Chance of a Lifetime

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “No, I haven’t,” said Sherrill, suddenly appalled at the task before her. “I somehow couldn’t before this came off. It would look like deserting after the first gun was shot. I don’t know but it is, only—well I can’t help it now. But I’d so much rather like to stay.”

  “Well, you’d better not tell them till the end, then,” advised Alan. “It would just spoil the evening, and we want it to succeed you know.”

  “Of course,” said Sherrill, “and it’s going to, I know. I prayed all during church service this morning for it.”

  “Here, too,” said Alan shyly.

  Two other cars were standing before the Evans’ barn door when they arrived, and a bevy of young people poured out to greet them, all talking at once.

  “The ice cream hasn’t come yet, Sherrill,” called Willa Barrington. “What time did your brother say it would be here? Hadn’t I better send my brother down to ask about it? You know you can’t always depend on things on holidays, and it wouldn’t do to have to run after it at the last minute.”

  “It doesn’t come till the five o’clock train, Willa! It’s special, and Holly Beach is bringing it up as soon as the train comes in. You needn’t worry a minute about it. Keith okayed it last night.”

  “Sherrill, I can’t find the place cards. I thought you said you gave them to Willa, but she hasn’t seen them,” called Rose.

  “Sherrill, can’t Alan go down and get Harvey to open up the store and give us some candles? We lack eight more, since those other Flatters have accepted.”

  “Sherrill, didn’t you say Mrs. Foster said we could have some of her chrysanthemums? She didn’t send them!”

  “Sherrill, do you know how to work this oven regulator? Mrs. Marker thinks the turkey is cooking too fast.”

  “Sherrill, are you going to seat the girl guests on our right or our left?”

  “Sherrill, how soon do you want the fire lit? Not more than a half hour before they arrive, do you? Say, can’t you get Keith to come up and help the men get that electric-light wire fixed over the tables?”

  “Sherrill, Mrs. Marker wants to know who promised celery? She says she knows where we can get some more if you’ll ask.”

  “Sherrill, did you intend to put electric bulbs in those pumpkin lanterns or real candles?”

  “Sherrill, is the piano in the place you wanted it?”

  “Sherrill, where are the forks? And can’t we use the same forks for pie?”

  “Sherrill, how many cakes were promised? Didn’t you say twelve? Well, there are only eleven.”

  It was a perfect bedlam. But Sherrill walked in as calm as a summer morning and had them all straightened out in no time.

  “The place cards are in that white box over the first stall. Alan has a whole gross of candles in the car; he’ll get them. Can’t Dickie run down to Mrs. Foster’s and cut the chrysanthemums? He knows how, and she said she would be away and couldn’t. Here, I’ll set the regulator. Yes, the girls on the right. No, Sam, don’t light the fire yet. Yes, Rose, Keith is sending up a man from the company. He’ll be here in half an hour to fix the lights. The celery is wrapped in a wet towel over there, over in the corner on a beam. Candles in pumpkins, of course. It wouldn’t seem real without them. No, the piano must go over there by the speaker’s table so everybody can see the singers. I’ve brought the forks and the other cake! Of course, we’ll use the same forks.”

  Alan stood back and watched her in admiration for an instant, then he set to work helping her, with all his wits. How was he ever to fill her place while she was gone?

  They had thought that everything was ready for the dinner the day before, except just setting the tables and cooking the food. But now it seemed as if everything was left until the last minute, and it took every second of hard work before they felt that all was as it should be, and the various members could take time to rush after their invited guests.

  Alan and Sherrill were the last to leave the barn. Only the two women who had been hired to do the cooking were in the far stalls, busy over the two gas ranges that had been temporarily installed, and they were discussing in loud, cheerful tones the various ways of making turkey gravy.

  Alan stood in front of the fireplace, watching Sherrill as she flitted from table to table, putting last touches to the flowers, scattering a few roses that someone had sent over on the tablecloth in front of the invited guests, a rose to a plate, changing the position of the butter plates and sugar bowls, making sure that the guests were placed exactly according to the chart that had been so carefully made out by the committee.

  Then she stood back and looked, her head on one side, and turning with a smile came over to where Alan stood.

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it, Alan?” she said with satisfaction.

  “Why, guess so,” said Alan, taking a quick inclusive glance. “Yes, yes it is. I hadn’t been noticing.”

  “You—hadn’t been noticing! Why, Alan! Aren’t you interested?

  Don’t you think it’s wonderful?”

  “Sure, I do,” said the boy heartily, “but I was looking at you. Say, that dress you have on is just the color of your eyes. Is that one of your new outfits?”

  “Oh, Alan! You’re hopeless!” Sherrill laughed. “This is the old blue dress I’ve worn two winters. I’m wearing it tonight because I promised Mary Morse I would. She felt uncomfortable about coming where she thought everybody would wear an evening dress, so I told her I would wear what I had on.”

  “Like you,” said Alan, studying her intently. “But it’s not the clothes you wear, it’s you. You look dressed up in anything.”

  “Alan, I believe you’ve been kissing the Blarney Stone. I never knew you to be so flattering before,” said Sherrill, looking at him in astonishment. “Come on. It’s time to go after our guests. But I hate to leave here, it looks so pretty.”

  “It certainly does,” said Alan with late enthusiasm. “Looks nice enough to live in, doesn’t it?”

  “It does, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t it be fun to make over a barn into a perfectly beautiful house?”

  He studied her face thoughtfully. “Would you like to live in it?”

  “Of course I would. You could do wonderful things with some of these old barns. Take that one on the field next to our house now. Can’t you just think what wonderful porches and nooks and crannies and rooms on different levels could be made, with a great, wide staircase in the center, and a skylight in the top story, letting the sunlight in?”

  “Hmm!” said Alan thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought about it, but maybe it would. You ought to study architecture.”

  “I’d like to. Come, we must go. We’re supposed to be back here in half an hour, and we don’t want to be late twice in one afternoon. The others have all gone after their guests, and we mustn’t let them arrive ahead of the officers.”

  Alan was thoughtful as he climbed into the car beside her and stepped on the gas. Sherrill turned her head and looked back.

  “It’s going to be lovely. See, Dick Hazelton has come on his bicycle, and he’s going to light all the lanterns and touch off the fire, just as he sees the cars coming up the hill. It certainly will be cheerful when we get back.”

  “It certainly will,” said Alan, looking down at her, “and you did it all. I’m afraid it’s bad policy, however, beginning the season with such a success. Just look what a flunk the rest are going to be with you gone.”

  “Indeed they are not. You are going to make each one better than the last. Aunt Harriet has promised to help you with the next one, and she’s a wonder. She knows more new things to do to get people talking and acquainted. Wait till you see what she has to suggest. She’s been telling me, and you are to go over there tomorrow night and get the whole thing planned out, so you can get your committees to work at once.”

  “Oh, am I?” said Alan unenthusiastically. “Well, if you say so, I suppose I am, but it looks mighty dumb to me without you around to stir us up.”

  “But Alan! You
mustn’t be a killjoy. I thought you believed in being cheerful! Come now, don’t spoil my last night.”

  “All right, I won’t,” said the boy, setting his mouth in one of his old grins. “I’ll be as cheerful as a little red lantern. Is this the street that Morse woman lives in? Now, which house in that row do you guess it is?”

  “The third from the last,” said Sherrill quickly. “I went to see her yesterday so I’m sure.”

  They drew up at the curb, and Sherrill watched her escort as he went up to the dingy, unpainted door and knocked. Noticed how courteously he lifted his hat to the slatternly neighbor who opened the door, and who was expecting to care for the baby while Mary Morse was away.

  Mary came out presently, looking half frightened and drawing her shabby coat on over an attempt at holiday garb as she came. A little three-year-old toddled after her and embarrassed her more deeply by insisting on having a kiss on her dirty little face. Mary administered a slap furtively, and sent the child crying, and then looked after her with distress in her eyes.

  “Go comfort her, Mary,” called Sherrill. “Don’t leave her feeling unhappy. We’ve plenty of time to wait for you.”

  Mary gave a grateful glance toward the car, vanishing precipitately into the gloomy house, whence presently the sobs ceased, and Mary reappeared with an air of excitement upon her.

  “She’s awful spoiled,” said Mary as she climbed excitedly into the car. “I’ve had her and the baby mostly since they was born, and they don’t know what to make of me going off.”

  “Poor little kid,” said Sherrill. “Alan, didn’t we have a bag of peppermints somewhere about this car? Here it is, in this pocket. They won’t need them up at the supper. I noticed the dishes were all filled. Take them back to her.”

  “Oh, don’t trouble,” said Mary embarrassedly. “She’s got to learn I isn’t on tap all the time.”

  But Alan found the peppermints and took them back to the door, where five children were crowded with open mouths, staring at the car, the weeping baby in the foreground.

  But when Alan popped a peppermint into her mouth and handed her the whole bag, she looked up in the midst of a howl and bestowed first a wondering stare and then a ravishing smile, and that showed beauty even through the dirt.

  “Poor little beggar,” said Alan afterward. “She thought I was an angel from heaven. I’ll remember that and take peppermints next time I go”—but that was on the way home, much later in the evening.

  Sherrill welcomed Mary with her best smile, and chattered pleasantly all the way without making it necessary for Mary to answer once, and they drove around to get Alan’s guest, Sam O’Reilly.

  Sam jumped into the front seat with Alan with scant courtesy, and a bravado to cover his embarrassment. His hair was very wet and very slick, so wet from recent combing that a drop or two kept dripping down his red neck and down one cheek. His collar was too tight, and he kept easing it up and out, and his flaring necktie matched his red hair. He acknowledged the greetings from Sherrill with downcast eyes and a “fresh” remark, which under other circumstances might have annoyed her, but her mind was intent on making a success of this party, and it gave her a keen understanding that passed over little trifles. She realized that was Sam’s way of carrying off what was to him a terribly trying ordeal.

  The sun had set, leaving a deep crimson streak in the west, and above, in a clear emerald field, a single star shone like a jewel as they drove up to the barn.

  Chapter 12

  The great doors were open wide and the fire flamed up around the big logs in the wide fireplace, playing over the new boards of the floor and gleaming tables with their white cloths and shining glass and silver, flickering over the big beams overhead, and throwing furtive shadows in the distant corners where sheaves of corn and wheat were stacked and strange pumpkin faces gleamed out unexpectedly from every shadow.

  “Oh, my land! Isn’t that wonderful!” said Mary Morse with a choking sound in her voice as if she wanted to cry. “It looks just like heaven might be, don’t it?”

  “Gee, that’s great!” said Sam O’Reilly, his volubility suddenly hushed into silence after that one exclamation.

  “It does look cheery, doesn’t it?” said Alan eagerly, realizing all at once how great and far-reaching had been this scheme of Sherrill’s to get together with the young people of the Flats; thinking that only Sherrill, of all their merry bunch, could have conceived and carried out such an occasion.

  They all alighted and joined the other merry arrivals who were thronging strangely, almost agedly, into the wide barn door. The hosts and hostesses escorted their guests to the dressing rooms in the extreme far corners of the barn, the girls to the right, boys to the left, where there were pegs for hanging their hats and coats, and dressing tables with mirrors and pumpkin-hooded lights. Great screens stretched across in front gave privacy.

  In the soft, weird light of the big open fire, with the quaint little pumpkin faces grinning from the dark corners, it seemed a strange enchanted land into which the company had arrived. The strangers shrank back and stared then entered hesitating, shyly, and giggling over the newness of everything.

  The hosts and hostesses had unbent royally. They companioned with the girls and boys from the Flats merrily. They led their guests in and helped them hang their wraps on the wooden pegs and introduced them to those who were standing around, just as if they were strangers, although many had gone to school together in the public school several years before, when the dividing line between social classes was not so strongly marked. But here tonight they were all ladies and gentlemen, and the guests from the Flats were on their good behavior. Indeed, they felt strange and shy to be other than polite, though there had been one or two among the Flat boys that the other boys had been a little afraid of, lest they might get “fresh” with the girls from the town.

  Sherrill had been wise in anticipating any such possibility by putting the whole thing on a somewhat formal basis. There had been written invitations, and when the company had all arrived there was a receiving line formed, the officers first, with their guests beside them, and then the committees came, chairman and members, each with his or her guest, and were introduced all along the line and took their places in the line to receive the rest.

  It worked out nicely, everybody meeting quite formally and everybody shaking hands, stiffly, perhaps awkwardly, but still shaking hands and acting as if they were all on an equality.

  Then the orchestra slipped out of line here and there and took their places in the corner by the piano, not far from the fireplace, and began to play, using some of the music they had practiced at the last social.

  Like magic the line was formed, two men and two girls, two men and two girls.

  “Who are they putting with the boy that Phil Riggs brought, the extra one he hadn’t told us about?” whispered Sherrill to Alan, as she stood just in front of him at the head of the line waiting for the signal to march.

  “Oh, he’s going with Jim Cather. You know we didn’t have Jim down because he expected to have to go to Canada yesterday, but he didn’t go.”

  “But did you tell the girls? Is the table set for two more?” asked Sherrill anxiously.

  “Yes, that’s all right. They take Lola Cather’s two places, herself and her guest. She didn’t ask anyone, you know.”

  “Why not? Isn’t she coming? I hadn’t heard.”

  “No she took good care you shouldn’t hear, I guess. But her mother told me. She said—” He lowered his voice and stepped to one side so that the two guests who stood near should not hear. “She said she didn’t care to have Lola hobnobbing with the Flatters.”

  “Why, the idea!” said Sherrill indignantly. “I thought she wanted Lola to be a missionary someday. I heard her talking about sending her somewhere for a course of religious training.”

  “Yes, I asked her that,” said Alan amusedly, “but she said that was different. She said she didn’t care to have her mixed up with “thaht
clahss.”

  Alan imitated Mrs. Cather’s tones so exactly that Sherrill had to giggle in spite of her indignation.

  “The very idea!” she whispered. “Is she afraid Lola will elope with Buggy Whitlock?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past her.” Alan grinned. “The poor soul. Doesn’t she know this isn’t a dance nor flirtation circle? Though, of course, Lola is feather brained, and she does like to flirt awfully well. But I should think if she is going as a missionary, it was about time she began to have a little discernment and self-control.”

  “Well, I didn’t think anybody would confuse our work here with foolishness. Now isn’t that dreadful! It will get out why she didn’t come of course, and there will be other mothers that will get alarmed, perhaps. Although, they are all sensible except Mrs. Mason and Mrs. Sales. They are always afraid of anything unconventional. But I do hope it won’t get to the Flats. It will spoil everything we could do. The idea!”

  “Yes, I thought so. She let Lola go with that tough set at the inn all summer, and I know for a fact they had petting parties and plenty of wine and cigarettes. Nice bunch they were for a prospective missionary to hobnob with.”

  “Alan! Listen! We’ve got to pray a lot about this,” said Sherrill with her own brows drawn together thoughtfully, “and then just keep our gatherings strictly friendly and a rapid program, so there wouldn’t be a chance for any indiscreet intimacies. Isn’t it pitiful, Alan? We all went to school together, and nobody objected. We’ve had the same interests while we were children, and we’re supposed to be going to the same heaven, if we all get there! It isn’t as if we were introducing strangers in our midst either. It’s just pride! It’s pitiful! It’s unchristian!”

  “I’ll say it is,” said Alan. “It’s a pity they can’t bring up their precious children so they have a little sense and can act like Christians, and yet not flirt with every fresh kid they meet.”

  “Alan, you’ll look after things when I’m gone, so they won’t let any unwise things go on, won’t you? And you’ll pray—hard!”