helen denby received the letter from her husband at two o'clock by a special messenger.
helen had passed a sleepless night and an unhappy morning. the surge of bitter anger which at first, like the ink, had blackened everything it touched, soon spent itself, and left her weak and trembling. dorothy elizabeth, after her somewhat upsetting day, sank into an unusually sound slumber; but her mother, all through the long night watches, lay with sleepless eyes staring into the dark, thinking.
helen was very angry with burke. there was no gainsaying that. she was a little frightened, too, at what she herself had said. in a soberer moment she would not have spoken quite like that, certainly. but it had been so hateful—his asking if she called that a happy home! as if she did not want a happy home as much as he ever could!
to helen, then, came her old vision of the daintily gowned wife welcoming her husband to the well-kept home; and all in the dark her cheek flushed hot.
how far short, indeed, of that ideal had she fallen! and she was going to be such a help to burke; such an inspiration; such a guide, counselor, and friend! (swiftly the words came galloping out of that long-forgotten honeymoon.) had she helped him? had[pg 156] she been an inspiration, and a guide, and a counselor, and a friend? poor burke! he had given up a good deal for her sake. (with the consciousness of that vacant pillow by her side, a wave of remorseful tenderness swept over her.) and of course it must have been hard for him. they had told him not to marry her, too. they had warned him that she was not suited to him, that she would drag him—
with a low cry helen sat up in bed suddenly.
"drag him down!"
had she dragged him down? no, no, not that—never that! she had been careless and thoughtless. she had not been a good housekeeper; and maybe sometimes she had been fretful and fault-finding, and—and horrid. but she loved him dearly. she had always loved him. it only needed something like this to show her how much she loved him. why, he was burke, her husband—baby's father! as if ever she could let it be said that she had dragged him down!
quivering, shaken with sobs, she fell back on the pillow. for a few moments she cried on convulsively. then, with a tremulous indrawn breath, she opened her eyes and stared into the dark again. a new thought had come to her.
but there was time yet. nothing dreadful had happened. she would show burke, his friends, everybody, that she had not dragged him down. from now on she would try. oh, how she would try! he should see. he should find a happy home when he came at night. she knew more, now, than she[pg 157] did, about housekeeping. besides, there was more money now,—a little more,—and she had some one to help her with the work. bridget was really doing very well; and there was mrs. cobb, so kind and helpful. she would go to her for advice always. never again should burke come home and find such a looking place. baby should be washed and dressed. she herself would be dressed and waiting. dinner, too, even on bridget's day out, should be all ready and waiting. as if ever again she would run the risk of burke's having to flee from his own home because he could not stand it! he should see!
it was in this softened, exalted state of mind that helen rose the next morning and proceeded to begin the carrying-out of her vows, by essaying the almost hopeless task (with bridget's not overcheerful assistance) of putting into spotless order the entire apartment.
at two o'clock, when burke's letter came, she was utterly weary and almost sick; but she was still in the softened, exalted state of the early morning.
with a wondering, half-frightened little cry at sight of the familiar writing, she began to read. john denby's check for ten thousand dollars had fallen into her lap unnoticed.
my dear helen [she read]: first let me apologize for flying off the handle the way i did last night. i shouldn't have done it. but, do you know? i believe i'm glad i did—for it's taught me something. maybe you've discovered it, too. it's this: you and i have been getting on[pg 158] each other's nerves, lately. we need a rest from each other.
now, don't bristle up and take it wrong, my dear. just be sensible and think. how many times a day do we snap and snarl at each other? you're tired and half sick with the work and the baby. i'm tired and half sick with my work, and we're always rubbing each other the wrong way. that's why i think we need a vacation from each other. and dad has made it possible for us to take one. he wants me to go to alaska with him on a little trip. i want to go, of course. then, too, i think i ought to go. dad needs me. not that he is old, but he is just getting over an illness, and his head bothers him a lot. i can be of real use to him.
at his own suggestion he is sending you the enclosed check. he wants you to accept it with his best wishes for a pleasant vacation. he suggests—and i echo him—that it would be a fine idea if you should take the baby and go back to your home town for a visit. i know your father and mother are not living; but there must be some one there whom you would like to visit. or, better yet, now that you have the means, you would probably prefer a good hotel for headquarters, and then make short visits to all your friends. it would do you worlds of good, and baby, too.
and now—i'm writing this instead of coming to tell it face to face, because i believe it's the best way. i'll be frank. after last night, we might say things when we first met that we'd be sorry for. and i don't want that to happen. so i'm going to stay up here for a day or two.
let me see—to-day is friday. we are due to leave next wednesday. i'll be down the first of the week to say good-bye and pick up my traps. meanwhile, chicken, you'll be all right with bridget there; and just you put[pg 159] your wits to work and go to planning out that vacation of yours, and how you're going to spend the money. then you can be ready to tell me all about it when i come down.
your affectionate husband,
burke.
helen's first feeling, upon finishing the note, was one of utter stupefaction. with a dazed frown and a low ejaculation she turned the letter over and began to read it again—more slowly. this time she understood. but her thoughts were still in a whirl of surprised disbelief. then, gradually, came a measure of conviction.
fresh from her vigils of the night before, with its self-accusations and its heroic resolutions, she was so chastened and softened that there was more of grief than of anger in her first outburst.
she began to cry a little wildly.
burke was going away. he wanted to go. he said they—they got on each other's nerves. he said they needed a vacation from each other. needed one! as if they did! it wasn't that. it was his father's idea. she knew. it was all his fault! but he was going—burke was. he said he was. there would not be any chance now to show him the daintily gowned wife welcoming her husband home to a well-kept house. there would not be any chance to show how she had changed. there would not be—
but there would be—after he came back.
helen stopped sobbing, and caught her breath[pg 160] with a new hope in her eyes. dorothy elizabeth began to cry, and helen picked her up and commenced to rock her.
of course there would be time after he came back. and, after all, might it not be the wisest thing, to be away from each other for a time? why, even this little while—a single night of burke's being gone—had shown her where she stood!—had shown her where it was all leading to! of course it was the best way, and burke had seen it. it was right that he should go. and had they not provided for her? she was to go— there was a check somewhere—
burrowing in her lap under dorothy elizabeth's warm little body, helen dragged forth an oblong bit of crumpled paper. carefully she spread it flat. the next moment her eyes flew wide open.
one thousand dollars! no, ten thousand! it couldn't be! but it was. ten thousand dollars! and she had been scolding and blaming them, when all the time they had been so generous! and it really was the best way, too, that they should be apart for a while. it would give her a chance to adjust herself and practice—and it would need some practice if she were really going to be that daintily gowned young wife welcoming her husband to a well-kept home! and with ten thousand dollars! what couldn't they get with ten thousand dollars?
dorothy elizabeth, at that moment, emitted a sharp, frightened cry. for how was dorothy elizabeth[pg 161] to know that the spasmodic pressure that so hurt her was really only a ten-thousand-dollar hug of joy?
in less than half an hour, helen, leaving the baby with bridget, had sought mrs. cobb. she could keep her good news no longer.
"i came to tell you. i'm going away—baby and i," she announced joyously. "we're going next week."
"jiminy! you don't say so! but you don't mean you're goin' away ter live?"
"oh, no. just for a visit to my old home town where i was born—only 'twill be a good long one. you see, we need a rest and a change so much—baby and i do." there was a shade of importance in voice and manner.
"that you do!" exclaimed mrs. cobb, with emphasis. "and i'm glad you're goin'. but, sakes alive, i'm goin' ter miss ye, child!"
"i shall miss you, too," beamed helen cordially.
"how long you goin' ter be gone?"
"i don't know, exactly. it'll depend, some, on burke—i mean mr. denby—when he wants me to come back."
"oh, ain't he goin', too?" an indefinable change came to mrs. cobb's voice.
"oh, no, not with us," smiled helen. "he's going to alaska."
"to—alaska! and, pray, what's he chasin' off to a heathen country like that for?"[pg 162]
"tisn't heathen—alaska isn't," flashed helen, vaguely irritated without knowing why. "heathen countries are—are always hot. alaska's cold. isn't alaska up north—to the pole, 'most? it used to be, when i went to school."
"maybe 'tis; but that ain't sayin' why he's goin' there, instead of with you," retorted mrs. cobb. in spite of the bantering tone in which this was uttered, disapproval was plainly evident in mrs. cobb's voice.
"he's going with his father," answered helen, with some dignity.
"his father! humph!"
this time the disapproval was so unmistakably evident that helen flamed into prompt defense, in righteous, wifely indignation.
"i don't know why you speak like that, mrs. cobb. hasn't he got a right to go with his father, if he wants to? besides, his father needs him. burke says he does."
"and you don't need him, i s'pose," flamed mrs. cobb, in her turn, nettled that her sympathetic interest should meet with so poor a welcome. "of course it's none of my business, mis' denby, but it seems a shame to me for him ter let you and the baby go off alone like this, and so i spoke right out. i always speak right out—what i think."
helen flushed angrily. however much she might find fault with her husband herself, she suddenly discovered a strong disinclination to allowing any[pg 163] one else to do so. besides, now, when he and his father had been so kind and generous—! she had not meant to tell mrs. cobb of the ten-thousand-dollar check, lest it lead to unpleasant questioning as to why it was sent. but now, in the face of mrs. cobb's unjust criticism, she flung caution aside.
"you're very kind," she began, a bit haughtily; "but, you see, this time you have made a slight mistake. i don't think it's a shame at all for him to go away with his father who needs him; and you won't, when you know what they've sent me. they sent me a check this afternoon for ten thousand dollars."
"ten—thousand—dollars!"
"yes," bowed helen, with a triumphant "i-told-you-so" air, as mrs. cobb's eyes seemed almost to pop out of her head. "they sent it this very afternoon."
"for the land's sake!" breathed mrs. cobb. then, as her dazed wits began to collect themselves, a new look came to her eyes. "they sent it?" she cried.
"by special messenger—yes," bowed helen, again importantly.
"but how funny to send it, instead of bringing it himself—your husband, i mean."
too late helen saw her mistake. in a panic, now, lest unpleasant truths be discovered, she assumed an especially light, cheerful manner.
"oh, no, i don't think it was funny a bit. he—he wanted it a surprise, i guess. and he wrote—a[pg 164] letter, you know. a lovely letter, all about what a good time baby and i could have with the money."
the suspicion in mrs. cobb's eyes became swift conviction. an angry red stained her cheeks—but it was not anger at helen. that was clearly to be seen.
"look a-here, mis' denby," she began resolutely, "i'm a plain woman, and i always speak right out. and i'm your friend, too, and i ain't goin' ter stand by and see you made a fool of, and not try ter lift a hand ter help. there's somethin' wrong here. if you don't know it, it's time you did. if you do know it, and are tryin' ter keep it from me, you might just as well stop right now, and turn 'round and tell me all about it. as i said before, i'm your friend, and—if it's what i think it is—you'll need a friend, you poor little thing! now, what is it?"
helen shook her head feebly. her face went from white to red, and back again to white. still determined to keep her secret if possible, she made a brave attempt to regain her old airiness of manner.
"why, mrs. cobb, it's nothing—nothing at all!"
mrs. cobb exploded into voluble wrath.
"nothin', is it?—when a man goes kitin' off ter alaska, and sendin' his wife ten thousand dollars ter go somewheres else in the opposite direction! maybe you think i don't know what that means. but i do! and he's tryin' ter play a mean, snivelin' trick on ye, and i ain't goin' ter stand for it. i never[pg 165] did like him, with all his fine, lordly airs, a-thinkin' himself better than anybody else what walked the earth. but if i can help it, i ain't goin' ter see you cheated out of your just deserts."
"mrs. cobb!" expostulated the dismayed, dumfounded wife; but mrs. cobb had yet more to say.
"i tell you they're rich—them denbys be—rich as mud; and as for pokin' you off with a measly ten thousand dollars, they shan't—and you with a baby ter try ter bring up and edyercate. the idea of your standin' for a separation with only ten thousand—"
"separation!" interrupted helen indignantly, as soon as she could find her voice. "it isn't a separation. why, we never thought of such a thing;—not for—for always, the way you mean it."
"what is it, then?"
"why, it's just a—a playday," stammered helen, still trying to cling to the remnant of her secret. "he said it was a playday—that i was to go off and have a good time with baby."
"if it's just a playday, why didn't he give it to you ter take it tergether, then? tell me that!"
"why, he—he's going with his father."
"you bet he is," retorted mrs. cobb grimly. "and he's goin' ter keep with his father, too."
"what do you mean?" helen's lips were very white.
mrs. cobb gave an impatient gesture.
"look a-here, child, do you think i'm blind? don't ye s'pose i know how you folks have been[pg 166] gettin' along tergether?—or, rather, not gettin' along tergether? don't ye s'pose i know how he acts as if you wasn't the same breed o' cats with him?"
"then you've seen—i mean, you think he's—ashamed of me?" faltered helen.
"think it! i know it," snapped mrs. cobb, ruthlessly freeing her mind, regardless of the very evident suffering on her listener's face; "and it's just made my blood boil. time an' again i've thought of speakin' up an' tellin' ye i jest wouldn't stand it, if i was you. but i didn't. i ain't no hand ter butt in where it don't concern me. but ter see you so plumb fooled with that ten thousand dollars—i jest can't stand it no longer. i had ter speak up. turnin' you off with a beggarly ten thousand dollars—and them with all that money! bah!"
"but, mrs. cobb, maybe he's coming back," stammered helen faintly, with white lips.
"pshaw! so maybe the sun'll rise in the west termorrer," scoffed mrs. cobb; "but i ain't pullin' down my winder shades for it yet. no, he won't come back—ter you, mis' denby."
"but he—he don't say it's for—for all time."
"'course he don't. but, ye see, he thinks he's lettin' ye down easy—a-sendin' ye that big check, an' tellin' ye ter take a playday. he don't want ye ter suspect, yet, an' make a fuss. he's countin' on bein' miles away when ye do wake up an' start somethin'. that's why i'm a-talkin' to ye now—ter[pg 167] put ye wise ter things. i ain't goin' ter stand by an' see you bamboozled. now do you go an' put on your things an' march up there straight. i'll take care of the baby, an' be glad to, if you don't want ter leave her with bridget."
"i go up there?" helen's voice was full of dismayed protest.
"sure! you brace right up to 'em, an' tell 'em you've caught on ter their little scheme, and you ain't goin' ter stand for no such nonsense. if he wants ter git rid of you an' the baby, all well an' good. that is, i'm takin' it for granted that you wouldn't fight it—the divorce, i mean."
"divorce!" almost shrieked helen.
"but that he's got ter treat ye fair and square, an' give ye somewheres near what's due ye," went on mrs. cobb, without apparently noticing helen's horrified exclamation. "now don't cry; and, above all things, don't let 'em think they've scared ye. just brace right up an' tell 'em what's what."
"oh, but mrs. cobb, i—i—" with a choking sob and a hysterical shake of her head, helen turned and fled down the hall to her own door. once inside her apartment she stumbled over to the crib and caught the sleeping dorothy elizabeth into her arms.
"oh, baby, baby, it's all over—all over," she moaned. "i can't ever be a daintily gowned wife welcoming him to a well-kept home now. never—never! i can't welcome him at all. he isn't coming[pg 168] back. he doesn't want to come back. he's ashamed of us, baby,—ashamed of us!"
dorothy elizabeth, roused from her nap and convulsively clutched in a pair of nervous hands, began to whimper restlessly.
"no, no, baby, not of you," sobbed helen, rocking the child back and forth in her arms. "it was me—just me he was ashamed of. what shall i do, what shall i do?"
"and i thought it was just as he said," she went on chokingly, after a moment's pause. "i thought it was a vacation he wanted us to take, 'cause we—we got on each other's nerves. but it wasn't, baby,—it wasn't; and i see it now. he's ashamed of me. he's always been ashamed of me, 'way back when dr. gleason first came—he was ashamed of me then, baby. he was. i know he was. and now he wants to get away—quite away, and never come back. and he calls it a vacation! and he says i'm to have one, too, and i must tell him all about it when he comes down next week. maybe he thinks i will. maybe he thinks i will!
"we won't be here, baby,—we won't! we'll go somewhere—somewhere—anywhere!—before he gets here," she raved, burying her face in the baby's neck and sobbing hysterically.
once again helen passed a sleepless night. never questioning now mrs. cobb's interpretation of her husband's conduct, there remained only a decision as to her own course of action. that she could not[pg 169] be there when her husband came to make ready for his journey, she was convinced. she told herself fiercely that she would take herself and the baby away—quite away out of his sight. he should not be shamed again by the sight of her. but she knew in her heart that she was fleeing because she dared not go through that last meeting with her husband, lest she should break down. and she did not want to break down. if burke did not want her, was it likely she was going to cry and whine, and let him know that she did want him? certainly not!
helen's lips came together in a thin, straight line, in spite of her trembling chin. between her hurt love and her wounded pride, helen was in just that state of hysterics and heroics to do almost anything—except something sane and sober.
first, to get away. on that she was determined. but where to go—that was the question. as for going back to the old home town—as burke had suggested—that she would not do—now. did they think, then, that she was going back there among her old friends to be laughed at, and gibed at? what if she did have ten thousand dollars to spend on frills and finery to dazzle their eyes? how long would it be before the whole town found out, as had mrs. cobb, that that ten thousand dollars was the price burke denby had paid for his freedom from the wife he was ashamed of? never! she would not go there. but where could she go?
it was then that a plan came to her—a plan so[pg 170] wild and dazzling that even her frenzied aspiration scouted it at first as impossible. but it came again and again; and before long her fancy was playing with it, and turning it about with a wistful "of course, if i could!" which in time became a hesitating "and maybe, after all, i could do it," only to settle at last into a breathlessly triumphant "i will!"
after that things moved very swiftly in the little denby flat. it was saturday morning, and there was no time to lose.
first, helen gathered all the cash she had in the house, not forgetting the baby's bank (which yielded the biggest sum of all), and counted it. she had nineteen dollars and seventeen cents. then she rummaged among her husband's letters and papers until she found a letter from dr. gleason bearing his boston address. next, with bridget to help her, she flung into her trunk everything belonging to herself and the baby that it was possible to crowd in, save the garments laid out to wear. by three o'clock bridget was paid and dismissed, and helen, with dorothy elizabeth, was waiting for the carriage to take them to the railroad station.
with the same tearless exaltation that had carried her through the prodigious tasks of the morning, helen picked up her bag and dorothy elizabeth, and followed her trunk down the stairs and out to the street. she gave not one backward glance to the little home, and she carefully avoided anything but an airy "good-bye" to the watching mrs. cobb in[pg 171] the window on the other side. not until the wheels began to turn, and the journey was really begun, did helen's tearless exaltation become the frightened anxiety of one who finds herself adrift on an uncharted sea.
then helen began to cry.
