In The Valley Of The Shadow

TO Belden, pacing the library doggedly, the waiting seemed interminable, the strain unnecessarily prolonged. A half-hour ago quick feet had echoed through the upper halls, windows had opened, doors all but slammed, vague whisperings and drawn breaths had hovered impalpably about the whole place; but now all was utterly quiet. His own regular footfall alone disturbed the unnatural stillness of a large house.

Outside, the delicious October sun poured down through an atmosphere of faultless blue. The foliage was thick yet, and the red-and-yellow leaves danced heartlessly in the wind. A year ago they had gone on a nutting-party, and Clarice had raced with the children and picked up more than anybody else. Now--even to think of her brought that faint odor of salts-of-lavender and beef-tea that disheartened him so, somehow, when he sat by her bed coaxing her into sipping the stuff.

Some one was coming down the stairs. It was Peter’s step--his new one since last Friday, when they had all, it seemed, begun to walk and talk and breathe a little differently. Belden hurried across the room and caught him at the foot of the steps.

“Well, old man, how goes it?” he demanded, with a determined cheerfulness.

His brother-in-law stared at him emptily.

“It’s to-morrow,” he said, gripping the newel-post, “to-morrow afternoon. Jameson is coming--they’ll do it here. Jameson brings his special nurse for the--the operation, but the other one is due at five, and you get her just the same. I told Henry to put up the dog-cart. I don’t know, though--maybe the runabout--no, the tire’s loose. Still, it might do--”

“For heaven’s sake, Peter, don’t bother about it! I’ll find a rig. What else does he say?”

“He says there’s a good fighting chance--a very good one. He says her grit alone--Oh, Belden, what shall we do? What shall we do?”

Peter sat down heavily on the lowest stair.

“Only last week she was so well--and yet she really wasn’t. I suppose he knows. But it doesn’t seem possible--I can’t get it through my head. Poor little Caddy! She never had a sick day in her life. No headaches, like most Women, even--no nonsense--Oh, Belden, what shall we do?”

“Brace up, Peter; think what a good fighting chance means, think of that! It’s not as if Caddy were old; she has that on her side. She’s seven years behind me, you know.”

Peter scowled. “You’re fifty, aren’t you?”

“Not a bit. Only forty-eight, and just that, too. Now you go out and get the nurse, and I’ll stay here. It’ll do you a lot of good. Don’t mope around in the house all day--what’s the use?”

“I can’t leave the house. Honestly, Belden, I can’t. I’ve tried twice, and I just walk right back. It’s no good. There’s the cart--and you won’t be long, will you?”

Belden took up the reins with a vague sense of momentary relief: it was something to do. Under the influence of the fresh autumn air his spirits rose; he found himself enjoying the swift rattle of the cart and the beat of the horse’s feet. After all, think of Caddy’s grit; think of her fine constitution! A fighting chance--that was little enough to say, though. Why couldn’t he have put it a little stronger? Hitchcock always was a pessimist.

At the station the usual crowd of well-dressed suburbanites quieted their horses and waited impatiently for the express. As Belden drew up into line, they greeted him with a subdued interest; coachmen left their seats to ask how Mrs. Moore was to-day, and when could one see her? A sudden mist came over his eyes as he answered briefly, “Very soon--I hope.”

The train thundered in; in an incredibly short time all the guests and commuters were hurried off toward town--where was that nurse?

As his glance wandered through the thinning crowd, it was met suddenly and squarely by two brown eyes set in a fresh pink face framed by dark hair lightly sprinkled with gray. The second that he looked into that woman’s eyes taught him her character, absolutely, as finally as if he had grown up with her. One could trust her to the last ditch, he thought.

She walked straight up to the cart. “I am the nurse sent for by Dr. Hitchcock. Are you Mr. Moore?”

“I am Mrs. Moore’s brother--Mr. Belden,” he explained. “Have you your checks?”

“That is all arranged,” she returned briefly. “I am all ready. May I ask you to hurry? Dr. Hitchcock was anxious for me to see her before six, when the fever begins.”

His nerves were more sharply edged than he knew: an instant irritation seized him.

“There is plenty of room in the back of the cart,” he insisted, “the express people are very uncertain. Would you not better give me the checks?”

She swung herself up beside him with a firm, assured motion; for a heavily built woman she carried herself very lightly.

“I think not,” she said decidedly, “the man has started, I am sure. I would rather lose no time.”

He bowed and started the horse: he disliked her already. To a deep-seated, involuntary disgust that any woman should have to earn her living he added a displeased wonder that one should choose this method of doing it. There must be disagreeable details connected with it, embarrassments, absolute indignities: why did they not marry? This woman was good-looking enough. She was very obstinate--almost dictatorial. His idea of womanhood was hopelessly confused with clouds of white tulle, appealing eyes, and a desire for guidance. It was impossible to connect any of these characteristics with the woman beside him.

For a while they drove in silence. Then compunction seized him and he remarked on the beauty of the foliage. She assented easily, but seemed no more relieved by the speech than embarrassed by the silence. It was impossible to treat her as a hired servant: one felt a strong personality in her. Before they reached the house he was searching for conversation that should not bore her.

As they stepped into the wide hall, where he observed with a shade of displeasure that her luggage had come before them, Dr. Hitchcock met them.

“Ah, Miss Strong, glad to see you. Come right up. On time, as usual, of course! I was afraid you couldn’t make it. Jameson comes to-morrow, you know--”

They were up the stairs; Belden stood idly in the hall where they had left him. He had had an idea of showing her the house, stating some of the facts of Clarice’s sudden and terrible need of her, indicating that in a family so jarred from the very foundations it would be wiser to look to him than to the bewildered master of the establishment; but this was not necessary.

Evidently she persisted in dispensing with his services.

His hand slipped to his vest pocket, but he replaced the cigar uncertainly: it seemed not quite the thing to smoke. Ought he to go to Peter? In his mind’s eye he saw the poor fellow haunting the landing by Caddy’s door; he had an idea that in some way he kept things quiet by doing this. And how could one be sure that the troubled creature wanted company?

There was a violent ring at the bell, a jarring of wheels on the asphalt. The door flew open and the prettiest little woman imaginable, all fluffy ends and scarlet flowers and orris scent, rushed toward him.

“Oh, Will! Oh, Will!” she gasped, “isn’t it terrible? Where is Peter? Can I see her? Oh, Will!”

Instinctively he took her in his arms--one always did that with Peter’s sister--and she put her head on his shoulder and cried a little, while he patted her and murmured, “There, there!”

She was so manifestly comforted, and it was so pleasant to comfort her--this was what a woman should be. He felt a renewed sense of capacity, of readiness for even the most terrible emergency. He led her gently to the great cushioned window-seat and listened sympathetically to her excited babblings.

“It will kill Peter--it will kill him! In--in a great m-many ways, you know, Will, Peter isn’t so--so c-calm as Caddy. He is just bound up in her. Suppose--Oh, Will!”

“Don’t cry, Sue dear, don’t!” he said soothingly. “She has a good chance--a fine chance, really. These things are mostly resisting power, you know, and grit, and think what a lot of grit Caddy’s got!”

“Oh, I know, I know! Don’t you know when the baby died--that first baby--and s-she was so weak she could hardly speak? ‘Never mind, P-Peter, we’ll have another!’ Oh, dear, she was so pl-plucky, Will! And now to think--”

He choked a little. “I know, I know,” he murmured, “Caddy’s a brick. She always was.”