LOOSE ENDS
by JEAN REEDY
Ada Webster had a feeling of buoyance as she moved away from her body. Sights and sounds were crystal clear. Each mote in the shaft of sunlight, falling through the window pane, was sharply defined. Sounds of the small city came acutely to her ears. Sounds of laughter and talk and moving cars and busses. And closer, the rustle of a nurse's starched uniform, the soft closing of a door as she went out.
In the room, quiet sobbing.
Tenderly the two beside the bed reached for the sheet and together they covered the whole body.
Ada watched in amazement. Brother and sister! They had not seen each other since girl and boy days. Now they were crying in each other's arms.
Ada wished they would stop crying. Their crying made her feel guilty. As though she were the cause of their unhappiness. Was she softening toward Howard? She knew he was there before she left her body. Even then, in her semi-coma, she had resented his presence. How did he know? How did she sense his presence and know him? This tall, good looking man with more grey than black in his hair did not resemble the boy she had tried to forget. This well groomed man with the expensive clothes and the charm of Ben, his father, but without the marks of dissipation.
The old bitterness flared. Why had Howard come, after a lifetime of neglect? He'd soon know she left nothing. Anyhow, she would have lefthimnothing. She wished there were something for Ellie and her boys—and Ted. If just a few keepsakes. But there was nothing—nothing.
Ada looked at the body under the sheet. It was not as old as some, in years. Hard work rather than age had broken it down so that now it was bent and wrinkled. Why, she could see clear through it! There was the deformed hip bone! The one that had not been properly set after Ben threw her down the stairs in one of his drunken rages. She was quite young when that happened and all the rest of her life she walked with a limp.
"Never again, Ada," Ben sobbed. "Never again will I take a drink."
She knew then that he was too weak-willed to keep the promise. She also knew that she would always love him.
The babies had come too close. Howard. Several that she could not carry to the full. Two still-born. Then Ellie. The twins, both dying after a few weeks of sickly life. Doctor bills. Short rations. Ben, so abusive when out of work and drinking. Ben, so sweet when working and sober. Ben, who died in a charity ward many years ago.
It was before Ben died that Howard ran away from home.
"It's your fault, Ada," Ben accused when he sobered. "You took the money he earned with his paper route."
"My fault!" Ada screamed. "I didn't take all his money. It was little enough. I only took it when there was nothing in the house to eat."
"It's your fault. It's your fault," Ben repeated as though reciting a lesson to himself. He raised bleary eyes to her stormy ones. "You didn't tell him and he thought of it as stealing."
"He'll come back, Mother," said Ellie soothingly.
"He betternotcome back," said Ada, fiercely. "Running away from home! All this added disgrace! I had enough to bear before."
Howard never came back and Ada remembered how, in her stubborn bitterness, she would not allow the mention of his name.
Now she studied the knees under the sheet. Yes, the swollen joints were prominent. Scrubbing floors had done that to the knees that were once round and dimpled. She thought it was the only work for her after Ben died. She was not used to anything but housework.
Scrubbing floors was not bad. Without fear in the back of her mind she could laugh and joke with the other scrub women when they met to eat a midnight lunch in the tall building. She could sleep in her quiet room without fear of being rudely awakened to appease a befuddled man and guard against his attacks.
And she was independent!
When Ellie left her job as waitress to marry Ted Hayes they went into a small house, just around the corner from the rooming house where Ada lived.
"Come live with us, mother," said Ellie. "Ted wants you to."
"Oh, no!" Ada replied. "I'll have my own place, though itisonly one room."
It was some years ago that Ellie went around with the letter. That time stood out clearly for Ada. The young folks had not started their family early. Then there were two boys, Carl and Alfred. Sometimes Ellie brought the children to her mother's room. But that time she was alone.
Ellie was nervous and fidgety. "Mother, I want to tell you something," she said at last.
"Well, out with it," said Ada, impatiently.
Ellie drew the letter from her pocket. "Now don't flare up, Mother." She tried to laugh.
"Stop fussing and come to the point."
Ellie took the letter from the envelope. "It's another letter from Howard," she said timidly.
"Another!" cried Ada. "Have you heard from him before?"
"Y-y-yes. Please forgive him for leaving home and not writing for so long. H-he wants to take care of you. He wants you to stop working."
"How does he know I'm working?"
"I told him. And that you won't come with us because you think you'll be a burden on Ted. As if—"
"Oh! Squealing to your brother who did not write to us for half a life time. The trouble and worry he caused me when he ran away! Having the neighbors talk about us more than before! I'm ashamed of you, Ellie! Where's your spunk?"
Ada remembered how patient Ellie was that day. How hard she tried to explain. How she said: "Please! Howard wanted to make good before he let us hear from him. He has been working for an archeologist of late years. He travels all over the world with expeditions."
"Why didn't he say all this before?"
"He did. But I was afraid to tell you. You're so stubborn, Mother. Now you are getting old and I think you should—"
Even now Ada recalled the hot flush of anger that crept over her. "You take that letter out of here," she said.
"B-but—"
"If you ever mention his name again I'll forbid you to come here. And don't you forget it."
"I won't forget it." Ellie had gone out, her pointed chin as firmly set as her mother's.
That was the last mention of Howard and in Ada's senile years even the memory of him was blurred.
She studied the hands under the sheet. The knobby joints, the callus.
How clever those hands could have been!
Even in her first grades in school she loved to sketch. But there was no money to develop her talent.
And when Ben Webster came with his handsomeness and charm she didn't care about it.
But later her talent helped her through many dark hours. With it she could sometimes lighten fear and trouble by her own feeble attempts to create. A funny face would appear on a brown shopping bag. A white box lid became a winter scene. She remembered that in her floor scrubbing years there was a time when she worked in a school house. How tempting was the black-board when a piece of chalk had been carelessly left in the trough! Once she had almost completed a picture of a city street when a fellow employee poked her head around the half closed door.
Ada quickly smudged the picture with her floor cloth.
But the time came when shehadto stop work. No more would the old joints bend and stretch.
Then Ellie came to her room one evening with determination in her eyes. "I'm taking you to another home, Mother," she said, firmly.
Ada was too tired to protest. "Where?" she asked.
"Let's play a kind of game," said Ellie. "Close your eyes and I will lead you."
Like a child Ada agreed. Before they left the rooming house that had been her home for so many years she closed her eyes and put her wrinkled hand into Ellie's. "Is it far?" she asked, trustingly.
"Not far, Mother. Don't look until I say so."
"I promise," laughed Ada.
A short walk and around a corner. Ada kept her promise, even when going into another house and up the stairs.
Then Ellie said: "Open your eyes, Mother."
Ada looked and she was in the middle of a well lighted room. A thick carpet was on the floor, bright paper on the wall, a luxurious bed room suite, a roomy easy chair and beside it a radio.
"This is your room," Ellie said, softly.
Ada stared, speechless. Then Ted and Carl and Alfred crowded into the room.
Ada's gaze went from one familiar face to the other before she realized that she was in the front room of their house.
Once more flared the old independence. "B-but—all this. You can't afford all this," she protested.
Ted put his arm around her shoulders. "A fellow can get a raise."
What blessed comfort to the old bones was the soft mattress, compared to the lumpy one in her recent quarters. The fine wool blankets, compared to the rough scratchy ones. The quilted gown to keep her cozy when sitting on the big chair. The fleece-lined slippers for her bunioned feet.
And now the last year stood out clearly. She had been in the comfortable bed most of the time and there was a white clad nurse to give her the best of care. There was no pain—just weakness. Frequently there appeared a doctor. And the tray, filled with delicacies! Everything she craved, in and out of season.
Like a child she had taken all this for granted but with great enjoyment.
Now Ellie and Howard went slowly out of the room and Ada moved with them. She realized that only a few minutes had passed since she began to examine the body and bring it up to date.
The small living room on the first floor was cheerful with late sunshine. Ellie partly closed the Venetian-blinds so that the corners of the room were shadowed.
Howard went to the settee. "Let's talk a while, Sis," he said. "It's been so long."
Ellie sat beside him. "All right. The boys will be home from school soon and Ted gets home from work in an hour. That will be time enough to make arrangements."
"I'll take care of the expenses," said Howard.
"Oh, thank you. But you've done so much."
"I can afford it. I wanted to—"
"I know." Ellie patted her brother's hand. "We had to trick her so that you could do for her. It's too bad but that's the way it had to be. We could never have given her the luxuries you provided."
To Ada the voices had a metallic sound, like the tinkle of silverbells. So Howard was the one! He had taken care of her after all! No, if she had known, her stubborn pride would not have allowed it. Somehow, pride did not figure now. She knew that she had lost a lot through false pride. The anger she had felt toward Howard was not there now—only regret.
Ellie's voice went on. "I'm sorry mother was so far gone. I thought she might rally and know you at the end."
"I came as soon as I got your wire," said Howard, sadly. "I'm glad I was in this country. It's just as well she didn't know me. She didn't want to see me." Then he brightened. "I'm so anxious to see your boys. How old did you say they are?"
"Carl is twelve and Alfred is fourteen."
"Are they doing well in school?"
"Fair. Enough to get by. Like average boys. But Alfred—I don't know."
"What about Alfred?"
"He has a talent for sketching. Wants to go into commercial art. It's funny, neither Ted nor I can draw a straight line. Ted wants Alfred to learn a trade. He says we can't afford to give the boys extra advantages. We still have a mortgage on this house. Ted had an operation and lost a lot of time at the factory. It's always something."
Howard reached for his sister's hand. "Don't discourage the boy," he said, "You folks are all I've got. I'll see that the boys get their chance, if you and Ted will let me."
"Oh, Howard, you're sweet." Ellie brushed tears from her eyes.
Ada moved closer. She should have known about Alfred's talent but she was always too tired to take an interest in the boy's studies. Yes, Howard would take care of it. Butshehad planted the seed ofhertalent in Alfred. She had left something after all! And, through her going, Howard would be close to this family for the rest of their lives.
"I can't believe I am back here after all those years," said Howard, dreamily. "When I first left I was very homesick. But I could see no future in this town. What chance did drunken Ben Webster's kid have here? Yet, I knew that if I wrote to Mother and gave her a chance to coax me back, I would come.
"I had ambition and I did not want to destroy it by coming back here. I didn't know what I wanted to do then. But I knew that some day I would find it." He searched Ellie's face. "Do you understand that, Sis?"
"Yes. I think so."
Ada understood also. The tinkling sound of his voice was like the breaking of fine glass. The words came clear and almost before they were spoken she had their meaning. The bitterness was ebbing and in its place there was admiration.