“Fainted, that’s all,” he said, taking the girl’s head into his lap. The eyes fluttered. “Yep, she fainted, that’s all.”
“Everybody’s sick!” cried Luella with a sort of despairing humor. “Everybody’s sick but me, doctor.”
“This one’s not sick,” he said after a moment. “Her heart is normal already. She just fainted.”
When she had helped the doctor raise the quickening body to a chair, Luella hurried into the nursery and bent over the baby’s bed. She let down one of the iron sides quietly. The fever seemed to be gone now—the flush had faded away. She bent over to touch the small cheek.
Suddenly Luella began to scream.
IV
Even after her baby’s funeral, Luella still couldn’t believe that she had lost him. She came back to the apartment and walked around the nursery in a circle, saying his name. Then, frightened by grief, she sat down and stared at his white rocker with the red chicken painted on the side.
“What will become of me now?” she whispered to herself. “Something awful is going to happen to me when I realize that I’ll never see Chuck any more!”
She wasn’t sure yet. If she waited here till twilight, the nurse might still bring him in from his walk. She remembered a tragic confusion in the midst of which someone had told her that Chuck was dead, but if that was so, then why was his room waiting, with his small brush and comb still on the bureau, and why was she here at all?
“Mrs. Hemple.”
She looked up. The weary, shabby figure of Doctor Moon stood in the door.
“You go away,” Luella said dully.
“Your husband needs you.”
“I don’t care.”
Doctor Moon came a little way into the room.
“I don’t think you understand, Mrs. Hemple. He’s been calling for you. You haven’t anyone now except him.”
“I hate you,” she said suddenly.
“If you like. I promised nothing, you know. I do the best I can. You’ll be better when you realize that your baby is gone, that you’re not going to see him any more.”
Luella sprang to her feet.
“My baby isn’t dead!” she cried. “You lie! You always lie!” Her flashing eyes looked into his and caught something there, at once brutal and kind, that awed her and made her impotent and acquiescent. She lowered her own eyes in tired despair.
“All right,” she said wearily. “My baby is gone. What shall I do now?”
“Your husband is much better. All he needs is rest and kindness. But you must go to him and tell him what’s happened.”
“I suppose you think you made him better,” said Luella bitterly.
“Perhaps. He’s nearly well.”
Nearly well—then the last link that held her to her home was broken. This part of her life was over—she could cut it off here, with its grief and oppression, and be off now, free as the wind.
“I’ll go to him in a minute,” Luella said in a faraway voice. “Please leave me alone.”
Doctor Moon’s unwelcome shadow melted into the darkness of the hall.
“I can go away,” Luella whispered to herself. “Life has given me back freedom, in place of what it took away from me.”
But she mustn’t linger even a minute, or Life would bind her again and make her suffer once more. She called the apartment porter and asked that her trunk be brought up from the storeroom. Then she began taking things from the bureau and wardrobe, trying to approximate as nearly as possible the possessions that she had brought to her married life. She even found two old dresses that had formed part of her trousseau—out of style now, and a little tight in the hips—which she threw in with the rest. A new life. Charles was well again; and her baby, whom she had worshipped, and who had bored her a little, was dead.
When she had packed her trunk, she went into the kitchen automatically, to see about the preparations for dinner. She spoke to the cook about the special things for Charles and said that she herself was dining out. The sight of one of the small pans that had been used to cook Chuck’s food caught her attention for a moment—but she stared at it unmoved. She looked into the icebox and saw it was clean and fresh inside. Then she went into Charles’s room. He was sitting up in bed, and the nurse was reading to him. His hair was almost white now, silvery white, and underneath it his eyes were huge and dark in his thin young face.
“The baby is sick?” he asked in his own natural voice.
She nodded.
He hesitated, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he asked:
“The baby is dead?”
“Yes.”
For a long time he didn’t speak. The nurse came over and put her hand on his forehead. Two large, strange tears welled from his eyes.
“I knew the baby was dead.”
After another long wait, the nurse spoke:
“The doctor said he could be taken out for a drive today while there was still sunshine. He needs a little change.”
“Yes.”
“I thought”—the nurse hesitated—“I thought perhaps it would do you both good, Mrs. Hemple, if you took him instead of me.”
Luella shook her head hastily.
“Oh, no,” she said. “I don’t feel able to, today.”
The nurse looked at her oddly. With a sudden feeling of pity for Charles, Luella bent down gently and kissed his cheek. Then, without a word, she went to her own room, put on her hat and coat, and with her suitcase started for the front door.
Immediately she saw that there was a shadow in the hall.
