Читать книгу The Greatest Romance Novels of Grace Livingston Hill - Grace Livingston Hill - Страница 84

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"I'm a notion to go up an' stay there t'night! "announced Miranda, as she cleared off the tea things. "This's the crisis, an' they might need me fer sumthin'. Any how I'm a 'goin' ef you don't mind."

"Will they let you in?"asked Marcia.

"I shan't ask 'em,"said Miranda, loftily. "There's more ways 'n one o' gettin' in, an' ef I make up my mind to git there you'll see I'll do it."

Marcia laughed.

"I suppose you will, Miranda. Well, go on. You may be needed. Poor Phoebe! I wish there was something I could do for her."

"Wal, thur is,"said Miranda, with unexpected vim. "I've took a contrac' thet I don't seem to make much headway on. I'd like to hev you take a little try at it, an' see ef you can't do better. I 'greed t' pray fer Phoebe Deane, but t' save my life I can't think uv any more ways uv sayin' it thun jest to ast, an' after I've done it oncet it don't seem quite p'lite to keep at it, z' if I didn't b'lieve 'twas heard. The minister preached awhile back 'bout the 'fectual fervent prayer uv a righteous man 'vailin' much, but he didn't say nothin' 'bout a red-headed woman. I reckon I ain't much good at prayin', fer I'm all wore out with it, but ef you'd jest spell me a while, an' lemme go see ef thur ain't sumpthin' to do, I think it would be a sight more 'availin' than fer me to set still an' jest pray; 'sides, ef you ain't better 'n most any righteous man I ever see, I'll miss my guess."

Thus the responsibility was divided, and Marcia with a smile upon her lips and a tear in her eye went away to pray, while Miranda tied on her bonnet, tucked the letter safely in her pocket after examining its seals and address most minutely, and went her way into the night.

She did not go to the front door, but stole around to the wood-shed where with the help of a milking-stool which stood there she mounted to the low roof. Strong of limb and courageous she found the climb nothing. She crept softly along the roof till she reached Phoebe's window, and crouched to listen. The window was open but a little way, though the night was warm and dry.

"Granny, Granny McVane,"she called, softly, and Granny, startled from her evening drowsiness, stole over to the window wondering. A candle was burning behind the water pitcher and shed a weird and sickly light through the room. Granny looked old and tired as she came to the window, and it struck Miranda she had been crying.

"Fer the land sake! Is that you Mirandy ? "she exclaimed, in horror. "Mercy! How'd you get there ? Look out! You'll fall."

"Open the winder till I come in,"whispered Miranda.

Granny opened the window cautiously.

"Be quick,"she said, "I mustn't let the air get to the bed."

"I should think air was jes' what she'd want this night,"whispered Miranda, as she emerged into the room and straightened her garments. "How's she seem? Any change ? "

"I think she's failing, I surely do,"moaned the old lady, softly, the tears running down her cheeks in slow uneven rivulets between the wrinkles. "I don't see how she can hold out till morning anyhow. She's jest burnt up with fever, and sometimes she seems to be gasping for breath. But how'd you get up there ? Weren't you scairt ? "

"I jes' couldn't keep away a minute longer. The doctor said this was the crisis an' I hed to come. My Mrs. Spafford's home prayin' an' I come to see ef I couldn't help answer them prayers. You might need help to-night, an' I'm goin' to stay. Will any of her folks be in again to-night? "

"No, I reckon not. Emmeline's worn out. The baby's teething and hasn't given her a minute's let-up for two nights. She had his gums lanced to-day and she hopes to get a wink of sleep, for there's likely to be plenty doing to-morrow."

Miranda set her lips hard at this and turned to the bed, where Phoebe lay under heavy blankets and comfortables, a low moan, almost a gasp, escaping her parched lips now and then.

The fever seemed to have burnt a place for itself in the whiteness of her cheeks. Her beautiful hair had been cut short by Emmeline the second day because she could not be bothered combing it. It was as well, for it would not have withstood the fever, but to Miranda it seemed like a ruthless tampering with the sacred. Her wrath burned hot within her, even while she was considering what was to be done.

"My goodness alive,"was her first word, "I should think she would hev a fever. It's hotter'n mustard in here. Why don't you open them winders wide? I should think you'd roast alive yourself. And land sakes! Look at the covers she's got piled on! Poor little thing!"Miranda reached out a swift hand and swept several layers off to the floor. A sigh of relief followed from Phoebe.

Miranda placed a firm cool hand on the burning forehead, and the sufferer seemed to take note of the touch eagerly.

"Oh, mercy me! Miranda, you mustn't take the covers off. She must be kept warm to try and break the fever. The doctor's orders were very strict. I wouldn't like to disobey him. It might be her death."

"Does he think she's any better ?"questioned Miranda, fiercely.

"No."The old lady shook her head sadly, "he said this morning there wasn't a thread of hope, poor little thing. Her fever hasn't let up a mite."

"Well, ef he said that, then I'm goin' to hev my try. She can't do more 'n die, an' ef I was goin' to die I'd like to hey a cool comf'table place to do it in, wouldn't you, Granny, an' not a furnace? Let's give her a few minutes' peace 'fore she dies, any way. Come, you open them winders. Ef anythin' happens I won't tell, an' ef she's goin' to die any way I think it's wicked to make her suffer any longer."

"I don't know what they'll say to me,"murmured the old lady, yielding to the dominant Miranda. "I don't think maybe I ought to do it."

"Well, never mind what you think now, ifs my try. Ef you didn't open 'em I would, fer I b'lieve in my heart she wants fresh air, an' I'm goin' to give it to her ef I hev to fight every livin' soul in this house, an' smash all the winder lights, so there! Now, that's better. It'll be some- thin' like in here pretty soon. Where's a towel? Is this fresh water? Say, Granny, couldn't you slip down to the spring without wakin' anyone an' bring us a good cold drink ? I'm dyin' fer a dipper o' water, I come up here so fast, and it'll taste good to Phoebe, I know."

"Oh, she mustn't have a drop o' water,"exclaimed the old lady, in horror. "Fever patients don't get a mite of water."

"Fever fiddlesticks! You git that water, please, an' then you kin lay down on that couch over there an' take a nap while I set by her."

After much whispered persuasion and bullying Miranda succeeded in getting the old lady to slip downstairs and go for the water, though the spring-house was almost as far as the barn and Granny was not used to prowling around alone at night. While she was gone Miranda boldly dipped a towel in the water pitcher and washed the fevered brow and face. The parched lips crept to the wetness eagerly, and Miranda began to feel assurance to the tips of her fingers. She calmly bathed the girl's hot face and hands, until the low moans became sounds of relief and content. Then quite unconscious that she was anticipating science she prepared to give her patient a sponge bath. In the midst of the performance she looked up to see Granny standing over her in horror.

"What are you doing, Mirandy Grissom ? You'll kill her. The doctor said she mustn't have a drop of water touch her."

"I'm takin' the fever out of her. Jes' feel her an' see,"said Miranda, triumphantly. "Put yer lips on her forrid, thet's the way to tell. Ain't she coolin' off nice?"

"You're killing her, Miranda,"said Granny, in a terrified tone, "and I've cared for her so carefully all these weeks, and now to have her go like this! It's death coming that makes her cold."

"Death fiddlesticks! "said Miranda, wrathfully. "Well, ef 'tis, she'll die happy. Here, give me that water!"and she took the cup from the trembling hand of Granny and held it to Phoebe's dry lips. Eagerly the lips opened, and drank in the water, as Miranda raised her head on her strong young arm. Then the sick girl lay back with a long sigh of content, and fell asleep.

It was the first natural sleep she had had since the awful beginning of the fever. She did not toss nor moan, and Granny hovered doubtingly above her, watching and listening to see if she still breathed, wondering at the fading of the crimson flames upon the white cheeks, dismayed at the cooling of the brow, even troubled at the quiet sleep.

"I fear she'll slip away in this,"she said at last, in a sepulchral whisper. "That was an awful daresome thing you did. I wouldn't like them to find it out on you. They might say you caused her death."

"But she ain't dead yet,"said Miranda, triumphantly, "an' ef she slips away in this it's a sight pleasanter 'n the way she was when I crep' in. Say now, Granny, don't you think so, honest ? "

"Oh, I don't know,"sighed Granny, turning away sadly. "Mebbe I oughtn't to have let you."

"You couldn't a he'ped yerself, fer I'd come to do it, an' anyway, ef you'd made a fuss I'd hed to put you out on the roof er somethin' till I got done. Now, Granny, you're all tired out. You jes' go over an' lie down on thet couch an' I'll set by an' watch her a spell."

The conversation was carried on in close proximity to Granny's ear, for both nurses were anxious lest some of the sleeping household should hear. Granny knew she would be blamed for Miranda's presence in the sick room, and Miranda knew she would be ousted if discovery were made.

Granny settled down at last, with many protests, owned she was "jest the least mite tuckered out,"and lay down for what she called a "cat-nap."Miranda, meantime, wide- eyed and sleepless, sat beside Phoabe and watched her every breath, for she felt more anxiety about what she had done than she cared to own to Granny. She had never had much experience in nursing, except in waiting upon Marcia, but her common sense told her that people were not so likely to get well as long as they were uncomfortable, therefore without much consideration she did for Phoebe what she would like to have had done for herself if she were ill. It seemed the right thing, and it seemed to be working, but supposing Granny were right, after all!

Then Miranda remembered the two who were praying.

"H'm "she said to herself, as she sat watching the still face on the pillow, "I reckon that's their part. Mine's to do the best I know. Ef the prayers is good fer anything they ought to piece out whar"I fail. An' I guess they will, too, with them two at it."

After that she got the wet towel and went to work again, bathing the brow and hands whenever the heat seemed to be growing in them again. She was bound to bring that fever down. Now and then the sleeper would draw a long sigh as of contentment, and comfort, and Miranda felt that she had received her thanks. It was enough to know that she had given her friend a little comfort, if nothing else.

The hours throbbed on. The moon went down; the candle began to sputter, and Miranda lighted another. Granny slept and actually snored, weary with her long vigil. Miranda had to touch her occasionally to stop the loud noise lest some one should hear and come to see what it was. But the rest of the household were weary, too, for it was in the height of the summer's work now, and all slept soundly.

When the early dawn crept into the sky Miranda felt Phoebe's hands and head and found them cool and natural. She stooped and listened and her breathing came regularly like a tired child's. For just one instant she touched her lips to the white forehead and was rejoiced that the parched burning feeling was gone. There remained yet the awful weakness to fight, but at least the fever was gone. What had done it she did not care, but it was done.

She went gently to Granny and wakened her. The old lady started up with a frightened look, guilty that she had slept so long, but Miranda reassured her.

"It's all right. I'm glad you slep', fer you wan't needed, an' I guess you'll feel all the better fer it to-day. She's slep' real quiet all night long, ain't moaned once, an' jes' feel her. Ain't she feelin' all right? I b'lieve the fever's gone."

Granny went over and touched her face and hands wonderingly.

"She does feel better,"she admitted, "but I don't know. It mayn't last. I've seen 'em rally toward the end,"dubiously; "she'll be so powerful weak now, it'll be all we can do to hold her to earth."

"What's she ben eatin' ? "enquired Miranda.

"She hasn't eaten anything of any account for some time back."

"Well, she can't live on jest air an' water ferever. Say, Granny, I've got to be goin' soon, er I'll hev to hide in the closet all day fer sure, but 'spose you slip out to the barn now while I wait an' get a few drops o' new milk. Hank's out there milkin'. I heard him go down an' git his milk- pails an' stool 'fore I woke you up. We'll give her a spoonful o' warm milk. Mebbe that'll hearten her up."

"It might,"said Granny, doubtfully. She took the cup and hurried away, Miranda taking the precaution to button the door after her lest Emmeline whom she could hear moving around in her room should take a notion to look in.

When Granny got back Miranda took the cup and putting a few drops of the sweet warm fluid in a spoon she touched it to Phoebe's lips. A slow sigh followed, and then Phoebe's eyes opened and she looked straight at Miranda and seemed to know her, for a flicker of a smile shone in her face.

"There, Phoebe, take this spoonful. You've ben sick, but it'll make you well,"crooned Miranda, softly.

Phoebe obediently swallowed the few drops and Miranda dipped up a few more.

"It's all right, dear,"she said softly. "I'll take care o' you. Jes' you drink this, an' get well, fer I've got somethin' real nice in my pocket fer you when ye're able. But you must take yer milk an' go to sleep."

Thus Miranda fed her two or three spoonfuls, then the white lids closed over the trusting eyes, and in a moment more she was sleeping again.

Miranda watched her a few minutes, and then cautiously stole away from the bed, to the astonished Granny who had been watching with a new respect for the domineering young nurse that had usurped her place.

"I guess she'll sleep most o' the day,"Miranda whispered. "Ef she wakes up you jes' give her a spoonful o' fresh milk, er a sup o' water, an' tell her I'll be back bime-by. She'll understan' an' that'll keep her quiet. Tell her I said she mus' lie still an' get well. Don't you dast keep them winders shet up all day again, an' don't pile on the clo'es. She may need a light blanket ef she feels cool, but don't fer mercy's sake get her all het up again, er we might not be able to stop it off so easy next time. I'll be back's soon es it's dark. By-by. I mus' go. I may get ketched es 'tis."

Miranda slid out the window and down the sloping roof, dropping over the eaves just in time to escape being seen by Emmeline, who opened the back door with a sharp click and came out to get a broom she had forgotten the night before.

The morning was almost come now, and the long grass was dripping with dew as Miranda swept through it.

"Reckon they'll think there's ben a fox er somethin' prowlin' round the house if they see my tracks,"she said to herself, as she hurried through the dewy fields and out to the road.

Victory was written upon her countenance as she sped along, victory tempered with hope. Perhaps she was not judge enough of illness, and it might be that her hopes were vain ones, and apparent signs deceitful, but come what might she would always be glad she had done what she had. That look in Phoebe's eyes before she fell asleep again was reward enough. It made her heart swell with triumph to think of it.

Two hours later she brought a platter of delicately poached eggs on toast to the breakfast table just as Marcia entered the room.

"Good-morning, Miranda. How did it go last night ? You evidently got in and found something to do."

Miranda set down the platter and stood with hands on her hips and face shining with morning welcome.

"I tell you, Mrs. Marcia, them prayers was all right. They worked fine. When I got mixed and didn't know what was right to do I just remembered them an' cast off all 'sponsibility. Anyhow, she's sleepin' an' the fever's gone."

Marcia smiled.

"I shouldn't wonder if your part was really prayer, too,"she said, dreamily. "We are not all heard for our much speaking."

It was a glorious day. The sun shone in a perfect heaven without a cloud to blur it. A soft south breeze kept the air from being too warm. Miranda sang all the morning as she went about her belated work.

After dinner Marcia insisted she should go and take a nap. She obediently lay down for half an hour straight and stiff on her bright neat patchwork quilt, scarcely relaxing a muscle lest she rumple the bed. She did not close her eyes, however, but lay joyously smiling at the bland white ceiling, and resting herself by gently crackling the letter in her pocket, and smiling to think how Phoebe would look when she showed it to her.

In exactly half an hour she arose, combed her hair neatly, donned her afternoon frock and her little black silk apron that was her pride on ordinary occasions, and descended to her usual post of observation with her knitting. Naps were not in her line and she was glad hers was over.

A little later the doctor's chaise drove up to the door, and Miranda went out to see what was wanted, a great fear clutching her heart. But she was reassured by the smile on his face, and the good will in the expressions of his wife and her sister, who were riding with him.

"Say, Mirandy, I don't know but I'll take you into partnership. Where'd you learn nursing? You did what I wouldn't have dared do, but it seemed to hit the mark. I'd given her up. I've seen her slipping away for a week past, but she's taken a turn for the better now, and I believe in my soul she's going to get well. If she does it'll be you that'll get the honor."

Miranda's eyes shone with happy tears.

"You don't say, doctor,"she said. "Why, I was real scared when Granny told me you said she wasn't to hev a sup o' water, but it seemed like she must be so turrible hot——"

"Well, I wouldn't have dared try it myself, but I believe it did the business,"said the doctor, heartily.

"Yes, you deserve great credit, Miranda,"said the doctor's wife. "You do, indeed,"echoed her sister, pleasantly.

"Granny ain't tole Mis' Deane I was there, hes she?"asked Miranda, to cover her embarrassment. She was not used to praise except from her own household.

"No, she hasn't told her yet, but I think I shall tell her myself by to-morrow if all goes well. Can you find time to run over to-night again ? Granny might not stay wide awake all the time. She's fagged out, and I think it's a critical time."

"Oh, I'll be there!"said Miranda, gleefully. "You couldn't keep me away."

"How'll you get in? Same way you did last night?"asked the doctor, laughing. "Say, that's a good joke! I've laughed and laughed ever since Granny told me, at the thought of you climbing in the window and the family all sleeping calmly. Good for you, Miranda. You're made of the right stuff. Well, good-by. I'll fix it up with Mrs. Deane to-morrow so you can go in by the door."

The doctor drove on, laughing, and his wife and sister bowing and smiling. Miranda, with high head of pride and heart full of joy, went in to get supper.

Supper was just cleared away when Nathaniel came over. He talked with David in the dusk of the front stoop a few minutes and then asked diffidently if Miranda was going up to see how Miss Deane was again soon.

David, because of his love for Marcia, half understood, and calling Miranda left the two together for a moment while he went to call Marcia, who was putting Rose to bed.

"She's better,"said Miranda, entering without preamble into the subject nearest their hearts, "the doctor told me so this afternoon. But don't you stop prayin' yet, fer we don't want no half-way job, an' she's powerful weak. I kinder rely on them prayers to do a lot. I got Mrs. Spafford to spell me at mine while I went up to help nurse. She opened her eyes oncet last night when I was given' her some milk, an' I tole her I had somethin' nice fer her if she'd lie still an' go to sleep an' hurry up an' git well. She kinder seemed to understand, I most think. I've got the letter all safe, an' jest ez soon ez she gits the least mite better, able to talk, I'll give it to her."

"Thank you, Miss Miranda,"said Nathaniel, "and won't you take this to her? It will be better than letters for her for a while until she gets well. You needn't bother her telling anything about it now. Just give it to her. It may help her a little. Then later, if you think best, you may tell her I sent it."

He held out a single tea-rose, half blown, with delicate petals of pale saffron.

Miranda took it with awe. It was not like anything that grew in the gardens she knew.

"It looks like her,"she said, reverently.

"It makes me think of her as I first saw her,"he answered, in a low voice. "She wore a frock like that."

"I know,"said Miranda, understandingly, "I'll give it to her, and tell her all about it when she's better."

"Thank you,"said Nathaniel. Then Marcia and David entered, and Miranda went away to wonder over the rose, and prepare for her night's vigil.