Читать книгу The Abbey Girls at Home - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 7

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“Can’t you talk just for half an hour, Jen?” Joy asked wistfully, as Jen, in a warm jumper and short skirt, bent over her to say good-night.

“Not for five minutes, dear. You wouldn’t want me to stay just now. I hope you’ll have a good night and that the twins will be angels.”

“They always are. I hate to think of you sitting up all night, Brownie!”

“Mary-Dorothy’s looking after me like a mother. I’m going to call her aunty. Good-night, dear! Good-night, Maidie! Take care of them all for me. I’ll send nurse back as soon as ever I can. The new one will be arriving soon. You can do without Nanny for a few minutes longer, I hope, ‘Traveller’s Joy’? I don’t want to be left quite alone, just in case Betty—” and Jen paused, her face showing her nervous fear. “I don’t really know anything much. I shouldn’t know what to do if——”

“We’re all right,” Joy said quickly. “I wish I wasn’t so useless. I’d like to help. But I felt played out by the time I came back to bed, Jenny-Wren.”

“You aren’t very fit yet, and it’s been a shock to all of us. You are helping, old chap, by lending nurse.”

“She must stay as long as you need her. Maidie’s helping me splendidly,” Joy said, with intention.

Maidlin’s face lit up, though she said nothing. Jen said warmly, “I’m sure she is. I’m glad she’s here. You’ll be all right in her hands. And Nelly has just come in; I saw her downstairs. She’ll come to help too. Good-night, all!” and she kissed them all round and hurried away.

It was a strange night. The moonlight shone on the ruined arches and broken columns of the Abbey. The new nurse sat watchfully by Betty, who showed very little sign of life.

Mary and Jen, after a long anxious look at her, took a rug and sat out in the cloisters, as Maidlin and Rosamund had sat three weeks ago, when every one was in distress on Joy’s account, on the night when the twins were born. Jen recalled it, as she nursed her knees and gazed across at the chapter-house windows.

“I sat with you in your room, and you scolded me for losing faith, Mary-Dorothy. Only three weeks ago!—and I’m a married woman now, and the twins are quite big girls. And Ken’s on his way to Kenya, and Joy’s nearly well after the fearful shock about Andrew.”

“She’s been far braver than we dared to hope,” Mary agreed thankfully. “She’s had a lot to help her, of course.”

“The twins, yes. I say, Mary-Dorothy!”

“And you; and your wedding. It all helped. And all her home; everything she loves so much, all round her. What is it, Brownie?”

“Rosamund’s growing up,” Jen announced seriously.

“I know. We all know. Why, particularly, to-night?”

“Joy didn’t know. She hadn’t seen it. Ros had the pluck and the good sense to turn on Joy and row her this evening,” and Jen told the story Rosamund had told her.

“I wonder she did it,” Mary commented. “We’ve all been so careful what we said to Joy.”

“Too careful, perhaps. We’ve been in danger of keeping her in cotton-wool. She’s nearly well again. If we overdo the gentle stunt, Joy will lapse into it and expect it for the rest of her life,” Jen said bracingly.

Mary laughed. “We don’t want that. But we’ve felt for her so much, Jenny-Wren.”

“We do still. My dear, every time I ache for Ken, I remember Joy,” Jen said quickly. “Don’t think I’m forgetting; not for a second! But Joy has to live; she has to begin life again. We want her to be herself again. You don’t want her to turn into a whining invalid, pitying herself and expecting to be sympathised with and waited on, do you? She’s nowhere near it yet; but haven’t you seen it happen in people after some big shock or illness, when their kind friends were too kind and went on treating them like eggshell? They like it, and so they develop neuralgia, or nerves, or headaches, or rheumatism, so that people will keep on sympathising and waiting on them. I’ll save Joy from that, if I make her hate me for ever.”

“Do you really think she’s in danger of that?” Mary asked doubtfully. “I haven’t seen that sort of thing, as I suppose you have. Remember, I’ve worked for years in an office in the middle of town, with no circle of friends; just the other office girls. I don’t really know as much about people as you do, Jenny-Wren.”

“No, I’ve had more experience in that way,” Jen assented thoughtfully. “You ought to meet more people, old thing. You won’t be able to go on writing books unless you do.”

“Oh, I’m meeting people now!” Mary said, with a laugh. “But I’ve an odd feeling that I’ve wasted several valuable years—on one side of me. It’s as if half of me had been asleep. I’ve a blank in one part of me.”

Their eyes met. Jen said gravely, “I suppose that’s about the truth, isn’t it, Mary-Dorothy? But you’re all awake now, my dear.”

“As to that,” said Mary, very soberly, “who knows? The part of me that was asleep is awake and going ahead. But there may be other parts.... I didn’t know I was half asleep. I may not know now. How many parts of us are there?”

Jen looked at her quickly. “Mary dear, how you do think things out! You go deeper than I do. That’s true, of course.”

Mary moved restlessly. “It’s owing to you and Joy I’m awake at all. I’ll never forget!”

“Oh, well! Think what fun it was for us, meeting you and taking you to places! Do you remember your first party, with the children at Plaistow? And think of the things you’ve done for us! You gave Joy her husband; and you forgave her—well, I won’t, then!” at Mary’s quick indignant movement. “I know she didn’t mean it. But the things you’ve done for her! And for me!”

“Brownie, do you really think Joy is in danger, as you hinted just now?” Mary changed the subject firmly.

“No. Not yet,” Jen said decidedly. “But I think we were in danger of bringing it on. Ros has saved us from doing Joy harm; that’s what I think.”

“I see. That’s possible,” Mary assented.

Presently Jen, speaking sadly, told Betty’s story. “She evidently feels a great sense of loss; her twin was half her life. I hope Bets will find something new to fill her heart, for it’s very sore and empty at present.”

At half-past ten Mary went through the ruins to the Hall, to ’phone to Betty’s sister the message—“No change.” When she came back she insisted on Jen’s coming into Mrs. Watson’s little sitting-room for a cup of cocoa and biscuits, and then begged her to lie on the bed and rest.

“You needn’t undress. Here’s your woolly dressing-gown; wrap yourself in it and roll on to the bed, Brownie. Nurse will call you in a second, if you’re wanted. Yes, I’ll come too; and we won’t talk. Mrs. Watson will rest on the couch in here.”

Jen gave in, since nurse had assured her that Betty might lie like this for hours. “If I can go to sleep I’ll be more fit later on, when I may be needed. There will be Betty’s sister to see to-morrow,” she said.

As she and Mary lay down together, Jen’s arm crept round her friend. “Mary-Dorothy,—no, I’m not going to talk; not for long! But something’s worrying me.”

“Go ahead, then, Brownie, dear.”

“What about chance, and accidents?” Jen whispered. “I’m trying to find out what I believe, as you do, Mary. That night, before the twins were born, when I turned so funky and you scolded me, you said you didn’t believe in chance, but in guidance; and that things that happened were meant for the best, to help us. But this was an accident, Mary? You couldn’t believe God wanted Betty to be almost killed, just because she’d come to see me?”

Mary’s arm tightened round her. “Jenny-Wren, I want to run away! I’m not good enough to answer such a hard question. But I have been thinking about that, Brownie.”

“Yes?” Jen queried. “I thought you would. How far have you gone, Mary? May I hear?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Mary said, with sudden eagerness for sympathy. “I’d like to know what you think. These things are so difficult; and so important! What I really mean is that I’ve gone a step further on, I think, and it has made things look different. I don’t feel as if any of my thinking was definite or finished yet; I’m only groping, Brownie.”

“It’s definite. It may not be finished,” Jen said unexpectedly. “But it would be dreadful to feel your thinking was finished and you’d never get any further, Mary-Dorothy! So dull and hopeless! You’d die.”

Mary assented, with a little laugh. “Even if I have to change my mind I’d rather go on.”

“That’s growing, yes. Where have you got to now?”

“That if the fortunate things in our life were sent to help us, and were not chance, we must say the same of the terrible things; illness, and accidents, and disasters—like fires and earthquakes and shipwrecks,” Mary said quickly. “Do you really believe God sends those? I know people used to think so. But I can’t; not if He is our loving Father. But we must be logical. How can we pick and choose? Where do we draw the line? We’re sure He doesn’t send the horrible things, like Betty’s accident. If He sends only the good things, where do the others come from?”

“That’s where I’d come to,” Jen whispered. “I want it explained to me, Mary. Do you think He’s so far away that He doesn’t care and it’s all just chance? Oh, I can’t believe that!” There was revolt in her cry.

“Not for a second!” Mary said sharply, her arm tightening round Jen again. “I never said He didn’t care.”

“Oh! Go on then, Mary,” Jen said more quietly.

“Things happen in obedience to laws, which very often we don’t understand,” Mary said quickly. “Sometimes we see a glimpse of the law; sometimes not. They aren’t just unconnected happenings, ‘sent’ by Him to be good for some people. If you follow out that idea, you’ll have an awful picture of the world. The same thing might be good for me and bad for you. No! Things are the result of laws, and they’re all—and we’re all—linked up, so that the working of the laws becomes so complicated that we can’t follow it, and the results look to us accidental. One of the biggest laws is that of our personalities; we, being what we are, will do certain things in certain circumstances. Maidie, being Maidie, couldn’t run over that hen, though in avoiding it she ran into Rosamund; and Betty, being Betty, couldn’t sit still when she thought the girls were under her wheels, though in jumping up she was thrown out on to her head. Do you see? Of course, the law is automatic. Neither of them thought about results. But what Maidie and Betty would do was decided long ago, by their own natures. It wasn’t chance.”

“I’m beginning to see,” Jen said eagerly; she had listened in absorbed attention. “And Betty’s driver couldn’t run over the girls, just because he was a careful driver. And so it happened. But they needn’t have met just at that corner, Mary?”

“You needn’t have kept Betty talking quite so long,” Mary retorted. “Or the girls needn’t have stayed quite so long at school.”

“Oh——! I see. We can’t get to the bottom of it. Then you think—but you said God cared, Mary? Doesn’t He help at all?”

“To begin with, there may have been help, even in this accident,” Mary said quickly. “It might have been worse. The man might not have been able to swerve in time; the girls might have been run over.”

Jen shivered. “Mary, I never thought of that! But it’s true. Or Bets might have been killed.”

“Or Maidie or Ros might have been hurt when they fell, and have been unable to jump clear when they saw the car almost on top of them.”

“I’ll never say there wasn’t help and care again!” Jen whispered, seeing terrible visions.

“I believe God’s help is in everything that happens,” Mary said slowly, as if feeling her way. “But that it comes through us, not through the happenings. The laws aren’t altered; they’re fixed, and they’ll go on, whatever we do. But we aren’t fixed; I’m not; you’re not. We see Ros and Maidie and Joy changing and doing unexpected things every day, but always developing, yet always along the lines of their own natures. That’s a law too; we’re all growing, reaching out. I believe—I have it! The thing we’re growing towards is our perfect and complete response to God, to His wishes for us. He works inside us, always towards that end; not forcing, but persuading; guiding and leading us. Sometimes we go as He wishes; often we don’t. I didn’t, when I wasted years in silly dreams, instead of doing what I’m having to do now, years too late. But He’s given me a second chance, through you, Jenny-Wren. You, being what you are—it’s law, not chance!—were decent enough to be interested in me and to take a little trouble; it was your way of following His wish for both of us. You obeyed the feeling inside you which was His voice; and it remade my life. It wasn’t your chance coming into our office; a dozen people came every day. It was your obeying His law, in yourself, that did it, and saved me.”

Jen lay close to her, very quiet, and said nothing for a time. At last she spoke. “I didn’t know. I merely did what I felt would be jolly. I really wanted to see you dance; you looked so tired! I said it to Joy the very first night. And it was such fun, and I felt so bucked, to see you grow young and jolly, and dance, and teach, and wear pretty frocks, and be real friends with people, and write your book! But it all came out of that feeling of mine that I must see more of you and—and help you somehow. Mary, I’m beginning to see what you mean; and I feel you’re right. If only everybody obeyed that law! If only everybody recognised it!”

“That’s the tragedy of the world,” said Mary gravely. After a moment she added, “We have all to see to our own bit, Jenny-Wren.”

“Yes. I won’t forget. Then you believe things do just happen, so far as we’re concerned, since we can’t understand or see the laws; and that they aren’t ‘sent’ to us; but that what matters is what we do about them, and the way we take them?”

“I believe,” said Mary, in a low voice and rather shyly, “that God is in everything that happens, in His laws. But that He is still more there in our actions; in ‘what we do about things,’ as you put it. I believe He will guide our reaction to these things, if we are willing, so that everything can work out for good; everything! I believe He will bring good out of everything, if we allow Him to work in us. I don’t believe, for instance, that an illness is sent to any one to teach patience, as people used to say; but if the illness comes, through causes no one may be able to see, I believe He can bring good out of it, if the invalid is willing to be taught by Him. Jen, when Betty is better, can’t you see a possibility that good may have come out of all this?”

“How? I hadn’t gone as far as that?”

“To Joy, if she perhaps learns to forget herself in other people’s troubles. To Betty, if she perhaps has to stay here for a while; you may be able to help her to be less lonely.”

“And to you and me, because we’ve found new ideas and can see things more clearly,” Jen said unexpectedly. “Yes, I do see. But we have to see the good and to fall into line. I do see how much it matters. Now, dear—yes, nurse? Do you want me?” and she sat up hurriedly, shaking back her curls, fright in her eyes—everything forgotten but the fact that the nurse was at the door, whispering, “My lady! Could you come?”

Jen slipped past her into the little room. It was a tiny chamber, almost like a monk’s cell, in the thickness of the wall. The door to the cloisters was wide open; a good lamp from the Hall stood on an old carved chest, the light screened from the bed.

Jen bent over the bed. Betty’s eyes were opening feebly. “Meg?” she whispered.

Jen kissed her. “Bets, dear, I’m here—Jenny-Wren. It’s all right, Betty.”

The tired eyes opened suddenly very wide. “Mother? Where am I? What——”

“Drink this, Bets,” Jen held to her lips the cup the nurse had handed her. She slipped an arm under Betty’s head and raised her an inch. “Just a little, there’s a good chap. That’s splendid! Now you’ll go to sleep, and to-morrow you’ll hear all about it. I’m going to stay here with you, Betty. Everything’s quite all right, dear.”

The sight of her and the repeated assurance did their work. Betty was too weak to argue or question. Her eyelids dropped again, and in a few minutes she was asleep.

“Splendid!” the nurse whispered exultantly. “That’s what we wanted. She’ll do now. She’ll sleep for hours. I’ll call you if she wakes, my lady; but I don’t expect she’ll need you any more now till the morning.”

“Do you really think I could go to sleep?” Jen had withdrawn carefully, and they were standing out in the cloisters. She shivered in the night breeze sweeping across the garth.

Mary threw her dressing-gown round her. “Come to bed, Jenny-Wren. It will be all right now.”

Jen looked at the nurse doubtfully.

“I shall watch her,” the nurse said reassuringly. “You can go to bed safely. You could even go back to the Hall if you wished. I’m sure you won’t be needed again.”

“Then I’ll go to sleep in about five seconds,” Jen said thankfully. “But I’ll stay here, just in case—— Mary, you could go to your own bed; and you could slip in and tell Joy Betty’s better.”

“I’m going to run across and tell her,” Mary promised. “But I’m coming back to sleep here with you, also ‘just in case——,’ Jenny-Wren.”

“Aunty!” Jen whispered, mocking but touched and grateful. “You do take care of me, Mary-Dorothy! I’ll love to have you. But we won’t talk any more.—I had to be here,” she added. “Betty did need me.”

“Yes, you were the saving of her, Brownie,” Mary agreed. “Without you she’d have been unhappy and restless, and she might not have slept. You were just what was needed to satisfy her.”

“I must see her through. She came here to see me,” Jen said wearily, as she rolled into bed.

Mary tucked her up. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. I’ll creep in beside you. See that you’re asleep, Jenny-Wren.”

“I shall be, aunty. Don’t worry!” Jen assured her, and she was sound asleep when Mary returned.