Mistress Madcap/Chapter 23
THERE was the usual hustle and bustle in the Condit home one bright Monday morning, and It seemed to Doctor Carter that everywhere he went that particular spot was already occupied by some energetic individual who was performing some household task in the most energetic manner possible. The kitchen floor was being re-sanded by Mehitable, who did not even look up as her parents' guest trod cautiously past her, casting a wistful glance as he did so at the inglenook beyond the pattern the girl was marking so laboriously with her pointed stick. The bench beside the kitchen door where he had enjoyed many quiet, happy hours with book or host since his arrival from Newark the week before was now hidden by two steaming wooden washtubs, presided over by Mistress Condit. Even the circular seat built around an old apple tree down near the gate was being used, for there Charity had spread her primer and her sewing materials and her own dainty self. No one, beyond Mistress Condit, who vouchsafed an absent smile, paid the least attention to the embarrassed doctor, who at last, book in hand, tramped off toward the great stock barn.
But even here he found a busy stir. Squire Condit, whip in hand, was admonishing Amos who, seated upon an upturned keg, was mending a bit of harness which had come apart. The plow horses, waiting patiently outside, betokened an emergency.
"I know not why ye did not do as I bid ye, Amos," the Squire was saying in an exasperated tone. "'Tis ever thus—rainy days, the time for mending harness, passed I don't know how and now, on this morn when we should be in the fields, we must stop to mend"
His voice died away as he stopped to nod cheerfully at Doctor Carter.
"Well, well, Amos, I shall proceed out to the north field; see ye follow with the horses as soon as ever ye can. Make yourself at home, good sir—'tis clean and sweet and—quiet—up in yon haymow now." And the Squire, with a shrewd, understanding glance at the distant figure of his wife and another at their guest, departed.
"Why, 'tis the very place!" observed Doctor Carter delightedly. "I wonder I did not think o't before!"
He paused, one foot upon the ladder attached to the wall, when Amos's rumbling voice arrested him.
"That varlet Sturgins be up there," mumbled Amos. "But he be asleep, so 'twill not bother ye, sir, except he snores."
"Aye?" The good doctor's face fell. "Even here be someone?" But soon his natural kindliness came to the fore. "Eh, well, 'twill not disturb me 'less he snores too loudly, when will I give him a poke—so!" And Doctor Carter's boot toe gave an eloquent flirt in midair before he disappeared through the square hole above Amos's head.
True enough, Sturgins lay asleep when the doctor had pulled his middle-aged figure laboriously into the hayloft, and Sturgins asleep was not a pleasant sight to look upon. His wide mouth hung open loosely, his nose twitched miserably, and he seemed most unhappy in his dreams. Doctor Carter glanced at him unfavorably as he sank down into a mound of soft hay; but soon the drowsiness of a spring morning overcame him, too, and his head nodded over the book that lay open upon his knee. So they slept, respectable surgeon and the blind rascal whom Fate had sent upon a curious eddy into this peaceful, quiet corner together.
But after a while Doctor Carter was awakened by a loud shout. He started up to gaze with amazement upon the wild figure that met his eye. It was Sturgins, standing upright, his hands flung above his head, his face contorted with fear and rage.
"Ye shall not, Jaffray! I tell ye, ye shall not!" The blind man's staring eyes gazed past the doctor, though when the latter turned instinctively, naught met his gaze. Wheeling back, his keen glance soon took in a fact which might have escaped any one else. Sturgins was still asleep!
"Nay, nay!" murmured Doctor Carter gently, approaching the dreaming man. "Wake up, Sturgins! Thou art asleep!"
But his words had the opposite effect from what he had intended. Sturgins, instead of awaking, uttered a final cry of terror, gave a sudden leap backward, and before the other could move had toppled through the opening in the hayloft floor to the ground below, where he lay still and silent.
A pitying sound escaped Doctor Carter's lips as he hurriedly descended to kneel beside the injured man. They were alone in the vast, silent barn, for Amos had gone. He first assured himself that Sturgins still lived, then the doctor hurried to the farmhouse, where he informed Mistress Condit in a few terse words of what had happened. Mehitable was summoned and dispatched to the fields for help, and not much later the unfortunate Sturgins was being carried back to the little lean-to room he had occupied behind the kitchen since his arrival.
"La, la, I do protest he is the most luckless of fellows!" cried Mistress Condit, passing ahead of the motionless form to pull back the covers of his pallet.
"'Tis true, wife, to say nothing o' my being held up once again upon ye planting!" agreed the Squire, laying down his end of the burden and motioning Amos to do likewise. "Think ye he will die, sir?" he inquired, turning to the surgeon.
Doctor Carter shook his head. "Nay, I cannot tell; 'twas a most nasty fall. The fellow is built like an ox, despite his short stature, yet I like not his remaining senseless!" he replied doubtfully.
At that moment an unexpected voice spoke from the doorway.
"What, good Doctor Carter, hast secured a patient already?"
Mistress Condit uttered a little cry and, turning, found herself in her son's embrace, while Mehitable and Charity, as usual, swarmed upon him affectionately. He clasped his friend's hand eagerly then.
"Nay, less commotion!" warned John laughingly, in a low voice. "'Tis a sick-room ye be in, lasses! Come ye out into the kitchen!"
"Art home for long, Son?" asked the Squire, following the others into the kitchen before departing once more to his interrupted tasks.
"Nay, sir, for but an hour," answered the young man. "I be on my way to Newark and thereabouts, upon His Excellency's business. However," he added quickly, at sight of the look upon his mother's face, "I will return this night, I think, for I have permission to tarry a day with you." Then as Doctor Carter followed into the kitchen, he turned eagerly to him. "And now, sir, what happened to Sturgins?"
His alert young face was all aglow with professional interest the older recounted accident.
"Ye will try bleeding?" he asked when the other had finished.
Mehitable and Charity, shuddering, glanced at each other. Although bleeding, or the process of taking blood from the veins of their patients, was the common practice of every physician of that day for almost every ailment, these two fortunate little maids knew nothing beyond the word.
"Aye, if he remains senseless," returned Doctor Carter.
"Then I shall try my best to return this night, for it will be most interesting," responded John. "His case interests me much!"
"Oh, John!" breathed Mehitable in a horrified tone. "Interesting!"
Young Doctor Condit glanced at her mirthfully. "Art not going to help us, Mitty," he teased. "Nay, I shall expect ye to help"
But here Mehitable, with a little shriek of dismay, escaped his futile clutch at her plump arm and in a fit of shuddering, half pretense, half real, ran after Charity into the yard. Soon the kitchen was empty once more, the Squire and Amos tramping off to the fields, Doctor Carter returning to his patient; and then, placing various utensils upon the fire, Mistress Condit watched her son furtively as he sat, lost in grim musing, beside her upon the settle. At last she could bear it no longer, and though she well knew what troubled him, she spoke.
"How now, my boy? What be the matter." Her tone was affectionate.
"I was thinking. Mother. Hast heard no word from Nancy?"
Mistress Condit's cheerful face fell. "Nay, no word at all, my son," she answered gently.
There was a brief silence, then, Doctor Carter entering at that moment, John turned to him, brightening.
"How is your patient now. Doctor?"
The other shook his head. "Still senseless," he answered. "'Tis hardly to be wondered at, for, in truth, the fellow must have struck his head with terrific force. 'Tis most fortunate I brought my kit with me, since doubtless your instruments are at headquarters." And so saying, the little surgeon, with a naïve air of satisfaction, opened his surgical kit and examined his shining instruments affectionately, John watching him respectfully.
A quick knock sounding just then upon the door, Charity hastened to open it. She revealed the anxious face and tall, shambling form of Young Cy.
"I met Hitty. She told me that—that man I bl-blinded hath met with an accident, that ye were to bleed him, John?" he stammered questioningly. A look across the kitchen at the instruments laid out upon the table before Doctor Carter sent the blood from his face. "Is't true? Will he die?"
"Why, come in, Young Cy," returned John kindly. "Hitty is a madcap, she should not have so alarmed ye!" he went on in a vexed tone. "'Tis too soon to tell how he is, my lad."
The boy stood pale and silent a moment, then he sighed. "And if I had not blinded him, this would not have happened him!"
"Nay, he was as like to have died, blind or not, an he dies, for he was asleep when he walked off the haymow!" answered Doctor Carter sharply. But Young Cy looked at the floor.
"'Tis so horrible to feel that ye have taken the blue sky and the sunlight from a man!" he said. And with half a sob he dropped his chin upon his breast. Doctor Carter, watching him keenly, saw the nervous twitching of his eyelids, the trembling of his hands.
"Hast slept well lately, young sir?" he now asked.
"Hardly at all, sir," answered Young Cy, without looking up. "Nor can I eat."
"What!" said Doctor Carter contemptuously. "One would almost think thou wert a mollycoddle thus to act!"
The blood whipped into the boy's face and he sprang to his feet, his eyes flashing.
"No man shall call me mollycoddle!" he cried, taking a threatening step forward and glaring at the little doctor over John's outthrust arm.
"There, there, lad, let us not quarrel!" smiled Doctor Carter, in a friendly way. "My prescription has worked all too well."
Young Cy stared at him suspiciously until John, smiling, too, gave him a little push toward the other.
"Shake hands, lad," he said tolerantly. "He does not really think thee a mollycoddle! He called thee that but to test thy mettle. Go home, now, and eat and sleep and all will yet be well."
"Mayhap ye are right," said Young Cy shamefacedly. "I am sorry I spoke rudely to ye just now." And he shook Doctor Carter's hand apologetically. "And now I am off for home. Jemima was making a dried-apple pie!"
But before he had reached the door it was flung open and a sweet-faced lady entered hurriedly.
"Nancy!" screamed Charity happily.
"Nancy!" cried Mistress Condit.
"Nancy!" whispered John's heart. But he alone failed to greet her. Indeed, he did not stir until a manly form entered the room, when he tore his gaze away and met the newcomer's quizzical glance. Then he sprang forward.
"What, Tony Freeman!" he exclaimed.
They were shaking hands heartily when Mehitable came tripping into the kitchen.
"Von Garten!" she stammered, stopping short.
"Nay, Mistress Madcap, 'tis Lieutenant Anthony Freeman, at your service!" he answered, sweeping his tri-cornered hat against his breast in a fine bow.
"Of course! How stupid I be. I offer ye my apology!" cried Mehitable, recovering her composure. "Though"—she looked at him saucily—"if ye persist in calling me—er—er—that dreadful name o' Mistress Madcap, I shall have to call ye Von Garten!"
"Nay, I cry ye quits! Name me no Hessian name, I prithee!" And with mock horror Lieutenant Freeman held out his hands imploringly. He was interrupted by Mistress Nancy who, having just greeted Squire Condit, at that moment arrived, now turned toward John with very pink cheeks.
"Quiet, an ye please!" Then, when everyone had dropped into amazed silence, she looked around her shyly.
"While apologies are being tendered, as Hitty has started them, I have ridden since early morn to offer one myself. 'Tis to you, John!" She raised her eyes bravely. "Before your—your—mother, before everyone, I wish to cry your pardon. I have just discovered how unjust I have been to you about a—a certain matter. I thought 'twas you I saw garbed as 'Night' at Mr. Drew's rout last year in New York."
"Why, did ye not know he lent his suit for that affair to his friend here, your cousin, as he was out with me upon urgent sickness!" exclaimed Doctor Carter.
"Nay, not until Tony happened to mention it most casually last night. I—you—will not understand, mayhap, John; but 'twas most important to me who had worn that suit!" blundered on Mistress Nancy.
"I know why!" said Charity, in a tone of great satisfaction.
"So now I cry your pardon, John," stammered Mistress Nancy. Suddenly, before them all, she ran across the kitchen to throw herself in his arms. "Oh, John," she whispered. "I did indeed love ye all the time!"
John said nothing; but the look upon his face was enough as he bent over the lovely head upon his breast. Across the kitchen an older pair of lovers looked at each other and smiled happily.
Before any one could speak or move, Amos, the man of all work, thrust his head in at the door. "Here be a note, Mistress Hitty, for you."
Mehitable took it eagerly. "Why, 'tis from Miranda Briggs." She read it hastily; then, looking up at Mistress Nancy, she spoke seriously. "Miranda and her mother are going to Staten Island with the Squire. And there is something about that note Mother found in your reticule, Nancy. Shall I read it?" At the other's nod she bent her eyes upon the letter which, ill-spelt, criss-crossed, looked as though many repentant tears had dropped upon it. "Tell Mistress Nancy, that I cry her pardon for having written and secreted that note in her reticule. I did hate her so; but I do not hate her, now. For I was fearful she would steal John's love and him I did mean to marry myself some day."
"What, that young minx!" exclaimed John indignantly. The rest laughed, and poor Miranda's note was soon forgotten in the general stir which followed. All eyes were fixed inquiringly upon Doctor Carter when he returned from a brief visit to Sturgins's room.
"Better come, John; ye patient is sensible, I believe!"
As John Condit followed the older doctor, the others were following in curiosity when Squire Condit stopped them.
"A sick man needs quiet," he said authoritatively. "You, little Cherry, may go and bring us word o' ye patient."
She found John bending over the cot of the injured man. "Sturgins!" he said imperatively. As they all watched, there was a noticeable flutter of the patient's eyelids.
"Sturgins!" repeated John.
This time Charity held her breath. Yes, Sturgins was opening his eyes. He sighed, raised his hand weakly. Then, as they gazed, awed, he stared straight up into John's eyes and the young doctor, staring back, knew that he was looking into seeing eyes! Then, without a word, Sturgins's eyelids fluttered down wearily and he sank at once into a deep sleep. Charity flew back to the kitchen.
"He sees!" she stammered. "Sturgins can see again!"
"What!" cried all.
"Aye!" John appeared behind Charity, his face beaming. "'Tis true—a miracle has happened! There is no doubt the man sees! Doubtless some pressure has been released by this last blow he received when he landed upon his head this morning!"
At that Young Cy could contain himself no longer. With a stifled whoop he caught Mehitable's and Charity's hands and danced around for joy and relief. Before they knew it the Squire and his wife, the lovers, and Lieutenant Freeman were drawn into that magic circle, and when Doctor Carter appeared frowningly in the doorway even Amos was performing a solemn clog of his own, with a hop, skip, and shuffle.
"Misadventures we have had and madcaps we may be!" Mehitable was chanting, "but whole and sound and fine we are, though we have had no tea—thanks to ye British!" she added beneath her breath.
"Prithee, less noise!" commanded Doctor Carter, with a benign smile that took the edge from his words.
So they all seated themselves and tried to settle down. But even so, the fire crackled with mirth, the pewter pans winked, and the copper pans blinked, as though only love and happiness could reign from then on in that household and there never had been a shot fired at Lexington in 1775.
The end