Great Blessings

“The season again approaches,” proclaimed the President in one of his proclaiming moods, “when it has been the custom for years to set apart a day of Thanksgiving for the blessings which the Giver of All Good and Perfect Gifts has bestowed upon us during the year. It is most becoming that we should do this, for the goodness and mercy of God, which have followed us through the year, deserve our grateful recognition and acknowledgment.

“Our fields have been abundantly productive, our industries have flourished, our commerce has increased, wages have been lucrative, and comfort and contentment have followed the undisturbed pursuit of honest toil. As we have prospered in material things, so have we also grown and expanded in things spiritual.

“Wherefore I hereby set aside Thursday, the twenty-eighth day of November, as a day of general thanksgiving and prayer, and I recommend that on that day the people shall cease from their daily work and in their homes and accustomed places of worship devoutly give thanks to the Almighty for the many and great blessings they have received, and seek His guidance that they may deserve a continuance of His favor.”

Myrtle Stewart, aged ten, asked her mother for more cranberry sauce.

“Oh, no, dear! You don’t want to get sick.”

“I won’t get sick.”

“You will if you have more cranberry sauce. Remember, you must leave room for pumpkin pie.”

“I don’t want pumpkin pie. I want more cranberry sauce.”

“Let her have it, Clara. It can’t hurt her.”

This was the elder Mrs. Stewart speaking, Clara’s mother-in-law.

“She shouldn’t eat any sweets at all. Doctor Fred says that’s what’s the matter with her stomach.”

“There’s nothing the matter with her stomach. How does Doctor Fred know? He never had any children of his own. When Tod and Harry were Myrtle’s age, I didn’t refuse them anything, and I can’t see that they’re any the worse for it.”

Tod was Clara’s husband and Harry her brother-in-law, who had gone away to Detroit five years ago and was doing well there as a hotel manager with the liquor concession, just for the hotel, not the entire city. His salary was a small part of his income, but his parents didn’t know this. His stomach and Tod’s were in such condition that they could digest nothing but gin, which had no connection, of course, with the fact that Mother Stewart had indulged them when they were Myrtle’s age.

During the first six years of the married life of Clara and Tod, the family Thanksgiving dinner had been at Harry’s house. It was bigger and the Harry Stewarts usually could afford a maid. Grace, Harry’s wife, had not allowed a hostess’ responsibilities to weigh her down. Mother Stewart had disapproved of her because she drank a little, smoked when she liked, and was childless, but her mother-in-law’s thinly veiled hostility amused her up to a certain point, and when that point was reached, she walked out on her guests, saying she had promised to play bridge awhile at the Browns’.

Clara neither smoked nor drank, and had brought Myrtle into the world. This had made her the preferred daughter-in-law, but only temporarily. Tod’s inability to hold a good job was his wife’s fault, and she was too strict with Myrtle. And Grace’s depravity was forgotten as soon as she and Harry moved to Detroit and Harry began making fifteen thousand a year, of which he sent home a hundred dollars every Christmas.

Grace had perhaps been wise not to have a child. A hotel was no place in which to bring one up. Besides, she was not strong⁠—compared with Tunney.

This was the fifth Thanksgiving Father and Mother Stewart had come to Clara’s house. It was a habit now and they came without an invitation.

Clara, not blessed with a temperament like Grace’s, stood it as well as she could. At the end of the day she always wished she could drink enough gin to revive her spirits, but one small shot made her sick and she had to stay well to take care of Myrtle and Tod, both of whom invariably suffered a decline following a visit from the old people.

However, Clara would not have minded Thanksgiving if it had been the only day in the year when her mother-in-law and father-in-law swooped down on her. They dropped in three or four times a month, usually just before a meal, and Myrtle’s grandfather brought a particularly brutal brand of candy.

Worst of all, they had dropped in one evening in July, when Tod and Clara had left Myrtle at home alone while they attended the first show at the Gem. Their voices had awakened Myrtle and she had cried. No wonder, left alone without a light in the house.

“It isn’t sweet things that upset her,” asserted Mother Stewart now. “It’s nervousness. She isn’t over her fright and I doubt if she ever gets over it.”

“What fright?” said Tod.

“Waking up and finding herself alone in the dark.”

“That was nearly five months ago. And she wouldn’t have waked up if you hadn’t waked her.”

“I’m glad we did wake her. Almost anything could have happened. Tramps might have walked right in. They won’t stop at anything when they’re starving.”

“I think they’d stop at Myrtle,” said Tod. “She’s tough.”

“That’s a nice way for a father to speak of his child! A dear child like Myrtle!”

“Myrtle’s a dear child, all right,” Tod conceded, “and I imagine she seems even dearer than she is when you don’t have to live with her all the time.”

“I’d ask nothing better than to have her with me,” said Mother Stewart. “I guess her grandmother appreciates her, even if her parents don’t.”

“Tod isn’t both of her parents,” said Clara. “I appreciate her.”

“But you forget she’s just a child. It breaks her spirit, being so strict with her.”

“Strict! I don’t have a chance to be strict.”

“After all, Clara’s her mother,” said the elder Stewart, slipping his grandchild a chocolate cream under the table.

He felt it was time to change the subject, even if the change were for the worse.

“How’s things at the office, Tod?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said his son.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Well, Dad, I haven’t been there since last Saturday. They let me out.”

“What was the matter?”

“They didn’t like me, I guess.”

“You were only there two weeks.”

“That’s plenty of time for people to tell whether they like you or not.”

“Don’t talk so foolishly, Tod!” said Mother Stewart. “Myrtle isn’t old enough to understand your nonsense, and children repeat things outside.”

“It’s only the truth.”

“It’s not the truth and you know it! Old Kendall hasn’t brains enough to appreciate you. Or maybe that boy of his is jealous. And you weren’t well, anyway. How could you do yourself justice when you felt so miserable? Besides, it was no place for you, a hot, stuffy, dirty office like that! I don’t believe anyone even dusts. I wouldn’t worry about losing that kind of a position.”

“I don’t worry, Mother. I don’t worry enough. But Clara worries and I don’t blame her.”

“I didn’t say I was worried.”

“There’s no reason why you should be,” said her mother-in-law. “A woman who has a husband like Tod ought to be just proud and nothing else. Though she ought to worry a little about his health and see that he gets proper food and rest.”

“That reminds me, I forgot to take my medicine,” said Tod, and went to his bedroom, to the chiffonier where he kept his medicine in a large bottle which someone had labeled Gordon in a spirit of levity.

Mother Stewart took advantage of his absence to inquire whether he had any prospect of another job, wording her inquiry vaguely so Myrtle would think they were discussing bulbs. It was a waste of subtlety, for Myrtle was too busy stuffing herself to care what the talk was about.

Clara said the only thing in sight was a position with a Chicago firm, getting subscriptions in this territory for a new twenty-volume encyclopedia.

“He would work on a commission, no salary.”

“Well, I should think he’d make lots more money that way. Tod has so much charm, people are all so fond of him that I guess they’d buy nearly anything he asked them to.”

She had forgotten (but Clara remembered) that Tod had tried out many times before as a salesman and had proved conclusively that he couldn’t sell ant eggs to a wealthy turtle.

“Of course you mustn’t allow him to take it if it means much walking around, or lugging twenty big books everywhere he goes. He can describe the books and not carry them. Or he could have a set of them here at the house and invite people to come and see them. Maybe you could help by serving sandwiches and ginger ale.”

“They aren’t even published yet. There’s just a prospectus.”

“Well, it would save him walking and tiring himself out if you kept that here and invited people in. Harry’s feet got terribly calloused once, taking the census.”

“Couldn’t he have made people come to the house and give their names?” said Clara. “I should think they’d have been more willing when they didn’t have to buy anything.”

But it was necessary to change the subject again, for Tod was back at the table.

“Myrtle,” said Clara, “will you get your grandfather some more water while Mother clears the table?”

“Oh, the poor child! Don’t make a servant of her! Maybe that’s why she has trouble with her digestion, having to jump up and wait on people in the middle of a meal. Ben doesn’t want any more water, and Tod hasn’t finished his turkey.”

“I can’t eat any more, Mother. I’m full.”

“Why, you haven’t eaten anything at all.”

“I’ve eaten all I wanted.”

“Maybe⁠—Still, Clara’s getting to be a pretty good cook. You are a much better cook than you were, Clara.”

“Thanks. Oh, Mother Stewart, don’t get up! What do you want?”

“I thought if Ben has to have more water⁠—”

“I’ll get him some. You sit still.”

“Well, all right,” said Mother Stewart, resuming her seat; “but rather than see Myrtle⁠—”

“We used to have wine Thanksgivings at Harry’s,” recalled Father Stewart. “Claret wine. I don’t get it anymore.”

“I’ll never forget the Thanksgiving when Grace was so pie-eyed.”

“That’s enough, Tod!” his mother warned. “Little pitchers, you know.”

“I’ll bet Myrtle remembers it herself. Do you, Myrt?”

“Remember what?” said Myrtle.

“Little girls mustn’t try to understand their father’s silly jokes. They must just eat and get big and strong.”

Clara hoped Myrtle would not eat all her pie, but she did, though the last few mouthfuls were taken without enthusiasm.

“I’ll help you with the dishes,” said Mother Stewart.

“No, indeed! It’s nice of you to offer, but I couldn’t think of letting you. If you’ll amuse Myrtle⁠—”

The same two speeches had followed every meal her parents-in-law had eaten at Clara’s in seven or eight years.

When Clara was through in the kitchen, she went into the living room and found Father Stewart dozing in his favorite chair. Tod was absent after more medicine. Myrtle was lying on the couch and her grandmother sat beside her, stroking her forehead.

“I don’t think she feels very good. She complains of stomach ache. It will take her a long time to get over that fright.”

Myrtle slept and Clara wished she could sleep, too, but she had to listen to Mother Stewart.

“I had a letter from Grace Saturday. She apologized for not writing oftener; she said she had so little time. I imagine she helps Harry a great deal. She said she and Harry would love to have us come and pay them a visit, but the hotel was full all the while and we wouldn’t be comfortable with the noise and everything.

“Grace has turned out to be just the right kind of a wife for Harry. He was very patient with her at the start, always sure she would improve. And she certainly has. It means a lot to a man to have a wife like Grace. Most women don’t realize their responsibility.

“I sometimes wonder what would have become of Ben if I had been less understanding. With Tod and Harry to take care of, and doing my own housework, I was pretty busy, but I always found time⁠—”

And so on. Clara interrupted the monologue twice. She went to see how Tod’s medicine was affecting him. He was on the bed, taking a nap. Later on, the doorbell rang. It was the twelve-year-old Butler kid. He had a message for Tod from his brother. He wouldn’t give it to Clara.

Tod woke up and came to the door and the boy gave him the message. Not in Clara’s hearing. The boy’s brother was Frank Butler, who supplied Tod with medicine and trusted him for the money.

Also in the Butler family was Mamie Butler, a girl about twenty-five, quite pretty and with a reputation for looseness. Clara had seen her talking with Tod on the corner one day. And hadn’t she heard Frank say he was going to the football game this afternoon?

Father Stewart was awake again. Tod sat down in the living room.

“Ben,” said Mother Stewart, “you might as well tell them our news now.”

“I suppose I might. Well, it’s just that it looks like we’re liable to lose our home.”

“How’s that?” said Tod.

“Well, Mrs. Davis told us a month ago that we better be looking for new quarters. It seems her boy and his wife are planning on giving up housekeeping and moving in with the old lady. Of course they’d have to have our rooms and⁠—Well, that’s the story.”

“When do you have to get out?”

“In a couple of weeks; sooner, if we can find a place.”

“It’ll be pretty hard,” said Mother Stewart, “to find just what we want. It’s got to be a place where we can board, too. I can’t cook anymore and I certainly can’t do all the housework, though I could help a little.”

“I’d ask you to come here, but there’s no room,” said Tod.

“We wouldn’t want to impose on you and Clara.”

“It wouldn’t be imposing, but we’ve only got the two bedrooms. We couldn’t take Myrtle in with us. The light would wake her up when we went to bed.”

“As far as that’s concerned,” said Mother Stewart, “we wouldn’t mind sharing a room with Myrtle. I’d know she was safe if I was there with her. And Ben and I usually undress in the dark. If we could come here till we find something else, we’d pay our share⁠—”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll fix it up some way. Clara and I’ll talk it over. Right now I got to run over to Frank Butler’s for a few minutes. There’s some job he’s got lined up for me.”

“It’s lucky we never sold our old bed,” said Mother Stewart.

“Well, Myrtle,” said Father Stewart, “you had quite a nap. Maybe your mother would let me give you a piece of candy now.”

“She mustn’t have anything more now,” said Clara. “She has a stomach ache.”

“It’s gone,” said Myrtle.

“But it won’t stay gone if you eat any more.”

“One piece of candy wouldn’t hurt her.”

“Honestly, Father Stewart, she has lots of trouble with her stomach.”

“I’m sure it’s all the result of nervousness,” said Mother Stewart. “A child with her imagination ought never to be left alone, especially at night.”

After the guests left Myrtle had cramps and Clara summoned Doctor Fred.

“You’ve just got to regulate her diet,” he said. “She’ll never be a healthy child till you make her eat right. I know it’s hard for a mother to say, ‘You can’t have this or that,’ but you owe it to her and yourself to be strict.”

Clara put Myrtle to bed. Tod came back from the Butlers’ very late and she had to help him undress. She lay awake a long time.

She knew Father Stewart owed Mrs. Davis for several months’ board. He owed her because he spent so much of his small income on tobacco and candy.

The dinner had cost nearly ten dollars and no one had taken the trouble to say it was good. She had had to pay cash for the turkey because Berger’s was a cash market and she couldn’t get any more credit at Sloan’s.

She and Myrtle and Tod were all desperately in need of new clothes, but there was no prospect of having any. Every day brought threats from the gas company, the telephone company and assorted merchants. Doctor Fred hadn’t been paid anything for two years.

Clara was thirty-five. At twenty-three she had accepted Tod in preference to Dave Bonham. Tod had gone through college and had interesting ambitions, to go to Chicago or New York and be a journalist or write plays. Dave had graduated from high school and gone to work in his father’s garage. When his father had died, he had run the garage for several years and then sold it for a lot of money.

Dave had gone to Detroit and into the real estate business. He had invested in building lots on the edge of the city and now he was said to be worth over eight hundred thousand dollars, and was really worth nearly half that sum.

He had been quite broken up when Clara took Tod, and had remained single. He had no one to support but himself. He didn’t drink and it was impossible for him to spend more than a small part of his income. He had heard of Tod’s “tough breaks” and offered to lend Clara money, but she had refused.

In the days when Tod had dressed well and taken care of himself, he had been a much better-looking man than Dave. But poverty and a steady diet of gin had made him careless of his appearance and now no woman, except, perhaps, the easygoing Miss Butler, could possibly consider him attractive.

Dave had come back to town in October. He had intended spending a week, but had left after one day. He had called on Tod and Clara and talked pleasantly about old times.

The years had not made him handsome. But he dressed so well and looked so clean. He had romped with Myrtle and she cried when he left, though he hadn’t brought her any candy. And another thing, he was an orphan.