CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I
The time went by well enough for Frankie. She was busy, and after a fashion, happy, with the children. She had long ago trained herself not to search her own heart, not to indulge her own emotions, not to think of Lionel. No more now than during all the past five years.
With the assistance of Mrs. Hansen she put the house in order, all the queer, jumbled cupboards and closets and bureau drawers. They found the most extraordinary things. They were obliged to tell Mr. Petersen that Minnie had been in debt to half a dozen tradesmen, enormous bills that she would reduce dollar by dollar. He paid them at once, without question. They found clothes of Mr. Petersen’s hidden away—no doubt to be given to Lionel. They found pawn-tickets for some of the silver spoons. Curious records of a subterranean life.... But at last they cleaned away all traces of her rule; her clothes and personal belongings were packed away, until she should send for them; she was sternly and justly effaced.
Frances had begun to recover, to become inwardly as serene as she was in appearance. When suddenly her makeshift peace was again destroyed.
They were at lunch, Frances, Mr. Petersen and Sandra, an exemplary group, almost too decorous, all consuming exactly the right sort of food for their health, served at the right moment. Then Mrs. Hansen brought in his letter, and without thinking, Frankie tore it open, and saw his writing again. She folded it again and sat through the meal; so very long before she could shut herself into her own room, and read it.
“Frankie: I can’t get into the army in any branch. I got one of the doctors to tell me, and he said I had tuberculosis and couldn’t last more than a year or two at the most. Frankie, I can’t do it. What’s the use, anyway, of waiting on like that, and dying in a charity hospital? I’m going to go now, as decently as I can. Don’t tell them, not even where I am. I want to be left in peace. But I wish you would come after it is all over. I will leave you a note. Good-bye. God bless you, dear old girl.
L.”
She hurried to him. She found him in a little basement-room like a cell, below the level of the street, with a barred window looking out on a filthy courtyard. She had steeled herself for this meeting; she was prepared for anything; she didn’t wince, didn’t falter, at the sight of his ghastly face. He stood before her in the dim light, a gaunt, stooping figure in a frayed suit; he looked really frightened at the sight of her. He had said good-bye to her forever in his own soul; he wasn’t prepared, wasn’t capable of seeing her again.
He tried to tell her something of his story; especially he insisted upon how he hadn’t “wronged” Mr. Petersen. He was very earnest about that.