The Strange Proposal (26 page)

To make matters worse, the next morning she received a loving letter from her husband postmarked New York, crisp and brief, telling of his sudden business trip and saying he wasn’t just sure how soon he could get home. When she called up the hotel where the letter was written, they said both Mr. Wainwrights had checked out.

Nothing daunted, she tried home again but received the same answer as the night before. Rebecca played off two stock phrases in her replies and got by nicely. “You don’t tell me?” when her mistress announced she had heard that Sam was in Florida, and “I couldn’t say, indeed, ma’am!” when asked if she had heard anything about it.

Baffled but not discouraged, Mrs. Wainwright retired to her room and missed a morning of bridge to write letters to her husband and brother-in-law, setting forth her ideas of bringing up children and what she would and would not stand. But the Brothers Wainwright were taking a holiday. They were up in Maine on a rugged old farm, most of the time sitting on a rock in the shelter of great old hemlocks, where they used to sit as barefoot boys, fishing by the hour. They had stopped in Boston and bought newfangled fishing tackle and brought it along as an excuse for sitting there, but most of the time they were reminiscing, much to the annoyance of the fish, who would have liked to be biting that lovely modern bait.

Mr. Robert Wainwright had dutifully written a nice, loving letter to his wife and mailed it from Boston and another from Portland, vaguely mentioning a business trip and giving the impression of a swift return home. His wife’s letter did not reach him for several days, and that not until he was actually back in his home city. His own letters had kept his wife from further attempt to create a campaign against Mary Elizabeth and Sam in Florida, if that was where they were.

Mrs. Robert Wainwright, realizing that she was wasting ammunition, went back to her bridge and awaited a telegram from Boothby Farwell, which was so long in coming that one morning she awoke in genuine alarm and began to telephone again.

But that was days later.

M
ary Elizabeth was startled from her position bowed over the kitchen table by a sudden sense of someone standing by her side, though there had been no sound.

She looked up, and there stood Miss Noble, the nurse.

“The doctor wants you,” she said, in that almost inaudible voice that yet could be heard so distinctly by one close at hand. “Put these on!” She handed Mary Elizabeth a long white gown and a white cap that would cover her hair entirely. “Dissolve this tablet in water and wash your hands. Be as quick as you can, and come!”

The nurse vanished, and Mary Elizabeth rose, feeling her heart beating so hard that it seemed as if it would choke her. It was not assisting at a solemn operation that frightened her. It was that she knew she must be going into the presence of John Saxon.

She looked up, and there stood Sam, wide-eyed, white-lipped, watching.

She put on the garments instantly. She took the tablet the nurse had left and carefully dissolved it in a glass of water as the doctor had directed. Then she gave Sam a radiant smile. There was fright in her eyes, but there was a gallant light also. She went swiftly and silently into the sickroom and stood beside the doctor. She did not look up. She did not see John Saxon, but she knew he must be there. She fixed her attention on the doctor and did exactly according to his low-voiced directions, and whether she was receiving a bloody instrument and placing it in its antiseptic bath, or whether she was handing him another for which he asked, she kept her eyes directly on her work. She did not look up nor allow her thoughts to do so. And presently her thumping heart quieted and she was able to draw a long, still breath and go on with her little part in this tremendous business of life and death.

She did not trust herself to look at the patient lying there so white and still, she did not let her eyes wander to the details of the work that was going on, nor to think of who was in the room and what part each was taking in this solemn scene. John Saxon might be standing close beside her for aught she knew, but she would not let her mind wander to him. There was just one person of whom she was conscious in that room, and that was John Saxon’s Christ, who seemed to be standing across from her on the other side of the bed close beside the sick woman as if she was very dear to Him, and somehow Mary Elizabeth knew that He had been very close to this woman all her life, and in the event of her death it would be only going with One she loved. Somehow she knew suddenly that this mother had been part of the reason of John Saxon, why he was so different from all other men she knew.

Humbly she stood there and held the instruments, giving thanks that she was counted worthy for even that.

She heard the low-spoken directions of the doctor to the nurse; she heard sometimes a word of explanation, which might have been given to John Saxon, but she would not let them lodge in her mind. She was intent on only one thing: doing what she was told to do and doing it under the eyes of John Saxon’s Christ.

As a matter of fact John hadn’t seen Mary Elizabeth at all. It hadn’t entered his mind that she was there, or could be there. He was just at the other side of the doctor, helping now and then. He might have seen the other white-robed, white-capped woman enter and take her place to serve, but it hadn’t entered into his realization at all. The white figure on the other side there was just a shadowy helper whom the doctor had brought along. He did not look up, nor see her face, and she did not look at his. For the time, she was set apart from his thoughts. John’s eyes were on his precious mother, watching the hand of skill that was guiding the knife.

Now and again there would be almost inaudible sounds spoken between the two doctors, but it was as if they were in another sphere. Mary Elizabeth stood serving, as if she were passing the first test under the eyes of John Saxon’s Christ.

It might have been years that she stood there. Time seemed to have stood still. But there came an end at last. And still following directions, she found herself out in the kitchen again, washing her hands, taking off the white garments and folding them up, facing Sam white-lipped and anxious, and somehow she managed a little trembling smile for him.

“Is it over?” his eyes asked, and her own nodded.

Mary Elizabeth felt as if she wanted to cry, and yet there was a kind of exultation in her heart.

The door swung open silently from the front room and the nurse came in, a thermometer in her hand.

“You’d better go over to the plane and lie down, Miss Wainwright, you look white,” she said in her professional tone.

Mary Elizabeth took a long breath and shook her head.

“I’m quite all right,” she said proudly. “What can I do next?”

“Nothing just now, except to be on hand. I’ve made her as comfortable as it’s possible for her to be at present. Young Mr. Saxon is driving somewhere to bring ice and other things the doctor wants. Your cousin is with Mr. Saxon senior. If there was only something for you to lie on, it would be good for you to get a little rest now so you would be better able to help when you are needed.”

“I know where there’s a cot,” said Sam eagerly and opening a door over in the corner, vanished up a sort of ladder into a loft, presently descending with an army cot coming on ahead of him.

“That’s fine!” commented Miss Noble. “I believe you’re going to be a big help!” And she eyed Sam with surprise.

He lifted his eyebrows in a comical way behind her back and then with his tongue in his cheek, vanished out toward John Saxon’s old jalopy, which was beginning to send forth a subdued clatter preparatory to starting.

“I’ve made some salad,” said Mary Elizabeth to the nurse and then thought how flat that sounded.

“You did?” said the nurse. “When did you manage that? That sounds good. I think it will be needed when everything settles down to quietness.”

“Were we in time?” asked Mary Elizabeth suddenly, as if the words were wrenched from the aching of her heart. As if she could not wait any longer to ask.

“It’s hard to tell that yet,” said Miss Noble. “Her pulse is very weak. She may rally. I don’t know. I don’t think the doctor is very hopeful, but at least we’ve done all we could. It’s a pity we couldn’t have come a week sooner. She was almost gone when we arrived.”

“Yes,” said Mary Elizabeth sadly, “if we only had known!”

Mary Elizabeth stretched out for a few minutes on the cot until her frightened trembling limbs had ceased to shake, but her mind was on the jump now. She could not lie still.

It must have been two hours at least that John Saxon was gone, but when he came back Mary Elizabeth had vanished from the kitchen, leaving a pleasant meal set on the white kitchen table, ready for anyone who wanted it.

It was Sam who came after her, flying excitedly across the sand and climbing into the plane.

“Mary Beth! Where are you?” he called in a loud whisper. “Come on over! The doctor wants you!”

Mary Elizabeth was on her feet at once, her eyes filled with premonition.

“Is she worse?” she asked, hurrying after the boy.

“Naw, she’s just the same yet, I guess. But they want you. The doctor says you can sit in the room awhile and let the nurse rest a couple hours, and he and John’ll rest, too. He says tonight’ll be the time they wantta watch’er through, so they better get rested now.”

Mary Elizabeth’s eyes shone. She was to be allowed to help again! That seemed a great honor. And John Saxon would be resting and wouldn’t be there. She wouldn’t have to worry about what he thought of her coming.

“All right, Buddie, I’ll just put on something suitable. I’ll be ready in a second. You can run along. Maybe there’s something you can do.”

“Naw, I’ll wait for you. I told them I’d bring you.”

Mary Elizabeth slipped into a little white linen dress and a pair of white tennis shoes and was ready. Sam regarded her with admiration.

“You look almost like a real nurse!” he said.

“Thanks! Is that a compliment?”

“Sure! They look awful neat!”

“So they do! But, Buddie, you didn’t tell Mr. Saxon I was here, did you?”

“Absolutely not!” said the boy. “He said a lot about how great it was and all that while we went after ice, and I wanted like the dickens to tell him, but I didn’t. I let him think I had a legacy. I didn’t say so, but I guess he thought that. Anyway, he said sometime he’d be able to pay me back, but he couldn’t ever pay what it was worth to him, and he told me a lot how he felt before we came, hopeless and helpless and all that. Gee, I guess we got there just in time. The doc told me he thought there was a little hope she might get over it!”

“Did he? Oh, how wonderful!”

“He said it wasn’t sure yet, but he thought there was a chance. He told Mr. Saxon that! And he told Father Saxon that, too. But say, you’ll never know how much our Mr. Saxon needed us. I wish you could have heard him!”

Mary Elizabeth’s eyes were shining, and something lifted her heavy, frightened heart and bore her up. She looked about on the sand she was walking on and noticed for the first time the little wild pea vines with their cute little blossoms of white and pink and crimson like little imitation sweet peas, rambling all over the sand, a lacy carpet.

“Where is Mr. Saxon now?”

“He’s gone up to his room to lie down. The doctor made him. He said they would have three patients instead of two if he didn’t!”

“Oh,” said Mary Elizabeth, drawing a breath of relief. “That’s good! That’s a wonderful doctor!”

“He sure is!” said Sam. “Say, you oughtta hear how great he is. Mr. Saxon’s been telling me about what wonderful things he’s done, just like miracles!”

Mary Elizabeth entered the house shyly, relieved that John Saxon would not meet her just now, stepping softly through the front room where Mr. Saxon senior lay on an improvised couch apparently asleep, slipping into the dimness of the sickroom like a wraith.

Nurse Noble came over and gave her directions—what to do, what to watch for, when to call for her if she didn’t know what to do, and then Nurse Noble went into the kitchen and lay down on the cot.

It was very quiet in the house as Mary Elizabeth sat alone in a big quilt-lined rocker and heard the soft breathing of the sick woman.

For the first time, she could see the outline of her sweet cameo face, the soft white hair curling into waves about her forehead. There was something fine and gentle and lovely in the face, something that made her understand John Saxon in his strength and sweetness better than she had done.

And presently, over there in the shadowy part of the room, she seemed to feel again the Presence that had been there during the operation, and it was as if she sat there in that Presence and had her heart searched. She seemed to see that life had not been the merry, bright trifle she had always supposed it. It had a deep, true, serious meaning, and there was a reason for everything that came if one could only get near to the Source of understanding.

She had heretofore classed people as rich and poor, good and bad, ignorant and cultured. But here was a different quality. Not just goodness, nor even culture and refinement, but something deeper, far more valuable. These people were set apart from all people of earth, it seemed. There might be others like them, but she had not come in their way. It might be possible for others, just common ones, to become this way, she wasn’t sure. But with all her heart she wished she might belong in a class with them.

It seemed as she sat in the room with that presence of John Saxon’s Christ that she sensed that what made the difference between these people and all others was that they walked daily as in the presence of Christ.

The afternoon droned on in that wonderful quiet, with only the distant hum of the bees, the note of a bird high and faraway, and the perfume of the orange blossoms coming in the window as a little breeze stirred the thin, white curtain.

The patient was coming out of the ether and moaning now and then, speaking hazy little sentences that were almost inaudible. The gentleness of her tone drew Mary Elizabeth. She longed to be able to comfort her in the physical distress she knew she must be feeling. The little services she could render were so exceedingly small and inadequate to the pain she was bearing. Just moistening her lips occasionally, or wiping her forehead with a soft cloth.