Coming Through the Rye

by Grace Livingston Hill

  She sighed sorrowfully and wondered why all this awfulness had to come upon her, and where she should begin to try and take up the burden of life on her own responsibility. It seemed incredible that, after all was done that had to be done for her father, she still must go on and live by herself with all of a natural life likely before her. It was unthinkable! It was appalling!

  There appeared, quietly, unobtrusively, a little white-haired woman in gray who entered with some lovely flowers in her hands and made no fuss nor asked any questions, just went about doing little helpful things. Romayne took her for one of the people with the undertaker at first, but later when she asked her name, she said, “Oh, I’m just a neighbor nearby. I heard you were in trouble, and I came to see if I could help. I’m not really a neighbor, either, for I live away up in New Hampshire, but I’m in the city for a little while on business, and I heard you were alone. Just call me Aunt Patty. You won’t need to feel any obligations toward me. I’ll be gone in a few days.”

  Romayne smiled wistfully at her and felt a sudden relaxing of the tension of her nerves. Somehow it was good to have a motherly woman around who understood and didn’t bother with questions. She didn’t say whether she knew the whole story of shame or not, but it didn’t matter. Romayne somehow felt she would have been just as kind if she had known, and it was a relief to accept the gentle sympathy and not have to think about the shame.

  This same Aunt Patty helped to settle a good many puzzling questions, just by being there and letting Romayne talk them out to her. It somehow seemed to clarify the atmosphere and help her to decide on the natural thing to be done.

  It was Aunt Patty who helped arrange the service.

  “Your mother? Where is she buried? You will want your father to lie beside her, of course?”

  And Romayne suddenly saw that that was the natural thing to be done. The undertaker had been talking about lots, and the whole thing had seemed so terrible, and so impossible, and expensive!

  It was Aunt Patty who arranged with the undertaker to telegraph to the little Virginia town where they had lived before Romayne’s mother died, and make everything ready for their coming, and Aunt Patty who went to see Dr. Stephens, the minister, and arranged a simple service at the house before they left for Virginia. When she asked if there was anything special that Romayne would like to suggest for the service, the girl shook her head at first and then thoughtfully said, “Wait. Yes. There are some verses.…”

  She wrote out the verses in their order as she had repeated them to her father and handed them to Aunt Patty.

  “Just those,” she said, “and a simple service with a prayer. I don’t know much about funerals, but I want those verses to be read—”

  She paused and looked at Aunt Patty shyly.

  “He—spoke to me—at the last, you know.” She paused again as if it were hard to go on. “He said one word! It was forgiven!’”

  She swept the elder woman a quick keen glance to see if she understood, and Aunt Patty’s face lighted up with instant sympathy and understanding. Yes. Aunt Patty understood and was glad. Romayne was satisfied, and glad she had told her, and went away quickly to her room, leaving her new friend to perfect the arrangements.

  It was while Aunt Patty was gone to see Dr. Stephens about the funeral that another visitor arrived, and Romayne, thinking the minister had come, opened the door herself.

  It was a woman, ferret-faced and important, who stood there staring openly up at the house and the surroundings, taking in obviously the “vacant” house next door as if it were Exhibit A, too noted to miss. When Romayne opened the door, she stepped inside with that “Now-I’ve-come-to-settle-everything” air that some women can assume so offensively.

  She pinned Romayne with her first glance coldly, condemningly, appraisingly, and then began to talk.

  “You’re Romayne, I suppose,” she said, dropping her gaze disapprovingly to the little pale-blue muslin dress the girl happened to be wearing and had not thought to change to one of a quieter color.

  “You won’t remember me, of course,” she went on while her little ferret eyes seemed to be jumping around the room, taking in every object and searching out each corner as if she had known about it all before she came, pausing to inspect the fine old console in the hall, then the office desk, the silk curtains, the alabaster vases, and lingering again on the panel door beside the mantel.

  “You were only three when you were at our house last. I’m your third cousin, Maria Forbes. My mother was Charity Jane Harkness before she married my father, and she was your mother’s second cousin. I suppose you’ve heard your mother talk about us?”

  She paused and brought her ferret eyes to Romayne’s face once more with an added disapproval.

  “You don’t look much like your mother, do you? She was always said to be a beautiful girl. You favor the Ransoms. They were all scrawny and light. It’s a pity, especially now. Well, of course, we saw in the paper he was dead, so Mother thought I’d better come right down and see you.”

  Romayne looked at her in a dazed sort of way. She was herself so far removed from the ordinary things of every day that the frank insults that were being offered her did not make much impression upon her. She was only annoyed that someone had turned up who would have to be talked to. She was so tired it did not seem as if she could talk about things now. And a relative! That was harder than a stranger, because one couldn’t really put a relative off as you could a stranger. If only Aunt Patty hadn’t gone away yet! She made every thing so much easier when she was present!

  “Won’t you come in and sit down,” she said wearily. “I’ve heard Mother speak of a Cousin Maria, of course, although I don’t remember the visit very well. It was kind of you to come. Do you live far away?”

  “Why, yes, it’s quite a piece. It’s beyond Millville. Are those the secret wine closets the newspapers told about?” she asked, suddenly pointing to the panel beside the fireplace.

  A flood of crimson went over Romayne’s white face, and her eyes grew stern and haughty.

  “I would rather not talk about those things,” she said coldly. “We will go into the dining room and sit. We shall not be disturbed in there.”

  “Well, that’s a foolish way to feel!” declared the new relative. “You have to face facts as they are. You can’t wash out dirt by shutting your eyes to it, and since your father has committed a crime, of course, everybody knows about it. You couldn’t help it, of course, as Mother says, but you’re not in a position to be proud, and you might as well acknowledge that first as last. I take it that I, being a relative, have a right to know the facts. In fact, that was partly what Mother sent me down for, to see just how it all was. If we are going to do anything about it, of course, we’ve got to know all about everything. You couldn’t expect it otherwise.”

  “Do anything?” asked Romayne puzzled. “What could you do?”

  “Well, I’m not prepared to say just what we’ll do until I hear the whole story. We live in a town where everybody knows everybody else’s business, and we couldn’t take you without being able to feel that we understood the whole matter from A to Z.”

  “Take me?” said Romayne, again quite uncomprehending.

  “Why yes, of course. We’re the nearest living relatives; in fact, we’re the only relatives you have on your mother’s side—and, of course, if there are any of your father’s, they don’t count, for you wouldn’t want to go to them! Mother and I are willing to take you to live with us. Mother is getting on in years, and I’m not so spry as I used to be, and there’ll be plenty of work you can do to pay your board. Besides that, there’s a vacancy in the post office we can probably get for you that’ll net you a small salary—enough to clothe you economically. Of course, there’s the disgrace on the name and all, and there may be some trouble getting you in there. Government officials are mighty particular, you know, about having people who have a good honest name, and it’s right, of course, because they have to handle thousands of do
llars’ worth of stamps, and money orders and all, and, of course, they’ve got to be sure who they employ. Both Mother and I figure everybody knows us, and if we vouch for you, there won’t be any trouble. But we can’t do a thing till we know everything about this miserable business. You’ve got to make a clean confrontation of it. Did you know about it all along, and couldn’t you stop it? It’s terrible on us having a disgrace like that come in the family, even though it’s only by marriage, and Mother getting on in years, too. But we can’t have folks saying we didn’t do for our own, even though we have to suffer.”

  Romayne stood still with her back against the wall and looked at her persecutor, her eyes large with a kind of helpless terror. She could get no words with which to answer this creature. Somehow, all the spirit with which she would have protected herself a few weeks ago had departed from her. She could just stand and take it. It was like being caught out in a deluge of fire.

  “And what’s all this about your brother, Lawrence, running away from jail?” went on the tormentor. “Did you help him to get out? Because if you did, that ends it! We can’t have anything to do with him. You’ll have to drop all communication with him if you come to live with us. Bootlegging’s bad enough, the dear knows, for a woman who’s been a W.C.T.U. president most of her life to put up with in the family, even by marriage, but a murderer isn’t to be thought of! And you must understand from the start that you will never see or communicate with Lawrence again. Of course, you wouldn’t want to, anyway, if you really want us to help you be an honest respectable girl again—”

  Romayne’s eyes seemed to be growing larger and darker with horror and her face whiter. She looked as if a moment more of this harangue and she might crumple into a little heap on the floor.

  Neither of them had heard the front door open quietly until suddenly Aunt Patty stood beside them and slipped an arm about Romayne’s waist.

  “My darling child,” she said tenderly, “you shouldn’t be standing here like this. You look done to death!”

  Romayne turned and flung her arms around Aunt Patty’s neck, buried her face in the soft gray shoulder, and burst into a flood of nervous tears. She did not know how long Aunt Patty had been standing there, nor how much she had heard, but she had a feeling that she would understood everything and that a refuge was found.

  “I’m her cousin, Maria Forbes, from Millville,” explained the indomitable relative. “I’ve come down to take her home with me and try and see if we can’t bring back her good name—”

  “And I’m her Aunty Patty Sherwood from New Hampshire,” spoke up the little dove-gray woman firmly, “and you’ve somehow made a mistake. It’s very kind of you, of course, but Romayne hasn’t lost her good name and never will! You’ve been misinformed! But she has been through a great sorrow, and she’s not able to be up, so if you’ll excuse me a few minutes, I’ll just get her to bed, and then I’ll come down and talk with you.”

  “Sherwood? Sherwood?” said the ferret woman sharply. “I don’t seem to remember any Sherwood connection. New Hampshire, did you say? Mother has the family tree. You don’t mean that you’re on the Ransom side?’

  But Aunt Patty and Romayne were halfway up the stairs.

  “Just sit down in the hall a minute, will you,” called back Aunt Patty commandingly from the first landing. “I’ll send the maid with a cup of tea for you while you’re waiting for me to come down.”

  And Aunt Patty gently and firmly propelled the stricken girl up the stairs to her own room and pressed her down upon the bed.

  “There, precious child!” she said soothingly, arranging the pillows and smoothing back her hair from her hot face. “Just cry as hard as you like. It’ll make you feel better. But she isn’t worth noticing; she really isn’t, you know! There are always people like that in the world, only they don’t often dare come to the surface. But you’re not to think a second time about anything she says. And you don’t have to go and live with her and her cruel old mother! The whole world is before you, and plenty of nice people will want you. I want you myself just as hard as anybody could, only I know you don’t belong to me and oughtn’t to be hidden away off in New Hampshire. But if you’ll say the word, I’ll just tuck you in my pocket and take you home with me.”

  Romayne managed a sobbing little smile at that and was cheered in spite of herself. But the tears were in full tide and could not be stopped so easily.

  “But she knew all about us,” wailed Romayne with sudden recollection. “It must have all been in the papers! All about those secret panels by the fireplace and everything! Oh—how can I ever look anybody in the face again?”

  “Look here, child!” said Aunt Patty tenderly as she swiftly unfastened Romayne’s shoes and tucked her up under a light blanket. “What’s in the newspapers is the least of your troubles. To begin with, every right-minded person knows that more than half they read in the papers isn’t so, and the other half has a lot of explanations. And there’s so much in the papers that people don’t remember for more than a week what they have read. So you can just forget that part of it. It’s annoying, of course. I don’t discount the hurt it gave you, and that little cat downstairs ought to be gibbeted for talking to you that way; but, after all, what is she? I’ll give her a cup of tea and tell her a few things and send her on her way a sadder and a wiser woman. Trust me! Now, look up some of the things you’ve got to be thankful for. Take that word ‘forgiven,’ for instance. Isn’t that bigger than all the rest? I take it that’s what it meant to you. There’s coming a time by and by when all these things are going to be evened up, and everybody’s going to know it. And that word ‘forgiven’ is going to cover all the things that anybody has to be ashamed of. If anybody has a right to that word, he can go rejoicing and not be afraid. ‘I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed.’ Ever hear that verse? Well, think about it, and don’t let your faith be dimmed by a sour-faced woman who doesn’t look as if she knew what it meant. Now, you’re going to sleep for an hour till I get rid of that old raven downstairs, and then I’m going to bring you the nicest little lunch you ever ate, and we’re going to talk about pleasant things and be happy. There’s sorrow enough in the world without making more. Will you go to sleep?”

  Romayne nodded her head, mopped the tears from her eyes, and Aunt Patty stooped and kissed her tenderly; then, pulling the shade down, Aunt Patty went out on tiptoe and down the stairs, her face growing formidable as she went.

  She found the visitor endeavoring to pry open the panel by the mantelpiece with a hairpin, and she turned to Aunt Patty nothing daunted.

  “Having you got the keys to this place? I want to see everything while I’m here. Mother will want to know all about it.”

  “No,” said Aunt Patty grimly, “I haven’t the keys, and if I had, I wouldn’t use them on other people’s property.”

  “But I’m a relative!” stated Cousin Maria as if that covered any multitude of sins.

  “I guess you don’t know that this house is under police protection,” said Aunt Patty quietly.

  “Protection!” sneered Cousin Maria sarcastically.

  “Yes,” said Aunt Patty, “an officer is stationed close by to see that Romayne is not annoyed by anyone, and I’m here to see that he does his duty whenever occasion arises.”

  “Oh”—Cousin Maria turned her sharp eyes on Aunt Patty—“how did you get that office? I don’t really see how you can be related. Did you say you were on the Ransom side?”

  “You might call it that,” said Aunt Patty serenely. “Suppose you step into the dining room now. I think the tea is ready.”

  “But I never heard that George Ransom had a sister!” said Cousin Maria, reluctantly following into the dining room.

  “Didn’t you?” said Aunt Patty. “Do you take cream and sugar or lemon? Excuse me while I give directions to the maid.”

  “You didn’t tell me how you came to be here,” began Cousin
Maria, turning from a survey of the backyard through the bay window the minute Aunt Patty returned.

  “Just take this chair,” said Aunt Patty graciously. “Why, the chief who had the house in charge sent for me. I came here because he wanted me to come, and I stayed because Romayne wanted me.”

  “H’m!” said Cousin Maria coldly. “I don’t see what a chief of police had to do with it.”

  “He has a great deal to do with it,” said Aunt Patty calmly. “Will you take some of this cinnamon toast? I’ve just been teaching the maid how to make it.”

  “I should think there would be enough to do in a house like this, and at a time like this, without trifling with fancy cooking,” acridly remarked Cousin Maria, taking two pieces of cinnamon toast on her plate.

  “I don’t consider anything trifling that gives an appetite and a little comfort at a time like this,” said Aunt Patty serenely. “What time does your train go back? Will you have to hurry?”

  “I’m not going back till I’ve seen Cousin Romayne again. She ought to be awake pretty soon, oughtn’t she? I’ll just go up when I’ve finished my tea.”

  “Oh no,” said Aunt Patty firmly, “she won’t be awake for an hour and a half at least, and she doesn’t feel that she can see you anymore today. If you are staying at a hotel, I can telephone for a taxi for you.”

  “Really!” said Cousin Maria with her chin up. “I think you take too much upon you. I certainly shall go up and see my cousin. If she isn’t awake, she’ll have to wake up, that’s all. I have to get back to Millville tonight, and I’ve got to make my proposition to her. Mother is expecting me to bring her with me.”

  “Romayne has no idea of going with you. If that’s all, you can save yourself the trouble. But it will be quite impossible anyway for you to see her. It is against the doctor’s instructions that she be disturbed. She has been under heavy strain and must rest. Were you intending to stay for the funeral? Because the service proper is to be held in Virginia, you know.”