The day after Christmas. “Baldy, darling: The operation is over, and the doctor gives us hope. That is the best I can tell you. I haven’t been allowed to see Judy, though they have let Bob have a peep at her, and she smiled.
“You can imagine that we have had little heart for good times. But the babies had a beautiful Christmas Day, with a tree—and stockings hung above the gas logs. How I longed for our own little wood fire, but the blessed darlings didn’t know the difference. We couldn’t spend much money, which was fortunate. The things that came from the east were so perfect. Yours, honey-boy, only you shouldn’t have made the check so large. I shan’t spend it unless it is very necessary. Mr. Towne sent flowers, loads of them—and perfectly marvellous chocolates in a box of gold lacquer—and Edith sent a string of carved ivory beads, and there was a blue Keats from Evans, and a ducky orange scarf from Mrs. Follette.
“I wish you could have seen the babies. Julia staggered around the tree on her uncertain little feet as if she were drunk, and then settled down to an adorable stuffed bunny, and Junior had eyes for nothing but the red automobile that the Townes ordered for him. I think it was dear of Edith and[228] her uncle. Junior is such a charming chap, with beautiful manners like his dad, but with a will of his own at times.
“I roasted a chicken for dinner, and—well, we got through it all. And now the babies are in bed, and Bob is at the hospital, and I am writing to you. But my heart is tight with fear.
“I mustn’t think about Judy.
“Give my love to everybody. I have had Christmas letters from Evans and Edith and Mr. Towne. Baldy, Mr. Towne wants to marry me. I haven’t told you before. It is rather like a dream and I’m not going to think about it. I don’t love him, and so, of course, that settles it. But he says he can make me, and, Baldy, sometimes I wish that he could. It would be such a heavenly thing for the whole family. Of course that isn’t the way to look at it, but I believe Judy wants it. She believes in love in a cottage, but she says that love in a palace might be equally satisfying, with fewer things to worry about.
“Somehow that doesn’t fit in with the things I’ve dreamed. But dreams, of course, aren’t everything....
“I had to tell you, dear old boy. Because we’ve never kept things from each other. And you’ve been so perfectly frank about Edith. Are things a bit blue in that direction? Your letter sounded like it.
“Be good to yourself, old dear, and love me more than ever.”
Jane signed her name and stood up, stretching her arms above her head. It was late and she was very tired. A great storm was shaking the windows.[229] The wind from the lake beat against the walls with the boom of guns.
Jane pulled back the curtains—there was snow with the storm—it whirled in papery shreds on the shaft of light. All sounds in the street were muffled. She had a sense of suffocation—as if the storm pressed upon her—shutting her in.
She went into the next room and looked at the babies. Oh, what would they do if anything happened to Judy? What would Bob do? She dared not look ahead.
She walked the floor, a tense little figure, fighting against fear. The storm had become a whistling pandemonium. She gave a cry of relief when the door opened and her brother-in-law entered.
“I’m half-frozen, Janey. It was a fight to get through. The cars are stopped on all the surface lines.”
“How is Judy?”
“Holding her own. And by the way, Janey, that friend of yours, Towne, sent another bunch of roses. Pretty fine, I call it. She’s no end pleased.”
“It’s nice of him.”
“Gee, I wish I had his money.”
“Money isn’t everything, Bobby.”
“It means a lot at a time like this.” His face wore a worried frown. Jane knew that Judy’s hospital expenses were appalling, and bills were piling up.
[230]“I work like a nigger,” Bob said, ruefully, “and we’ve never been in debt before.”
“When Judy is well, things will seem brighter, Bob.” She laid her hand on his arm.
He looked up at her and there was fear in his eyes. “Jane, she must get well. I can’t face losing her.”
“We mustn’t think of that. And now come on out in the kitchen and I’ll make you some coffee.” Jane was always practical. She knew that, warmed and fed, he would see things differently.
Yet in spite of her philosophy, Jane lay awake a long time that night. And later her dreams were of Judy—of Judy, and a gray and dreadful phantom which pursued....
The next day she went to the hospital and took Junior with her.
When he saw his mother in bed, Junior asked, “Do you like it, Mother-dear?”
“Like what, darling?”
“Sleeping in the daytime?”
“I don’t always sleep.” She looked at Jane. “Does little Julia miss me? I think about her in the night.”
Jane knew what Judy’s heart wanted. “She does miss you. I know it when she turns away from me. Perhaps I oughtn’t to tell you. But I thought you’d rather know.”
“I do want to know,” said Judy, feverishly. “I[231] don’t want them to forget. Jane, you mustn’t ever let them—forget.”
Jane felt as if she had been struck a stunning blow. She was, for a moment, in the midst of a dizzy universe, in which only one thing was clear. Judy wasn’t sure of getting well!
Judy, with her brown eyes wistful, went on: “Junior, do you want Mother back in your own nice house?”
“Will you make cookies?”
“Yes, darling.”
“Then I want you back. Aunt Janey made cookies, and she didn’t know about the raisins.”
“Mother knows how to give cookie-men raisin eyes. Mothers know a lot of things that aunties don’t, darling.”
“Well, I wish you’d come back.” He stood by the side of the bed. “I’d like to sleep with you to-night. May I, Mother-dear?”
“Not to-night, darling. But you may when I come home.”
But days passed and weeks, and Judy did not come home. And the first of February found her still in that narrow hospital bed. And it was in February that Frederick Towne wrote that he was coming to Chicago. “I shall have only a day, but I must see you.”
Jane was not sure that she wanted him to come. He had been very good to them all, and he had not, in his letter, pressed for an answer[232] unduly. But she knew if he came, he would ask.
The next time she went to the hospital, she told Judy of his expected arrival. “To-morrow.”
“Oh, Jane, how delightful.”
“Is it? I’m not sure, Judy.”
“It would be perfect if you’d accept him, Jane.”
“But I’m not in love with him.”
Judy, rather austere, with her black braids on each side of her white face, said, “Janey, do you know that not one girl in a thousand has a chance to marry a man like Frederick Towne?”
There was a breathless excitement about the invalid which warned Jane. “Now, darling, what real difference will it make if I don’t marry him? There are other men in the world.”
“Bob and I were talking about it,” Judy’s voice was almost painfully eager, “of how splendid it would be for—all of us.”
For all of us. Judy and Bob and the babies! It was the first time that Jane had thought of her marriage with Towne as a way out for Judy and Bob....
From his hotel at the moment of arrival, Towne called Jane up. “Are you glad I’m here?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t say it that way.”
“How shall I say it?”
“As if you meant it. Do you know what a[233] frigid little thing you are? Your letters were like frosted cakes.”
She laughed. “They were the best I could do.”
“I don’t believe it. But I am not going to talk of that now. When can I come and see you? And how much time have you to spare for me?”
“Not much. I can’t leave the babies.”
“Your sister’s children. Can’t you trust the maids?”
“Maids? Listen to the man! We haven’t any.”
“You don’t mean to tell me that you are doing the housework.”
“Yes, why not? I am strong and well, and the kiddies are adorable.”
“We are going to change that. I’ll bring a trained nurse up with me.”
“Please don’t be a tyrant.&rdqu............