Where Two Ways Met (7 page)

So she entered her own home, rather well satisfied with herself. At least she didn’t have to watch any longer to find out if the boy next door went out to a regular job every morning and evening. Well, that was a relief at least. But there were those luscious strawberries, utterly wasted on a neighbor she didn’t care a fig for. Well, next time she would wait till she was sure of something before she acted.

So Mrs. Harmon went into the house thanking her lucky stars that she was safely through this experience without getting into any serious trouble. It wouldn’t be difficult to drop Mrs. Madison like a hotcake if it became necessary.

Nevertheless, in the back of her mind there lingered the haunting possibility that, after all, she might be missing a chance. If it just should be that young Madison had a job with the Chalmers Company, she could easily pick up the dropped threads and get in with the Madisons after all. Through those strawberries, and the green peas that had been promised, she could get a hold when something became sure.

So, with relief she went into her house and set herself to find a new maid and get her life into normal lines again.

T
hree days later Paige came home from the office rather early. He had not seen Miss Chalmers since the evening he had taken dinner with her family, and he was not particularly anxious to see her. He had enough problems of his own without taking on a girl, any girl, even a girl who was expecting to be a great heiress. It just wasn’t a question he cared to take up at this time. Girls were an awful nuisance, anyway, always a complication when one had serious matters to consider. And the more Paige saw of the methods of the company he was working for, the more he was worried. He tried to convince himself that the whole feeling he had about business was because he had been so long where all considerations were matters of life and death, and not of how much money could be made in any given deal. Probably he would get over this extreme squeamishness about matters that really did not concern him. This was for Mr. Chalmers to worry over, not a mere assistant. And anyway, he had nothing definite to go on yet, just hunches.

So he was glad to get home a little earlier than usual and enjoy the sensation of doing just what he pleased, at least for an hour or so. But as he stepped into the house after parking the old car in the garage, he heard the telephone ringing. He heard the faithful old cook coming down hurriedly from the third story to answer it, but she would certainly not be down to answer before the people had hung up, not with her lame feet that had to clump down a half step at a time. Quickly he stepped across the hall and took the receiver himself. “Yes?”

Then a queer, excited voice began to speak.

“Is this somebody who lives across from the preacher?”

He had to ask over twice before he really gathered what was being asked.

“You mean do we live across the road from the minister?” he asked.

“That’s right. Will you please go cross an’ ask my girl’s teacher to come right away. My girl is dyin’ an’ she wants her teacher. She wants a prayer before she dies. Please go queek! She’s cryin’ awful bad.”

“Who are you?” asked Paige calmly.

“That don’t make no matter,” said the excited voice, which had now added tears and occasional frantic sobs to the conversation. “Just tell her Nannie wants her. She’ll know.”

“But who is your child’s teacher? Is it the minister’s wife?”

“Na, na!” came the sobbing voice. “No wife. She is his girl!”

“You mean the minister’s daughter?”

“Yah, yah, you get her queek?”

“You mean you want the minister?”

“No, no, I want my girl’s
teacher
! You get my girl’s teacher queek! My girl’s dyin’!” And the voice broke in hopeless sobbing.

“All right! But you’ll have to tell me your name, and where you live.”

“Tell her Nannie wants her,” sobbed the woman. “She’ll know.”

“Wait a minute,” said Paige, as he signaled the cook. “Come here, Phoebe; see if you can find out who this is and just who it is she wants. She says her child is dying and she wants her teacher. If you can find out who she is and where she lives, perhaps you would know who her teacher is.”

Grimly, Phoebe took the receiver. She was used to answering calls for help from the minister.

“Yes? Who are you? Oh, Nannie Shambley’s mother? What do you say? Nannie is dying? Who said so? Have you had the doctor?”

The words of the distressed woman came clearly from the instrument, and Paige heard them.

“No, no doctor. We can’t have the doctor. We haven’t paid his bill yet.”

“That’s nonsense!” said Phoebe crossly. “Any doctor would come to a dyin’ person whether his bill was paid or not.”

“No, no!” came the wailing protest. “My husband says no! He can’t pay.”

“All right,” said Pheobe grimly, “I’ll see what I can do.” She turned around grimly to explain.

“It’s Mrs. Shambley. They’re awful poor people way out in the country, and her little girl is in June Culbertson’s Sunday school class, but Mrs. Shambley didn’t know how to get Miss June. She says they told her the Culbertson phone was out of order. I guess I’ll have to run across and tell Miss June. But I better stop and put the potatoes in the oven first. Your ma and pa’ll be pretty hungry after that long cold ride.”

“Where did they go, Phoebe?”

“Oh, they went up to that old Mr. Marshall’s funeral. You know he useta be an elder in the church over here, and then he moved up to live with his son, the other side of Bryson Centre, and he had a stroke a few weeks ago and has just died. I wouldn’t wonder if Dr. Culbertson went, too. If he did, I don’t see how Miss June’s gonta get to that little Nannie, if she really is dyin’. If her father took the car, she won’t have any way to get there. But I’ll run over and give her the message anyway, after I get the potatoes in the oven.”

“Oh, said Paige pleasantly, “don’t hurry, Pheobe, I can run over and give the message. I should think we ought to do something about a doctor, too, if it’s really a matter of life and death.”

“Well, yes, mebbe,” said Phoebe. “I expect your mother would say so ef she was here.”

“I’ll see,” said Paige, as he hurried out and over to the pretty little stone house his mother had pointed out as being the abode of the new minister.

It was June herself who opened the door, looking like a little girl, in a simple blue gingham dress and a white apron, with the sunshine on her bright hair.

“I am Paige Madison,” he said courteously, “and I’m bringing a message for Miss June Culbertson.”

The girl’s face lighted.

“Come in,” she said in a friendly voice, “I’m June Culbertson.”

“Oh,” said the young man, “I wondered if you might not be. You see, I’m just home, and I haven’t learned the changes that have come yet. But I guess perhaps there won’t be time for me to come in. The message seemed to be imperative. It came on our telephone. The woman said they reported your phone out of order, and she asked us to let you know. It was from a Mrs. Shambley, and she said Nannie was dying, and calling for you. She wanted you to hurry!”

“Oh!” said the girl with a flutter of her hand to her throat. “Poor little Nannie! But—I’m not sure I can get there! Dad has the car. He and Mother went to a funeral. And I guess your father and mother have gone to the same place. I wonder if I can get hold of a taxi in a hurry?”

“What’s the matter with my taxiing you?” offered Paige pleasantly. “Of course, our old car isn’t much to look at, but it still runs on four wheels and does make fairly good time at that, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh would you take me? Thank you so much. It’s rather a long walk if there is need of hurry.”

“I’ll be delighted,” said Paige. “And by the way, the woman said they had no doctor. She said the bill wasn’t paid and her husband wouldn’t let her get the doctor again. Do you happen to know who their doctor is?”

“Oh, why yes,” said June. “It’s Dr. Sherburn. I’ll call him. He may not be at home, but they’d know where to contact him. And I’ll be ready in three minutes.”

“All right, I’ll get the car.” And Paige hurried home. He was back just as June came out the door and hurried down the walk.

As if they were old friends going on an errand of mutual interest they settled into conversation.

“I left a note for Mother,” she said, as he helped her into the car, “so they won’t worry.”

“That’s good!” said Paige. “And what about a doctor?”

“Oh, yes. They said he was up at a clinic in the hospital, and I got him and told him. He said he’d get some other doctor to take over and he would be out there almost as soon as he could get out of his uniform.”

“So, he’s that kind of a doctor is he? Ready to go to a poor family, even though they haven’t paid their bill. He must be a pretty good man to tie up to.”

“He is,” said June. “I haven’t been here so long myself, but from what I’ve seen of him, he seems to be grand. Dad says he’s always ready to go, day or night, if anyone is in distress.”

“That sounds wonderful. And is he also skillful?”

“He certainly is. They tell me he has been practicing around here since before the war, and he worked wonders in the hospital overseas. But he certainly was wonderful with little Nannie. We suspected she was undernourished, and that proved to be the case. The doctor gave strict orders what she should eat, but I just don’t believe they have been kept. You see, families are in reduced circumstances. I think they have been trying to buy their house, and they have let everything else go to that end. I tried to tell Nannie’s mother how important it was that she should have the right food, and sometimes I’ve taken things over for her. They are always very grateful of course, but really quite embarrassed to take it. That is why they have not sent for the doctor again. The father is very proud and terribly discouraged.”

“Well, that’s a sad tale, and their attitude makes it harder to help them in any way.”

“Yes, that’s true. Daddy has tried his best to get near to the father, especially now since he has been so ill himself, but he can’t seem to get anywhere. There! There is the house, down that little road. See the light at the end of the road?”

“Yes,” said Madison. “It seems a neat little house. Could stand some painting, but on the whole looks very well.”

“Yes,” said the girl wistfully, “but with mortgages and sickness, I don’t suppose there is much money left for paint.”

“No, of course not. Well, now, what’s the order of the day? I don’t imagine my presence will add to the picture. What shall I do? Just stay here till you come out? And will you let me know if I can be of any assistance?”

“Yes, I suppose that will be best. The doctor’s car has not come yet. Perhaps you’ll stay here and explain to him just what happened, and tell him to come right in. I’ll take this soup and milk in. It may be needed at once. I have an idea that poor kid hasn’t had a thing to eat all day.”

“Why, here, I’ll take those things in. Do you want this basket, too?”

“Yes. I brought some oranges and bread and a Thermos of coffee.”

“That sounds good. Which door do we use?”

“This back door. The kitchen table is at the right. Put the things there. And listen, I think I hear the doctor’s car.

“That’s right. I’ll go right back and meet him.”

The girl vanished inside the house, and Paige returned just in time to meet the doctor.

The doctor seemed to understand thoroughly the situation without explanation.

“I should have been sent for before, of course,” he said, “but the father has that inhibition about bills. Poor soul! He is desperately sick himself. See if you can find him, and I’ll be around to look him over when I get through with the child.”

The doctor vanished into the house, going with the sure tread of one who thoroughly knows the situation, and Paige began a cautious survey of the premises. It was very still out there in the soft growing darkness, and there were no lights in the house to guide him, no sounds of moving feet or voices except those quiet ones in the room where the girl had gone.

Cautiously, he approached window after window and glanced into the dark rooms, but only darkness met his searching gaze.

At last, as he went around the shed behind the kitchen, he thought he heard a groan, but in trying to trace it to its source, he came on the small figure of a young boy, flat on his face in the grass, doing his best to stifle the sobs that were shaking his frail shoulders.

Paige stepped quietly to his side and softly kneeling, laid a gentle hand on the bowed head.

“What’s the matter, kid? Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked in the tone of one young fellow to another.

The sobs stopped instantly. The shoulders were suddenly quiet. It was as if the boy had been frozen into suspended animation for an instant. But Paige remained kneeling there, his hand in kindliness on the stormy young head. Suddenly the boy raised his head, turned, and sat up.

“Who are you?” he growled, glaring through the half-darkness into the young man’s face. Then without waiting for an answer, he demanded, “Is my sister dead? And are you the undertaker?”

“Oh, no!” said Paige half amusedly. “I’m just a fellow that brought your sister’s Sunday school teacher up to see her. They said your sister wanted her to come. You see, she didn’t have a car she could use, so I brought her in mine.”

The boy relaxed limply.

“Oh!” he said wearily. “But she’s dying, isn’t she? I heard my mother tell my father. And we can’t have the doctor because our bill isn’t paid.”

“Don’t worry about that, kid. The doctor has just come. It’s going to be all right.”

The boy looked at him with unbelieving eyes.

“Where is your father?” asked Paige. “Is he over there in your sister’s room?”

The boy shook his head.

“No! He wouldn’t go over there. He said he couldn’t stand it there. He’s sick himself. He says he’s been an awful failure, and he’s likely going to die himself before my sister does, and anyhow he’s gonta lose the house and we won’t have any place to go but the poorhouse after he’s gone!” The boy’s shoulders began to shake again, in great, deep sobs.