Chapter IX: Not So Bad

RESENTMENT at Todd's declaration that "it was all a mistake," and that "he hadn't meant to marry nobody," gave Marigold a good deal of help in casting aside overmuch thought of him. Had he been grieved and disappointed only, she would have been grieved too; and he might have retained his power over her; but now Marigold's womanly self-respect was up in arms.

Some girls seem to have no womanly self-respect at all, but Marigold happily was not deficient in this direction. If Todd counted it "all a mistake" that he had wanted to marry her, she would let nobody suppose that she wanted him. If Todd did not care for her, then she would not care for him.

Of course in a measure she did care; though to her surprise, by no means so much as she would have expected. Todd had managed to win her liking, but not to stir her feelings deeply. That might have come later, had the affair been allowed to go on. At present it was mainly a question of gratified vanity, and of escape from home troubles. Wounded vanity was the best possible antidote to the former; and as for the latter, home troubles had lessened.

Marigold found her time and thoughts much occupied with her stepmother; so much, that for hours together she often forgot Todd's very existence—a sure proof that her affections were not profoundly engaged.

Mrs. Plunkett suffered much, and was weighed down by anxious depression, as well as weakness. But from the day when she allowed herself to speak out to Marigold, there was an extraordinary cessation of the extreme irritability. She reverted suddenly to her old self; the kind and amiable self, which they had known for three months only. She no longer struggled to keep up, or to do work for which she was utterly unfit.

Marigold might arrange matters as she chose, and Mrs. Plunkett offered no opposition. It was easy now to be gentle and kind to one so passive; and love, no longer receiving a slap in the face at every other step, sprang into being, with a promise of rapid growth.

"I'm sure I can't think how ever it was you seemed so different, Marigold, till these last few days," Mrs. Plunkett said musingly one afternoon.

She had not come down till the middle of the day, and was suffering a good deal; but her face, though yellow and drawn, had lost much of its acidity. "Why, nothing I could do pleased you, and yet you're as good to me now—"

"Mother! Why, nothing I could do pleased you," broke from the surprised Marigold.

Mrs. Plunkett cast a puzzled glance backward.

"I'm sure I don't know," she said. "I know I used to feel so dreadful bad, I didn't know how to drag through the days; and I could have flown out at anybody. The day we went to the beasts' show—oh, dear! Part of the time I could get along; and then the pain came on, till it turned me sick, and I didn't half know what I was about, and the thought of going home all alone—oh dear me!"

"Mother, if you only had told! We thought you were just cross and vexed about something," said Marigold, tears in her eyes.

"I wasn't. I thought it as nice as could be of you to ask me to go—and if only I could have kep' on!—But it did seem hard, when I felt so awfully ill, to have all of you thinking of nothing but them snakes. And the pain was so bad."

"Oh, mother, if you only had told me!"

"Well, I see now that I had ought to—but I didn't feel as if I could. I thought you'd dislike me more than ever. I know you better now, Marigold!"

"Somebody outside. There's the bell, mother!"

And when Marigold opened the front door, she found Mrs. Heavitree, with a grave middle-aged gentleman, whom she at once guessed to be the expected Dr. Wilton.

"Mrs. Plunkett in, Marigold? I have come with my brother to pay her a little visit. Say only that," added Mrs. Heavitree softly.

Marigold obeyed with a grateful look, and the four were soon chatting pleasantly. Mrs. Plunkett was somewhat flustered, but also pleased. The doctor at first talked to Marigold; then he made his way to a seat by Mrs. Plunkett, and drew her into conversation.

"Marigold, I want to speak to you in another room," said Mrs. Heavitree, rising. "My brother will wait here."

Dr. Wilton made a gesture of assent, and Mrs. Plunkett showed no disapproval. She did not know him yet to be a doctor; but his kind manner won confidence immediately, and already she had begun to talk almost freely about herself and Marigold.

"That is well," Mrs. Heavitree said, when they were in the next room. "My brother will manage all the rest."

The interview was a long one; much longer than Marigold would have expected. Mrs. Plunkett's raised tones came from time to time through the door; while Dr. Wilton's low-voiced answers were inaudible.

At length, after what seemed to Marigold an interminable time, the door opened; Dr. Wilton could be heard to say "Good-bye," and with a quiet step, he entered.

"Well?" Mrs. Heavitree asked.

"Not so bad as you have all feared," he said. "It is—not cancer."

"Oh!" Marigold clasped her hands.

"A severe case of tumour, and it must be removed. But, once removed, she may enjoy good health. I should have little fear of its return."

"Then the former opinion was a mistake," said Mrs. Heavitree.

"Yes."

"You don't know who she went to see?"

"She told me. Not a medical man at all, in fact. A passing quack—nothing more. Extraordinary how people will take the opinion of anybody and everybody on such a question!"

"Will she submit to the operation?" asked Mrs. Heavitree, and Marigold's face asked the same question eloquently.

"At first she said not. I reasoned the matter with her. Some measure of risk must exist, of course, in such a case; but there is every probability that she would bear it well, and would enjoy excellent health afterwards. If she goes on in her present state, life cannot be lengthened many months. A year or two at most."

"And she gave in?"

"Entirely. She will, of course, go to the hospital. I shall see her again before I leave; and I have promised that you and her daughter will make all arrangements."

"I don't know how to thank you, sir," said Marigold, with difficulty. "It is so very very kind!"

The doctor smiled as he went off, and Marigold hastened to her stepmother. She found Mrs. Plunkett sobbing.

"Not as I mind. 'Tain't that!" said Mrs. Plunkett. "It's the relief. I never knowed what a weight it was on me, till now it's gone. Why, I feel as if anything else was nothing almost! I did say I'd never go to a hospital, and be in the hands of all them doctors. But if they're like Dr. Wilton, I'm sure I won't mind. He is kind! I never saw a kinder person, not in all my life. And understands like as if he'd got it himself. Oh, dear me! To think it isn't that, after all; and to think I may be quite well again. Yes, I'd bear some'at to get strong as I used to be. And he says he thinks I ought. It ain't but little risk, he says; and t'other way, if nothing is done, it means death. He don't think I'd ought to throw away my life, if there's a good chance of saving it. And I said I'd do what he thought right."

"Oh, mother, I can't tell you how glad I am."

"Well, I do believe you are," said Mrs. Plunkett. "I do believe you won't be sorry if I get well. A while back I'd have thought you wouldn't have been best pleased—not any of you. But it's different now. And I don't mean to get back into cross ways, nor to vex your father, nor to have things all in a mess, no more. It is nice, the house being kep' tidy, as you do now; and I'll see and go on with it."

"I'm sure you will," said Marigold affectionately. "And you'll let me be a help to you?"

"You ain't going to marry that Todd?"

"No! Never!" said Marigold, with firmness. Only the evening before, she had herself seen Todd reeling down the street in a tipsy condition—a shameful sight! He had shouted rudely after Marigold. And with burning cheeks she had thought, "That is the man I would have married!" No, never! Never! If her mind had not been already made up, this would have settled the matter.

"I'm glad. He wouldn't have made you a good husband—I know that! And you're too young—ever so much too young. When I come home, I'll like to have you with me—." She paused, and added, "If I ever do come home."

"Mother, Dr. Wilton didn't seem afraid."

"No; he said he wasn't, and he thought it was the right thing to do. But he said he couldn't be sure. People don't always get through—only he'd great hopes I should."

"And then you know, we shall be praying for you," said Marigold softly. "Narcissus and me, and I'm sure Mrs. Heavitree will."

"Yes, I know that," said Mrs. Plunkett. "I like to think it. And I want you to read to me every day till I go. The doctor says I'm to be in the hospital in a week or two. He don't want it put off long. And I'm frightened when I think of that. I want to learn how to trust that I shall be taken care of all through—and then I shan't be so afraid."

Marigold did read every day, as Mrs. Plunkett wished; and sometimes in her simple way, she would speak about the great kindness and love of God, and about the living presence of Christ in days of trouble. Mrs. Plunkett would drink in such words with positive thirst, feeling her need of help. Mr. Heavitree also came in two or three times, and his visits "gave her a sort of lift," she said afterwards. One way or another comfort seemed to be sent, just when it was most needed; and as the day drew near, when she would have to leave home, her dread distinctly lessened. She actually went at last with a smile on her face; and Marigold's first visit to the hospital, two days later, found her the cheerier of the two.

Then came days of suspense for others, gradually lightening as the operation proved to be a successful one. Weeks of tardy recovery followed, not lacking drawbacks, but on the whole satisfactory, and the doctors gave every hope of a complete and permanent restoration.

Nearly three months of absence drew at length to an end, and Mrs. Plunkett returned home, not yet strong, but no longer a sufferer.

"It's like beginning a new life," she said.

Marigold had decorated the little parlour with flowers, and had prepared quite a festive meal, in honour of her arrival; and Narcissus had been spared from the Vicarage for several hours. Mrs. Plunkett seemed quiet and dreamy, as if a little bewildered with the change from a hospital ward; but the old acidity of expression had given place to a look of steady happiness.

"It's like beginning a new life," she repeated. "And I hope it's going to be new—some ways. I hope I ain't going back to old ways. I've had a deal of time to think, lying there."

"Dare say you won't be none the worse," suggested Plunkett.

"No," she said. "I hope I shan't, nor the girls neither. I'd like to be a better friend to them than I was before I left; and a better wife to you. And most of all, I'd like to serve God truer. I thought I was going to leave you all; and now He's put me back into life; and I'd like to make a good use of my time. That's what I want."

"Ain't a bad wish, neither," said her husband; while Narcissus looked with touched and wondering eyes towards the speaker, and Marigold murmured:

"That's what I want, too."

LORIMER AND GILLIES, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.