“What difference does it make?” sneered the outraged mother. “Everybody saw she was just a cheap little thing, beside herself with conceit because Laurie had brought her in.”
“Well, if you ask me, I thought she behaved as well as the rest of them,” said Irene dryly. “I think myself the gem of the whole evening was the fact that your precious Robena appeared in the dress that had been turned down by the girl you scorned. Wasn’t that something you’d call ‘the irony of fate’? I haven’t been able to stop laughing since I heard it.”
“Well, I don’t believe it! I don’t believe a word of it!” said the irate mother, flashing her swollen eyes as well as they would flash. “I wish you would go away and leave me to my misery. Everything has gone wrong since that awful Brooke girl came into the picture, and I believe in my soul you had something to do with my Laurie meeting her! Anyway, if you didn’t introduce them, I’m sure you encouraged the relationship. You with your outrageous bourgeois tastes and your strange whims and fancies! Gold hair, you say. Probably bleached! There isn’t any real gold hair today. An intriguing little fortune-seeker! And I have to have all my plans and ambitions and hard work for nothing just because Laurie has an infatuation for her. Now, if he becomes a drunkard, I shall have you to thank for it.” And she plunged into her damp handkerchief again in new self-pity.
Irene cast a withering glance at her.
“Someday,” she said cuttingly, “you’ll see that girl, and then you’ll know what a fool you’ve made of yourself, turning her down, and then you’ll have to eat your words! But you’re mistaken about me! I never had anything to do with Laurie meeting her. I wish I had. She’s quite the decentest girl I know and would have done Laurie a world of good. But I’m sure if she knew what he was, she would never have anything to do with him again.”
“What do you mean, Irene? What is the matter with my Laurie? Why should a little upstart nobody turn down Lawrence Trescott?”
“I mean just what you’ve been telling me. He drinks too much and does horrible things like bringing in strangers when he gets beside himself. Drunk, you said he was! But you’ve always given him too much money and let him have his own way. What can you expect?”
“Yes, you who have brought up so many children! Of course, you know all about it,” sneered the mother.
“Well, all right. You can sneer, but you try it awhile. Take Laurie’s money away and don’t have so many cocktails around, and see if Laurie doesn’t turn out to be something worthwhile after all—unless perhaps it’s too late. Good-bye. I’m going home till you are in a pleasanter mood.” Irene took off angrily, a secret gleam of triumph in her eyes to think that she had been able to find out about the white dress with the scarlet sash that everybody had raved so much about. What a pity Marigold Brooke hadn’t stuck by her first acceptance and come in the dress instead of Robena! It certainly would have opened Laurie’s mother’s eyes to a few things. Marigold Brooke in that gorgeous array would have been a winner! Irene gave a wistful sigh. She would like to see her favorite nephew paired off with a girl like Marigold instead of a vapid creature like Robena. But, of course, Robena had money, and that was everything in the eyes of Laurie’s mother. Poor Laurie!
Then she went home, and that night she sat in front of her mirror for a long time, reflecting on her own face, which was beginning to age. Not that she was old yet by any means, but she could see the flesh beginning to sag. She noted the dullness of her eyes and the threads of silver that had slipped in among her well-dyed locks. It wouldn’t be long before she would look as old as poor Adele, though never quite so fat, she hoped. And life! What was it worth? What was the use of living, anyway? Just clamor and conceit and ambition, each trying to get ahead of the other, weary contests, and what did it all amount to? Why did anyone want to live? And yet there was nothing attractive in the thought of dying. One must go on with the race, the losing race, unsatisfied soul struggling with unsatisfied soul and never getting anywhere!
Marigold didn’t look as if she felt that way. She was young yet. Life hadn’t disappointed her and left her a piece of flotsam cast up on the edge of the stream. But it likely would. Probably Laurie would disappoint her. Someday she would find out he got drunk whenever he liked and made a fool of himself. And then where would her bright looks be? Her flame of hair would turn white, the firm pink flesh and the rounded cheek would grow fragile, and even a Marigold would begin to fade. Or would she? Irene had seen her that day, and there had been such a look about her of fadelessness and peace, as if she had a source of endless life within her that would never let the sparkle go from her lovely eyes, the prettiness from her sweet face. What was it that made Marigold so entirely content? She wished she knew the secret.
And about that time, Marigold was kneeling beside her bed giving herself utterly to her Lord, that she might know the joy of a resurrection life lived by faith in Christ, in the strength of His resurrection power.
She was not even thinking of Laurie at all.
Ethan Bevan had taken her straight home to the apartment, carrying her baggage up and turning on the lights, exactly as if he belonged there. He cast one glance around him and said with satisfaction, “This is nice. It looks like home!” And there was wistfulness in his eyes. Then he threw his hat and coat on a chair and went to work.
He brought in the milk that was left outside the door, according to the note left in the milk bottle, and the loaf of bread that lay beside it.
Marigold hurried into the kitchen and started some coffee, got out a can of baked beans, a glass jar of tongue, and another of luscious peaches.
“It isn’t a very grand meal,” she said, with a deprecatory look at the can opener she was holding, “but it will only take a jiffy to have it ready.”
“It looks like a swell meal to me,” he said happily, putting his hand around hers and gently but firmly possessing himself of the can opener. “I’ll do that. That’s my job,” he said, and then he attacked the cans capably.
Marigold laughed happily and surrendered the cans to his ministrations. There was butter in the refrigerator and there were tins of cookies. Marigold prepared the beans with butter, molasses, salt, and pepper and a brisk bit of cooking, and they sent out a savory odor. She whisked a clean tablecloth onto the little table in the kitchenette, set the table invitingly with her mother’s lovely sprigged china and silver, then she scrambled some eggs. It was all ready in no time and they were sitting down together, just the two of them, with such a pleasant sense of coziness upon them that a sudden shyness came upon Marigold. As she bowed her head while Ethan asked the blessing, she felt as if peace were descending into her heart, as if the presence of God was there with them. How wonderful to have a cheery, strong, reverent friend like this! How nice that he had been willing to stay and eat this simple meal with her.
All too soon the minutes flew away, and he looked at his watch.
“Well, time’s up!” he said, with a wistful smile. “I’m glad we had this brief hour together. It’s been a wonderful meal, and we’ve pretty well cleared the cloth and licked the platter clean, haven’t we? I wish I could stay to help wash the dishes, but I guess I must go, for that fellow said the shop closed at six, and I must be there to get my package.”
Then he was into his overcoat, hat in hand, and standing by the door about to leave when there came a tap on the door.
Marigold looked up in annoyance. Why did it have to come just then? Somehow that last minute seemed important. She didn’t like to be interrupted. But, of course, that was silly.
She opened the door and Mrs. Waterman stood there, looking her slatternliest, her hair in crimpers and a soiled, torn dress on.
“I forgot to give you this letter,” she said apologetically. “Your young man was here about noon wanting you. I told him you’d likely be here tonight, and he wrote this letter. He said he’d be back. You must excuse my looks; I’m getting ready to go out this evening.”
The color flamed into Marigold’s cheeks, and she stared
at the woman, annoyed.
“My young man?” she laughed, embarrassed. “Who is he?”
“Why, the fellow with that swell car that comes here to take you out so much.”
Marigold took the letter, her cheeks still glowing, and closed the door after the retiring neighbor. She looked down at the letter with troubled eyes. Then she looked up and saw the expression on Ethan’s face. She didn’t stop to analyze it. She wasn’t just sure what it meant, but there was tenderness in it, she was sure of that. Suddenly she spoke from the impulse of her own need, looking down at the unopened letter, which bore her name in Laurie’s large, bold handwriting.
“I’m going to need a lot of help,” she said slowly. “Would—you—sometimes—pray for me?”
She lifted her lovely, worried eyes with a look that went straight to Ethan’s heart.
“I surely will!” he said earnestly. “Shall we begin now?”
Right where he was, he knelt beside the chair, flinging his hat down on the floor, grasping her hand in his, and pulling her gently down beside him. Marigold knelt, her hand enfolded in that warm, strong clasp, the letter lying between them on the chair forgotten. Laurie’s letter! She was not thinking about it. She was listening to the tender prayer. She felt she would never forget the words, they were so indelibly stamped on her heart. She felt as if she were brought in touch with her Savior as she heard this earnest voice pleading Christ’s precious promises, claiming the resurrection power in her life, not only for herself but for her friends. She felt suddenly a strength at her command that she had never dreamed existed.
When they rose, the letter was left lying on the chair, and Marigold looked up with a radiant face. There were no words to express her feelings, but somehow she knew he understood.
Ethan stood for a moment looking gravely down at her. There was something so deep and tender in that look that it almost brought tears to her eyes, but she did her best to turn them into a smile, and the answering smile she got was something she felt she would hide away in her heart to remember.
She wanted to thank him for what he had done for her, but still the words would not come. He might be going out of her life forever, but she felt he had taught her to know the Lord Jesus and put her in touch with the resurrection power. Whatever came, she never would forget him.
Then he reached out and took her hand in a quick clasp once more.
“Good-bye,” he said quietly. “I’ll be praying! And—sometime—perhaps you’ll let me know how things came out.”
Then, before she could answer, he was gone. She heard his footsteps outside on the stairs. Would she ever see him anymore?
She went to the window, and sudden tears blinded her eyes, but she brushed them away and looked out. She could see the lights of his car down there, and now he was opening the car door. But before he swung himself into the seat, he turned and looked up, waved his hand, and she waved hers back in farewell, glad that her room lights were on and that he could see her. This was perhaps the best way of saying what she could not find words to speak.
And then the car glided away from the curb and shot down the street. The little red lights at the rear seemed to be blinking to her as it swung around a corner and onto the main road.
She turned back to the room and felt all at once most desolate. What a happy hour they had had together preparing supper and eating it in the little kitchen. How wonderful he had been, acting just as if he belonged there. It thrilled her to go over the moments of the incident.
And then, with one more wistful look down the street where he had disappeared into the fast-gathering darkness, she turned and went over to the chair where they had knelt to pray and there lay the letter! How mortifying that Mrs. Waterman had brought it just then and called Laurie “her young man.” What must Ethan have thought? But how he had taken it all as a matter of course and entered into her vague anxiety about the future, promising to pray, kneeling right down and praying!
She thrilled again as she went over the prayer word by word, learning it like a lesson that she must not ever forget. It was some minutes before she brought her mind back to the present and realized that there was a letter to be read. How that letter would have stirred her just four or five short days ago. Even the very outside of it, sealed, as she held it now. Yet now she opened it with a divided attention, treasuring moments just past and looking into a new kind of life to which she was committed.
Chapter 11
Marigold roused to read the letter at last, with a curious aloof mind that seemed to be far removed from the writer of the letter, as if time had swept in and obliterated the little filaments of happenings that bound her interest to him.
Mara darling:
What have you been doing with yourself? I called this afternoon to make a date with you for this evening and found you away, although it is the time when you usually get home from school.
The human slat that resides across the hall informs me you will be home this evening and that you are coming alone! So much the better. We shall not have your mother to spy on us and can have a real time.
I’m coming along to get you sometime after seven or a little sooner, and we’ll have dinner and then do the nightclubs in a regular way, see sights you’ve never seen before. We’ll have some evening, Mara my beautiful!
So light up the front windows for me and let me know you are ready. I’ll know by your lights that you are waiting for me.
Yours as ever,
Laurie
Marigold, as she read, began to grow cold around her throat and to tremble. Somehow there was something strange about that letter, not like Laurie! Or had it been there all the time and she had been blind to it?
She felt like a person whose eyes had just been opened and she was seeing “men as trees walking.” She couldn’t be sure of herself and her own judgment.
But when she had read the letter over again, several things stood out sharply. First of all was the thought that Laurie had not mentioned the party to which she had not come, nor said a word about his long, unexplained silence! All her anxiety and uneasiness and anxious waiting when she first got to Washington, and he hadn’t even noticed it! Far from telephoning her in trepidation and begging her to come to the party as she had expected that he might, offering to drive down after her perhaps, he acted as if he had not even known she was invited. Exactly as if the party wouldn’t be counted within her world.
And next there stood out the fact that Laurie was beginning on nightclubs again, and she was going to have to meet that question right away tonight before she had thought the matter out on her knees. It was then she began to tremble.
And reading the letter over the third time now, like a stab in her heart there came that reference to her mother as being a spy. Laurie had never spoken of her mother’s carefulness as “spying” before, and something in her rose up and resented his attitude. The whole letter didn’t sound like Laurie, the Laurie she had so admired and enjoyed and loved to companion with. It was as if she were seeing a new side of him entirely.
Then it flashed upon her that she had been holding in abeyance her judgment about Laurie that had tried to force itself upon her ever since she had seen him in the company of that other girl, looking down into her eyes with the glance that Marigold had supposed was all her own.
Yet now the whole thing seemed unreal. She seemed to have grown beyond it all since she left home last Friday.
But he was coming tonight and was expecting to take her to a nightclub! What should she do?
With a quick motion, she went to the switch and turned off her lights. Laurie was going to look to her lit windows to signal to him she was at home, and there would be no lights! She was not going to any more nightclubs! That was settled. She had known in her heart while she was talking with Ethan Bevan that they would never interest her again. In fact, they never had of themselves. It was only Laurie’s insistence that drew her a couple of times. She had never felt at home there. It was an alien world, and she had fe
lt ashamed. She saw it plainly now. She had been half ashamed to be there.
She had always evaded her mother’s questions as to what kind of places Laurie took her. That had hurt her conscience, too. But now she was face-to-face with the whole thing, and she knew it must be settled for all time. She had told Ethan Bevan and she had told her Lord that she wanted to die with Him. She had felt already the joy of realizing what that was to mean to her whole life. She could not compromise.
If Laurie came anyway, even though there were no lights, she would tell him plainly that she would go to no more such places with him. But she felt somehow that she did not want to have to talk it over with him tonight. She wanted to get her feet firmly fixed, to get near to her Lord. She wanted to be alone and to think over that wonderful prayer that had put her so far beyond these things of earth and made her see herself as a redeemed sinner commissioned with a message to other lost sinners. Laurie would not understand that now, probably, and she must learn the best and wisest way to say it to him.
So she sat in the dark and faced her problem. Looked at Laurie, her Laurie, as she had considered him for long, pleasant, thoughtless months in the past, looked him straight in the face and made herself acknowledge just where he now seemed to be lacking.
Laurie was not of her world. That was plain. Mother had said so, and her own honest self had sometimes been afraid of it. Yet she had told herself that her influence would gradually give him different ideals. Had it? Had her influence done anything to him?
Looking at the question as she sat there in the dark, she had to acknowledge that, far from bringing Laurie to see as she saw, she had been yielding little by little to his wishes, going here and there and breaking down standards that had been hers since childhood until she had come to the place where she had even once or twice questioned whether those weren’t outworn standards and perhaps she wasn’t doing such a dreadful thing in giving them up, if it pleased Laurie.
But now as she faced herself and her world, with that sense of God’s presence in the room that had been there since Ethan’s prayer, everything looked different to her, and she began to ask herself why she had wanted to please Laurie anyway?
The Flower Brides Page 14