# Conflict (Prouty)/Book 1/Chapter 8

It was after that drive with Sheilah that John Sheldon advised Dora to send her away.
Dora demurred. 'It would mean leaving Sidney alone here, but of course it's best for Sheilah, I suppose we can go. How long should you want us to be gone?'
'Oh, I should advise Sheilah's going away alone, I think, and for an indefinite period. Toa girl's school or something of that sort.'
'She's wanted to go for two years. But I don't believe in boarding-schools for girls, John, who have good homes and good mothers. I can't bear to think of sending Sheilah away—the only child we've got, just when she's forming her life ideals. I want to be near by, and help form them. I think it's a mother's duty. Anyhow, there's no school of any standing that takes new girls in the spring term. Why, it seems to me a terribly radical thing for you to advise, just because Sheilah isn't sleeping very well and is a little run-down. Unless you think——Is it a nervous breakdown, John?'
'Not yet.'
'If it's a nervous breakdown, what's the cause of it?' demanded Dora.
​'It isn't a nervous breakdown, and I don't know what is troubling her. She may not know herself. She told me about a queer dream that keeps recurring, but it is beyond me to interpret it. I'm not a neurologist, Dora. I can send you to one, though, and possibly he can put his finger on the cause of Sheilah's unhappiness immediately. But whatever the cause, it's results we're after, isn't it? And if we remove Sheilah immediately from her present surroundings, nine chances out of ten we'll be lucky and eliminate the cause. It may be a boy, you know. She——'
'Oh, no. It isn't a boy,' said Dora with finality. 'I'm a mother who keeps very close track of her daughter. She assures me it isn't a boy.'
'Well, naturally, if it is one——'
'You're mistaken there, John. Sheilah has always told me everything. Anyway, she hasn't been seeing anything of any special boy lately. It's queer, but Sheilah doesn't seem to care about boys very much. Just at the age when most girls' interest in them increases, hers seems to have flattened out. For the last year, she won't make any effort at all—for a boy. It troubles me. I've spoken to her about it.'
But of course Mrs. Miller had to speak to Sheilah about Nevin Baldwin. She never knew a thing about his invitation until Mrs. Baldwin referred to it ata tea.
'We were so sorry Sheilah couldn't accept Nevin's invitation for his school-dance, last month,' she said.
Mrs. Miller murmured discreetly, 'Sheilah was very sorry, too,' but she could feel the color in her cheeks.
'I don't understand it in the least,' she told Sidney later as he was changing for dinner. 'Sheilah knows very well how much I approve of Nevin Baldwin. And yet she's never even mentioned the invitation. Why not? And why didn't she accept it? She likes Nevin. I know she likes him. And besides——Nevin Baldwin! I shall speak to her about Nevin's invitation to-night.'
'Be gentle with her, Dora.'.
'Am I ever anything else? I guess you can trust Sheilah to me, Sidney.'
Sheilah was late to dinner that evening. It was Saturday. She had been late to dinner last Saturday, too. She explained that she had been on a long walk hunting for pussy-willows. No, she hadn't found any. It was tooearly. Oh, about as far as the empty ​ice-houses on Sabin Pond. Nobody went with her.
It was true. Felix had met her there. He had been waiting for her in the shadow of the ice-house. There had been no actual appointment, but the Saturday before, as they had crept out of the thick border of blackness on the land side of the ice-house, Felix had murmured, 'I'm coming next week, too.'
Sheilah had made no reply, but the thought of him waiting there for her in the dark had drawn her like a magnet all the week. She felt as helpless as a tiny steel needle now.
They had gone inside one of the empty ice-houses to-night, through a narrow slit where one of the old boards had been ripped off. How big it had seemed inside! And how terrifying! At first, more terrifying than Felix, so that she forgot him for a moment. But only for a moment. One could reason with the fear of the dark. But one couldn't with the fear of Felix. How thick the dark had seemed inside the ice-house! And heavy and stifling. How thick Felix had seemed, and heavy, and stifling, standing so close to her, but not touching her! Not at first.
'Sheilah, your soup, dear.'
She gave a little start.
'I can't, mother.'
'But it isn't right to leave good food like that. ​There are starving people in the world who need it, Sheilah.'
'They can have it,' said Sheilah. She shoved the plate away from her a little. 'May I be excused? I'm not hungry to-night.' She stood up.
'Why, Sheilah, there are broiled sweetbreads coming. I ordered them especially for you. And pineapple salad. All your favorite things.'
'I can't eat to-night, mother. Don't urge me.'
'Why can't you eat?'
'Just the thought of food makes me feel sick.'
'But there's no reason it should. John Sheldon says you're perfectly well physically. You mustn't allow your imagination to get the upper hand of you like this. I think it wise for you to sit down, dear, and try to eat, anyway.'
'Must I?'
'Oh, let her go, Dora,' said Sidney.
Dora looked at Sidney—just looked at him, across the dish of artificial fruit. Sheilah could feel the look as it swept past her.
'Oh, I'll stay,' she said quickly. 'I don't mind.' And she sat down.
Dora waited until she could talk to Sheilah alone before approaching the subject of Nevin Baldwin. She waited until she heard Sheilah in her room above, shoving up her windows in preparation for the night, then laid aside her sewing and went upstairs.
​'Ready for mother?' she inquired brightly from the threshold as she entered Sheilah's room.
Sheilah closed her teeth together tightly, and said nothing.
Mrs. Miller ignored the silence and approached the bed leaving the door into the hall open to light her way.
'Shall we have our prayers now, dear?' she inquired in the tone she always used when referring to anything religious. Mrs. Miller had clung to the childhood custom of hearing Sheilah say her prayers occasionally, just as some mothers cling too long to symbols of dependent babyhood with their last-born.
Sheilah murmured, 'Not to-night. And please don't ask me again.'
'Why, Sheilah, dear! How wrought up my little daughter is!' And she sat down on the edge of Sheilah's bed. Mrs. Miller was not a slender woman. The bed creaked.
Sheilah said, 'Please sit in a chair.'
'Why, Sheilah!' again exclaimed her mother, and began stroking Sheilah's forehead.
Her hands smelled faintly of dried sweet-grass. They always smelled that like. A sickish smell, Sheilah thought. She closed her eyes, and lay straight and rigid beneath the bedclothes, bound tightly across her by her mother's body, wait​ing—waiting—waiting——It couldn't last forever.
'Sheilah, dear,' said Mrs. Miller finally, still continuing to stroke. 'Tell mother something. Why didn't you go to Nevin Baldwin's school-dance? I've just heard about it.'
'I didn't want to.'
'Didn't want to! But, my dear! Nevin Baldwin!'
'Oh, mother, leave me, please.'
'And why didn't you tell mother about it?' Mrs. Miller purringly pursued, unaware that the long-withheld flood was driving hard at weakening gates. 'I can't understand it, sweetheart.' Oh, she was ever so gentle. 'Mother can't understand what has come over her daughter. You don't seem to wish to please me any more, to do the things that would please me. And we're so sympathetic. You know what I think of Nevin Baldwin. You know——'
'Mother.' Sheilah suddenly sat up in bed. 'Will you go? Will you go?' Twice, quietly.
Mrs. Miller was unaware of any crisis. She started to put her arms around Sheilah, protectingly, shelteringly. And suddenly the gates broke!
Sheilah pushed her away. 'Don't touch me! Don't come near me!' she cried out. 'I can't bear to have you touch me! Go away! Get off my bed, and go away.'
Mrs. Miller stood up staring at Sheilah. Sheilah ​caught the pained, distorted look on her face in the dim light, but it was too late now to stop the waters. She went on mercilessly. 'I mean it. I can't bear it any longer. There's no sympathy between us. None! None! Oh, go away, go away!'
She flung herself forward on the bed and broke into uncontrolled sobbing. She had done a terrible thing, she supposed, but she was glad. She had let the pressing flood through at last, and it was good to feel it flowing over her, possessing her, sweeping her along with a strength stronger than hers—drenching her, drowning her. It was good to drown in strong, deep waters.
If only one did drown! Oh, but one didn't! One didn't drown in the flood of one's own emotions after all! Sheilah discovered that night that a catastrophe of one's own making can hurt more than the ache of holding it back.
She didn't know whether it was five minutes or five hours later that she rose to the surface of the swirling waters, and heard, coming from afar off, the queer, measured, mechanical sound that proved to be her own voice. She lay very still at first, and tried to stop it. But she couldn't. That was horrible to her. Where was she? What had happened? There was her dressing-table, between the two ruffle-curtained ​windows, her desk, her low rocking-chair beside it. She was awake. Fully awake. She was sitting up now. She was standing. She could feel the cold floor beneath her bare feet. And there was her father coming towards her from the hall.
'Father!' she managed to call out. She could speak, anyhow. And hear too.
He said, 'It's all right, Sheilah. Get back into bed.'
And suddenly she remembered everything!
'I sent mother away,' she said between the queer dry sobs that continued to have their own way with her. 'I didn't want her to touch me. I didn't want anybody to touch me.'
'Don't be afraid. Nobody shall,' her father assured her. 'Just get back into bed.'
'Oh, I don't mean you!' she cried out. 'Oh, father!' And she stretched out her bare arms towards him.
Sidney Miller wasn't a very big man. Sheilah was nearly as tall as he now. But he lifted her quite easily. He was, in fact, unaware of any weight at all as he slipped his arms beneath her wraith-like body, and carried her across the room to the low rocking-chair by the desk. She clung like a scarf beaten against him by the wind as he sat down with her.
'Don't leave me,' she begged.
'I won't,' he replied.
​Later she murmured, relaxing her tight hold upon him a little, 'I'm so tired.' And still later, when the intervals between the sobs had widened to long pauses, 'I thought I was drowning.' And just before she fell asleep, with a deep soft sigh, 'You're like a great big ship underneath me, father.'