Drab and Rose

Drab and Rose By Elsie C. Carroll Martha tried to keep her gaze upon the magazine she was pretending to read, but in spite of her efforts her hungry eyes kept stealing furtively to the opposite side of the room. She felt that Mr. Kerr had been provoked at finding her there, and although Mrs. Kerr had explained so sweetly all about the wreck which had overcrowded the wards and made it necessary to double up in all parts of the hospital, and had even said she was delighted to have Martha with her for company, Martha still felt uncomfortably out of place and almost longed for the monotony of the gray walls and long rows of white beds of the ward. But it was not alone the feeling that she was an intruder, now, during the visiting period, that was troubling her. The accumulated impressions of the day were becoming merged with vague longings of a lifetime and from the confusion shad- owy ghosts were beginning to form and torment her. What a straight, athletic figure Mr. Kerr had! Martha's eye took in the well-proportioned lines of the man bending solicit- ously over the pink negligee figure on the opposite bed, and her ear caught the gentle flow of soft love-words. Her subcon- scious mind complained that Sam's shoulders were too high and that his neck was brown and creased and that he was not particular about keeping his hair trimmed about his ears. And Sam's voice was loud. She could not imagine him speaking in softened tones like Mr. Kerr was using — nor putting his cheek against her hair, nor playfully biting her fingertips. Resolutely she pulled her eyes from the distracting pic- ture and they fell upon the hands that held the magazine before her face. Her fingertips! Who would want to kiss them? They were blunt and her knuckles had been made large by hard work. She contrasted them mentally with Mrs. Kerr's soft, delicate, tapering hands. Then she went on with that mental compari- son. Without looking into a mirror she could see her own hair drawn straight back from her temples; Mrs. Kerr's, only a slightly darker brown, was fluffed about her face as Martha used to fluff hers when there had been more time — and when she had felt than Sam liked it that way. She looked at the plain long

806 IMPROVEMENT ERA sleeve of her coarse white night-gown and contrasted it with the shimmering pink silk of Mrs. Kerr's richly embroidered dressing robe. A wave of revulsion swept over her. Why was it that some lives were all drab and others all a rosy hue? She closed her eyes and her lips tightened. For a moment she forgot the white bed, the bowls of flowers, the beautiful woman and the caressing man across the room. She was seeing the drab years that stretched back like a dull road from the present to the rose- colored dreams of her girlhood days. Here was a couple al- most as old as she and Sam and they had kept the rosy path. "We'll put part of these flowers on your dresser." Martha was recalled by the slow gentle voice she had been trying not to hear. "Birdie tells me your hubby hasn't been in yet today and that they didn't move your flowers." Martha's thin cheeks flushed. "No — Sam — Mr. Graham must have — been detained." She tried to imagine Sam arranging flowers at her bedside. The effort was ridiculous. Not that Sam was unkind — Intuitively Martha knew that Mr. Kerr had visited his wife that morning before she had been moved in, and that he would come again during the visiting hours in the evening, and that he would come every day. Suddenly a fierce determination seized her that this man and woman should not know that Sam came to see her only twice a week — Wednesdays when he came in for supplies, and Sunday afternoons — that they should not know how drab and barren her life was. Mr. Kerr was speaking again in that soft, fascinating tone. "Poor chap! One morning I couldn't make it and it seemed an age before two o'clock. I don't see why these hos- pitals have such unreasonable regulations. Well, goodby. It won't be long until six. Glad you're here to keep Birdie com- pany." Mr. Kerr's handsome head bent gallantly toward her for a moment, and then gaily blowing a kiss to his wife he was gone. "I believe it is harder on these foolish husbands than it is on us — these operations," sighed Mrs. Kerr with a smile. "At least Reggie declares it is. Poor boy! He's wretched now be- cause he can't find anything new to bring me. You see I've been here nearly a month. He's been so good and attentive." The grateful smile was still playing on her face. The bitter resentment and vague longings that had been gathering in Martha Graham's breast broke into a kind of wild fury. Why couldn't she wear silk underwear and keep her

DRAB AND ROSE 807 hands soft and white and have flowers. Perhaps she and Sam were not as wealthy as the Kerrs, but Sam's yearly income was around the $10,000 mark — and she — Again her eyes fell on the coarse sleeve of her gown and on her blunt fingers. Martha saw Mrs. Kerr snuggle down comfortably for a nap and she was glad. All her life she had longed for beautiful things but never so poignantly as now. Perhaps it was the weakness from her recent operation that made her susceptible to this overwhelming self-pity and resentment. Suddenly she reached under the pillow and drew out the check Sam had given her the day before to pay her two weeks' hospital bill. In the excitement following the wreck she had forgotten to pay it. She held it in her blunt fingers now look- ing at the angular characters of Sam's well-known hand writing. Fifty dollars. The fever of her recent determination was still burning. Her hands trembled, but her resolve was firm. Fifty dollars wasn't much, but it would help — Mr. Kerr should not know. Her pale cheeks were flushed in guilty excitement as the wild plan took more definite form. Her methodical mind looking ahead as was its wont, suggested consequences which would have to be met, but grimly she pushed the troublesome warnings aside and touched the signal for a nurse. She was glad Miss Monson answered the summons. Miss Monson always moved so quietly; she did not even disturb Mrs. Kerr's nap now. Martha spoke in a hurried whisper and though the nurse's countenance betrayed some surprise, she showed no other sign, as Sam's check and a hurriedly scrawled list were pressed into her hands. When Mrs. Kerr was brought in from the sun-parlor late that afternoon she found a transformed room-mate. Martha, in a sky-blue lounging robe which revealed glimpses of an amber-colored crepe-de-chene gown, with hair fluffed in soft waves about her face, was arranging a bunch of American beauties in a vase on the stand. Two fresh magazines lay on the bed and a canary twittered in a gilded cage at the window. "I — I thought I — might as well have — some of my things brought in," Martha ventured in response to Mrs. Kerr's look of surprise. "There — wasn't a private room — when I came and there isn't much room in the wards." She flushed at the unaccus- tomed deceit.

808 IMPROVEMENT ERA "You look very pretty," Mrs. Kerr commented in a tone that struck Martha as queer. "Did they let your husband in before hours?" "No — no — a friend — you see Sam — Mr. Graham has — been called away on — important business and won't be back until Sunday — so he had the things brought." "And you won't see him until Sunday? You poor girl." Martha was grateful for the interruption of Mr. Kerr's entrance at this point. The next morning the nurse brought in fresh flowers for Martha's table and in the afternoon a box of delectable dainties. The women whiled away the time between visiting hours by exchanging confidences. Martha had learned to her great re- lief that Mrs. Kerr was to leave the hospital Sunday morning. Sam wouldn't be there until two in the afternoon. That is why she dared go on with her fantastic fabrications. Her mind re- fused to consider the day of reckoning. "I do hope your husband comes before I leave," confided Mrs. Kerr. "I always adored the name Sam. It sounds so good and substantial. I've always felt," she continued more slowly and with unusual seriousness, "that if Reggie's name were only Sam or David or Henry — I — I shouldn't have to — worry about some of the — things I do." Her voice trailed away into pa- thetic wistfulness. Martha looked up in questioning amaze. Could it be pos- sible that Mrs. Kerr had anything to worry about — surrounded always by beautiful things; going always to beautiful places and having love made to her in such a beautiful way by a man al- ways well-groomed and handsome? Yes, Sam was substantial! Martha felt a queer little twinge. Substantial — that was the trouble. He was like the stable bed- rock of a stream. She wanted some of the beautiful spray and foam of life as well. "He — he may not get here until the afternoon or evening visiting hours." A little panic swept over her at the thought of the possibility of Sam's coming early, or of Mrs. Kerr's be- ing detained. Saturday afternoon, Mr. Kerr did not arrive until near the end of the visiting period. Even Martha detected a change in him. He was unusually preoccupied and quiet. Martha as usual tried to keep her attention on her maga- zine in order to give the couple as much privacy as possible, but she could not fail to detect Mrs. Kerr's concern over her hus- band's changed manner. When the time came for him to go Martha saw her clinging to him and pleading with him to come

DRAB AND ROSE 809 early in the evening and to be sure to have everything ready for her departure the next morning. He promised mechanically, Martha thought, and seemed less reluctant to leave than on former occasions. "I'm glad Birdie has such good company," he said cheer- fully to her as he passed, but he seemed to be thinking of some- thing else. She couldn't help wondering what it all meant, par- ticularly when, after he had gone Mrs. Kerr turned her face to the wall and Martha knew by the heaving of her shoulders that she was weeping. When the evening visiting hours came round, Martha no- ticed that Mrs. Kerr was keenly alert. Every time a step sounded on the stair or in the hall her eyes were turned expectantly to- ward the door. But the minutes dragged by and Mr. Kerr did not appear. Martha tried to keep up a lively flow of talk to ease the growing strain, but she was filled with curiosity and increas- ing pity for her companion. With colorful detail she was describing the boudoir in her home (the home her mind and tongue had builded during the past few days) when Mrs. Kerr suddenly gave a hysterical little shriek. "Can't you see I don't care a rap about your Inglenook and Sam's den when I'm frantic about Reggie's not coming?" Martha's sympathetic eyes turned to the frightened, stricken face now, freed from all pretense. "He's probably been detained by important business," she tried to console. "Business!" Mrs. Kerr's tone was high and hard. "You don't know Reggie. He never had any important business in his life. He has always lived on luck. O, I knew things would go wrong again if I had to stay here long. Reggie means all right, but he won't look at life seriously. All he cares about is surface glitter. That is what I meant when I said I wished his name was Sam or David or Henry. Of course I know it would take more than a name to change Reggie — but O, I'm so sick of sham and sponging and pretense and never tasting the real things of life." She grew more vehement as she continued. "I'd love the drudgery of a farmhouse and the care of children and the feeling of actually belonging somewhere." We are tossed here and there by circumstances. Sometimes we have a little money but it is always spent for show, and Reggie — O, I'm an ungrateful wretch to tell you all this when you have seen what a dear he can be — but I've got to tell someone — Reggie just can't keep out of difficulties. Sometimes it's drink — sometimes it's gambling and — twice it's — been — other women."

810 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Oh!" Martha gave a hurt groan. Instantly she thought of Sam — big — shoulders too high — neck brown and creased and hair growing carelessly about his ears, but there seemed a sort of halo about him now. With sickening self-scorn her eyes fell on the rich lounging robe thrown across the foot of her bed. And Sam had been saving to buy the section of land join- ing their upper forty. The sound of Mrs. Kerr's hysterical sob- bing came to her but vaguely through the storm of self accusa- tion that was sweeping over her. She should like to weep too, but her throat was dry and burning. Besides she felt that she did not deserve the relief of tears. The next morning, though Mrs. Kerr was white and wasted and the nurses tried to persuade her to delay her departure un- til the afternoon or until her husband should come for her, she insisted on being taken to her apartments in the hospital am- bulance. When she bade Martha goodby she clung to her hand as a child might have done. "You'll forget the foolish things I said last night. I do get to feeling that way sometimes, but of course I'm just as bad as Reggie and I don't suppose I'm capable of living a real life any more than he is. It will keep on being just glitter and show with us to the end I suppose, but I wish — you — you'll think I'm crazy to ask it — but I — I wonder if you would give me that plain little night-dress you wore the day they moved you in here. You looked — so sweet — and genuine — and womanly and—" Martha looked at her a moment unbelieving, then a crim- son flood swept her face. She wondered just how much of her deceit the other woman had discerned. A look of sympathetic understanding finally passed between the two pairs of eyes and Martha pressed the slim soft hand that clung to her coarser one. "When I get home I'll send it to you," she faltered, "but — I couldn't spare it now." When it was time for Sam to come the only evidence of Martha's three-day venture into rose-hued life was a large box under the bed, a canary in the window farthest from her side of the room and a bunch of drooping roses on the table. She was gazing contritely at the long sleeve of her white night-gown, wondering just how she could tell Lim, when she heard Sam's familiar step. "We moved her in with Mrs. Kerr after the wreck," she heard a nurse explaining and then the door opened. "Well, well, old girl, how are we today?" Sam's big voice

DRAB AND ROSE 811 boomed as he came toward the bed. How like heavenly music that well-known greeting was and how dear was the awkward movement of his high shoulders as he bent to kiss her. She reached up her arms and clasped his neck — brown and creased — and her blunt fingers stole caressingly to the straggling ends of hair about his ears and then to the surprise of them both Martha burst into tears. "Why — why what's the matter, girl?" Sam soothed clumsily. "O, Sam, I'm — a wic-ke-d woman. I've done — something — dreadful." He looked at her reassuringly. "I guess nothing so very dreadful," he insisted calmly. "Tell me all about it." She looked up, grateful tears still streaming from her eyes. How much more comforting was a real rock like Sam to cling to than the uncertain spray and foam she had craved. And then with downcast eyes and occasional sobs she made her pitiful little confession. "But I'll never feel that way again, Sam. I was bitter be- cause our life seemed so — so drab — but O, I like drab better than — rose." "How would a little rose trimming be?" Sam asked a bit huskily and drawing the box from beneath the bed he took out the gorgeous lounging robe and held it for her to slip into. "Get into this and I'll order up a little lunch from the caterers across the street. We'll eat over by that window where we can watch the canary while he serenades us." Provo, Utah View Points If I could scale the walls of an ivy-twined tower And should stand on its highest projection Blowing a rainbow-tinted trumpet, I'd attract the attention of the populace. Then, from my lofty height, I'd sing About the bit of heaven in your starry eyes, The pink of the shell in your rounded cheek. I'd sing of the gold in your silken hair And of your dimpled form so fair. But There are no ivy-twined walls for me to climb. No rainbow-tinted trumpet for me to blow, And, were such things possible, The common mob would nudge each other, Smile and say: "A foolish mother." San Diego, California D. C Retsloff