Chapter XX: The Brothers

CHURTON had not been near us for three weeks, when Maimie left her room. He had written once, just a line, to say he was glad to hear she was better, and to enclose a cheque for £20. This had been a great help; indeed, I hardly know how we could have got on without it. But after that we heard no more; and for two weeks Aunt Briscoe had not written either. I could not understand this, unless she were ill; she had always been so very regular.

“Father doesn’t seem to trouble himself much about me,” Maimie said softly, as she lay on the sofa, looking so pale and thin, poor child, with her flaxen hair short and curly, and her black eyes seeming to have grown to twice their usual size.

“So much the better,” Jack said, bending over her with a manly protecting air, which it did me good to see. Jack had grown far more manly of late. Time enough that he should too! “So much the better! Uncle isn’t worth your troubling yourself about; and the less he concerns himself with you, the thoroughly you are ours—ours, Maimie.”

“I am not sure, Jack,” she said, looking up in his face. “One never can tell what my father means to do next.”

“He has given up his right over you,” Jack said stoutly.

“He was glad to get somebody else to nurse me, and save him the trouble. But when he wants me, he won’t count that anything.”

“What should he want you for?” asked Cress. “I don’t see!” And we all laughed, for certainly Cress was paying Maimie a poor compliment.

“I don’t know why anybody should want me,” Maimie said merrily. “But sometimes I think he will soon.”

“You know why some do,” Jack said softly. “You know why we all do, Maimie,—because we love you.”

“And perhaps father loves me too,” she answered lightly. “I used to think he did.”

“Queer sort of love,—to care so much about himself as never to wish to come near you all the time you were ill!”

“Some people’s love is very poor and selfish,” I said; “yet I suppose it is love—of a kind.”

“Feeble kind,” remarked Jack.

“Only ‘some’ will ‘dare to die’—even ‘for a good man,’” I said, thinking of the Bible words. And I thought, too, silently of that other yet more wonderful love—the great love of the Son of God, which could make Him “dare to die,” not for good but for evil men, that they might be saved. Glancing at Maimie, I wondered if the same recollection had come to here—such a sweet look passed over her face.

“People are rather fond of talking about dying for one another,” Cress observed carelessly. “It isn’t so many that will really do it.”

“No,—only ‘some,’” I said.

And I heard Jack whisper, leaning over Maimie’s couch—

“Maimie, when you were so ill, I think I could have died to make you well.”

“Yes,” she answered quite simply; “I think you would, Jack.” And a great tremor of joy crept over Jack’s frame.

I could not help noticing how Maimie seemed to depend on Jack, and to turn to him in her weakness. He was so strong, she said, and so gentle too. He could carry her up and downstairs without any seeming effort. And Maimie needed carrying for many days. She regained strength so very slowly. I wondered often whether she ever would get back her usual powers.

“Aunt Marion, Jack seems much older than he used to be,” she said one day. “I wonder why?”

“Trouble ages people,” I replied.

“Trouble?” she repeated inquiringly.

“Our Maimie being ill.”

“Oh—” and she smiled, then grew thoughtful. “I didn’t understand. Yes—I suppose Jack did care. He is very good to me.” And I could not refrain from repeating her words to Jack.

The little rivalry between Jack and Cress seemed lately to have died down. Jack’s superior bodily strength gave him a sort of right to do things for Maimie; and Cress was placed at a disadvantage. Also he had lately taken up a new pursuit—chemistry, I think it was, just then,—and he had no attention to give to anything else.

That was always Cress’ way. He had one matter in hand, and all else gave way to it, whether it were study, or amusement, or love-making. This is not, perhaps, a bad characteristic in moderation, if perseverance goes with it. But in Cress’ case, unfortunately, there was no moderation, and there was little perseverance. Cress rarely or never went on long enough with any one pursuit to excel in it. He only did enough to amuse himself, to bore everybody about him, and to gain a certain amount of general information beyond that of most young men.

But by the time Maimie was able to sit up in an easy chair, and to walk on her own feet from room to room, chemistry went down, and love-making came up again.

Maimie was one of those people who make attractive invalids. Though not so strictly pretty as in health, she never complained or looked peevish, and her smile seemed to gain double sweetness, while her very want of power made her cling to us all in a gentle childlike way, which was particularly winning.

Cress seemed all at once to wake up to the fact that Jack was in a different position from himself with respect to Maimie, and he grew furiously jealous. Not a cup of tea could Jack attempt to carry to Maimie without Cress rushing in between. Not a question could Maimie put to Jack without Cress snatching the answer from his lips.

For a few days there was no real collision. Jack flushed up often, and evidently had difficulty in controlling himself; yet he did control himself. Once I heard, “Really, Cress—” but Jack caught himself up, and yielded. I knew my boy to be fighting a hard battle; and Maimie must have known it too, for I saw her soon after give him her sweetest smile. I think Jack was fully repaid.

A day or two later Maimie was not so well; and after a fit of faintness, she was going to be helped upstairs by Jack. Cress pushed in between, to take his place. Jack flushed up again, and said, “No, Cress, I must do this.”

“You’ve had your turn often enough; it’s mine now,” Cress said.

I was not on the spot, having been called away two seconds before. Cherry meditated calling me, but before she could move Maimie was saying quietly, “Jack will help me, if you please, Cress.”

“No, he won’t. I’m going to do it, Maimie.”

She drew back a step, very pale,—so Cherry told me after,—and with her eyes wide open. “No,” she said, “I would rather have Jack’s arm.”

Cress turned white too, as he often did with passion. “I say, Maimie,” he said, “if you pretend to like that fellow better than me—”

I don’t know what made Maimie act as she did next, except that she was excited and faint, and a little off her balance. She turned round, and laid her hand on Jack’s arm, and said, “Yes, I do like Jack much the best.”

“Then take that,” Cress said furiously, turning upon Jack; and without a moment’s warning he struck his brother a violent blow in the face.

Such a thing had never happened in our house before, and Cherry stood utterly aghast.

Jack’s blood was easily roused; and though he had learned much self-control of late years, I think this sudden attack was too much for him. He flushed a burning crimson, and made one step towards Cress, with his fist up; but in that moment Maimie flung herself on him, clinging to both his arms with all her little strength.

“Don’t! don’t! O don’t, Jack!” she cried wildly. “It is all my fault. O don’t,—dear Jack, don’t be angry,—don’t mind. It will grieve Aunt Marion so; and it isn’t right—it isn’t right. You mustn’t quarrel because of me. O Jack, don’t!—dear Jack, do be patient! O Cherry, help me.”

“No, Maimie, I won’t,” Jack said gravely.

Cherry told me that it was wonderful to see how the flush and anger died out of his face at the touch of Maimie’s fingers. She held him tightly still; and he submitted to be held, though he could have shaken her off like a fly.

Cress for one moment had a look of shame, and then his wrath seemed to flame up afresh, and he said contemptuously, “Well, I didn’t think you were such a chicken-heart!”

“Do you really think I am, Cress?” asked Jack calmly.

“Cress, it is you who are the coward!” cried Maimie, looking up at him with tearful eyes, and shrinking closer to Jack, as if for protection, though she continued to hold his hands.

Either the words or the gesture excited Cress anew beyond control. He made a step forward and struck at Jack again. Jack made no effort at all to release his hands or to defend himself; but Maimie threw up her own arm between, and received the blow,—no light one.

Just at that moment I came in. Cherry had called for me at the door, and then rushed forward to pull Cress back. As I entered, I heard the sound of his fist striking our darling’s poor thin arm.

Cress’ passion seemed suddenly at an end. He stepped back, and fell into sudden silence.

Cherry said only, “Cress! for shame!” and Jack uttered one groan of distress. Maimie gave a little half-sob, and then looked up at Jack with a smile. But the next instant her head drooped with a return of faintness. Jack caught her up like an infant, and carried her to the sofa. She lay there, white and still, while Cherry and I sought remedies, and Jack knelt by her side, kissing passionately the reddened arm.

“Mother, look!” he said. “Look,—the poor darling! Mother!—Cress deserves—he deserves—”

Maimie opened her eyes. “No, don’t, Jack,” she whispered. “Don’t talk of Cress yet.”

“I could bear anything else,—anything but his laying a finger on you,” Jack said in a choked voice.

“He did not mean to touch me. Cress has punished himself—quite enough,” she murmured. “Jack—look happy again,—don’t look like that.”

He did his best to obey; not very successfully.

The faintness soon passed off, but Maimie seemed so shaken and unnerved that Jack had presently to carry her upstairs.

“I am very sorry,” she said gently, as he laid her on the bed.

“I think I am the one to be most sorry,” Jack answered. “To think of your dear little arm being hurt for me! Maimie, you must never do such a thing again.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t then, if I had had time to think,” she said. “But what I am sorry for, is that I should have said anything to make Cress angry with you. Only I really cannot like him as much as—as everybody else in this house.”

“Not quite so much as you do me,” Jack said in a humble voice. “Maimie dear, you said that,—please don’t explain it away.”

“Well, it is true,” she said, smiling. “I do like you the best of the two, certainly. Thank you, Jack. Good-night.”

“And your arm doesn’t hurt very much?” he asked anxiously.

“Oh, nothing to speak of,” she said cheerfully. But Cherry and I knew by the great bruise on it next day that she must have had a good deal of pain.

I dreaded much the moment of my boys’ meeting again. Jack, however, was on his guard, and showed no irritation of manner; nothing beyond an unwonted gravity. Cress looked morose and gloomy, and would speak pleasantly to no one. I hardly knew how to deal with him, and asked Robert to take the matter up. My husband was not one of those men whose wives are afraid to ask them to find fault, lest they should say too much, and “provoke their wrath,” instead of arousing them to sorrow. So I put the difficulty into his hands.