The day after the wedding was Friday, or “sweep day,” as Mrs. Hunter called it. Anxious to begin as she expected to hold out, and to form regular habits in John’s wife, Mrs. Hunter superintended the housecleaning processes.
Elizabeth had had no idea that any one could put in so many hours with broom and dust rag, but when it was done, looked about her with housekeeperly delight in the orderly, well-kept rooms. As they had worked that day the girl had been keenly observant of John’s mother. She could not tell whether John had told her of the trouble in her home or not. Mrs. Hunter did not refer to it directly or indirectly, and this fact was the subject of much thought. This faultless manner of dismissing unpleasant things stood out in strong contrast to the endless and tiresome discussions to which the girl was accustomed. Elizabeth wished she could find time to run over to Uncle Nate’s for a chat with Aunt Susan, but the busy day absorbed her and there was no time to go anywhere; in fact, it was time for John to come home from Colebyville, where he had gone to hunt for a hired man before the cleaning was really finished. Glancing up at the clock on the lambrequined shelf in the sitting room, the girl was surprised to see that it was already four o’clock. The cleaning was finished and she ran to the kitchen to put up the rag in her hand, and then went hurriedly into her bedroom to comb her hair and get her dress changed before John should come.
Absorbed in her dressing, Elizabeth did not hear her husband enter the house until she heard him talking to his mother in the dining room. With freshly combed hair and clean calico dress she ran with a glad little bound to meet him.
John Hunter and his mother stopped short with their conversation when they saw her and were plainly embarrassed.
The young wife became conscious that something was wrong and stopped in the middle of the room, looking from one to the other in mute inquiry.
Mrs. Hunter turned and went back to the kitchen. John came toward his wife.
“What is it, John? What has happened?” she asked in a whisper. There was a sick look on John Hunter’s face.
Elizabeth did not put her hand on him as was her usual way. The girl-wife had an indistinct feeling that her husband and his mother were a combination for the moment of which she was not a part.
“Enough has happened,” the man said, passing her and going toward their bedroom. “Come in here!”
He held the door open for her to enter, and she passed in and stood waiting while he shut it behind them.