Chapter 5 Baby Number 2
Chapter 5
Baby Number 2
As time passed, Lucy’s cares and labors increased. The baby had begun walking and was making himself the terror of the household by pulling burning sticks from the fire and climbing up the side of the well to throw in whatever he could. About this time another young gentleman came upon the stage.
“Well, Sir!” cried Hatty, as she came with her hair half-fixed to greet the newcomer. “You’re a fine young man, ain’t you? Don’t you know we needed a great many things more than we needed you?”
She kissed him as she spoke and he began to cry. “What are you crying for?” she continued. “Do you think we’ve got anything to give you? No, indeed! You’ve come to a poor place, Sir!”
“He’ll have a warm welcome, at any rate,” said Lucy, taking him tenderly in her arms. Her mother looked up with a quick, grateful smile.
“Dear child,” she whispered, “can you really give him that?”
“Of course, Mother, and more too.” She went with the child to the kitchen fire, and let the little ones take a peep at the small pink face. When he saw his place usurped by Baby Number Two, Baby Number One relieved his feelings by a fearful shout of displeasure and began pulling at Lucy’s dress to attract her attention.
“Somebody take him away,” said Lucy, trembling for her new charge.
“He won’t let me, I know,” said Rebecca. “You’ve weaned him from us all by taking so much care of him.”
This was true. Lately, Lucy had been a mother to him as well as a sister.
“Well, then, you must dress the baby,” said Lucy, offering to relinquish her low seat by the fire.
Rebecca shrank back in terror. “Oh I couldn’t dress him,” she said. “I’ve never done such a thing in my life.”
“I know,” returned Lucy, “but somebody must do it, and if you can’t amuse Joseph, I don’t know what to do. Arthur dear, couldn’t you take Joseph out on your sled awhile?”
“Sure, if it isn’t too cold.”
“If he is wrapped up nicely, I don’t think it will hurt him,” said Lucy. “Come, Hatty, you see to it, will you?”
Hatty proceeded to the task with her usual haste, and in a few minutes off they went. Lucy now gently removed the blanket from the new baby and prepared to dress him in the little worn garments that had already done so much service. But at this moment Arthur rushed in with Joseph in his arms, screaming as only Joseph could.
“He fell right off the sled the moment I began to pull,” said Arthur.
“Why, Hatty! Did you suppose such a child would do anything else?” said Lucy. “You should have fastened him on somehow.”
“I told him to hold on tight,” said Hatty. “The fact is, seeing him next to the new baby made him seem like such a big boy, that I forgot he was so young.”
“You could put him in a large basket,” said Arthur, “and tie the basket on.”
“Sure enough!” cried Hatty, who was now quite in her element. The little boys stood around and admired, while Hatty arranged Joseph nicely in the basket. His head peeped out like a bird from its nest. The little face was covered with smiles and tears and the little hands held fast to the sides of the basket.
“Let Mother see him,” said Lucy, looking with delight at the happy result of Arthur’s suggestion. The children lifted the basket and carried it in triumph to their mother, who from her bed in the adjoining room had watched the little group, longing to be among them.
“I big boy now; not baby now,” said Joseph to his mother, peering over the top of the basket, and pointing with one little white finger to the infant in Lucy’s lap. He went off, very satisfied with himself and his newfound dignity, and the younger children went too. Lucy now had quiet and leisure for the baby.
Rebecca and Hatty stood by and handed pins, held up tiny clothes, and gave advice, but the difficulties of the task were all Lucy’s. She grew anxious and heated as she proceeded amid the baby’s cries.
“I’m afraid it makes you almost ache to see how awkward I am,” she called out to her mother.
But the weary mother had fallen into a placid sleep. “That’s nice,” said Lucy. “I was afraid I would worry her. Well, girls! We get along pretty well as nurses, don’t we?” She looked with pleasure at the little creature that now lay on her lap with closed eyes.
“He’s a noble fellow,” she said.
“Yes, now that he’s dressed, he looks like normal people,” said Rebecca, an announcement hailed by Hatty with as hearty laughter as she dared venture under the circumstances. Their father now came gently from their mother’s room, closing the door behind him.
“Mother is sleeping now,” he said. “Overall, I think we make pretty good nurses. I never knew her to sleep so soon before.”
Lucy remembered with a pang that she had been very ungracious about the birth of Joseph and felt thankful that she could make some atonement for it with the new baby.
“A nurse would have been a great expense,” she said, “and we’ll get along nicely, I know.”
“I wish this fellow would open his eyes, and let us see what color they are,” said Hatty.
“We can’t expect too much from him,” replied Lucy, who already felt a sort of maternal pride in him. “But I need to make some oatmeal for Mother now, so who’ll take him?”
“Oh, let me make Mother’s oatmeal,” said Rebecca, quite briskly for her.
“Let me take the baby!” said Hatty. “I haven’t had him yet.”
Lucy relinquished her charge and went out to look for the children. She came back immediately.
“I don’t see any sign of them,” she said. “I wish I had told Arthur not to go far. Father, could you go up the road, and see if they’re coming?”
“I would, dear, but I have to feed the cattle. It should have been done long ago. I wouldn’t worry about those boys. They’re safe enough, I’ll warrant.” He looked tired and distracted. He had been up all night, and many painful thoughts had stirred in his heart. For this was the tenth child, and he had hardly the wherewithal for the nine. He hurried out, and Lucy stood a moment, looking after him. She knew pretty well what troubled him and longed to take that weight off his mind.
“It seems strange,” she thought, “that only Arthur and I have found out about that dreadful debt. I don’t believe any of the others would have cared as we do. Rebecca never worries about anything; and Hatty can’t realize that there is any occasion to 'borrow trouble’, as she always calls it. But Arthur! He doesn’t seem like the same boy. Sometimes I think he doesn’t eat half as much as he wants, so as to save. But there’s no use asking him.” She took down her shawl and hood and went out to look for him.
“Now will you find any time to study?” asked something within, as her thoughts went back to the baby.
“I don’t know,” she answered, a little sadly. “But it’s no matter if I don’t.” A few great tears gathered in her eyes, saying it mattered a great deal and she felt like throwing herself down right there in the snow to cry. But that was not possible! She walked on quickly. The cool morning air invigorated and cheered her.
“We’ll get along somehow,” she said‚ and then she smiled as she remembered hearing of somebody who had said he was afraid he never would “get through,” being asked if he ever heard of anyone’s “sticking by the way!” “Yes, we shall get along; Rebecca seems to liven up lately, and Hatty grows older every day. Of course, she can’t be depended on. I hope she won’t jump up while I’m gone and let the baby fall off her lap as she does with her work and books.”
The fear of this made her quicken her steps and she hurried on, looking anxiously up the road until a sudden turn brought the group into full view. They were still at a distance, but she saw in a moment that something was the matter. Several men were in the middle of the road. They were lifting something. At first, she thought it was Joseph and his basket, but as she flew on panting, she saw that it was Arthur.
As she came forward, Joseph stretched forth his arms, and the other children all spoke at once in incoherent details. “Arthur,” and “a bad naughty man,” and “scared to death,” was all she could catch in the confusion until she came to the men in whose arms Arthur now lay, pale and quite senseless.
“Been run over,” said one of them, in answer to the question on her terrified face.
“Is he hurt much?” she forced herself to ask.
“Don’t know,” said the man. “Maybe he ain’t. He’s kind o’ stunned now. We’ll have a hand-sled here in a minute and take him home. There’ll be the doctor along, too.”
Lucy took Joseph from his basket and headed for home. He had not stopped screaming and kicking ever since the accident. She had enough presence of mind left in this great terror to know that her mother must not be alarmed.
“Stay with Arthur, John,” she said to the eldest boy and turned away. The other children followed after her, crying. She never knew how she got home with that heavy boy in her arms, but it seemed as if the winds took her up and carried her there. She opened the door and softly stepped in. On one side was the great kitchen; on the other the best room, used only on special occasions, now shut up, dark and cold. She opened the shutters and then stepped back into the kitchen.
“Is Mother still asleep?” she asked.
“No, she’s awake, and has the baby,” said Hatty.
“Come out here, both of you,” she whispered, returning to the entry. “Rebecca, will you help me bring down Arthur’s bed?” she spoke. “And, Hatty, you make a fire in the north room. And, Tom, you’ll stay and watch Mother; that’s a good boy, and don’t tell her anything has happened.”
There was authority in the trembling voice and the pale young face. Mechanically they all obeyed her. “What’s the matter?” cried Hatty as they hurried lightly up the stairs together.
“Something has happened to Arthur; I don’t know what exactly; but I’m sure he’s hurt badly. We need to get a bed ready for him, where we can take care of him without worrying mother. She would hear every sound overhead.” They had arranged the bed on the floor near the fire that Rebecca had speedily kindled, when Arthur was brought in.
“Don’t speak loudly, please,” said Lucy to the men. “Mother is sick.” She knelt by the unconscious boy.
“Where is he hurt?” she asked.
“On the head, I guess,” said one of the men. They withdrew to a window, where they whispered among themselves.
Lucy lifted the hair that had fallen over Arthur’s forehead and saw the dark purple bruise that disfigured it. “Will the doctor be here soon?” she asked again.
“Well, not very soon,” they answered. “The fact is, he’s gone five miles to see old Mrs. Lovejoy who was taken with a fit.”
“I must do something, then,” said Lucy, desperately. “Could a leech be got anywhere? And I wish Father would come.”
“What is it she says?” asked one of the men. “Is it a blood-sucker she wants? There’s a plenty of ’em handy nearby. But I never heard of drawing out a feller’s blood to bring him to life, when he’s as far dead as that boy.”
“I would like to try,” said Lucy, hesitatingly, her confidence in herself wavering, as this cold water was thrown on it.
The leeches were brought—great repulsive-looking things—fresh from a neighboring pond. Lucy had no time, or rather she would not let herself have time, to feel disgusted as she applied one of them to Arthur’s temple with a trembling hand. In a few minutes, the greedy creature had so well done its work that Arthur’s eyes slowly opened, and his lips murmured the word “Joseph.”
“He’s not hurt,” said Lucy, instantly comprehending the anxiety of the words. “Nobody is hurt but you, and you are getting better.”
“Here’s the doctor at last,” said one of the men, in a relieved tone. “Though it’s my opinion that girl’s as good, any day.”
The doctor examined Arthur carefully, encouraged the flow of blood, called for ice, and sent everybody except Lucy out of the room.
“How’s that young one in there?” he asked, indicating with his thumb the direction he wished to designate.
“Very well, I believe,” she answered. “Oh, why can’t he tell me how much Arthur is hurt?” she thought.
“Who put on that leech?” asked the doctor.
“I did, sir. Was it right?”
“First-rate,” he answered. “What time did you get up this morning?”
“I didn’t go to bed at all last night, Sir.”
“No, I thought you didn’t. And here you stand, looking like a ghost. Now, you go and lie down. I’ll stay with the boy. I’ll apply the ice when the blood has flowed a little longer, and I don’t need any help.”
“I can’t go until I know how much he’s hurt,” she said, gathering courage from her very fears.
“Then you won’t go this day,” he answered. “How can I tell how much he’s hurt?”
“Do you think any of his bones are broken?” she asked.
“No, they’re not,” said Arthur, once more opening his eyes.
“That’s right, my fine fellow,” said the doctor. “And now, Miss Lucy, off with you.” Lucy went, for she knew not how her mother had fared all this time. She found Rebecca engaged in a sharp conflict with Joseph, whom she was vainly trying to get to sleep.
“Give him a big piece of gingerbread,” said Lucy, hurrying to her mother’s room. And between eating his gingerbread, hugging it, and calling it his horse, Joseph soon fell asleep, and there was a lull in the tempest for two hours.
“I’m thankful you’ve come, dear,” said her mother, as Lucy entered. “The baby keeps crying, and I thought I heard a lot of talking and running, and began to think something had happened. But I’m always too anxious.”
“I was busy or I would have come sooner,” said Lucy. She dared not trust herself to say anything more but went on quietly to make both mother and child more comfortable. As soon as possible, she went in pursuit of Hatty, who had not been seen since Arthur had been brought in.
“Maybe she’s gone for Father,” said Tom. “May I get up now?” Lucy looked at him, not understanding the question.
“You told me to stay and watch Mother,” said Tom, “and I’ve been sitting here ever since.”
“You are a dear, good boy,” cried Lucy, stopping to kiss the round cheek that blushed at these words of praise.
“I mean to always be a good boy after this,” he said.
Lucy now stole into Arthur’s room. The doctor was preparing to go. He gave Lucy instructions, promised to look in again towards night, and went his way. Lucy longed to sit down by Arthur’s side and tell him how she loved him, and how it almost had broken her heart to see him lie there so lifeless and motionless. She wanted to tell him how she was sure it would break if he was very sick, and—but no, she could not think of that. The doctor had, above all things, directed quiet for Arthur, and she would not indulge herself with a word. She only knelt and kissed the dear, pale face, and then went to choose one of the children to sit in the sickroom. Hatty had come in after a fruitless search for her father, and begged hard to be allowed this privilege.
“I am afraid you’ll talk,” said Lucy.
“No, I won’t. I won’t say a word. I’ll sit just so. Look!”
Hatty tried to compose her face as Lucy looked at her but couldn’t. She burst into hysterical weeping, more violent from long suppression.
“You’re all tired out, poor child,” said Lucy. She led her upstairs and made her lie down, and she soon cried herself to sleep.
Everything failed Lucy. Her father could not be found. Hatty was laid up, useless. Her mother was helpless in bed. She felt she was needed everywhere at once. The little boys reminded her too, that there had been no dinner cooked, and Father would be hungry when he came in.
“I wish I could think,” she said, and told Tom that he had been so very good, she would let him go and sit by Arthur a little while. Tom was more than thankful. He came and threw his arms around her and almost choked her with embraces.
“Mother,” she said, looking pleasantly in at the door of the bedroom after Tom had gone, “you won’t believe how good the children are‚ Tom especially.”
“That comforts me,” returned her mother. “I was afraid they would be troublesome. As for Tom, nobody appreciates him. He needs encouragement, poor boy.”
Mr. Grant now came inside to dinner. He had been at a distance from the house all morning and had not heard of the accident. He went in to look at the baby a minute, and to speak a few kind words to his wife.
“The children are as good and quiet as possible,” she said, in answer to his question, “and I can’t help thinking as I lie here, how thankful we ought to be that we have such comfort in them. As for this baby, I’m sure we’ve never had so fine a child before. I shouldn’t wonder if he proved the staff of our old age.” Grave as he always was, and unused to merriment, Mr. Grant was moved by this speech to a peal of laughter that called every child within hearing to the door of the bedroom.
“The idea of discovering signs of a brilliant intellect in an infant not twenty-four hours old! Oh, you mothers! Your last baby is always a wonder!” he cried.
Mrs. Grant laughed too and looked fondly down at the small head on her arm.
“You’ll see I’m right this time,” she said.
Poor Lucy, she was so unused to seeing her father in anything like a joyous mood that she dreaded disturbing him now with the news of Arthur. Yet she knew he would miss the dear boy from the table, and there was no use delaying the news. She took him aside, therefore, and told it as gently as she could.
The old careworn expression that for a moment had been gone from his face, came back and settled itself down again like a great cloud. But he said not a word and went straight to Arthur’s side.
Lucy watched him as he stood there, and as her eye became accustomed to the darkness, she perceived that Hatty occupied a seat in a distant corner, where she was crying quietly.
“I thought you were upstairs asleep,” she whispered.
“I did sleep a little while,” said Hatty, “but I had such a terrible dream it woke me up, and I came down.”
Their father now drew Lucy from the room. “Give the children their dinner,” he said. “Don’t wait for me.”
“Oh, Father, try to eat a little,” said Lucy, “just to please us.”
“I am going to see Dr. White, and see what he thinks of Arthur,” he answered.
“But he will be coming in soon,” urged Lucy, “and it’s getting late, and you were up all night. Eat, dear Father!” He let her lead him to the table, and as he sat opposite her, he observed for the first time how pale she looked.
“I don’t know what will become of you,” he said. “You look already worn out.”
“Oh, no, Father. I was only frightened at first. Arthur looked so very pale. I thought once he was dead. And Mother being sick and you not at home!”
“She put a leech on Arthur her own self,” said Tom.
“A leech!” said her father. “Who told you to do that?”
“Nobody, Father, but I thought I must do something, and it seemed to me I had read somewhere that ought to be done.”
“Everything comes at once,” he answered despondingly.
“Oh, I was thinking what a mercy it wasn’t haying-time!” said Lucy. And now she had the comfort of seeing him smile.
When the doctor came at night, he seemed displeased with Arthur’s appearance, Lucy thought.
“Have you all been running in and out, crying and talking to him?” he asked. Lucy assured him the room had been quiet. “What are the plans for the night?” he continued.
“Lucy must not be up, at all events,” said her father.
“Definitely not,” said the doctor. “I was going to say that one of the young men who so unfortunately ran over Arthur has been anxiously inquiring about him; he proposes spending the night by his side. He has been used to sickness, and in fact, would suit me better than any ignorant woman you could hire tonight, at least.”
Dr. White always had things his own way; and though not one of the family liked to relinquish the care of Arthur to a stranger, no one dared object. Indeed, they all needed to have rest.
Lucy had learned from her mother’s example not to annoy a physician with questions. But she knew Dr. White well, and felt sure, from his manner, that he was anxious about Arthur. He always assumed a jesting, careless tone when his feelings were stirred, and Arthur had been his favorite for years. As he left the room with her father, her heart sank within her. Venturing to take one of Arthur’s hands gently in her own, she was startled to find it hot and dry, and amid the darkness of the room she thought she could detect an unnatural glow on his cheek. The tears fell on the hand she held, but Arthur did not heed them or notice her in any way.
She thought if he would speak to her once more, and say he loved her, she could lie right down and die with joy. But just as for years she had had no time for dreams, so now she had no time for grief. Taking the great weight with her, she returned to the family. She found Rebecca patiently submitting to the whims of Joseph, who had made up his mind not to go to bed until Lucy came to undress him. She took him, sending Rebecca to take Hatty’s place in the sick room, and sat down with him in a low chair. He willingly yielded to her.
“Has Joseph had his supper?” she asked.
“No, no,” said the child.
“He had a lot of supper,” said Tom. “I saw Rebecca give it to him.”
“He’s so sleepy he doesn’t know what he’s saying,” said Lucy, and she drew him up tenderly in her arms and carried him to his mother for a goodnight kiss. In a sleepy voice, he repeated to her as he glanced down at the baby by her side, “I big boy now!”
Lucy took him up to her room and made him comfortable in bed. She was in the habit of singing him to sleep, for he was still only a baby, despite his own opinion to the contrary. But now, when she began to sing her voice trembled and was choked with tears.
“This won’t do,” she said to herself. Rising from the bed where she had thrown herself beside Joseph, she clenched her hands almost fiercely together, and forced back her tears with a resolution that never failed when demanded. After this, stir as they might in her heart, there were no tears in her eyes. Joseph was soon soothed to sleep by the hymn she calmly sang to him. She went down to get tea ready, for it was quite late. She found Dr. White had not gone. He had been paying Arthur another visit, and had promised to stay to tea.
“I haven’t heard yet how this accident happened,” said Mr. Grant.
“Arthur was going up the road with one of the family in a basket on a sled. Miss Hatty, I suppose,” said the doctor, mischievously. “And two young men, strangers here, came behind in a sleigh, and their horses, frightened by the basket and its contents, became unmanageable. Arthur had time to run out of the way himself, but one of the children stood still, right in the way of the horses. Arthur flew back and caught the child but was somehow knocked down himself.”
“They were silly horses,” said Tom. “I wasn’t afraid of the basket a bit.” The doctor laughed.
“Your mind isn’t in a lively state tonight,” he said. “I guess it wants to go to bed.”
“No, it doesn’t,” said Tom. “I ain’t a-going to bed at all tonight. I’m going to sit up and take care of Arthur.”
Dr. White laughed again. Lucy wished he wouldn’t, and she hurried Tom nervously off to get wood for the fire.
This long day ended at last. The children were all in bed, their mother made comfortable for the night. Their father went with Lucy to take a last look at Arthur. The young man who had offered his services for the night sat by the bedside, and a single sentence from his lips assured them that the dear boy was in good hands.
“Such a voice comes from a kind heart,” whispered Mr. Grant, as he bade Lucy goodnight. “We may feel at ease, I think. And now, darling, do try to get some sleep.”
And poor Lucy went up to her room silently and prayed, but did not sleep.
