The Strange Proposal (30 page)

“Oh yeah?” said Sam speculatively.

I
t was decided that Mother Saxon was well enough to be told one or two of the things that were about to happen. Father Saxon was doing the telling while he sat with her for a few minutes. He was warned that it must be done so that it couldn’t possibly excite her.

“Well, Mother,” said Mr. Saxon, settling down in his chair, “do you feel strong enough to hear some good news?”

“Good news?” said Mother Saxon slowly. “Why, surely. Good news never hurts anybody, does it? I really think, dear, that I’ll be well enough to sit up in a few days, don’t you think so? What better news could there be for me than that?”

“Well, we’ll have to ask the doctor about when you can sit up,” said Father, smiling. “We’re not going to have any relapses, you know. But listen, Mother, the unexpected has happened. We’ve had an offer for the grove. How about it, shall we sell?”

“I suppose they haven’t offered enough to pay half what you’ve put into it,” said the wife. “Are you sure it’s a genuine offer? Or just another one of those fakes, people trying to get property for nothing?”

“No, it’s genuine enough. A man in New York. Mr. Wainwright knows him. I’m pretty well convinced we should sell. I’d like to take you back north, at least for the summer.”

“But Father, not at a great loss! I can’t bear to have you lose everything. And all your hard work!”

But when he told her the price that was offered, she gasped delightedly.

“Why, Father, it’s just like the fairy tales I used to dream out when I was a child going to sleep! You’re not ‘kidding’ me, are you, as John says?”

“No. I’m not kidding you. It’s a genuine offer. He wants to take it over right away. He wants to buy the furniture, too. He’ll pay a thousand more for everything, just as it stands. Of course, you’re to take out anything you very much prize. Or, of course, if you want to keep the furniture, you can.”

“No, there’s nothing but the old clock and Grandmother’s bureau and chair that is worth keeping,” said the pleased old lady, “but I can’t make it seem real. Why would he want furniture he’s never seen?”

“He’s going to put a man in right way to work the grove. He said it would save time and trouble to have a place all ready for him to live.”

“How soon does he want us to get out? We’d have to pack our personal things of course.”

“Yes, but that wouldn’t take long, I guess. The man would like to take over the place this week.”

“But, dear, does the doctor think I’d be able to get up by then? And where could we go, with you not able to walk yet without a crutch?”

“Not to say exactly up,” said the smiling old man. “Yes, up, up in the air, perhaps.” He smiled again. “But he says you’ll be able to be moved. And we’re invited to a house party! Mary Elizabeth Wainwright has invited us to a house party at the seashore, and the doctor says you can go!”

The old lady looked dazed.

“I couldn’t possibly go to a house party,” she said. “I’ve nothing fit to wear. It’s very lovely of her, of course, but I couldn’t possibly do it. Everything I have is quite worn and old. It was well enough for down here, but it wouldn’t do for a seashore place nor a house party. And besides, I haven’t even anything fit to wear traveling!”

“Well, you talk with Mary Elizabeth about it, Mother. She’ll explain it all out to you. And John, he thinks it’s all right!”

“He would!” said the woman who had come back to earth again from the borderland of heaven and realized that her fig leaves were entirely out of date. “John is a dear lamb, but he doesn’t know about clothes!”

“Oh, but I do!” cried Mary Elizabeth, entering at just the right minute from her station outside the door. “I’ll tell you all about it. You see, it isn’t a fashionable summer resort where you are going. It’s a dear old house where I used to go when I was a child, and I love it. There are no fashionable people around, and anyway, our house party is just going to be us, and clothes don’t matter.”

“But I’ve really nothing to travel in, dear,” said the old lady, who had begun to love the lovely girl who seemed to be a sort of assistant to the nurse and was yet a cousin of Jeffrey Wainwright, of whom she was so fond.

“Oh, but don’t you know, you’re just going to travel in your nightie, so that needn’t bother you at all,” laughed Mary Elizabeth.

“In my what?” exclaimed Mother Saxon in horror.

Then appeared John on the scene.

“Mother, you see, it’s this way. You’ve got to go very quietly. You’ve been too sick for us to risk any excitement. So we’re just going to carry you over across the road and put you in a nice bed, in an airplane. You know you’ve always wished you could ride in one, and now you’ve got your wish!”

“An airplane! Oh, John! And how much will that cost? Just because you are selling the orange grove for more than we expected, don’t go and get extravagant. I can perfectly well go on the train. I couldn’t think of letting you pay a lot for an airplane.”

“But it isn’t costing anything, Mother!” assured John, with a lot of joy in his eyes and a more rested look than Mary Elizabeth had seen on his face since they came down. “Mary Elizabeth’s cousin Richie is taking us all back in his plane that he brought the doctor and nurse and Sam and Mary Elizabeth down in. Isn’t that nice? Now, will you tell us, please, just what you want to keep of the furniture in the house? Sam and I are going to pack whatever you want to keep this afternoon. We’ll go away and leave you awhile and let you think about it, but you mustn’t get excited.”

“Excited!” said Mother Saxon. “I guess I have a right to be excited over all that! But can’t you wait till I’m up before you pack?”

“No, we can’t! We’ve got to get out of the house! Is there much you want besides the pictures, and the chests and trunks in the attic? I’ll send everybody else out and sit down beside you now with a pencil and write down all you think of, and then you must go to sleep. Those are the doctor’s orders.”

“There isn’t much, dear. Our personal things. The curtains, perhaps?”

“Leave the curtains,” advised John. “You can get new ones when you have a new home. It will make the house look more homelike to leave them.”

“Why, of course!” said Mother, relaxing with a smile. “It’s a little bit like going to live in heaven, isn’t it? You won’t need the things you leave behind, because you’ll have better ones.”

John stopped and kissed his mother, with a breath of thanksgiving in his heart that she was not leaving them for heaven yet, and then went back to his list.

In ten minutes he came out, and Mary Elizabeth went in and wafted a big palm-leaf fan till the sweet old invalid dropped off to sleep.

John went through the house, picking out the things that had to be kept. He realized that now he had hopes of getting his family into the safety of a cooler world, nothing else seemed to matter. The actual packing was not arduous. He produced two big boxes from the little shanty that was dignified by the name of garage, and he and Sam stowed away books and pictures, and the few little precious trifles that are found in every home.

Cousin Richie borrowed John’s car and went to make arrangements with Eric Tanner, saying as he left that he would arrange to leave the Saxon belongings stored in the attic until fall, when they would know where to have them sent. Things were assuming quickly the attitude of departure.

The doctor came and went with a light of satisfaction on his face. He had saved another life, and that was better to him than anything else in the world. He watched his patient carefully without seeming to do so. He stepped in several times during the afternoon, watched her breathing, listened to her heart, touched her pulse lightly, and slipped out again with almost a grin on his rugged face.

The nurse was washing out garments and hanging them to dry in the backyard. The doctor came to her.

“I believe it’s done her good to be told. Her pulse is as strong and steady as I’ve seen it.” There was a ring of triumph in his voice.

“Perhaps!” said the nurse doubtfully.

“Perhaps, nothing of the kind,” muttered the doctor. “The sooner she’s out of this heat the better.”

So the work went steadily, quietly on. In the sickroom, Mary Elizabeth, cautiously opening drawers and folding garments and sorting them in neat piles, was selecting the things that would be needed by Mrs. Saxon on the way.

Night came on and found things well on the way to readiness for the journey.

Mary Elizabeth went over to the plane for the night and looked up at the velvet star-studded sky, thinking how things had worked out even in the very small details so that there seemed to be nothing to worry about anywhere. She wondered if God would always do that with troublesome details; if she would trust them absolutely to Him.

But out on the highway, Boothby Farwell was speeding along in the blackness of night, turning over in his mind his well-laid plans to ship that impertinent kid, Sam Wainwright, home to his mother on the first train, and kidnap Mary Elizabeth! He had hoped to make his destination by that afternoon, but in some unaccountable way he had got off the highway and had to go miles to get back again. He must stop at the next possible resting place and wait till morning. He was almost out of gas, dog-weary, and terribly thirsty. But in the morning he would start early and arrive in time to get the kid off on the night train. Then Mary Elizabeth would find out whether it was worthwhile to trifle with him or not!

But unfortunately for his plans, someone had left a lot of broken glass in the way, and Farwell was not driving carefully through the night. The result was that he was laid up for several hours waiting for his car to be put in running order again, and thus it was the morning of the second day before he reached the village for which he was aiming. Still, he felt reasonably sure that his prey would not escape. How could they get by him? This was the only highway, wasn’t it?

A
great deal was accomplished the next morning at the bungalow before the invalid awoke, and during the day Mary Elizabeth and Nurse Noble did their best to keep her quietly interested in getting together such of her own garments as she wanted to take with her. When Mary Elizabeth felt Mother Saxon was getting a little weary, she would tell her about the sea and the whispering pines, and gently sing her to sleep.

It was planned that they should leave the next morning as early as possible, and Cousin Richie had spent time on his plane, getting it in perfect order for the start. John had errands here and there preparatory to leaving. Then toward night, Eric Tanner arrived and had to be introduced to the needs of the grove. There really hadn’t been any too much time anywhere since the decision had been made to start, and Mary Elizabeth had been busy, too, for there were telegrams to send to Father, and Uncle, and the Bateman caretakers, to be sure that there were supplies in the house and a meal ready to serve almost any time.

It was with great eagerness that she got up the next morning and dressed in her last clean white dress, ready to leave. They didn’t even have to wash the breakfast dishes, Mr. Tanner had said, for he would do them. Though they did wash them. Nurse Noble wouldn’t hear of anything else.

And indeed there was time enough, for at the last minute a man came to buy John’s old jalopy, and Eric Tanner offered to give a little more than the other man, and John had to do some dickering between them.

Then, just before they were to take Mrs. Saxon out to the plane, the doctor discovered that his bottle of rubbing alcohol was empty, having been upset by somebody’s carelessness when the cork was out. Also, one or two other things needed replacing from the drugstore. Sam eagerly offered to go for them on John’s old bicycle, the car obviously being otherwise occupied at that moment, and so there was a short breathing space in which everybody went around being sure that nobody had left anything.

Sam was glad to have an outlet for his excitement. He bent low over the handlebars of the bicycle and rattled along over the resonant boardwalk, the little scared lizards whisking along before him and darting beneath the boards whenever he got too near. The sun beamed down hotly, and the perspiration streamed down Sam’s face, but he wore a broad grin of satisfaction, and he could scarcely restrain himself. Sometimes he whistled, and sometimes he sang.

But when he approached the sleepy little hamlet and drew near to the store, he sobered down and put on a grown-up air. He leaned his wheel against the building and sauntered in casually, in the regular boy way. No one would have dreamed he was in a terrible hurry or that anything exciting was going on that morning.

He handed over the doctor’s prescription and the bottles that were to be filled and sauntered back to the end of the counter, examining the dusty articles on display.

The sound of an automobile horn drew his attention, and a great car flashed up, brilliant with chrome, a car with a familiar look about it. Sam turned and squinted at it carefully. He even came forward a step or two to make sure.

“Good night!” he said softly to himself. “If that poor fish hasn’t butted in again!”

He stood there in consternation and watched the man get out of his car and come toward the drugstore. Yes, it was Farwell, no mistake about it!

Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets and ducked quickly behind the counter, out of sight, keeping both eyes and ears open to developments.

“Is there a man named Saxon living around this neighborhood?” asked Farwell in his condescending tone.

“Yep!” snapped the clerk, clipping off the string that tied Sam’s alcohol bottle. “Lives about five and a half miles west of here, up the first road to the right, turn at the crossroads. You can’t miss it!”

“Thanks! That sounds easy! Have you got anything to drink?”

The clerk named the various drinks as he sauntered back to Sam with his bundles.

“By the way, are there any people visiting these Saxons? A young woman and a red-haired kid?”