by Tully, Jim
Leora turned from the telephone to the doctor. “Mother’s ill,” she said, “will you take me to her?”
Doctor Farway was already leaning over Mrs. Blair when they arrived. The children stood silent about. Sally was crying.
Dr. Farway looked up as Dr. Haley entered with Leora. He shook his head from side to side and said to Dr. Haley, loud enough for Leora to hear, “Poison.”
Leora clutched her mother’s dead left hand. Turning, for a slight moment, with wet eyes, she went to Dr. Farway. “Will you do what you can?” she asked, and added the word, “Please.”
Dr. Farway patted her shoulder gently, as a father would a hurt child.
As Dr. Haley approached, the younger man said to her, “We will make the necessary arrangements.” Dr. Haley nodded assent.
The two men straightened Mrs. Blair’s body and put a sheet over it. Motioning Sally to him, Dr. Farway said, “You must keep the cat out of the house.”
All went downstairs but Leora.
The children went ahead.
“She’s better off,” said Dr. Farway.
“Much,” replied Dr. Haley.
A sobbing was heard up stairs.
“You had better go and get her,” Dr. Haley said to Sally.
Her arms about her, Leora lay by the side of her dead mother. She clung tenaciously when Sally tried to pull her away.
The corpse nearly fell to the floor. Sally called, “Doctor,” from the top of the stairs.
Both men came.
Dr. Haley held the body of the dead woman while the younger man took Leora away.
“He killed her, God damn him,” she sobbed again and again.
“No, he didn’t, child,” said Dr. Farway, “it just happened.”
“You know better,” she sobbed.
Sally looked in amazement at Leora. It was the first time in her life she had ever been hysterical.
“I’ll go and make arrangements,” said Dr. Haley, “you stay here, Doctor, and do what you can.”
“All right, Doctor,” returned Farway.
Forlorn as wind-beaten sheep the other children huddled in the kitchen, as Sally entered. “Denny,” she said to her young brother— ”will you run and tell Aunt that Mother’s dead?”
The snub-nosed little boy with the wet red eyes stepped it way from the huddled group and said, “Yes, Sister.”
Sobbing again, Leora clung to Dr. Farway.
Heavy steps were heard. “It’s your father,” said the doctor, pushing her gently away.
“Who the hell cares?” returned Leora, standing more closely to him. “He’s got no more strings on me.”
The engine wiper came into the house.
“She’s gone,” said Dr. Farway.
“I, I—” he said no more, and went up stairs. Leora and Farway followed him. He dropped his hat as he stumbled toward the bed.
His tobacco-stained mustache rose and fell. His cheeks were sunken. His body drooped. His bleared eyes focused on the covered body. He became unaware of his daughter and the doctor.
Reaching the bed, he pulled the sheet from his wife, with a spotted, grease-stained hand. Then he screamed, “Nina! Nina! Oh God! Nina! Nina!”
Leora pulled his arm.
The engine wiper paid no attention, but fell on his knees, moaning.
His words became incoherent. The doctor touched his shoulder. “Please, Mr. Blair,” he said.
The husband rose, and stood, sagged in the middle. “I guess I better go tell ‘em I won’t be to work tonight,” he looked helplessly about the room.
“You run and telephone them, Leora,” suggested the doctor.
The father stepped to her, and, without saying a word, put his grease-stained hand on her heavy brown hair, “Thankee, Leora, thankee.”
She went lightly down the stairs, while her father, seeing his hat, stooped to pick it up. Rising, he turned to the doctor and asked, “Whatever made it happen?”
The doctor did not answer.
“We was happy here. I just got a ten-dollar raise.”
“Was anything on her mind?” asked the doctor. “Nothin’ that I know of,” answered the husband.
“Well,” said the doctor consolingly, taking his arm, “women at her time of life become sensitive.”
“You must be right, Doctor.”
Leora returned, followed by the undertaker, the other children, and two neighbor women.
“We had better go down stairs,” said Dr. Farway.
The undertaker and the neighbor women remained.
Soon one of the neighbor women came down stairs and took charge of the home.
A boat went down the river. The water from the paddle-wheel still shone in the sinking sun.
“We can do no more now,” said the doctor, “You’d better come with me.”
“I’m going to order some flowers,” she said to Sally. They passed a flower shop, where she ordered several groups of flowers.
When the doctor told the woman to send him the bill, Leora said, “No—it’s my mother.”
The woman, as if anxious to oblige at such a time, said to the doctor, “I’ll send a lovely bunch of lilies-of-the-valley in your name.”
“Do, do,” said the doctor.
“Let’s ride along the river,” suggested the girl.
The leaves of the trees had turned to various colors, and stretched, a miles-long carpet, around a bend in the river, behind which the sun had set.
Night came swiftly. The air was soon filled with sparks from fireflies.
“I wonder where the lightning-bugs go in the winter?”
The doctor, roused from reverie, looked at the girl. She had never seemed so beautiful to him. Stopping an impulse to put his arm about her, he said, “They all die, I suppose.”
The girl shuddered, “I hate death.” She shook her head quickly. Her hair streamed across her face, “I’d be afraid to die.”
“Why—,” said the doctor, “you’re not afraid to go to sleep—and when you do that you wake up to the same old thing. When you die you might wake up to something different.”
“I’d rather wake up to the same old thing,” returned Leora.
“It’s all in the way we’re trained,” said the doctor. After lighting a cigarette, he resumed, “There are people in the world who laugh at a death and cry at a birth. I was reading about them the other day.”
The girl thought for a moment. “Maybe they’re right,” she said. Her voice became animated, “Tell me—what did my mother get out of life—one kid after another. Her skirts were always lopsided because of babies pulling at them.”
“She fulfilled her purpose in the world,” said the doctor, “to bring others into it like herself.”
“Well—all I can say is—it’s a hell of a purpose—she lived and died like a cow.”
“Well, that’s all right,” returned the doctor, “nature’s no more interested in her than if she were a cow.”
“What’s all this claptrap they teach you in church about then?” she asked.
“You called it—just that—it’s too easy to believe—don’t you think?” He looked at Leora.
“I don’t care about it either way, and I seldom give it a thought, except that I don’t want to die.”
“That’s nothing new,” returned the doctor, “Nobody wants to die.”
“My mother did,” said Leora.
Chapter 6
Red Moll had taken charge of the house when Leora returned. Within a few hours it was in complete order. Neighbors brought food for the children. It appeased their grief, and made all silent but Denny, whose tears fell on the cookie he ate.
The old crone, from whose house Sally had telephoned, surveyed the scene, her clay pipe still in a withered hand. To her ancient husband, for fifty-two years a railroad laborer, she said, “Poor soul—she had to die to get her house clean.”
Red Moll was now the general for detail around whom the pathetic army of the Blairs found comfort for their loss.
Each soldier in the little army of poverty had his task to do. When Denny asked if his runaway brother was coming to the funeral, his aunt leaned over and talked to him quietly.
He asked no more.
When the funeral was over the children did not know which one they missed more—Red Moll—or the woman in the new-made grave.
Sally took charge of the house. Leora returned to work. She would spend but little time at home unless Red Moll was there.
Two weeks had hardly passed when a monument salesman called on her at the doctor’s office.
He had, he explained to her, stones of rare materials that would last forever. People hundreds of years in the future would still remember her mother if a stone of proper material were placed over her grave.
She bought a small stone for fifty dollars—five dollars down, and five each month. After it had been placed on the grave, with her mother’s name and age chiseled upon it, the entire family went out to see it.
Like millions who had gone before them, who had lived so much in the present, and now at last were dust, not even Leora realized at the moment that in a few generations at most her mother’s name would be forgotten in the town.
She was apprised of the fact when she went to her aunt’s home. “It’s a lot of hocus-pocus—why didn’t you put a geranium on her grave and let it go at that?”
And Leora answered, “I wish I had now.”
Red Moll was Leora’s only real comfort in the town. Like a bird that felt the itch of its wings—she wanted to go elsewhere—anywhere—to join Alice.
When she mentioned leaving to her aunt, she said— ”Why don’t you—there’s nothing here for you but a lot of men who’ll never get their houses paid for—Dr. Haley’s rich—and so’s Farway—but they’re hooked up —if you ever come back you may like the place better, or worse—and either way—it don’t matter—we all have to live some place—and this is as good as any—for here you’ve got the river, the woods, and the sky.”
Leora remembered.
She made a final decision when Dr. Haley’s wife caught him caressing her. Mrs. Haley came to the office the next afternoon while the doctor was making calls.
An immense woman, her vanity was larger than herself.
“You are quite young,” she said to Leora, “Perhaps you would like to see the world.”
Leora knew what she meant and asked, “On what?”
“Perhaps money—I do not wish to be embarrassed here where I have lived so long—and Dr. Haley is so well known and highly respected.” The heavy woman paused. “As you will learn, no doubt, in time, men at a certain age become very silly— You really do not care for him, and he is all I have. I’ll give you five hundred dollars if you leave the city.”
Leora’s heart jumped, but she asked, “Will that cure the doctor?”
Mrs. Haley’s pillowy bosom sank in a sigh. “Perhaps not,” was the answer, “but I’ll see that a much more elderly and homelier woman becomes his office girl.” She half smiled. “It’s rather difficult for the doctor to give a correct diagnosis with such a pretty girl as yourself around.”
Leora remained indifferent. Mrs. Haley became anxious.
“I’d go to the end of the world if I were as beautiful and as young as you,” said Mrs. Haley. “What can you possibly find here? If I could change places with you, I’d go tomorrow.” Her eyes roved over Leora. “No beautiful girl ever starved—unless she got her heart in a trap, and I’ve watched you for a long time, Miss Blair.”
Leora looked up. Fearing she had said too much, Mrs. Haley laughed. “I am not at all jealous, not at two hundred and thirty pounds.” She moved closer to Leora. Her voice became more pleading. “You are a clever girl. Your head is very old, and your heart is older.”
Leora stepped gracefully across the room. The older woman’s eyes followed. “You know, Miss Blair,” she continued, “affection can become a habit after a long married life. I expected the worst when my husband engaged you, but I’ve always chosen to talk to his women, not to him—the women understand.” She stepped heavily to the window out of which Leora was gazing. “I could go to the courts,” she said, “and make myself ridiculous, but even the judge would envy the doctor so lovely a girl as yourself.”
Leora said nothing. Mrs. Haley, mistaking her silence, asked, “Are you in love with him?”
“Maybe,” she lied.
Surprised, the heavy woman finally said, “You can pick up a man like the doctor any day.”
“I’m not so sure,” returned Leora.
The words alarmed Mrs. Haley.
The girl still gazed calmly out of the window.
Mrs. Haley became more excited and said, “Even if you were in love with him, no good could come of it.
You wouldn’t live with him a year if you had him.”
“I would be a better judge of that,” Leora teased.
“For your mother’s sake,” the distracted woman said.
“Let’s leave her out of it,” suggested Leora. “She’s through with men for a while.”
“Yes, thank God,” sighed Mrs. Haley, “I wish I were.
Leora was again silent. As her life was not involved she could be more calm than the older woman, who now began to talk about morals and a woman’s duty to society.
After some moments, Leora said, “I don’t know what you mean,” and then cunningly, “If I were married to Dr. Haley and he saw something in you that he didn’t in me—I wouldn’t complain—I’d feel that I didn’t own him.”
Her words hit Mrs. Haley under the heart. She panted for breath.
Mrs. Haley’s mind, like her heart, was now in a whirl. She dropped all feeling of superiority, and held out her hands, saying,
“It is really serious. It will break my heart.” She talked on, and more completely revealed her strong anxiety to the instinctive Leora.
Finally Leora said, “I owe four hundred here. I couldn’t get far on five hundred.”
Mrs. Haley sighed with relief, “I’ll make it seven hundred—in cash,” she said.
“All right,” agreed Leora, “give me the money and I’ll leave right now. You can tell the doctor I went home sick, and no one will ever know.”
Mrs. Haley had come prepared.
She counted the money while Leora watched her eagerly. When the heavy woman handed it to her, Leora took it indifferently.
“Of course you will keep your word, Miss Blair.”
“I’ll be as glad to go as you are to get rid of me,” was the answer.
Mrs. Haley’s manner changed. “I know you’ll keep your word. You are not a bad girl—some day you will also marry, and then you will understand.”
Leora hardly heard the words. The money crinkled in her hand as she went for her hat and pocketbook.
Returning to where the doctor’s wife stood, she placed the money in the purse.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Haley,” she said, “I’ll be gone in a few days.”
The door closed on her last words.
The doctor’s wife stared about the office until long after the echo of the girl’s footsteps had died away.
She then sank in a chair until the telephone roused her from reverie.
She waddled to the receiver, and answered pleasantly, “Dr. Haley’s office.”
“Is that you, dear?” asked a man’s voice, “This is Dr. Farway.”
“This is Mrs. Haley, Doctor.”
“Well, well, well—your voice is as youthful as ever,” he said, frowning.
“Thank you, Doctor.” Mrs. Haley smiled with satisfaction.
“Will you please tell the doctor I called?”
“Certainly, Doctor.”
Farway hung up the receiver as though it burned his hand.
“The damned old crow,” he said, “how’d she get there —I wonder what the devil’s wrong?”
Leora opened her purse and felt the crisp money a
s she hurried along the street. Her mind raced with her steps.
She would leave the town forever. How glad she was that she had not run away. She thought of the funeral expenses.
“It will spoil him if I pay them,” she said to herself, as she thought of her father, “but it will help Sally and the other kids.”
The thought came suddenly—she did not have to leave town—she had seven hundred dollars—she might stay and get more—and then—no—she would leave—she was better off—Alice was doing very well.
She wondered what Dr. Haley would think when he returned to the office and found her gone. How would Mrs. Haley explain to him?
Her mind suddenly fertile with schemes, another idea came to her.
She turned in at the undertaker’s place of business.
He rubbed the palms of his hands together and opened his solemn face in a fatuous smile, saying, “Can I do something for you?”
“Yes,” said Leora. “I collected some of my mother’s insurance. If I pay you two hundred dollars in cash will you give me a receipt in full?”
The undertaker wrote the receipt while Leora, waiting, looked about the room which was lined with coffins.
“Do you ever try to figure who’ll fill them?” she asked.
“Not so much that,” replied the undertaker, “but I often wonder how I’ll ever get them paid for.”
The girl pondered, “That’s right, you do have to buy them, don’t you?”
“Yes, indeed, they don’t grow on trees,” replied the undertaker.
Still elated with so much money, the idea of coffins growing on trees fascinated her.
Her smile made the undertaker forget his dingy business.
“Are you still working for Dr. Haley?” he asked.
“Yes,” Leora replied, smiling, “He sent me to get a coffin for Mrs. Haley.”
“She needs one,” smiled the undertaker, “though I haven’t any large enough.”
For several blocks the girl thought of coffins growing like apples on a tree.
The trees multiplied, and all contained coffins. Their handles gleamed in the sun as they swayed back and forth.
She could hear the wind swishing around them.
Suddenly one fell to the ground. The lid flew open. Her mother stepped out. Shuddering, she ran a short distance to banish the thought of coffins from her mind.
