GI Brides (49 page)

As Dale looked up and saw them both, she had a vision of what might be ahead for herself and for those two—in fact for those three—if Aunt Blanche came out of this and lived. And yet they had not been told the possibilities, and Dale began to wonder how all this was going to affect her life. Only a few short hours ago she had been planning how to send these relatives away so that she might go on with her plans and have her home and her school. But it was obvious now that this could not be at once. It might be some time before her aunt was able to leave the hospital if she recovered at all, and she could not, of course, refuse refuge to the cousins with such calamity upon them. Her heart sank as she recognized the possibilities ahead. Of course not. And if Aunt Blanche got well, what then? There would likely be a time of recuperation, and of course it was natural that she would expect to be cared for by the only relatives in that area. There was no use in arguing these matters now, however, or even shrinking from the possibility. This thing had not come upon her through any fault of her own, and being upon her, the teaching of her faith was that whatever came was sent, or at least allowed by the Lord, and therefore was to be accepted sweetly, knowing that there was some purpose in it for her good and for the Lord’s glory. What was it that the Bible said about His purpose for each of His children, that they should “be
conformed
to the image of His Son.”

So, if that was the Lord’s purpose for her, the only way He saw to bring her to be conformed to the image of His Son, then her heart must accept His way and yield herself to it until His will for her was complete. Meantime, she must remember that her business in this world was witnessing for Christ, and that could not be done if her attitude was hostility. Was it then her work for the time being to try to witness to these two unlovely cousins? Well, she would have to learn to love them, then, learn not to see all their unloveliness.

So Dale stood and looked at Powelton and saw the new manliness dawning in the saggy boyish lines of his face and wondered if it would last, or if every step of the way would have to be a battle.

Then there came the thought of David, now far on his way to some unknown destination, someone who belonged to her and who would pray for her. He might not know what her trials and tests were, but he would pray for her. He would know it was something hard, even if she did not feel she ought to tell him about all she was going through, but he would pray.

They did not stay long in that awful silence. Down at the other end a woman was wheeled out, and a little later a slight disturbance off at one side showed a new cot being wheeled in. There were other sufferers in this strange new world of a hospital. The new patient was moaning, and a nurse hurried to place a screen around the bed to which she was being transferred. Corliss caught a glimpse of it all, caught her breath, and bit her red lips with her little white teeth, but she did not scream. She had also seen the side view of the head nurse and cast a quick, frightened glance back at the orderly still standing in the doorway. Yes, Corliss had been thoroughly frightened for once in her life.

And then, very soon, the head nurse suggested that they had stayed long enough for now. It would be several hours before their patient would be able to recognize them.

So they walked solemnly back through that awful length of aisle with suffering on every side, leaving a mother behind them, a mother who had never been very motherly toward them but still had been the only power over them, that had dominated their young lives thus far.

Down at the desk they had a few words with the desk clerk and then met the doctor who had treated the patient. He spoke gravely, saying it was rather impossible to tell just how serious the injuries had been yet. There was a broken arm, two fractured ribs, and a concussion, of course, but it would not be possible to tell further until all the X-rays had been developed. There must be absolute quiet for her for several days. He hoped there was a good chance of her ultimate recovery, but there must be no excitement whatever, of course—absolute, cheerful quiet when they came to see her, preferably not too often. Meantime they could keep in touch with the nurse and find out how she was coming on; and in a day or two she would be more able to see them and to recognize them.

It was then that Corliss lifted her phenomenally long golden lashes and used her big beautiful blue eyes on the grave doctor.

“But she’ll just hate that ward,” she said earnestly. “She won’t stand for it for a minute when she comes to herself. She’ll simply
have
to have a private room or go to another hospital.”

The grave doctor studied the spoiled child a moment and almost smiled. “My dear young lady,” he said almost wearily, “she will have to be satisfied with whatever she
can get
! Every hospital in this city is overcrowded, and they are even putting cots in the main hallways in City Hospital. But even if there were rooms elsewhere, the patient would not be able to be moved. It would be as much as her life was worth to attempt it at present.”

“Oh!” said Corliss, suddenly drooping like a deflated balloon and following Dale as they made their way home in a sad young silence.

I
t was Corliss who at last broke the silence as they turned onto their own street and could see the house just up the hill. “Well, what are we going to do now?” she asked in a tone more humble than any Dale had ever heard her use before.

“Well,” said Dale, trying to speak cheerfully, “I think the first thing to do is to get some dinner, don’t you? We can’t go through hard things without food. And then we’ve got to sit down and plan just what is to be done next. Do you happen to know what your mother did this morning about her baggage? She said she was going over to the hotel to get it, before she went out. She didn’t do it, did she? Because I didn’t see any arrive. Although, of course, I was upstairs and might not have heard a taxi drive up.”

“No,” said Powelton, “I don’t think she did. She told me she was going out to get a cheaper boarding place, that she couldn’t stand that hotel any longer, and when she got back I would have to go get the baggage and take it somewhere, or else bring it to the house.”

“Well, of course we don’t know what she did, and we can’t ask her till she is well enough, so I guess after we have had dinner you better go over to the hotel and get the things. Are they packed in suitcases, do you know, or will you have to go and pack? Corliss, do you know? Did she pack before she came over this morning?”

“No, the things were hanging in the closets and lying on the bureau.”

“Well then, we’ll all go over together and get them packed. We’ll go just as soon as we’ve had dinner, or if you aren’t too hungry we can go now. It probably won’t take long if all of us go.”

“Let’s go now,” said Corliss dolefully.

“All right,” said Dale pleasantly, “perhaps that would be best. And, anyway, Hattie will know to hold dinner for us till we get there.”

“I don’t want any dinner,” said Corliss, her eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t ever want to eat again.”

“Oh yes you do, dear,” Dale said, smiling. “You can’t go through hard things without food. Come now, don’t get to crying. You’ve been a brave girl. This is something we’ve got to go through bravely. Courage always helps at a time like this, and we’ll try to be just as cheerful as we can.”

“But where can we go?” wailed Corliss. “We don’t know what place Mom found.”

“Well, just go to our house, of course. You’ll stay there till your mother gets well enough to say what she wants to do. You’d like that best, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” said Corliss sadly. “I don’t ever want to see that old hotel again.”

“Well, here’s a taxi,” said Dale. “We’ll take that and get the packing and moving over at once.”

So they went to the hotel, and Powelton marched over to the desk and got the keys.

“He says Mom paid the bill here and said she’d be back today to check out,” he said thoughtfully.

So they went sorrowfully up to the rooms and began their work.

It didn’t take long. Aunt Blanche had folded a good many of her things into the suitcases before she left in the morning.

Dale organized the work.

“You pick up the little things—brushes, combs, powder, and so on,” she said to Corliss, “and I’ll fold up the things that are still hanging in the closet.”

So they were soon done and went to help Powelton but found he was just locking the suitcase. They rang for the porter and soon were on their way back to the house, quiet and thoughtful, trying to think what was coming next.

“Where am I going to sleep?” Corliss asked. “I don’t want that Grandmother’s room any more, not since I’ve seen how Mom looked in the hospital. I said I wanted it, but I don’t now. I’m scared of it.”

Dale drew a relieved sigh, for she had feared a battle on that subject.

“Why, I think you better take the room where your mother took her naps, don’t you? Then Powelton can have the next one, and there’s a door between. You can leave it open if you want to.”

“Okay,” agreed Corliss listlessly, “that will be nice. I’d like that.”

“It’s okay by me,” agreed the newly grown-up brother.

Then they went in to a nice dinner that Hattie had all ready for them—a tasty hot soup and a meat pie with vegetables. It was hot and appetizing, and there was a peach pie. The young people ate and were heartened and then rose and offered to help clear off the table. Probably because they felt shy and awkward and did not know what to do next, not feeling in the mood for either games or reading.

Later in the evening, Dale telephoned the hospital and got the latest news, that the patient was sleeping quietly and less restless than she had been. She was doing as well as could be expected at present. So finally the brother and sister went to bed and were soon asleep, worn out with excitement and worry. And at last Dale was free to go to her own room, read over her precious letter, and go on with the answer she had begun earlier in the day.

Somehow her heart cried out greatly for this newly found lover whom she had known so short a time and yet who seemed to be the only one to whom she could unburden her heart.

Dale sat down and read over her unfinished letter and, after a moment, began to write:

Dale was very tired and was not long in getting to sleep in spite of all the questions that came up to torment her. But in the middle of the night she was awakened by a slender figure in frilly silk pajamas standing by her bed and putting a cold little hand on her cheek.

Dale started awake and saw that it was Corliss.

“Why child, dear!” she said gently, for she saw that the young girl was trembling like a leaf. “What is the matter? Haven’t you been to sleep?”

“Yes, but I had a terrible dream. I dreamed my mother was dead. Oh Dale, do you think my mother will die? She looked so terrible, all done up like that!”

Dale reached out warm, comforting hands toward the formerly unpleasant cousin and drew her down on the side of the bed.

“Why no, dear, I don’t think so. You know the nurse said she was doing as well as could be expected,” she said, holding the cold little hands in her own. But Corliss only trembled more.

“Oh Dale, I’m
—frightened
!” And the pretty gold head went down on the cold hands and the girl began to cry as if her heart would break.

“I went to my brother, but he was sound asleep. He wouldn’t wake up.”

Then Dale put her arms around the cold, trembling shoulders and drew Corliss close to her.

“Get in my bed with me, Corliss,” she said gently. “You are all in a shiver. Let me get you warm. Cuddle up to me and you won’t be so frightened. It was only a dream, you know.”

Corliss promptly slipped inside the covers and shivered up to Dale’s inviting arms, and it wasn’t a second before she was weeping right into Dale’s neck, shaking with great sobs.

Dale let her cry for a while, and then she began to talk in low tones. “Poor little girl,” she whispered. “I’m not much of a substitute for a mother, am I? But you just cry there till you feel better. It will do you good to get all the cry out. Poor little girl!”