 | XI Steadfast Falters |  |
11. XI
The sun was just rising behind the tall buildings in Brooklyn the next morning when Fairfax jumped from a taxi at the wharf of the French line. Picking his way through the bustling throng of porters, he boarded the vessel, went at once to his stateroom, undressed, and went to bed. They were well past Fire Island when he awoke, to hear the rhythmic throb of the engines as the boat plowed her way through the deep waters.
With a feeling that for the present he had done as much as lay in his power, he turned over and went to sleep again. He dreamed that the boat had been sunk by a torpedo, and that Betty, dressed in a torn, bloodstained khaki uniform, was standing on a miraculously floating stretcher, holding out her hands in an effort to save him as he struggled in the water.
In a base hospital somewhere in France, Betty, oblivious to the commotion her disappearance had caused, toiled night and day, stilling the pain of her heart by the ministrations of her hands. It was trying, nerve-racking work, which made demands on heart and sympathies as well as on muscles, and which sent her to bed so nervously and physically exhausted that she perforce must sleep. But at times, when she was on night duty, and the occupants of her ward were quiet, a feeling of desolation crept over her that made her gaze almost enviously at some gaunt form in a near-by bed on whose face dwelt that expression of aloofness which showed that he was nearing the shadow-land.
It was after one of those night-watches that Dr. Townsend stopped her in the corridor as she was on her way to her room.
As Cary had said, she had known the doctor well in New York, and the fact that he was in charge of the hospital had been one of the reasons for her acceptance of Mrs. Andrews's suggestion. It had also influenced Mrs. Andrews in making the offer to Betty; for, knowing the man and his admiration for Betty, she realized that the girl would be well looked after. Indeed, she hoped that, in time, in the close association of the work, the feeling which she knew existed at least on Townsend's side might develop into a stronger attachment which would solve the girl's difficulties.
That she had been right in her predictions was apparent from the look of concern on the doctor's face as he laid a detaining hand on Betty's arm.
"Are we working you too hard, Miss Crosby?" he asked solicitously.
"No, indeed"; she answered with an attempt at lightness. "Work is what I came over for!"
"I know, but we don't want to overdo it. You look mighty thin to me!" His eye ran over the almost ethereal lightness of the girl's figure.
"I wasn't exactly portly when I arrived!" laughed Betty.
"No, I know," he said sympathetically. His eyes came back to hers with a look of more than concern. "But I can't run any risk of your breaking down."
Betty's eyes dropped.
"No fear of that," she answered resolutely. "I wouldn't allow myself to give out,
"It's been play since you came!" answered Townsend softly. "You've filled the whole place with sunshine, and it seems now as if I couldn't get tired. You've been an inspiration as well as a help!"
A deep flush spread over Betty's face.
"It's awfully good of you to be so encouraging," she answered gratefully; "for, of course, I realize that I must have failed horribly in my work."
"Failed nothing!" retorted Townsend emphatically. "I can tell you that your deft ways and the sight of your sweet face have helped many a man to endure without a word tortures that have wrung his soul! And I — well, I simply can't get along without you! "
The words sounded extravagant, and Betty raised her eyes with a little laugh to his; but the expression on his face caused the laugh to die on her lips.
"Tell me I won't have to do without you!" he entreated, coming a step nearer to her.
But Betty shrank from him and put out her hand, palm outward.
"Oh, please — please!" she pleaded.
"But, my darling" — the strong hand closed over hers — "I love you! Don't you think in time you could — "
Elizabeth quickly drew away her hand.
"Oh, not now, not now!" she breathed tremulously. "I couldn't possibly, yet!"
She sped up the stairs to her room and, flinging herself face down on her bed, sobbed convulsively.
With the assistance of Major Barry's letters, which seemed to have the effect of magic in making difficult paths straight, Fairfax, one afternoon about ten days later, found himself wending a tortuous way from Paris in the direction of a great smoke-cloud which hung pendent from the sky. In and out of the many vehicles that blocked the road, his chauffeur picked a way past huge sign-posts, devastated fields marked with mounds bearing little wooden crosses and soldiers' caps, streams swarming with bathing soldiers, their horses lining the banks and drinking their fill.
The air was choking with dust, white and fine, that sifted through and into everything, covering all, yet never seeming to rest. Nearer and nearer to the great smoke-cloud they drew, an incessant booming as of thunder roaring in their ears. Under the cloud Fairfax could see the flash of mighty guns, whose concussion shook the earth with terrific power.
A sharp scream rang in their ears, and a great black object hurled itself past them and buried itself violently in a deep, self-made grave. Cary involuntarily ducked and grasped the side of the car, while the chauffeur grinned sardonically at him over his shoulder.
They entered the remains of a village. Tom houses, piles of brick and mortar, debris of every kind lay scattered about. Desolation and ruin even more marked than that of the forlorn countryside through which they had passed emphasized the destruction the war had brought.
The chauffeur stopped the car before a long, low building over which floated the Red Cross flag. Fairfax jumped out and, entering the doorway, arrested a young man who was dashing through the hall. His hands were full of dressings, and he hardly paused long enough to hear Cary out.
"Miss Crosby?" he repeated breathlessly. "Can't say, I'm sure, whether you can see her or not. We're rushed to death this morning. Three hundred wounded came in last night, and we've none of us had any sleep. I'll see if she can be spared for a few minutes."
He vanished up the steep stairs, leaving Fairfax waiting impatiently in the bare hall, breathing that indescribable atmosphere of suffering induced by the pungent smell of anesthetics and disinfectants. Through half-closed doors he saw endless rows of closely packed beds, and in each a figure swathed in bandages, the same look of patient suffering carved on each face. Outside, the continuous bursting of shells — dangerously near, Fairfax thought — caused his nerves to twitch spasmodically.
He heard a light step behind him, and, turning, saw a slender figure in the uniform of a Red Cross nurse coming toward him. At first he did not recognize the pale face that looked out from under the white head-dress with its little red emblem. It was only when Betty smiled and stretched out her hand that he saw that it was she.
"Betty!" he exclaimed, clasping her hand in both of his.
"How did you find me?" she asked quietly.
"I learned from Tony Page, at the Sussex Club. He was telling how you saved his life. I was waiting for the major and happened to overhear him — it was by the merest chance. Betty, why did you do it?"
"What?" asked Betty innocently, the shadow of a smile flitting over her face.
Cary dropped her hand abruptly.
"Why did you go off like that and not let any of us know?"
"I didn't think any one would care particularly."
Her tone was hard and cold.
"Care?" repeated Fairfax in a puzzled way. "Care? Why, what do you mean?"
"Come in here." Betty turned to a little room, half office, half reception-room, which happened to be empty. "Just as I say, I didn't think any one would care."
Fairfax looked at her gravely. Great shadows encircled her eyes, and her shoulders drooped wearily.
"Not your uncle or aunt, or Major Barry" — he paused — "or I?"
Betty's chin quivered.
"Dear Uncle Tod!" she murmured regretfully. "Did he worry?"
Fairfax took a restless turn up and down the room.
"Really, Betty," he said severely, "I don't think you've been overkind!"
Betty looked out of the window at the ruins on every side. Then she turned back to Fairfax.
"If I'd told Uncle Tod, he would have told Uncle George, who would have insisted on my coming back to New York, and that I'm not going to do!" Again she looked out of the window, a rebellious light in her eyes. "I suppose he knows all about it now?" she asked impatiently.
"I don't know what the major has done since I left," answered Cary stiffly. "I started a few hours after I heard — "
"Why did you come?" asked Betty calmly; but behind the quiet words and tone lay an inexorable resolve.
The face before her was like stone.
"To take you home!"
"Home? Home?" answered Betty. "I have no home!"
The stern face softened, and Cary came toward her impetuously.
"Let me make one for you, Betty!"
Instinctively Betty recoiled from him, and a dark flush spread over her face. "You!" she exclaimed in a horrified voice. "You!"
For a moment Fairfax studied the condemning face. That she would refuse him, in spite of the major's predictions, he had fully expected; but that she should show such repugnance startled him. Outside the thunder rolled ceaselessly, punctuated now and again by the screech of a shell as it tore its way through the air.
Betty broke the awkward silence by remarking coldly:
"It was very good of you to come so far, and I assure you I'm very grateful for your interest, but it's quite useless. I'm happy here, and Dr. Townsend seems to find me useful, which is something — "
"Betty," broke in Fairfax impulsively, are you going to marry Townsend?"
An expression of anger crossed the girl's face.
"What right have you to ask me that?" She looked at him in cold defiance.
"The right my love for you gives me," retorted Fairfax steadily.
"Your love!" repeated Betty scornfully.
"Yes," reiterated Fairfax gravely, "my love — the love I've had for you ever since we first met, when I had as little hope of ever being able to tell you of it as if you were on a different planet. When conditions changed I thought that perhaps, after all, I did have something to offer you that you might be willing to accept; and I know that your innate generosity will prompt you to tell me whether you have already pledged yourself to another man."
The straightforward sincerity of his words caught Betty's attention. She looked long and fixedly into his eyes.
"How is it with you and Beatrix Hunnewell?" she asked at last.
"Miss Hunnewell?" repeated Fairfax wonderingly. "Why, we're very good friends — that's all."
Betty took a step nearer to him, her eyes still searching his face.
"I heard you were engaged," she said in a low voice.
"Engaged!" A look of incredulity leaped into the dark eyes. "Who told you that?"
"My aunt," answered Betty calmly, her eyes never leaving his face.
Well, it's a lie!" The strong jaw
He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. Betty drew another step nearer.
"But" — there was a note almost of pleading in her voice — "you've been seeing a great deal of her this summer?"
"Yes," assented Fairfax gravely, "I have. When you're separated from the one who is more to you than life itself, it sometimes makes existence easier if once in a while you hear something about that person, and Miss Hunnewell was in touch with you."
"Oh!" said Betty faintly.
Her face had turned very white, and her lips trembled. Fairfax was watching her intently, a hurt look in his sensitive eyes.
"What a cad you think me!" he exclaimed bitterly, walking to the window, where he stood gazing out, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.
Betty impulsively took a step after him. Her breast, under the white kerchief, was rising and falling tumultuously.
"Fairfax!" she whispered timidly.
But the man's shoulders squared themselves resolutely, and the dark head proudly refused to turn. Betty walked quietly across the room and slipped her hand through his arm.
"Fairfax, forgive me!" she pleaded softly.
He turned quickly and caught her in his arms.
"Darling!" he whispered passionately, pressing her to him. "Don't you care for me just a little? I love you, dear; I love you — "
But Betty struggled to free herself.
"Let me go! Let me go!" she breathed. "I mustn't — oh, please let me go!"
Fairfax released her reluctantly.
"But some day, Betty?"
Betty stepped back.
"Perhaps some day — perhaps when my father's name is cleared," she whispered brokenly. "I shall never marry any one while any stain rests on it."
"Why, Betty!" exclaimed Fairfax impatiently. "No one believes — "
"They do!" she interrupted vehemently. "A great many people believe that he was involved in something dishonorable before he died! When it's proved to be false, then I may think of marrying. Until then — "
She shook her head resolutely. A nurse appeared in the doorway.
"Miss Crosby," she said with a glance at Fairfax, "Dr. Townsend wants you."
Betty turned to Fairfax and held out her hand.
"Good-by," she said hurriedly. "Thank you again for coming so far, and give my love to Uncle Tod!"
Fairfax grasped her hand.
"You had better write it to him; I sha'n't see him for some time."
"Why, aren't you going back?"
She paused on her way to the door and looked back at him over her shoulder.
"By way of South Africa. I'm going there to see Barney Tutney. He may be able to give me some points."
"Barney Tutney? Yes!" she mused. "He would know. You're taking a great deal of trouble," she added softly.
Fairfax laughed.
"Trouble!" he repeated happily. "Nothing is trouble that I do for you. I consider it a privilege to be able to do any service for you or for your father. You remember, I told you that once before."
"I remember. Thank you again!"
Once more Betty held out her hand; then she passed through the door and sped along the hall and up the stairs.
Fairfax got into the motor and hurried back to Paris. His firm mouth was drawn in a straight line, and his keen eyes looked unseeing at the tragic scenes through which they passed.
| XI Steadfast Falters | |