Somehow she felt so lonely and isolated and neglected. Better die and be out of this painful existence than to lie sick in bed for weeks and weeks and be absolutely forgotten by the old-time friends, whose society she once enjoyed so delightfully.
When her daughter came in she had hard work to turn her feeble head to the wall, so the tears on her lashes could not be seen. She even felt one on her thin cheek, but had not the physical power to wipe it away. As the daughter went about the room, tidying things up, and dusting off the stand on which the medicine bottles stood, she listened carefully to see if her mother was sleeping. A slight cough from the bed convinced her that the invalid was awake, and she broke the silence by saying:
“I hope the mail today will bring a letter from brother John. He knows of your accident, and I feel sure he will reach us today with his answer.”
The finger on the bed moved slightly and a weak voice answered; “I hope so, Mary. It’s nice to receive a letter from our absent ones, at such times like this.”
Mary knew how it exhausted her mother to talk, so she said no more, but pulled down the blind to shut out the light, and left the sick room with a pain at her heart. Her keen eye had seen the tears on her mother’s eye lashes, and she felt certain that the poor invalid had been weeping over confinement and isolation from society and her friends.
In an hour the morning mail arrived, and she was agreeably surprised to find five letters, addressed to her mother, besides the one from John. She opened John’s letter and read it over carefully, to make sure that he had said nothing to hurt his mother’s feelings. John was so careless at times, and would bring up business problems that should not be spoken of when the mother was not in condition for such matters. Then Mary went up to the sick room and read John’s letter aloud.
“I’m glad to hear he’s well,” the invalid said laboriously, and closed her eyes again from sheer weakness.
“But mother,” exclaimed Mary, “here’s a letter from Mrs. Moore—your old friend, Mrs. Moore, of whom you spoke only yesterday.”
The invalid opened wide her eyes and listened until the letter was finished. It spoke of the old time friendship, and expressed hope that the invalid would soon recover, and be in condition to enjoy a visit from her friend, just so soon as the weather was settled.
“How kind of Mrs. Moore to think of me in my affliction,” exclaimed the invalid in much stronger tones. “It’s better than medicine to hear from her. Old friends are so dear to the heart, for they bring up old memories.”