OH, WILL I BE WELCOME?
There was a late luncheon and then the Major returned to his wife’s sitting room where Aunt Kate was keeping her company with some exquisite needlework for her darling, Zay, who had insisted upon being left alone.
“I have a curious story to read to you that concerns us all. I am glad to have you here, Kate, as a sort of ballast. It was what excited me so this morning and I was very unreasonable. The doctor threatened to put me in a straight jacket.”
Aunt Kate laughed. Mrs. Crawford studied her husband intently.
“Oh, go on with your work. I shall feel more composed.” He turned his chair a little, ostensibly for the light, but so that his wife might not watch his face.
He began with Mrs. Boyd’s list of misfortunes after her few years of happiness and her resolve to go out to her brother’s. At times he stumbled over the poor penmanship and halted.
“Why, it must have been the train I was on,” interrupted Mrs. Crawford. “I remember there was a woman with a delicate looking child. I believe ours were the only two babies. Oh, if I had not taken my little darling! But she was so well and strong, such a fine happy baby, and nurse Jane was so good.”
Mrs. Boyd had hurried briefly over the terrible collision.
“Everett,” interrupted his sister with an indignant emphasis, “why recall that awful happening. It can do us no good now.”
Mrs. Crawford leaned her head on her hand and balanced her elbow on the broad arm of the chair.
The Major’s voice shook slightly. Mrs. Boyd had been quite graphic about her calling for the baby, her care of it from midnight to the next morning and settling her mind to what the woman had said; her resolve to keep the child when she heard the other mother had been killed. She sprang up suddenly.
“Oh, it was nurse Jane who was killed. And she took my baby, my darling. Oh, who was she? Can we ever find her?”
Then she fainted and her husband caught her in his arms.
“Oh, you have killed her!” cried Miss Crawford. “How could you recount that awful time of suffering, and that the woman should steal the baby! Oh, that was just it, there’s no use mincing matters!”
It was some minutes before Mrs. Crawford regained consciousness, then she gazed imploringly in her husband’s face.
“Oh, tell me—where is my darling? Is she really alive. Can we find her?”
“She has been found. She is well and in good hands. Oh, my dear wife, I felt vengeful at first, but I have come to pity the poor thing. Marguerite pleaded for her. And we must be thankful that she had the courage to confess the matter.”
“Then—you have seen her?”
The voice was shaken with emotion.
“She is at Mrs. Barrington’s.”
“Oh, can’t we go to her? My dear baby, my darling Marguerite! Why, it is almost as if she had been sent from heaven.”
“My dear—” her husband caught her in his arms or she would have fallen in her eagerness. “Oh, it will all come right, but you must be patient and get stronger. There are reasons why she cannot come, or you cannot go, and you must hear the rest of the story.”
“Everett,” began his sister, “how do you know but that this is a scheme to extort money. How can you be sure it is your child? There are so many swindlers or blackmailers in the world.”
He was arranging his wife on the couch, thankful she had borne the tidings so well. Then he seated himself beside her, bending over to kiss the pallid lips.
“There can scarcely be any chance for fraud. No one would profit by it, and now, shall I go on with the story?”
They both acquiesced.
There was something so pathetic in the fostermother’s love for the child and her fear of its being cast on the world as no one seemed to know anything about the supposed mother. Then her return to her early home; her struggles against misfortune, poverty and ill health, and after a little, her dismay at finding the child so different from what she had been herself, so ambitious, so longing for refinement and showing such a distaste for common ways. The failure of her own health, the impossibility of keeping the girl at school any longer when Mrs. Barrington’s proffer had seemed a perfect godsend. But it was too late to recover the health that had been so shattered by poverty and hard work.
“Well, if it is true she was a courageous woman,” declared Miss Crawford. “One can’t forgive her for taking the child without making a single inquiry.”
“But everything was in such confusion, and you will remember that Marguerite lay unconscious for a long while, just hovering between life and death. And at that time, in the western countries there were not so many safeguards. When Dr. Kendricks reached the place, Jane and the baby had been temporarily buried. Yes, it was easy for the thing to happen when Mrs. Boyd wanted the baby so much. I can hardly forgive her, but we must admit that the confession showed an earnest desire to repair the wrong.”
“Where is she?”
“At Mrs. Barrington’s. Dr. Kendricks thinks she can last but a few days longer and the child is resolved to stay until the end. I tried to shake her determination but found it useless.”
“I admire her for it,” said Mrs. Crawford.
“I should doubt her fervent love if it could be transferred so easily from poverty to wealth. Yes, I am proud of my dear daughter whom I have not seen in fifteen years. But the whole story is marvellous.”
“And yet there is nothing impossible about it. We can see how simply it all happened.”
“What is she like?”
“Mrs. Barrington was quite puzzled about a resemblance to some one, and she thinks it you. She has not the radiant beauty of your girlhood, neither has she the dazzling charm of Zay. Oh, I think she is the most like Willard; rather too grand for a girl of sixteen, with a great deal of dignity. Oh, you should hear Mrs. Barrington talk about her. And how do you suppose she and the doctor kept the secret yesterday! They knew it would disturb our happy Christmas. And she was nursing the sick woman.”
“Oh, did she know?”
“Not that she was our daughter until this morning. I felt bewildered over it all,” and Major Crawford gave a deep drawn sigh.
His wife pressed his hand. Her tears were flowing silently.
“Well—it will be very strange to have her here,” remarked Miss Crawford. “But I warn you, Zay will always be the dearest to me.”
Twilight was falling around them. Mrs. Crawford would never have her own lights early. This was her favorite hour with her husband. Aunt Kate stole softly to Zay’s room and found her sleeping tranquilly, the fever mostly gone.
“Oh, I wonder how you will take it,” she mused. “You have been the darling of the household so long.”
For somehow, she was not in a mood to welcome this newcomer. True, there must be the strongest proof or Major Crawford would not have been convinced or allowed himself to get in such a passion with this Mrs. Boyd. But a girl reared amid the commonest surroundings, enduring the straits of poverty, lack of education, no accomplishments, how could she take her place in the front rank of Mount Morris society? And the boys—how would they accept this rusticity and probably self conceit?
Major Crawford and his wife often fell into tender and mysterious confidences at this hour, that were never shared with others. They were very happy in her recovery though the last two years she had suffered very little. But she did not want to depute the care of her daughter growing into womanhood entirely to Aunt Kate who had many worldly aims and prejudices, and who was very proud of her niece’s beauty. And now such a load was lifted from her soul that had never quite forgiven itself for taking her finest baby on the unfortunate journey.
“Oh, I must see her,” she cried in a whisper.
“But she will not come here until all is over with that poor woman. I do not see how she can care so much for her.”
“My dear, it shows a true and strong regard. Remember it is the only mother she has ever known. To turn at once would show a volatile disposition. I have been afraid of that in Zaidee, who is easily taken with new friends, though I will admit that she does not discard the old ones. But I wish sometimes other people were not so easily attracted by her.”
“But she is charming,” said the admiring father.
“I hope they will love each other. We must expect a little jealousy at first. And you think she is not—that her narrow life has not dwarfed her.”
“Oh, you should listen to Mrs. Barrington’s enthusiasm. You see, it was not an easy place to fill, after all. She was in some of the classes, but she held herself aloof. Then she taught a little among the younger day scholars, and kept a certain supervision in the evening study hour. Her mother’s position was a sort of handicap, she was so very meek and retiring. All women cannot add dignity to an inferior position, and young people are very apt to take them according to the position. Mrs. Barrington was planning some changes for the new term that would be brought about by the passing away of the poor woman. I think she meant, in a way, to adopt her.”
“Oh, she must be worthy, to have made such a friend.”
And the mother was wondering, but dared not ask what Marguerite had grown into. She was not like Zay, all the coloring was darker. Willard was fine looking for a young man, but would it not be rather masculine for a girl? She had a fancy for the soft attractiveness in a woman.
Then the light came and dinner. Mrs. Crawford went to Zay’s room afterward and found her comfortable and better, with no recurrence of fever, and they had a pleasant little chat.
The next morning a letter came from Phillipa, full of merry nonsense about gifts and gayety and lovers. She was very well, with the very underscored, and two engagements for every evening. She had not heard from Louie, “but I should have if her little finger had ached; she would have been afraid of some distemper. And I hope you are all having a splendid time.”
Afterward Dr. Kendricks came in. Yes, she was better, the throat was all right; there was a slight remnant of the cold, and it would be best to be careful for a few days. Oh, yes, she could dress herself and go about the house, but not out driving.
“You danced a little too much Christmas night, though for the life of me I don’t see what you were so nervous about.”
She flushed and laughed and felt that she had escaped a great danger.
Then he and the Major set out together, meeting Mr. Ledwith at the school. The doctor went upstairs. Lilian met him with anxious eyes.
“Yes, there has been a great change. She has gone more rapidly than I thought. Can she speak?”
“Hardly. Now and then a word. Yet she understands all that I say to her,” Lilian returned, gravely. “But she was quite restless during the night.”
He nodded. “You see, my dear Miss Boyd—you will be that until you take your new name, the confession has no signature. It might never be called in question but sometimes, years afterward, in the various changes of property, it might be necessary to establish a legal identity. Can you make her understand this? And you can attest most of her story. I will call up Mr. Ledwith. And your father is most desirous of being present. He will make no trouble.”
She went out in the hall to meet him.
“My dear,” he said, “I am more reasonable than I was yesterday. Your lovely mother has placed some views in a different light, and she is most glad that you have never lacked for a fervent love and care. And we both forgive her.”
“Oh, thank you for that. Though Mrs. Barrington advises that she had better not be told of the discovery. You see she is so tranquil now, knowing that I am provided for.”
Then they entered the room. Mrs. Boyd scarcely noticed them, but her eyes questioned Lilian, who began to explain, holding the poor hand in hers. Mrs. Boyd seemed confused at first, then she said with some difficulty—“Yes, yes.”
Lilian and Miss Arran pillowed her up in a sitting posture and placed the material on a portable desk.
“It is just to sign your name.”
She seemed to listen as Mr. Ledwith read the affadavit, and nodded, with her eyes on Lilian, who put the pen in her hand, but she could not clasp it.
“I think you will have to guide it. She does not understand.”
Lilian took the poor shaking hand in hers, and the sick woman looked up into her face and smiled.
It was written, but even Lilian’s hand shook a little. “Emma Eliza Boyd.”
“That is all, dear,” said the girl.
She made a great effort to articulate, and her eyes had a frightened look in them. “You—will not—go?”
“Oh, no, no,” returned Lilian, with a kiss.
“Tired—tired,” she gasped.
They laid her down and gave her a spoonful of stimulant but she only swallowed a little of it.
The others left the room. Dr. Kendricks shook his head slowly. Mr. Ledwith gave the last page of the confession to Major Crawford. Lilian sat on the side of the bed, chafing the cool hands that had grown more helpless since yesterday, and presently Mrs. Boyd slept, but one could hardly note the breathing.
Mrs. Barrington looked in and beckoned to Lilian.
“Your own mother is here,” she said softly. “And I feel like putting in another claim, but I cannot displace the rightful one. You will find her in the library.”
Lilian went slowly down. The beautiful woman she had seen in church, the woman who had lain like dead when Mrs. Boyd glanced upon her, the mother who had missed her all these years! The tall figure rose with the softness of a cloud longing to embrace the moon, with arms outstretched, and the child went to them in the caress of divine satisfaction. For this was the mother of her dreams and ideals, and their souls were as one.
They kissed away each other’s tears.
“I felt that I must come, that I must see you. But I am not going to take you away, much as I long for you, since you have a sacred duty here. When that is finished we will begin our lives together. At first, your father was mad with jealousy that she should have dared to love you so much, but now he is glad as I am that you did not suffer from coldness or indifference. That would have broken my heart.”
“And I am afraid I did not always return love for love. I was always dreaming, desiring something I had not. She worked for me all those early years. I had resolved as soon as was possible to be her caretaker, to put in her life the things she desired, whether they pleased me or not. It did not take much to make her happy.”
“And no man can understand the longing of a woman’s soul when her child has been torn from her arms. Poor empty arms, that no prayer can fill. And this was why she snatched at the baby, believing it was motherless. Yes, I forgave her and so did he when he came to look at it in the true light. Some women, when times pressed hard in work and poverty, would have placed you in an institution——”
“Oh, I think she would have starved first!” interrupted the girl, vehemently.
“And now, if God grants it, we may have a long, satisfying life together. For He has given me back my health like a miracle, as we had thought it could never be, and were quite resigned. And now He has restored all that we missed, given us the oil of joy for mourning. Oh, child, let me look at you. As a baby you were so different from Zaidee, it hardly seemed as if you could be twins; and you are taller, yes, you are more like Willard. But you have my eyes, and I never was fairy-like. Oh, I hope you girls will love each other, and I want you to love me with all your heart to make up for those years that have fallen out of our lives.”
The exquisitely soft, silvery laugh was music to the girl’s heart. Yes, this was the ideal mother. Was there some secret quality in heredity, after all?
They talked on and on. She wanted to hear more particulars of her daughter’s life, but Lilian softened some of the roughest places, the fights she had had with herself, when she felt she must give up her cherished school, the pleasure of coming to an atmosphere like this, the warm interest of Mrs. Barrington.
“And now I must leave you,” said the mother, “but I take with me a delightful hope. When your duty is done here, and I appreciate your doing it, you will find your true home in my heart and my home. Oh, I think you will never be able to understand all my joy.”
She rose and wiped away her tears. Yes, she was beautiful enough to adore. Her own mother! It thrilled every pulse.
“Oh, my dear, let us both thank God for this restoration. It is like a heavenly dream. I must have time to get used to it.”
Lilian watched her as she stepped into the phæton, with its handsome bays and the silver mountings. And Zaidee could have every wish gratified; friends, music, travel. It was there for her, also. She had never dreamed of that.