Bedelia Read online

  Charlie had not been able to forget the doctor’s warning, but he found what he considered a satisfactory explanation. Doctor Meyers was incompetent. Because he could find no scientific name for Charlie’s attack, he had invented an excuse. The old man’s judgment was weak, his imagination fertile. When he was up and about, Charlie decided, he would go to a younger man for a check-up.

  On the second afternoon of Charlie’s illness, Ben Chaney drove over and suggested that he take Bedelia for a drive. The weather had repented its bad behavior and was now mild and dry. Bedelia, of course, refused to leave her husband’s bedside. The argument took place in the hall on the first floor. Miss Gordon, who heard everything that went on in the house, looked up from the drab sock she was knitting and told Charlie that he ought to insist that his wife accept the invitation. For the sake of her health, the nurse said, Mrs. Horst ought to have at least an hour’s fresh air every day.

  And each afternoon thereafter, Bedelia went out for a drive in Ben Chaney’s car.

  On New Year’s Eve Charlie was allowed to get out of bed. He was much improved and so rested that he looked better than before he was stricken. He dressed in dark trousers and his purple silk smoking-jacket, and chose one of the fine silk ties which Bedelia had given him for Christmas.

  Miss Gordon would not let him leave the bedroom. “Not without the doctor’s permission.”

  “Then call up and get the doctor’s permission. And ask Meyers why the devil he hasn’t come to see me.”

  “I do not like profanity, Mr. Horst.”

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Gordon. But tell the doctor I want to see him today.”

  “You know, Mr. Horst, that Doctor Meyers has been confined to the house with a cold. I’ve reported to him twice a day, and since there’s no change for the worse in your health, there’s no reason why he should risk pneumonia or bring infection into this house.”

  “But I want to see him.”

  “I’ll tell him,” she said.

  Doctor Meyers said that Charlie had better stay in his room for another day, and promised that if he felt well enough tomorrow he might go downstairs.

  “Is he coming over?”

  “He’ll try to get here tomorrow.”

  “The old faker,” murmured Charlie.

  “Did you say something, Mr. Horst?”

  “When Miss Walker and Mrs. Hoffman arrive, have them come upstairs.”

  “I’ll tell Mary. I’m going to lie down and take a little nap.”

  Charlie’s jaw dropped. Miss Gordon did not usually practice such self-indulgence. She might have taken her nap, Charlie reflected, while Bedelia was at home. But it was like the nurse to overlook everything but her patient’s physical needs.

  Soon afterward Abbie and Ellen arrived, Abbie with a jar of calf’s-foot jelly, Ellen with Albert Bigelow Paine’s Life of Mark Twain. The room was filled with laughter and gossip, and Abbie, who was to leave town the next day, shrieked her opinions of her old friends. Presently Bedelia returned and with her, Ben Chaney. Although he had called at the house every day, this was the first time he had been allowed upstairs.

  “It’s good to see you,” Charlie said. “After all this female society, it’s pleasant to see a pair of pants.”

  “Now, darling,” Bedelia pouted.

  “Doctor Meyers has been to see you, hasn’t he?”

  “He’s worse than an old woman.”

  Ben had brought Charlie a bottle of sherry and Bedelia suggested that they open it. She went downstairs to fetch it and some sweet biscuits. As Charlie was supposed to be an invalid, Ben did the honors. He uncorked the bottle, poured a bit of wine into his own glass, then filled the others. Bedelia carried a glass of wine and a biscuit to Charlie.

  “Mrs. Horst!”

  Miss Gordon stood at the door. She walked silently on low-heeled shoes and no one heard her enter. Everyone looked at her. Ellen drew in her breath.

  “What are you giving Mr. Horst?”

  “It’s quite all right, Miss Gordon. The doctor said he should drink a glass of wine every day. Mr. Chaney’s brought him some sherry. Will you have some?”

  “I never take spirits.” Miss Gordon stood rigid, inspecting Charlie’s guests scornfully.

  “Has Miss Gordon met these people?” Charlie asked. “Miss Gordon, Mrs. Hoffman, Miss Walker, Mr. Chaney.”

  “How do you do,” Ben said.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Miss Gordon.

  Ellen gasped. For the rest of the visit she perched at the edge of her chair and plucked at her skirt with nervous fingers.

  “What got into you this afternoon?” Abbie asked when they were home again and safe behind the locked door of Ellen’s bedroom. “You were fidgeting like an idiot. Why are you so nervous?”

  “I could have told you at the beginning that there was something sneaky about him.”

  “Ben? But he’s a very well-bred fellow. I can’t understand your aversion to him, unless you’re prejudiced against eligible men.”

  “Listen!” Ellen whispered. “I’ve discovered something. That nurse is the woman he met at the station. I told you about it, Abbie. His godmother, my neck! And they acted as if they’d never seen each other before when Charlie introduced them.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Could you make a mistake about that face? I’d swear it in court, I’d risk my life on it. But why should they want to hide it?”

  Abbie gave up. Here was a problem that her worldliness could not solve. Ellen unbuttoned her mannish coat. From an inside pocket she pulled out a yellow paper packet of cheap cigarettes and, as calmly as if she’d been doing it all her life, lit one.

  THE NEXT MORNING Charlie made a resolution which, unlike most New Year’s vows, was carried out at once. Nothing could start the year more unauspiciously, he decided, than a breakfast served by Miss Gordon. Without permission he got up, took a warm shower, dressed, and went downstairs. Miss Gordon, coming through the swinging door with his breakfast tray in her hands, found him at the table.

  “Why, Mr. Horst!”

  “I’m having breakfast with my wife this morning.”

  “But . . .”

  “Will you join us, Miss Gordon? And incidentally, Happy New Year.”

  “Happy New Year,” she said ungraciously.

  This victory was tonic to Charlie. Bedelia’s pleasure strengthened his resolution. When breakfast was over, he said, “Miss Gordon, I wish to thank you for your services during my illness.”

  “I’ve only done what I was paid to do.”

  “I want you to enjoy the holiday. You gave up your New Year’s Eve festivities for my sake, but I don’t want you to sacrifice today’s ceremonies, too.”

  “I haven’t planned anything particular.”

  He waved away the excuse. “I know you’d rather be with your friends. And since I don’t need a nurse any longer, allow me to show my gratitude by paying you for the next couple of days, and take a holiday.”

  Bedelia did not laugh, but the dimples were dancing on her creamy cheeks.

  “We’ll call McGuiness to take you to town.”

  Miss Gordon sat firm. “Aren’t my services satisfactory, Mr. Horst?”

  “Quite, Miss Gordon. But I’m fully recovered and shan’t need a nurse any longer.”

  “We shall have to ask Doctor Meyers about that. He is the only one from whom I am allowed to take orders.”

  “I won’t ask him, I’ll tell him.”

  The coffee-cup hid the lower part of Bedelia’s face, but over it her dark eyes encouraged Charlie’s rebellion. Feeling himself a man of authority, he hurried to the telephone.

  To his great surprise, Doctor Meyers readily agreed that Charlie no longer needed a nurse. While Miss Gordon packed her bag, Charlie and Bedelia embraced. Forty minutes later she was driven off in McGuiness’s hack, and the Horsts were alone at last. Mary had the day off, too. Her young man, Hen Blackman, had driven over from Redding in his father’s buggy, and Mary, wear
ing Bedelia’s kid gloves and one of Bedelia’s hats, departed ecstatically.

  “I hope she gets back in time,” Charlie said as he watched the buggy turn out of their drive to the main road.

  “In time for what, dear?”

  “Looks like a heavy snow.”

  Bedelia nodded vaguely. She had gone to the what-not to restore order to the chaos created by Mary in dusting the shelves. Whenever the hired girl’s back was turned, Bedelia went through a ritual of moving bric-á-brac. Charlie watched indulgently. He could have prophesied her every movement. Bedelia had such a love for little ornaments that she suffered if she saw the snuffboxes, miniature furniture, carved ivory animals and statuettes out of place.

  Ben Chaney and Doctor Meyers arrived from different directions at almost the same moment. There was much shaking of hands and offering of good wishes for the New Year.

  “I’ve come to call for my passenger,” Ben said.

  “I can’t come with you today, Ben. Miss Gordon’s gone. I don’t want to leave Charlie.”

  “Miss Gordon’s gone, has she?” Ben said.

  The doctor slanted a curious look at Ben, then turned to Bedelia. “You’d better get a little air today, Mrs. Horst. Looks like we’re in for a bad storm and this might be your last chance for several days.”

  There was some argument before Bedelia could be persuaded to leave her husband, and the doctor had almost to order her to take the drive.

  As soon as she had gone off with Ben, Charlie folded his arms across his chest, looked down at the doctor and said, “I want to know the meaning of what you said the other day.”

  “Forget it, Charlie.”

  “What do you mean ‘Forget it, Charlie’? What were you trying to do, pull my leg?”

  “There’s nothing to it. I’ve had reports from the laboratory. I’d rather have had the original excrement, but she’d cleaned it all up before I got here. But I’m certain that if there had been a toxic agent present, it would have shown in the specimens I sent to the laboratory.”

  “I still don’t understand you. What were you looking for? Poison?”

  The word hung in the air. But having said it, Charlie felt better.

  “Have a cigar, Charlie?” The doctor offered a pair of cylinders wrapped in tin foil. “Christmas present from a patient. With a family like mine you don’t often get a chance to smoke Corona Coronas.” The doctor did not speak again until he had cut off the tip, lighted the cigar, and enjoyed the first puff. “I admit that your symptoms puzzled me, Charlie. I could find no cause for that sudden attack. After I went home that morning and talked it over with my oldest boy—there’s no one who diagnoses so daringly as a medical student—I decided to take no chances.”

  “But I’d been having dyspepsia all along.”

  The doctor sighed.

  “It’s not like you to alarm your patients. Frankly, I don’t understand your actions.”

  The doctor did not immediately answer. After a while he said, “I sometimes think my wife is in her dotage. She fancies those animated photographs which are becoming so popular with the children, and often drags me into town to see them.” He shivered slightly. “No doubt my mind has been affected by the lurid quality of these entertainments.”

  Charlie got up. “Why are you lying, Doctor?”

  “Don’t shout. My hearing is perfect.”

  “I beg your pardon. But I insist that you tell me the truth.”

  “Aren’t you glad to know that it was nothing more than an old man’s overzealous imagination?”

  “If it was nothing but imagination, why did you tell me about it? I should think you’d have tried to save me the anxiety.”

  “I felt it my duty to warn you in case my premonitions meant anything. If there had been danger and I had failed to warn you, I should have been responsible.”

  “Perhaps you fail to realize the gravity of the charges you made again an innocent person.”

  “I made no charges.”

  “You insinuated that I had been give—” Charlie cleared his throat—“given poison by . . .” He could not continue.

  “Your attitude surprises me. One would think I’d brought you bad news today. I confess that I’m relieved to find that it was nothing more than an attack of acute indigestion, and I beg your pardon for having caused you any anxiety.”

  Charlie sank into a chair. His eyes were wet. The doctor turned away tactfully and walked to the bow window. Snow was falling, but so lazily that the ragged flakes seemed suspended in the air. The landscape bored Doctor Meyers and he moved from the window. He saw that Charlie had not recovered composure and fixed his attention on the opposite corner of the room. There stood the what-not with its absurd collection of silver, ivory, porcelain and enameled toys. For the life of him, Doctor Meyers could not understand why grown women treasured such trifles. One group attracted him by the very virtue of its inanity. A Dresden china marquis in a coat of ripe-plum red held his pale hands over the eyes of a lady whose lace-trimmed skirts billowed over a chair decorated with gilt arabesques and painted rosebuds. As he examined the piece, the doctor heard Ben’s automobile drive up and stop at the door. He replaced the ornament upon the shelf guiltily, for he knew how his wife scolded if the symmetry of her shelves were destroyed.

  Charlie blew his nose and returned his handkerchief to his pocket. He looked guilty, too.

  Bedelia opened the door with her key. Ben lingered in the hall to take off his hat and coat, but Bedelia hurried into the living-room with the snowflakes shining on her velvet hat and on the sealskin collar of her coat. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks rosy. She touched cold lips to Charlie’s cheeks.

  “It’s snowing quite hard. Ben thought we ought to turn back before the roads were all snowy. It was such a lovely drive, Charlie, with the snow beginning to fall and the sky that peculiar shade of gray-blue like lead. How I love your Connecticut.”

  “His Connecticut,” sniffed the doctor.

  At the sight of Bedelia’s pretty face and the memory of his ridiculous fears, relief welled up again in Charlie and he was compelled to blow his nose loudly. Bedelia noticed the waxen color of his skin and the contrast with his reddened nostrils and eyes.

  “Oh, my dear, what has the doctor been telling you?”

  “I’m afraid he’s caught my cold,” Doctor Meyers remarked. To give his excuse authority, he pulled out his handkerchief and sniffed at it with dry nostrils. “I’d better be going before the snow piles up.”

  “I insist on knowing what you told Charlie.”

  The doctor smiled over Bedelia’s shoulder at Charlie. “He’ll tell you the good news.”

  “Good news?” said Ben, coming into the room. “What good news?”

  “Let Charlie tell you,” the doctor said with a contemptuous glance at Chaney. Then he wished them all a Happy New Year and left.

  “What was it?” Bedelia demanded.

  “Now that it’s over,” Charlie said, “I can tell you that he had certain apprehensions . . .”

  “What sort of apprehensions?”

  “Very stupid and exaggerated. Now he’s come to his senses and discovered that there was nothing to his suspicions.”

  “What were they?”

  Charlie shrugged. “I can’t give you the technical name, it’s merely that he warned me to prepare for a shock. And now he’s confessed that his fears were unfounded.”

  Ben stood with his legs apart, his hands clasped behind his back, his eager eyes on Charlie’s face. He had not moved, but his expression had become more alert and his lips had tightened.

  “I’m so happy, dear.”

  “We’ve nothing to worry about. I’m fully recovered and ready to resume my routine. The day after tomorrow I’m going back to work.”

  As Charlie said this, the pattern of his life became normal. He looked around and saw the room as it had been when he and Bedelia had finished redecorating the house. There were not even the Christmas wreaths and ribbons left to remind
him of holiday disruptions. The love-seat had been moved back to its place in the bow window.

  The snowfall was heavier, the wind rising. A light blanket of snow concealed the darkness of the earth. Twilight entered through the uncurtained windows. Bedelia lighted the lamps. Then she saw how Doctor Meyers had disarranged her shelves and hurried to restore order.

  “I had a wire from my friend in St. Paul,” Ben said. “The blizzards are apparently over in the Middle West and he’s coming here, after all. You’ll meet Keene Barrett in a few days.”

  The ornament slipped from Bedelia’s hands. The Dresden lovers lay shattered on the floor. The marquis’s white-wigged head rolled into the corner, the porcelain lace of his mistress’s skirt powdered the rug.

  Bedelia’s face had been drained of color. Her empty hands were circled before her as if she were still holding the ornament.

  “Biddy, my sweet!” Charlie took her in his arms. “Don’t be upset. The thing has no value and, just between you and me, I’ll confess that I always thought it hideous.”

  She lowered her unsteady hands. Her rings sparkled in the lamplight. Her eyes had become blank, all expression was erased from her countenance, and it was clear that she had not heard what Charlie said. He led her to the couch, sat with his arm around her swelling waist. Soon he and Ben were talking casually again, about motors, comparing the merits of their machines and discussing the improvements which were being made by manufacturers. Bedelia sat beside her husband quietly, sunk in reverie, hardly aware of the men’s voices. Presently Ben rose and said that he must leave. Charlie asked him to stay for supper. Bedelia did not repeat the invitation.

  Long after Ben had gone, his voice echoed in Charlie’s ears, rising louder than the shrieks and wails of the storm. Ben had used the commonest phrase of the day, Happy New Year, but Charlie could not purge his mind of the cheerless tone of the greeting.