“Old Billy Smithson at Silverbridge doesn’t agree with you, Judy. He says women are fools and things will soon be in a worse mess than ever.”
“Oh, oh, and are ye thinking that possible now?” said Judy sarcastically. “Old Billy shudn’t be after jidging all women be his own. Well do I remimber the first time I was iver voting. I wore me blue silk and me high-heeled boots whin I wint to the polls and I was that ixcited I cud niver tell where I put the cross on me ballot. From what I culd ixplain to him yer dad always thought I’d put it in the wrong place. But innyway me man wint in so it was no great matter if I did. I’ve niver been voting since bekase it always happens I’ve been canning tomaties or some special job like that whiniver there’s an election.”
“Uncle Tom says every one ought to exercise her franchise…that it’s solemn duty.”
“Listen at that. Don’t it be sounding fine? But wud I be letting me tomaties or me baked damsons spoil bekase I had to traipse off to Silverbridge to be voting? Sure, Patsy dear, governmints may go in and governmints may go out but the jam pots av Silver Bush do have to be filled.”
CHAPTER 26
Gentleman Tom Sits on the Stairs
Pat need not have worried about her history paper. She was not fated to write it that year. The headache she complained of had not disappeared by next morning and it was further complicated by a sore throat. Mother advised her to stay in bed and Pat agreed so meekly that Judy was alarmed. Early next morning she tip-toed anxiously in to see her.
“How’s the morning wid ye, me jewel?”
Pat looked at her with burning eyes above a flushed face.
“The dead clock out in the hall has begun ticking, Judy. Please stop it. Every tick hurts my head so.”
Judy ran out, roused Mrs. Gardiner, and telephoned for Dr. Bentley.
Pat had scarlet fever.
At first nobody was much alarmed. Joe and Winnie had had scarlet fever in childhood and had not been especially ill. But as the days wore on anxiety settled down over Silver Bush like an ever deepening cloud. Dr. Bentley looked grave and talked of “complications.” Mother, who had never had scarlet fever herself, was debarred from the sick room and Judy and Winnie waited on Pat. Judy would not hear of a trained nurse. She had never got over Miss Martin and her “Greta.” Nobody ever knew when she slept or if she slept at all. All night she sat by Pat’s bed in the bandy-legged Queen Anne chair, with its faded red damask seat, which Pat had rescued from the garret because she loved it…never dozing or nodding, ready with cooling drink and tender touch. Dr. Bentley afterwards spoke of her as “one of those born nurses who seem to know by instinct what it takes most women years of training to learn.”
When Pat became delirious she would do nothing and take nothing for anybody but Judy.
And Pat was very delirious. Delusion after delusion chased each other through her fevered brain. Weeping Willy had carried off the wooden button on the pantry door. “I’m sure God will think that so funny,” said Pat, vainly searching for it before God could find out. The cracks in the ceiling wouldn’t stay in place but crawled all over. She was on a lonely road, where the dark was waiting to pounce on her, calling to Jingle who was walking away unconcernedly with Emily-and-Lilian’s tombstone under his arm. She was at the bottom of the well where Wild Dick had thrown her. She was searching for the Secret Field which Dorothy had taken away. She heard Joe’s whistle but could never see Joe. Somebody had changed all the furniture in Silver Bush and Pat was vainly trying to get it back in place. The minister had said in church last Sunday that God held the world in the hollow of his hand. Suppose He got tired and dropped it, Judy?
“Sure and that’s the one thing He’ll niver be doing, Patsy, rest ye aisy.”
The wind blew and would never stop…it must be so tired, Judy. Please make it stop. She was on a road at the head of a long procession of rolling cheeses…all the cheeses that had ever been made at Silver Bush…she had to keep ahead of them. Faces were looking in at the window…pressed against the pane…or leering in a row along the footboard of the bed like the Bay Shore ghost. Hideous faces, cruel, crafty, terrifying faces. Please, Judy, drive them away…please…please. She had long fierce arguments between Pat and Patricia. Time was running by her like the dark river of the hymn. She couldn’t catch up with it. If we stopped all the clocks couldn’t we stop time, Judy? Please! And who, oh, who would give poor Bold-and-Bad his meals?
“Sure and I will, Patsy darlint. Ye nadn’t be fretting over Bold-and-Bad. He’s living up to his name ivery minute of the day, slaping on the Poet’s bed and getting rolled up in me shate of fly-paper. Sure and ye niver saw a madder cat. It’s Gintleman Tom that’s doing the worrying. He do be setting on the landing ivery moment he can spare from his own lawful concerns.”
Then came two or three dreadful days when Pat’s life hung in the balance. Dr. Bentley shook his head. The family gave her up. But Judy never quailed. She hadn’t got the “sign” and as for Gentleman Tom he never budged off the landing, although sometimes he bristled and spat.
“Sure and whativer is after Pat will have the hard time to get past that baste,” Judy said confidently.
But the third night, in the wee sma’ hours, when Silver Bush was holding its wakeful breath, wondering despairingly what the morrow would bring, Gentleman Tom arose, shook himself, and walked gravely downstairs to his own cushion in the kitchen.
“He was knowing there wasn’t inny more nade av sitting there,” said Judy at sunrise. “Pat had got the turn. I met him coming down whin I was coming up and he was after giving me a look. Whin I wint in the darlint’s room I was ixpecting to see a difference and I did. Look at her there, slaping as paceful as a lamb. Sure and this is a joyful day for Silver Bush. Ye can be watching her, Winnie, the while I brew me a jug av tay. I nade a bit av a stimulant, what wid me knees shaking and me poor head going round in circles.”
• • •
Pat’s convalescence was a long one. It was five weeks before she could even sit up in bed and drink her broth out of the dear little yellow bowl with blue roses in it…a Bay Shore heirloom…which Aunt Honor had sent over for her. She had a little gold cushion that was like a small sun behind her head…Aunt Hazel had sent it up…and wore a lovely jacket of primrose silk which Aunt Edith had brought over for her. Everybody was so good to her. The banished Bets sent her up leaves full of wild strawberries and Hilary brought brook trout for her. When Hilary sprained his ankle so badly that he had to keep the house for a week Judy herself, armed with a can of worms and Sid’s hook and line stalked up and down the banks of Jordan to cater to Pat’s slowly-reviving appetite. Mother came to the door and looked in with happy eyes. Sometimes Cuddles’ darling anxious little face peered through the stair railings, not permitted to come any nearer.
It was seven weeks before Pat was allowed out of bed, despite her pleadings.
“I’m getting so tired of the bed, Judy. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt me to get up for a little and sit in a chair by the window. I want to see outside so much. You don’t know how tired I am of looking at the bluebells on the wallpaper. That cluster of them over the wash-stand looks just like a little potbellied elf with a bonnet on and it grins at me. Now, don’t look terrified, Judy dear. I’m not out of my head again. You can see it for yourself.”
“I’m not denying there’s a resimblance. But ye’ll not be out av bed for two days more. Thim’s the doctor’s orders and I’ll folly them.”
“Well, prop me up on the pillows, Judy, so that I can at least see something out of the window.”
That was nice. She could see the slender fir-tops against the blue sky at the bottom of the garden…the cloud-castles that came and went…the swallow-haunted gable end of the barn…the smoke from Uncle Tom’s chimney making magic against the hills. Pat lived on this for two days more and then Judy let her sit on a chair by the window for half an hour. Pat managed to walk to t
he chair although she admitted she felt very like a bowl of jelly that would all fall apart if violently shaken. But her eyes and ears made the most of that half hour. At first it was a shock to see how the summer had gone while she had been sick. But what beautiful colors the world was showing. How wonderful to see again the blue shoulders of the hills across the harbor and the ecstasy of farewell summers in the field of that ilk…the silky wind ripples going over the grass on the lawn and all her own intimate, beloved trees. The breeze whispering from hill to hill and blowing in the scent of flowers to her. The honeysuckle over the graveyard paling and Judy’s ducks squattering around the well. Bold-and-Bad on the window sill of the church barn and a curly black dog, with a white heart on his breast, on the granary steps.
And…could it be?…Bets! A slim lovely girl in a lilac dress, her arms full of peonies, waving to her from the Whispering Lane. Bets had grown.
“Judy sent me word I could just look at you from here if I was right on the dot. Oh, Pat, darling, it’s just heavenly to see you again. If you knew what I’ve been through! I wanted to send Hilary word…he’s just been frantic…but Judy thought both of us would be too much excitement for you. He’ll be here tomorrow.”
Every day Pat was allowed to sit up a little longer, until she could spend the whole afternoon at her window. Hilary and Bets were allowed in the garden now and could shout things up at her, though Judy wouldn’t allow her to talk much in return. But it was enough just to be there, looking out on the beautiful moods of the fields, that sometimes twinkled in summer rain and sometimes basked in sunshine. One evening Judy let her stay up after supper. It was lovely to see the “dim” come stealing over the garden again. She recalled the last story she and Bets had read together, of an old enchanted garden in which flowers could talk. Just suppose her own flowers talked at night. That red rose in the corner became a passionate lover and whispered compliments to the white rose. That swaggering tiger lily told tales of incredible adventures. The nodding sleepy poppies gave away all their secrets. But the Madonna lilies only said their prayers.
She hadn’t seen the stars for so long. And to watch the moon rise! Bets and she had read a poem once about the moon rising over Hymettus. But it couldn’t be more beautiful than the moon rising over the Hill of the Mist with the harbor beyond. The tree shadows were lovely. The tall lilies looked like white saints in the moon-glow.
Judy coming in was quite horrified to find that Pat had not yet returned to bed.
“Ye haven’t been slaping, have ye now?” she queried anxiously. “Not slaping in the moonlight, child dear?”
“No. But I’d love to. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Listen at her. Don’t ye iver go slaping in moonlight. It’s liable ye are to go mad. Sure and I knew a man once…he slipt out in the moonlight one night and he was niver the same again.”
Pat sighed. She hated to leave that delicious silver bath of moonlight but she was tired. It was nice to feel tired again and drift off to sleep so easily.
Ten weeks from the day she took sick Pat came downstairs, feeling a glad freedom. What a day that was! Such a triumphant Judy! All the poppies dancing to do her honor! Comfortably hungry for her dinner once more. Such a delightful meal with everybody exchanging happy looks. Even Gentleman Tom made a fuss over her.
“Sure and the house do be glad to see you round it again,” gloated Judy.
It was nice to see everything in the same place. She had been afraid something would be changed. The garden had changed a great deal. And even Bets and Jingle seemed changed…older, some way. Jingle had certainly grown taller. Oh, why did things have to change? The old sad question.
“Maybe there’s a bit av change in yersilf, darlint,” said Judy, a little sadly. Pat was changed…she looked older in some unmistakable way.
“Sure and ye can’t be going quite so near the gate av death widout it changing ye,” whispered Judy to herself. “She isn’t the child inny more. She’ll never be the same again.”
The others thought it was just her pallor and thinness. Uncle Tom told her she had a lovely suit of bones.
“I’ll soon fatten up on your cooking, Judy. Life tastes good today.”
“Sure and life do be having a taste, don’t it, Patsy? I’m only a poor ould maid as has worked out all her days for a living and yet I’m declaring life has a taste. Sure and I smack me lips over it.”
“Hilary has brought me a jolly book to read…Bets is sweeter than ever. On the whole, it’s a pretty nice world in spite of change and it’s wonderful to be back in it again.”
“I’m telling ye. But, Patsy darlint, ye must be going careful. There’s to be no running all over for a while yet. Just sit ye still and listen to yer hair growing.”
• • •
Pat found it was more likely she would have to listen to her hair falling out. It began to fall out alarmingly. Judy assured her that it was only to be expected but even Judy was scared. Everybody was scared. Pat wept and would not be comforted.
“I’m bald, Judy…actually bald. I suppose it’s a judgment on me for hating my ginger hair. Judy, what if it never comes in again?”
“But av coorse it will,” said Judy…who was by no means as sure of it as she would have liked to be. She made Pat a cap of lace and silk to wear but there were some bad weeks. Some prophesied dire things. Aunt Edith had known a girl whose hair had come out like that.
“It grew in again white,” said Aunt Edith.
Then the hair did begin to grow in…a dark fuzz at first. Pat was relieved to find it was not white at any rate. Then longer…thicker…
“I do be belaving it’s going to be curly,” whispered Judy in a kind of awed rapture.
For the first time in weeks Pat wanted a mirror. The hair was curly. Not too curly but just lovely natural waves. And dark…dark brown. Pat thought she would die of happiness. Her hair was “bobbed” now and at no cost to Judy who was only too glad to see her darling with hair at all.
“So you’ve made up your mind to be a beauty after all,” said Uncle Tom, the first time he saw her without a cap.
“Hardly that,” decided Pat, as she scrutinized herself in the mirror that night. “But it is an improvement.”
“Innyway, ye’ll niver be nading a permanent,” said Judy, “and that’s be way av being a blessing. Sure and Dr. Bentley’s wife do be having a permanent, they tell me, and her scalp was burned so bad the hairdo be all coming out in patches. I’m thinking she’ll be wishing she’d left the Good Man’s work alone.”
Altogether Pat was well satisfied with her bout of scarlet fever. She had got dark wavy hair out of it and escaped Queen’s for another year.
CHAPTER 27
Glamor of Youth
Bets had passed her entrance but refused to go to Queen’s until Pat could go, too. Pat, having missed her exams, must wait until next year.
A nice thing had happened. Hilary had failed to pass his entrance…that was not the nice thing…owing to the fact that the teacher at the South Glen school had been a poor one. Larry Gordon took Hilary away and sent him to the North Glen school. Consequently every morning Hilary and Bets and Pat walked gaily to school together and found life good. Sid went no longer. He was father’s right-hand man now. But Cuddles was going. She started blithely off one September morning and Pat, recalling the day she had “started school,” felt very motherly and protective and sentimental as she watched dear Cuddles trotting along before them, hand in hand with another small, gleeful mite from the Robinson family. How little they knew of life, poor wee souls! How very aged and experienced Pat felt herself!
“Can you believe we were ever as young as that?” she asked of Bets incredulously.
Bets couldn’t and sighed. Yet both of them tripped along the road as if they had been born, like Beatrice, under a dancing star. It was lovely to be old enough to remember childhood with a sigh. It was lovely to
have before them a road filled with soft amethyst mist. It was lovely to see dark young fir trees edging harvest meadows. It was lovely to take a short cut through the little wood lane in Herbert Taylor’s woods. It was lovely to be together. For it all came back to that. Nothing would have had just the same flavor if it had not been shared with each other.
Pat of Silver Bush Page 24
