Her child, her child, the one transcendent, gripping theme of joy and fear. If she could only do something for it—sometime, somehow!
For the first winter things went smoothly enough. By the closest economy the children were clothed and kept in school, the rent paid, and the instalments met. Once it looked as though there might be some difficulty about the continuance of the home life, and that was when Gerhardt wrote that he would be home for Christmas. The mill was to close down for a short period at that time. He was naturally anxious to see what the new life of his family at Cleveland was like.
Mrs. Gerhardt would have welcomed his return with unalloyed pleasure had it not been for the fear she entertained of his creating a scene. Jennie talked it over with her mother, and Mrs. Gerhardt in turn spoke of it to Bass, whose advice was to brave it out.
“Don’t worry,” he said; “he won’t do anything about it. I’ll talk to him if he says anything.”
The scene did occur, but it was not so unpleasant as Mrs. Gerhardt had feared. Gerhardt came home during the afternoon, while Bass, Jennie, and George were at work. Two of the younger children went to the train to meet him. When he entered Mrs. Gerhardt greeted him affectionately, but she trembled for the discovery which was sure to come. Her suspense was not for long. Gerhardt opened the front bedroom door only a few minutes after he arrived. On the white counterpane of the bed was a pretty child, sleeping. He could not but know on the instant whose it was, but he pretended ignorance.
“Whose child is that?” he questioned.
“It’s Jennie’s,” said Mrs. Gerhardt, weakly.
“When did that come here?”
“Not so very long ago,” answered the mother, nervously.
“I guess she is here, too,” he declared, contemptuously, refusing to pronounce her name, a fact which he had already anticipated.