For the next two days the Forman family struggled with the problem of being and doing just as usual, with the consciousness always upon them that there was an added member who made all things different. They succeeded fairly well. Ray spent most of the time with her aunt, unpacking and regulating, and stooping over boxes and baskets and reaching up to hooks and shelves that were all beyond the powers of the little lame woman. Much planning had been necessary in order to lodge many things in a small space, for Aunt Elsie had certainly brought many things. Jean grumbled over that fact in her characteristic way: “Whatever Uncle Evarts and Aunt Caroline meant, that little woman has evidently planned to spend her life with us.” And Derrick replied, with energy:
“Humph! they did the planning. You bet your life those two know what they are about. They mean that ‘poor Joe’ shall do his share with a vengeance! If I were father I wouldn’t stand that sort of thing.”
However, the two who had done most of the settling were well pleased with the result. At the Friday evening dinner table Aunt Elsie announced that, thanks to the most efficient helper a lame woman ever had, she was all settled, ready to begin to live. She had owned, however, to being very tired and had gone early to her room. The younger Formans speculated as to whether that might be her usual habit, every one of them owning to the hope that such was the case; though Ray did her best to keep the cheerful side of the innovation in the forefront. Aunt Elsie, she said, had been ever so nice, all day; not a bit fussy or overparticular. She had loads of pretty things, but she had not been afraid to have them touched, and had been cheery and genial throughout the weariness of unpacking and settling. She had not lost her good nature even when none of her boxes would fit on the shelves where she wanted them to go. But Florence was not to be comforted.
“Why shouldn’t she be good-natured?” she had demanded, fiercely. “You did all the work and she had only to sit and look on and give orders. Oh, you needn’t tell me; I know as well as though I had watched the whole performance that you worked all day like a slave, and fixed every last thing exactly as she wanted it. I only hope she has sense enough to realize what a downy nest she has dropped into! Father treats her as though she were a queen, and mother—well, we all know what mother is.”
“But think of poor Ray,” Jean interrupted. “She lives almost in the same room, ready to be summoned any minute, day or night. The rest of us can go on living much as usual except at meal times, and prayers, and a few such functions, but Ray will have her all the time. I’m glad I’m not in your shoes, Ray Forman! It’s a blessed thing that I am not the oldest daughter; I couldn’t play the part worth a cent; but you will do it beautifully.”
Still, on this Saturday morning things were not quite as usual anywhere in the Forman household. Or rather they were, as Jean expressed it, “a good deal more ‘usual’ than they usually were.” Trouble had begun when it was admitted that Ray must go to town to look after errands that only she could manage. Jean had complained that the business in hand would keep Ray in town “the whole blessed day,” and her mother had looked so grave when she acknowledged this that it had immediately called forth another outburst.
“Mother remembers that she must get through with Saturday’s baking and frying and all other extra-ing without the help of her efficient eldest daughter, and only Jean to take her place. O mommie! I’m almost sorrier for you than I am for myself.” Whereupon she flew at her mother with kisses and caresses, petitioning her not to worry; that she, Jean, would help all day like a tornado; see if she didn’t.
Florence’s dismay over the state of things had been too deep for words. She felt that they all ought to know without her saying it that she would be by far the greatest sufferer through Ray’s absence. A function of importance in her social world was to take place that evening. A classmate who was about to marry into aristocratic circles had invited a very select few to meet the prospective groom, and Florence, being one of the elect, had her best gown partially ripped ready to undergo a severe refurbishing. Of course, there had been a tacit understanding that Ray was to assume the lion’s share of the work. Mrs. Forman had not for several years been able to do much sewing, and she frankly admitted that since Ray had come to the front she had lost what little skill in that direction she had possessed. No wonder that Jean, having almost smothered her mother, had turned to the trouble-faced seamstress with another doleful:
“Poor Florence! I’m awfully sorry for you; if I only knew how, I could help you like a whirlwind.”
“I have no doubt but you would, and be almost as useful!” was Florence’s answer.