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Revelations of a Wife

<h2 id="id01188" style="margin-top: 4em">XVIII</h2> <h5 id="id01189">"CALL ME MOTHER—IF YOU CAN"</h5> "Will you kindly tell me who is the best physician here?" "Why—I—pardon me—" the drug store clerk stammered. "Wait a moment and I'll inquire. I'm new here." "The boss says this chap's the best around here." He held out a penciled card to me. "Dr. Pettit. Madison Square 4258." "Dr. Pettit!" I repeated to myself. "Why! that must be the physician who came to the apartment the night of my chafing dish party, when the baby across the hall was brought to us in a convulsion." A sudden swift remembrance came to me of the tact and firmness with which the tall young physician had handled the difficult situation he had found in our apartment. He was just the man, I decided, to handle my refractory mother-in-law. So I called him up and he promised to call as soon as his office hours were over. My feet traveled no faster than my thoughts as I hurried back to my own apartment and the bedside of my mother-in-law. I dreaded inexpressibly the conflict I foresaw when the autocratic old woman should find out that I had sent for a physician against her wishes. As I entered the living room Katie rose from her seat at the door of my mother-in-law's room. "She not move while you gone," she said. "She sleep all time, but I 'fraid she awful seeck, she breathe so hard." I went lightly into the bedroom and stood looking down upon the austere old face against the pillow. It was a flushed old face now, and the eyelids twitched as if there were pain somewhere in the body. Her breathing, too, was more rapid and heavy than when I had left her, or so I fancied. My inability to do anything for her depressed me. By slipping my hand under the blankets I had ascertained that the hot water bags were sufficiently warm. There was nothing more for me to do but to sit quietly and watch her until the physician's arrival. I wanted to bring Dr. Pettit to her bedside before she should awaken. Then I would let him deal with her obstinate refusal to see a physician. But how I wished that Dicky would come home. As if I had rubbed Aladdin's lamp, I heard the hall door slam, and my husband came rushing into the room. "What is the matter with mother?" Dicky demanded, his face and voice filled with anxiety. I sprang to him and put my hand to his lips, for he had almost shouted the words. "Hush! She is asleep," I whispered. "Don't waken her if you can help it." "Why isn't there a doctor here?" he demanded fiercely. "Dr. Pettit will be here in a very few moments," I whispered rapidly. "Your mother said she would not have a physician, but she appeared so ill I did not dare to wait until your return to the studio. I telephoned you, and when Miss Draper said she did not know where to get you, I 'phoned to Dr. Pettit on my own authority." "You don't think mother is in any danger, do you, Madge?" "Why, I don't think I am a good judge of illness," I answered, evasively, unwilling to hurt Dicky by the fear in my heart. "The physician ought to be here any minute now, and then we will know." A sharp, imperative ring of the bell and Katie's entrance punctuated my words. Dicky started toward the door as Katie opened it to admit the tall figure of Dr. Pettit. "Ah, Dr. Pettit I believe we have met before," Dicky said easily. "When Mrs. Graham spoke of you I did not remember that we had seen you so recently. I am glad that we were able to get you." "Thank you," the physician returned gravely. "Where is the patient?" "In this room." Dicky turned toward the bedroom door, and Dr. Pettit at once walked toward it. I mentally contrasted the two men as I followed them to my mother-in-law's room. There was a charming ease of manner about Dicky which the other man did not possess. He was, in fact, almost awkward in his movements, and decidedly stiff in his manner. But there was an appearance of latent strength in every line of his figure, a suggestion of power and ability to cope with emergencies. I had noticed it when he took charge of the baby in convulsions who had been brought to my apartment by its nurse. I marked it again as Dicky paused at the door of his mother's room. "I don't know how you will manage, doctor." He smiled deprecatingly. "My mother positively refuses to see a physician, but we know she needs one." "You are her nearest relative?" Dr. Pettit queried gravely, almost formally. His question had almost the air of securing a legal right for his entrance into the room. "Oh, yes." "Very well," and he stepped lightly to the side of the bed and stood looking down upon the sick woman. He took out his watch, and I knew he was counting her respirations. Then, with the same impersonal air, he turned to Dicky. "It will be necessary to rouse her. Will you awaken her, please? Do not tell her I am here. Simply waken her." Dicky bent over his mother and took her hand. "Mother, what was it you wished me to get for you?" The elder Mrs. Graham opened her eyes languidly. "I told you quinine," she said impatiently. As she spoke, Dr. Pettit reached past Dicky. His hand held a thermometer. "Put this in your mouth, please." His air was as casual as if he had made daily visits to her for a fortnight. But the elder Mrs. Graham was not to be so easily routed. She scowled up at him and half rose from her pillow. "I do not wish a physician. I forbade having one called. I am not ill enough for a physician." Dr. Pettit put out his left hand and gently put her back again upon her pillow. It was done so deftly that I do not think she realized what he had done until she was again lying down. "You must not excite yourself," he said, still in the same grave, impersonal tone, "and you are more ill than you think. It is absolutely necessary that I get your temperature and examine your lungs at once." As if the words had been a talisman of some sort, her opposition dropped from her. Into her face came a frightened look. "Oh, doctor, you don't think I am going to have pneumonia, do you?" I was amazed at the cry. It was like that of a terrified child. Dr. Pettit smiled down at her. "We hope not. We shall do our best to keep it away. But you must help me. Put this in your mouth, please." My mother-in-law obeyed him docilely. But my heart sank as I watched the physician's face. Suddenly she cried out, "Richard! Richard, if I am in danger of pneumonia, as this doctor thinks, I want a trained nurse here at once, one who has had experience in pneumonia cases. Margaret means well, but threatened pneumonia with my heart needs more than good intentions." "Of course, mother," Dicky acquiesced. "I was just about to suggest one to Dr. Pettit." "But, doctor," Dicky said anxiously when we followed him into the living room, "where are we to find a nurse?" "Fortunately," Dr. Pettit rejoined, "I have just learned that absolutely the best nurse I know is free. Her name is Miss Katherine Sonnot, and her skill and common sense are only equalled by her exquisite tact. She is just the person to handle the case, and if you will give me the use of your 'phone I think I can have her here within an hour." "Of course," assented Dicky, and led the way to the telephone. I did not hear what the physician said at first, but as he closed the conversation a note in his voice arrested my attention. "You are sure you are not too tired? Very well. I will see you here tonight. Good-by." Woman-like, I thought I detected a romance. The tenderness in his voice could mean but one thing, that he admired, perhaps loved the woman he had praised so extravagantly. After he went away, promising to return in the evening, I busied myself with the services to my mother-in-law he had asked me to perform, and then sat down to wait for Miss Sonnot. Dicky wandered in and out like a restless ghost until I wanted to shriek from very nervousness. But the first glimpse of the slender girl who came quietly into the room and announced herself as Miss Sonnot steadied me. She was a "slip of a thing," as my mother would have dubbed her, with great, wistful brown eyes that illumined her delicate face. But there was an air of efficiency about her every movement that made you confident she would succeed in anything she undertook. I have always been such a difficult, reserved sort of woman that I have very few friends. I did not understand the impulse that made me resolve to win this girl's friendship if I could. One thing I knew. The grave, sweet face, the steady eyes told me. One could lay a loved one's life in those slim, capable hands and rest assured that as far as human aid could go it would be safe. "Keep her quiet. Above all things, do not let her get excited over anything." Miss Sonnot was giving me my parting instructions as to the care of my sick mother-in-law before taking the sleep which she so sorely needed, on the day that Dr. Pettit declared my mother-in-law had passed the danger point. Thanks to her ministrations I had been able to sleep dreamlessly for hours. Now refreshed and ready for anything, I had prepared my room for her, and had accompanied her to it that I might see her really resting. She was so tired that her eyes closed even as she gave me the admonition. I drew the covers closer about her, raised the window a trifle, drew down the shades, and left her. As I closed the door softly behind me, I heard the querulous voice of the invalid: "Margaret! Margaret! Where are you?" As I bent over my husband's mother she smiled up at me. Her illness had done more to bridge the chasm, between us than years of companionship could have done. One cannot cherish bitterness toward an old woman helplessly ill and dependent upon one. And I think in her own peculiar way she realized that I was giving her all I had of strength and good will. "What can I do for you?" I asked, returning her smile. "I want something to eat, and after that I want to have a talk with Richard. Where is he?" "He is asleep," I answered mechanically. In a moment my thoughts had flown back to the day my mother-in-law and I had met Harry Underwood in trip Aquarium, and she had discovered he was Lillian Gale's husband. What was it Dicky's mother had said that day in the Aquarium rest room? "I have a duty to you to perform," she had declared, "a very painful duty, which involves the reviving of an old controversy with my son. I beg that you will not try to find out anything concerning its nature. It is better far that you do not." She had wished to go home at once and talk to Dicky. I had persuaded her to go first to Fraunces's Tavern for luncheon. There she had been taken ill, and in the days that had intervened between that time and the moment I leaned over her bedside she and we around her had been fighting for her life. There had been no opportunity for a confidential talk between mother and son. And I was determined that there should be none yet. In the first place, she was in no condition to discuss any subject, let alone one fraught with so many possibilities of excitement. In the second place, I was determined that no one should discuss that old secret with my husband before I had a chance to talk to him concerning it. "Well, you needn't go to sleep just because Richard is." My mother-in-law's impatient voice brought me back to myself. I apologized eagerly. I have never seen any one enjoy food as my mother-in-law did the simple meal I had prepared for her. She ate every crumb, drank the wine, and drained the pot of tea before she spoke. "How good that tasted!" she said gratefully as she finished, sinking back against my shoulder. I had not only propped her up with pillows, but had sat behind her as she ate, that she might have the support of my body. "I think I can take a long nap now," she went on. "When I awake send Richard to me." I laid her down gently, arranged her pillows, and drew up the covers over her shoulders. She caught my hand and pressed it. "My own daughter could not have been kinder to me than you have been," she said. "I am glad to have pleased you, Mrs. Graham," I returned. I suppose my reply sounded stiff, but I could not forget the day she came to us, and her contemptuous rejection of Dicky's proposal that I should call her "Mother." She frowned slightly. "Forget what I said that day I came," she said quickly. "Call me Mother, that is, if you can." For a moment I hesitated. The memory of her prejudice against me would not down. Then I had an illuminative look into the narrowness of my own soul. The sight did not please me. With a sudden resolve I bent down and kissed the cheek of my husband's mother. "Of course, Mother," I said quietly. It must have been two hours at least that I sat watching the sick woman. She left her hand in mine a long time, then, with a drowsy smile, she drew it away, turned over with her face to the wall, and fell into a restful sleep. I listened to her soft, regular breathing until the sunlight faded and the room darkened. I must have dozed in my chair, for I did not hear Katie come in or go to the kitchen. The first thing that aroused me was a voice that I knew, the high-pitched tones of Lillian Gale Underwood. "I tell you, Dicky-bird, it won't do. She's got to know the truth." As Mrs. Underwood's shrill voice struck my ears, I sprang to my feet in dismay. My first thought was of the sick woman over whom I was watching. Both Dr. Pettit and the nurse, Miss Sonnot, had warned us that excitement might be fatal to their patient. And the one thing in the world that might be counted on to excite my mother-in-law was the presence of the woman whose voice I heard in conversation with my husband. I rose noiselessly from my chair and went into the living room, closing the door after me. Then with my finger lifted warningly for silence I forced a smile of greeting to my lips as Lillian Underwood saw me and came swiftly toward me. "Dicky's mother is asleep," I said in a low tone. "I am afraid I must ask you to come into the kitchen, for she awakens so easily." Lillian nodded comprehendingly, but Dicky flushed guiltily as they followed me into the kitchen. Katie had left a few minutes before to run an errand for me. Dicky's voice interrupted the words Lillian was about to speak to me. I hardly recognized it, hoarse, choked with feeling as it was. "Lillian," he said, "you shall not do this. There is no need for you to bring all those old, horrible memories back. You have buried them and have had a little peace. If Madge is the woman I take her for she will be generous enough not to ask it, especially when I give her my word of honor that there is nothing in my past or yours which could concern her." "You have the usual masculine idea of what might concern a woman," Lillian retorted tartly. But I answered the appeal I had heard in my husband's voice even more than in his words. "You do not need to tell me anything, Mrs. Underwood," I said gently, and at the words Dicky moved toward me quickly and put his arm around me. I flinched at his touch. I could not help it. It was one thing to summon courage to refuse the confidence for which every tortured nerve was calling—it was another to bear the affectionate touch of the man whose whole being I had just heard cry out in attempt to protect this other woman. Dicky did not notice any shrinking, but Mrs. Underwood saw it. I think sometimes nothing ever escapes her eyes. She came closer to me, gravely, steadily. "You are very brave, Mrs. Graham, very kind, but it won't do. Dicky, keep quiet." She turned to him authoritatively as he started to speak. "You know how much use there is of trying to stop me when I make up my mind to anything." She put one hand upon my shoulder. "Dear child," she said earnestly, "will you trust me till tomorrow? I had thought that I must tell you right away, but your splendid generous attitude makes it possible for me to ask you this. I can see there is no place here where we can talk undisturbed. Besides, I must take no chance of your mother-in-law's finding out that I am here. Will you come to my apartment tomorrow morning any time after 10? Harry will be gone by then, and we can have the place to ourselves." "I will be there at 10," I said gravely. I felt that her honesty and directness called for an explicit answer, and I gave it to her. "Thank you." She smiled a little sadly, and then added: "Don't imagine all sorts of impossible things. It isn't a very pretty story, but I am beginning to hope that after you have heard it we may become very real friends." Preposterous as her words seemed in the light of the things I had heard from the lips of my husband's mother, they gave me a sudden feeling of comfort. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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