In Wild Rose Time

“You don’t look fit to bother with ’em. You ought to be out pleasurin’ a bit.”

“But I’m strong, though; an’ I used to be such a fat little chunk! I was stunted like; but I think I look better not to be so fat,” she said with quaint self-appreciation.

“There’s one baby I could get for you easy. The mother’s a nice body – you see, the man went off. She’s waitress in a restaurant, an’ her little girl’s pretty as a pink, with a head full of yellow curls, an’ big blue eyes. She pays a dollar for her keep, ’ceptin’ nights an’ Sundays. An’ you’d be so good, which the woman ain’t. You couldn’t hurt a fly if you tried.”

“Oh, if I could have her!” cried Dil eagerly. A little girl with golden hair, curly hair. And a dollar would pay for the washing and ironing. The boys had been so good about fixing up things and buying her clothes that she had felt she must do all she could in return.

“I’ll see about it this very evenin’, dear.”

“Oh, thank you! thank you!”

The mother, a slim young thing, came to visit Dil on Sunday, with pretty, chubby, two-year-old Nelly, who was not shy at all, and came and hugged Dil at once. Her prettiness was not of the spirituelle order, as Bess’s would have been under any circumstances. The eyes were merry and wondering, the voice a gay little ripple, and comforted Dil curiously.

And through the course of the week several “incidental” ones came. It was like old times.

“Seems to me it’s nawful tough to be nussin’ kids,” said Patsey; “but, Dil, you’ve chirked up an’ grown reel jolly. You’re hankerin’ arter Bess, an’ can’t forgit. An’ ef the babies make ye chipper, let ’em come. I only hope they won’t take any fat offen yer bones, fer youse most a skiliton now. But sounds good to hear youse laugh agen.”

“I’d like just a little fat in my cheeks,” she made answer.

Patsey brought her home a white dress one day, and said they would all go down to Coney Island some Sunday.

“I wouldn’t dast to,” she said. “I’d be that afeared o’ meetin’ mother. She used to go las’ summer. An’ if she should find me – ”

“Yer cudden’t find anybody, les’ yer looked sharp. An’ youse er that changed an’ sollumn lookin’ an’ big-eyed, no one’d know yer.”

“But you knew me,” with a grateful little smile.

Patsey grinned and rolled his eyes.

“I was a-layin’ fer ye.”

“You can take me up to Cent’l Park, Patsey. I’d like to go so much.”

“That’s the talk, now! So I will. We’ll all go. We’ll have a reg’lar persesh, a stunner, an’ take our lunch, like the ’ristocrockery!”

Dil did brighten up a good deal. Baby kisses helped. She was starving for love, such as boys did not know how to give. She used to take Nelly out walking, and imagine her her very own. The mother instinct was strong in Dil.

Having the washing done did ease up the work; though one would have considered it no sinecure to feed five hungry boys. Now and then her head would ache, and occasionally something inside of her would flutter up in her throat, as it had when Bess died, and she would stretch out her hands to clasp some warm human support, her whole body in a shiver of vague terror.

If John Travis would only come. She could not disbelieve in him. Last autumn in the moment of desperate despair he had come, bringing such a waft of joy and satisfaction. There were so many things she wanted to ask him. She began to hope, in a vague way, that the Lord had come for Bess, for she wanted her in that beautiful heaven. But the mystery was too great for her untrained mind. And there intruded upon her thought, the horror of that moment when she knew Bess was dead.

The hot weather was very trying. Hemmed in on all sides by tall buildings, her own room so small, with a window on a narrow space hardly six inches from the brick wall of the next house, there was little chance for air. The boys seemed to sleep through anything.

So the weeks passed on with various small delights and events. The boys would go off and spend their money when they needed clothes, and then would follow heroic efforts at economizing. Dil had such shrewd good sense, and they did listen to her gentle advice. They were a gay, rollicking lot, but their very spirits seemed to be of a world she had passed by. It was as if she was on the way to some unknown land, not quite a stranger, but a sojourner.

Owen was a really tolerable boy, and bade fair to keep out of the reform school. They all mended of their swearing; they were ready to wait on her at a word.

The white frock was a beauty. Shorty brought her some pink ribbons that made her look less pale, and she had a wreath of wild roses on her hat that Mrs. Brian gave her.

They made ready for their excursion one beautiful Sunday morning in July. There had been a tremendous shower the night before, and all nature was fresh and glowing. The very sky was full of suggestions in its clear, soft blue, with here and there a white drift.

Oh, how lovely the park looked! Dil had to pause in a strange awe, as if she was hardly prepared to enter. It was like the hymn that was always floating intangibly through her mind – the fields and rivers of delight, the fragrant air, the waving trees and beds of flowers, the beautiful nooks, the bridges, the winding paths that seemed leading into delicious mysteries.

The boys were wild over the animals. They were irrepressible, and soon tired out poor Dil. She had to sit down and press her hand on her heart. There was a strange sinking, as if she was floating off, like the fleecy white drifts above her.

“Youse air nawful white!” cried Patsey in alarm. “An’ ther’s sich a queer blue streak acrost yer lip. Air ye sick?”

She drew a long breath, and the world seemed to settle again, as she raised her soft eyes with a smile all about them.

“No, Patsey – I’m only a bit tired. Let me sit an’ get rested.”

She took the sunbrowned hand in hers with a mute little caress that brought a strange flush to the lad’s face.

“Youse jist work too hard wid dem babies an’ all.”

“I’m only going to have Nelly next week, an’ the Leary baby is to go in the country with his mother to live. ’Twasn’t nothin’ but a queer flutt’rin’ like, an’ it comes sometimes in the night when I can’t be tired. It’s all over now;” and she looked bright and happy, if still pale.

Patsey seemed hardly satisfied.

“I think it’s the hot weather. It’s been so hot, you know. An’ to-day’s splendid! I’ll get better when cool weather comes, I’m most sure. You an’ the boys take a good long walk, an’ I’ll stay here with the lunch, an’ get all rested up. An’ I’ll make b’leve it’s heaven; it’s so beautiful.”

“See here, Dil, don’t yer go an’ be thinkin’ ’bout – ’bout heaven an’ sich – ”

Patsey swallowed over a big lump in his throat, and winked vigorously.

“Bess an’ I used to talk about it,” she said in a soft, disarming fashion. “We thought ’twas some-wers over the river there,” nodding her head. “But I’ll jes’ sit still in some shady place, an’ I won’t go to-day,” with a soft, comforting laugh.

The boys protested at first. But Dil had a way of persuading them that was quite irresistible. They were boys to the full, and to sit still would have half killed them. They found a lovely nook, where she could see the lake and the boats, and the people passing to and fro in their Sunday attire. There were merry voices of little ones that touched her like music.

She sat very still, with the lunch-basket at her feet. Occasionally some one cast a glance at the pale little girl in her white gown, with the wild roses drooping over the brim of her hat. A friendly policeman had seen the pantomime and the departure of the boys, and meant to keep guard that no one molested her.

Dil could understand being ill from some specific disease; but she did not feel ill, only tired. It was a different kind of fatigue from that back in Barker’s Court, for then she could fall asleep in a moment. Now the nights were curiously wakeful. And the babies were heavy, even if there were only two of them.

The refreshing atmosphere and the tranquil, beautiful pictures all about her intensified the thought of the heaven she was going to “make b’leve” about. She could picture it out, up and up, through country ways and flowers, wild roses maybe. Houses where they took you in and fed you, and put you to bed in such soft, clean beds. Queer people too, who couldn’t understand, and were wanting to turn back, – people who were afraid of lions and Giant Grim. She called up all the pictures she could remember, and they floated before her like a panorama.

“Though I can’t get it out straight myself,” and she sighed in helpless confusion. “I ain’t smart as little Bess was, an’ can’t see into things. But I could push Bess along, an’ Mr. Travis would be Mr. Greatheart for us, an’ he’d know the way on ’count of his being book learned. An’ we’d just be kerful an’ not get into briars and bad places.”

Was that Bess laughing softly, as she did sometimes when her poor back didn’t hurt, and her head didn’t ache. The sweet, lingering sound seemed to pervade the summer air. She could see the time-worn wagon, the rug made of odds and ends, that they had both considered such a great achievement. There was the sweet, pallid face, not quite as it had looked in those last days, but resembling more the beautiful picture that had gone to the flames, the crown of golden hair, the mysterious, fathomless eyes, with a new knowledge in them, that Dil felt had not been garnered in that old, pinched life.

Her own soul was suddenly informed with a mysterious rapture. She knew nothing of the Incarnation, of the love that came down and tasted pain and anguish, that others, in the suffering laid upon them, might also know of the joy of redemption. At that moment Dilsey Quinn was not far from the kingdom.

“O Bess! can’t you come back?” she cried in a breathless, entreating manner, her eyes luminous with the rare insight of faith, the evidence of things unseen. “O Bess, you must be somewhere! I don’t b’leve you died jes’ like other folks! Can’t you come back an’ tell me how it happened, ’cause I know you wouldn’t have gone and leaved me free of your own will?”

A tremendous longing surged at Dil’s heart, and almost swept her away. Her breath came in gasps, her heart beat in great bounds, and then well nigh stopped. She was suddenly attuned to spiritual influences in that sweet, solemn solitude. Was it really Bess’s voice in the softly penetrative summer air – was the strange, shadowy presence, so near that she could reach out and touch it – almost – that of the child?

She sat there rapt, motionless, seeing nothing with her mortal eyes; but in that finer illumination Bess moved slowly toward her, not walking, but floating, veiled in a soft, cloud-like drapery, stretching out her small, white hands. Dil took them, and they were not cold. She glanced into the starry eyes, and for moments that was enough.

“O Bess!” in the softest, tenderest whisper, “if you was in heaven I couldn’t touch you, you’d be so far away. An’ it’s so sweet. But how did it all happen?”

“When he comes, an’ I ’most know now that he will come soon, Bess, dear, he c’n tell me how to go to where you are – waitin’, an’ we’ll start. There’s somethin’ I don’t know ’bout, an’ can’t get straight. I never was real smart at ketchin’ hold; but it’s so beautiful to remember that his Lord Jesus took little children in his arms. An’ mebbe he’s took you up out o’ the place they buried you, an’ is keepin’ you safe. You ain’t there in the ground – you must be ris’ up some way – ”

The very birds sang of an unknown land in their songs; the wind murmuring gently through the trees thrilled her with an unutterable certainty. Her slow-moving eyes seemed to penetrate the very sky. Clear over the edge of the horizon it almost opened in its glory, as when Christiana was entering in; and she felt certain now that she should walk through its starry gates with Bess’s little hand held tight in hers.

“O Bess, I c’n hardly wait for him to come! Seems as if I must fly away to where you be, but Patsey an’ all the boys are so good to me. Seems if I never had such lovely quiet, an’ no one to scold ner bang my poor head. But I want you so, Bess – ”

She stretched out her hands, but the sweet form seemed to float farther off.

“O Bess, don’t go away,” she pleaded.

If the seers and the prophets saw heaven in their rapt visions, why not this poor starved little one whose angel always beheld the face of the Father in heaven. She was too ignorant to seize upon the truths of immortal life, but they thrilled through every pulse. She had no power of grasping any but the simplest beliefs, but she knew some love and care had sheltered Bess. The dawning of a knowledge that held in its ineffable beauty and sacredness the truths of resurrection penetrated her in a mysterious sense, aroused a faith that she could not yet comprehend; but it gave her a strange peace.

Her life had been a little machine out of which so much work must be steadily ground. It had needed all her attention. And Bess had taken all her love. But in the solitude and sense of loss she was learning to think.

Dil was startled when she saw the boys straggling along irregularly. How large and strong Patsey was growing! And how nice Owen looked in his clean summer suit! Oh, where was little Dan? She hoped he was happy, and had enough to eat and some time to play.

They were a hungry lot. The great pile of sandwiches disappeared in a trice. And the cake that an artist in cook-books might have disdained, the boys believed beat anything the best baker could turn out. There had never been any treat quite up to the cake. Of course the stew was more “fillin’” when one was tearing hungry, and cake was a luxury to their small income, but, oh, what a delight!

“You don’t eat nothin,” said Patsey, studying Dil anxiously.

“But I’ve rested so much. And I feel so happy.”

There was a divine light shining in her eyes, and it touched the boy’s soul.

“Dil, ef it wosn’t fer them ere freckles right acrost yer nose, an’ you wos a little fatter, you’d be jes’ as pooty as they make ’em. Youse growed real han’some, only you want some red cheeks.”

Dil colored at the praise. Did a light shine in her face because she had seen Bess? She would like to tell Patsey all about it. Yes, she had really seen her, but it was all infolded in mystery. How could she make it plain?

The boys ate up every crumb, and seasoned their repast with much merry jesting. Then they wanted to go on again. Wasn’t Dil rested enough to go to the Museum?

It was a long walk, and after they entered Dil was glad to sit down. She looked at the curious white marble people, and asked Patsey if “they was truly people or dead folks.” Shorty said “it was the mummies who were dead folks;” but Dil shuddered at the thought of Bess being like that. There were so many curious things, beautiful things, that the child was bewildered.

“’Tain’t so nice as out o’ doors,” said Fin. “There’s somethin’ in the trees an’ flowers, an’ them places that are so still an’ quiet like, that stirs a feller all up.”

Rough and unlearned as they were, nature appealed to them powerfully. Ah, what a day it was!

“I’ve never had but just one time in my life that was so lovely,” said Dil with sweet gratefulness: “an’ that wasn’t so beautiful, only strange. If anybody was so runnin’ over full o’ happiness all the time, ’pears to me it would kinder choke them all round the heart, so’s they couldn’t live.”

“Don’t know ’bout that,” and Patsey chuckled. “Happy people ain’t dyin’ off no faster’n other people, an’ don’t commit suicide so easy. But, golly! ’twould take a good deal to fill a feller up chock full o’ happiness, ’cause it’s suthin’ like ice-cream, keeps meltin’ down all the time, ’n’ youse can pack in some more.”

“I jes’ wish we had some now!” cried Owen, referring to the cream.

“It’s been – well – super splacious! There ain’t no word long ernuff to hold all’s been crowded in this ere day,” cried Fin enthusiastically. “Say, boys, why don’t we come agin? Only ther’s music days – an golly! I jes’ wish I had lots of money an’ a vacation. Vacations ain’t no good when you don’t have money.”

Dil enjoyed their pleasure. She was so strangely happy. She had seen Bess, and some time the puzzle would be explained. She had taken her first lesson in faith, and she felt light and joyous, as if she could fly. The very air was full of expectation.

It was time to return, unless, indeed, they had brought their suppers along. Dil appreciated the long ride home. She was very tired, but the joy within buoyed her up.

There was the rather well-gleaned ham bone and a dish of potatoes for supper, and the last of the wonderful cake, which they stretched out, and made to go all around. And they seasoned the supper with jests and pleasant laughs, and plans of what they would do, and hopes of being rich some day. Dil listened and smiled. They were all so good to her!

When they were through, Patsey began to pile up the dishes and carry them to the sink. He often did this for Dil, and none of the boys dared chaff him. She rose presently.

The room, the very chair on which she rested her hand, seemed slipping away. All the air was full of feathery blue clouds. There was a curious rushing sound, a great light, a great darkness, and Dil was a little heap on the floor, white as any ghost.

Patsey picked her up in his arms, and screamed as only a boy can scream, —

“Run quick for some one. Dil’s dead!”

XIII – THE LAND OF PURE DELIGHT

Owen started out of the door in a great fright. Mrs. Wilson was strolling in her yard, and the boy called to her. There was a side gate that led out in the alley-way. She came through quickly, although she had held very much aloof from these undesirable neighbors.

They had laid Dil on the lounge, stuffed anew and covered with bright cretonne. Patsey looked at her, wild-eyed.

“I think she has only fainted. My sister faints frequently.” She began to chafe Dil’s hands, and asked them to wet the end of the towel, with which she bathed the small white face, and the brown eyes opened with a smile, a little startled at the stranger bending over her. She closed them again; and Mrs. Wilson nodded to the intensely eager faces crowding about, saying assuringly, —

“She will be all right presently.”

Then she glanced around the room. It was clean, and it had some pretty “gift pictures” tacked up on the whitewashed wall. There was a bowl of flowers on the window-sill. The table had a red and white cloth, there were some Chinese napkins, and cheap but pretty dishes. The long towel hanging by the sink was fairly sweet in its cleanliness, and this pale little girl was the housekeeper!

“Have you ever fainted before? What had you been doing?” she asked in a quiet manner.

“We’d been up to Cent’l Park. It was so beautiful! But I guess I got tired out,” and Dil smiled faintly. “You see, I was in the hospital in the spring, an’ I ain’t so strong’s I used to be. But I feel all well now.”

“Youse jes’ lay still there, ’n’ Owny, ’n’ me’ll wash up the dishes.”

Patsey colored scarlet as he said this, but he stood his ground manfully.

“They’re so good to me!” and Dil looked up into her visitor’s eyes with such heartsome gratitude that the lady was deeply touched. “Patsey,” she added, “you’ve got on your best clo’es, ’n’ I wish you’d tie on that big apern. Mrs. Wilson won’t make fun, I know.”

“No, my child; I shall honor him for his carefulness,” returned Mrs. Wilson.

Patsey’s face grew redder, if such a thing was possible, but he tied on the apron.

“I ought to have been more neighborly,” began Mrs. Wilson, with a twinge of conscience. “I’ve watched you all so long, and you have all improved so much since old Mrs. Brown was here! But everybody seems so engrossed with business!”

“That’s along o’ Dil,” put in Patsey proudly. “When Dil come things was diff’rent. Dil’s got so many nice ways – she allis had.”

“Is your mother dead?”

Dil’s face was full of scarlet shame and distress, but she could not tell a wrong story.

“Her mother ain’t no good,” declared Patsey, in his stout championship; for he did not quite like to tell a lie, himself, to the lady, and he knew Dil wouldn’t. “But Dil’s splendid; and Owny, that’s her brother,” nodding toward him, “is fus’ rate. We’re keepin’ together; an’ little Dan, he’s in a home bein’ took keer of.”

“O Patsey!” Dil flushed with a kind of shamefaced pleasure at his praise.

“So you be! I ain’t goin’ back on you, never.” And there was a little gruffness in his voice as is apt to be the case when a lump rises in a big boy’s throat. “An’ you couldn’t tell how nice she’s fixed up the place – ’twas jes’ terrible when she come.”

“But you all helped,” returned Dil.

“And you are all so much cleaner and nicer,” and their visitor smiled.

“Yes; we’m gittin’ quite tony.” Patsey slung out the dishcloth and hung it up, and spread the towel on a bar across the window. Fin and Shorty edged their way out, and Fossett settled to a story paper. Owny wanted to go with the boys, but he compromised by sitting in the doorway.

“There is a little child here through the week, and I’ve seen a baby. My child, you are not compelled to care for them, are you?”

“We didn’t want her to,” protested Patsey; “but you see, there was another pooty little thing, her sister Bess, who was hurted ’n’ couldn’t walk, ’n’ Dil took care of her. ’N’ las’ winter she died, ’n’ Dil’s been kinder broodin’ over it ever sence. We wos off all day, ’n’ she got lonesome like; but she ain’t gonter have ’em any more, ’cause she ain’t strong, ’n’ we kin take keer of her,” proudly.

“You look as if you ought to be taken care of altogether for a while.”

Mrs. Wilson studied the pale little face. It had a curious waxen whiteness like a camellia. The eyes were large and wistful, but shining in tender gratitude; the brows were finely pencilled; the hair was growing to more of a chestnut tint, and curled loosely about her forehead. She was strangely pretty now, with the pathetic beauty that touches one’s heart.

“Tell yer wot, Dil, us fellers’ll chip in an’ save up a bit ’n’ send youse off to the country like the ’ristocrockery. You don’t happen to know of some nice, cheapish place?” and Patsey glanced questioningly at the visitor.

“There are very nice places where it doesn’t cost anything. Country people often take children for a fortnight or so. My daughters went to a beautiful seaside place last summer that a rich lady fitted up for clerks and shop-girls. Of course they are older than you, young ladies, but – let me think a bit – ”

Mrs. Wilson had never known much besides poverty. Youth, married life, and widowhood had been a struggle. She hired the whole front house, and rented furnished rooms to young men whose incomes would not afford luxurious accommodations. Her sister was in poor health; her two girls were in stores. Her son, who should have been her mainstay and comfort, was in an insane asylum, the result of drink and excesses.

“I can’t remember, but I must have heard my girls talking about places where they take ‘little mothers,’ – the children who tend babies, and give them a lovely holiday in a beautiful country place, where they can run about the green fields and pick flowers and play and sing, or sit about and have nothing to do. I will try to learn something about them.”

“I don’t b’leve I could go ’way,” said Dil, with soft-toned doubtfulness.

“I wish you’d talk her out’n havin’ any babies. She ain’t no ways strong ’nuff. An’ we boys kin take keer o’ her. She airns her livin’ over ’n’ over agin. She’s had ’nuff to do wid kids all her life,” protested her champion.

“But Nelly’s so sweet, and ’companies me so much,” Dil said longingly.

“But you orter be chirkin’ up a bit, ’stead er gittin’ so thin, an’ faintin’. ’Twas nawful, Dil. You looked jes’ ’s if youse wos dead.”

“It didn’t hurt any, Patsey;” and she smiled over to him. "’Twas queer like ’s if all the bells in the world was ringin’ soft an’ sweet, an’ then you went sailin’ off. ’Twas worse when I went to ketch my breath afterward. But I’m all right now.”

She glanced up smilingly to Mrs. Wilson, who took the soft little hands in hers, for soft they were in spite of the hard work they had done. Patsey had whisked the table up to the side of the room and brushed up the crumbs. Then he sat down and watched Dil.