Sunny Slopes

by Ethel Hueston

  CHAPTER XIII

  OLD HOPES AND NEW

  Along toward the middle of the summer Carol began eating her meals onthe porch with David, and they fixed up a small table with doilies andflowers, and said they were keeping house all over again. Sometimes,when David was sleeping, Carol slipped noiselessly into the room toturn over with loving fingers the soft woolen petticoats, and bandages,and bonnets, and daintily embroidered dresses,--gifts of the women oftheir church back in the Heights in St. Louis.

  About David the doctors had been frank with Carol.

  "He may live a long time and be comfortable, and enjoy himself. But hewill never be able to do a man's work again."

  "Are you sure?" Carol had taken the blow without flinching.

  "Oh, yes. There is no doubt about that."

  "What shall I do?"

  "Just be happy that he is here, and not suffering. Love him, and amusehim, and enjoy him as much as you can. That is all you can do."

  "Let's not tell him," she suggested. "It would make him so sorry."

  "That is a good idea. Keep him in the dark. It is lots easier to behappy when hope goes with it."

  But long before this, David had looked his future in the face. "I havebeen set aside for good," he thought. "I know it, I feel it. ButCarol is so sure I will be well again! She shall never know the truthfrom me."

  When Carol intensely told him he was stronger, he agreed promptly, andsaid he thought so, himself.

  "Oh, blessed old David, I'm so glad you don't know about it," thoughtCarol.

  "My sweet little Carol, I hope you never find out until it is over,"thought David.

  Sometimes Carol stood at the window when David was sleeping, and lookedout over the long mesa to the mountains. Her gaze rested on the darkheavy shadows of the canyons. To her, those dark valleys in themountains represented a buried vision,--the vision of David strong andsturdy again, springing lightly across a tennis court, walking brisklythrough mud and snow to conduct a little mission in the Hollow,standing tall and straight and sunburned in the pulpit swaying thepeople with his fervor. It was a buried hope, a shadowy canyon. Thenshe looked up to the sunny slopes, stretching bright and golden abovethe shadows up to the snowy crest of the mountain peaks. Sunnyslopes,--a new hope rising out of the old and towering above it. Andthen she always went back to the chest in the corner of the room andfingered the tiny garments, waiting there for service, with tenderfingers.

  And once in a while, not very often, David would say, smiling, "Whoknows, Carol, but you two may some day do the things we two had hopedto do?"

  A few weeks later Aunt Grace came out from Mount Mark, and in her usualsoft, gentle way drifted into the life of the chasers in thesanatorium. She told of the home, of William's work and tireless zeal,of Lark and Jim, of Fairy and Babbie, of Prudence and Jerry. Shetalked most of all of Connie.

  "That Connie! She is a whole family all by herself. She is entirelydifferent from the rest of you. She is unique. She doesn't reallylive at all, she just looks on. She watches life with the coolcritical eyes of a philosopher and a stoic and an epicure all rolledinto one. She comes, she sees, she draws conclusions. William and Ihold our breath. She may set the world on fire with her talent, or shemay become a demure little old maid crocheting jabots and feedingkittens. No one can foretell Connie."

  And Carol, in a beautiful, heavenly relief at having this blessedoutlet for her pent-up feelings, reclined in a big rocker on the porch,and smiled at Aunt Grace, and glowed at David, and declared the sunnyslopes were so brilliant they dazzled her eyes.

  There came a day when she packed a suitcase, and petted David a littleand gave him very strict instructions as to how he was to conducthimself in her absence, and went away over to the other building, andsettled down in a pleasant up-stairs room with Aunt Grace in charge.For several days she lounged there quietly content, gazing for hoursout upon the marvelous mesa land, answering with a cheery wave the gaygreetings shouted up to her from chasers loitering beneath her windows.

  But one morning, she watched with weary throbbing eyes as Aunt Graceand a nurse and a chamber maid carefully wrapped up a tiny pink flannelroll for a visit to Room Number Six in the McCormick Building.

  "Tell him I am just fine, and it is a lucky thing that he likes girlsbetter than boys, and we think she is going to look like me. And beparticularly sure to tell him she is very, very pretty, the doctor andthe nurse both say she is,--David might overlook it if his attentionwere not especially called to it."

  Three weeks later, the suit-case was packed once more, and Carol wasmoved back across the grounds to Number Six and David, where alreadylittle Julia was in full control.

  "Aren't you glad she is pretty, David?" demanded Carol promptly. "Iwas so relieved. Most of them are so red and frowsy, you know. I'veseen lots of new ones in my day, but this is my first experience with apretty one."

  The doctor and the nurse had the temerity to laugh at that, even withJulia, pink and dimply, right before them. "Oh, that old, old story,"said the doctor. "I'm looking for a woman who can class her baby withthe others. I intend to use my fortune erecting a monument to her if Ifind her,--but the fortune is safe. Every woman's baby is the onlypretty one she ever saw in her life."

  Carol and David were a little indignant at first, but finally theydecided to make allowances for the doctor,--he was old, and of coursehe must be tired of babies, he had ushered in so many. They would tryand apply their Christian charity to him, though it was a great strainon their religion.

  But what should be done with Julia? David was so ill, Carol so weak,the baby so tender. Was it safe to keep her there? But could they letthat little rosebud go?

  "Why, I will just take her home with me," said Aunt Grace gently. "Andwe'll keep her until you are ready. Oh, it won't be a bit of trouble.We want her."

  That settled it. The baby was to go.

  "For once in my life I have made a sacrifice," said Carol grimly. "Ithink I must be improving. I have allowed myself to be hurt, andcrushed, and torn to shreds, for the good of some one else. Icertainly must be improving."

  Later she thought, "She will know all her aunties before she knows me.She will love them better. When I go home, she will not know me, andwill cry for Aunt Grace. She will be afraid of me. Really, somethings are very hard." But to David she said that of course thedoctors were right, and she and David were so old and sensible that itwould be quite easy to do as they were bid. And they were so used tohaving just themselves that things would go on as they always had.

  But more nights than one she cried herself to sleep, craving the touchof the little rosebud baby learning of motherhood from some one else.