San Antonio light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1911-1993, 1926-01-14

bronzed, vital and laughing. Yet al
ways with another-not herself.
She remembered his gallant kind
ness, but as though she had read of
it-as though he were removed from
her. And the thing was ended.
|
Now, standing in the garden, this
sense of remoteness, Of isolation from
these tempestuous days, encompassed
her. She felt quiet as a nun.
Often in the night, sitting alone with
her mother, this causeless, poetic sad
ness filled her. But the next day
she would be fevered and restless. She
would whisper to herself in agitation (:
This isn't going TO last! 1t CAN'T
last.' She meant the dullness-the
depressing emptiness. Then her dreams
would sail buoyantly TO heights of ro-
mantle adventuring as they had in her
girlhood.
She went in now and filled the hot
water bag. Isabel was cold. Her hands
and feet were icy. Sandy went up the
dark, creaking stairs, running her hand
along the old red lincrustra.
At the landing she heard Isabel
grooming. She ran.
Her mother raised her hand aim
lessly as thought to brush the hair
from her forehead. Her head lay back
on the pillows, the mouth open.
But she heard Sandy's step and
made n faint effort to smile. All the
prettiness was gone from the plump,
soft face. The eyes had a haggard,
troubled look. But this faltering at
tempt to smile sent a rush of tears
to Sandy's eyes.
WAS / gone long, galubchik? /
had to make the fire. Are you very
cold?"
She touched her mothers hands and
was terrified. The fear was gnaw-
ing all the time like a small. live
thing on Sandy's heart. When she
saw that blue line Of her mothers
lips she told herself: "It's been that
way-it's no worse"
Then she listened TO her noisy
breath. ITS no louder-it's just the
same"
But the hands and feet were Jumps
of ice. She chafed them. She put
the bag against them, ran down.
stairs and filled bottles with hot
water.
She was afraid TO return. She |
didn't want to 90 back TO her mothers |
room. She dried the bottles slowly. |
Then she went tearing up the stairs.
Poor Isabel-pOor little Isabel left
alone there with that look of fright |
in her sweet, shallow eyes.
Sandy leaned down and whispered |
in her mothers ear: Are you in |
pain, darling?"
Isabel shook her head.
Sandy stared at her mother. She
told herself. shaking: She's dying
Lord, she's dying. I'd better call
Them
But she stood motionless, ber
mothers hands gripped on hers Il
can't leave her."
Isabel wished 10 speak. She mo-
toned for Sandy to stoop.
Sandy kissed her. She touched her
mothers cheeks. DO you want any
thing!"
"Yes-wait-don't leave NEEDN'T
go away again. You were gone-long
too long
"Oh. mother-no-"
Isabel braced herself, her HAND ling
ing wildly up to her forehead. SANDY
-are-you happy?"
"Yes-happy as can be"
Sandy took those cold hands and
held them against her breast. She
said in a stricken. hollow tone: I'll
call Angus-mother, do you want An
gus And she was so frightened
she could scarcely move. i
afraid lest Isabel would pass and she
there with her alone. The cold hands
against her breast made her think Of
the baby-that little child OF hers who
lay so quiet and so still against her
heart.
She said: Mother-wait-" And
fancied again that vague, faint smile
on Isabels lips. Mother"
Sandy dropped on her knees, bid
her face in her mothers hands. She
looked up. Death like a cold. gray