Read Online Bedelia by Vera Caspary - Free Book Online

Since he had suggested a nurse and then allowed Bedelia to change his mind for him, the question made him angry. “Why are you so interested, Mr. Chaney?”
    â€œAs a friend I want to see everything done that can possibly be done for Charlie. Besides”—Ben moved closer to the old man—“we have to think of Mrs. Horst’s health. Do you think she’s strong enough to nurse him . . . in her condition?”
    Bedelia leaped out of the shadows of the stairs, hurried to the doctor, clung to his arm. “I’m going to have a baby.”
    â€œOh! I wondered about you. You’re putting on weight. Better let me look you over one of these days.”
    â€œI feel fine. I’ve never felt better in my life,” Bedelia said. Then she handed him the box that was filled with packets of the sedative powder. “Here it is, Doctor. I had it made up at Loveman’s Drug Store. Mr. Loveman knows all about it.”
    The doctor put the box in his overcoat pocket. “Charlie looks pretty good to me, Mrs. Horst. Just let him rest and eat lightly. I’ll stop in tomorrow.” He opened the door and a blast of cold air blew in upon them. “Good-bye, Mr. Chaney,” the doctor said and slammed the door.
    Bedelia stood with her hand on the post of the staircase, looking after him. Rain beat a sad rhythm on the roof. Currents of warm air moved through the house from the steam radiators, but they could not defeat the chill of the hall. Bedelia shivered. When she saw how steadily Ben was watching her, she raised her shoulders in a delicate shrug and turned and walked into the den.
CHARLES HORST STRICKEN
Local Architect Felled By Sudden Attack
    Ellen typed the story on an Oliver machine with a broken D. Her hand was unsteady and she made more than her usual typographical errors. She had been assured by Doctor Meyers’s wife that Charlie was not in danger, and Mary had said that he was resting comfortably. “Mr. Horst was married last August to Mrs. Bedelia Cochran, widow of the late Raoul Cochran, a distinguished artist of New Orleans, La.” Ellen’s desk stood in a row of broken-down, dusty, splinter-rough desks in a noisy loft with a cement floor, plaster walls, and a deafening echo. “Theymet in Colorado Springs, Colo., where Mr. Horst had gone for a holiday after the death of his mother, Mrs. Harriet Philbrook Horst, one of our most beloved citizens.”
    At five minutes after twelve she covered the typewriter and left the office. There was a rumor going through the town that Madame Schumann-Heink was arriving from New York to visit a musical family who had recently bought a house in the neighborhood. Although the newspaper office was but three blocks from the railroad station, the rain was so heavy that Ellen had to take the streetcar. The wind blew furiously. An umbrella gave no protection. Women’s skirts were blown high above their shoe-tops, but the tough boys who usually hung around the street corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of ribbed black stockings, had sought shelter in saloons and poolrooms.
    The railroad station smelled of rubber, moist wool, and steam. Ellen waited behind a dripping window, watching the passengers alight from the New York train. There was no one who could be mistaken for Schumann-Heink. She saw Ben Chaney hurry along the rainswept platform and wondered whether she dare ask him to drive her home. But when she saw that he was meeting a woman, her courage failed, and she pressed into the shadows so that he should not see her as he and his companion left the station.
    Ellen hurried through the rain to the streetcar. The ten-minute ride seemed interminable. Lunch was even worse. Ellen’s parents were the high-thinking sort, retired school-teachers, and gossip was not permitted at the table. As soon as she could politely do it, she urged Abbie to come upstairs with her. She closed the bedroom door and plunged into a description of