Bedelia (7 page)

For a moment she did not stir. She stood at the closet door, her hand tight on the china knob. Charlie lay on the rose-colored carpet, as white as death and as silent. Painfully his wife opened her fingers, released the doorknob, and crossed the room. Her knees were shaking so that she walked like a drunken woman, and when she knelt beside him and lifted his wrist, she could not take his pulse because her own hand was so unsteady.

MARY ROSE EARLY the next morning. She could hardly wait until it was late enough to call Hannah without disturbing the Horsts or Mr. Chaney.

“Guess what?” she said when finally she had gathered enough courage to use the telephone.

“Hen Blackman's popped the question,” Hannah guessed. Hen Blackman was Mary's steady fellow.

Mary was so eager to spill out her news that she did not bother to tease Hannah. “Mr. Horst's awful sick. Almost kicked
the bucket last night. The doctor was here when I got in from the dance.”

“Mr. Horst! Why, he was here for supper. Must have been awful sudden. What's wrong with him?”

“Poisoned.”

“You don't say. Poisoned? By what?”

“Something he ate,” said Mary.

Hannah served Ben Chaney the news with his breakfast. “Couldn't be nothing he ate in this house. No one else got sick, did they? Mary acted like it was my cooking done it, but I'm telling you . . .”

Before she had a chance to tell him anything, Ben Chaney was at the telephone. He slammed the studio door in a way that showed Hannah he did not want her to hear what he was saying. He tried to get hold of Doctor Meyers, who was out on a call and could not be reached. Then Ben asked the long-distance operator to put in two calls, one to New York and one to St. Paul. Afterward he changed from his painting smock to his tweed jacket, pulled on his overcoat, grabbed his hat, and was out of the house before Hannah could ask whether he'd be back for lunch.

He did not ring the Horst doorbell, but went around the back way and tapped at Mary's kitchen window. She hurried to open the door, smoothing her hair and wiping her hands on her apron.

“I didn't want to ring in case Mr. Horst was sleeping. How is he?”

“He's still asleep.”

“And Mrs. Horst?”

“I brought her her coffee up to bed. The doctor says she should stay in bed this morning. She was all wore out, he says.”

Ben took off his overcoat and seated himself in one of the kitchen chairs. “Mind if I smoke?”

Mary gave her permission with a flourish. “Like something to eat, Mr. Chaney? Or a cup of coffee? I just made a big pot in case somebody'd want it in a hurry. In an emergency it's always good to have hot coffee.”

“If it's not too much bother, Mary.”

She fetched a Limoges cup from the pantry. When Ben suggested that she sit down and have coffee with him, the girl giggled happily. She poured her coffee into one of the heavy kitchen cups, but tried to be elegant and serve him cream and sugar like Mrs. Horst at the dining-room table.

He asked her a great many questions, but Mary did not think this odd. Small-town people do not hide their natural interest in the affairs of their neighbors. Mary told him precisely what she had told Hannah, which was all she knew.

“Are they getting a trained nurse? Has the doctor suggested it?”

Mary nodded. Doctor Meyers had told her last night that Mrs. Horst wanted to take care of Mr. Horst herself, and the doctor said that Mary was to be responsible for the house. “Mrs. Horst, she'd rather take care of him herself with me looking after the house for her than have a stranger in to nurse him. With me responsible for the house, she can nurse Mr. Horst all right. She'd rather do it herself.”

Ben looked out of the window. Mist was rising from moist ground. Mary cried, “Oh!” and clasped both hands over her heart. Ben turned and saw Bedelia at the kitchen door. He was no less startled than Mary had been. Bedelia had appeared silently, and she stood so quiet that she seemed an apparition that had materialized out of the dark air of the corridor.

He rose and went to her. Taking her hand, Ben said, “Bedelia! Good morning. How are you?”

She did not greet him and stood there, looking past him or through him as if she were not aware of his presence. She was highly agitated, her mouth working and her eyes narrowed to dark slits.

“Mrs. Horst, what's the matter? Can I do something for you?' asked Mary.

Bedelia raised her shoulders and shuddered delicately as if she were shaking off an evil mood. Smiling, she bade Mary good morning. Then she looked down at her hand which lay in Ben's. She continued to smile but in a different way. Her upper lip curled back over her teeth and her eyes were guarded.

“Good morning, Ben.”

“How's Charlie? If there's anything I can do for you, Bedelia, you must tell me. Anything at all.”

“It's good to have friends. At a time like this, it's all you have to . . .” she paused, seeking the right words, “. . . to give you courage. Oh, Ben, if anything should happen to Charlie!”

“He'll be all right,” Ben said.

She let Ben lead her to the den, pull a chair close to the hearth, and light the coal fire. She was still agitated. Her pointed pink fingernails clawed the leather of the armchair.

“You're sure you're all right, Bedelia?”

“That's what Charlie asked me as soon as he became conscious last night. Was I all right? You'd think I was the sick one.” Bedelia had become herself again, composed, gentle, all curves and sweetness.

Ben chose a chair opposite Bedelia's. They sat there without talking. The rain had started. Wind sighed through bare branches. The river charged angrily over the rocks. Ben looked from the dripping window back toward the blue flames of the coal fire, and then at Bedelia again.

Her hands lay limp in her lap. She seemed sunk in complete lethargy as if the preceding mood of nervousness and agitation had exhausted her.

Mary stamped into the room. Bedelia looked straight at the girl without seeing her. Shuddering, Mary said, “Mrs. Horst.” Her voice was unsteady.

Bedelia slid forward in the chair. Her eyes widened and her hands tensed again.

“It's not Mr. Horst? There's nothing wrong upstairs, is there?”

Mary shook her head. She had interrupted only to tell Mrs. Horst that Miss Ellen Walker had called to say she had heard about Mr. Horst and to ask if she could do anything. “Thank you,” Bedelia whispered, dismissing the girl. She hugged her knees and looked into the fire as if she were alone in the room.

A few minutes later Doctor Meyers rang the doorbell. Ben hurried to open the door.

“Well, how's the patient?” the doctor asked as he pulled off his rubbers. Then he noticed Ben and said, “My wife tells me you called this morning, want to see me about something?”

“After you've seen Charlie.”

Bedelia went upstairs with the doctor. Ben picked up the
National Geographic
and looked at maps of the Caucasus. Mary came into the room with a dustcloth and asked if her work would disturb him. He did not answer, and Mary scurried away to dust the living-room gently as if the furniture were ill, too. After a while Bedelia came downstairs. Her eyes were moist and bright. She sniffed at her handkerchief, which was scented with a flowery perfume.

“The doctor's a long time,” Ben said.

“Yes. He wanted to know everything Charlie's eaten for a month. And you know Charlie. He never remembers from one day to the next what he's had for dinner.”

She had changed into a house gown of maroon wool banded in black velvet and bound her hair with a maroon ribbon. The doll's mouth was as red as a cherry.

“You'll be ill yourself if you worry,” Ben said. “If it's food poisoning, as the doctor suggests, Charlie'll be all right in a few days.”

She retreated again to the leather armchair. Apparently the flames could not warm her, for she rubbed her hands and shivered. “I've been unlucky all my life.”

The wind echoed her sigh.

When the doctor came downstairs, she fairly leaped from her chair. “How is he?”

“Much better. His pulse is slow but not dangerously so. You'll have to keep him in bed a few days and feed him carefully. It's been a shock to his system.”

Bedelia nodded.

“Charlie tells me you gave him a powder last night. Why didn't you tell me?”

“It was only a bromide,” she said. “It couldn't possibly have hurt him.”

Ben was frozen. Nothing seemed alive in him except his
eyes. They searched the doctor's face and then fastened on Bedelia's and remained there, steadily.

“What kind of bromide?” Doctor Meyers asked.

“It was a prescription a famous specialist in San Francisco gave an old lady I used to work for.”

“And you gave it to Charlie?”

She nodded.

“Don't you know it's dangerous to give people medicine that's been prescribed for others?”

“There was nothing dangerous in this. I've often taken it myself. For gas. It was very soothing.”

“I'd like to see it,” the doctor said.

She left the room. Both men watched until she was out of sight.

Ben said, “Food poisoning, are you sure that's the cause of Mr. Horst's illness, Doctor?”

Doctor Meyers, affronted by this tone of authority from a man who was no member of the household and hardly more than a stranger in town, bent over to fasten his shoelace. “I hear he had dinner at your house last night, Mr. Chaney.”

“Several people dined at my house. They all ate the same food. None of the others were stricken.”

“Mrs. Horst says that he had a special dessert served him, a custard. The rest of you ate pie. What was in the custard?”

Ben shrugged. “Hannah Frost, my hired girl, can tell you. But I hardly think a simple dish like that could have caused it. And the rest of the custard is probably still in the pantry if you'd like to have it analyzed.”

The doctor took his coat off the hook. With his back to Ben he asked, “Is that what you wanted to see me about, Mr. Chaney? Because one of your guests was poisoned by something he ate? When I discover what caused it, I'll let you know.” He wrapped a knitted muffler, irrelevantly gay, about his neck.

“Don't you think he ought to have a trained nurse?”

The doctor wheeled around. Since he had suggested a nurse and then allowed Bedelia to change his mind for him, the question made him angry. “Why are you so interested, Mr. Chaney?”

“As a friend I want to see everything done that can possibly be done for Charlie. Besides”—Ben moved closer to the old man—“we have to think of Mrs. Horst's health. Do you think she's strong enough to nurse him . . . in her condition?”

Bedelia leaped out of the shadows of the stairs, hurried to the doctor, clung to his arm. “I'm going to have a baby.”

“Oh! I wondered about you. You're putting on weight. Better let me look you over one of these days.”

“I feel fine. I've never felt better in my life,” Bedelia said. Then she handed him the box that was filled with packets of the sedative powder. “Here it is, Doctor. I had it made up at Loveman's Drug Store. Mr. Loveman knows all about it.”

The doctor put the box in his overcoat pocket. “Charlie looks pretty good to me, Mrs. Horst. Just let him rest and eat lightly. I'll stop in tomorrow.” He opened the door and a blast of cold air blew in upon them. “Good-bye, Mr. Chaney,” the doctor said and slammed the door.

Bedelia stood with her hand on the post of the staircase, looking after him. Rain beat a sad rhythm on the roof. Currents of warm air moved through the house from the steam radiators, but they could not defeat the chill of the hall. Bedelia shivered. When she saw how steadily Ben was watching her, she raised her shoulders in a delicate shrug and turned and walked into the den.

Ellen typed the story on an Oliver machine with a broken D. Her hand was unsteady and she made more than her usual typographical errors. She had been assured by Doctor Meyers's wife that Charlie was not in danger, and Mary had said that he was resting comfortably. “Mr. Horst was married last August to Mrs. Bedelia Cochran, widow of the late Raoul Cochran, a distinguished artist of New Orleans, La.” Ellen's desk stood in a row of broken-down, dusty, splinter-rough desks in a noisy loft with a cement floor, plaster walls, and a deafening echo. “They
met in Colorado Springs, Colo., where Mr. Horst had gone for a holiday after the death of his mother, Mrs. Harriet Philbrook Horst, one of our most beloved citizens.”

At five minutes after twelve she covered the typewriter and left the office. There was a rumor going through the town that Madame Schumann-Heink was arriving from New York to visit a musical family who had recently bought a house in the neighborhood. Although the newspaper office was but three blocks from the railroad station, the rain was so heavy that Ellen had to take the streetcar. The wind blew furiously. An umbrella gave no protection. Women's skirts were blown high above their shoe-tops, but the tough boys who usually hung around the street corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of ribbed black stockings, had sought shelter in saloons and poolrooms.