CHAPTER XIV
Backin her house she set to work on her curtains, cutting the cheese cloth in lengths, and hemming it with long, even stitches. It did not take long and her fingers flew rapidly. She was always a fast worker on whatever she took up, and her thoughts kept pace with her work. Suppose Mrs. Bryant should find out that it was still possible for her to take her examinations! Suppose she got a school here! Could she live in the little house all winter? How would she get heat? And light? She would have to work and study in the evenings! How many problems there were to meet when one dropped away from a home and provided it for oneself!
There were strings enough around the packages to run in the hems and hang the curtains, but the windows had to be washed before the curtains could be put up, so Joyce ran over to the store for a few more purchases. A broom, a scrubbing-brush, soap, a galvanized pail and a sponge. She had no rags but a sponge was wonderful for paint and windows. Then a bright thought came to her and she asked if they had any boxes for sale. They took her down to the cellar where were boxes and barrels of all sizes and shapes. She selected several boxes and two nice clean sugar barrels, besides two delightful boxes with lids swinging on tiny hinges. These would make wonderful closets for her china when she got some. She had to pay ten cents apiece for them.
It was noon when she got back, and all the whistleswere blowing. She lighted her little alcohol can and heated the can of vegetable soup. This with crackers and a banana for dessert made a fine meal and while she was clearing it away the boy from the grocery brought over her boxes and barrels, and the place began to assume a look of furniture. Mrs. Bryant came to the door with a roll of old rags as the boy went away.
“I thought you might like some cloths for cleaning,” she said, stepping in at the door. “I have such quantities, so I brought some.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Joyce, “I was wondering if I could make my windows shine with newspapers. Now I won’t have to try. Won’t you come in and sit down. Here’s a nice clean box.”
“No thank you,” declined the lady stepping back with a glance of approval around the little room and at the window where Joyce had tacked up a finished curtain to try it. “I’m on the committee for serving the luncheon at the Ladies’ Aid today and I have to hurry. We serve at one and it’s almost that now, but I saw your goods coming in and I thought you might need these so I just ran in. I left the teakettle on and you can just turn it out when you are done. How cosy you are going to be! This is a real cute little house. Well, I must run along.”
Joyce drew a long breath as she watched her go. “Goods.” She glanced at the barrels and boxes amusedly. So she had thought these were her goods. What would she say if she knew she had no goods in the world? And she had so hoped to get the little room looking habitable before there were any visitors. Well, the woman hadn’tnoticed the lack of furniture, and perhaps she would be able to do something about it before she came again.
She changed her serge dress for the new gingham apron, got the hot water and went happily to work scrubbing with all her might. In a short time the place was smelling sweetly of soap-suds and gleaming with the whiteness of the paint. Evidently there had not been much wear and tear on the inside of the place since it was painted, for when the dirt was washed off it came out nice and clean. There was an advantage too in having a small place. It did not take long to clean it. The five windows and the door were soon finished, and then she swept and scrubbed the floor, and put up her curtains.
She stood back when the last tack was driven with a sigh of satisfaction and looked around. It certainly did look cheerful and pretty. She could imagine being quite happy in this pretty place. Now there must be some inner curtains to draw when night came on and screen her from the passers-by. They could be of cretonne and there would have to be five-cent rods for them, so that she could draw them back and forth. How many things there were to buy! Perhaps she could find some cheap cretonne and get enough for a curtain across one end to screen her bed from view until she could manage to get one that was respectable. Beds cost a great deal, even just cot beds, she knew for she had bought one once for a poor family at Aunt Mary’s request. Then there was a mattress and pillows. So many, many things to buy. But there would be a way. See, how her money had increased as fast as she had spent it. Could she trust that such care would continue until she had an income? And theold chant from the beloved Bible story of childhood went over again in her head: “And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord.”
Joyce was not a modernist. She had been taught to believe the Bible literally, and found no difficulty with miracles. She was not dumb nor ignorant. She knew that the academic world was largely inclined to put aside all that was miraculous, and to doubt everything that they had not seen happen in every-day life; but she looked upon such as souls who had not chosen to accept God’s way of proof, the proof that comes to the soul of every true believer who takes God at His word, and cannot doubt because He knows. Miracles never had bothered her, because if God could makeanythingwhy couldn’t He make or do anything else? She had once heard a wonderful man who came to Meadow Brook to preach say that mystery was something that God knew but didn’t tell right away, and ever after that the mysteries that she found in the Scriptures had been but more beautiful to her. They never troubled her nor made her doubt. She was a bright girl with a more than ordinary mind and a fair education, but she accepted the things of the kingdom as a little child and when some one pointed out to her a spot that seemed a contradiction to facts as she knew them she would smile and say, thenshehad made some mistake, not God, and not His word. That was how Aunt Mary brought her up. More and more as Aunt Mary drew nearer to the end of this life and saw how miserably she had failed to teach her own son heavenly things did she yearn to give this dear girl somethingsubstantial to stand upon when all else failed. And if she had not left Joyce anything else she had left her a great Faith in the living God and in His Word.
But it was growing late in the afternoon and Joyce was weary. The night was coming on again and the question of light had not been settled. Perhaps she had better run over and get some candles and a few more things for supper. She was hungry as a bear, and the can of soup seemed a forgotten dream.
So she went to the store again, and when she came back and had eaten some sandwiches of dried beef and bread and butter and drunk some milk she felt better, and set to work to arrange her box furniture to advantage.
There were the two barrels. They were to make easy chairs, one for herself and one for any possible company that might come in. They would have to wait to materialize until she could buy material to upholster and cover them, and until she had time to work over them. They would need sawing. Oh, they must wait, but when they were finished they would stand here, and here—she wheeled them into place. And right here between them should stand a table—she placed the biggest square box there, and imagined a lamp with a pretty shade, and some magazines lying on it.
The two boxes with hinged lids she nailed to the wall in the corner she called her diningroom and kitchen. These were her china closets. She carefully placed her paper cups and plates in one and arranged the cracker box, the milk bottle and other supplies in the other. Somehow she must manage shelves for them. There weresome loose bits of boards in one box. These would make shelves if she could manage to borrow an old saw.
In the corner beyond the window next her bed she placed another box for a dressing table. Some day she would drape it in chintz and get a looking glass to hang over it. Chintz or cretonne was really one of the next things she needed. There must be a curtain to shut off her bedroom. She did not want everybody to know she was sleeping on a paper bed, and a curtain would give a little privacy. Besides, she must curtain off a small corner for a closet.
She was suddenly interrupted in her meditations by a tap at her door.
“I wondered if you were here yet,” said Mrs. Bryant as she opened the door, “No, I can’t come in, I’ve got to run back and start supper. But I just stepped over to tell you Mrs. Powers, the lady that lives in the big brick colonial with tulips in the yard, perhaps you’ve noticed it—she was at the Ladies’ Aid today and was going on something terrible about how she was going to have company from Baltimore tomorrow, and her maid had gone away sick yesterday and isn’t coming back for a week. She had telephoned in town for a maid but they couldn’t get her any she would have and she didn’t know what to do. She said her friend hadn’t seen her in a long time and she wanted to take her around in the car and she just didn’t see how she was to cook dinner too. Well, she seemed so distressed and all that I finally up and told her how you helped me out last night. I don’t know’s you’ll like it, but she seemed so interested that I went on and told her all about you, how you were a teacher, andyou’d bought this little house and were going to teach school in the fall, and then she looked awfully disappointed and said: ‘Oh, she’s a teacher, is she? Then I don’t suppose she’d be willing to help me out, would she?’ And I said, well, no, I didn’t suppose you intended doing things like that, that you were a perfect lady, but you might do it once for accommodation. I finally said I’d tell you anyhow. She said if you would come she’d gladly pay you five dollars for cooking dinner, and if you were willing to wait on the table too why she’d pay ten. I really hated to tell you about it after I’d promised, but you can do as you like.”
“Why, I’d be glad to help her,” said Joyce pleasantly, “and I’d like to wait on the table too. I really want to earn the money of course, and while I don’t think I want to be a cook for life, still I don’t see that it’s going to hurt me to cook a few dinners for other people. I’ve had to do it in my own home a good many times.”
“Well, I didn’t know how you’d feel about it. I think it’s fine of you. Some folks are so kind of proud nowadays. But I somehow thought you were sensible.”
“Well, what should I be proud about?” laughed Joyce. “I haven’t any reputation here to lose anyway, and if people want to think less of me because I know how to cook they can.”
“Well, I say you’re a real fine girl. So that’s settled, and I’m kind of glad, for her husband’s on the school board, and if she wants to she can do a lot for you. You run right in the house and call her up. Her number is 95 and her name is Powers. I told her you’d call.”
Joyce ran in to the telephone and came out smiling in a moment:
“Thank you ever so much, Mrs. Bryant. This will help me out a lot. I’ve just been thinking of a good many things I want to get and I wasn’t sure I ought to spare the money. Now I can get them right away. I’m to go to her at twelve o’clock and stay till after the dishes are washed. Which way did you say she lives?”
After most explicit directions had been given Joyce went back to her house and flew at the bundle of chintz with swift fingers. There was about three hours of daylight left—the evenings were long this time of year—and she must use every minute of them for she must have a thin dress to work in and she did not want to burn a light and show that she was staying nights in the place until she had things looking a little more comfortable, both because she did not want any one to offer her charity, and because she did not care to have them all know how poverty-stricken she really was.
She folded her material crosswise in the middle and spread it upon the driest place on her cleanly scrubbed floor. Then she laid her blue serge smoothly down upon it with the shoulders to the fold and the kimona sleeves stretched toward the selvages. The material reached below the serge far enough for a good hem, and guided by her serge dress she took her sharp, new scissors and carefully cut out a straight little simple slip of a dress.
She had cut many a dress before, on Aunt Mary’s big diningroom table with a box of shining pins and a tried and true pattern to guide her. But she knew the lines of a simple dress well enough and she could not seehow she could go far astray in her cutting. It had to be long enough and wide enough for it was as big as her blue serge. So she clipped away, and soon had a dress cut out, making the neck line only a curved slit until she should try it on.
Then she sat down and ran up the two side seams on the right side and slipped it on to try it. Of course she had no mirror but she managed to get a vague glimpse of herself in the closed lattice of her window. It needed a little taking in under the arm, but the rest seemed all right, and she slipped it off again and sat down to make the changes and French the seams. Another trial and the fit was found to be better. She hunted out her pins and turned up the hem. This she found rather a hard proposition, but after several takings off and readjustings it seemed to swing evenly.
She was growing tired, and her back began to ache with sitting on the hard box after her day of scrubbing and curtain making. She wondered if she could keep at it much longer?
With a weary impulse she flung her paper bed out in the corner and threw herself down upon it.
For almost ten minutes she forced herself to lie and relax, trying to think of nothing and really rest. Then the clock on some distant building struck eight, and she roused up, suddenly aware that she had but a few more minutes of daylight and that if she lay here she would soon be asleep. She simply did not dare leave all that sewing till morning. She must have a neat, washable dress ready by twelve o’clock in which to work. So she stood up and tried to cut out the neck of her frock as best shecould, wishing all the time for a big mirror. She finally got out the two-inch bit of glass belonging to her handbag and inspected her work, deciding it would have to do. Then she caught up a newspaper and cut and experimented until she had a pattern for a simple collar to fit the neck of her dress. This she cut from the half-yard of organdie, also cutting organdie cuffs to fit the short sleeves.
It was quite dusky now in her little room and she had to take the pieces of chintz that came off the sides of the dress out on her front step to see what she was doing. Here she cut from the longest piece a string belt, and several long strips of bias binding about an inch wide. Then rolling up these with the organdie collar and cuffs, her scissors, thimble, needle and thread, she put on her serge dress and hat and hurried down the street. She had thought of a way to work a little longer that night without burning a light. She would just sit in the station waiting room a little while and sew.
The soft evening breeze of the out-of-doors revived her weary body and she felt quite cheered and happy. To think, she was going to earn a whole ten dollars in one afternoon and evening! Here was her Father providing her with more money again just when she had discovered so many things she had to buy, that it overwhelmed her. The “barrel of meal and the cruse of oil” again! How wonderful it was!
When she reached the station, however, her plans seemed balked for the station itself was closed and dark. There was a bench, however, down along the platform under a shed-like roof, and a great arc light glowed above it. People were walking back and forth too as if waitingfor a train, so Joyce sat down at one end of the bench and took out her bit of sewing. No one noticed her and her swift fingers had soon run on the bias bands around collar and cuffs, and turned down the binding smoothly. She just loved the hemming of them down. It was like a bit of fancy work, and they looked so pretty—the blue edging the sheer white. Of course the dress could have been bound around neck and sleeves without the white collar and cuffs but this touch of prettiness made it look more comely, and she must remember her appearance if she was to hope to get a school around here sometime. Mrs. Bryant had given her the reputation of a lady and she must keep it up, even if it meant a little more work for her.
By the time the half past nine train had gone she had the organdie bound, and was sewing up the string girdle. She lingered only until the seams were run up before she gathered up her things and hurried back to her little dark house. It was growing lonely on the station platform, and she did not like to stay any longer, but she could turn the girdle inside out in the dark by the help of a safety pin, and then everything would be ready for morning. She would only have to hem the skirt and put on the collar and cuffs.
Sitting in the dark on her box she found a safety pin in her handbag and, fastening it in the end of the girdle, began pushing it through, and when it was turned all the way, creased it carefully and smoothed it between her fingers till it almost looked as if it were ironed flat. Then she took off her serge dress, put on her gingham apron and lay down under her paper blankets for anothernight’s sleep, too weary to do more than thank her Heavenly Father for keeping her so far. As she drifted away into sleep she heard a soft, sweet voice, like a pleasant melody in her soul, Aunt Mary’s voice long ago, saying over the golden text from Sunday School, over and over again till she learned it, “And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord.”
“I must have a Bible,” she said to herself dreamily. “I wish I had brought mine along.”