Brentwood

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “I—d–d–don’t—vantta—valk—vif—her!” he was wailing in a voice halfway between a howl and hysteria. “I vants—my—B–B–Bet–ty! I vants my—muvver!”

  The passersby stared after them: the beautiful girl in the expensive fur coat and the smart hat and gloves, dragging the howling dirty child; the shabby young fellow carrying a little girl in his arms—a little girl with scarlet cheeks, who lay back unresisting, one arm hanging down limply, one little bare hand sticking forth from a too-short sleeve. They made a strange procession, and people stared, amused.

  “Shut up, Sunny!” growled Ted, plodding along behind. His own strength was none too great in spite of his recent meal, and Bonnie was a dead weight, even though she looked frail.

  Instantly the indignant baby turned back and dragged at his captive hand.

  “I d–d–don’t vantta—go vif her! I vants you to tarry me, Teddy!”

  “Aw, be a man, Sunny boy!” implored Ted desperately. “Can’t you see I’ve got to carry Bonnie? Bonnie’s sick! Be a good kid and walk along with your new sister. She’s okay, Sunny. We’re almost home.”

  “Naw! I von’t valk vif her! I vants you to tarry me!”

  Marjorie suddenly stooped down and swept the youngster into her arms. She had never had much to do with children before, but she was quite strong and held him firmly.

  “I’ll carry you,” she said brightly, struggling with the frantic child. “There! There, you’re cold. See, I’ll tuck you inside this nice kitty-coat!”

  She unbuttoned her coat and put him within its folds.

  “There! There! Poor little boy! You are cold and tired, aren’t you? Sister will wipe your face nice and dry!”

  She fumbled for her handkerchief with one free hand, and the young man dealt her a few futile kicks.

  It wasn’t an easy trip, that, but Marjorie was very determined when she started a thing, and at last, breathless and aching in every muscle, she arrived at the house, a little behind Ted and his burden.

  Bud opened the door for them, a large piece of bread and butter in one hand. Betty stood on the stairs, her eyes wide with anxiety at this new catastrophe as the little procession filed in.

  Sunny, standing on his own feet in the hallway, went with a howl to Betty and was promptly hushed with a promise of bread and jelly and a glass of milk. Her glance went anxiously toward the inert Bonnie, who opened indifferent eyes, took in that she was at home, sighed, and lay back in Ted’s arms.

  “What am I going to do with her, Betts? Take her upstairs to your bed?” asked Ted, leaning against the wall for support as he held the child still in his arms.

  “No, you can’t do that. Father’s asleep there, and we mustn’t disturb either of them,” said Betty in distress.

  “Let’s go into the kitchen where they can’t hear us,” suggested Marjorie. “And, Ted, you give her to me and you go for her bed. I’ll sit down and hold her till we get a place to put her.”

  They adjourned to the kitchen, where Betty stopped Sunny’s mouth with a plentiful slice of bread and jelly and seated him on a box to enjoy it.

  “I’ll get a couple of comforters and make a place for her on the floor,” said Betty. “You can’t sit and hold her. She’s heavy.”

  “She’s not heavy,” said Marjorie, gathering the unresisting Bonnie into her arms. “Get me her nightie and I’ll fix her comfortably. My! She’s hot. I wish I had my thermometer here. Ted, you’d better stop at the drugstore and get me a clinical thermometer. Get the best one they have. Then we’ll know what we’re about. If she has much of a fever we’d better send for the doctor again. But hurry back with the bed as fast as you can. What if you took Bud with you and sent him back with the thermometer?” Marjorie was all business now as she held the little, sick girl gently and began to slip off her little coat and unfasten her shoes. “She’s pretty hot,” she went on. “Bud could come right back, couldn’t he?”

  “Sure!” said Bud importantly, ruffling his sticky fingers through his red curls.

  “And, Ted,” said Marjorie, as he was about to go out the door, “I think you’d better see about getting that truck right away and get the rest of the things here as soon as possible. There ought to be some place for the rest of you to be comfortable. Don’t wait till dark. What does it matter about the neighbors?”

  “Okay,” said Ted with a glance out the window, “but it won’t be long before it’s dark now, anyhow. It’s gonta snow, and the sky is heavy. I’ll bring Bonnie’s bed in a handcart and then I’ll go right over for the truck. Come on, Bud. Let’s go!”

  Betty appeared with her arms full of ragged quilts.

  “These are all there are left except the ones over Mother and Father,” she said anxiously. “Do you think she’s very sick? I don’t know the first thing about doctoring. Mother always did that. I’ve always been in school or the office since I was old enough.”

  “I know a lot about sickness,” said Marjorie comfortingly. “You know Moth—that is, Mrs. Wetherill, was sick for several months before she died, and I helped take care of her, until toward the end, when we had to have two nurses. Besides, I took a short course in the hospital. Mrs. Wetherill thought it was a good thing for everybody to know at least a little about nursing. I can’t be sure how sick she is till I take her temperature. But we’d better get her into a comfortable position as quickly as possible. Has she been sick at all before this? How was she this morning?”

  “Why, I didn’t notice much,” said the troubled Betty. “She complained of a stomachache last night, and I thought it was just emptiness because she’d had so little to eat, but she didn’t say anything about it this morning. She didn’t even ask for breakfast, and so I let her go without it, because I knew they always give the children milk at the day care about half past ten.”

  “Her vouldn’t dink her mi’k,” volunteered Sunny, suddenly emerging from his bread and jelly.

  The sisters exchanged glances.

  Then Sunny vouchsafed more information.

  “Her eated hot dogs, ’esterday!” he announced.

  “Hot dogs?” said Betty sharply. “Where did she get hot dogs?”

  “They vas cold,” said the newsmonger. “Ole Sam frowed ’em out from th’back vindow of th’lunch car fer his dog, only Bonnie picked ’em up afore the dog could get there! I telled her not!” he added virtuously. “I didn’t eat ’em. I’m a good boy! I only eated one little teeny bitta bite. But it didn’t hurt me! I’m stwong!” He swelled his little chest out boastfully.

  Betty looked at him, aghast.

  “You mean our Bonnie ate sausages that Old Sam threw away? Oh, Sunny! Do you know what you are saying?”

  “Wes!” said Sunny firmly.

  “Oh!” groaned Betty, “that must be it! She’s got food poisoning. I’ve heard spoiled sausages are awful! And Sam’s place is a terrible little joint. Oh, I ought not to have trusted them to go alone with Bud, but Mother was so sick then, and Ted was gone, and Father, too, and the house was so terribly cold I didn’t dare let them stay here any longer, so I let them go with Bud. He promised me he would walk right straight there and not let them out of his sight!”

  “Bud was chasin’ a alley cat!” said Sunny with a spice of relish in his voice.

  “Well, if it’s just a stomach upset, perhaps it won’t amount to much,” said Marjorie. “She’s pretty hot, but if it’s stomach, I know what to do. The doctor said he wouldn’t be back in his office till half past five, didn’t he? We’ll do our best till then, and if she doesn’t seem better we’ll have him come right away. Now don’t you cry, Betty! It wasn’t your fault. And I don’t believe she’s going to be very sick. Let’s just get busy planning what to do, and then there won’t be time to feel worried. How about dinner? Do we need anything else? And can you cook steak?”

  “Steak!” said Betty. “Did you bring steak? Of course I can cook steak. That is, if I haven’t forgotten how. It’s ages since we had a real steak in the house.”

&
nbsp; “There are potatoes to roast, too,” said Marjorie. “And some vegetables, cans of things, you know. I didn’t think we’d have much time to cook fresh ones today while everybody was sick. But I got some lean beef. I thought the sick people would need beef broth, perhaps, and I know how to make that. As soon as we get this little sister fixed comfortably in bed I’ll start some, and then it will have time to get cool and be thoroughly skimmed from grease before it is needed.”

  All the time she was talking Marjorie was gently undressing her little sister, marveling at the touch of the soft childish flesh, thrilling to think that is was her own little sister to whom she was ministering.

  Betty was spreading the comforters down on the floor, plumping a pitiful tiny pillow.

  Then Bud arrived with the thermometer.

  While Marjorie was taking the child’s temperature, Betty put on a kettle of water to heat and got out some potatoes to wash. It was five o’clock. Supper would have to get itself done somehow while everything else was going on. Betty had a frightened sinking feeling. Her own head was dizzy and her eyes heavy with sleep. If Bonnie was going to be sick, what would they do? They never could carry on with another patient in the house, and oh, they couldn’t let dear little Bonnie go off alone to the hospital. Bonnie who was so shy of strangers! The tears were slipping softly down Betty’s white cheeks.

  And there sat that new sister-interloper, holding a thermometer and watching Bonnie with her heart in her eyes. A pang of jealousy went through poor, tired Betty’s heart. She ought to be caring for Bonnie, not a stranger, even though she was a kind stranger who had furnished money for coal and bread and oranges and gas and light and a doctor!

  But just then Sunny, having finished his bread and jelly, created a quick diversion by climbing to the pantry shelf and bringing down the tin can of sugar cookies to the floor with a bang, tin can, sugar cookies, Sunny, and all. The cover rolled off with a tinny cry of triumph, and Sunny came upright with a howl that Betty had to rush to suppress quickly lest it should waken the invalids upstairs.

  By the time she had quieted him by washing his exceedingly dirty face and telling him he must be a man because Father and Mother and little sister were so sick, Marjorie was holding up the thermometer to the light to read it.

  “It’s only a little over a hundred and one, just barely a shade,” she said triumphantly. “Our doctor used to say that unless a temperature went above a hundred and one there was no need to worry. Now, we’ll get to work and see if we can’t bring this fever down. Is that water hot yet? You’ll have to help me. Sunny, how about your going into the other room and drawing pictures? I’ve got a notebook and a little pencil in my handbag, and I’ll lend them to you if you’ll be a good boy and stay in the other room and draw until we get sister in bed and comfortable.”

  “Okay!” said the subdued baby, gulping the last sob.

  By the time Ted arrived with the handcart, the sisters had Bonnie established on a hard little bed on the floor in the kitchen.

  “I believe she’s getting a little cooler already,” said Betty, stooping to lay her hand lightly on the little forehead that had been so very hot but a few minutes before. “You don’t think we need to call the doctor again, do you?”

  “We’ll see,” said Marjorie. “I’ll take her temperature again in a little while, and we’ll call him if necessary. I don’t believe in wasting time if there is any doubt.”

  “But there will be so much to pay,” protested Betty. “You’ve done so much already. You don’t realize how quickly bills mount up, and I do.”

  Marjorie smiled.

  “It’s all right, dear,” she said, slipping an arm around her new sister. “There’s money enough for this and a lot of other things, and what’s mine is yours, you know. Now don’t think anything more about it. Isn’t that Ted with the things? We ought to manage not to have the door open much to cool off the house. Perhaps Bud would stand there by the door and open and shut it softly. We mustn’t let them make a noise.”

  “Of course not,” said Betty alertly. “I’ll see to that. I’ll go talk to Ted. Mother would get so excited if she knew what was going on. What has Ted been after, anyway? Bonnie’s bed?”

  “I told him to bring that first and then go get a truck and bring all the rest of the things.”

  “Oh!” said Betty, breathless with relief. “Oh! Won’t that be wonderful! But—what a lot we’ll owe you.”

  “Don’t, please!” said Marjorie sharply. “You hurt me! I’m your sister! You don’t owe me a thing.”

  Then they heard the front door open and heavy footsteps tramping in, and the girls flew to caution Ted and set Bud to watch the door.

  “I found Bill hanging round with nothing to do, so we brought everything,” explained Ted in a low mumble to Marjorie, as he measured his step to suit the step of Bill, the rough truck driver in a sheepskin coat with a greasy cap on the back of his head.

  It proved a bit hard to subdue Bill’s deep voice and step, but Betty was vigilant, and Bud was delighted with his office of doorkeeper, and it didn’t take long after all to marshal in the poor bits of household comfort that had gone out one by one to supply necessities. When the door shut at last on Bill and they heard his truck drive away, the brothers and sisters looked at one another in the garish light of a single stark electric bulb swinging from a long wire in the parlor ceiling and drew breaths of relief. Suddenly Betty dropped down in a big, shabby, faded chair and buried her face in her hands, her weary, slender young shoulders shaking with the sobs she would not allow to become audible.

  Marjorie was by her side instantly, her arms about her.

  “There, dear! Don’t cry. Poor dear! You’re so tired, aren’t you? But listen! We’re going to have a nice supper now and a good time getting things to rights. Come, cheer up! You’ll have to put things in their places, because I don’t know where they belong.”

  Betty raised tearstained eyes and began to laugh softly, hysterically.

  “I’m—only crying—because it’s so wonderful—to see our old things back again!” she gurgled. “I used to hate them all so, this faded chair and couch and those ugly tables, but now I’m so glad to see them!”

  Marjorie smiled.

  “Well, it does seem more homelike, doesn’t it? My! That couch looks good to me. I’m going to try it after a while, but now I’m going to take Bonnie’s temperature again and see whether we need the doctor.”

  But while she was taking the temperature, the doctor arrived.

  “I’ve had a call out into the country,” he explained as Betty opened the door for him, “and I might have to be gone all night. I thought I’d better just step in and see how the patients are before I leave. I want to make sure your mother’s lungs are not involved before I go so far away!”

  Betty went with him upstairs, hurrying to close the doors into the other empty rooms so that he would not see their bareness, resolving not to let him disturb her father if she could help it. She knew he would be terribly mortified to have the doctor see him asleep on a mattress on the floor.

  Ted came in the back door just as the doctor went upstairs, and Marjorie turned to him with troubled eyes.

  “Ted, could you help me put Bonnie in on the couch?” she asked. “The doctor is upstairs, and I think he ought to see her. Her temperature is going up in spite of all I’ve done, and she ought to have some medicine. It looks better in there than here.”

  Ted turned and glanced down at the hot little face on the pillow with new dismay in his eyes.

  “Good night!” he said sorrowfully. “Can you beat it? Everything comes at once. Sure we can move her. I’ll carry her and you fix the covers.”

  He stooped and lifted the little girl gently. Marjorie hurried ahead with the quilts and pillow, and in a moment the child was comfortably established on the old couch.

  “I’m glad I laid down the rug first,” said Ted, standing back and casting a critical glance around. “It doesn’t look so bad here, does
it?”

  “No,” said Marjorie with a bright smile, covering a sinking heart. “It just looks homey, as if it was lived in, you know.”

  She straightened a chair and wiped the dust from the table, then went over to the bookcase and took out two or three books, laying them on the table as if they had been recently read.

  “I’m glad you brought the books,” she said with satisfaction. “It never looks like home without books.”

  “I guess that’s so,” said the boy seriously. “I brought them because Mother loves them so much. I didn’t know whether I ought to or not. We can’t sleep on books, nor wear them. Maybe I should have saved the money, but he didn’t allow but three cents apiece on them, so I thought I’d bring them.”

  “Of course. That was right! I wanted you to bring everything back. Are you sure there aren’t any more?”

  “Clothes!” said Ted. “But we sold them out and out. Betts thought we wouldn’t want to wear them anyway, after they’d hung up in the window of that junk shop for everybody to stare at and recognize.”

  “Of course not!” said Marjorie, suppressing a little shudder of horror. “Well, we’ll look after those things later when everyone gets well and things are going comfortably here. Oh, we’ll have things all right by Christmas.”

  “Christmas!” said Ted a trifle bitterly. “It’ll be Christmas enough for me just to have our things back and enough to eat and have it warm here!”

  And then they heard the doctor coming down the stairs and the talk was cut short.

  “All going well above stairs,” he announced cheerfully. “Mother’s breaking into a nice perspiration, and her lungs are clear so far. I don’t expect her fever to go up tonight at all.”

  He glanced down at Marjorie.

  “You’re the sister, aren’t you? You two are very much alike. Well, I think you can be easy in your mind. I didn’t go in to look at your father. Your sister said he was sleeping quietly, and that was all he needed, rest. He’s been worried, of course, like everybody else in these days of depression, but if he gets rested up, he’ll take hold of things with new zest. So you girls needn’t worry. Anyhow, I’ll be back in the morning, and if you need anything early, you can call me.”