Mother: A Story Read online

  CHAPTER V

  "So you're going home to your own people for the week end, Peggy?--Andhow many of you are there,--I always forget?" said young Mrs. GeorgeCrawford, negligently. She tipped back in her chair, half shut hernovel, half shut her eyes, and looked critically at her finger-nails.

  Outside the big country house summer sunshine flooded the smoothlawns, sparkled on the falling diamonds and still pool of thefountain, glowed over acres of matchless wood and garden. But deepawnings made a clear cool shade indoors, and the wide rooms weredelightfully breezy.

  Margaret, busy with a ledger and cheque-book, smiled absently,finished a long column, made an orderly entry, and wiped her pen.

  "Seven," said she, smiling.

  "Seven!" echoed Mrs. Potter, lazily. "My heaven--seven children!How early Victorian!"

  "Isn't it?" said a third woman, a very beautiful woman, Mrs. WattsWatson, who was also idling and reading in the white-and-graymorning room. "Well," she added, dropping her magazine, and lockingher hands about her head, "my grandmother had ten. Fancy tryingto raise ten children!"

  "Oh, everything's different now," the first speaker said indifferently."Everything's more expensive, life is more complicated. People usedto have roomier houses, aunts and cousins and grandmothers living withthem; there was always some one at home with the children. Nowadayswe don't do that."

  "And thank the saints we don't!" said Mrs. Watson, piously. "Ifthere's one thing I can't stand, it's a houseful of things-in-law!"

  "Of course; but I mean it made the family problem simpler," Mrs.Crawford pursued. "Oh--and I don't know! Everything was so simple. Allthis business of sterilizing, and fumigating, and pasteurizing, andvaccinating, and boiling in boracic acid wasn't done in those days,"she finished vaguely.

  "Now there you are--now there you are!" said Mrs. Carr-Boldt, enteringinto the conversation with sudden force. Entirely recovered after hernervous collapse, as brisk as ever in her crisp linen gown, she wassigning the cheques that Margaret handed her, frowningly busy andabsorbed with her accounts. Now she leaned back in her chair, glancedat the watch at her wrist, and relaxed the cramped muscles of herbody. "That's exactly it, Rose," said she to Mrs. Crawford. "Life ismore complicated. People--the very people who ought to havechildren--simply cannot afford it! And who's to blame? Can you blame awoman whose life is packed full of other things she simply cannot avoid, ifshe declines to complicate things any further? Our grandmothers didn'thave telephones, or motor-cars, or week-end affairs, or even--for thatmatter--manicures and hair-dressers! A good heavy silk was full dressall the year 'round. They washed their own hair. The 'up-stairs girl'answered the doorbell,--why, they didn't even have talcum powder andnursery refrigerators, and sanitary rugs that have to be washed everyday! Do you suppose my grandmother ever took a baby's temperature, orhad its eyes and nose examined, or its adenoids cut? They had morechildren, and they lost more children,--without any reason or logicwhatever. Poor things, they never thought of doing anything else, Isuppose! A fat old darky nurse brought up the whole crowd--it makesone shudder to think of it! Why, I had always a trained nurse, and theregular nurse used to take two baths a day. I insisted on that, andboth nurseries were washed out every day with chloride of potashsolution, and the iron beds washed every week! And even then Vic hadthis mastoid trouble, and Harriet got everything, almost."

  "Exactly," said Mrs. Watson. "That's you, Hattie, with all the moneyin the world. Now do you wonder that some of the rest of us, who haveto think of money--in short," she finished decidedly, "do you wonderthat people are not having children? At first, naturally, one doesn'twant them,--for three or four years, I'm sure, the thought doesn'tcome into one's head. But then, afterwards,--you see, I've beenmarried fifteen years now!--afterwards, I think it would be awfullynice to have one or two little kiddies, if it was a possible thing.But it isn't."

  "No, it isn't," Mrs. Crawford agreed. "You don't want to have themunless you're able to do everything in the world for them. If I wereHat here, I'd have a dozen."

  "Oh, no, you wouldn't," Mrs. Carr-Boldt assured her promptly. "No, youwouldn't! You can't leave everything to servants--there are clothes tothink of, and dentists, and special teachers, and it's frightfullyhard to get a nursery governess. And then you've got to see that theyknow the right people--don't you know?--and give them parties--I tellyou it's a strain."

  "Well, I don't believe my mother with her seven ever worked any harderthan you do!" said Margaret, with the admiration in her eyes that wasso sweet to the older woman. "Look at this morning--did you sit downbefore you came in here twenty minutes ago?"

  "I? Indeed I didn't!" Mrs. Carr-Boldt said. "I had my breakfast andletters at seven, bath at eight, straightened out that squabblebetween Swann and the cook,--I think Paul is still simmering, butthat's neither here nor there!--then I went down with the vet to seethe mare. Joe'll never forgive me if I've really broken the creature'sknees!--then I telephoned mother, and saw Harriet's violin man, andtalked to that Italian Joe sent up to clean the oils,--he's in thegallery now, and--let's see--"

  "Italian lesson," Margaret prompted.

  "Italian lesson," the other echoed, "and then came in here to signmy cheques."

  "You're so executive, Harriet!" said Mrs. Crawford, languidly.

  "Apropos of Swann," Margaret said, "he confided to me that he hasseven children--on a little farm down on Long Island."

  "The butler--oh, I dare say!" Mrs. Watson agreed. "They can,because they've no standard to maintain--seven, or seventeen--theonly difference in expense is the actual amount of breadand butter consumed."

  "It's too bad," said Mrs. Crawford. "But you've got to handle thequestion sanely and reasonably, like any other. Now, I love children,"she went on. "I'm perfectly crazy about my sister's little girl. She'seleven now, and the cutest thing alive. But when I think of allMabel's been through, since she was born,--I realize that it's alittle too much to expect of any woman. Now, look at us,--there arethousands of people fixed as we are. We're in an apartment hotel, withone maid. There's no room for a second maid, no porch and no backyard. Well, the baby comes,--one loses, before and after the event,just about six months of everything, and of course the expense isfrightful, but no matter!--the baby comes. We take a house. That meansthree indoor maids, George's chauffeur, a man for lawn andfurnace--that's five--"

  "Doubling expenses," said Mrs. Carr-Boldt, thoughtfully.

  "Doubling--! Trebling, or more. But that's not all. Baby must be outfrom eleven to three every day. So you've got to go sit by thecarriage in the park while nurse goes home for her lunch. Or, ifyou're out for luncheon, or giving a luncheon, she brings baby home,bumps the carriage into the basement, carries the baby upstairs, eatsher lunch in snatches--the maids don't like it, and I don't blamethem! I know how it was with Mabel; she had to give up that wonderfulold apartment of theirs on Gramercy Park. Sid had his studio on thetop floor, and she had such a lovely flat on the next floor, but therewas no lift, and no laundry, and the kitchen was small--a baby takesso much fussing! And then she lost that splendid cook of hers,Germaine. She wouldn't stand it. Up to that time she'd been cookingand waiting, too, but the baby ended that. Mabel took a house, and Sidpaid studio rent beside, and they had two maids, and then threemaids,--and what with their fighting, and their days off, andeternally changing, Mabel was a wreck. I've seen her trying to play abridge hand with Dorothy bobbing about on her arm--poor girl! Finallythey went to a hotel, and of course the child got older, and was lesstrouble. But to this day Mabel doesn't dare leave her alone for onesecond. And when they go out to dinner, and leave her alone in thehotel, of course the child cries--!"

  "That's the worst of a kiddie," Mrs. Watson said. "You can't everturn 'em off, as it were, or make it spades! They're always righton the job. I'll never forget Elsie Clay. She was the best friendI had,--my bridesmaid, too. She married, and after a while they tooka house in Jersey because of the baby. I went out there to lunch oneday. There she was in a house perfectly buried in trees, with t
herain sopping down outside, and smoke blowing out of the fireplace,and the drawing-room as dark as pitch at two o'clock. Elsie said sheused to nearly die of loneliness, sitting there all afternoon longlistening to the trains whistling, and the maid thumping irons in thekitchen, and picking up the baby's blocks. And they quarrelled, youknow, she and her husband--that was the beginning of the trouble.Finally the boy went to his grandmother, and now believe Elsie'smarried again, and living in California somewhere."

  Margaret, hanging over the back of her chair, was an attentive listener.

  "But people--people in town have children!" she said. "TheBlankenships have one, and haven't the de Normandys?"

  "The Blankenship boy is in college," said Mrs. Carr-Boldt; "and thelittle de Normandys lived with their grandmother until they were oldenough for boarding school."

  "Well, the Deanes have three!" Margaret said triumphantly.

  "Ah, well, my dear! Harry Deane's a rich man, and she was a Pell ofPhiladelphia," Mrs. Crawford supplied promptly. "Now the Eastmans havethree, too, with a trained nurse apiece."

  "I see," Margaret admitted slowly.

  "Far wiser to have none at all," said Mrs. Carr-Boldt, in her decisiveway, "than to handicap them from the start by letting them see otherchildren enjoying pleasures and advantages they can't afford. And now,girls, let's stop wasting time. It's half-past eleven. Why can't wehave a game of auction right here and now?"

  Margaret returned to her cheque-book with speed. The other two, gladto be aroused, heartily approved the idea.

  "Well, what does this very businesslike aspect imply?" Mrs. Carr-Boldtasked her secretary.

  "It means that I can't play cards, and you oughtn't," Margaretsaid, laughing.

  "Oh--? Why not?"

  "Because you've lots of things to do, and I've got to finish thesenotes, and I have to sit with Harriet while she does her German--"

  "Where's Fraulein?"

  "Fraulein's going to drive Vic over to the Partridges' for luncheon,and I promised Swann I'd talk to him about favors and things fortomorrow night."

  "Well--busy Lizzie! And what have I to do?"

  Margaret reached for a well-filled date-book.

  "You were to decide about those alterations, the porch and diningroom, you know," said she. "There are some architect's sketches aroundhere; the man's going to be here early in the morning. You said you'ddrive to the yacht club, to see about the stage for the children'splay; you were to stop on the way back and see old Mrs. McNab amoment. You wanted to write Mrs. Polk a note to catch the 'KaiserinAugusta', and luncheon's early because of the Kellogg bridge." She shutthe book. "And call Mr. Carr-Boldt at the club at one," she added.

  "All that, now fancy!" said her employer, admiringly.

  She had swept some scattered magazines from a small table, andwas now seated there, negligently shuffling a pack of cards inher fine white hands.

  "Ring, will you, Peggy?" said she.

  "And the boat races are to-day, and you dine at Oaks-in-the-Field,"Margaret supplemented inflexibly.

  "Yes? Well, come and beat the seven of clubs," said Mrs. Carr-Boldt,spreading the deck for the draw.

  "Fraulein," she said sweetly, a moment later, when a maid had summonedthat worthy and earnest governess, "tell Miss Harriet that Motherdoesn't want her to do her German to-day, it's too warm. Tell her thatshe's to go with you and Miss Victoria for a drive. Thank you. And,Fraulein, will you telephone old Mrs. McNab, and say that Mrs. CarrBoldt is lying down with a severe headache, and she won't be able tocome in this morning? Thank you. And, Fraulein, telephone the yachtclub, will you? And tell Mr. Mathews that Mrs. Carr-Boldt isindisposed and he'll have to come back this afternoon. I'll talk tohim before the children's races. And--one thing more! Will you tellSwann Miss Paget will see him about to-morrow's dinner when she comesback from the yacht club to-day? And tell him to send us somethingcool to drink now. Thank you so much. No, shut it. Thank you. Havea nice drive!"

  They all drew up their chairs to the table.

  "You and I, Rose," said Mrs. Watson. "I'm so glad you suggested this,Hattie. I am dying to play."

  "It really rests me more than anything else," said Mrs. Carr-Boldt."Two spades."