Chapter 3 A Bevy of Girls by L. T. Meade
Taking Mother
“Now, my dear,” said Mrs Aldworth, when Marcia entered her room, “I really expect to have some comfort. You have such a nice understanding way, Marcia. Oh, my dear, don’t let so much light into the room. How stupid. Do you see how that ray of sunlight will creep up my bed in a few moments and fall on my face. I assure you, Marcia, my nerves are so sensitive that if the sun were even to touch my cheek for an instant, I should have a sort of sunstroke. I endured agonies from Nesta’s carelessness in that way a few days ago.”
“Well, it will be all right now, mother,” said Marcia in a cheerful tone.
She was brave enough; she would take up her burden, what burden she thought it right to carry, with all the strength of her sweet, gracious womanhood.
Mrs Aldworth required a great deal of looking after, and Marcia spent a very busy morning. First of all there was the untidy room to put straight; then there was the invalid to wash and comfort and coddle. Presently she induced Mrs Aldworth to rise from her bed and lie on the sofa.
“It is a great exertion, and I shall suffer terribly afterwards,” said the good woman. “But you always were masterful, Marcia.”
“Well, you see,” said Marcia gently, “if I nurse you at all, I must do it according to my own lights. You are not feverish. The day is lovely, and there is no earthly reason why you should stay in bed.”
“But the exertion, with my weak heart.”
“Oh, mother, let me feel your pulse. Your heart is beating quite steadily.”
“Marcia, I do hope you are not learning to be unfeeling.”
“No,” replied the girl, “I am learning to be sensible.”
“You look so nice. Do sit opposite to me where I can watch your face, and tell me about your school, exactly what you did, what the girls were like; what the head mistress was like, and what the town of Frankfort is like.”
(Four pages missing here.)
“I am sorry, dear.”
“How could we go? Whoever is with mother this afternoon will be too fagged to go. We simply couldn’t go. And to think that this is to go on for ever. It’s more than we can stand.”
“I am waiting to know, not what you can stand, or what you cannot, but which of you will look after mother this afternoon? You won’t have a very hard time; her room is in perfect order, and her meals for the entire day are arranged. You have but to sit with her and chat, and amuse her.”
“We’re none of us fit to go near her, you know that perfectly well,” said Molly.
“Very well,” replied Marcia in a resolute tone. “You all know my firm resolve. You have got to face this thing, girls, and the more cheerfully you do it the better.”
In the end it was Molly who was induced to undertake the unwelcome task. She shrugged her shoulders and prepared to leave the room, her head drooping.
“Come, Molly,” said Marcia, following her. “You mustn’t go to mother in that spirit.”
She took Molly’s hand when they got into the hall.
“Can you not remember, dear, that she is your mother?”
“Oh, don’t I remember it. Isn’t it dinned into me morning, noon, and night? I often wish—”
“Don’t say the dreadful words, Molly, even if you have the thought. Don’t utter the words, for she is your mother. She tended you when you could not help yourself. She brought you into the world in pain and sorrow. She is your mother. No one else could ever take her place.”
“If you would only take her to-day, Marcia, we would try to behave to-morrow. If you would only take her this one day; it is such a blow to us all, you know,” said Molly.
Marcia almost longed to yield; but no, it would not do. If the girls saw any trace of weakness about her now, she would never be able to uphold her position in the future.
“I tell you what I will do,” she said, “I will go with you into mother’s room, and see you comfortably settled, and perhaps—I am not promising—but perhaps I’ll have tea with you in mother’s room presently; but you must do the work, Molly; until mother is in bed to-night she is in your charge. Now, come along.”
Marcia took her sister to her own room.
“Let me brush your hair,” she said.
“But you’ll disarrange it.”
“Now, Molly, did not I always improve your style of hair dressing? Your hair looks a show now, and I could make it look quite pretty.”
In another moment Molly found herself under Marcia’s controlling fingers. Her soft, abundant hair was arranged in a new style which suited her, so that she was quite delighted, and began to laugh and show her pretty white teeth.
“Here is some blue ribbon which I have brought you as a little present,” said Marcia.—“You might tie it in a knot round the neck of your white blouse. There, you look quite sweet; now put some smiles on your face and come along, dear, for mother must be tired of waiting.”
Mrs Aldworth was amazed when she saw the two girls enter the room hand in hand.
“Oh, Molly,” she said. “Good-morning, dear, you haven’t been to see your old mother yet to-day, but I’ll excuse you, my love. How very nice you look, quite pretty. I must say, Marcia dear, that my children are the beauties of the family.”
Marcia smiled. She went straight up to the open window. Molly fidgeted about near her mother.
“Sit down, Molly, won’t you?” said Marcia.
“But why should she?” said Mrs Aldworth. “The poor child is longing to go out for a bit of fun, and I’m sure I don’t wonder. Run along, Molly, my love. Marcia and I are going to have such a busy afternoon.”
“No,” said Marcia suddenly. She turned round and faced Mrs Aldworth. “I must tell you,” she continued, “I am really sorry for you and the girls, but they must take their share in looking after you. I will come to you at this time to-morrow, and spend the rest of the day with you. Molly, you can explain the rest of the situation. Do your duty, love, and, dear mother, believe that I love you. But there are four of us in the house and it must be our pleasure, and our duty, and it ought to be our high privilege, to devote part of our time to nursing you.”