He opened the door, his head averted, and the nurse hurried into the room. The Girl on the bed was beginning to toss, moan, and mutter. Skilful hands straightened her, arranged the covers, and the doctor was called. In the living-room the Harvester paced in misery too deep for consecutive thought. As consciousness returned, the Girl grew wilder, and the nurse could not follow the doctor’s directions and care for her. Then Doctor Carey called the Harvester. He went in and sitting beside the bed took the feverish, wildly beating hands in his strong, cool ones, and began stroking them and talking.
“Easy, honey,” he murmured softly. “Lie quietly while I tell you. You mustn’t tire yourself. You are wasting strength you need to fight the fever. I’ll hold your hands tight, I’ll stroke your head for you. Lie quietly, dear, and Doctor Carey and his head nurse are going to make you well in a little while. That’s right! Let me do the moving; you lie and rest. Only rest and rest, until all the pain is gone, and the strong days come, and they are going to bring great joy, love, and peace, to my dear, dear girl. Even the moans take strength. Try just to lie quietly and rest. You can’t hear Singing Water if you don’t listen, Ruth.”
“She doesn’t realize that it is you or know what you say, David,” said Doctor Carey gently.
“I understand,” said the Harvester. “But if you will observe, you will see that she is quiet when I stroke her head and hands, and if you notice closely you will grant that she gets a word occasionally. If it is the right one, it helps. She knows my voice and touch, and she is less nervous and afraid with me. Watch a minute!”
The Harvester took both of the Girl’s fluttering hands in one of his and with long, light strokes gently brushed them, and then her head, and face, and then her hands again, and in a low, monotonous, half sing-song voice he crooned, “Rest, Ruth, rest! It is night now. The moon is bridging Loon Lake, and the whip-poor-will is crying. Listen, dear, don’t you hear him crying? Still, Girl, still! Just as quiet! Lie so quietly. The whip-poor-will is going to tell his mate he loves her, loves her so dearly. He is going to tell her, when you listen. That’s a dear girl. Now he is beginning. He says, ‘Come over the lake and listen to the song I’m singing to you, my mate, my mate, my dear, dear mate,’ and the big night moths are flying; and the katydids are crying, positive and sure they are crying, a thing that’s past denying. Hear them crying? And the ducks are cheeping, soft little murmurs while they’re sleeping, sleeping. Resting, softly resting! Gently, Girl, gently! Down the hill comes Singing Water, laughing, laughing! Don’t you hear it laughing? Listen to the big owl courting; it sees the coon out hunting, it hears the mink softly slipping, slipping, where the dews of night are dripping. And the little birds are sleeping, so still they are sleeping. Girls should be a-sleeping, like the birds a-sleeping, for to-morrow joy comes creeping, joy and life and love come creeping, creeping to my Girl. Gently, gently, that’s a dear girl, gently! Tired hands rest easy, tired head lies still! That’s the way to rest—”
On and on the even voice kept up the story. All over and around the lake, the length of Singing Water, the marsh folk found voices to tell of their lives, where it was a story of joy, rest, and love. Up the hill ranged the Harvester, through the forest where the squirrels slept, the owl hunted, the fire-flies flickered, the fairies squeezed flower leaves to make colour to paint the autumn foliage, and danced on toadstool platforms. Just so long as his voice murmured and his touch continued, so long the Girl lay quietly, and the medicines could act. But no other touch would serve, and no other voice would answer. If the harvester left the room five minutes to show the nurse how to light the fire, and where to find things, he returned to tossing, restless delirium.
“It’s magic David,” said Doctor Carey. “Magic!”
“It is love,” said the Harvester. “Even crazed with fever, she recognizes its voice and touch. You’ve got your work cut out, Doc. Roll your sleeves and collect your wits. Set your heart on winning. There is one thing shall not happen. Get that straight in your mind, right now. And you too, Miss Barnet! There is nothing like fighting for a certainty. You may think the Girl is desperately ill, and she is, but make up your minds that you are here to fight for her life, and to save it. Save, do you understand? If she is to go, I don’t need either of you. I can let her do that myself. You are here on a mission of life. Keep it before you! Life and health for this Girl is the prize you are going to win. Dig into it, and I’ll pay the bills, and extra besides. If money is any incentive, I’ll give you all I’ve got for life and health for the Girl. Are you doing all you know?”
“I certainly am, David.”
“But when day comes you’ll have to go back to the hospital and we may not know how to meet crises that will arise. What then? We should have a competent physician in the house until this fever breaks.”
“I had thought of that, David. I will arrange to send one of the men from the hospital who will be able to watch symptoms and come for me when needed.”
“Won’t do!” said the Harvester calmly. “She has no strength for waiting. You are to come when you can, and remain as long as possible. The case is yours; your decisions go, but I will select your assistant. I know the man I want.”
“Who is he, David?”
“I’ll tell you when I learn whether I can get him. Now I want you to give the Girl the strongest sedative you dare, take off your coat, roll your sleeves, and see how well you can imitate my voice, and how much you have profited by listening to my song. In other words, before day calls, I want you to take my place so successfully that you deceive her, and give me time to make a trip to town. There are a few things that must be done, and I think I can work faster in the night. Will you?”
Doctor Carey bent over the bed. Gently he slipped a practised hand under the Harvester’s and made the next stroke down the white arm. Gradually he took possession of the thin hands and his touch fell on the masses of dark hair. As the Harvester arose the doctor took the seat.
“You go on!” he ordered gruffly. “I’ll do better alone.”
The Harvester stepped back. The doctor’s touch was easy and the Girl lay quietly for an instant, then she moved restlessly.
“You must be still now,” he said gently. “The moon is up, the lake is all white, and the birds are flying all around. Lie still or you’ll make yourself worse. Stiller than that! If you don’t you can’t hear things courting. The ducks are quacking, the bull frogs are croaking, and everything. Lie still, still, I tell you!”
“Oh good Lord, Doc!” groaned the Harvester in desperation.
The Girl wrenched her hands free and her head rolled on the pillow.
“Harvester! Harvester!” she cried.
The doctor started to arise.
“Sit still!” commanded the Harvester. “Take her hands and go to work, idiot! Give her more sedative, and tell her I’m coming. That’s the word, if she realizes enough to call for me.”
The doctor possessed himself of the flying hands, and gently held and stroked them.
“The Harvester is coming,” he said. “Wait just a minute, he’s on the way. He is coming. I think I hear him. He will be here soon, very soon now. That’s a good girl! Lie still for David. He won’t like it if you toss and moan. Just as still, lie still so I can listen. I can’t tell whether he is coming until you are quiet.”
Then he said to the Harvester, “You see, I’ve got it now. I can manage her, but for pity sake, hurry man! Take the car! Jim is asleep on the back seat—Yes, yes, Girl! I’m listening for him. I think I hear him! I think he’s coming!”
Here and there a word penetrated, and she lay more quietly, but not in the rest to which the Harvester had lulled her.
“Hurry man!” groaned the doctor in a whispered aside, and the Harvester ran to the car, awakened the driver and told him he had a clear road to Onabasha, to speed up.
“Where to?” asked the driver.
“Dickson, of the First National.”
In a few minutes the car stopped before t
he residence and the Harvester made an attack on the front door. Presently the man came.
“Excuse me for routing you out at this time of night,” said the Harvester, “but it’s a case of necessity. I have an automobile here. I want you to go to the bank with me, and get me an address from your draft records. I know the rules, but I want the name of my wife’s Chicago physician. She is delirious, and I must telephone him.”
The cashier stepped out and closed the door.
“Nine chances out of ten it will be in the vault,” he said.
“That leaves one that it won’t,” answered the Harvester. “Sometimes I’ve looked in when passing in the night, and I’ve noticed that the books are not always put away. I could see some on the rack to-night. I think it is there.”
It was there, and the Harvester ordered the driver to hurry him to the telephone exchange, then take the cashier home and return and wait. He called the Chicago Information office.
“I want Dr. Frank Harmon, whose office address is 1509 Columbia Street. I don’t know the ’phone number.”
Then came a long wait, and after twenty minutes the blessed buzzing whisper, “Here’s your party.”
“Doctor Harmon?”
“Yes.”
“You remember Ruth Jameson, the daughter of a recent patient of yours?”
“I do.”
“Well my name is Langston. The Girl is in my home and care. She is very ill with fever, and she has much confidence in you. This is Onabasha, on the Grand Rapids and Indiana. You take the Pennsylvania at seven o’clock, telegraph ahead that you are coming so that they will make connection for you, change at twelve-twenty at Fort Wayne, and I will meet you here. You will find your ticket and a check waiting you at the Chicago depot. Arrange to remain a week at least. You will be paid all expenses and regular prices for your time. Will you come?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Make no failure. Good-bye.”
Then the Harvester left an order with the telephone company to run a wire to Medicine Woods the first thing in the morning, and drove to the depot to arrange for the ticket and check. In less than an hour he was holding the Girl’s hands and crooning over her.
“Jerusalem!” said Doctor Carey, rising stiffly. “I’d rather undertake to cut off your head and put it back on than to tackle another job like that. She’s quite delirious, but she has flashes, and at such times she knows whom she wants; the rest of the time it’s a jumble and some of it is rather gruesome. She’s seen dreadful illness, hunger, and there’s a debt she’s wild about. I told you something was back of this. You’ve got to find out and set her mind at ease.”
“I know all about it,” said the Harvester patiently between crooning sentences to the Girl. “But the crash came before I could convince her that it was all right and I could fix everything for her easily. If she only could understand me!”
“Did you find your man?”
“Yes. He will be here this afternoon.”
“Quick work!”
“This takes quick work.”
“Do you know anything about him?”
“Yes. He is a young fellow, just starting out. He is a fine, straight, manly man. I don’t know how much he knows, but it will be enough to recognize your ability and standing, and to do what you tell him. I have perfect confidence in him. I want you to come back at one, and take my place until I go to meet him.”
“I can bring him out.”
“I have to see him myself. There are a few words to be said before he sees the Girl.”
“David, what are you up to?”
“Being as honourable as I can. No man gets any too decent, but there is no law against doing as you would be done by, and being as straight as you know how. When I’ve talked to him, I’ll know where I am and I’ll have something to say to you.”
“David, I’m afraid—”
“Then what do you suppose I am?” said the Harvester. “It’s no use, Doc. Be still and take what comes! The manner in which you meet a crisis proves you a whining cur or a man. I have got lots of respect for a dog, as a dog; but I’ve none for a man as a dog. If you’ve gathered from the Girl’s delirium that I’ve made a mistake, I hope you have confidence enough in me to believe I’ll right it, and take my punishment without whining. Go away, you make her worse. Easy, Girl, the world is all right and every one is sleeping now, so you should be at rest. With the day the doctor will come, the good doctor you know and like, Ruth. You haven’t forgotten your doctor, Ruth? The kind doctor who cared for you. He will make you well, Ruth; well and oh, so happy! Harmon, Harmon, Doctor Harmon is coming to you, Girl, and then you will be so happy!”
“Why you blame idiot!” cried Doctor Carey in a harsh whisper. “Have you lost all the sense you ever had? Stop that gibber! She wants to hear about the birds and Singing Water. Go on with that woods line of talk; she likes that away the best. This stuff is making her restless. See!”
“You mean you are,” said the Harvester wearily. “Please leave us alone. I know the words that will bring comfort. You don’t.”
He began the story all over again, but now there ran through it a continual refrain. “Your doctor is coming, the good doctor you know. He will make you well and strong, and he will make life so lovely for you.”
He was talking without pause or rest when Doctor Carey returned in the afternoon to take his place. He brought Mrs. Carey with him, and she tried a woman’s powers of soothing another woman, and almost drove the Girl to fighting frenzy. So the doctor made another attempt, and the Harvester raced down the hill to the city. He went to the car shed as the train pulled in, and stood at one side while the people hurried through the gate. He was watching for a young man with a travelling bag and perhaps a physician’s satchel, who would be looking for some one.
“I think I’ll know him,” muttered the Harvester grimly. “I think the masculine element in me will pop up strongly and instinctively at the sight of this man who will take my Dream Girl from me. Oh good God! Are You sure You ARE good?”
In his brown khaki trousers and shirt, his head bare, his bronze face limned with agony he made no attempt to conceal, the Harvester, with feet planted firmly, and tightly folded arms, his head tipped slightly to one side, braced himself as he sent his keen gray eyes searching the crowd. Far away he selected his man. He was young, strong, criminally handsome, clean and alert; there was discernible anxiety on his face, and it touched the Harvester’s soul that he was coming just as swiftly as he could force his way. As he passed the gates the Harvester reached his side.
“Doctor Harmon, I think,” he said.
“Yes.”
“This way! If you have luggage, I will send for it later.”
The Harvester hurried to the car.
“Take the shortest cut and cover space,” he said to the driver. The car kept to the speed limit until toward the suburbs.
Doctor Harmon removed his hat, ran his fingers through dark waving hair and yielded his body to the swing of the car. Neither man attempted to talk. Once the Harvester leaned forward and told the driver to stop on the bridge, and then sat silently. As the car slowed down, they alighted.
“Drive on and tell Doc we are here, and will be up soon,” said the Harvester. Then he turned to the stranger. “Doctor Harmon, there’s little time for words. This is my place, and here I grow herbs for medicinal houses.”
“I have heard of you, and heard your stuff recommended,” said the doctor.
“Good!” exclaimed the Harvester. “That saves time. I stopped here to make a required explanation to you. The day you sent Ruth Jameson to Onabasha, I saw her leave the train and recognized in her my ideal woman. I lost her in the crowd and it took some time to locate her. I found her about a month ago. She was miserable. If you saw what her father did to her and her mother in Chicago, you should have seen what his brother was doing here. The end came one day in my presence, when I paid her for ginseng she had found to settle her debt to you. He robbed her by force.
I took the money from him, and he threatened her. She was ill then from heat, overwork, wrong food—every misery you can imagine heaped upon the dreadful conditions in which she came. It had been my intention to court and marry her if I possibly could. That day she had nowhere to go; she was wild with fear; the fever that is scorching her now was in her veins then. I did an insane thing. I begged her to marry me at once and come here for rest and protection. I swore that if she would, she should not be my wife, but my honoured guest, until she learned to love me and released me from my vow. She tried to tell me something; I had no idea it was anything that would make any real difference, and I wouldn’t listen. Last night, when the fever was beginning to do its worst, she told me of your entrance into her life and what it meant to her. Then I saw that I had made a mistake. You were her choice, the man she could love, not me, so I took the liberty of sending for you. I want you to cure her, court her, marry her, and make her happy. God knows she has had her share of suffering. You recognize her as a girl of refinement?”
“I do.”
“You grant that in health she would be lovelier than most women, do you not?”
“She was more beautiful than most in sickness and distress.”
“Good!” cried the Harvester. “She has been here two weeks. I give you my word, my promise to her has been kept faithfully. As soon as I can leave her to attend to it, she shall have her freedom. That will be easy. Will you marry her?”
The doctor hesitated.
“What is it?” asked the Harvester.
“Well to be frank,” said Doctor Harmon, “it is money! I’m only getting a start. I borrowed funds for my schooling and what I used for her. She is in every way attractive enough to be desired by any man, but how am I to provide a home and support her and pay these debts? I’ll try it, but I am afraid it will be taking her back to wrong conditions again.”
“If you knew that she owned a comfortable cottage in the suburbs, where it is cool and clean, and had, say a hundred a month of her own for the coming three years, could you see your way?”
The Best of Gene Stratton-Porter Page 90
