His Family by Ernest Poole (popular ebook readers txt) 📕

When Baird arrived a little later, Roger opened the door himself, and they went back into his study.

“Sit down,” he said. “Smoke, Allan?”

“No, thanks.” Baird looked doubly tall and lean, his face had a gaunt appearance; and as he sat down, his lithe supple right hand slowly closed on the arm of his chair.

“Now then,” began Roger, “there are two things we want to get clear on. The first is about yourself and Deborah. There has been trouble, hasn’t there?”

“Yes.”

“She has made up her mind not to marry you.”

“Yes.”

“I guessed as much.” And Roger paused. “Do you mind my asking questions?”

“No⁠—”

“Are you still in love with her, Allan?”

“I am.”

“And she with you?”

“I think so.”

“Then it’s the same old trouble.”

“Yes.” And he told a part of what she had said. As he talked in clear, terse, even tones, Baird’s steady eyes had a tortured light, the look of a man who has almost reached the end of his endurance. Roger smoked in silence.

“What do you propose to do?”

“Wait,” said Allan, “a few days more. Then try again. If I fail I’m through.” Roger shot a quick look at him.

“I don’t think you’ll fail, my boy⁠—and what’s more I think I can help you. This is a large house, Allan⁠—there’s more in it than you know. My second point concerns myself. I’m going to die within a year.”

As Baird turned on him suddenly, Roger grimly smiled and said, “We won’t go into the details, but I’ve been examined lately and I have quite positive knowledge of what I’ve suspected for some time. So far, I have told no one but you. And I’m telling you only because of the bearing it has on Deborah.” Roger leaned forward heavily. “She’s the one of my daughters who means the most, now that I’m so near the end. When I die next year that may be all⁠—I may simply end⁠—a blank, a grave⁠—I am not sure. But I’ve made up my mind above everything else to see Deborah happy before I go. And I mean to do it by setting her free⁠—so free I think it will frighten her.”

Roger went on to explain his plan, and they talked together for some time.

Another week had soon gone by. Bruce still recovered rapidly, and the other sick children were up and about. Deborah, in the meantime, had barely been in the house at all. But late on Saturday evening Roger found her in her room. She was working. He came behind her.

“What is it, dad?”

“Busy, eh?” He hesitated, and laid his hand on her shoulder with a little affectionate pressure. “You’ve kept so busy lately,” he said, “I haven’t had time to see anything of you. How’s your work going?”

“Much better, thanks⁠—now that the winter is over.”

He questioned her about her schools. And then after a brief pause,

“Well, daughter,” he said, “it has been a great fight, and I’m proud of you for it. And if I’ve got anything to say⁠—” his hand was still on her shoulder, and he felt her tighten suddenly⁠—“it isn’t by way of criticism⁠—please be sure of that ahead. In this damnable war my faith in men has been badly shaken up. Humanity seems to me still a child⁠—a child who needs to go to school. God knows we need men and women like you⁠—and I’m proud of all you’ve accomplished, I’d be the last man to hold you back. I only want to help you go on⁠—by seeing to it that you are free⁠—from anything which can hinder you.” He stopped again for a moment.

“To begin with,” he said, “I understand you’re not going to marry Allan Baird.” She stirred slightly:

“Did he tell you so?”

“Yes⁠—I asked him,” Roger replied. “I had Allan here a few nights ago, and he told me you had decided to give up your happiness for the sake of all those children in that big family of yours. You felt you must keep yourself free for them. Very well, if that is your decision I propose to clear the way.” She looked intently up at his face. “You’re not free now,” he continued. “We have Edith and her children here. And I’m growing old⁠—that has got to be thought of⁠—I don’t want to leave them on your hands. So as soon as the baby is well enough, I’m going to move them up to the mountains⁠—not only for the summer⁠—they are to stay the whole year ’round. From this time on they’re to make it their home.”

“Father! But they can’t do that! Think of the winters!” Deborah cried.

“It’s already settled,” he answered. “I’ve talked to Edith and she has agreed. She has always loved the farm, and it will be good for her children. In the meantime I’ve been talking to George. ‘George,’ I told him, ‘I’m going to talk to you, man to man, about a man’s job I want you to tackle.’ ”

“The farm? But, dearie! He’s only a boy!”

“He’s nearly seventeen,” said Roger, “and a young moose for his age. And old Dave Royce will still be there. It’s the work George has been dreaming about ever since he was a child. You should have seen how he was thrilled by the scheme. I told him we’d spend the summer together up there laying all our plans, investing our money carefully to make every dollar count.”

“What money?” Deborah sharply asked. But her father was talking steadily on:

“We already have a fine lot of cattle. We’ll add to it and enlarge the barn and put in some new equipment. In short, we’ll put it in fine shape, make it a first class dairy farm. ‘And then, George,’ I said to him, ‘I’m going to turn it over to you. I shall give the farm to your mother, and the rest of the money I have I mean to invest in her name down here, so that she’ll have a small income until you can make your dairy pay.’ ”

“What money are you speaking of?” Deborah’s voice was