CHAPTER XXVI

by Sinclair Lewis

　　CAROL'S liveliest interest was in her walks with the baby. Hugh wantedto know what the box-elder tree said, and what the Ford garage said, andwhat the big cloud said, and she told him, with a feeling that she wasnot in the least making up stories, but discovering the souls of things.They had an especial fondness for the hitching-post in front of themill. It was a brown post, stout and agreeable; the smooth leg of itheld the sunlight, while its neck, grooved by hitching-straps, tickledone's fingers. Carol had never been awake to the earth except as a showof changing color and great satisfying masses; she had lived in peopleand in ideas about having ideas; but Hugh's questions made her attentiveto the comedies of sparrows, robins, blue jays, yellowhammers; sheregained her pleasure in the arching flight of swallows, and added to ita solicitude about their nests and family squabbles.She forgot her seasons of boredom. She said to Hugh, "We're two fatdisreputable old minstrels roaming round the world," and he echoed her,"Roamin' round--roamin' round."The high adventure, the secret place to which they both fled joyously,was the house of Miles and Bea and Olaf Bjornstam.Kennicott steadily disapproved of the Bjornstams. He protested, "Whatdo you want to talk to that crank for?" He hinted that a former "Swedehired girl" was low company for the son of Dr. Will Kennicott. She didnot explain. She did not quite understand it herself; did not know thatin the Bjornstams she found her friends, her club, her sympathy and herration of blessed cynicism. For a time the gossip of Juanita Haydock andthe Jolly Seventeen had been a refuge from the droning of Aunt Bessie,but the relief had not continued. The young matrons made her nervous.They talked so loud, always so loud. They filled a room withclashing cackle; their jests and gags they repeated nine times over.Unconsciously, she had discarded the Jolly Seventeen, Guy Pollock, Vida,and every one save Mrs. Dr. Westlake and the friends whom she did notclearly know as friends--the Bjornstams.To Hugh, the Red Swede was the most heroic and powerful person in theworld. With unrestrained adoration he trotted after while Miles fed thecows, chased his one pig--an animal of lax and migratory instincts--ordramatically slaughtered a chicken. And to Hugh, Olaf was lord amongmortal men, less stalwart than the old monarch, King Miles, but moreunderstanding of the relations and values of things, of small sticks,lone playing-cards, and irretrievably injured hoops.Carol saw, though she did not admit, that Olaf was not only morebeautiful than her own dark child, but more gracious. Olaf was a Norsechieftain: straight, sunny-haired, large-limbed, resplendently amiableto his subjects. Hugh was a vulgarian; a bustling business man. It wasHugh that bounced and said "Let's play"; Olaf that opened luminous blueeyes and agreed "All right," in condescending gentleness. If Hugh battedhim--and Hugh did bat him--Olaf was unafraid but shocked. In magnificentsolitude he marched toward the house, while Hugh bewailed his sin andthe overclouding of august favor.The two friends played with an imperial chariot which Miles had made outof a starch-box and four red spools; together they stuck switches intoa mouse-hole, with vast satisfaction though entirely without knownresults.Bea, the chubby and humming Bea, impartially gave cookies and scoldingsto both children, and if Carol refused a cup of coffee and a wafer ofbuttered knackebrod, she was desolated.Miles had done well with his dairy. He had six cows, two hundredchickens, a cream separator, a Ford truck. In the spring he had built atwo-room addition to his shack. That illustrious building was to Hugh acarnival. Uncle Miles did the most spectacular, unexpected things: ranup the ladder; stood on the ridge-pole, waving a hammer and singingsomething about "To arms, my citizens"; nailed shingles faster thanAunt Bessie could iron handkerchiefs; and lifted a two-by-six with Hughriding on one end and Olaf on the other. Uncle Miles's most ecstatictrick was to make figures not on paper but right on a new pine board,with the broadest softest pencil in the world. There was a thing worthseeing!The tools! In his office Father had tools fascinating in their shininessand curious shapes, but they were sharp, they were something calledsterized, and they distinctly were not for boys to touch. In fact itwas a good dodge to volunteer "I must not touch," when you looked at thetools on the glass shelves in Father's office. But Uncle Miles, whowas a person altogether superior to Father, let you handle all his kitexcept the saws. There was a hammer with a silver head; there was ametal thing like a big L; there was a magic instrument, very precious,made out of costly red wood and gold, with a tube which contained adrop--no, it wasn't a drop, it was a nothing, which lived in the water,but the nothing LOOKED like a drop, and it ran in a frightened wayup and down the tube, no matter how cautiously you tilted the magicinstrument. And there were nails, very different and clever--bigvaliant spikes, middle-sized ones which were not very interesting, andshingle-nails much jollier than the fussed-up fairies in the yellowbook.IIWhile he had worked on the addition Miles had talked frankly to Carol.He admitted now that so long as he stayed in Gopher Prairie he wouldremain a pariah. Bea's Lutheran friends were as much offended by hisagnostic gibes as the merchants by his radicalism. "And I can't seem tokeep my mouth shut. I think I'm being a baa-lamb, and not springing anytheories wilder than 'c-a-t spells cat,' but when folks have gone, Ire'lize I've been stepping on their pet religious corns. Oh, the millforeman keeps dropping in, and that Danish shoemaker, and one fellowfrom Elder's factory, and a few Svenskas, but you know Bea: biggood-hearted wench like her wants a lot of folks around--likes to fussover 'em--never satisfied unless she tiring herself out making coffeefor somebody."Once she kidnapped me and drug me to the Methodist Church. I goes in,pious as Widow Bogart, and sits still and never cracks a smile whilethe preacher is favoring us with his misinformation on evolution. Butafterwards, when the old stalwarts were pumphandling everybody at thedoor and calling 'em 'Brother' and 'Sister,' they let me sail right bywith nary a clinch. They figure I'm the town badman. Always will be, Iguess. It'll have to be Olaf who goes on. 'And sometimes----Blamed if Idon't feel like coming out and saying, 'I've been conservative. Nothingto it. Now I'm going to start something in these rotten one-horselumber-camps west of town.' But Bea's got me hypnotized. Lord, Mrs.Kennicott, do you re'lize what a jolly, square, faithful woman she is?And I love Olaf----Oh well, I won't go and get sentimental on you."Course I've had thoughts of pulling up stakes and going West. Maybeif they didn't know it beforehand, they wouldn't find out I'd ever beenguilty of trying to think for myself. But--oh, I've worked hard, andbuilt up this dairy business, and I hate to start all over again, andmove Bea and the kid into another one-room shack. That's how they getus! Encourage us to be thrifty and own our own houses, and then, bygolly, they've got us; they know we won't dare risk everything bycommitting lez--what is it? lez majesty?--I mean they know we won't behinting around that if we had a co-operative bank, we could get alongwithout Stowbody. Well----As long as I can sit and play pinochle withBea, and tell whoppers to Olaf about his daddy's adventures in thewoods, and how he snared a wapaloosie and knew Paul Bunyan, why, Idon't mind being a bum. It's just for them that I mind. Say! Say! Don'twhisper a word to Bea, but when I get this addition done, I'm going tobuy her a phonograph!"He did.While she was busy with the activities her work-hungry musclesfound--washing, ironing, mending, baking, dusting, preserving, pluckinga chicken, painting the sink; tasks which, because she was Miles's fullpartner, were exciting and creative--Bea listened to the phonographrecords with rapture like that of cattle in a warm stable. The additiongave her a kitchen with a bedroom above. The original one-room shack wasnow a living-room, with the phonograph, a genuine leather-upholsteredgolden-oak rocker, and a picture of Governor John Johnson.In late July Carol went to the Bjornstams' desirous of a chance toexpress her opinion of Beavers and Calibrees and Joralemons. She foundOlaf abed, restless from a slight fever, and Bea flushed and dizzy buttrying to keep up her work. She lured Miles aside and worried:"They don't look at all well. What's the matter?""Their stomachs are out of whack. I wanted to call in Doc Kennicott, butBea thinks the doc doesn't like us--she thinks maybe he's sore becauseyou come down here. But I'm getting worried.""I'm going to call the doctor at once."She yearned over Olaf. His lambent eyes were stupid, he moaned, herubbed his forehead."Have they been eating something that's been bad for them?" shefluttered to Miles."Might be bum water. I'll tell you: We used to get our water at OscarEklund's place, over across the street, but Oscar kept dinging at me,and hinting I was a tightwad not to dig a well of my own. One timehe said, 'Sure, you socialists are great on divvying up other folks'money--and water!' I knew if he kept it up there'd be a fuss, and Iain't safe to have around, once a fuss starts; I'm likely to forgetmyself and let loose with a punch in the snoot. I offered to pay Oscarbut he refused--he'd rather have the chance to kid me. So I startsgetting water down at Mrs. Fageros's, in the hollow there, and I don'tbelieve it's real good. Figuring to dig my own well this fall."One scarlet word was before Carol's eyes while she listened. She fled toKennicott's office. He gravely heard her out; nodded, said, "Be rightover."He examined Bea and Olaf. He shook his head. "Yes. Looks to me liketyphoid.""Golly, I've seen typhoid in lumber-camps," groaned Miles, all thestrength dripping out of him. "Have they got it very bad?""Oh, we'll take good care of them," said Kennicott, and for the firsttime in their acquaintance he smiled on Miles and clapped his shoulder."Won't you need a nurse?" demanded Carol."Why----" To Miles, Kennicott hinted, "Couldn't you get Bea's cousin,Tina?""She's down at the old folks', in the country.""Then let me do it!" Carol insisted. "They need some one to cook forthem, and isn't it good to give them sponge baths, in typhoid?""Yes. All right." Kennicott was automatic; he was the official, thephysician. "I guess probably it would be hard to get a nurse here intown just now. Mrs. Stiver is busy with an obstetrical case, and thattown nurse of yours is off on vacation, ain't she? All right, Bjornstamcan spell you at night."All week, from eight each morning till midnight, Carol fed them, bathedthem, smoothed sheets, took temperatures. Miles refused to let her cook.Terrified, pallid, noiseless in stocking feet, he did the kitchen workand the sweeping, his big red hands awkwardly careful. Kennicott camein three times a day, unchangingly tender and hopeful in the sick-room,evenly polite to Miles.Carol understood how great was her love for her friends. It boreher through; it made her arm steady and tireless to bathe them.What exhausted her was the sight of Bea and Olaf turned into flaccidinvalids, uncomfortably flushed after taking food, begging for thehealing of sleep at night.During the second week Olaf's powerful legs were flabby. Spots of aviciously delicate pink came out on his chest and back. His cheeks sank.He looked frightened. His tongue was brown and revolting. His confidentvoice dwindled to a bewildered murmur, ceaseless and racking.Bea had stayed on her feet too long at the beginning. The momentKennicott had ordered her to bed she had begun to collapse. One earlyevening she startled them by screaming, in an intense abdominal pain,and within half an hour she was in a delirium. Till dawn Carol waswith her, and not all of Bea's groping through the blackness ofhalf-delirious pain was so pitiful to Carol as the way in which Milessilently peered into the room from the top of the narrow stairs.Carol slept three hours next morning, and ran back. Bea was altogetherdelirious but she muttered nothing save, "Olaf--ve have such a goodtime----"At ten, while Carol was preparing an ice-bag in the kitchen, Milesanswered a knock. At the front door she saw Vida Sherwin, Maud Dyer, andMrs. Zitterel, wife of the Baptist pastor. They were carrying grapes,and women's-magazines, magazines with high-colored pictures andoptimistic fiction."We just heard your wife was sick. We've come to see if there isn'tsomething we can do," chirruped Vida.Miles looked steadily at the three women. "You're too late. You can'tdo nothing now. Bea's always kind of hoped that you folks would come seeher. She wanted to have a chance and be friends. She used to sit waitingfor somebody to knock. I've seen her sitting here, waiting. Now----Oh,you ain't worth God-damning." He shut the door.All day Carol watched Olaf's strength oozing. He was emaciated. His ribswere grim clear lines, his skin was clammy, his pulse was feeble butterrifyingly rapid. It beat--beat--beat in a drum-roll of death. Latethat afternoon he sobbed, and died.Bea did not know it. She was delirious. Next morning, when she went,she did not know that Olaf would no longer swing his lath sword on thedoor-step, no longer rule his subjects of the cattle-yard; that Miles'sson would not go East to college.Miles, Carol, Kennicott were silent. They washed the bodies together,their eyes veiled."Go home now and sleep. You're pretty tired. I can't ever pay you backfor what you done," Miles whispered to Carol."Yes. But I'll be back here tomorrow. Go with you to the funeral," shesaid laboriously.When the time for the funeral came, Carol was in bed, collapsed. Sheassumed that neighbors would go. They had not told her that word ofMiles's rebuff to Vida had spread through town, a cyclonic fury.It was only by chance that, leaning on her elbow in bed, she glancedthrough the window and saw the funeral of Bea and Olaf. There wasno music, no carriages. There was only Miles Bjornstam, in his blackwedding-suit, walking quite alone, head down, behind the shabby hearsethat bore the bodies of his wife and baby.An hour after, Hugh came into her room crying, and when she said ascheerily as she could, "What is it, dear?" he besought, "Mummy, I wantto go play with Olaf."That afternoon Juanita Haydock dropped in to brighten Carol. She said,"Too bad about this Bea that was your hired girl. But I don't wasteany sympathy on that man of hers. Everybody says he drank too much, andtreated his family awful, and that's how they got sick."