Ellen Glasgow - The Sheltered Life

A wood fire had driven the chill from the air, and the ruby leather and English calf borrowed a fine glow from the flames. Under their feet, the immense floral designs in the Brussels carpet blossomed out like a garden; and William flung himself down, with a happy sigh, on a field of roses and pheasants. For forty years, General Archbald had tried in vain to keep the library for his own use; but there had always been the dread that a closed door might hurt somebody's feelings. Now, Mrs. Archbald's work-bag of flowered silk lay on his desk, with the contents of bright scraps and spools scattered over his blotting-pad. The evening paper, read but neatly folded again, was waiting under the lamp on a table beside his favourite chair.

"No, she's as well as I expected," the old man answered. "But it was a shock to me to see her. It was a shock, Cora."

"Come and lie down on your sofa, Father. I'll cover you up, and you may take a little nap before dinner. You'd better let me bring you a sip of brandy," she added, while he lay down obediently on the soft old sofa, and she drew the blanket of ruby wool over him. "I never saw you look as if you needed it more."

"Yes, I need something," the General assented, watching her as she moved about in the cheerful glow, patting the cushions, arranging the chairs, putting out a lamp or two, and finally placing a fresh log on the andirons. "I am a very old man, Cora, but I only found it out this afternoon."

"Nonsense, Father. The idea of your talking like that. After all, you're only eighty-three. Why, to look at you, any one would think that you were still in the prime of life."

Usually her flattery succeeded; but to-night, after that trying excursion into the past and the still more trying visit to the hospital, he felt that he required a tonic more inspiriting than evasive idealism. So he asked with a slight frown (strange how everything seemed to exasperate him!), "Is William there? I did not see him come in."

"Yes, he is here by the fire. He came in with you."

"He is old too, Cora."

"You may keep him a good while yet. Rufus lived to be sixteen." With a last comforting pat, Mrs. Archbald murmured, "Shut your eyes tight," in the soothing tone she used to Isabella's baby, and tripped through the hall and out into the garden. Returning a moment later with a few fresh and very young sprigs of mint, she found Jenny Blair looking for her in the pantry.

"Mamma, I want to ask you something."

"Well, you must wait, dear, until I make your grandfather a mint julep. The strain has been too much for him. He ought not to have stayed so long. Clayton, bring me the brandy, and crush some ice as soon as you can."

"I only want to ask you if I may give away the kimono you gave me at Easter. I feel so sorry for Mrs. Birdsong. All the afternoon I've been wondering what I could do for her. My light blue kimono with purple wistaria would be so becoming to her, and I've never worn it."

"That's very sweet of you, but don't you need it yourself? I gave it to you because your old one looks faded from so much cleaning. Wait now, while I pour out this brandy. Your grandfather likes just a thimbleful." With tightly pursed lips and the utmost precision, Mrs. Archbald measured the brandy into the silver goblet. Then relaxing slightly, she reached for the ice, and after filling the goblet to the brim, decorated the top with her sprigs of young mint. Immediately, a pattern of frost was woven at the touch of air on the silver.

"Then you won't mind, Mamma? I should love to take it to her. And, of course, you can always give me another."

Mrs. Archbald laughed happily. "Why, I shan't mind in the least, darling. I think it is sweet of you, and the blue and purple will look lovely on Eva. Now, don't stop me. Your grandfather is waiting."

The General was dozing when she entered; but he started up at her touch, and held out his trembling hand for the goblet. "I hope it is just right, Father," she said in her sprightliest tone. "You looked so tired that I made it a little stronger. It won't do you a bit of harm. I don't care what anybody tells you."

"Yes, it is just right, my dear. I felt a sudden weakness in the hospital. If only my legs wouldn't give way."

Picking up her work, Mrs. Archbald sat down between the lamp and the sofa, and waited patiently for the invigorating effect of the julep. Though she neither drank nor smoked, she derived genuine pleasure from the drinking and smoking of others, especially if they were men; and she was fond of saying that the whiff of mint always made her feel better. The nearest she had come, however, to the flavour of brandy was when she played occasionally with the crushed ice that was left in the goblet. "I was so touched by Jenny Blair, Father," she said presently. "The child has been trying to think of something she could do for Eva; and she asked me just now in the pantry if I'd mind her parting with the blue and purple kimono I gave her Easter. She wishes to take it to Eva."

"I'm glad of that. I was beginning to think she was less sympathetic than I liked her to be."

"Oh, it isn't that. She has a great deal of feeling. Only in some ways she takes after me, and the deeper her feeling, the less able she is to express it."

"Well, I'm glad," the old man repeated, and indeed he was. Even in his weakness, he had been visited by a vague apprehension while he waited those few minutes for Jenny Blair to come to him from the yard of the hospital. An impression, nothing more, he told himself now with relief, and in that queer faintness, that giving way of his legs, impressions were apt to be less accurate than usual. "I am glad, too, that she has given up her wild idea about going to New York and studying for the stage."

"Why, I didn't know that." Mrs. Archbald glanced round in astonishment. "She told me only last night that she was more than ever determined to go."

"I suppose she has changed her mind. They are always changing their minds at her age."

His voice had grown stronger, Mrs. Archbald noticed with satisfaction, while she put down her work and reached out her hand for the goblet. When he had given it to her, she picked up a spoon and put a scrap of ice flavoured with sugar and brandy into her mouth. "I thought Isabella was coming in with you," she said presently, sucking the ice with enjoyment. "This is her cook's afternoon off."

"She said something about the baby. I didn't pay much attention."

Mrs. Archbald edged her chair nearer the sofa. "Don't you remember my telling you, Father, that I believed the Crockers were more quiet than plain? I always thought there must be good blood somewhere."

"I remember, my dear. You thought there was good blood in Joseph's nose."

"Well, I was right. There is." Mrs. Archbald was sprightly, for she could see a joke, but firm also, for she was defying a precedent. "I've had several genealogists look up Joseph's family. Those experts charge a great deal, but it is wonderful what they are able to find out from old records."

"What have they found out this time?"

"For one thing," her tone was impressive, "the first Joseph Crocker came over in 1635 and settled in James City County. He must have been Joseph's earliest American ancestor. It isn't likely there should have been two Crockers of that name, and it is more than probable that Joseph's family was a branch of the real Crockers."

"As real as any, I imagine, but what did the first Joseph do after he came?"

"We've nothing yet but the name. That is most important, and it seems better to go slowly about everything else. Of course the family must have had many reverses, and I imagine they were always quiet people, and very devout. More like Puritans than Cavaliers. Not that it really matters. It does seem funny," she added brightly, "that the less religion people have, the more they seem to desire it in their ancestors. It is so distinguished, I suppose, to lose it. That is what everybody understands about Joseph. But even allowing for the gap where the county records were lost or burned in the war, the descent is all perfectly clear. Then an English genealogist wrote me that he had traced Joseph's descent, through the distaff side, from one of the barons of Runnemede. It is all very interesting; but I am not sure that the information is worth as much as he asks. We never bothered about our family tree, did we?"