. "Where's Bruce? Can't that boy rememberwhat time we have dinner?"

  "Bruce is going to have supper with Richie Williams, Dad," said Mrs.Paget, serenely. "They'll get out their blue prints afterwards andhave a good evening's work. Fill the glasses before you sit down, Ju.Come, Ted--put that back on the mantel.--Come, Becky! Tell Daddy aboutwhat happened to-day, Mark--"

  They all drew up their chairs. Robert, recently graduated from a highchair, was propped upon "The Officers of the Civil War," and "TheHousehold Book of Verse." Julie tied on his bib, and kissed the backof his fat little neck, before she slipped into her own seat. Themother sat between Ted and Duncan, for reasons that immediately becameobvious. Margaret sat by her father, and attended to his needs,telling him all about the day, and laying her pretty slim hand overhis as it rested beside his plate. The chops and cream gravy, as wellas a mountain of baked potatoes, and various vegetables, were underdiscussion, when every one stopped short in surprise at hearing thedoorbell ring.

  "Who--?" said Margaret, turning puzzled brows to her mother, and "I'msure I--" her mother answered, shaking her head. Ted was heard tomutter uneasily that, gee, maybe it was old Pembroke, mad because thefellers had soaked his old skate with snowballs; Julie dimpled andsaid, "Maybe it's flowers!" Robert shouted, "Bakeryman!" more becausehe had recently acquired the word than because of any conviction onthe subject. In the end Julie went to the door, with the four childrenin her wake. When she came back, she looked bewildered, and thechildren a little alarmed.

  "It's--it's Mrs. Carr-Boldt, Mother," said Julie.

  "Well, don't leave her standing there in the cold, dear!" Mrs. Pagetsaid, rising quickly, to go into the hall. Margaret, her heartthumping with an unanalyzed premonition of something pleasant, andnervous, too, for the hospitality of the Pagets, followed her. So theywere all presently crowded into the hall, Mrs. Paget all hospitality,Margaret full of a fear she would have denied that her mother wouldnot be equal to the occasion, the children curious, Julie a littleembarrassed.

  The visitor, fur-clad, rain-spattered,--for it was raining again,--andbeaming, stretched a hand to Mrs. Paget.

  "You're Mrs. Paget, of course,--this is an awful hour to interruptyou," she said in her big, easy way, "and there's my Miss Paget,--howdo you do? But you see I must get up to town to-night--in this door? Ican see perfectly, thank you!--and I did want a little talk with youfirst. Now, what a shame!"--for the gas, lighted by Theodore at thispoint, revealed Duncan's bib, and the napkins some of the others werestill carrying. "I've interrupted your dinner! Won't you let me waithere until--"

  "Perhaps--if you haven't had your supper--you will have some with us,"said Mrs. Paget, a little uncertainly. Margaret inwardly shuddered,but Mrs. Carr-Boldt was gracious.

  "Mrs. Paget, that's charming of you," she said. "But I had tea atDayton, and mustn't lose another moment. I shan't dine until I gethome. I'm the busiest woman in the world, you know. Now, it won't takeme two minutes--"

  She was seated now, her hands still deep in her muff, for the parlorwas freezing cold. Mrs. Paget, with a rather bewildered look, satdown, too.

  "You can run back to your dinners," said she to the children. "Takethem, Julie. Mark, dear, will you help the pudding?" They all fileddutifully out of the room, and Margaret, excited and curious,continued a meal that might have been of sawdust and sand for all sheknew. The strain did not last long; in about ten minutes Mrs. Pagetlooked into the room, with a rather worried expression, and said, alittle breathlessly:--

  "Daddy, can you come here a moment?--You're all right, dear," sheadded, as Mr. Paget indicated with an embarrassed gesture his wellworn house-coat. They went out together. The young people sat almostwithout speaking, listening to the indistinguishable murmur from theadjoining room, and smiling mysteriously at each other. Then Margaretwas called, and went as far as the dining-room door, and came back toput her napkin uncertainly down at her place, hesitated, arranged hergown carefully, and finally went out again. They heard her voice withthe others in the parlor... questioning... laughing.

  Presently the low murmur broke into audible farewells; chairs werepushed back, feet scraped in the hall.

  "Good-night, then!" said Mrs. Carr-Boldt's clear tones, "and so sorryto have--Good-night, Mr. Paget!--Oh, thank you--but I'm well wrapped.Thank you! Good-night, dear! I'll see you again soon--I'll write."

  And then came the honking of the motor-car, and a great swish whereit grazed a wet bush near the house. Somebody lowered the gas in thehall, and Mrs. Paget's voice said regretfully, "I wish we had had afire in the parlor--just one of the times!--but there's no help forit." They all came in, Margaret flushed, starry-eyed; her father andmother a little serious. The three b
linked at the brighter light, andfell upon the cooling chops as if eating were the important businessof the moment.

  "We waited the pudding," said Julie. "What is it?"

  "Why--" Mrs. Paget began, hesitatingly. Mr. Paget briskly took thematter out of her hands.

  "This lady," he said, with an air of making any further talkunnecessary, "needs a secretary, and she has offered your sisterMargaret the position. That's the whole affair in a nutshell. I'm notat all sure that your mother and I think it a wise offer for Margaretto accept, and I want to say here and now that I don't want any childof mine to speak of this matter, or make it a matter of general gossipin the neighborhood. Mother, I'd like very much to have Blanche makeme a fresh cup of tea."

  "Wants Margaret!" gasped Julie, unaffected--so astonishing was thenews--by her father's unusual sternness. "Oh, Mother! Oh, Mark! Oh,you lucky thing! When is she coming down here?"

  "She isn't coming down here--she wants Mark to go to her--that's it,"said her mother.

  "Mark--in New York!" shrilled Theodore. Julie got up to rusharound the table and kiss her sister; the younger childrenlaughed and shouted.

  "There is no occasion for all this," said Mr. Paget, but mildly, forthe fresh tea had arrived. "Just quiet them down, will you, Mother? Isee nothing very extraordinary in the matter. This Mrs.--Mrs. CarrBoldt--is it?--needs a secretary and companion; and she offers theposition to Mark."

  "But--but she never even saw Mark until to-day!" marvelled Julie.

  "I hardly see how that affects it, my dear!" her father observedunenthusiastically.

  "Why, I think it makes it simply extraordinary!" exulted the generouslittle sister. "Oh, Mark, isn't this just the sort of thing you wouldhave wished to happen! Secretary work,--just what you love to do! Andyou, with your beautiful handwriting, you'll just be invaluable toher! And your German--and I'll bet you'll just have them all adoringyou--!"

  "Oh, Ju, if I only can do it!" burst from Margaret, with a littlechildish gasp. She was sitting back from the table, twisted about sothat she sat sideways, her hands clasped about the top bar of herchair-back. Her tawny soft hair was loosened about her face, her darkeyes aflame. "Lenox, she said," Margaret went on dazedly; "and Europe,and travelling everywhere! And a hundred dollars a month, and nothingto spend it on, so I can still help out here! Why, it--I can't believeit!"--she looked from one smiling, interested face to another, andsuddenly her radiance underwent a quick eclipse. Her lip trembled, andshe tried to laugh as she pushed her chair back, and ran to the armsher mother opened. "Oh, Mother!" sobbed Margaret, clinging there, "doyou want me to go--shall I go? I've always been so happy here, and Ifeel so ashamed of being discontented,--and I don't deserve a thinglike this to happen to me!"

  "Why, God bless her heart!" said Mrs. Paget, tenderly, "of courseyou'll go!"

  "Oh, you silly! I'll never speak to you again if you don't!" laughedJulie, through sympathetic tears.

  Theodore and Duncan immediately burst into a radiant reminiscence oftheir one brief visit to New York; Rebecca was heard to murmur thatshe would "vithet Mark thome day"; and the baby, tugging at hismother's elbow, asked sympathetically if Mark was naughty, and wascaught between his sister's and his mother's arms and kissed by themboth. Mr. Paget, picking his paper from the floor beside his chair,took an arm-chair by the fire, stirred the coals noisily, and whilecleaning his glasses, observed rather huskily that the little girlalways knew, she could come back again if anything went wrong.

  "But suppose I don't suit?" suggested Margaret, sitting back onher heels, refreshed by tears, and with her arms laid acrossher mother's lap.

  "Oh, you'll suit," said Julie, confidently; and Mrs. Paget smoothedthe girl's hair back and said affectionately, "I don't think she'llfind many girls like you for the asking, Mark!"

  "Reading English with the two little girls," said Margaret, dreamily,"and answering notes and invitations. And keeping books--"

  "You can do that anyway," said her father, over his paper.

  "And dinner lists, you know, Mother--doesn't it sound like an Englishstory!" Margaret stopped in the middle of an ecstatic wriggle."Mother, will you pray I succeed?" she said solemnly.

  "Just be your own dear simple self, Mark," her mother advised."January!" she added, with a great sigh. "It's the first break,isn't it, Dad? Think of trying to get along without our Mark!"

  "January!" Julie was instantly alert. "Why, but you'll need all sortsof clothes!"

  "Oh, she says there's a sewing woman always in the house," Margaretsaid, almost embarrassed by the still-unfolding advantages of theproposition. "I can have her do whatever's left over." Her fatherlowered his paper to give her a shrewd glance.

  "I suppose somebody knows something about this Mrs. Carr-Boldt,Mother?" asked he. "She's all right, I suppose?"

  "Oh, Dad, her name's always in the papers," Julie burst out; and themother smiled as she said, "We'll be pretty sure of everything beforewe let our Mark go!" Later, when the children had been dismissed, andhe himself was going, rather stiffly, toward the stairs, Mr. Pagetagain voiced a mild doubt.

  "There was a perfectly good reason for her hurry, I suppose? Oldsecretary deserted--got married--? She had good reason for wantingMark in all this hurry?"

  Mrs. Paget and her daughters had settled about the fire for an hour'sdelicious discussion, but she interrupted it to say soothingly, "Itwas her cousin, Dad, who's going to be married, and she's been tryingto get hold of just the right person--she says she's fearfullybehindhand--"

  "Well, you know best," said Mr. Paget, departing a littlediscontentedly.

  Left to the dying fire, the others talked, yawned, made a pretence ofbreaking up: talked and yawned again. The room grew chilly. Bruce,--oldestof the children,--dark, undemonstrative, weary,--presently camein, and was given the news, and marvelled in his turn. Bruce andMargaret had talked of their ambitions a hundred times: of the daywhen he might enter college and when she might find the leisure andbeauty in life for which her soul hungered. Now, as he sat with hisarm about her, and her head on his shoulder, he said with generoussatisfaction over and over:--

  "It was coming to you, Mark; you've earned it!"

  At midnight, loitering upstairs, cold and yawning, Margaret kissed hermother and brother quietly, with whispered brief good-nights. ButJulie, lying warm and snug in bed half-an-hour later, had a last word.

  "You know, Mark, I think I'm as happy as you are--no, I'm not generousat all! It's just that it makes me feel that things do come your wayfinally, if you wait long enough, and that we aren't the only familyin town that never has anything decent happen to it!... I'll miss youawfully, Mark, darling!... Mark, do you suppose Mother'd let me takethis bed out, and just have a big couch in here? It would make theroom seem so much bigger. And then I could have the girls come uphere, don't you know--when they came over.... Think of you--you--goingabroad! I'd simply die! I can't wait to tell Betty!... I hope togoodness Mother won't put Beck in here!... We've had this room a longtime together, haven't we? Ever since Grandma died. Do you rememberher canary, that Teddy hit with a plate?... I'm going to miss youterribly, Mark. But we'll write...."