"Where is she?"
Suddenly the thought of being halted thus longer, and the fear that my
mother was not there, drove me crazy. I lunged at Rucker, and with a
sweep of my arms, threw him staggering across the room. The girl
screamed, and ran to, and behind him. I stormed through to the kitchen,
expecting to find my mother back there, working for this smooth, sly,
scroundrelly pair; but the place was deserted. There were dirty pots and
pans about; and a pile of unwashed dishes stacked high in the sink--and
this struck me with despair. If my mother had been about, and able to
work, such a thing would have been impossible. So she either was not
there or was not able to work--my instinct told me that; and I ran to
the foot of the stairs, and calling as I had so often done when a child,
"Ma, Ma! Where are you, ma!" I waited to hear her answer.
Rucker, pale as a sheet, came up to me, his quivering mouth trying to
work itself into a sneaking sort of smile.
"Why, Jacob, Jakey," he drooled, "is this you? I didn't know you. Sit
down, my son, and I'll tell you the sad, sad news!"
I heard him, but I did not trust nor understand him, and I went through
that house from cellar to garret, looking for her; my heart freezing
within me as I saw how impossible it would be for her to live so. There
were two bedrooms, both beds lying just as they had been left in the
morning--and my mother always opened her beds up for an airing when she
rose, and made them up right after breakfast.
Pages:
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89