The Swing of the Pendulum by Adriana Spadoni

One day in September when Jean had been working almost four months, Dr. Mary came to her with an open letter in her hand.

"Jean, I'm going to give you this case, because I feel in my backbone that it's out of the usual run, and that's saying a good deal, with some of those we've had lately, isn't it?"

"It certainly is. Perhaps I won't be able to handle it."

"I'll take a chance. It's because I believe you can, better than any one else, that I am turning it over. No one has done a thing on it yet. It's brand new."

Jean took the letter. It was written on ruled paper in a fairly good hand.

"DR. MARY MACLEAN -- Please come to see me as soon as possible.

AMELIA GORMAN."

"Well, at least Amelia seems used to giving orders."

"No information furnished. No request made. I'd like to go myself if I had the time. I thought first of turning it over to the C. O. S. of that district but, somehow, the woman interests me. Do you want it?"

Jean was already putting on her hat. Mary smiled.

"I know, Mary, but I haven't gotten over that first rushed feeling yet, in spite of all your warning. I'm always sure that everything will go to pot if I don't get to a case the very minute I hear of it."

"I hope you never will, not really. When that goes I can't imagine a worse work than this to be in. You'd better take some money with you, she's likely to need most anything."

An hour later Jean rang the bell of a shabby, two-story house out on the Mission Road. The house stood a little back in a dusty, parched patch of ground, where a few wilting geraniums struggled against the dust-laden wind that blew always over the bare hills. A half-grown girl opened the door. She seemed parched by the ceaseless wind and her dry hair looked as if it had never been quite free of the dust.

"Does Mrs. Gorman live here?"

"Back room. She ain't Mrs. " The girl stood staring while Jean knocked on a door at the end of the dark hall.

"Come in."

It was a small room and held only a single bed, a child's crib, a broken dresser and a chair. An emaciated woman sat up in bed and looked at Jean with the calmest look of appraisal that had ever summed her up.

"You're from the Hill House. It wouldn't be anybody else. Are you Dr. Mary MacLean?"

"No, I'm not Dr. McLean. She had to go out of town. My name is Herrick."

"Miss or Mrs.?"