CHAPTER XX
THE AWAKENING
The sword which hung over poor Grace's head still dangled threateninglyabove her when she left Overton for Oakdale, on her Easter vacation.Miss Wharton had made no sign. Whether she had, for the time being,forgotten her words of that unhappy morning of several weeks past, orwas coolly taking her own time in the matter, well aware of thediscomfort of her victims, Grace could not know. She determined to layaside all bitterness of spirit and lend herself to commemorate theanniversary of the first Easter with a reverent and open mind. But therewas one ghost which she could not lay, and that was the the memory ofTom Gray's face as he said good-bye to her on that memorable rainyafternoon. Just when it began to haunt her Grace could scarcely tell.She knew only that Tom's farewell letter had awakened in her mind acurious sense of loss that made her wish he had not cut himself off fromher so completely. When on their last afternoon together he had pleadedso earnestly for her love Grace had been proudly triumphant in thesuccessful accomplishment of what she believed to be her life work.From the lofty pinnacle of achievement she had looked down on Tompityingly, but with no adequate realization of what she had caused himto suffer.
It was not until she herself had been called upon to prepare to give upthat which meant most to her in life that she began to appreciate dimlywhat it must have cost Tom Gray to put aside his hopes of years and goaway to forget. A belated sympathy for her girlhood friend sprang tolife in her heart, and in the weeks of suspense that preceded her returnto Oakdale for Easter she found herself thinking of him frequently. Shewondered if he were well, and tried to imagine him in his new anddangerous environment. She began to cherish a secret hope that, despitehis belief that silence between them was best, he would write to her.
Her holiday promised to be a little lonely as far as her friends wereconcerned. Mrs. Gray had gone to New York City to spend Easter with theNesbits. Nora and Hippy had gone to visit Jessica and Reddy in theirChicago home. Anne and David were in New York. Eleanor Savelli was inItaly. Even Marian Barber, Eva Allen and Julia Crosby had married andgone their separate ways. Of the Eight Originals Plus Two, and of theirold sorority, the Phi Sigma Tau, she was the only one left in Oakdale.To be sure she had plenty of invitations to spend Easter with her chumsand her many friends, but it was a sacred obligation with her always tobe at home during the Easter holidays. She was quite content to do this,and yet even her father's and mother's love could not quite still thelonging for the gay voices of those dear ones with whom she had keptpace for so long.
There was one source of consolation, however, which during the firstdays at home she had quite overlooked, and that source was none otherthan Anna May and Elizabeth Angerell. The two little girls had by nomeans overlooked the fact that their Miss Harlowe was "the very nicestperson in the whole world except papa and mamma," and proceeded tomonopolize her whenever the opportunity offered itself.
Grace went for long walks with them. She helped them dress their dolls,and ran races and played games with them in their big sunny garden. Sheinitiated them into the mysteries of making fudge and penuchi, whilethey obligingly taught her the ten different ways they knew of skippingthe rope, and how to make raffia baskets. They followed her about liketwo adoring, persistent little shadows, until imbued with their carefreespirit of childhood, Grace, in a measure, forgot her woes and joined intheir innocent fun with hearty good will.
"Really, Grace, I hardly know which is older, you or Anna May," smiledher mother one afternoon as Grace came bounding into the living roomwith, "Mother, do you know where my blue sweater is? Anna May andElizabeth and I are going for a walk as far as the old Omnibus House."
"It is hanging in that closet off the sewing room," returned her mother.
"Thank you." Dropping a hasty kiss on her mother's cheek, Grace was off.
Mrs. Harlowe watched her go down the walk, holding a hand of each littlegirl, with wistful eyes. Grace had not been at home three days beforeher mother divined that all was not well with her beloved daughter. Yetto ask questions was not her way. Whatever Grace's cross might be, sheknew that, in time, Grace would confide in her.
On the way to the Omnibus House Grace was as gay and buoyant as her twolittle friends. It was not until they had reached there and Anna May andElizabeth had run off to the nearest tree to watch a pair of birds whichwere building a nest and keeping up a great chirping meanwhile, that afrightful feeling of loneliness swept over Grace. She sat down on theworn stone steps sadly thinking of Tom Gray and the good times theEight Originals had had at this favorite haunt.
But why did the memory of Tom Gray continue to haunt her? Grace gave hershoulders an impatient twitch. How foolish she was to allow herself togrow retrospective over Tom. She had deliberately sent him away becauseshe did not, nor never could, love him. Still she wished that the memoryof him would not intrude upon her thoughts so constantly. "It's onlybecause he's associated with the good times the Eight Originals havehad," she tried to tell herself, but deep in her heart was born astrange fear that she fought against naming or recognizing.
After having watched the noisy, but successful, builders to theirhearts' content, the children ran over to where Grace sat and challengedher to a game of tag. But she was in no mood for play, and suggestedthey had better be starting home. She felt that she could not endure foranother instant this house of memories. She tried to assume the joyousair with which she had started out, but even the two little girls werenot slow to perceive that their dear Miss Harlowe didn't look as happyas when they had begun their walk.
"I think we'd better go and see her to-morrow morning and take her apresent," decided Anna May, after Grace had left them at their own gate."She laughed like everything when we started on our walk, but she lookedpretty sad when we were coming back and didn't say hardly a thing. I'mgoing to give her my bottle of grape juice that Mother made speciallyfor me."
"I guess I'll give her that pen wiper I made. It's ever so pretty."Elizabeth was not to be outdone in generosity.
"We'll take Snowball's new white puppy to show her," planned Anna May."She hasn't seen it yet. And a real French poodle puppy is too cute foranything."
"And we'll sing that new verse we learned in school for her," addedElizabeth.
True to their word, the next morning the two little girls marched up tothe Harlowes' front door laden with their gifts. Anna May bore withproud carefulness the cherished bottle of grape juice while Elizabethcuddled a fat white ball in her arms, the pen wiper lying like a littleblanket on the puppy's back.
"We came to call as soon as we could this morning, because we thoughtyou looked sad yesterday," was Anna May's salutation as Grace opened thedoor. "Here's a bottle of grape juice. Mother made it specially for me,but I want _you_ to have it," the child said. Grace ushered her guestsinto the living room.
"I hope you'll like this pen wiper, too. I cut it out and sewed it andeverything," burst forth Elizabeth, holding out her offering. "I hopeyou'll always use it when you write letters."
"Thank you, girls. You are both very good to me," smiled Grace, "and I'mso glad to see you this morning."
"We thought you would be," returned Anna May calmly. "We broughtSnowball's puppy to show you. We named him this morning for a perfectlysplendid person that we know. You know him, too. The puppy's name isThomas."
"That's Mr. Gray's real name, isn't it?" put in Elizabeth anxiously."Every one calls him Tom, but Thomas sounds nicer. Don't you think itdoes?"
"We like Mr. Gray better than any grown-up man we know," confided AnnaMay enthusiastically. "He's the handsomest, nicest person ever was. Doyou think he'd be pleased to have us name our puppy for him?"
"I'm sure he would." Grace stifled her desire to laugh as she took thefluffy white ball in her arms and stroked the tiny head. Then the amusedlook left her eyes. Perhaps Tom would never know of his little whitenamesake. He might never come back from South America. Suppose she werenever to hear of him again. In th
e past she had, during moments ofvexation toward him, almost wished it, but of a sudden it dawned uponher that she would give much to look into his honest gray eyes again andfeel the clasp of his strong, friendly hand.
"Miss Harlowe, shall we sing for you?" Anna May wisely noted that MissHarlowe had begun to look "sad" again.
"We learned such a pretty new song in school," put in Elizabeth. "AnnaMay can play it on the piano, too. Would you like us to sing it, MissHarlowe?"
"Yes, do sing it," urged Grace, but her thoughts were far from herobliging visitors.
The children trotted over to the piano, and after a false start or two,Anna May played the opening bars of the song. Then the two childishvoices rang out:
"The year's at the spring And day's at the morn: Morning's at seven; The hillside's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn: God's in his heaven-- All's right with the world!"
Grace listened with a sinking heart. The joy of Browning's exquisitelines from "Pippa Passes" cut into her very soul. All was not right with_her_ world. Everything had gone wrong. She had chosen work instead oflove, and what it brought her? She had believed that in rejecting Tom'slove for her work she had definitely and forever solved her problem. Nowit confronted her afresh. She understood too well the meaning of thatstrange fear which had obsessed her ever since her return home. Now sheknew why the memory of Tom had so persistently haunted her, and why herfriendly interest in his welfare had grown to be a heavy anxiety as towhether all was well with him. Wholly against her will she had done thatwhich she had insisted she could never do. She had fallen in love withTom. But her awakening had come too late. Tom had gone away to forgether. He would never know that she loved him, for she could never, nevertell him. On the night of Jessica's wedding, when they had strolled upthe walk to the house in the moonlight, he had said with an air ofconviction, which then made her smile, that there would come a time wheneven work could not crowd out love. His prophecy had come true, but itmeant nothing to either she or Tom now, for it had come true too late.
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