age, and beautiful - the hair a rich auburn with a
glistening curl in it, skin very white and warm-tinted,
eyes small and of a greenish blue, with dilated pupils
and long lashes. He had a weak chin, and a full, sullen
mouth.
The bed was in the corner farthest from the window; on
it the sick woman, in spite of the pain that was her
portion continually, was lying as quiet and motionless
as she had done ever since she had lain down upon it
for the last time. Naomi Holland never complained; when
the agony was at its worst, she shut her teeth more
firmly over her bloodless lip, and her great black eyes
glared at the blank wall before in a way that gave her
attendants what they called "the creeps," but no word
or moan escaped her.
Between the paroxysms she kept up her keen interest in
the life that went on about her. Nothing escaped her
sharp, alert eyes and ears. This evening she lay spent
on the crumpled pillows; she had had a bad spell in the
afternoon and it had left her very weak. In the dim
light her extremely long face looked corpse-like
already. Her black hair lay in a heavy braid over the
pillow and down the counterpane. It was all that was
left of her beauty, and she took a fierce joy in it.
Those long, glistening, sinuous tresses must be combed
and braided every day, no matter what came.
A girl of fourteen was curled up on a chair at the head
of the bed, with her head resting on the pillow. The
boy at the window was her half-brother; but, between
Christopher Holland and Eunice Carr, not the slightest
resemblance existed.
Presently the sibilant silence was broken by a low,
half-strangled sob. The sick woman, who had been
watching a white evening star through the cherry
boughs, turned impatiently at the sound.
"I wish you'd get over that, Eunice," she said sharply.
"I don't want any one crying over me until I'm dead;
and then you'll have plenty else to do, most likely. If
it wasn't for Christopher I wouldn't be anyways
unwilling to die. When one has had such a life as I've
had, there isn't much in death to be afraid of. Only, a
body would like to go right off, and not die by inches,
like this. 'Tain't fair!"
She snapped out the last sentence as if addressing some
unseen, tyrannical presence; her voice, at least, had
not weakened, but was as clear and incisive as ever.
The boy at the window stopped whistling, and the girl
silently wiped her eyes on her faded gingham apron.
Naomi drew her own hair over her lips, and kissed it.
"You'll never have hair like that, Eunice," she said.
"It does seem most too pretty to bury, doesn't it? Mind
you see that it is fixed nice when I'm laid out. Comb
it right up on my head and braid it there."
A sound, such as might be wrung from a suffering
animal, came from the girl, but at the same moment the
door opened and a woman entered.
"Chris," she said sharply, "you get right off for the
cows, you lazy little scamp! You knew right well you
had to go for them, and here you've been idling, and me
looking high and low for you. Make haste now; it's
ridiculous late."
The boy pulled in his head and scowled at his aunt, but
he dared not disobey, and went out slowly with a sulky
mutter.
His aunt subdued a movement, that might have developed
into a sound box on his ears, with a rather frightened
glance at the bed. Naomi Holland was spent and dying,
but her temper was still a thing to hold in dread, and
her sister-in-law did not choose to rouse it by
slapping Christopher. To her and her co-nurse the
spasms of rage, which the sick woman sometimes had,
seemed to partake of the nature of devil possession.
The last one, only three days before, had been provoked
by Christopher's complaint of some real or fancied ill-
treatment from his aunt, and the latter had no mind to
bring on another. She went over to the bed, and
straightened the clothes.
"Sarah and I are going out to milk, Naomi, Eunice will
stay with you. She can run for us if you feel another
spell coming on."
Naomi Holland looked up at her sister-in-law with
something like malicious enjoyment.
"I ain't going to have any more spells, Car'line Anne.
I'm going to die to-night. But you needn't hurry
milking for that, at all. I'll take my time."
She liked to see the alarm that came over the other
woman's face. It was richly worth while to scare
Caroline Holland like that.
"Are you feeling worse, Naomi?" asked the latter
shakily. "If you are I'll send for Charles to go for
the doctor."
"No, you won't. What good can the doctor do me? I don't
want either his or Charles' permission to die. You can
go and milk at your ease. I won't die till you're done
- I won't deprive you of the pleasure of seeing me."
Mrs. Holland shut her lips and went out of the room
with a martyr-like expression. In some ways Naomi
Holland was not an exacting patient, but she took her
satisfaction out in the biting, malicious speeches she
never failed to make. Even on her death-bed her
hostility to her sister-in-law had to find vent.
Outside, at the steps, Sarah Spencer was waiting, with
the milk pails over her arm. Sarah Spencer had no fixed
abiding place, but was always to be found where there
was illness. Her experience, and an utter lack of
nerves, made her a good nurse. She was a tall, homely
woman with iron gray hair and a lined face. Beside her,
the trim little Caroline Anne, with her light step and
round, apple-red face, looked almost girlish.
The two women walked to the barnyard, discussing Naomi
in undertones as they went. The house they had left
behind grew very still.
In Naomi Holland's room the shadows were gathering.
Eunice timidly bent over her mother.
"Ma, do you want the light lit?"
"No, I'm watching that star just below the big cherry
bough. I'll see it set behind the hill. I've seen it
there, off and on, for twelve years, and now I'm taking
a good-by look at it. I want you to keep still, too.
I've got a few things to think over, and I don't want
to be disturbed."
The girl lifted herself about noiselessly and locked
her hands over the bed-post. Then she laid her face
down on them, biting at them silently until the marks
of her teeth showed white against their red roughness.
Naomi Holland did not notice her. She was looking
steadfastly at the great, pearl-like sparkle in the
faint-hued sky. When it finally disappeared from her
vision she struck her long, thin hands together twice,
and a terrible expression came over her face for a
&
nbsp; moment. But, when she spoke, her voice was quite calm.
"You can light the candle now, Eunice. Put it up on the
shelf here, where it won't shine in my eyes. And then
sit down on the foot of the bed where I can see you.
I've got something to say to you."
Eunice obeyed her noiselessly. As the pallid light shot
up, it revealed the child plainly. She was thin and
ill-formed - one shoulder being slightly higher than
the other. She was dark, like her mother, but her
features were irregular, and her hair fell in
straggling, dim locks about her face. Her eyes were a
dark brown, and over one was the slanting red scar of a
birth mark.
Naomi Holland looked at her with the contempt she had
never made any pretense of concealing. The girl was
bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh, but she had
never loved her; all the mother love in her had been
lavished on her son.
When Eunice had placed the candle on the shelf and
drawn down the ugly blue paper blinds, shutting out the
strips of violet sky where a score of glimmering points
were now visible, she sat down on the foot of the bed,
facing her mother.
"The door is shut, is it, Eunice?"
Eunice nodded.
"Because I don't want Car'line or any one else peeking
and harking to what I've got to say. She's out milking
now, and I must make the most of the chance. Eunice,
I'm going to die, and . . ."
"Ma!"
"There now, no taking on! You knew it had to come
sometime soon. I haven't the strength to talk much, so
I want you just to be quiet and listen. I ain't feeling
any pain now, so I can think and talk pretty clear. Are
you listening, Eunice?"
"Yes, ma."
"Mind you are. It's about Christopher. It hasn't been
out of my mind since I laid down here. I've fought for
a year to live, on his account, and it ain't any use. I
must just die and leave him, and I don't know what
he'll do. It's dreadful to think of."
She paused, and struck her shrunken hand sharply
against the table.
"If he was bigger and could look out for himself it
Car'line hates him. You'll both have to live with her
until you're grown up. She'll put on him and abuse him.
He's like his father in some ways; he's got a temper
and he is stubborn. He'll never get on with Car'line.
Now, Eunice, I'm going to get you to promise to take my
place with Christopher when I'm dead, as far as you
can. You've got to; it's your duty. But I want you to
promise."
"I will, ma," whispered the girl solemnly.
"You haven't much force - you never had. If you was
smart, you could do a lot for him. But you'll have to
do your best. I want you to promise me faithfully that
you'll stand by him and protect him - that you won't
let people impose on him; that you'll never desert him
as long as he needs you, no matter what comes. Eunice,
promise me this!"
In her excitement the sick woman raised herself up in
the bed, and clutched the girl's thin arm. Her eyes
were blazing and two scarlet spots glowed in her thin
cheeks.
Eunice's face was white and tense. She clasped her
hands as one in prayer.
"Mother, I promise it!"
Naomi relaxed her grip on the girl's arm and sank back
exhausted on the pillow. A death-like look came over
her face as the excitement faded.
"My mind is easier now. But if I could only have lived
another year or two! And I hate Car'line - hate her!
Eunice, don't you ever let her abuse my boy! If she
did, or if you neglected him, I'd come back from my
grave to you! As for the property, things will be
pretty straight. I've seen to that. There'll be no
squabbling and doing Christopher out of his rights.
He's to have the farm as soon as he's old enough to
work it, and he's to provide for you. And, Eunice,
remember what you've promised!"
Outside, in the thickly gathering dusk, Caroline
Holland and Sarah Spencer were at the dairy, straining
the milk into creamers, for which Christopher was
sullenly pumping water. The house was far from the
road, up to which a long red lane led; across the field
was the old Holland homestead where Caroline lived; her
unmarried sister-in-law, Electa Holland, kept house for
her while she waited on Naomi.
It was her night to go home and sleep, but Naomi's
words haunted her, although she believed they were born
of pure "cantankerousness."
"You'd better go in and look at her, Sarah," she said,
as she rinsed out the pails. "If you think I'd better
stay here to-night, I will. If the woman was like
anybody else a body would know what to do; but, if she
thought she could scare us by saying she was going to
die, she'd say it."
When Sarah went in, the sick room was very quiet. In
her opinion, Naomi was no worse than usual, and she
told Caroline so; but the latter felt vaguely uneasy
and concluded to stay.
Naomi was as cool and defiant as customary. She made
them bring Christopher in to say good-night and had him
lifted up on the bed to kiss her. Then she held him
back and looked at him admiringly - at the bright curls
and rosy cheeks and round, firm limbs. The boy was
uncomfortable under her gaze and squirmed hastily down.
Her eyes followed him greedily, as he went out. When
the door closed behind him, she groaned. Sarah Spencer
was startled. She had never heard Naomi Holland groan
since she had come to wait on her.
"Are you feeling any worse, Naomi? Is the pain coming
back?"
"No. Go and tell Car'line to give Christopher some of
that grape jelly on his bread before he goes to bed.
She'll find it in the cupboard under the stairs."
Presently the house grew very still. Caroline had
dropped asleep on the sitting-room lounge, across the
hall. Sarah Spencer nodded over her knitting by the
table in the sick room. She had told Eunice to go to
bed, but the child refused. She still sat huddled up on
the foot of the bed, watching her mother's face
intently. Naomi appeared to sleep. The candle burned
long, and the wick was crowned by a little cap of fiery
red that seemed to watch Eunice like some impish
goblin. The wavering light cast grotesque shadows of
Sarah Spencer's head on the wall. The thin curtains at
the window wavered to and fro, as if shaken by ghostly
hands.
At midnight Naomi Holland opened her eyes. The child
the brink of the Unseen.
"Eunice - remember!"
It was the faintest whisper. The soul, passing over the
threshold of another life, strained back to its only
earthly tie. A quiver passed over the long, pallid
face.
A horrible scream rang through the silent house. Sarah
Spencer sprang out of her doze in consternation, and
gazed blankly at the shrieking child. Caroline came
hurrying in with distended eyes. On the bed Naomi
Holland lay dead.
In the room where she had died Naomi Holland lay in her
coffin. It was dim and hushed; but, in the rest of the
house, the preparations for the funeral were being
hurried on. Through it all Eunice moved, calm and
silent. Since her one wild spasm of screaming by her
mother's death-bed she had shed no tear, given no sign
of grief. Perhaps, as her mother had said, she had no
time. There was Christopher to be looked after. The
boy's grief was stormy and uncontrolled. He had cried
until he was utterly exhausted. It was Eunice who
soothed him, coaxed him to eat, kept him constantly by
her. At night she took him to her own room and watched
over him while he slept.
When the funeral was over the household furniture was
packed away or sold. The house was locked up and the
farm rented. There was nowhere for the children to go,
save to their uncle's. Caroline Holland did not want
them, but, having to take them, she grimly made up her
mind to do what she considered her duty by them. She
had five children of her own and between them and
Christopher a standing feud had existed from the time
he could walk.
She had never liked Naomi. Few people did. Benjamin
Holland had not married until late in life, and his
wife had declared war on his family at sight. She was a
stranger in Avonlea, - a widow, with a three year-old
child. She made few friends, as some people always
asserted that she was not in her right mind.
Within a year of her second marriage Christopher was
born, and from the hour of his birth his mother had
worshiped him blindly. He was her only solace. For him
she toiled and pinched and saved. Benjamin Holland had
not been "fore-handed" when she married him; but, when
he died, six years after his marriage, he was a well-
to-do man.
Naomi made no pretense of mourning for him. It was an
open secret that they had quarreled like the proverbial
cat and dog. Charles Holland and his wife had naturally
sided with Benjamin, and Naomi fought her battles
single-handed. After her husband's death, she managed
to farm alone, and made it pay. When the mysterious
malady which was to end her life first seized on her
she fought against it with all the strength and
stubbornness of her strong and stubborn nature. Her
will won for her an added year of life, and then she
had to yield. She tasted all the bitterness of death
the day on which she lay down on her bed, and saw her
enemy come in to rule her house.
But Caroline Holland was not a bad or unkind woman.
True, she did not love Naomi or her children; but the
woman was dying and must be looked after for the sake
of common humanity. Caroline thought she had done well
by her sister-in-law.
When the red clay was heaped over Naomi's grave in the
Avonlea burying ground, Caroline took Eunice and
Christopher home with her. Christopher did not want to
go; it was Eunice who reconciled him. He clung to her
with an exacting affection born of loneliness and
grief.
In the days that followed Caroline Holland was obliged
to confess to herself that there would have been no
doing anything with Christopher had it not been for
Eunice. The boy was sullen and obstinate, but his
sister had an unfailing influence over him.
In Charles Holland's household no one was allowed to
eat the bread of idleness. His own children were all
girls, and Christopher came in handy as a chore boy. He
was made to work - perhaps too hard. But Eunice helped
him, and did half his work for him when nobody knew.
When he quarreled with his cousins, she took his part;
whenever possible she took on herself the blame and
punishment of his misdeeds.