Reels and Spindles: A Story of Mill Life
"The pullet? Not the little brown one you have cared for yourself, Cleena?"
"What for no? Eat your victuals askin' no questions, for that's aye bad for the appetite."
Both Amy and Cleena knew, without words, that this last city trip had been a failure, like so many that had preceded it. Once more had the too sanguine father dragged his crippled son to undergo a fresh examination of his well-formed though useless limbs; and once more had an adverse verdict been rendered.
This time the authority was of the highest. A European specialist, whose name was known and reverenced upon two continents, had come to New York and had been consulted. Interested more than common by the boy's fair face and the sweet womanliness of the mother, the surgeon had given extra attention to Hallam, and his decision had been as reluctantly reached as it was final.
"Only a miracle will ever enable him to walk. Yet a miracle may occur, for we live in an age of them, and nothing seems impossible to science. However, in all mortal probability, he is as one dead below his knees. My lad, take your medicine bravely and be a man in spite of it all. Use your brain, thanking God for it, and let the rest go."
"That's an easy thing for you to say, but it is I who have to bear it!" burst forth the unhappy boy, and was at once ashamed of his rude speech, even if it in no wise offended the sympathetic physician.
The return journey had been a sad and silent one, though Hallam had roused at its end with the sort of bravado that Amy had seen, and which deceived her no more than it did any of the others; but she loyally seconded his assumed cheerfulness, and after they had gathered about the table, gave them a lively description of her afternoon's outing, ending with: —
"For, mother dear, you hadn't said just where I might or might not ride, and I'd never seen the carpet mills, though I now hope to go there often; and, indeed, I think I would like to work in that busy place, among all those bright, active girls."
Then her enthusiasm was promptly dashed by her father's exclamation: —
"Amy! Amy Kaye! Never again say such a thing! Let there be no more of that mill talk, not a word."
Mr. Kaye's tone was more stern than his child had ever heard, and as if he recognized this he continued, more gently: —
"But I am interested in that silly Bonaparte. I almost wish you had kept him till I came."
Amy happened to glance at Cleena, who had warned her not to mention the fact of the strange gentleman calling; nor had she known just when Fayette went away, though she supposed he had done so after so suddenly leaving the dining room.
"Why, Goodsoul, you are as beaming as if you had found a treasure."
"Faith, an' I have. Try a bit of the chicken, mistress, now do;" and she waved the dish toward the lady, with a smile that was more than cheerful.
"Well, Cleena, it's heartening to see anybody so bright. The work must have gone finely to-day, and thee have had plenty of time for scrubbing. No, thank thee; nothing more. Not even those delicious baked apples. The best apples in the world grow on that old tree by the dairy door, I believe," replied the mistress, with another half-suppressed sigh.
As she rose to leave the table, she turned toward her husband: —
"I hope thee'll soon be coming upstairs, Cuthbert."
It was noticeable that Cleena paused, tray in hand, to hear the answer, which was out of common, for the old servant rarely presumed upon the fact that she was also the confidential friend of her employers.
"Well, after a little, dear; but, first, I must go over to the studio."
"Arrah, musha, but, master! The painting's all right. What for no? Indeed, then, it's the mistress herself needs more attention this minute nor any picture ever was drawed."
"Why, Cleena!" exclaimed the lady, in surprise. Such an interference had never been offered by the devoted creature to the head of the house.
"Asking pardon, I'm sure; though I know I know. I've lighted a fire in the sittin' room above, an' it's sure for the comfort of both that yous make yourselves easy the night."
"That's true, husband. Do leave the picture till morning. We're all tired and needing the rest."
Always easily persuaded where physical comfort was at stake, the artist acquiesced, and with his arm about his wife's slender waist he gently led her from the room.
Cleena heard him murmuring tender apologies that he had not before observed how utterly fatigued she looked; and a whimsical smile broke on the Irishwoman's face as she cleared the table and assured the cups and saucers, with a vigorous disdain, that: —
"Them two's no more nor a couple of childer still. But, alanna! Never a doubt I doubt there'll be trouble with old Cleena when the cat leaps the bag. Well, he's in it now, tied fast and tight."
Whereupon, there being nobody to see, the good woman executed a sort of jig, and having thus relieved her feelings departed to the kitchen, muttering: —
"It wasn't for naught Miss Amy fetched a simpleton home in her pocket. Sure, I scared the life clean out of him, so I did, an' he'll stay where he's settled till he's wanted, so long as I keep fillin' his stummick with victuals like these. Will I carry a bit o' the fowl to the lib'ry – will I no? Hmm. Will I – nill I?"
Having decided, Cleena passed swiftly from the house into the darkness and in the direction of the distant library.
Meanwhile, up in the little chamber which had once been their nursery and was still their own sitting room, Amy had drawn a lounge before the grate, and, after his accustomed fashion, Hallam lay upon it, while his sister curled upon the rug beside him.
But she did not look at him. She rested her chin in her palms and gazed at the dancing flames, as she observed: —
"Even a king might envy us this fire of pine cones, mightn't he? Isn't it sweet and woodsy? and so bright. I've gathered bushels and bushels of them, while you were away, and we can have all the fun we want up here. So now – can't you just begin and tell, Hal dear? Part of it I guess, but start as you always do: 'I went from here – ' and keep right on till you get back again to me and – this."
She purposely made her tone light, but she was not surprised when her answer was a smothered sob. Indeed, there was such a lump in her own throat that she had to swallow twice before she could say: —
"No, darling, you needn't tell one word. I know it all – all – all; and I can't bear it. I won't – I will not have it so!"
Then she turned and buried her face in the pillow beside her brother's, crying so passionately that he had to become comforter himself; and his thin fingers stroked her hair until she grew ashamed of her weakness and looked up again, trying to smile.
"Forgive me, brotherkin. I'm such a baby, and I meant to be so brave! If I could only take your lameness on myself, and give you my own strong, active legs!"
"Don't, Amy! Besides, how often have you said that very same thing? Yet it isn't any use. Nothing is of any use. Life isn't, I fancy."
Even the vehement Amy was shocked by this, and her tears stopped, instantly.
"Why, Hal!"
"Sounds wicked, doesn't it? Well, I feel wicked. I feel like, was it Job or one of his friends? that it would be good to 'curse God and die.' Dying would be so much easier than living."
The girl sprang up, clinching her brown hands, and staring at her brother defiantly.
"Hallam Kaye, don't you talk like that! Don't you dare! Suppose God heard you? Suppose He took you at your word and made you die just now, this instant? What then?"
Hallam smiled, wanly, "I won't scare you by saying what then, girlie. If He did, I suppose it would all be right. Everything is right – to the folks who don't have to suffer the thing. Even the doctor – and I liked him as much as I envied him – even he preached to me and bade me not to mind, to 'forget.' Hmm, I wish he could feel, just for one little minute, the helplessness that I must feel always, eternally."
Hallam was dearer to his sister than any other human being, and the despair in her idol's tone promptly banished her anger against his irreverence. She went down on her knees and caught away the arm with which he had hidden his face, kissing him again and again.
"Oh! there will be some way out of this misery, laddie. There must be. It wouldn't be right, that anybody as clever and splendid as you should be left a cripple for life. I won't believe it. I won't!"
"How like father you are!"
Amy's head tossed slightly, and a faint protest came into her eyes, but was banished as soon because of its disloyalty.
"Am I? In what way? and why shouldn't I be?"
"You never know when you're down nor why you shouldn't have all that you want."
"Isn't it a good thing? Would it help to go moping and unbelieving?"
"I suppose not. Anyway, it makes things easier for you and him, and so, maybe, for the rest of us."
The sister dropped back into her favorite attitude upon the rug and regarded her brother curiously.
"Hal, you're as queer as can be, to-night. Seems as if there was something the matter with you, beyond what that know-nothing doctor said. Isn't there?"
"Don't call the poor man hard names, girlie. He was fine, and I was impertinent enough for the whole family. Only, I reckon he was too high up to feel anything we could say. But there is something. Something I must tell you, and I don't know how to begin. Promise that you won't get into a tantrum, or run and disturb the little mother about it."
"Hallam Kaye! Do I ever?"
"Hmm! Sometimes. Don't you? Never mind. Sit closer, dear, and let me get hold of your hand. Then you'll understand why I am so bitter; why this disappointment about my lameness is so much worse than any that has gone before. And I've been disappointed often enough, conscience knows."
Amy crept up and snuggled her dark head against Hallam's fair one, remarking, with emphasis: —
"Now I'm all ready. I'll be as still as a mouse, and not interrupt you once. What other dreadful trouble has come? Is it a grocery bill, or Clafflin's for artists' stuff?"
"Something far worse than that."
"What?"
"Did you ever think we might have – might have – oh, Amy! I can't tell you 'gently,' as mother bade – all it is – well, we've got to go away from Fairacres. Its not ours any longer."
"Wh-a-at?" cried the girl, springing up, or striving to do so, though Hallam's hold upon her fingers drew her down again.
"I don't wonder you're amazed. I was, too, at first. Now I simply wonder how we have kept the place so long."
"Why isn't it ours? Whose is it?"
"It belongs to a cousin of mother's, Archibald Wingate. Did you ever hear of him?"
"Never. How can it?"
"I hardly understand myself, though mother's lawyer tried to explain. It's something about indorsing notes and mortgages and things. Big boy as I am, I know no more about business than – you do."
"Thanks, truly. But I do know. I attended to the marketing yesterday when the wagon came. Cleena said that I did very well."
"Glad of it. You'll have a chance to exercise your talents in that line."
"But, Hal, mother will never let anybody take away our home. How could she? What would father do without his studio that he had built expressly after his own plan? or we without all this?" sweeping her arm about to indicate the cosiness of their own room.
"Mother can't help herself, dear. She was rich once, but she's desperately poor now."
"I knew there was trouble about money, of course. There never seems to be quite enough, but that's been so since I can remember. Why shouldn't we go on just as we have? What does this cousin of our mother's want of the place, anyway?"
"I don't know. I don't know him. I hate him unseen."
"So do I. Still, if he's a cousin, he should be fond of mother, and not bother."
"Amy, we're all a set of simpletons, I guess, as a family, and in relation to practical matters."
"'Speak for yourself, John.'"
"That isn't all. There's something – something wrong with father."
"Hallam Kaye! Now I do believe you're out of your head. I was afraid you were, you've talked and acted so queerly. I'm going for Cleena. Is your face hot? Do you ache more than usual?"
"Don't be silly. I'm as right as I ever shall be. Listen. I found it all out in the city. Father had gone to some exhibition, and mother and I were waiting for the time to go to the doctor. A gentleman called, and I never saw anybody look so frightened and ill as mother did when she received him, though I knew it wasn't about me. She hadn't hoped for anything better in that line. She called the man 'Friend Howard Corson,' and he was very courteous to her; but all of a sudden she cried out: —
"'Don't tell me that the end has come! I can't bear both sorrows in one day!' And then she looked across at me. I smiled as bravely as I could, and, Amy, I believe our mother is the very most beautiful woman in this world."
"Why, of course; and father's the handsomest man."
"Certainly," agreed the lad, with rather more haste than conviction.
"Well, what next?"
Before the answer could be given, there burst upon their ears an uproarious clamor of angry voices, such as neither had ever heard at Fairacres; and Amy sprang up in wild alarm, while Hallam groped blindly for the crutches he had tossed aside.
CHAPTER V.
A KINSMAN OF THE HOUSE
"It's from the library!" reported Amy, who had first reached and opened the window. "I can't make out anything except – yes, it is! That's Fayette's voice. Hear that croak?"
"The foolish boy? Here yet?"
"So it seems. I'll go and find out."
"Wait. That's Cleena talking now, and another voice, a man's. What can it all mean?"
Amy ran down the stairs and out of the house so swiftly that she did not observe her father following with almost equal haste. Behind him sped Mrs. Kaye, far more anxious concerning her husband than the noise outside.
"Slowly, Cuthbert. Please do take care. Thee must not hurry so, and I hear Cleena. She'll look out for everything. For my sake, don't run."
Hallam upon his crutches came last of all, and for a moment the entire family stood in silent wonder at the scene before them.
Two men were wrestling like angry schoolboys; and the light from a lantern in Cleena's hand fell over them and showed the distorted face of "Bony" in one of his wildest rages. His contestant was gray haired and stout, and was evidently getting the worst of the struggle. The library door was open, and it seemed as if the half-wit were trying to force the other backward into the building.
One glance revealed something of the situation to Mrs. Kaye, and, as the wrestlers paused for breath, she moved forward and laid her hand upon the old man's arm.
"Archibald, what does this mean?"
The low voice acted like magic. Fayette slunk away, ashamed, and the other paused to recover himself. But his anger soon returned and was now directed against the astonished woman herself.
"Mean! mean? That's for you to say. Since when has a Kaye stooped to the pettiness of locking up an unwelcome visitor like a rat in a trap? A pretty greeting and meeting, Cuthbert, after all these years!" he cried, turning next toward the artist, with indignant contempt.
But the object of his wrath scarcely heard what he said. His own eyes were fixed upon the ruined panel of his beautiful library door, and he caught up the lantern and peered anxiously to learn the extent of the disaster.
The wife again answered, as if speaking for both: —
"Archibald, no. Whatever indignity thee has suffered, none of thy kin know anything about it or could be parties to it. Thy own heart must tell thee that; and now explain what it all means."
At the old familiar speech, the man's expression altered, and when he replied it was in a far gentler tone.
"I came to see Cuthbert; for the thousandth time, isn't it? Failing him again, though I didn't mean to fail, I had to talk with – thee," his voice tripping slightly over the pronoun, "and that virago brought me here to wait. Then she locked me up and set this idiot to watch. There are no windows to get out of from above, nothing but that skylight, so I finally forced the door at the foot of the stairs, and then again this. Here was that ruffian, armed with a cudgel, and – the rest thee knows."
"I am very sorry, cousin. I can but apologize for what I would never have permitted had I known," and the mistress's gaze rested upon Cleena most reproachfully.
Yet that bold-spirited creature was in no wise disturbed, and replied, with great enjoyment: —
"Sure, mistress, I did but do what I'd do again, come same chance. What for no? If it wasn't for him, yon, there'd be peace an' plenty at Fairacres the now. Faith, I harmed him none."
"Cleena!"
"Askin' pardon if I overstepped me aut'ority, mistress. Come, Gineral Bonyparty, I'm surmisin' you an' me better be fixin' things up whiles the family goes home to their beds."
Just then Mr. Kaye's silent examination of the injury done his beloved studio came to an end. He set down the lighted lantern with the ultra caution of one who dreads fire above all accidents, and turned toward his wife. However, he took but few steps forward before he paused, staggered, and would have fallen had not the ill-treated visitor sprung to his aid, – to be himself pushed aside, while Cleena caught up her master and strode off toward the house, as if she were but carrying an overgrown child in her strong arms. Indeed, the artist's weight was painfully light, nor was this the first time that Cleena's strength had thus served his need; though this fact not even Hallam nor Amy knew.
The wife hurried after her fainting husband, and Amy started also; then reflected that it was she who had brought Fayette to the house, and was, in a measure, responsible for what had since happened there.
But the lad gave her time for neither reproof nor question, as he eagerly exclaimed: —
"'Twa'n't none o' my doin's. She made me. She told me to set here an' keep Mr. Wingate in, an' if he broke out I wasn't to let him. I don't know what for. I didn't ask questions. 'Twa'n't none o' my business, anyway. So I was just trying to jab him back. She fed me first rate. Say, is that your brother?"
"Yes. Oh, Hal! what shall we do?"
"You run to the house and see if mother wants anybody to go for the doctor, while I try to help this boy stop up the doorway. It's going to rain, and it would break father's heart if anything here were harmed."
A curious smile crossed the stranger's face, but he advanced to lend his aid to the lad, Fayette, and succeeded in getting the parts of the door so far into place that they would prevent any damage by rain, except in case of severe storm. The broken lock was, of course, useless, and as the mill lad saw the cripple fingering it, he remarked: —
"You needn't be scared. I'll stay an' watch. I won't march to-night. Oh, I can do it all right. I often stay with the watchmen round the mill, an' I've got a good muscle, if anybody wants to tackle it," with which he glared invitingly toward the late prisoner.
A protesting groan was the only reply; and the lad received this with a snort of disdain.
"Druther let old scores rest, had ye? All right. Suits me well enough now, but I ain't forgot the lickin's you've given me, an' I ain't goin' to forget, neither."
Fayette's look was again so vindictive that Hallam interposed, fearing another battle between these uninvited guests.
"Well, I wish you would watch here for a while. As soon as Cleena can be spared, she shall bring you a blanket. And anyway, if you'll keep everything safe, I'll try to find something to pay you for your trouble."
"Hmm, I'd take your donkey an' give back considerable to boot."
"My donkey? Balaam? Well, I guess not."
"I could do it. I could, first rate. I've got money. It's in the savings bank. 'Supe' put it in for me."
"I couldn't think of it, not for a second. Mr. Wingate – is it?"
"Archibald Wingate, and your kinsman, young sir."
"So I heard my mother say. She would wish you to come to the house with me, and we'll try to make you comfortable. I must go – I am wild to know what is wrong with my father."
"We will, at once," answered the other, coldly. "Your father was always weak – was never very rugged, and he hasn't lived in a way to make himself more robust. A man's place is in the open; not penned like a woman behind closed doors and windows."
"Beg pardon, but you are speaking of my father."
"Exactly, and of my cousin. Oh, I've known him since we sat together under our grandmother's table, munching gingerbread cakes. Ah, she was a famous cook, else the flavor of a bit of dough wouldn't last that long."
"I've heard of my great-grandmother's talent for cookery. Father and mother often speak of it, and some of her old recipes are in use in our kitchen to-day."
Mr. Wingate had kept an even pace with Hallam's eager swings upon his crutches, and they were speedily at the old house door, with a kindly feeling toward one another springing into life within the heart of each; though but a little while before Hallam had exclaimed to Amy, in all sincerity, "I hate him unseen."
With the ready trustfulness of youth, Hallam began to think his mother's and the lawyer's words had not meant literally what they expressed.
On Mr. Wingate's side, the sight of Hallam's physical infirmity had roused regret at the action he must take. Up till this meeting he had lived with but one object in view – the possession of Fairacres; nor did he now waver in his determination. There had simply entered into the matter a sentiment of compassion which was a surprise to himself, and which he banished as completely as he could.
Amy met them at the door with the gratifying report: —
"Father is about all right again. It was a sudden faint. Cleena says that he has had them before, but that mother had not wished us told. There is no need of a doctor, and Cleena is to get the west chamber ready for Mr. Wingate to sleep in. I'm to freshen the fire and – here is mother herself."
The house mistress came toward them, vial and glass in hand, on her way back to the sick-room. The hall was dimly lighted, and as she turned at the stair's foot and passed upward, with that soft gliding motion peculiar to herself, she seemed to the entering guest like a sad-faced ghost of a girl he had known. Halfway up she paused upon the landing and smiled down upon them; and the serenity of that smile made the hard facts of the case – illness, poverty, and home-breaking – seem even more unreal than anything else could have done.
Amy looked into Mr. Wingate's eyes, which were fixed upon their mother. "Isn't she like the Madonna? Father has so often painted her as such."
"Yes – hmm. He ought to. A Madonna of Way and Means. Say, little girl, you are bright enough, but you act a good deal younger than your years. How happens it you've never learned to look after your father yourself, and so spare your mother? Can you do anything useful?"
"That depends. I can arrange father's palette, and crack his eggs just right, and buy things – when there's money," she finished naïvely.
"It all seems 'father.' What about your mother? What can you do, or have you done, to help her, eh?"
Amy flushed. She thought this sort of cross-questioning very rude and uncalled for. As soon as she had heard this man's name she had realized that it must be he of whom Hallam had spoken, and whom she, also, had decided she "hated unseen." But, in truth, hatred was a feeling of which the carefully sheltered girl knew absolutely nothing, though it came very near entering her heart at that instant when the shrewd, penetrating gaze of her kinsman forced her to answer his question.
"Why – nothing, I'm afraid. Only to love her."
"Hmm. Well, you'll have to add a bit of practical aid to the loving, I guess, if you want to keep her with you. She looks as if the wind might blow her away if she got caught out in it. Now, good night. You and your brother can go. I'll sit here till that saucy Irishwoman gets my room ready. Take care! If you don't mind where you're going, you'll drop sperm on the rug, tipping that candlestick so!"
Hallam had been standing, leaning against the newel post, with his own too ready temper flaming within him. But there was one tenet in the Kaye household which had been held to rigidly by all its members: the guest within the house was sacred from any discourteous word or deed. Else the boy felt he should have given his new-found relative what Cleena called "a good pie-shaped piece of his mind."