Tomorrow About This Time

by Grace Livingston Hill

  Silver was accustomed to look on life in this way, to think of what would be good for others as well as herself. Her conscience had been well trained and was in good working order. If she became convinced that she ought to go, no argument would keep her there. She had a duty toward life to perform, and her highest aim was to perform it right. She was as utterly different from the other daughter as two human souls could well be. And how could there ever be harmony in such an ill-assorted household?

  Into the middle of her thoughts came a summons from her father. Would she come down to the library and talk something over with himself and his guest as soon as she was ready for dinner?

  Anne nodded approval. That settled it. She must hurry and get ready. Had she another dress, or did she wish just to wear her suit?

  Silver realized that this was no time to discuss when her father had a guest, hastily shook out of her suitcase a little silk crepe dress that fell around her like the soft shadows of evening, the color of twilight with gleams of silver in the fastenings that reminded one of the afterglow in the sunset sky and set off her delicate complexion and the gold of her hair, making her eyes starry. The little cloud of worry on her brow only brought out the sweet thoughtfulness and made her more like her mother as she entered the library a few minutes later. Her father could scarcely take his eyes from her face. The wonder of it that Alice’s face and form had come back in the person of her child! The sorrow of it that he had not had the patience to wait for this and enjoy the privilege of seeing it grow! The selfishness of himself!

  Bannard had a work down among the foreigners of Frogtown. He had a plan for a school for them that they might learn English and be fit to apply for citizenship. He wanted a class in cooking and sewing for the mothers, and meetings where they might learn American ways and how to care for their children and make their homes sanitary and attractive. He wanted a meeting place for them and some men and women with tact and love of humanity to come down and help him. He had been waiting for Professor Greeves to arrive, feeling that he would be the very one to help him get the educational department started. There was a small room over a grocery they could have for the present. It was lighted with lamps and heated by a small box stove, but warm weather was coming; they could even meet out of doors somewhere down by the river.

  “Why not build a hall, a gymnasium or something of the sort, with accommodation for all the different classes? It oughtn’t to cost much. It wouldn’t have to be elaborate. I’ll look after the financial part. I’d be glad to give something to a work like that.”

  “Oh, Father! Can you do that?” Silver’s eyes were large with wonder and joy. Money had not been in overabundance in the little parsonage where the Jarvises lived. Greeves looked sharply, keenly at his daughter. Was it possible that there had been any lack in her life that money might have supplied? He had sent presents now and then, a hundred dollars or so. Why had it never occurred to him to send more? His own child never having a real part in his abundant worldly possessions. He began to see more and more how wrong he had been to separate himself from her. And yet, how sweet and unspoiled she was! That other one, Athalie, had had an abundant income stipulated by the court, and see what she had become! Perhaps it had been better for Silver to have been brought up without riches. That was the way her dear mother had been reared. Ah, but it all shut him out of her life, and he had had the right to be in it and had thrown it away! Well, he would make up for it now all he could, but he could not go back and gather from the years the precious experiences that were gone forever.

  They talked until the silver-tongued gong sounded through the house for dinner, and then, still quite absorbed in their topic, they went out to the dining room, forgetting that there was anything in the world except beautiful plans for the uplifting of others. And there, like an arrogant young goddess stood Athalie, still in her silver and coral undress as she had been in the garden, with only the addition of a wide coral-colored ribbon, the kind her girlfriends called a “headache band” drawn firmly over her forehead from the little sketchy uplifted eyebrows to the crown of her head, the ends concealed in some mysterious way under the shock of outlandish hair somewhere in the neighborhood of where her ears ought to be. She had arrived unbidden on the scene the moment the dinner gong sounded and stood like an apparition, belligerent and sullen behind a chair at the foot of the table, eyeing her father defiantly.

  There had been a pleased smile on his face as he entered, his hand just touching Silver’s arm caressingly, but when he saw her he stopped short, and a stern angry look came into his eyes. It was not a baffled look as Athalie had counted on. She felt that he had weakened during that scene on the terrace, and she could dare anything, but she saw a light in his eyes that boded no good for the one who disobeyed his orders. His eyes gave one full glance at the bare arms and neck, the low, tight silver bodice with it straps of tiny coral roses, the flimsy fabric, and his lips set sternly, then he looked away and ignored her presence. This was not the time for further demonstration. He was a gentleman. He would deal with her later. Yet all through the meal as he spoke to the others his voice was harsh, restrained. They could see that he was very angry. His attitude perhaps awed the girl, or else she was very hungry, for she said not a word except to demand second helpings of everything from the servants. For the rest of the meal she maintained a sullen silence, her eyes on her plate, only now and then raising them in a blank stare of amazement at Bannard when he spoke of his church and his work with earnest enthusiasm. She had never met anyone like him before. Also, she was angry that he ignored her so utterly, giving his entire attention to Silver and her father.

  Everyone was glad when the meal was concluded. It had been a particularly trying time to Silver. And as they rose from the table, the master of the house said almost sternly: “Now we will go into the drawing room and have some music.” His eyes dwelt on Silver lovingly, but something in the tone told Athalie that she was excluded from the company. As he stepped back to let the ladies pass through the door Bannard caught a look of hate on the face of Athalie that almost startled him in one so young. Yet she did not slip away as he had supposed she would after the snub she had received at the table. She followed, slowly, almost stealthily toward the heavy crimson curtains of the wide doorway, as if she had some evil intent in her going.

  Old Joe had built a fire in the fireplace, and the flames flickered and leaped rosily on the white marble mantel, making shadows and fitful lights on the high ceiling as they entered and giving a look to the lifelike paintings on the wall as if the owners were there awaiting them. They stepped within, and then Greeves touched the switch and flooded the room with light. Old Standish Silver had been a progressive man, and the house had been wired as soon as electricity for lighting had come to Silver Sands. It flared up garishly now and brought the sleeping portraits to life, and instinctively all eyes were raised to the painting over the mantel, where special lights had been placed to show it to advantage.

  Joe Quinn had been mending the fire and was just backing away; Anne Truesdale was hovering uneasily beside the curtain, wondering how she could extract the fly from the ointment. The minister and Silver stood inside the doorway at one side, with Athalie still defiant just behind them, when Patterson Greeves stepped within and looked up. They all looked up, and breath was suspended. For there rose the lovely face of Alice Jarvis within her gilded frame, smeared and disfigured with chocolate, covering the sweet lips, dripping down the curve of cheek and chin grotesquely! And there below with bold, sensuous challenge, exulted the pictured eyes of Lilla!

  Chapter 12

  There was a tense moment during which all eyes were fastened with a horrible fascination on the desecrated picture. Then Patterson Greeves’s army-officer voice rang out like cut steel: “Who did that?”

  His face had grown so white that it frightened Silver to look at him. Athalie instinctively withdrew to the shelter of the curtain. He stood looking around on the group, slowly from one face to another, begi
nning with old Joe, who had halted midway to the door and was ashy under his weather-tanned skin, answering back his master’s severe gaze with grave, frightened eyes.

  “I dunno, sir. I ain’t seen it, sir, before, sir! It was that dark when I come in to light the fire. I didn’t look up, sir!”

  The look passed on, steadily, unflinchingly, recognizing the sympathy in the eyes of Bannard and Silver only by a quiver of the set upper lip. He read the face of Anne Truesdale like a book. It said in every quiver of indignant lip and fiery eye that she was not to blame, though she could tell him where to search for the culprit and only awaited a word from him to turn the tide of retribution as it certainly ought to be turned. So his eyes came to rest upon the daring, unsorry face of his younger daughter, peering out eerily as if relishing the dénouement of her escapade.

  No one dared turn and look at her. It would seem that look of her father’s must have scorched her soul, so full it was of outraged pride and love and sanctity. She must have learned from it at once how deep her arrow had gone in his soul, how much he had cared for that woman in the golden frame. How impossible it had been for him ever to care for her own mother like that. How really futile in the light of that look her mission in the house had become. Yet part spirit of his spirit, she dared him back with a glance as steady, as haughty, even while she trembled visibly at what she had invoked. It was as though she had been the embodiment of all his mistakes and sins come to mock him. So their eyes clashed, and the man with one final thrust of judgment and condemnation in the flash of his eye, turned back once more to the profaned picture.

  It was then for the first time that he saw the portrait beneath it, set out in the clear detail of perfect photography, as beautiful yet sensuous, as dauntless, as abandoned in every line of supple body and smiling face as the daughter whose hand had placed her there.

  A low exclamation of horror burst from his lips, and he strode forward, white with anger, and struck it full in the faithless smiling face till the glass shivered in fine fragments on the white of the marble below and the blood ran down in drops from his hand.

  He was beside himself with fury now, and snatching the picture, frame and all, he dashed it to the hearth and ground it beneath his heel.

  Then out from behind the heavy curtain, with a wild cry like a young tigress, darted Athalie and flung herself upon him, beating him back with her hands and screaming out: “Stop! Stop! You shall not! That is Lilla! That is my mother! Ohhh!” And her cries were like the torn heart of an infuriated creature who had never been controlled.

  She pushed him away and crouching low with raining tears gathered up the fragments of the picture and clasped them to her chest. Then standing, she faced her father, a glare of hate in her black glittering eyes, and looked him down even as he had looked at her, and all who witnessed could not but see a resemblance to him in her eyes and attitude.

  “You murderer!” she hissed between her red lips. She ground her teeth audibly and repeated, “You murderer!” And then she suddenly reached out with one hand and seized a large triangle of glass that still remained on the edge of the marble shelf and hurled it with all her force straight into the face of the wonderful painting above her, where it cut a deep jagged gash between the lovely eyes and fell in a thousand pieces below.

  As the glass slithered through the canvas Athalie gave a scream like a lost soul and darted from the room, almost knocking over the white and frightened Truesdale in her flight, and tore up the stairway to her room, slamming the door with a thunderous sound behind her and flinging herself with wild weeping on her bed.

  Meantime Blink had arrived at the front door with his offering of worms and had rung several times before Molly, who thought Joe and Anne were busy in the drawing room with the fire and lights, had slipped to the door and let him in, asking him to wait in the front hall until the housekeeper came to show him where to go. Blink had stood by the door, his cap in his hand, and been a most unwilling witness to the whole awful scene, with its climax of flying coral gauzes, pink flesh, and silver shoes hurrying up the distant staircase. He stood for an instant uncertain what to do and then with innate courtesy stepped to the door of the darkened library where only a dying fire flickered on the hearth, and slipped inside. At least in here, they would think he had not heard. He dropped silently into one of the great leather chairs at the farther end of the room and tried to think what it all might mean and what connection it had with the girl who had climbed out the second story window and telephoned to a man in the city.

  It was most silent in the big drawing room after Athalie left. No one dared hardly to breathe. Patterson Greeves stood white and dazed, gazing up at the injured picture, with a stricken look on his face, as if he had suddenly seen a loved one put to death. For an instant he looked in silence, then uncertainly he put up his hands and rubbed them across his eyes as if he were not seeing right. It was as if the mutilated eyes of the picture were accusing him. He turned a pleading pitiful look on the group standing about him, and with a moan he suddenly dropped into a chair, burying his face in his hands and relapsing into an awful silence.

  “Dontee, dontee, Master Pat, dearie!” crooned Anne Truesdale, in her sorrow forgetting the presence of the others and relapsing into his childhood’s vernacular. “She’s only a naughty child! She didn’t mean—she doesn’t know!”

  A great shudder passed over the man’s body, and the woman gave a frightened look toward the other two and retreated.

  Bannard stepped forward.

  “Get that washed off the picture, can’t you?” he whispered. “And sweep up the glass?” Anne Truesdale vanished, glad to have something tangible to do.

  Bannard stepped to his host’s side and put a firm hand on his shoulder.

  “Come, Greeves, don’t lose your nerve. This isn’t nearly as bad as it seems! It really isn’t, you know. The woman was right. She’s only a naughty ungoverned child. And besides, you’ve another little girl to think about—”

  Greeves raised his eyes to the sorrowful girl in the doorway and Silver crept to her father’s side and knelt, slipping her arm within his and putting her face close to his.

  “I’m afraid this is all my fault, Father,” she said with a catch in her voice. “I ought not to have come. I knew as soon as I saw her. It hurt her, you know, to have me here. She wanted your love for herself—”

  The man stirred uneasily and lifted his head drawing his arm around her.

  “Don’t say that again!” he commanded sternly. “She is worse than nothing to me! Never can be or could be!”

  Anne had come in with soft cloths and a basin of warm water followed by Joe with a stepladder, brush, and dustpan. They tiptoed in silently, as if to a place where a murder had been committed. They did their work swiftly and well and withdrew. The master of the house remained with his head down, resting on one hand, the other arm still encircling his daughter. Bannard stood a little to one side thoughtfully until the servants were gone. Then he raised his eyes to the picture.

  “Come, Greeves,” he said with relief in his voice. “It’s not so bad at all. I’m sure it can be fixed. They mend those things so you’d never know, and it isn’t as if the artist were dead. You can have him touch it up himself—”

  Patterson Greeves rose shaking, his arm still about his daughter, who slipped up from his knees and stood beside him. The father gazed agonizingly up at the picture, tears blurring into his eyes.

  “The little devil!” he murmured. “That’s what she is! A little hellcat!”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t talk that way, friend!” Bannard’s hearty voice was like a breeze from a windswept meadow driving the unpleasant atmosphere away from the room. “Nothing gained by that. Try to understand what has made her like this.”

  “Do you mean to say I’m to blame for her devilishness?” Greeves demanded excitedly.

  “I wasn’t saying who was to blame, my friend. I was merely suggesting that you might look further into the matter before you feel in utt
er despair. The mother is responsible for a lot, I should say, but your problem is not who is to blame, but what can you do about it.”

  “I shall send her away at once, either to some school where she will be made to behave, or else back, back to the mother who made her what she is.” The man’s tone was hard, unforgiving, uncompromising. “I shall make her take her back. Money will do it!”

  “Then you would be to blame!” flashed Bannard. “What, would you give her no opportunity ever? Would you force her to remain what she is?”

  “I would get her out of my sight forever.”

  “Isn’t that just where you made your mistake before? Pardon me. I realize that I know nothing about the matter. It is only a suggestion.”

  “You do think I’m responsible for having a child like that!”

  “Well, isn’t a father responsible? Isn’t that what God meant he should be?”

  Silver had moved away from her father and was standing by the mantel looking up at the pictured eyes of her mother, her eyes full of wistfulness. Her father began a restless striding up and down the room, answering nothing, now and then tossing back his head in an impatient way he had. At last he wheeled around and faced Bannard.

  “I cannot think there is any fairness in that,” he said harshly and took another turn across the room. Then coming back with more of a grip upon himself he said: “But I have made enough of a scene today. I had hoped you were to be my friend. If you stand this test you will indeed be a friend. I must work this thing out by myself. Let us forget it if you can and endeavor to glean a little friendship at least from the evening. We came in here to have some music, and I have exhibited a family skeleton instead. Let us close the door on it for the night and do something else. My daughter, after all this are you equal to giving us a little music?”