The Silent Harp

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I’m afraid you’ll think so.” He grimaced and said, “I hate weddings.”

  “What?”

  “I do. I hate weddings. I never go unless I absolutely have to. Well, it’s not that I hate weddings so much,” he admitted with a shrug. “It’s the big, fancy weddings I can’t stand. There’s nothing I’d like better than to go to a small chapel and see a man and woman stand up with a few close friends and family members. All this expense and fuss about dresses and bridesmaids . . . frankly, it drives me up a wall.” He took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. “Let’s do something daring, Sharon.”

  She stared at him with consternation. “Daring! Like what?”

  “Let’s just elope,” Colin said. He slipped his arms around her and kissed her warmly. “Let’s just get married and go to our place in the Shetlands.”

  “Why, Colin, I couldn’t do that to my parents. It wouldn’t be right. The wedding’s only a month away. I know what you’re feeling. I get tired of the preparations too, but it means so much to my parents. Especially to Mother. We just have to go through with it.”

  Colin seemed inclined to argue, but he no doubt could tell that her mind was made up on this. “All right. But it’s all so unnecessary.”

  ****

  A week after this conversation Sharon was being fitted for her wedding dress. She had marked in her journal that morning, October 10, 1928, a day I never thought I’d see—I’m actually getting fitted for a wedding dress.

  Now she stood still as the tailor did his work on the shimmering white gown, her mother fluttering about in a state of almost frantic excitement. Sharon felt a sudden intense nervousness that had been growing in her. She thought of her first fiancé, and, not for the first time, she wondered: Am I failing Robert? I told him I’d always love him, but he told me that if he didn’t come back from France, I should go on with my life. And that’s what I’m doing.

  That evening after dinner Sharon was in her room talking with Ruth about the matter of the trousseau when a knock at the open door interrupted her. The butler stuck his head inside and said, “Two ladies to see you, Miss Sharon.”

  “Ladies? Who are they?”

  “One of them is Miss Fulton. I don’t know who the other one is.”

  “All right. I’ll come right down. Ruth, we’ll continue our discussion later this evening.”

  Sharon left her room and went downstairs into the drawing room. She was excited to see Hannah again. Next to her was another lady Sharon did not know. Hannah came forward and put her arms around Sharon, but Sharon’s happiness at seeing her friend again was overshadowed by her tense look and pinched features.

  Sharon hugged her friend in return, but on seeing her face said, “Is something wrong, Hannah?” A sense of foreboding came over her. She glanced at the other woman cautiously, a rather attractive blond woman in her late twenties, she would guess.

  “This is Miss Mona Pierce,” Hannah said. “She’s from England. I brought her with me because—” Hannah broke off, unable to find the right words, and finally said hurriedly—”I want you to listen to her story. I’ll wait outside.”

  “Why . . . of course.” Sharon waited until Hannah had left the room, then turned and said, “What is it, Miss Pierce?”

  Mona Pierce was dressed in the latest fashions, but there was a troubled air about her. “I’m afraid I have some news for you, Miss Winslow, that will not be welcome. Mrs. Fulton found me and told me about your engagement to Colin. We had several long talks, and she finally persuaded me to come to America with her. She felt you needed to hear this from me.”

  “Hear what, Miss Pierce?” Fear filled Sharon’s heart over what this woman might have traveled all this way to tell her about Colin. She stood rigidly still as she listened to the woman speak.

  “I fell in love with Colin when he was eighteen years old,” Mona began, “and I must tell you we were lovers. He was going to marry me, but he had no money. An older woman with a great deal of money fell in love with Colin, and he married her instead.”

  Sharon felt that the world was stopping. She knew Mona Pierce had not finished her story, but Sharon had already heard enough to know she could not possibly marry Colin now.

  “We kept up our relationship all through the years they were married. During this time I got pregnant and bore him a son. Colin is an impulsive gambler, and he ran through his wife’s money rapidly. She died about a year ago, and by then there was little money left.”

  “But how could he marry another woman if he loved you?” Sharon whispered.

  “You’ll have to understand Colin. His family had a great deal of money at one time, and he grew accustomed to it. But they lost most of it, largely through Colin’s extravagances. They still have their home in England and a reputable family name but hardly any money at all. Colin’s only solution was to find a rich woman to marry, but as I said, he lost most of his wife’s money too.”

  The room was deathly quiet except for the ticking of the grandfather clock. It tolled out the seconds as if with an air of doom as the woman continued to speak. “After his wife died I thought we would marry, but Colin said it was impossible. That he would have to marry a wealthy woman. He told me he was coming to America to find an heiress.”

  Sharon felt that the sun had gone out of her. She could not speak for a long time and knew she was trembling. She had to say something to this woman and finally asked, “How did Mrs. Fulton find you?”

  “She found and met the Hardie family, and she heard rumors. I think she hired a private detective to investigate them. It wouldn’t have been hard to find me because our relationship is no secret to anyone. She came to me and asked about Colin, and I simply told her what I’ve just told you.” The woman lifted her head then and said, “Colin is weak, but I love him—even though I don’t think he will ever marry me.”

  Sharon sat still through all of this, her face frozen. She desperately wanted to weep, to lash out, but she kept an iron grip on herself. “I appreciate your coming to tell me this, Miss Pierce. I know you haven’t done so out of a vindictive spirit.”

  “No, indeed. Mrs. Fulton convinced me that you were a good woman and that you didn’t know Colin’s background.”

  “I would be glad to reimburse you for any expense—”

  “Oh no,” Mona said. “Mrs. Fulton is taking care of all of that. I just . . . I just didn’t want another woman to be hurt by him. It wouldn’t have worked out happily for you.”

  Sharon got up and walked to the door. Opening it, she said quietly, “Come in, Hannah.”

  When Hannah came in, Sharon saw there were tears in her eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Sharon, but my own marriage has been so unhappy. I made a mistake in marrying the wrong man. I couldn’t let you do the same thing. You can’t marry him now.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Sharon turned to thank Mona for coming but stopped midsentence when Ruth came in and said, “Sir Colin is here, Miss Sharon.”

  Sharon’s eyes met Mona’s, and taking a deep breath, she said, “Ask him to come in, Ruth.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sir Colin Hardie entered the door and stopped as abruptly as if he had run into a stone wall. The room was silent, and his face went absolutely pale. Sharon saw that he was stricken, and despite the hurt she felt, she found she could not lash out at him as she had already planned to.

  “Hello, Mona,” Colin said in a voice drained of emotion. He seemed to have shrunk in stature, and when he turned to Sharon, the expression in his eyes conveyed total and helpless loss. Sharon did not move but said, “I hope you’ll find your way, Colin.”

  Colin looked at her sadly, then turned and said, “Come, Mona, it’s time to go.”

  Sharon did not watch them leave together. She turned her back, and when the door had closed, she felt Hannah’s hand on her shoulder. She still did not turn, and Hannah said in a broken tone, “This is going to be so hard for you. Your parents will be devastated—and the
society columns in the papers will have a field day!”

  Sharon felt nothing. Devoid of all emotion, she said without turning, “One thing I know, Hannah—I’ll never be put in this position again. Not ever!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Clayton Takes a Fall

  Leland Winslow leaned back in his chair and studied the beautiful landscape that lay before him. March had come in gently, and already the mild weather had coaxed the grass into a beautiful emerald green on the estate of Leland’s good friend, Vernon Wells. The lawn was as level as a pool table, and Leland watched as a man on the far side of the lawn worked assiduously in a flower bed. Turning to his host, Leland said with admiration, “Vernon, I do believe you’ve got the most beautiful grounds in America.”

  Vernon Wells was a diminutive man in contrast to Leland’s height. The only thing large about him was his head—and according to many, his oversized head was stuffed with more brains than the entire working force of the New York Stock Exchange, where he had made his fortune. Wells had a rather sharklike expression, and he now exposed his small, perfectly formed teeth as he said, “It should be. It cost enough.”

  Stirring in his chair, Leland’s mind went back to October 1929 when Black Tuesday, the darkest day in American economics, hit. That had been more than five years ago, but he would never forget it. He thought of how he himself had nearly gone under, but Vernon had helped him, keeping him out of bankruptcy court. He pondered the last several bitter years of depression America had been suffering. A chill came over him at how close he had come to being out on the streets. He had learned of the tragic downfall of a distant cousin of his whom he had never met, even though both families lived in New York. Lewis Winslow had lost everything and been forced to take his family south to live on a farm in Georgia.

  “Vernon, you might get tired of hearing it, but I think so often of how you saved my bacon when the stock market fell in twenty-nine. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d probably be in the poorhouse.” He flashed a smile at the smaller man. “I’ll never forget that.”

  Wells waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “You don’t need to ever thank me again. You’ve done that. It’s ancient history.”

  “Maybe for you, but sometimes I still wake up in a cold sweat when I think of where I’d be if it hadn’t been for you. I might have jumped off a building.”

  “No, I can’t imagine you’d take your own life over money, Leland. And leave your family to suffer alone? You’re a better man than that.”

  The air was filled with the smells of spring, the verdant earth releasing its odors that had lain frozen all winter long. With the snows gone, spring flowers were beginning to peep out from beneath the crust of dead leaves, proclaiming the advent of another year. From one of the ornamental pear trees close to where the men sat, a small brown bird began trilling a sweet sound.

  “What kind of bird is that, I wonder?” Leland murmured.

  “Song sparrow. I love them. Sweetest singing bird in the world. Not powerful but sweet. You know, that sparrow reminds me of your daughter. I heard her sing in church two weeks ago. Beautiful voice.”

  “I’ve always thought so.”

  “You know, I thought at one time she might take up singing as a career.”

  “Oh, that was just a passing fancy. Where would one of our social class sing? I couldn’t see Sharon singing in a music hall or on Broadway.”

  “Opera perhaps.”

  “You have to be first class for that, Vernon. She doesn’t have the voice for it.”

  “Well, she doesn’t need it. She has her art. I read that story about her last month in Life magazine. I know you were proud.”

  “Yes, I was. Very proud indeed.” The story had brought an avalanche of fan mail, which Sharon did not appreciate. She felt obligated to answer all the letters and had had to hire a secretary to take care of that unwanted chore.

  “Is there a lot of money in art, Leland?”

  “If you’re at the top there is, and of course, Sharon’s at the top now.” He shook his head in wonder. “She refuses to take a penny of my money now that she makes her own, although of course, I’ll be dividing everything between her and Clayton when Lucille and I are gone.”

  “How is Clayton these days? Still determined to be an architect?”

  “Yes, he is. And he’ll be a good one too. We’re very proud of him. He was at the top of his class last year. He’s only nineteen, almost twenty, so he’s got a ways to go yet.”

  Leland found it very relaxing to sit quietly conversing with his friend. He had come here often in the last few lean years when he had struggled to bring his lumber business back to a profitable level. Very few people had the money to build these days, but somehow with Vernon Wells’s help, he found businesses that could afford to buy lumber again and was recovering nicely from the sudden downslide. “We’ve got a problem at home,” he said as he studied the man digging in the flower bed. “My gardener is retiring. Don’t know how I’ll replace him.”

  Vernon turned and exclaimed, “Now, isn’t that just like the Lord!”

  Vernon’s comments sometimes confused Leland, and he raised his eyebrows with surprise. “What do you mean by that? What does the Lord have to do with it?”

  “Do you see that fellow over there?” Wells indicated the man working in the flower bed. “His name is Morgan—Gwilym Morgan.”

  “What’s that name again?”

  “It’s Welsh. G-w-i-l-y-m. It’s the Welsh form of William, so everyone calls him William, except me. I call him Gwilym because I like the sound of it. Let me tell you, he’s your man. I believe God put him here and then brought you here today so the two of you could meet.”

  Leland burst into laughter and reached over and squeezed his friend’s thin arm. “So you think life is all laid out like a play, and all we’re doing is acting out our part?”

  “Not quite like that,” Wells said, shaking his head. “But I do think God engineers circumstances for our good. Let me tell you about Gwilym. He’s a cousin to my own gardener. Things are very bad in Wales, so he came over to this country to find work. My man asked about putting him on, and though we didn’t need additional help, I agreed. But Ben tells me he’s a fine gardener. Knows everything about every flower and could make grass grow on the highway. If I didn’t have Benny, I’d hire him myself.”

  Leland looked with interest at the man digging across the lawn and said, “That would be fine if he would work out. Would you be sorry to lose him?”

  “No, put him as the head of your grounds and turn him loose. Come along. I’ll introduce you.”

  The two men walked across the emerald grass, and when they approached the flower bed, the digger turned. He was not a large man but very trim and fit. He wore dark brown trousers, a white shirt, and a tie. The idea of wearing a necktie in the garden amused Leland. The musical sound of Wales was in his voice as he said, “It’s happy I am to know you, Mr. Winslow.”

  “I understand you’ve come over from the old country recently.”

  “Yes, sir, and sad I was to have to leave. But Mr. Wells here has been very kind to my daughter and me.”

  “You have a daughter and a wife?”

  “No wife, sir. I lost my dear wife two years ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “She’s with me every day,” Morgan said simply and without any trace of embarrassment.

  “My gardener is leaving me,” Leland went on. “He’s been with me for many years, but he’s finally retiring. Would you like to come and work for me, see how we get on?”

  “That would be fine with me, sir, but Mr. Wells must say.”

  “It’ll be a great thing for both of you, Gwilym. Why don’t you two talk terms, and then when you come back to the house, Leland, I’ll beat you in another game of chess.”

  “Beat me in another game! You haven’t beaten me in a month.”

  “Well, today just might be the day I’ll lay you on the ground,” Vernon said w
ith a chuckle.

  As Vernon walked back toward the house, Leland and Gwilym discussed wages and other circumstances concerning the job. “There’s a cottage for you as well—not large, but it has two bedrooms and is well furnished.”

  “That sounds very fine. My daughter works at a hospital in Manhattan. She’s training to be a nurse.”

  “Then we’ll have to figure out how to get her to the hospital, but I’m sure we can work out something. Someone’s always going into town and coming home. And there are taxis.”

  “Oh, I do have a car, sir. It’s not in great shape, but we’ve learned to nurse that Model T Ford along.”

  “How soon could you come?”

  “I could come tomorrow if that would satisfy.”

  “Indeed it would. I’ll look for you then, William.” He gave directions to his house and shook hands with the man, noticing that Morgan’s hand was not large but felt powerful. Leland walked back to the house and joined Vernon, who was sitting at a table in the parlor in front of the chess game he had set up.

  “Did you make the agreement?” Vernon asked.

  “Yes, very satisfactory.”

  “He’ll make that place of yours hum. You wait and see. Now, sit down and take your beating like a man.”

  ****

  Seana Morgan pulled the old Model T up to the small house that she and her father were renting and went inside. Her father turned from the stove where he was cooking, his eyes bright with excitement. “Very good news, daughter.”

  “Good news, is it, now? And what would that be?” The twenty-one-year-old had red hair and beautiful green eyes. Her face was oval, her features strong, her lips broad. She was not a Hollywood type, but she had a beautiful figure that even the starched white uniform she wore could not conceal. Her speech, like her father’s, was rich with the lyrical Welsh accent. Putting down her purse, she came over and gave her father a kiss. “Well, are you going to tell me?”

  “I’ve got a new job with a family named Winslow.” He went on to tell her the terms, and she was pleased at the salary. “And the best thing is, it has a cottage that goes with it. We’ll each have our own bedroom, and it’s already furnished.”