A Daily Rate (8 page)

“You’ll not do any such thing, Hiram Bartlett. I guess she has a right to stay in her room once in a while. I’m sure I never knew her to do the like before in the whole of her life. If she was your aunt, you wouldn’t speak of her in that way. I think you ought to be a little grateful for the way she took care of you last week when you were so sick, and me with the baby sick, too. If she hadn’t been here I should have had my hands more than full. I don’t know what I should have done. Johnnie, make that baby stop crying! Lillie, pick that doll up off the floor! I keep walking over something of yours all the time. I s’pose Celia’s got into some trouble and aunt Hannah’s worried about her. I expected as much. That girl hadn’t experience enough of the world to go off to the city alone. Somebody ought to have taken her home to live. If one of the boys had been married she could have gone with them, but the boys are so selfish they never think of other people. If you had any sense of the fitness of things you’d have done it yourself”

They talked on in a wrangling way until supper was ready, but it was not until they had nearly finished the evening meal that the hall door opened and aunt Hannah walked in.

AUNT Hannah had lighted her lamp a few minutes after the light of the day went out, to get a little comfort from her Bible before going downstairs to face her trials, for it must be confessed that aunt Hannah had not had a cross so heavy to bear in many a year, as it was for her to go downstairs that night and face Hiram and Nettie calmly after the words she had heard her niece speak. She had tried to think of all the comfort in the Bible as she sat in the twilight. She had a great store of the precious words to draw from, for her Bible had ever been her chief delight. She knew just where to turn in her memory for the right help and it came trooping forth.

“Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness. . . When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned . . . God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it . . . Blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him. . . For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us . . . All things work together for good to them that love God . . . To be conformed to the image of his Son . . . If God be for us, who can be against us?. . . Nay in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.”

Then she lighted the lamp to search out another promise, for it seemed to her as if just to look upon the words would somehow help her. It was at that moment Johnnie brought up Celia’s letter. She opened it quickly, the anticipation of another trouble arising in her mind, for what might not have happened to Celia so far away in that great city alone, since the last letter she wrote?

It was a thick letter and she read it slowly through, taking no thought of time because the matter it contained absorbed her mind completely, and when Johnnie came up the second time, she had something new to think about which demanded immediate attention and had claims prior to any downstairs. The letter read thus:

Dear Aunt Hannah:

Do you remember the words on the little bookmark you sent me for my birthday? I know you do, for you have a way of hiding all such words away in that wonderful memory of yours. You know the heading was about an allowance, from the king, a continual allowance. When I read it I knew just what you meant by sending it to me. You wanted to remind me that my King had plenty of extra strength to give me, and that he had promised to furnish me with enough for every day of my life to bear that day’s trials. It did help me, for I knew I was trying to bear some of them all by myself, and that I often and often forget that I do not have to take up next year’s crosses and worry about them. But I remember, when I first read the words, I couldn’t help longing deep down in my heart, that I could have a real earthly allowance of money, just solid hard dirty money, coming in every week, and every month, and every year, and enough to supply all the actual needs that I might live with you and work for you and have you all to myself Then I felt indeed that my head would be lifted up out of prison forever—for I read the chapter about Jehoiachin as you meant I should, you dear good auntie—and it helped me too. You see I had been taking up a big heavy cross for the year to come for you. I didn’t feel happy about you there at Hiram’s, for in spite of me I cannot like Hiram ‘s ways and I don’t believe you do. I know for one thing, and a very small thing, that you hate tobacco smoke and have never been used to it, and yet Hiram smokes all over the house whenever he pleases, without even so much as caring whether it is repulsive to you or not. Inflict, I am wicked enough to suspect that he might do it the more, just because you don’t like it, to show you he is master of his own house. I am so sorry I have to feel that way about my cousin-in-law, but I can’t help it. There is this comfort about it, 1 don’t believe Nettie minds, and as she is the one that has to be his wife and go through life with him, it is a relief to think she doesn’t. But there! That is all out of the way, and unchristian, and I have been too much blessed to allow myself to say anything unchristian about any one. Only I did want you to understand that I appreciated how hard it was for you to cheerfully accept Nettle’s proposal and go to live with her for a few years. I did not say so then because I thought any words would only make it harder to bear, and I know my own dear auntie’s old way of always finding a thing easier to bear if she succeeds in making other people think she is perfectly happy. That is just one way, and the only way in which you ever are the least little bit dishonest.

But I must hurry on with my main theme which has not even been hinted at yet. And I have a great deal to write, and must get it in to-night, for I cannot bear to have you wait a minute longer than is necessary to hear the good news.

In the first place, you are not to stay at Nettie’s another day—that is not unless you prefer to, of course—but you are to pack up every scrap that belongs to you and take the first train to Philadelphia, sending me a telegram (at my expense) to say what train you start on. You must come to the Broad Street station—have your trunks checked there too, and don’t leave any of your things behind, for there is plenty of room to put all your things here, and you are not to go back to Nettie ‘s unless you go on a visit of pleasure.

Aunt Hannah glanced up to see if the little room with its old ingrain carpet and cheap furniture was still about her. She was almost breathless with the proposal of the letter. Things seemed to whirl around her. She wanted to get something to steady her before she read on. She saw the black side of the sheet-iron drum and remembered the afternoon, and a glance toward her open Bible showed her the lines “God is faithful . . . will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.” She drew a long breath and closed her eyes for a minute’s lifting of her heart to God. He was going to make the way to escape. She did not yet understand how it was to be done, but her faith caught at the fact that it was to be done. Then she went back to the letter.

You are to give your checks to the porter on the car—and you are to take a sleeper if you come at night, or a parlor car if you choose to come in the daytime. I enclose your ticket.

Aunt Hannah noticed then that a small pink and white paper had fallen from the letter when she opened it, and slipped to the floor. She stooped and picked it up in a dazed way. Good for one trip to Philadelphia it certainly was. This was something tangible and brought her back to everyday life. She really was to go, for here was the ticket. She went on with the letter eagerly now.

You are to have the porter carry your satchel into the station for you, and I will meet you at the gate and take you home. Yes, HOME, aunt Hannah, yours and mine, do you hear that? It isn’t very pretty, nor inviting yet, but it is ours for a while, for as long as we want it, and we shall fix it into a charming home. And now you want to know how it all happened and what it means.

Well, this morning I was sent for again to come to Rawley and Brown’s office on very important business, and as they told me it might keep me some time I asked for the day off at the store. I couldn’t have had that, i f I had not done double duty for the last week in place of a girl who was sick. Mr. Dobson was very nice and said certainly in such a case he would give me permission. Of course, I suppose I’ll lose my pay for that day, but it had to be done, and it doesn’t matter now anyway. Well, Mr. Rawley hemmed and hawed a good deal, and finally told me that everything was satisfactorily settled at last and that I had been duly declared by the court to be uncle Abner’s heir, without any question or doubt anywhere, and that he wished to go over the papers with me and place the property in my hands. There was some red tape to be gone through with which I needn’t stop now to tell you about. It was all very interesting to me, the number of times I had to sign my name, and all the witnesses, and I felt just like a girl in a book, but I haven’t time for that. There is better to come. It seems uncle Abner had a farm where he lived after he got old, and his wife died and his son went to India, and there was a young fanner and his family who lived there and took care of him, and they have rented the house ever since. They still live there. The farm is pretty good, way up in New York somewhere I think, I didn’t pay much attention to it. Then he owned an interest in a coal mine near Scranton and a few government bonds, not many of those, but the whole is well invested and brings in a nice little income every year, sure, and I couldn’t help thinking of Jehoiachin when Mr. Rawley was telling me about it. He said it was so well invested that it was, as near as anything earthly could be, sure, a continual “income as long as I lived” if I kept things in their present shape, for uncle Abner had been a very careful man and always invested in pretty safe things with what little he had. I didn’t tell him I considered it much instead of little, though. It seems a fortune to me. I suppose I shall learn better hereafter, but I am going to try to be very wise with it anyway, with God’s help.

Now you want to know how much it is, I know. Well, it amounts to about nine hundred dollars a year at the lowest calculation, besides several years of accumulated interest not invested yet. Isn’t that riches? Why, you’ve often told me that not many ministers and few missionaries get more than that. Now then, why shouldn’t you and I be missionaries? I know it has been your dear desire all your life, and I don’t know of anything that would be grander work. And as we can’t go as foreign missionaries just now, what if we should be home missionaries? Of course, two lone women couldn’t take mortar and bricks and build a church and preach, at least I shouldn’t like to try it, though I’m not at all sure but I could do it. You know we always thought, if we had the time and the material and the pattern, you and I could do almost anything anybody else could if we tried. Well, I began to think about a mission for us, and before I had gotten half-way home to write to you it came to me just what I would like to do. Why shouldn’t you and I make a real home mission for ourselves right here in the city of Philadelphia, by making a good home for a few people who have none of their own? It seems to me there is as much gospel sometimes in a good sweet loaf of bread such as you can make, as there is in—well—some sermons. Don’t you think so? Then we could get a hold on the people who ate it, and get them to go to the churches, and try to help them in their everyday lives. Why, some of the young men here would stay at home evenings occasionally, perhaps regularly, if they had a pleasant, warm, light place to stay in. Instead of that they go out to the saloons, perhaps. Anyway, auntie dear, they don’t look rested in the morning when they come down to breakfast. And oh, what a breakfast we did have this morning! It seems as though I never can like hash again, though I always used to enjoy ours so much at home when you made it. But hash in Mrs. Morris’ boarding-house is a very different dish indeed. When I got home I went straight up to Mrs. Morris’ room. She has not gotten entirely well from her severe sickness of a few weeks ago yet, though she goes around and directs things, but she seems to be so worried all the time. You know I told you how many bills she has unpaid and how hard times have been for her. You wouldn’t wonder a bit if you could be here and watch the way things go a little while. She was lying on her bed when I went in and looking as if she would like to cry, if she only were young enough and had the energy. She told me right away that she was in trouble again. She was a month behind in her rent, and the agent had been around and said it must be paid in advance after this and he couldn’t wait longer than till five o’clock. She only pays twenty-five dollars a month, and with all her boarders you might think she could pay it, but she doesn’t, that’s all. While she was talking I began to revolve my plans very rapidly. I didn’t want to act too rashly, for you know you always tell me that is one of my great faults, but I knew if 1 did anything it ought to be done very soon. Probably it would have been wiser to have asked Mr. Rawley’s advice, and perhaps some of my relatives, but I had an innate suspicion that I would not be allowed to do it at all, if I asked. And why shouldn’t I? The money is mine, and I am of age if I am not very experienced. I knew you would like it, at least I felt very sure you would, and if you and God like a thing I don’t care what all the rest of the world think. So I asked Mrs. Morris a lot of questions, some I had not asked her before. You see I had a whole two hundred dollars in my pocketbook, Mr. Rawley had given me. He said it was mine, and I might as well take it to begin on. So I took it. I knew I would want to do a lot of things right away, and that the first one would be to get you here at once, and to buy your ticket. I was just aching to spend some money, for it was the first time in my life I ever had much to spend. I asked Mrs. Morris about her butcher’s bill, and her grocery bill, and things and I found they were not so very big as she had made me think at first. Then I asked her point blank how she would like to let a woman come in here in her place for three months or so, and take the boarding-house off her hands, paying the bills for the present, and letting her pay them by and by, if she chose, or if not, holding the furniture as collateral. She didn’t know what I meant by collateral, but she soon understood, and said she would be only too glad, only she never could find any woman who would be so foolish. She said, too, that she was afraid if she once got away she would never be willing to come back, but just stay and leave the old furniture to make it right with her debts, and she sighed and returned to her trouble and began to cry. Then 1 couldn’t stand it any longer. I told her I thought I knew the right one for her, and I would write to her at once and attend to it all if she was sure she agreed to it. It did not take her long to decide what she would do after she was filly convinced that I meant what I said. She began to pack up her clothes right away and to talk about what she would take with her. She hasn’t much worthwhile, I guess. She will want those horrid crayon portraits of her family and herself, I hope, and a few other ornaments. But-when we had gotten to this point, we found it was five o’clock, and the doorbell made Mrs. Morris remember the rent agent. Sure enough, he had come, and Maggie came up to call Mrs. Morris. She looked at me blankly as much as to say: “What shall I do?” She had forgotten all about him. I thought just a minute and then I told her I had some money, enough I thought to pay the agent and satisfy him, and I would go down and see if I could make him behave till we got things settled. Then I went downstairs and put on my most dignified air. He bristled at me and demanded Mrs. Morris.