Books: Poor, Dear Margaret Kirby and Other Stories

K >> Kathleen Norris >> Poor, Dear Margaret Kirby and Other Stories

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However, for such moods the quickest cure was a look at Jerry--
strong, brown, vigorous Jerry--tramping the hills, writing his
stories, dreaming over his piano, and sleeping deep and restfully
under the great arch of the stars. Jerry had had a cold four years
ago--"just a mean cold," had been the doctor's cheerful phrase; but
what terror it struck to the hearts that loved Jerry! Molly's eyes,
flashing to his mother's eyes, had said: "Like his father--like his
aunt--like the little sister who died!" And for the first time
Jerry's wife had found herself glad that little Jerry Junior--he who
could barely walk, who had as yet no words--had gone away from them
fearlessly into the great darkness a year before. He might have
grown up to this, too.

So they came to California, and big Jerry's cold did not last very
long in the dry heat of Beaver Creek Valley. He and Molly grew so
strong and brown and happy that they never minded restrictions and
inconveniences, loneliness and strangeness--and when a strong and
brown and happy little Timothy joined the group, Molly renounced
forever all serious thoughts of going home. California became home.
Such friends as chance brought their way must be their only friends;
such comfort as the dry little valley and the brown hills could hold
must suffice them now. Molly exulted in sending her mother snapshots
of Timmy picking roses in December, and in heading July letters: "By
our open fire--for it's really cool to-day."

Indeed it was not all uncomfortable and unlovely. All the summer
nights were fresh and cool and fragrant; there were spring days when
all the valley seemed a ravishing compound of rain-cooled air and
roses, of buttercups in the high, sunflecked grass under the apple-
trees, crossed and recrossed by the flashing blue and brown of
mating jays and larks. It was not a long drive to the deep woods;
and it was but six miles to Emville, where there was always the
pleasant stir and bustle of a small country town; trains puffing in
to disgorge a dozen travelling agents and their bags; the wire door
at the post-office banging and banging; the maid at the Old Original
Imperial Commercial Hotel coming out on the long porch to ring a
wildly clamorous dinner-bell. Molly grew to love Emville.

Then, two or three times a year, such old friends as the Porters,
homeward bound after the Oriental trip, came their way, and there
was delicious talk at the ranch of old days, of the new theatres,
and the new hotels, and the new fashions. The Tressadys stopped
playing double Canfield and polished up their bridge game; and Big
Hong, beaming in his snowy white, served meals that were a joy to
his heart. Hong was a marvellous cook; Hong cared beautifully for
all his domain; and Little Hong took care of the horses, puttered in
the garden, swept, and washed windows. But they needed more help,
for there were times when Molly was busy or headachy or proof-
reading for Jerry or riding with him. Some one must be responsible
every second of the day and night for Timmy. And where to get that
some one?

"Aren't they terrors!" said Mrs. Porter in reference to the nurse-
maids that would not come to the ranch on any terms. "What do they
expect anyway?"

"Oh, they get lonesome," Molly said in discouragement, "and of
course it is lonely! But I should think some middle-aged woman or
some widow with a child even--"

"Molly always returns to that possible widow!" said her husband. "I
think we might try two!"

"I would never think of that!" said the mistress of the ranch
firmly. "Four servants always underfoot!"

"Did you ever think of trying a regular trained nurse, Molly?" Peter
Porter asked.

"But then you have them at the table, Peter--and always in the
drawing-room evenings. And no matter how nice they are--"

"That's the worst of that!" agreed Peter.

Jerry Tressady threw the Mail on the floor and sat up.

"Who's this coming up now, Molly?" he asked.

He had lowered his voice, because the white-clad young woman who was
coming composedly up the path between the sunflowers and the
overloaded rose-bushes was already within hearing distance. She was
a heavy, well-developed young person upon closer view, with light-
lashed eyes of a guileless, childlike blue, rosy cheeks, and a mass
of bright, shining hair, protected now only by a parasol. Through
the embroidery insertion of her fresh, stiff dress she showed
glimpses of a snowy bosom, and under her crisp skirt a ruffle of
white petticoat and white-shod feet were visible. She was panting
from her walk and wiped her glowing face with her handkerchief
before she spoke.

"Howdy-do, folks?" said the new-comer, easily, dropping upon the
steps and fanning herself with the limp handkerchief. "I don't
wonder you keep a motor-car; it's something fierce walking down
here! I could of waited," she went on thoughtfully, "and had my
brother brought me down in the machine, but I hadn't no idea it was
so far. I saw your ad in the paper," she went on, addressing Mrs.
Tressady directly, with a sort of trusting simplicity that was
rather pretty, "and I thought you might like me for your girl."

"Well,--" began Molly, entirely at a loss, for until this second no
suspicion of the young woman's errand had occurred to her. She dared
not look at husband or guests; she fixed her eyes seriously upon the
would-be nurse.

"Of course I wouldn't work for everybody," said the new-comer
hastily and proudly. "I never worked before and mamma thinks I'm
crazy to work now, but I don't think that taking care of a child is
anything to be ashamed of!" The blue eyes flashed dramatically--she
evidently enjoyed this speech. "And what's more, I don't expect any
one of my friends to shun me or treat me any different because I'm a
servant--that is, so long as I act like a lady," she finished in a
lower tone. A sound from the hammock warned Mrs. Tressady; and
suggesting in a somewhat unsteady voice that they talk the matter
over indoors, she led the new maid out of sight.

For some twenty minutes the trio on the porch heard the steady rise
and fall of voices indoors; then Molly appeared and asked her
husband in a rather dissatisfied voice what he thought.

"Why, it's what you think, dear. How's she seem?"

"She's competent enough--seems to know all about children, and I
think she'd be strong and willing. She's clean as a pink, too. And
she'd come for thirty and would be perfectly contented, because she
lives right near here--that house just before you come to Emville
which says Chickens and Carpentering Done Here--don't you know? She
has a widowed sister who would come and stay with her at night when
we're away." Mrs. Tressady summed it up slowly.

"Why not try her then, dear? By the way, what's her name?"

"Darling--Belle Darling."

"Tell her I'm English," said Mr. Porter, rapturously, "and that over
there we call servants--"

"No, but Jerry,"--Mrs. Tressady was serious,--"would you? She's so
utterly untrained. That's the one thing against her. She hasn't the
faintest idea of the way a servant should act. She told me she just
loved the way I wore my hair, and she said she wanted me to meet her
friend. Then she asked me, 'Who'd you name him Timothy for?'"

"Oh, you'd tame her fast enough. Just begin by snubbing her every
chance you get--"

"I see it!" laughed Mrs. Porter, for Mrs. Tressady was a woman full
of theories about the sisterhood of woman, about equality, about a
fair chance for every one--and had never been known to hurt any
one's feelings in the entire course of her life.

Just here Belle stepped through one of the drawing-room French
windows, with dewy, delicious Timothy, in faded pale-blue sleeping-
wear, in her arms.

"This darling little feller was crying," said Belle, "and I guess he
wants some din-din--don't you, lover? Shall I step out and tell one
of those Chinese boys to get it? Listen! From now on I'll have mamma
save all the banty eggs for you, Timmy, and some day I'll take you
down there and show you the rabbits, darling. Would you like that?"

Molly glanced helplessly at her husband.

"How soon could you come, Belle?" asked Jerry, and that settled it.
He had interpreted his wife's look and assumed the responsibility.
Molly found herself glad.

Belle came two days later, with every evidence of content. It soon
became evident that she had adopted the family and considered
herself adopted in turn. Her buoyant voice seemed to leap out of
every opened door. She rose above her duties and floated along on a
constant stream of joyous talk.

"We're going to have fried chicken and strawberries--my favorite
dinner!" said Belle when Molly was showing her just how she liked
the table set. After dinner, cheerfully polishing glasses, she
suddenly burst into song as she stood at the open pantry window,
some ten feet from the side porch. The words floated out:

"And the band was bravely playing
The song of the cross and crown--
Nearer, my god, to thee--
As the ship--"

Mrs. Tressady sat up, a stirring shadow among the shadows of the
porch.

"I must ask her not to do that," she announced quietly, and
disappeared.

"And I spoke to her about joining in the conversation at dinner,"
she said, returning. "She took it very nicely."

Belle's youthful spirits were too high to succumb to one check,
however. Five minutes later she burst forth again:

"Ring, ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, on your telephone--
And ring me up tonight--"

"Soft pedal, Belle!" Jerry called.

Belle laughed.

"Sure!" she called back. "I forgot."

Presently the bright blot of light that fell from the pantry window
on the little willow trees vanished silently, and they could hear
Belle's voice in the kitchen.

"Good-natured," said Molly.

"Strong," Mrs. Porter said.

"And pretty as a peach!" said Peter Porter.

"Oh, she'll do!" Jerry Tressady said contentedly.

She was good-natured, strong, and pretty indeed, and she did a great
deal. Timmy's little garments fluttered on the clothes-line before
breakfast; Timmy's room was always in order: Timmy was always dainty
and clean. Belle adored him and the baby returned her affection.
They murmured together for hours down on the river bank or on the
shady porch. Belle always seemed cheerful.

Nor could it be said that Belle did not know her place. She revelled
in her title. "This is Mrs. Tressady's maid," Belle would say
mincingly at the telephone, "and she does not allow her servants to
make engagements for her." "My friends want me to enter my name for
a prize for the most popular girl in the Emville bazaar, Mrs.
Tressady; but I thought I would ask your permission first."

But there was a sort of breezy familiarity about her very difficult
to check. On her second day at the ranch she suddenly came behind
Jerry Tressady seated on the piano bench and slipped a sheet of
music before him.

"Won't you just run over that last chorus for me, Mr. Tress'dy?"
asked Belle. "I have to sing that at a party Thursday night and I
can't seem to get it."

No maid between Washington Square and the Bronx Zoo would have asked
this favor. Yes, but Rising Water Ranch was not within those limits,
nor within several thousand miles of them; so Jerry played the last
chorus firmly, swiftly, without comment, and Belle gratefully
withdrew. The Porters, unseen witnesses of this scene, on the porch,
thought this very amusing; but only a day later Mrs. Porter herself
was discovered in the act of buttoning the long line of buttons that
went down the back of one of Belle's immaculate white gowns.

"Well, what could I do? She suddenly backed up before me," Mrs.
Porter said in self-defence. "Could I tell her to let Hong button
her?"

After dinner on the same day Peter Porter cleared a space before him
on the table and proceeded to a demonstration involving a fork, a
wedding ring, and a piece of string. While the quartet, laughing,
were absorbed in the mysterious swinging of the suspended ring,
Belle, putting away her clean silver, suddenly joined the group.

"I know a better one than that," said she, putting a glass of water
before Mrs. Tressady. "Here--take your ring again. Now wait--I'll
pull out one of your hairs for you. Now swing it over the water
inside the glass. It'll tell your age."

Entirely absorbed in the experiment, her fresh young face close to
theirs, her arms crossed as she knelt by the table, she had eyes
only for the ring.

"We won't keep you from your dishes, Belle," said Molly.

"Oh, I'm all through," said Belle, cheerfully. "There!" For the ring
was beginning to strike the glass with delicate, even strokes--
thirty.

"Now do it again," cried Belle, delightedly, "and it'll tell your
married life!"

Again the ring struck the glass--eight.

"Well, that's very marvellous," said Molly, in genuine surprise; but
when Belle had gone back to her pantry, Mrs. Tressady rose, with a
little sigh, and followed her.

"Call her down?" asked Jerry, an hour later.

"Well, no," the lady admitted, smiling. "No! She was putting away
Timmy's bibs, and she told me that he had seemed a little upset to-
night, she thought; so she gave him just barley gruel and the white
of an egg for supper, and some rhubarb water before he went to bed.
And what could I say? But I will, though!"

During the following week Mrs. Tressady told Belle she must not rush
into a room shouting news--she must enter quietly and wait for an
opportunity to speak; Mrs. Tressady asked her to leave the house by
the side porch and quietly when going out in the evening to drive
with her young man; Mrs. Tressady asked her not to deliver the mail
with the announcement: "Three from New York, an ad from Emville, and
one with a five-cent stamp on it;" she asked her not to shout out
from the drive, "White skirt show?" She said Belle must not ask,
"What's he doing?" when discovering Mr. Tressady deep in a chess
problem; Belle must not drop into a chair when bringing Timmy out to
the porch after his afternoon outing; she must not be heard
exclaiming, "Yankee Doodle!" and "What do you know about that!" when
her broom dislodged a spider or her hair caught on the rose-bushes.

To all of these requests Belle answered, "Sure!" with great
penitence and amiability.

"Sure, Mis' Tress'dy--Say, listen! I can match that insertion I
spilled ink on--in Emville. Isn't that the limit? I can fix it so
it'll never show in the world!"

"I wouldn't stand that girl for--one--minute," said Mrs. Porter to
her husband; but this was some weeks later when the Porters were in
a comfortable Pullman, rushing toward New York.

"I think Molly's afraid of flying in the face of Providence and
discharging her," said Peter Porter--"but praying every day that
she'll go."

This was almost the truth. Belle's loyalty, affection, good nature,
and willingness were beyond price, but Belle's noisiness, her slang,
and her utter lack of training were a sore trial. When November
came, with rains that kept the little household at Rising Water
prisoners indoors, Mrs. Tressady began to think she could not stand
Belle much longer.

"My goodness!" Belle would say loudly when sent for to bring a
filled lamp. "Is that other lamp burned out already? Say, listen!
I'll give you the hall lamp while I fill it." "You oughtn't to touch
pie just after one of your headaches!" she would remind her employer
in a respectful aside at dinner. And sometimes when Molly and her
husband were busy in the study a constant stream of conversation
would reach them from the nursery where Belle was dressing Timothy:

"Now where's the boy that's going to let Belle wash his face? Oh,
my, what a good boy! Now, just a minny--minny--minny--that's all.
Now give Belle a sweet, clean kiss--yes, but give Belle a sweet,
clean kiss--give Belle a kiss--oh, Timmy, do you want Belle to cry?
Well, then, give her a kiss--give Belle a sweet kiss--"

When Molly was bathing the boy Belle would come and take a
comfortable chair near by, ready to spring for powder or pins, but
otherwise studying her fingernails or watching the bath with genial
interest. Molly found herself actually lacking in the strength of
mind to exact that Belle stand silently near on these occasions, and
so listened to a great many of Belle's confidences. Belle at home;
Belle in the high school; Belle trying a position in Robbins's candy
store and not liking it because she was not used to freshness--all
these Belles became familiar to Molly. Grewsome sicknesses, famous
local crimes, gossip, weddings--Belle touched upon them all; and
Molly was ashamed to find it all interesting, it spite of herself.
One day Belle told Molly of Joe Rogers, and Joe figured daily in the
narratives thereafter--Joe, who drove a carriage, a motor, or a hay
wagon, as the occasion required, for his uncle who owned a livery
stable, but whose ambition was to buy out old Scanlon, the local
undertaker, and to marry Belle.

"Joe knows more about embalming than even Owens of Napa does,"
confided Belle. "He's got every plat in the cemetery memorized--and,
his uncle having carriages and horses, it would work real well; but
Scanlon wants three thousand for the business and goodwill."

"I wish he had it and you this minute!" Molly would think. But when
she opened Timmy's bureau drawers, to find little suits and coats
and socks in snowy, exquisite order; when Timmy, trim, sweet, and
freshly clad, appeared for breakfast every morning, his fat hand in
Belle's, and "Dea' Booey"--as he called her--figuring prominently in
his limited vocabulary, Molly weakened again.

"Is he mad this morning?" Belle would ask in a whisper before Jerry
appeared. "Say, listen! You just let him think I broke the
decanter!" she suggested one day in loyal protection of Molly. "Why,
I think the world and all of Mr. Tressady!" she assured Molly, when
reproved for speaking of him in this way. "Wasn't it the luckiest
thing in the world--my coming up that day?" she would demand
joyously over and over. Her adoption of and by the family of
Tressady was--to her, at least--complete.

In January Uncle George Tressady's estate was finally distributed,
and this meant great financial ease at Rising Water. Belle, Molly
said, was really getting worse and worse as she became more and more
at home; and the time had come to get a nice trained nurse--some one
who could keep a professional eye on Timmy, be a companion to Molly,
and who would be quiet and refined, and gentle in her speech.

"And not a hint to Belle, Jerry," Molly warned him, "until we see
how it is going to work. She'll see presently that we don't need
both."

When Miss Marshall, cool, silent, drab of hair and eye, arrived at
the ranch, Belle was instantly suspicious.

"What's she here for? Who's sick?" demanded Belle, coming into Mrs.
Tressady's room and closing the door behind her, her eyes bright and
hard.

Molly explained diplomatically. Belle must be very polite to the
new-comer; it was just an experiment--"This would be a good chance
to hint that I'm not going to keep both," thought Molly, as Belle
listened.

Belle disarmed her completely, however, by coming over to her with a
suddenly bright face and asking in an awed voice:

"Is it another baby? Oh, you don't know how glad I'd be! The
darling, darling little thing!"

Molly felt the tears come into her eyes--a certain warmth creep
about her heart.

"No," she said smiling; "but I'm glad you will love it if it ever
comes!" This was, of course, exactly what she did not mean to say.

"If we got Miss Marshall because of Uncle George's money," said
Belle, huffily, departing, "I wish he hadn't died! There isn't a
thing in this world for her to do."

Miss Marshall took kindly to idleness--talking a good deal of
previous cases, playing solitaire, and talking freely to Molly of
various internes and patients who admired her. She marked herself at
once as unused to children by calling Timothy "little man," and,
except for a vague, friendly scrutiny of his tray three times a day,
did nothing at all--even leaving the care of her room to Belle.

After a week or two, Miss Marshall went away, to Belle's great
satisfaction, and Miss Clapp came. Miss Clapp was forty, and strong
and serious; she did not embroider or confide in Molly; she sat
silent at meals, chewing firmly, her eyes on her plate. "What would
you like me to do now?" she would ask Molly, gravely, at intervals.

Molly, with Timothy asleep and Belle sweeping, could only murmur:

"Why, just now,--let me see,--perhaps you'd like to write letters--
or just read--"

"And are you going to take little Timothy with you when he wakes
up?"

Molly would evade the uncompromising eyes.

"Why, I think so. The sun's out now. You must come, too."

Miss Clapp, coming, too, cast a damper on the drive; and she
persisted in talking about the places where she was really needed.

"Imagine a ward with forty little suffering children in it, Mrs.
Tressady! That's real work--that's a real privilege!"

And after a week or two Miss Clapp went joyously back to her real
work with a generous check for her children's ward in her pocket.
She kissed Timothy good-by with the first tenderness she had shown.

"Didn't she make you feel like an ant in an anthill?" asked Belle,
cheerfully watching the departing carriage. "She really didn't take
no interest in Timothy because there wasn't a hundred of him!"

There was a peaceful interval after this, while Molly diligently
advertised for "A competent nurse. One child only. Good salary.
Small family in country."

No nurse, competent or incompetent, replied. Then came the January
morning when Belle casually remarked: "Stupid! You never wound it!"
to the master of the house, who was attempting to start a stopped
clock. This was too much! Mrs. Tressady immediately wrote the letter
that engaged Miss Carter, a highly qualified and high-priced nursery
governess who had been recommended by a friend.

Miss Carter, a rosy, strong, pleasant girl, appeared two days later
in a driving rain and immediately "took hold." She was talkative,
assured in manner, neat in appearance, entirely competent. She drove
poor Belle to frenzy with her supervision of Timothy's trays, baths
and clothes, amusements and sleeping arrangements. Timmy liked her,
which was point one in her favor. Point two was that she liked to
have her meals alone, liked to disappear with a book, could amuse
herself for hours in her own room.

The Tressadys, in the privacy of their own room, began to say to
each other: "I like her--she'll do!"

"She's very complacent," Molly would say with a sigh.

"But it's nothing to the way Belle effervesces all over the place!"

"Oh, I suppose she is simply trying to make a good impression--
that's all." And Mrs. Tressady began to cast about in her mind for
just the words in which to tell Belle that--really--four servants
were not needed at the ranch. Belle was so sulky in these days and
so rude to the new-comer that Molly knew she would have no trouble
in finding good reason for the dismissal.

"Are we going to keep her?" Belle asked scornfully one morning--to
which her mistress answered sharply:

"Belle, kindly do not shout so when you come into my room. Do you
see that I am writing?"

"Gee whiz!" said Belle, sorrowfully, as she went out, and she
visibly drooped all day.

It was decided that as soon as the Tressadys' San Francisco visit
was over, Belle should go. They were going down to the city for a
week in early March--for some gowns for Molly, some dinners, some
opera, and one of the talks with Jerry's doctor that were becoming
so delightfully unnecessary.

They left the ranch in a steady, gloomy downpour. Molly did her
packing between discouraged trips to the window, and deluged Belle
and Miss Carter with apprehensive advice that was not at all like
her usual trusting outlook.

"Don't fail to telephone me instantly at the hotel if anything--but,
of course, nothing will," said Molly. "Anyway you know the doctor's
number, Belle, and about a hot-water bag for him if his feet are
cold, and oil the instant he shows the least sign of fever--"

"Cert'n'y!" said Belle, reassuringly.

"This is Monday," said Molly. "We'll be back Sunday night. Have
Little Hong meet us at the Junction. And if it's clear, bring
Timmy."

"Cert'n'y!" said Belle.

"I hate to go in all this rain!" Molly said an hour or two later
from the depths of the motor-car.

Miss Carter was holding Timmy firmly on the sheltered porch railing.
Belle stood on an upper step in the rain. Big Hong beamed from the
shadowy doorway. At the last instant Belle suddenly caught Timmy in
her arms and ran down the wet path.

"Give muddy a reel good kiss for good-by!" commanded Belle, and
Molly hungrily claimed not one, but a score.

"Good-by, my heart's heart!" she said. "Thank you, Belle." As the
carriage whirled away she sighed. "Was there ever such a good-
hearted, impossible creature!"

Back into the house went Belle and Timmy, Miss Carter and Big Hong.
Back came Little Hong with the car. Silence held the ranch; the
waning winter light fell on Timmy, busy with blocks; on Belle
darning; on Miss Carter reading a light novel. The fire blazed, sank
to quivering blue, leaped with a sucking noise about a fresh log,
and sank again. At four the lamps were lighted, the two women fussed
amicably together over Timothy's supper. Later, when he was asleep,
Miss Carter, who had no particular fancy for the shadows that lurked
in the corners of the big room and the howling wind on the roof,
said sociably: "Shall we have our dinner on two little tables right
here before the fire, Belle?" And still later, after an evening of
desultory reading and talking, she suggested that they leave their
bedroom doors open. Belle agreed. If Miss Carter was young, Belle
was younger still.

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