Re-Creations (14 page)

The children came tumbling joyously into the side door, both talking at once about the play and demanding to know how much Carey had gotten done on the fireplace, and their father smiling behind, interested in all—but Carey had not come yet!

Chapter 11

T
he children found out at once that Carey had gone with Brand, and a gloom settled over the little household. Cornelia had no trouble in keeping them out of the parlor; they did not want to go in. Even Harry seemed oppressed and broke out every few minutes while he ate his supper with, “Aw, gee! If I was a fella!”

Cornelia suddenly roused to break the gloom that had fallen upon them. She looked at her younger brother with a cheery smile.

“Well, you will be someday. You are already, you know, really.”

Harry looked up proudly and met her appreciation with a glow.

“I think,” said Cornelia thoughtfully, “that this would be a nice night to clean the kitchen, if you all could help.”

“Clean the kitchen!” They looked up unenthusiastically.

“Why, I thought you cleaned that the first day. It looked awfully nice,” said Louise. Somehow kitchens seemed uninteresting places.

“Oh, but not really clean,” said Cornelia, taking a deep breath and trying to get courage for the evening, for she was already weary enough to rest, but she must do something to take the family’s mind off Carey and that locked parlor door if she wanted her plans to succeed.

“I want to paint it all white, walls and ceiling and woodwork, and then I want to paint the floor gray and put that waterproof varnish on it so it will wash up easily. Those boards are very hard to keep clean the way they are and show every grease spot. Did you ever paint, Harry?”

“Oh sure. I painted the porch down at the grocery, and the henhouse, and all around the windowsills for Mrs. Brannon. I can paint. Got any brushes?”

“Yes, I got one for each of us the other day and a can of paint to be ready when there was time. Then, Father, I wonder if you couldn’t put up some brackets and fix those old marbles for me.”

“Marbles?”

“Yes, those old marbles that came off the washstand and bureau that fell to pieces. They are out in the back shed, and I want one of them out on the dresser, screwed on, you know, so I can use it for a molding board, and the other two, the back and top of the old washstand, put up on brackets for shelves in the kitchen near the sink. They’ll save buying oilcloth and be lovely to work on and simply delightful to clean.”

“Why, I guess I can fix them. There’s an old marble-topped table around somewhere, too.”

“I know. I’m going to paint the woodwork white and get some ball-bearing casters for it and use it in the kitchen to work on. Then I can wheel it around where I need it, over by the sink when I’m washing dishes, over by the stove to hold the bowl of batter when I’m baking cakes.”

“Say, that’ll be great!” cried Louise. “Oh! I never realized a kitchen could be pretty. Why, I’d like to wash dishes in a place like that—all white! Say, Nellie, is that a part of interior decorating? Kitchens?”

“Surely!” smiled the sister. “We want to make it pleasant where we have to work the most. Now let’s get these dishes out of the way first, and then you children put on your oldest clothes, something that won’t be hurt with the paint, and we’ll go to work.”

“You ought to have one of those ‘lectric dishwashers, Nell,” said Harry energetically, getting up with a pile of dishes and starting toward the kitchen. “They got one down to the store on exhibition. Say, it’s great! You just stick ‘em in, and they come out all washed and dried. I’ll buy you one someday when I get ahead a little.”

“Do,” said Cornelia warmly, smiling. “That would be wonderful!”

And so in the bustle and eagerness the disappointment over Carey was somewhat forgotten. They all worked away happily together until ten o’clock, painting and pounding and scrubbing, and when they finally put up the brushes and went to bed, the kitchen was in a fair way toward reconstruction. The window frames had lost their grimy, years-old green paint under a first coat of white; the doors had been sandpapered and primed; the sidewalls had been patched with plaster-of-paris and received a coat of shellac. Everything began to look clean and hopeful.

“Aw, gee! Carey don’t know what he’s missin’,” mourned Harry as he climbed reluctantly up the stairs, not wanting to leave till he had finished all the first coat and was persuaded to bed by his sister only on the ground that he wouldn’t want to get up in the morning.

For three days Carey stayed away without a sign, and for two evenings Cornelia kept her family interested in the kitchen so that they did not notice the locked parlor door.

It was a bit hard on Cornelia. She worked steadily all day then worked again all the evening and lay awake most of the night worrying about her brother. She was beginning to get dark circles under her eyes, and her father looked at her anxiously and asked her whether she didn’t think she was doing too much. But she managed to smile cheerfully and keep a brave front. She knew by the weary little wrinkles around his eyes that he, too, was lying awake nights, worrying about Carey. But the kitchen was beginning to take on the look of a lily and was rapidly becoming a spot where the family loved to go and gaze around, so transforming is a little white paint.

Later on the second afternoon Cornelia went to a telephone booth and looked among the B’s for Barlock. When she had found it, she called up the one with the initials R. B., taking a chance between that and Peter, Mary, Silas, and J.J., and trembling put in her nickel and waited. It was a young girl’s voice, fresh and snappy, that answered her, for she had called the residence and not the business office, and she tried to control her voice and answer calmly as she asked whether Mr. Brand Barlock was at home. The girl’s voice at the other end was a trifle haughty as she answered, “No, he’s motored down to Baltimore. I don’t know when he’ll be home. Maybe two or three days. Who is this?”

“Oh,” said Cornelia a trifle relieved, “then I’ll call again,” and hung up the receiver in the face of the repeated question, “Who is this?” Her cheeks were glowing as she emerged from the telephone booth and hastened out to the street as if she were afraid someone would chase her. That was likely Brand Barlock’s sister on the telephone, and Cornelia had appeared to her like a bold girl calling up her brother and then retreating without giving her name, but it had been the only way. At least, she knew this much: that Brand also was still away. Carey was likely safe; that is, probably nothing had happened to his body, though there was no telling what had happened to his soul on such a wild trip with such companions.

But the third day the carpenter took down the parlor partition, and turned the hall and parlor into one, and Cornelia could no longer conceal the interesting changes that had been going on within the old front room.

There was a fine big window on each side of the big fireplace hole, with a box window seat under it, and the little “bay” had been put into the long, dark wall of the hallway, with a row of three diamond-paned windows opening just over the staircase. Cornelia had managed to conceal the first bay window, which had been put in the second day, by means of an old curtain tacked across the wall. But, when the third night came, there stood the big new room with all its windows, a place of great possibilities.

“Now,” said the carpenter as he stood back and surveyed his finished task, “there’s just two more things I’d like to see you do to this room. You need to break that there staircase with a landin’ about four steps up. You got plenty-a room this side yer dining room door, an’ ‘twould jest strike them three winders fer the landin’. They got a half-circle an’ two long, narrer side winders down to the shop would jest fit around that there front door. If you say the word, I’ll put ‘em in tomorra. I jest about could do it in a day. But I’d like to turn them stairs around. I certainly would.”

So, with fear and trembling Cornelia told him to go ahead. He assured her she needn’t worry about the pay, that his mother-in-law and his two cousins’ wives all wanted curtains, and it began to look as if she would be stenciling birds the rest of her natural life, so she had no fear but she would be able to pay him sometime. She was getting five dollars a set for her curtains and felt quite independent. Perhaps, after all, she would be an interior decorator someday, even if this was a day of small things, scrim curtains instead of rich fabrics and rare hangings.

That night, when the children came home, they discovered the changes in the front part of the house, of course, and their sister found them standing in awe on the stairs looking around them as if they had suddenly stepped into a place of enchantment.

“Oh, Nellie, Nellie, how did you do it?” they cried when they saw her. “Isn’t this great? Isn’t it wonderful?” And then, with a look at the yawning cavity in the floor where the fireplace was to be, “Oh, what will Carey say? Why doesn’t he come home?”

And that night after they were all in bed Carey came.

Even the children heard the car drive up to the door, and the whole shabby house seemed to be straining every alert nerve to him.

Carey came whistling a jazzy little tune up the path and with a careless happy-go-lucky swag, not at all like the prodigal son that he was, with the whole family in a long three days’ agony over him. It was almost virtuous, that whistle and the way he subdued it as he unlocked the dining room door and groped his way through the dark to where the foot of the stairs used to be. They heard him strike a match, and then, as if they had all been down there to watch him, they could visualize his amazed face as he stood in the little halo of the match and looked around him at the strange room and the strange staircase, with a turn in the stairs and only one rail up yet, and a platform. They heard him strike another match, and then they heard his footsteps and more matches as he walked around looking. Cornelia knew when he spotted the bay window and the seats under the two windows by the fireplace. She heard the gentle thud of the top as he opened it and closed it again. She heard the soft whistle of approval and drew a long breath of relief. At least he was interested.

She knew that the little sister heard, too, and was following Carey’s every movement, for she felt the quick grip of the little hand on her shoulder and the soft, tense breath against her cheek, and somehow it gave her courage and strength. With all the family united in loving anxiety for him.

Afterward she thought about it and wondered at herself, and resolved to pray regularly again, even if just to pray for Carey. It was so necessary that Carey be saved and made a good man. It was necessary just for their mother’s sake, and it must be done before she came home, or she would be likely to get sick again worrying about him.

Carey came slowly up the stairs and went to his room. The family listened to his movements overhead, listened for his shoes to fall and then to the creak of the springs as he at last got into bed. Listened longer as the springs continued to creak while Carey rolled around, settling himself—thinking, perhaps?—and then at last when all was quiet, they slept.

It was well for Carey that a night intervened between his homecoming and the meeting with his family. The sharp words that swelled in the heart of each of them, and would surely have arisen to the lips of them, would not have been pleasant for him to hear. They might have been beneficial; they undoubtedly would have been true; but it is exceedingly doubtful whether in his present state of mind he would have endured them graciously. He had had a good time, and he had come home. He was in no mood for faultfinding. The sight of the unfinished fireplace in the wide desolation of the renovated and enlarged room had given him a good-sized pang of remorse, which was in a fair way to stay with him for a day or so. Sharp words would most certainly have dispelled it instantly and put him on the defensive. To blame as he undoubtedly was, he preferred to blame himself rather than to have his family do so; and the fact that he arose before light, before any of the others were even awake, and descended to the cellar quietly to pursue his interrupted work proved that he had begun to apprehend the likelihood of blame and wished to forestall it.

It was Harry who awoke first, feeling rather than hearing the dull thuds of the silent worker in the cellar. Hastily dressing, he stole down in wonder and delight and was so well pleased with what he saw and with the most unusually cordial greeting from his elder brother that he remained to help and not to blame. When Louise came down, followed almost immediately by Cornelia, and found the two brothers working so affably, with a whole row of stones reared in the parlor, they gave one another a swift, understanding glance and greeted their brothers collectively and joyously as if nothing had happened for the last four days.

Carey rattled off jokes and worked away like a beaver, keeping them all in roars of laughter; and the father, waking late from his troubled sleep, heard the festive sound and hurried down, relieved that the cloud of gloom had lifted from his home. He had had it in mind to give Carey a regular dressing down when he returned. Words fitly framed for such a proceeding had been forming red hot in his worried mind all night. But the sight of his four children in gales of laughter over some silly story Carey had told, and the sight of the clock hastening on to the moment of his car, restrained him, and perhaps it was just as well. Cornelia hurried him into his place and gave him his breakfast, chattering all the time about the rooms and the changes and so kept his mind busy. At last they all got away without a word of reproof to Carey, and Cornelia was left to wonder whether she ought to open the subject.