When Diana was through with her work the house bore a bare, severe air as if all feminine trifles were done away with forever. She stared around in dismay. How was she going to live with so much gone that had made a great part of the background of her childhood’s home? And yet, they were only trifles she was carrying away, just a small basket full of pretty trifles.
Then she went to the dining room and linen closet and gathered out all the articles that were monogrammed with her mother’s initials. A great deal of the silver, too, that was marked with her mother’s maiden name. Mother had always said they were to be hers. So she carried them, a basket at a time, up to the attic and packed them carefully away in an old haircloth trunk, with a pile of old magazines on the top, and shoved it back under the eaves with plenty of things in front of it. At least for a few days Helen would not go searching, and it was safe there until she could talk with her father and find out his wish in the matter. Still, as she thought over each article she had packed, nearly everything really belonged to herself if she cared to claim it. She had a right to put the things where they would not be seen, a right even to take them out of the house if it became necessary.
The idea crossed her mind that she might even take a small room in a storage house and have some of her own things taken there if she found Helen was likely to make trouble. And yet, could she do that after the new mistress had once arrived?
Puzzled, troubled, weary, and perplexed, she worked, stopping for a sketchy lunch at Maggie’s most earnest insistence and then back to work again.
When she went to her room after a brief meal, which Maggie described as dinner, she looked around at her own little haven with a sense of coming to a refuge. This room, at least, was her own. Here she had her things around her and here she could live her life perhaps, if she could once induce Helen to let her alone. She would try it, at least. She couldn’t go away and leave her dear father. For his sake she must stay. She must endure it somehow.
She looked around miserably on her own precious things. She would have to keep her door locked, she supposed. She couldn’t call a thing her own unless she did, not if Helen took a fancy to it!
The leaden horror of what had befallen her settled down upon her young soul unbearably. The tears fell once more. She was standing by her table where the little crystal vase containing the flowers stood. Their delicate color seemed to stand out in the shadows of the room and lean toward her as if to comfort her, and with sudden impulse she bent over them and laid her tear-wet face against them, her lips on their petals, her burning eyes half closed and brushing across them, their fragrance drenched with her tears. And suddenly, startlingly, they seemed to be human, their petals almost like cool living flesh, their touch like to the touch of a mother, and she buried her face once more in their sweetness and let their tenderness flow over her tired soul. Oh, if she only knew where those flowers came from. If only some unknown, pleasant friend had left them there, some friend to whom she might go and weep and tell her trouble. Their cool impersonal touch soothed her disturbed being and rested her. If there were only a friend somewhere like those flowers, who would understand and help and comfort! Perhaps God was like that! But God seemed so far away! And she didn’t know God!
Chapter 3
It was early when Diana went to her bed and burrowed her face in the pillow to weep. It could not have been more than half past eight. She did not hear the doorbell ringing nor Maggie’s steps along the hall as she went to open the door. Her ears were covered by the pillow.
But Maggie’s hand upon her shoulder made her start up, feeling as if all her worst fears had come upon her without warning.
“It’s Mr. Bobby Watkins come to call!” announced Maggie with deep satisfaction in her voice. “You’re ta get up and put on your prettiest frock and go down. It’ll cheer you up a bit.”
“Oh, Maggie, I can’t!” wailed Diana. “You tell him I’ve gone to bed. Tell him anything. Tell him I’m not feeling well if you want to. That’s true.”
Diana, even in the dim room lit only from the hall, was a woebegone enough young creature to touch the heart of her severest critic, and Maggie was anything but that. Her eyes were swollen, her nose was red, and her cheeks were dripping tears. But Maggie stood her ground relentlessly. “Now, Miss Diana, that’s no way to go about it. You’re not ta be unkind ta the nice little man. He’s come ta call, an’ if you don’t see him he’ll be hurt! An if you’ve got a hard thing ta bear in the eyes of the world, you’d best take it facin’ it an’ not lyin’ down. It’s doin’ you no good ta lie there an’ grieve. You’ll only be sick the morn’s morn an’ give that hussy a chance ta gloat over you. There’s no point in lookin’ like a ghost. Get up quick an’ put on your pretty frock an’ come down the stair an’ meet life. Bobby’s a good wee man an’ he’ll make you laugh, an’ that’s half o’ bearin’ things, at least in the eyes of the world.”
“But, Maggie, I’m a sight!” said Diana despairingly.
“A good dash o’ cold water’ll mend that!” encouraged Maggie. “Where’s that new frock with the big white collar? I’ll get it for you while you wash up an’ give your hair a bit lick.”
So Maggie encouraged and urged and prodded, and finally Diana dressed and went down to her caller.
Bobby Watkins was a round-faced little man, not much taller than Diana herself. He was good-natured and kindhearted and rich, but Diana had never been especially interested in him. Now as she went down the last steps it suddenly occurred to her that here was a possible way out of her difficulty. She might marry Bobby. Bobby hadn’t actually asked her to marry him, but her intuition told her that he had come very near to asking her on more than one occasion. It had been her own fault that he had not actually done so. Well, now, suppose she let him ask her, and suppose she should accept?
The thought repelled her yet forced itself upon her wrought-up consciousness, and as she entered the big living room and Bobby rose to greet her with his round, red face shining and his thick lips rolled back in a wide grin of welcome, she saw him in a new role, that of a possible husband. Could she stand it? Could she ever get used to having that bland, self-satisfied, childlike smile around her continually? Was it conceivable that she could ever grow fond of him?
She gave a little shiver of dislike as she entered the room, trying to smile in her usual way and be pleasant, conscious of her recent tears, aware suddenly of the strangeness and bareness of the room from which little homelike touches seemed to have utterly fled as the result of her activities that afternoon. She gave him her hand in greeting and winced at the grip he gave her. His hand seemed so big and powerful, so possessive!
She lifted her face, and it was good she did not know how lovely she was with that hint of tears around her lashes, the troubled light in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks left over from her weeping.
He had brought her flowers, and she was glad to withdraw her hand from his greeting and open them. Gardenias in their stiff loveliness, a lot of them. He was extravagant in his buying. She could have anything she wanted if she belonged to him! The thought stabbed her with the memory of Maggie’s words that morning. But again her soul recoiled from the thought. She was in trouble and sorely needed someone to comfort her, but she could not conceive of finding comfort in Bobby’s broad, plump shoulder. She couldn’t even think of being willing to tell him what had happened to upset her world.
She heard the jokes he was telling as if she were far above him somewhere up by the ceiling, looking down on him and not really listening to what he was saying. His loud, boisterous laughter grated on her sensibilities and made her wish to turn and fly upstairs again and get away from the thought of him. Oh, why had Maggie put that suggestion in her mind? Bobby had been just a pleasant, rather tiresome friend before, one who didn’t matter much either way. Now he seemed to have come to torment her in her misery. Why hadn’t she just insisted that Maggie should go down and make some excuse for her?
But she smiled graciously and tha
nked Bobby for the flowers. Her lips seemed stiff with suffering and her whole face too weary to smile, but she managed it. And perhaps Bobby noticed the misty sweet look of aloofness as she sat down. Certainly he was impressed by something in her manner, for he said with a boisterous laugh, “You’re certainly looking your best tonight, Di! It must be what you’re wearing. That white around your shoulders is very attractive. Makes sort of an aura around you, or isn’t that the right word? Perhaps halo is the word I mean, only that is over your head, isn’t it?” And Bobby laughed as if the joke were very great indeed.
Diana sat in the chair opposite him, stiffly, with the box of gardenias in her lap, and looked at him. She tried to imagine herself confiding in him that her father was about to marry a perfectly impossible woman. She tried to imagine his blunt, embarrassed reaction to her confidence if she should attempt it and felt almost hysterical over the probable result. It was with difficulty that she controlled the sudden desire to laugh, with laughter that was near to tears.
Then she heard the telephone ringing, and she sobered suddenly, her face turning perfectly white and fear coming into her eyes. Oh, could that be her father? Had he telephoned at last? Perhaps there was relief in sight! Oh, God! If only that could be!
She half rose from her chair with a gesture almost as if she would fling the gardenias from her, box and all. Then she heard Maggie’s faithful hurried steps in the hall, and she knew she would answer and call her. And she dropped back again with the box still in her lap, realizing that she must not appear to be anxious. So she sat with a frozen smile locked upon her pale lips, waiting in a perfect fever for Maggie to come and set her free to go and talk with her father, wildly hoping all sorts of lovely things—that her father had seen what an impossible thing he was about to try to do and had called her up to soothe her fears and tell her he had reconsidered, tell her he loved her, tell her he hadn’t realized.
But the seconds went by and grew into minutes, and she heard Maggie go back to the kitchen without calling her. Oh, could it be possible that Maggie had told her father she was busy with a caller, could Maggie have dared to presume to do that? Or had she taken a message and was waiting until the caller was gone to deliver it? Oh, had she missed talking with her father? The thought was agony. She must find out. And finally she lifted miserable eyes to her guest’s and interrupted a long, eager description of an accident he had suffered driving with a friend in his new car. “Bobby, excuse me just a minute. I heard the telephone ring, and I’ve been expecting a call from Father all day. I must see if that was he.”
She rose hastily, deposited the box of flowers in her chair, and fairly flew to the kitchen.
“Was that Father calling?” she asked Maggie breathlessly.
“No, it was just some person had the wrong number,” said Maggie, vexed that Diana had not trusted her. “Go you back to yon lad. I’ll call you if you’re wanted on the phone.”
So Diana, weak from excitement and disappointment, went back to Bobby and her flowers, and presently Maggie came with a vase of water and she could busy her shaking fingers placing the flowers while Bobby talked on, dully enjoying his own conversation and feasting his eyes on the lovely girl. Bobby was having the time of his life. Diana was shying away from him as she usually did, and he wasn’t perceptive enough to know she simply wasn’t even listening to him.
For a new thought had occurred to Diana. Perhaps her father would come back tonight to talk it over with her. He had said he couldn’t, but perhaps he had thought it over and decided to come anyway. If so, it was about time for his train, and he might arrive at any minute.
But Bobby was only flattered at the sweet attention she seemed to be giving him. That distant look in her eyes seemed to him to be real interest. A new interest that he had never been able to stir in her before. He took new heart of hope and went on to further relate an incident of his boyhood, rejoicing in the dreamy smile with which she fixed her eyes upon his face, while Diana, all tense, sat and listened for the sound of her father’s step.
Then, startlingly, the doorbell rang, and Diana jumped a little and caught her breath, her eyes suddenly seeking the hall door. He had come perhaps—! He might have left his key at home by mistake. He often did that.
She started to her feet, but Bobby motioned her to sit down.
“You don’t need to go,” he said blandly. “Maggie is coming. I hear her.”
And Diana dropped back into her chair again, weakly, now beset with a new idea. What if they were married already and had come ahead of the time planned? That would be like her father to hurry to her when he knew she was in distress. But oh, if he brought Helen—now—! Her eyes sought beseechingly the round, bland face of her caller. She would have to tell him! Father would bring his new wife in, perhaps, and introduce her. Then Bobby would tell it all over the countryside. Bobby never could keep a secret. And the world would have to know, and then all would be over. Oh, if Father would just come first and let her talk it out with him! But if he waited until they were married it would be too late!
Over and over like a chant it rang through her brain during that extended period while Maggie was walking the length of the hall to the front door. Then a breathless moment during which Bobby occupied the air with his incessant talk and she had to strain her ears to hear the low voice at the front door. Diana caught the words, “Sign here!” and her heart gave a leap. A telegram, perhaps. Her father might be calling her to come to the wedding. In which case she would go—not to the wedding but to her father—and try with all her might to get him to give up this terrible idea of marriage!
She sat with her hand on her heart and her eyes fixed fearfully upon the doorway as if she saw a ghost.
Bobby stopped in the middle of a sentence and followed her gaze, and they both saw Maggie come by the door with a large florist’s box in her arms.
“Maggie!” Diana called, unable to maintain her silence any longer. But her voice was faint and frightened.
“It’s just some more flowers, Miss Disston,” said Maggie formally, and it must be owned a bit importantly. “Would you like me ta open them an’ put them in the water?”
Then a wild idea seized Diana. Perhaps her father had sent flowers. It would comfort her greatly if he had. But, if so, she wanted to open them herself.
“No, you needn’t mind, Maggie,” she said, trying to put up a tone of indifference. “I have lovely flowers here enough for the present. It won’t hurt them to leave them in the box.”
Bobby looked at her gratefully, a sudden effulgence of joy in his round, red face. His flowers were enough for her. She was wanting him to know that she was especially pleased with his flowers. He took heart of hope and bloomed into good cheer.
“I’m glad you like them, Diana,” he said in a tone of exuberance.
“They are lovely!” said Diana again, wondering just how many times she had used that phrase that evening with regard to those gardenias.
But Bobby seemed well pleased. He was not critical. He felt that suddenly fate had turned the sunny side of life to him, and he came over and pulled a chair up closer to her. “Diana, I came over very especially to ask you to go out with me Wednesday evening,” he began, puffing a little in his excitement. Before this Diana had always managed to evade his invitations on one score or another, but now he meant to press his vantage while she seemed to be favorable to him. He gave her no opportunity to reply but hurried on. “I’ve tickets for a very fine concert in the city, and I thought we’d go in early and have dinner together. I know it is short notice, but I wasn’t sure I could get tickets until tonight.”
But a frightened look was coming into Diana’s face. Wednesday night! That was when they were coming home—if Father really did as he had said he would!
For an instant she considered the idea of going with Bobby anyway. Even Bobby’s company would be better than that awful meeting with a stepmother for the first time, and such a stepmother! Then almost instantly she knew it would not do. Her
father would consider it an affront to both of them. He would never forgive it. No, she could not do that. Not the first night, anyway. And perhaps, perhaps there was a chance—oh, she didn’t dare think of what the chance might be—but she could not pledge herself to be away until she knew. Her eyes clouded and a troubled pucker came in her brow, and instantly Bobby’s face froze into disappointment. He had so often met with disappointment before, just when he had hoped to gain a little with her.
“I’m sorry, Bobby,” she said, “I’m afraid Father has planned something else…” her voice trailed off into silence. She couldn’t tell Bobby that Father was marrying Cousin Helen, not just yet anyway. It seemed too awful for words when she came to consider actually telling it. Bobby knew Cousin Helen. Bobby would be shocked, for Cousin Helen had always been rude to Bobby. She had laughed at his round face. She had laughed almost to his face! Bobby would be offended on his own account. He might not understand Diana’s situation. She felt instinctively that he would not be able to appreciate her horror and sorrow, nor to tenderly comfort her, but he would be indignant that a respected neighbor like her father had married a young woman who had practically insulted him on more than one occasion, and he would be so filled with his own part in the matter that he would fail to appreciate hers. No, there would be no relief in taking on a husband, certainly not if he had to be Bobby. Oh, why did she have to consider such awful problems? Marrying! Why should marrying create such sorrow?
And then she knew that she could not tell Bobby. She must not tell anyone until all possibility that it was not true had passed. Surely yet there would be some word from her father or he would arrive on the early morning train. Never before in all her life had he failed her when he knew she was in trouble. Surely, surely he would not do this terrible thing!
The Flower Brides Page 27