thea reached moonstone in the late afternoon, and all the kronborgs were there to meet her except her two older brothers. gus and charley were young men now, and they had declared at noon that it would “look silly if the whole bunch went down to the train.” “there’s no use making a fuss over thea just because she’s been to chicago,” charley warned his mother. “she’s inclined to think pretty well of herself, anyhow, and if you go treating her like company, there’ll be no living in the house with her.” mrs. kronborg simply leveled her eyes at charley, and he faded away, muttering. she had, as mr. kronborg always said with an inclination of his head, good control over her children. anna, too, wished to absent herself from the party, but in the end her curiosity got the better of her. so when thea stepped down from the porter’s stool, a very creditable kronborg representation was grouped on the platform to greet her. after they had all kissed her (gunner and axel shyly), mr. kronborg hurried his flock into the hotel omnibus, in which they were to be driven ceremoniously home, with the neighbors looking out of their windows to see them go by.
all the family talked to her at once, except thor,—impressive in new trousers,—who was gravely silent and who refused to sit on thea’s lap. one of the first things anna told her was that maggie evans, the girl who used to cough in prayer meeting, died yesterday, and had made a request that thea sing at her funeral.
thea’s smile froze. “i’m not going to sing at all this summer, except my exercises. bowers says i taxed my voice last winter, singing at funerals so much. if i begin the first day after i get home, there’ll be no end to it. you can tell them i caught cold on the train, or something.”
thea saw anna glance at their mother. thea remembered having seen that look on anna’s face often before, but she had never thought anything about it because she was used to it. now she realized that the look was distinctly spiteful, even vindictive. she suddenly realized that anna had always disliked her.
mrs. kronborg seemed to notice nothing, and changed the trend of the conversation, telling thea that dr. archie and mr. upping, the jeweler, were both coming in to see her that evening, and that she had asked spanish johnny to come, because he had behaved well all winter and ought to be encouraged.
the next morning thea wakened early in her own room up under the eaves and lay watching the sunlight shine on the roses of her wall-paper. she wondered whether she would ever like a plastered room as well as this one lined with scantlings. it was snug and tight, like the cabin of a little boat. her bed faced the window and stood against the wall, under the slant of the ceiling. when she went away she could just touch the ceiling with the tips of her fingers; now she could touch it with the palm of her hand. it was so little that it was like a sunny cave, with roses running all over the roof. through the low window, as she lay there, she could watch people going by on the farther side of the street; men, going downtown to open their stores. thor was over there, rattling his express wagon along the sidewalk. tillie had put a bunch of french pinks in a tumbler of water on her dresser, and they gave out a pleasant perfume. the blue jays were fighting and screeching in the cottonwood tree outside her window, as they always did, and she could hear the old baptist deacon across the street calling his chickens, as she had heard him do every summer morning since she could remember. it was pleasant to waken up in that bed, in that room, and to feel the brightness of the morning, while light quivered about the low, papered ceiling in golden spots, refracted by the broken mirror and the glass of water that held the pinks. “im leuchtenden sommermorgen”; those lines, and the face of her old teacher, came back to thea, floated to her out of sleep, perhaps. she had been dreaming something pleasant, but she could not remember what. she would go to call upon mrs. kohler to-day, and see the pigeons washing their pink feet in the drip under the water tank, and flying about their house that was sure to have a fresh coat of white paint on it for summer. on the way home she would stop to see mrs. tellamantez. on sunday she would coax gunner to take her out to the sand hills. she had missed them in chicago; had been homesick for their brilliant morning gold and for their soft colors at evening. the lake, somehow, had never taken their place.
while she lay planning, relaxed in warm drowsiness, she heard a knock at her door. she supposed it was tillie, who sometimes fluttered in on her before she was out of bed to offer some service which the family would have ridiculed. but instead, mrs. kronborg herself came in, carrying a tray with thea’s breakfast set out on one of the best white napkins. thea sat up with some embarrassment and pulled her nightgown together across her chest. mrs. kronborg was always busy downstairs in the morning, and thea could not remember when her mother had come to her room before.
“i thought you’d be tired, after traveling, and might like to take it easy for once.” mrs. kronborg put the tray on the edge of the bed. “i took some thick cream for you before the boys got at it. they raised a howl.” she chuckled and sat down in the big wooden rocking chair. her visit made thea feel grown-up, and, somehow, important.
mrs. kronborg asked her about bowers and the harsanyis. she felt a great change in thea, in her face and in her manner. mr. kronborg had noticed it, too, and had spoken of it to his wife with great satisfaction while they were undressing last night. mrs. kronborg sat looking at her daughter, who lay on her side, supporting herself on her elbow and lazily drinking her coffee from the tray before her. her short-sleeved nightgown had come open at the throat again, and mrs. kronborg noticed how white her arms and shoulders were, as if they had been dipped in new milk. her chest was fuller than when she went away, her breasts rounder and firmer, and though she was so white where she was uncovered, they looked rosy through the thin muslin. her body had the elasticity that comes of being highly charged with the desire to live. her hair, hanging in two loose braids, one by either cheek, was just enough disordered to catch the light in all its curly ends.
thea always woke with a pink flush on her cheeks, and this morning her mother thought she had never seen her eyes so wide-open and bright; like clear green springs in the wood, when the early sunlight sparkles in them. she would make a very handsome woman, mrs. kronborg said to herself, if she would only get rid of that fierce look she had sometimes. mrs. kronborg took great pleasure in good looks, wherever she found them. she still remembered that, as a baby, thea had been the “best-formed” of any of her children.
“i’ll have to get you a longer bed,” she remarked, as she put the tray on the table. “you’re getting too long for that one.”
thea looked up at her mother and laughed, dropping back on her pillow with a magnificent stretch of her whole body. mrs. kronborg sat down again.
“i don’t like to press you, thea, but i think you’d better sing at that funeral to-morrow. i’m afraid you’ll always be sorry if you don’t. sometimes a little thing like that, that seems nothing at the time, comes back on one afterward and troubles one a good deal. i don’t mean the church shall run you to death this summer, like they used to. i’ve spoken my mind to your father about that, and he’s very reasonable. but maggie talked a good deal about you to people this winter; always asked what word we’d had, and said how she missed your singing and all. i guess you ought to do that much for her.”
“all right, mother, if you think so.” thea lay looking at her mother with intensely bright eyes.
“that’s right, daughter.” mrs. kronborg rose and went over to get the tray, stopping to put her hand on thea’s chest. “you’re filling out nice,” she said, feeling about. “no, i wouldn’t bother about the buttons. leave ’em stay off. this is a good time to harden your chest.”
thea lay still and heard her mother’s firm step receding along the bare floor of the trunk loft. there was no sham about her mother, she reflected. her mother knew a great many things of which she never talked, and all the church people were forever chattering about things of which they knew nothing. she liked her mother.
now for mexican town and the kohlers! she meant to run in on the old woman without warning, and hug her.
