A DOUBTFUL POINT
THE story of my connection with Mrs. Willkit has resolved itself into one big question mark. I never play Warum without recalling her. There is a moral and a warning attached, but these I shall leave to your own discretion, merely stating the facts.
Mrs. Willkit lived (or lives, that is the problem) on the outskirts of the city and she became known to me through the medium of a deserting seamstress still possessed of a rudimentary conscience. This seamstress suddenly resolved to visit her brother-in-law's cousin in the country (where she could pay for her board in sewing and where cream was said to be still extant). She proposed to incontinently depart and leave me with the tide of spring sewing only two days stemmed. Sternly challenged for this perfidious betrayal of a six months' trust, she said doubtfully that there was a lady her sister's friend knew who might come.
I tracked down the address of the lady, not without difficulty and wrote to her in as tempting and persuasive a style as I could command. Rather to my surprise it brought response. Mrs. Willkit presented herself in person. She looked very promising. She was attractive in make-up, gentle, neat and seemed to me of a practical turn. We made common cause from the first, and she agreed to do what she could to help me out, taking some of the work home with her. She made a personal favor of it, to be sure, but then everyone does nowadays and I was glad to get her on any terms. She said her husband didn't approve of her doing extra work. The girls were all busy and she had enough on her hands. She made it very clear that she circled in social realms far above that of mere seamstresses, and that on no account was she to be classed in with them. I was perfectly sound on this point. I have had experience. I treat them all as equals, nay, superiors, who from high motives of human kindness stoop to do me favors. We ignore by mutual consent, the sordid commercial aspect of the transaction (till pay-day) and trade only in the humanities. It is part of the price of labor in democratic countries and seems likely to go up. But I will admit there are times when the "monetary consideration" seems to me sufficiently ample without any sense of obligation thrown in.
Mrs. Willkit intimated that while there was no real necessity for it, a little extra pin-money never came amiss, and she could pick it up between times (referring to the sewing), whereat I perceived that Mr. Willkit was not to be apprised of this little excursion into the realms of commerce, and that his gentle wife was vicariously relieving whatever conscience-pricks she felt, by telling me. After all, there is something to be said for the confessional. When we commit our sense of guilt to words we give it wings with which to fly away.
Mrs. Willkit came quite often. She undertook to do some of the necessary shopping. She said she enjoyed getting out a little and I encouraged this view. Sometimes she was accompanied by a small daughter, the youngest of her four, who sat abnormally still, listening to our plans for cutting out blouses and decorating the same, with an apparent comprehension in her unblinking countenance that made me positively uneasy.
With the advent of Christmas, I naturally sent a trifling remembrance to this little girl along with something more substantial to her mother. I really liked Mrs. Willkit and flattered myself that the regard was mutual, a view which New Year's day confirmed, for with it came a return gift from her of a dozen new-laid eggs, each wrapped separately in white paper as became so princely a gift. Could anything make swifter appeal to a housekeeper's heart? Needless to say, they were withheld from miscellaneous kitchen exploitation, and dedicated chiefly to the master's use who, however, was more than once caught eating them behind his morning Globe in abstracted casualness and had to be reminded of his privileges.
Of course such benefactions as these left a glow in Mrs. Willkit's direction, and though some of the blouses didn't realize expectations, and one or two failed altogether of their intended destiny, I succeeded in taking a liberal view, judging more by intentions than by achievements.
Gradually the conditions of Mrs. Willkit's life and experience were unrolled before me. Naturally reticent and fine, it was by no word of hers that I pierced out the all too common little story and realized that she was one of those innumerable women whose capacities are not all soaked up, so to speak, by the domestic round. She craved some interchange of life at first hand. The two older daughters had "taken" stenography and appeared to be successfully launched on adventurous and brilliant careers of their own. Delphine, the third daughter (what an index to stifled mothers' lives the children's names often are!) was at school still, and by all inferences must have been a singularly self-sufficing young person. All three had apparently stepped over the rim of the parental nest, save for such minor considerations as cooking and plain-sewing, which their mother of course still did. The last and littlest of the quartette had as yet such a tendency to "stay put" (like plaster) that she was a negligible quantity. At first blush one might think that four daughters and a husband to cook for and look after, would sufficiently engage a homemaker's energies and no doubt they did so far as the outer and more visible needs are concerned. But there may exist other needs that a preoccupied and opinionated husband (I never saw the gentleman, but his wife always referred to him as Mr. Willkit) and three aggressive daughters might minister to. I felt as though some small green tendril had started out from Mrs. Willkit's soul seeking the light on its own account, and I resolved it should not suffer the blight of cold adversity if I could help it. So I kept on putting little opportunities in her way in spite of the aberrations of the blouses, and when summer came round again I had two proposals to make, that I thought might be to our mutual benefit. After gaining the consent of her family she joyfully accepted both. One was that she should "do up" our summer's supply of fruit (for a substantial honorarium) while we were away for general repairs; and the other, that our amiable Polly might spend her summer at the Willkit estate in a Toronto environ. For we had taken Polly to our summer habitation the year before, and the family had set its foot down firmly against ever repeating the experiment, leaving me as ever to settle the problem thus created as best I could. And Poll, in her usual tactful way had professed the most instant and violent attachment to Mrs. Willkit in the first moment of their meeting, which of course captivated the equally charmed lady. Nothing is so flattering to middle age as the partiality of pets, and Mrs. Willkit fell an unsuspecting victim to Polly's wiles. Besides, Mrs. Willkit, or rather her daughters, belonged to that sphere which is prone to regard hot-house pets as an indication of social elevation in the minds of the neighbors, and I have no doubt this conduced to the family permission, graciously accorded Mrs. Willkit to take upon herself for the summer, the cares and responsibilities incident to Polly's well-being.
It all worked out satisfactorily save that when restored to us at the end of the season Polly revealed some aberrations in her never too secure vocabulary which time did not alter or persuasion overcome. I realized too late the effect that social status has upon educational standards. Polly had not only failed to acquire any new words, but she mumbled or ran together those she already knew. Yet strange to say, she retained her affection for Mrs. Willkit, a characteristic back-handed slap at her own devoted household. She seemed by some clairvoyance to know when Mrs. Willkit entered the front hall and would set up an agitated scream of welcome almost before the door had closed behind her. This, no doubt, contributed to our growing intimacy with Mrs. Willkit, which ran a good deal to testimonies of regard. I became the somewhat embarrassed possessor of various articles for out-of-the-way uses such as darning-bags, handkerchief-holders, pin-cushions of curious shapes, highly embellished and wrought by Mrs. Willkit's tireless fingers out of scrap-bag elements.
Specimens of Delphine's achievements in pen and ink drawings were conferred upon me also, copies of fine ladies with pin curls and King Charles spaniels beside them on cushion, framed in wide, pale, gilt frames. These were really a household problem. They cried out to be hung, if for no other reason than to gratify Mrs. Willkit's pride in them, and yet where? The spare-room had been already sacrificed to duster-bags and plush-covered rolling pins designed for the accommodation of obsolete toilet articles. Some of these gifts rather bowled me over, I must own, though the bottle of delicate dandelion-wine she bestowed upon me when I had my annual attack of Grippe, went far to ameliorate the situation. I have forgotten what I gave her, but I dare say it was equally staggering, for I know I was put to it more than once for something novel.
Things had got to this pass when the great blow fell, for which I was totally unprepared. Mrs. Willkit came down specially for it, and I remember yet the air of suppressed importance with which she delivered herself. The small daughter was with her as usual and the sphinx-like stare of the immoble young countenance gave me a chilly feeling. The great piece of news was that they had decided to leave Ontario, and go out West to live, perhaps even to the States where her sister's husband had a ranch. Mr. Willkit was getting tired of business and he had always fancied farming. He was going out ahead to see the lay of things, and if he was satisfied they'd all move out in the Spring, unless the girls took a notion they'd ruther stay on with the Firm.
When I got my breath I asked if she liked the prospect herself and she said in a vague way that it might be a good thing to have a change. I fancy I noticed a trace of apathy in her tone. The inevitable fruit of negation is apathy. Indeed apathy might be defined as negation of the soul, a spiritual inhibition. This fancy swiftly crossed my mind as I looked at Mrs. Willkit, followed by the thought that possibly a change might be a good thing for her. What were my secondary interests compared with Mrs. Willkit's primary ones? It would certainly leave me at a loss where plain sewing was concerned, but surely I wasn't so selfish as all that? I hastily interrogated the interior of my mind. Yet it is undoubtedly a blow to be confronted with the loss of a helper who has gradually acquired some rudimentary ideas of your necessities and can fashion a garment that needs only a minimum of restoration after its supposed completion.
Events took their course, and in early June when the flitting time for us came round once more, it was with a certain degree of finality that Mrs. Willkit and I parted. She thought they might be gone (with a lingering emphasis on the "might") before our return, though Mr. Willkit hadn't settled anything definitely yet.
"Of course you'll write," I said, "and let me know how it all goes."
"Oh, yes," she replied with becoming readiness, "I expect I'll have a-plenty to tell you about."
When I returned in September I found that a neat little parcel had been left at the house sometime before, addressed to me in Mrs. Willkit's neat little handwriting. It contained an elaborately made collar-case, beautifully featherstitched and redolent of sachet powder. No written declaration of regard accompanied it, but I recognized it as Mrs. Willkit's parting gift and benediction. So she had really gone! I was selfishly regretful, and mentally composed a letter of thanks to her that contained the regret but not the selfishness. But as I had no address, of course the thanks must wait.
I sought me out another seamstress, one not above the work this time, but at double the price, and started all over again.
As time wore on with no word from Mrs. Willkit, a certain uneasiness added itself to my regret. Had circumstances not turned out so favorably as expected? Was she ill? I thought of trying to get some clue through the firm for whom "the girls" worked, but hesitated. They might be there still, of course, but I did not want to seem intrusive. The matter was really in Mrs. Willkit's own hands. She had always kept her connection with me somewhat apart from the family, perhaps because "mother's doing anything" was looked upon either as a joke or a reflection on the social status. So I forbore and tried to satisfy my uneasiness by reflecting that writing seemed laborious to unaccustomed hands, and her silence might betoken nothing more serious than good intentions indefinitely postponed.
But now comes the problem. I was startled out of my complacency about Mrs. Willkit's disappearance into the voids by accidentally coming upon her husband's name in an old bit of newspaper Charlotte had used to cover the plate-warmer on top of the range. It appeared in connection with the report of some committee on municipal affairs, insignificant in itself, but with it was given the same address as that to which the family had been moored when still here. What did it mean? Had the Willkits never moved away? Had Mrs. Willkit not had courage to confess to me the falling through of their plans?
Cogitating over this, there dawned upon me in course of time a still darker surmise. Had Mrs. Willkit found the weight of our intercourse with its givings and takings, too heavy a burden and deliberately let it lapse? I recalled with startled vividness the dandelion-wine, the quince-jelly, the plush and satin things in the darkened remoteness of the spare-bedroom. I even unsheathed the violet-hued collar-case from its rustling wrappings and gazed upon its pristine elegance. What else could it mean? The unnecessariness of a gift out of season, the finality of it seemed to me indicative of some conscience-stir, some wish to appease or conciliate the situation.
Years have passed since then but no word has ever come to me of the vanished Mrs. Willkit. The disquieting conviction grows upon me that her disappearance was intentional, a dampening commentary upon the too-muchness of modern intercourse.
I keep the collar-case in its original wrappings. It is suggestive of mystery, warning, rebuke.