The Complete Short Stories of Lucy Maud Montgomery. Lucy Maud Montgomery
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to fourteen days, I calc’late,” was her answer. “I must see about having the girls vaccinated right off. It’ll likely spread. When do you expect Victoria home?”
“When she’s ready to come, whenever that will be,” was the gruff response.
A week later Caroline said to Eunice, “Whatever’s got Christopher? He hasn’t been out anywhere for ages — just hangs round home the whole time. It’s something new for him. I s’pose the place is so quiet, now Madam Victoria’s away, that he can find some rest for his soul. I believe I’ll run over after milking and see how he’s getting on. You might as well come, too, Eunice.”
Eunice shook her head. She had all her mother’s obstinacy, and darken Victoria’s door she would not. She went on patiently darning socks, sitting at the west window, which was her favorite position — perhaps because she could look from it across the sloping field and past the crescent curve of maple grove to her lost home.
After milking, Caroline threw a shawl over her head and ran across the field. The house looked lonely and deserted. As she fumbled at the latch of the gate the kitchen door opened, and Christopher Holland appeared on the threshold.
“Don’t come any farther,” he called.
Caroline fell back in blank astonishment. Was this some more of
Victoria’s work?
“I ain’t an agent for the smallpox,” she called back viciously.
Christopher did not heed her.
“Will you go home and ask uncle if he’ll go, or send for Doctor
Spencer? He’s the smallpox doctor. I’m sick.”
Caroline felt a thrill of dismay and fear. She faltered a few steps backward.
“Sick? What’s the matter with you?”
“I was in Charlottetown that night, and went to the concert. That sailor sat right beside me. I thought at the time he looked sick. It was just twelve days ago. I’ve felt bad all day yesterday and to-day. Send for the doctor. Don’t come near the house, or let any one else come near.”
He went in and shut the door. Caroline stood for a few moments in an almost ludicrous panic. Then she turned and ran, as if for her life, across the field. Eunice saw her coming and met her at the door.
“Mercy on us!” gasped Caroline. “Christopher’s sick and he thinks he’s got the smallpox. Where’s Charles?”
Eunice tottered back against the door. Her hand went up to her side in a way that had been getting very common with her of late. Even in the midst of her excitement Caroline noticed it.
“Eunice, what makes you do that every time anything startles you?” she asked sharply. “Is it anything about your heart?”
“I don’t — know. A little pain — it’s gone now. Did you say that
Christopher has — the smallpox?”
“Well, he says so himself, and it’s more than likely, considering the circumstances. I declare, I never got such a turn in my life. It’s a dreadful thing. I must find Charles at once — there’ll be a hundred things to do.”
Eunice hardly heard her. Her mind was centered upon one idea. Christopher was ill — alone — she must go to him. It did not matter what his disease was. When Caroline came in from her breathless expedition to the barn, she found Eunice standing by the table, with her hat and shawl on, tying up a parcel.
“Eunice! Where on earth are you going?”
“Over home,” said Eunice. “If Christopher is going to be ill he must be nursed, and I’m the one to do it. He ought to be seen to right away.”
“Eunice Carr! Have you gone clean out of your senses? It’s the smallpox — the smallpox! If he’s got it he’ll have to be taken to the smallpox hospital in town. You shan’t stir a step to go to that house!”
“I will.” Eunice faced her excited aunt quietly. The odd resemblance to her mother, which only came out in moments of great tension, was plainly visible. “He shan’t go to the hospital — they never get proper attention there. You needn’t try to stop me. It won’t put you or your family in any danger.”
Caroline fell helplessly into a chair. She felt that it would be of no use to argue with a woman so determined. She wished Charles was there. But Charles had already gone, posthaste, for the doctor.
With a firm step, Eunice went across the field footpath she had not trodden for so long. She felt no fear — rather a sort of elation. Christopher needed her once more; the interloper who had come between them was not there. As she walked through the frosty twilight she thought of the promise made to Naomi Holland, years ago.
Christopher saw her coming and waved her back.
“Don’t come any nearer, Eunice. Didn’t Caroline tell you? I’m taking smallpox.”
Eunice did not pause. She went boldly through the yard and up the porch steps. He retreated before her and held the door.
“Eunice, you’re crazy, girl! Go home, before it’s too late.”
Eunice pushed open the door resolutely and went in.
“It’s too late now. I’m here, and I mean to stay and nurse you, if it’s the smallpox you’ve got. Maybe it’s not. Just now, when a person has a finger-ache, he thinks it’s smallpox. Anyhow, whatever it is, you ought to be in bed and looked after. You’ll catch cold. Let me get a light and have a look at you.”
Christopher had sunk into a chair. His natural selfishness reasserted itself, and he made no further effort to dissuade Eunice. She got a lamp and set it on the table by him, while she scrutinized his face closely.
“You look feverish. What do you feel like? When did you take sick?”
“Yesterday afternoon. I have chills and hot spells and pains in my back. Eunice, do you think it’s really smallpox? And will I die?”
He caught her hands, and looked imploringly up at her, as a child might have done. Eunice felt a wave of love and tenderness sweep warmly over her starved heart.
“Don’t worry. Lots of people recover from smallpox if they’re properly nursed, and you’ll be that, for I’ll see to it. Charles has gone for the doctor, and we’ll know when he comes. You must go straight to bed.”
She took off her hat and shawl, and hung them up. She felt as much at home as if she had never been away. She had got back to her kingdom, and there was none to dispute it with her. When Dr. Spencer and old Giles Blewett, who had had smallpox in his youth, came, two hours later, they found Eunice in serene charge. The house was in order and reeking of disinfectants. Victoria’s fine furniture and fixings were being bundled out of the parlor. There was no bedroom downstairs, and, if Christopher was going to be ill, he must be installed there.
The doctor looked grave.
“I don’t like it,” he said, “but I’m not quite sure yet. If it is smallpox the eruption will probably by out by morning. I must admit he has most of the symptoms. Will you have him taken to the hospital?”
“No,” said Eunice, decisively. “I’ll nurse him myself. I’m not afraid and I’m well and strong.”
“Very well. You’ve been vaccinated lately?”
“Yes.”
“Well, nothing more can be done at present. You may as well lie down for a while and save your strength.”
But Eunice could not do that. There was too much to attend to. She went out to the hall and threw up the window. Down below, at a safe distance, Charles Holland was waiting. The cold wind blew up to Eunice the odor of the disinfectants with which he had steeped himself.