Part 6

"What do you mean?" Philip asked, while Grace turned pale.

"It's the smell of boilin' fat, from the lard-kettles. It's powerful pervadin' of ev'rythin', specially woollen clothes, an' men's hair, when the pork-house windows an' doors are shut. It makes me mortal sick sometimes, when the malary gets a new grip on me; at such times I know a pork-house worker when I pass him in the street in the dark. To save myself from myself I used to wear an oilcloth jacket an' overalls when I worked in the pork-house--your uncle an' I used to have to put in a good many hours there. There was somethin' else I used to do too, when I got to my room, though I never dared to tell your uncle, or he'd never ha' stopped laughin' at me."

"What was it? Tell me--quick!" said Philip.

"Why, I bought a bottle of Floridy water out of the store,--it's a stuff that some of the gals use,--an' I sprinkled a little ev'ry day, mornin' an' evenin', on the carpet."

Philip hurried to a bed-chamber, and came back with Grace's cologne-bottle, the contents of which he bestowed upon the rug under the dining table.

"That ort to kill the rat," said Caleb, approvingly.

The dinner was a good one, but Grace ate sparingly, though she talked with animation and brilliancy unusual even for her, Philip imagined. For himself, he felt as he thought a detected criminal, an outcast, must feel. Excusing himself abruptly, he relieved his feelings somewhat by throwing out of doors the offending coat and the garments pertaining to it; then he threw out all the woollen garments of his wardrobe. Caleb was not due at Sunday school until three o'clock, but he excused himself an hour early. As he started, he signalled Philip in a manner familiar in the store, to follow him, and when both were outside the door, he said:--

"I reckon she needs quinine, or somethin'. Touchiness 'bout smells is a sign. I'd get Doc Taggess to come down, if I was you."

Philip thanked him for the suggestion; then he hurried to the bath-room, washed his hair and mustache, and exchanged his clothes for a thinner suit which he exhumed from a trunk. It was redolent of camphor, which he detested, but it was "all the perfumes of Araby" compared with--the pork-house. Then he rejoined Grace and made haste to officiate as assistant scullion, and also to ejaculate:--

"That infernal pork-house!"

"Don't talk of it any more to-day," Grace said, with a piteous smile.

"How can I help it, when--"

"But you must help it, Phil dear. Really you must."

Philip made haste to change the subject of conversation, and to cheer his wife and escape from his own thoughts he tried to be humorous, and finally succeeded so well that he and Grace became as merry in their little kitchen as they ever had been anywhere. Indeed, Grace recovered her spirits so splendidly that of her own accord she recalled the pork-house, and said many amusing things about "Bluebeard's Chamber," and told how curious and jealous Philip's prohibition had made her, and Philip replied that it contained more trunkless heads than the fateful closet of Bluebeard, and that it was a treasure-house besides; for through it passed most of the store's business that directly produced money. Then he dashed at the piano and played a lot of music so lively that it would have shocked the church people had they heard it, and Grace lounged in an easy-chair, with her eyes half closed, looking the picture of dreamy contentment. Later she composed herself among the pillows of a lounge, and asked Philip to throw an afghan over her, and sit beside her, and talk about old times in the city, and then to remind her of all their newer blessings, because she wished to be very, fully, reverently grateful for them. Philip was not loath to comply with her request; for though the month's work had been very exacting and hard, he had been assured by Caleb, within twenty-four hours, that it was the largest and most profitable month of business that the Somerton store had ever done, and that beyond a doubt the new proprietor had "caught on," and held all the old customers, and of his own ability secured several new ones, which proved that the people of the town and county "took to" him.

All this Philip repeated to Grace, who dreamily said that it was very good, and a satisfaction to have her husband prominent among men, instead of a nobody--a splendid, incomparable, adorable one, but still really a nobody, among the hundreds of thousands of men in New York. Then both of them fell to musing as the twilight deepened. Musing, twilight, and temporary relief from the strain of the week's work combined to send Philip into a gentle doze, from which he suddenly roused himself to say:--

"What are you laughing at, Miss Mischief?"

"I'm--not--laughing," Grace replied.

"Crying? My dear girl, what is the matter?"

"I'm--not--crying. I'm--merely--shivering. I'm cold."

"That's because you've a brute of a husband, who has been so wrapped up in his affairs and you that probably he has let the fire go out." He made haste to replenish the stove and to throw over his wife a traveller's rug. Then he lighted a shaded candle, looked at the thermometer, and said:--

"How strange! The mercury stands at seventy-two degrees."

But Grace continued to shiver, and, stranger still, she felt colder as the fire burned up and additional covers were placed upon her. Finally she exclaimed:--

"Oh, Phil! I'm frightened! This is something--different from--ordinary cold. It must be some--something like--paralysis. I can't move my arms or feet."

"I'll run for Doctor Taggess at once!" said Philip; but as he started from the room, Grace half screamed, half groaned:--

"Don't leave me, if you--love me! Don't let me--die--alone!"

"At least let me go to the door and raise a shout; some one will hear me, and I'll send him for the Doctor."

As he opened the door he saw a light in the window of Caleb's room, over the store. Quickly seizing the cord of the alarm signal, of which Caleb had previously told him, he pulled several times, and soon Caleb, finding the door ajar, entered the room.

"Won't you get the Doctor, Caleb--quick?" said Philip. "We're awfully frightened; my wife has a strange, dreadful attack of some kind. It acts like paralysis."

Caleb, glancing toward the lounge, saw the quivering covers and Grace's face.

"Poor little woman!" he said, with the voice of a woman. "But don't be frightened. 'Tisn't paralysis. It's bad enough, but it never kills. I know the symptoms as well as I know my own right hand, an' Doctor'll do more good later in the evenin' than now."

"But what is it, man?"

"Malary--fever an' ager. She's never had a chill before, I reckon?"

"No--o--o," said Grace, between chattering teeth.

"Don't wonder you was scared, then. If religion could take hold like an ager-chill, this part of the country would be a section o' kingdom-come. The mean thing about it is that it takes hardest hold of folks that's been the healthiest. Try not to be scared, though; it won't kill, an' 'twon't last but a few minutes. Then you're likely to drop asleep, an' wake pretty soon with a hot fever an' splittin' headache; they ain't pleasant to look forward to, but they might seem worse if you didn't foresee 'em. I'll go for Doc Taggess right off; if he ain't home, his wife'll send him as soon as he comes. Taggess himself is the best medicine he carries; but if he's off somewhere, I'll come back an' tell your husband what to do. Don't be afeared to trust me; ev'ry man o' sense in this section o' country knows what to do for fever and ager; if he didn't, he'd have to go out o' business."

Caleb departed, after again saying "Poor little woman!" very tenderly. As for Philip, he took his wife's hands in his own and poured forth a torrent of sympathetic words; but when the sufferer fell asleep, he went out into the darkness and cursed malaria, the West, and the impulse which had made him become his uncle's heir. He cursed many things else, and then concentrated the remainder of his wrath into an anathema on the pork-house.

IX--A WESTERN SPECTRE

AFTER her fever had subsided, Grace went to sleep and carried into dream-land the disquieting conviction that she was to have a long period of illness, and be confined to her bed. Philip had given her the medicines prescribed and obtained by Caleb, for Doctor Taggess had gone far into the country and was not expected home until morning. Then Philip had lain awake far into the night, planning proper care for his precious invalid; finally he decided to get a trained nurse from New York, unless Doctor Taggess could recommend one nearer home. He would also get from the city a trained housekeeper; for, as already explained, there was no servant class at Claybanks, and of what use was "help" when the head of the house was too ill to direct the work? He would order from the city every cordial, every sick-room delicacy, that he could think of, or the Doctor might suggest. Expense was not to be thought of; there was only one woman and wife in the world--to him, and she had been cruelly struck down. She should be made well, at whatever cost. Meanwhile he would write the firm by which he had been employed in New York, and beg for his old position, for the reason that the climate of Claybanks was seriously undermining his wife's health; afterward, as soon as Grace could be moved, he would take her back to the city, and give up his Claybanks property, with its train of responsibilities, privations, and miseries.

When he awoke in the morning, he slipped softly from the room, which he had darkened the night before, so that the morning light should not disturb the invalid, and he moved toward the kitchen to make a fire--a morning duty with which he had charged himself and faithfully fulfilled since his first day in his uncle's house. To be in the store by sunrise, as was the winter custom of Claybanks merchants, compelled Philip to rise before daylight, and habit, first induced by an alarm clock, had made him wake every winter day at six, while darkness was still deep.

He was startled, therefore, when he tip-toed into the dining room, to be welcomed by a burst of sunlight. Evidently his wakefulness of the previous night had caused him to oversleep. Hurrying to the kitchen, he was again startled, for breakfast was cooking on the stove, and at the table, measuring some ground coffee into a pot, stood Grace, softly singing, as was her custom when she worked.

"What?" he exclaimed, rubbing his eyes. "Was it I who was ill, instead of you, or have I been bereft of my senses for a fortnight or more?"

"Neither, you poor, dear boy," Grace replied, though without looking up. "Yesterday I was more scared than hurt; to-day I feel as well as ever--really, I do."

Philip stepped in front of her, took her head in his hands, and looked into her face. The healthy glow peculiar to it had given place to a sickly yellow tint; her plump cheeks had flattened--almost hollowed, her eyes, always either lustrous or melting, were dull and expressionless, and her lips, usually ruddy and full, were gray and thin. As her husband looked at her, she burst into tears and hid her face on his shoulder.

"I could have endured anything but that," she sobbed. "I don't think I'm vain, but it has always been so delightful to me that I could be pretty to my husband. I wasn't conceited, but I had to believe my mirror. But now--oh, I'd like to hide my face somewhere for a--"

"Would you, indeed?" murmured Philip, tenderly. "Let me hide it for you, a little at a time; I promise you that not a bit shall be neglected."

"Do let me breathe, Phil. I don't see how you can kiss a scarecrow--and continue at it."

"Don't you? I could kiss a plague-patient, or the living skeleton, if Grace Somerton's heart was in it. I don't understand your reference to a scarecrow. Your mirror must have been untruthful this morning, or perhaps covered with mist, for--see!"

So saying, he detached the late Mr. Jethro Somerton's tiny mirror from the kitchen wall and held it before his wife, whose astonishment and delight were great as she exclaimed:--

"Phil, you're a witch! Now I'm going to make believe that there was no yesterday, and if yesterday persists in coming to mind, I shall scold myself most savagely for having been a frightened, silly child."

"You really were a very sick woman," Philip replied. "I was quite as frightened at you while the chill had possession of you, and you had a raging fever afterward. You've had headaches in other days, but yesterday's was the first that made you moan."

"'Tis very strange. I feel quite as well to-day as ever I did. Perhaps 'tis the effect of Caleb's medicine. Poor Caleb! When he saw me, I really believe he suffered as much as I."

"So it seemed to me," said Philip. "I wonder how a little, sickly, always-tired man can have so much sympathy and tenderness?"

"You forget that he, himself, is malaria-poisoned, as your uncle's letter said. Probably he's had just such chills as mine. Let's make haste to thank him."

After a hurried breakfast, husband and wife went together to the store, and found Caleb awaiting them at the back door. He had already seen Grace's figure at the window of the sitting room.

"Je--ru--salem!" he exclaimed, looking intently at Grace. "I never saw a worse shake than yourn, which is sayin' a mighty lot, considerin' I was born an' raised in the West. But you look just as good as new. Well, there's somethin' good in ev'rythin', if you look far enough for it--even in an ager-chill."

"Good in a chill, indeed!" Philip exclaimed.

"Yes; its good p'int is that it don't last long. Havin' a chill's like bein' converted; if somethin' didn't shut down on the excitement pretty quick, there'd be nothin' left o' the subject. Well, seein' you're here, I reckon I'd better take a look in the pork-house."

"He has sprinkled the floor with Florida water!" said Grace, as she entered the store. "Evidently he didn't doubt that I'd be well this morning, and he remembers yesterday."

Within an hour Doctor Taggess and his wife bustled into the store, and Mrs. Taggess hurried to Grace, and said:--

"I'd have come to you yesterday, my dear, if I hadn't known I could be of no use. Chills are like cyclones; they'll have their own way while they last, and everything put in their way makes them more troublesome."

The Doctor consulted Philip, apart, as to what had been done, approved of Caleb's treatment, and gave additional directions; then he turned upon Grace his kind eyes and pleasant smile, which Caleb had rightly intimated were his best medicines, and he said:--

"Well, has Doctor Caleb found time to give you his favorite theory, which is that a chill or any other malarial product is a means of grace?"

"Caleb values his life too highly to advance such a theory at present," Philip answered for his wife.

"Just so, just so. Well, there's a time for everything, but Caleb isn't entirely wrong on that subject. There are other and less painful and entirely sufficient means of grace, however, from which one can choose, so chills aren't necessary--for that particular purpose, and I hope you won't have any more of them. I'm afraid you forgot some of the advice I gave you, the first time we met, about how to take care of yourself until you had become acclimated."

Philip and Grace looked at each other sheepishly, and admitted that they had not forgotten, but neglected. They had felt so well, so strong, they said.

"Just so, just so. Malaria's just like Satan, in many ways, but especially in sometimes appearing as an angel of light. At first it will stimulate every physical faculty of a healthy person like good wine, but suddenly--well, you know. I had my suspicions the last time I noticed your splendid complexion, but between mending broken limbs and broken heads, and old people leaving the world, and young people coming into it, I'm too busy to do all the work I lay out for myself. You may have one more chill--"

"Oh, Doctor!"

"'Twon't be so bad as the first one, unless it comes to-day. They have four different and regular periods--every day, every other day, once in three days, and once in seven days, and each is worse than all of the others combined--according to the person who has it. I'll soon cure yours, whichever kind it may be, and after that I'm going to get Mrs. Taggess to keep you in mind of the necessary precautions against new attacks, for I've special use for you in this town and county. I wonder if Caleb has told you that you, too, are a means of grace? No? Well, he's a modest chap, but he'll get to it yet, and I'll back him up. This county has needed a visible standard of physical health for young women to live up to, and you entirely fill the bill."

"I shouldn't wonder, Doctor," said Philip, while Grace blushed, "that, religious though you are, you sometimes agree with the sceptic who said that if he'd been the Creator of the world he'd have made health catching, instead of disease."

"No, I can't say that I do. Heaven knows I'm sick enough of sickness; no honest physician's bills pay him for the miseries he has to see, and think of, and fight; but health's very much like money--it's valued most by those who have to work hardest to get it: those who come by it easily are likely to squander it. I can't quite make out, by the ordinary signs, how your wife came by her own. I wonder if she'd object to telling me. I don't ask from mere curiosity, I assure you."

"I'm afraid 'twill stimulate my self-esteem to tell," Grace replied, with heightening color, "for I'm prouder of my health than of anything else--except my husband. I got it by sheer hard, long effort, through the necessity for six years, of going six days in the week, sick or well, rain or shine, to and from a store, and of standing up, for nine or ten hours a day while I was inside. To lose a day or two in such a store generally meant to lose one's place, so a girl couldn't afford to be sick, or even feeble."

"Aha! Wife, did you hear that? Now, Mrs. Somerton, Claybanks and vicinity need you even more than I'd supposed. But--do try to have patience with me, for I'm a physician, you know, and what you tell me may be of great service to other young women; I won't use your name, if you object. Did you have good health from the first?"

"No, indeed! I was a thin, pale, little country girl when I went to the city; I'd worked so hard at school for years that all my vitality seemed to have gone to my head. Work in the store was cruelly hard,--indeed, it never became easy,--and I had headaches, backaches, dizzy times--oh, all sorts of aches and wearinesses. But in a great crowd of women there are always some with sharp eyes, and clear heads, and warm hearts, and sometimes the mother-feeling besides. I wasn't the only chronically tired girl in the place; most of the others looked and felt as I did. Well, some of the good women I've mentioned were perpetually warning us girls to be careful of our health, and telling us how to do it."

"Good! Good! What did they say--in general?"

"Nothing," said Grace, laughing, and then remaining silent a moment, as she seemed to be looking backward. "For each said something in particular. All had hobbies. One thought diet was everything; with another it was the daily bath; others harped on long and regular sleep, or avoidance of excitement, or fresh air while sleeping, or clothes and the healthiest way to wear them, or exercise, or the proper position in which to stand, or on carrying the head and shoulders high, or deep breathing, or recreation, or religion, or avoidance of the tea, cake, and candy habit."

"Well, well! Now tell me, please, which of these hobbies you adopted."

"All of them--every one of them," Grace replied, with an emphatic toss of her head. "First I tried one, with some benefit, then another, and two or three more, and finally the entire collection."

"Hurrah!" shouted the Doctor. "You can be worth more to the women hereabouts than a dozen doctors like me, if you will--and of course you will. Indeed, you must. One more question,--positively the last. You couldn't have been the only woman who profited by the advice you received?"

"Oh, no. In any of the stores in which I worked there were some strong, wholesome, grand women who had literally fought their way up to what they were, for small pay and long hours, and weariness at night, and many other things combined to make any special effort of self-denial very, very hard--too hard for some of the girls, I verily believe. I don't think I'm narrow or easily satisfied; sometimes I've been fastidious and slow in forming acquaintances, but among all the other women I've seen, or heard of, or read about, there aren't any for whom I'd exchange some of my sister--shopgirls."

"Saleswomen, if you please," said Philip.

"Well, well!" drawled the Doctor, who had been looking fixedly at Grace. "I don't wonder that you're what you are. Come along, wife."

As Doctor and Mrs. Taggess departed, Grace said to her husband:--

"That is the highest compliment that I ever had." And Philip replied:--

"I hope 'tis good for chills."

X--SHE WANTED TO KNOW

GRACE'S malarial attack was soon repulsed, but the memory of that Sunday chill remained vivid. So Grace followed the Doctor's instructions as carefully as if she were an invalid on the brink of the grave, and she compelled Philip also to heed the counsel of precaution which Doctor Taggess had given to both. From that time forward she took personal sympathetic interest in all malarial victims of whom she heard, especially in those who purchased from the great stock of proprietary medicines in Somerton's store. Not infrequently a farmer or villager would be seized by a chill while talking or transacting business in the store, and Grace, despite her own experience in a warm room and under many woollen coverings, could scarcely help begging him to accept the loan of heavy shawls from the store's stock, and to sit undisturbed by the fire in the back room. When she planned a Sunday dinner, at which Doctor Taggess and his wife were to be guests, it was partly for the purpose of questioning the Doctor about the origin of malaria, and of its peculiarities, which seemed almost as numerous as cases; but Philip assured her that busy doctors, like other men of affairs, hated nothing so much as to "talk shop" out of business hours.

Fortunately she gradually became too busy to have time in which to become a monomaniac on malaria. The specimen organ arrived, and was placed in the church, to the great edification of the people. Grace was for a time the only performer, but to prepare relief for herself, improve the quality of the congregational singing, and not without an eye to business, she organized an evening music class, and quickly trained several young women to play some of the simpler hymn-tunes,--and also to purchase organs on the instalment plan.