Part 14 (2/2)
”Perhaps if I found my aunt she'd look like mamma, an' I'd know then how mamma looked, wouldn't I? Perhaps if the wheat is good this year we can go back an' find her, can't we?” Then her words melted into a moan of physical pain, and the nurse said:
”Now I guess you'd better go an' see if you can't hurry the doctor up.
Yes: now he's got to go,” she went on to Flaxen, drowning out her voice and putting her imploring hands back upon the bed.
Anson saw it all now. In her fear and pain she had turned to him--poor, motherless little bird--forgetting her boy-husband or feeling the need of a broader breast and stronger hand. It was a beautiful trust, and as the great, s.h.a.ggy man went out into the morning he was exalted by the thought. ”My little babe--my Flaxen!” he said with unutterable love and pity.
Again his mind ran over the line of his life--the cabin, the dead woman, the baby face nestling at his throat, the girl coming to him with her trials and triumphs. His heart swelled so that he could not have spoken, but deep in his throat he muttered a dumb prayer. And how he suffered that day, hearing her babble mixed with moanings every time the door opened. Once the doctor said:
”It's no use for you to stand here, Wood. It only makes you suffer and don't help her a particle.”
”It _seems_ 's if it helped her, an' so--I guess I'll stay. She may call for me, an' if she does,” he said resolutely, ”I'm goin' in, doctor. How is she now?”
”She's slightly delirious now, but still she knows you're here. She now and then speaks of you, but doesn't call for you.”
But she did call for him, and he went in, and kneeling by her side he talked to her and held her hands, stroked her hair and soothed her as he need to when a little child unable to speak save in her pretty Norseland tongue, and at last when opiates were given, and he rose and staggered from the room, it seemed as though he had lived years.
So weary was he that, when the doctor came out and said, ”You may go to sleep now,” he dropped heavily on a lounge and fell asleep almost with the motion. Even the preparations for breakfast made by the hoa.r.s.e-voiced servant-girl did not wake him, but the drawling, nasal tone of Kendall did. He sat up and looked at the oily little clerk. It was after seven o'clock.
”h.e.l.lo!” said Kendall, ”when d' you get in?”
”Shortly after you went out,” said Anson in reply.
Kendall felt the rebuke, and as he twisted his cuffs into place said, ”Well, y' see I couldn't do no good--a man ain't any good in such cases, anyway--so I just thought I'd run down to St. Paul an' do a little buying.”
Anson turned away and went into the kitchen to wash his face and to comb his hair, glad to get rid of the sight of Kendall for a moment.
Mrs. Stickney was toasting some bread.
”She's awake an' wants to see you when you woke up. It's a girl--thought I'd tell ye--yes: she's comfortable. Say, 'tween you an' me, a man 'at 'u'd run off--waal----” she ended, expressively glancing at Kendall.
Once more Anson caught his breath as he entered the darkened chamber.
He was a rough, untaught man, but there was something in him that made that room holy and mysterious. But the figure on the bed was tranquil now, and the voice, though weak and low, was Flaxen's own.
He stopped as his eyes fell on her. She was no longer a girl. The majesty of maternity was on her pale face and in her great eyes. A faint, expectant smile was on her lips; her eyes were fixed on his face as she drew the cover from the little red, weirdly-wrinkled face at her throat.
Before he could speak, and while he was looking down at the mite of humanity, Kendall stepped into the room.
”h.e.l.lo, Ellie! How are----”
A singular revulsion came out on her face. She turned to Anson. ”Make him go 'way; I don't want him.”
”All right,” said Kendall cheerfully, glad to escape.
”Isn't she beautiful?” the mother whispered. ”Does she look like me?”
she asked artlessly.
”She's beautiful to me because she's yours, Flaxie,” replied Anson, with a delicacy all the more striking because of the contrast with his great frame and hard, rough hands. ”But there, my girl, go to sleep like baby, an' don't worry any more.”
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