The Measure Of Margaret Coppered, Part Three Of Three

Enjoy the satisfying conclusion to this beautifully written story by American writer and journalist, Kathleen Norris (1880-1966). Find out what happens when Duncan finally gets to see his stepmother perform in the play. Guitar music by William King.

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Transcript

Hello there,

It's Mandy here.

Welcome back to The Measure of Margaret Copperhead by Kathleen Norris.

We're going to be reading part three of the story tonight and rejoining Duncan and Margaret on the stage at the Colonial Theatre.

But before I start reading,

Please feel free to make yourself really comfortable and I'll begin.

Duncan watched from one of the stage boxes,

His vague romantic ideas of life behind the footlights rather dashed before the three hours of hard work were over.

This was not very thrilling.

This had no especial romantic charm.

The draughts,

The dust,

The wide icy space of the stage,

The droning voices,

The crisp interruptions,

The stupid business endlessly repeated,

All seemed equally disenchanting.

The stagehands had set the stage for the next day's opening curtain and had long ago departed.

Duncan was cold,

Tired,

Headachy.

He began to realise the edge of a sharp appetite too.

He and Margaret had barely touched their dinner back at home those ages ago.

He could have forgiven her,

He told himself bitterly,

If this plunge into her old life had had some little glory in it.

If,

For instance,

Mrs Gregory had asked her to play Lady Macbeth or Lady Teasel in amateur theatricals at home,

Why one could excuse her for yielding to the old lure.

But this,

This secondary part,

These commonplace friendly actors,

This tiring night experience,

This eager deference on her part to everyone,

This pitiful anxiety to please where she should,

Had Mrs Carey Copperhead have been proudly commanding and dictatorial,

It was all exasperating and disappointing to the last degree.

It was,

He told himself savagely,

Only what one might have expected.

Presently,

When Duncan was numb in every limb,

Margaret began to button herself into her outer wraps,

And,

Escorted by Penrose,

They went to supper.

Duncan hesitated at the door of the cafe.

This is an awful place,

Isn't it?

He objected.

You can't be going in here.

One must eat,

Duncan,

Mrs Copperhead said blithely,

Leading the way,

And all the nice places are closed at this hour.

Duncan sullenly followed,

But in the flood of reminiscences upon which she and Penrose instantly embarked,

His voice was not missed.

Mollified in spite of himself by delicious food and strong coffee,

He watched them,

The man's face bright through its fatigue,

His stepmother glowing and brilliant.

I'll see this through for Dad's sakes,

Said Duncan grimly to himself,

But when he finds out about it,

She'll have to admit I kicked the whole time.

At four o'clock they reached the Penrose's hotel,

Where rooms were secured for Duncan and Margaret.

The boy,

Dropping with sleep,

Heard her cheerfully ask at the desk to be called at seven o'clock.

I've a cloak to buy,

She explained,

In answer to his glance of protest,

And a hairdresser to see,

And a hat to find.

They may be difficult to get,

Too,

And I must run out and have just a little glimpse of Phil and get to the theatre by noon.

There's just a little more going over that second act to do.

But don't you get up.

I would prefer to,

Said Duncan,

With dignity,

Taking his key.

But he didn't wake until afternoon,

When the thin winter sunlight was falling in a dazzling oblong on the floor of his room,

And even then he felt a little tired and stiff.

He reached for his watch.

Almost one o'clock.

Duncan's heart stood still.

Had she overslept?

He sat up,

A little dazed,

And doing so saw a note on the little table by his bed.

It was from Margaret,

And ran,

Dear Duncan,

If you don't wait by one,

They're to call you,

For I want you to see Mabel's entrance.

I've managed my hat and cloak and seen the child.

He's quiet and not in pain,

Thank God.

Have your breakfast and then come to the box office.

I'll leave a seat for you there.

Or come behind and see me,

If you will,

For I am terribly nervous and would like it.

So glad you're getting your sleep.

Margaret P.

S.

Don't worry about the nerves.

I always am nervous.

Duncan looked at the note for three silent minutes,

Sitting on the edge of his bed.

I'm sorry.

She,

She wanted me.

I wish I'd waked,

He said,

Slowly,

Aloud.

And ten minutes later,

During a hurried dressing,

He read the note again and said aloud again,

Have breakfast.

I wonder if she had hers.

He entered the theatre so late,

For all his hurry,

That the first act was over and the second well begun,

And was barely in his seat before the now familiar opening words of Mabel Vane's part fell clearly on the silence of the darkened house.

For a moment Duncan thought,

With a great pang of relief,

That someone else was filling his stepmother's place,

But he recognised her in another minute,

In spite of rouge and powder and the picot dress she wore.

His heart stirred with something like pride.

She was beautiful in her flowered hat and the caped coat that showed a foam of lacy frills at the throat,

And she was sure of herself,

He realised in a moment,

And of her audience.

She made a fresh and appealing figure of the plucky little country bride,

And the old lines fell with delicious naturalness from her lips.

Duncan's heart hardly beat until the fall of the curtain.

Tears came to his eyes,

And when Margaret shared the applause of the house with the gracious Peg,

He found himself shaking with a violent,

Nervous reaction.

He was still deeply stirred when he went behind the scenes after the play.

His stepmother presently came up from her dressing room,

Dressed in street clothes,

And anxious to hurry to the hospital and have news of the little boy.

Duncan called a taxi cab,

For which she thanked him absently and with worried eyes,

And presently,

With her and the child's father,

He found himself speeding toward the hospital.

It was a silent trip.

Margaret kept her ungloved fingers upon Penrose's hand,

And said only a cheerful word of encouragement,

Now and then.

Duncan waited in the cab when they went into the big building.

She was gone almost half an hour.

Darkness came,

And a sharp rain began to fall.

He was half drowsy when she suddenly ran down the long steps and jumped in beside him.

Her face was radiant in spite of the signs of tears about her eyes.

He took the ether like a little soldier,

She said,

As the motor car slowly wheeled up the wet street.

Mary held his hand all the while.

Everything went splendidly,

And he came out of it at about four.

Mary sank him off to sleep,

Sitting beside him,

And she's still there.

He hasn't stirred.

Dr.

Thorpe is more than well satisfied.

He said the little fellow had nerves of iron,

And the other doctor isn't even going to come in again,

And Thorpe said it is largely because he could have his mother there.

But the exhilaration did not last.

Presently,

She leaned her head back against the seat,

And Duncan saw how marked was the pallor of her face,

Now that the rouge was gone.

There was fatigue in the droop of her mouth,

And in the deep lines etched under her eyes.

It's after six,

Duncan,

She said,

Without opening her eyes.

So I can't sleep,

As I'd hoped.

We'll have to dine,

And then go straight to the theatre.

You're tired,

Said the boy,

Abruptly.

She opened her eyes at the tone,

And forced a smile.

No,

Or yes,

I am,

A little.

My head's been aching.

I wish tonight was over.

Suddenly she sighed.

It's been a strain,

Hasn't it,

She said.

I knew it would be,

But I didn't realise how hard.

I just wanted to do something for them,

You know,

And this was all I could think of.

And I'd been wishing your father had been here.

I don't know what he'll say.

I didn't stop to think.

When it's the people I love,

She said artlessly.

I dread,

She began again,

I suspect you're tired too.

I shan't forget what a comfort it's been to have you with me through this queer experience,

Duncan.

I know what it has cost you,

My dear.

Comfort,

Echoed Duncan.

He tried to laugh,

But the laugh broke itself off,

Gruffly.

He found himself catching her hand,

Putting his free arm,

Boyishly,

About her shoulders.

I'm not fit to speak to you,

Margaret,

He said,

Huskily.

You're,

You're the best woman I ever knew.

I want you to know I'm sorry,

Sorry for it all,

Everything.

And as for Dad,

Why,

He'll think what I think,

That you're the only person in the world who'd do all this for another woman's kid.

Mrs.

Copperhead had tried to laugh too,

As she faced him.

But the tears came too quickly.

She put her wet face against his rough overcoat,

And for a moment gave herself up to the luxury of tears.

Carrie,

Said his wife,

On a certain brilliant Sunday morning,

A month later,

When he had been at home nearly a month,

She put her head in at the library door.

Carrie,

Will you do me a favour?

He looked up to smile at her,

In her grey gown and flowered hat,

And she came in to take the seat opposite him,

At the broad table.

I will.

Where are you going?

Duncan and I are going to church,

And you're to meet us at the Gregory's for lunch,

She reminded him.

Yes,

And what do you two kids want?

What's the favour?

Oh,

She became serious.

You remember what I told you of our New York trip a month ago,

Carrie?

The Penroses,

You know.

I do.

Well,

Carrie,

I've discovered it has been worrying Duncan,

Ever since you got home,

Because he thinks I'm keeping it from you.

Huh,

Thinks you haven't told me,

Eh?

Yes,

Don't laugh that way,

Carrie,

Yes.

And he asked me in the sweetest little way,

A day or two ago,

If I wouldn't tell you all about it.

Huh,

What did you do,

Box his young ears?

No.

Margaret's eyes laughed,

But she shook her head reprovingly.

I thought it was so dear of him to feel that way,

Yet never give you even a hint that I— Well,

Smiled her husband as she paused.

Well,

Hesitated Mrs.

Copperhead.

And then,

In a little burst,

She added,

I said,

Duncan,

If you ask me to,

I will tell him.

And what do you think you gained by that,

Sephira?

Said Carrie,

Much amused.

Why,

Don't you see?

Don't you see it means everything to him to have stood by me in this,

And now to clear it all up between us?

Don't you see that it makes him one of us,

In a way?

He's done his adored father a real service.

And his adored mother,

Too.

His tone brought the happy tears to her eyes.

And the favour,

He said presently.

Oh,

Well,

You see,

I'm supposed to be fessing up the whole horrible business,

Carrie,

And in a day or two,

I want you to thank him,

Just in some general way,

You'll know how,

For looking out for me so well while you were away,

Will you?

I will,

He promised,

Slowly.

He's coming downstairs,

So goodbye,

Said she.

She came around the table to kiss him,

And suddenly smitten with a sense of youth and well-being and the glory of the spring morning,

She added,

A little wistfully,

I wonder what I've done to be so happy,

Carrie.

I wonder what I've ever done to be so happy.

I wonder,

Said Carrie,

Smiling.

Reviews

This is a terrific story, again, expertly shared by Mandy. 🙏 ❤️

Such a beautiful story from another writer I didn’t know about. Thanks for sharing Mandy🙏🏻

Delightful. Thank you so much, Mandy. You truly ease my insomnia❤️❤️❤️

Dear Mandy, thank you for this poignant, gracefilled tale. I enjoy your offerings and readings. I am grateful for your talents, sending good wishes. 🌻