Her trembling fingers sought the catch of her handbag and brought out pencil and paper. The young man by her side watched her curiously, sympathetically. Who was this lovely girl? What had stirred her so deeply? Had she perhaps cared for the bridegroom herself, and not felt able to face the audience during the ceremony? Or was the bride her sister, dearly beloved, whom she could not bear to part from? They truly resembled one another, gold hair, blue eyes; at least he was pretty sure this one’s eyes were blue, as much as he could judge by the brief glimpse he had had of them here in the dimness of the gallery.
She was looking about for someplace to lay her paper, and there was none, because the gallery rail was completely smothered in palms.
“Here!” he said softly, sensing her need, and drew out a broad, smooth leather notebook from his pocket, holding it firmly before her, his other arm still about her.
So Sherrill wrote rapidly, with tense, trembling fingers:
Dear Aunt Pat:
I’m not getting married tonight. Please be a good sport, and don’t let them suspect you didn’t know. Please, dearest.
Sherrill
The young man beside her had to hold the notebook very firmly. He couldn’t exactly help seeing the hastily scrawled words, though he tried not to—he really did. He was an honorable young man. But he was also by this time very much in sympathy with this unknown lovely girl. However, he treated the whole affair in the most matter-of-fact way.
“You want that delivered?” he whispered.
“Oh, would you be so good?”
“Which one? The little old lady in gray right down here?”
“Oh, how did you know?” Sherrill met his sympathetic gaze in passing wonder.
“I saw you looking down at her,” he answered with a boyish grin. “You want her to read it before she leaves the church?”
“Oh yes, please! Could you do it, do you think?”
“Of course,” he answered with confidence. “Do you happen to know if there is a door at the foot of these stairs opening into the church?”
“Yes, there is,” said Sherrill.
“Well, there’s no one else in the seat all across to the side aisle. I don’t know why I couldn’t slide in there without being noticed while the prayer is going on.”
“Oh, could you do that?” said Sherrill with great relief in her eyes, and looking down quickly toward the front seat that stretched a vacant length across to the flower-garlanded aisle. “Would you mind? It would be wonderful! But there’s a ribbon across the seat.”
He grinned again socially.
“It would take more than a ribbon to keep me out of a seat I wanted to get into. Are you all right if I leave you for a minute?”
“Of course!” said Sherrill, drawing herself up and trying to look self-sufficient. “Oh, I can never thank you enough!”
“Forget it!” said the young man. “Well, I’d better hurry down and reconnoiter. Sure you’re all right?”
“Sure.” She smiled tremulously.
He was gone, and Sherrill realized that she felt utterly inadequate without him. But suddenly she knew that the procession had arrived at the altar and disposed itself in conventional array. Startled, she looked down upon them. Did nobody know yet? She should have been watching Carter’s face. But of course he would have had his back to her. She could not have told what he was feeling from just his back, could she?
She moved a little farther and could see his face now between the next two palms, and it was white as death, white and frightened! Did she imagine it? No, she felt sure. He had swung half reluctantly around into his place beside Arla, but he lifted his hand to his mouth as if to steady his lips, and she could see that his hand trembled. Didn’t the audience see that? They would. They could not help it. But they would likely lay it to the traditional nervousness all bridegrooms were supposed to feel. Still, Carter! He was always so utterly confident, so at his ease anywhere. How could they credit him with ordinary nervousness?
But the ceremony was proceeding now, her bridegroom, Carter McArthur, getting married to another girl, and there she was above him, unseen, watching.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together in the sight of God and in the presence of this company to join together this man and this woman in the bonds of holy matrimony—”
Chapter 3
A great wrench came to Sherrill’s heart as she looked down and realized that but for a trifling accident, she would even now be standing down there in that white dress and that veil getting married! If she had not tried to go through those two rooms without being seen, if she had not planned to go and show herself to Mary—poor Mary, who was lying on her bed even now thinking she was forgotten—if just such a little trifle as that had not been, she would be down there with Carter now, blissfully happy, being bound to him forever on this earth as long as they both should live. So irrevocable!
For an instant as she thought of it, her heart contracted. Why did she do this awful thing, this thing which would separate her forever from the man she loved so dearly? She could have slipped back into her room unseen; the other girl would have gone away, afraid to do anything else; and she could have gone to the church, and nobody would ever have been the wiser. She would have been Mrs. McArthur. Then what could Arla Prentiss do? Even if she had taken her life, few would have ever heard of it.
But she, Sherrill Cameron, even if she were Sherrill McArthur, would never have been happy. She knew that, even as she looked down into the white face of the staring, stony-eyed bridegroom. For between her and any possibility of joy there would always have come that look on his face when he had kissed the other girl and told her he would always love her best. She never could have laughed down nor forgotten that look. How many other girls had he said that to? she wondered. Was Arla, too, deceived about it? She evidently thought that she, Sherrill, was her only rival. But there might have been others, too. Oh, if one couldn’t trust a man, what was the joy of marriage? If one were not the only one enthroned in a man’s heart, why bind oneself to his footsteps for life? Sherrill had old-fashioned simple ideas and standards of love and marriage. But Sherrill was wondering if she would ever be able to trust any living man again, since Carter, who had always seemed such a paragon of perfection, had proved himself so false and weak! No, she could never have married him, not after seeing him with Arla. Oh, were all men like that?
And there he was getting married to the other girl, and not doing a thing about it! She was sure he knew now, and he was making no protest.
And then suddenly she saw her own heart and knew that somewhere back in her mind she had been harboring the hope that he would do something. That he would somehow—she didn’t know how, for it wasn’t reasonable—find a way to stop this marriage and explain all the wrong, and that joy would find its way through sorrow! But he wasn’t doing a thing! He didn’t dare do a thing! Fear, stark and ugly, was written upon his face. He knew himself to be guilty. He was standing there before the assembled multitude, the “dearly beloved” of the service, and not one of them knew a thing about what was happening but himself, and he knew, and he wasn’t doing a thing! He didn’t dare!
And then, just down below her in the front seat, a little motion attracted her eyes. A white ribbon lifted, and a figure slid beneath. A young man in a blue serge suit with a pleasant face had glided so quietly into the seat beside the little gray lady with the white laces that nobody around her seemed to have even noticed. He was handing her a folded paper and whispering unobtrusively a word in her ear. Aunt Pat had her note now, and in a moment she would know the truth! How would Aunt Pat take it? She was perfectly capable of rising in her delicate little might and putting a stop to the service. How awful it would be for everybody if she did that! Perhaps the note ought to have been held up until the service was over.
Then even with the thought came that frightful challenge. Was it only last night at the rehearsal that they had joked over it?
“Therefore if any man can show just
cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now declare it, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
Her eyes were fastened on Aunt Pat in terror! What if Aunt Pat should arise and say she knew a just cause! Oh, why had she sent that note down so soon? If she could only recall it!
But Aunt Pat was sitting serenely with the note in her hand, reading it, and a look of satisfaction was on her lips, the kind a nice house cat might wear when she had just successfully evaded detection in licking the creamy frosting from a huge cake. Actually, Aunt Pat was looking up with a smile on her strong old face and a twinkle in her bright old eyes. It was almost as if she were pleased! The young man in the blue serge who had delivered the note was nowhere in sight, and yet she couldn’t remember seeing him slip out again, though the white ribbon was swaying a little as if it had recently been stirred.
That deathly stillness settled down over the audience, an audible stillness, even above the voice of the organ undertone; and Sherrill, puzzling over Aunt Pat, turned fascinated eyes toward her former lover. How was he standing this challenge? Whichever girl he thought was standing beside him, surely he could not take this calmly. Oh, if she might only look in his face and see his innocence written there! Yet she knew that could never be!
But she was not prepared for the haggard look she saw on his face, a terror such as a criminal at bay might wear when about to face an angry mob who desired to hang him. The look in his eyes was awful! All their lively brilliancy gone! Only fear, uncertainty, a holding of the breath to listen! His hands were working nervously. She felt almost a contemptuous pity for him, and then a wrenching of the heart again. Her lover, to have come to such a place as that! Almost she groaned aloud, and looked toward the radiant bride, for radiant she really seemed to be, carrying out her part perfectly. Sherrill had felt she could do it. She was clever, and she had an overwhelming love!
And yet in spite of her horror over what was happening, somehow as she looked down there it seemed to be her own self that was standing there in that white satin gown and veil about to take sweet solemn vows upon her. What had she done to put her bright hopes out of her life forever! Oh, hadn’t she been too hasty? Might there not have been some other explanation than the only obvious one? Ought she perhaps to have gone in and confronted those two in each other’s arms?
Then suddenly the girl down there before the altar spoke, and her voice was clear and ringing. The great church full of people held their breath again to catch every syllable:
“I, Arla, take thee, Carter—”
Sherrill felt her breath coming in slow gasps, felt as if someone were stifling her. She strained her ears to hear, on through that long paragraph that she had learned so carefully by heart, her lips moving unconsciously to form the words before she heard them. And Arla was speaking them well, clearly, with a triumphant ring to them, like a call to the lover she had lost. Could he fail to understand and answer? Sherrill pressed her hands hard upon her aching heart and tried to take deep breaths to keep her senses from swimming off away from her.
Again she had a feeling as if that girl down there was herself; yet she was here looking on!
And now it was the bridegroom’s turn!
Sherrill closed her eyes and focused every sense upon the words. Would he respond? Would he do something, or would he let it go on? For now he surely knew!
His voice was low, husky; she could scarcely hear the words above the tender music that she herself had planned to accompany the vow they were plighting. Afterward she fancied it must have been by some fine inner sense rather than the hearing of her ears that she knew what he was saying, for he spoke like one who was afraid!
“I, Carter, take thee, Arla—!”
Ahh! He had said it. He knew now and he had accepted it! He was taking the words deliberately upon his lips. Shamefully, perhaps, like one driven to it, but he had taken them. Her lover was marrying another girl!
He had not even tried to do anything about it!
With a little gasp like a deep-driven sob, she dropped upon her knees and hid her face in her hands, while the gallery in which she knelt reeled away into space, and she suddenly seemed to be hurled as from a parapet by the hands of her former bridegroom, down, down into infinite space with darkness growing all about her. Ah! She had been foolish! Why had she not known that this would happen to her? Love like hers could not be broken, torn from its roots ruthlessly, without awful consequences. How had she thought she could go through this and live through it? Was this the end? Was she about to die, shamelessly, and all the world know that she had a broken heart?
Ahh!
A breath of fresh air came sharply into her face from an opening door just as she was about to touch an awful depth, a strong arm lifted her upon her feet, and a glass of cool water was pressed to her lips.
“I thought this might be refreshing,” a friendly casual voice said, not at all as if anything unusual were happening.
She drank the water gratefully, and afterward she wondered if it were only her imagination that she seemed to remember clinging to a hand. But of course that could not have been.
He looked down at her, smiling, as if he might have been a brother.
“Now, do you feel you have to stay up here till this performance is ended and all the people escorted out below?” he asked pleasantly, “or would you like to slip down now and get your car out of traffic before things get thick? You look awfully tired to me, but if you feel you should stay, I’ll bring up a chair.”
“Oh,” said Sherrill bewilderedly, “is it—are they almost—?”
She leaned forward to look.
“Just about over I fancy,” said the man, who was steadying her so efficiently.
And as if to verify his words, the voice of the clergyman came clearly: “I pronounce you husband and wife. Whom therefore God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”
She shuddered and shrank back. The man could feel her tremble as he supported her.
“This would be a good time if you are going to slip away,” he whispered. “There is just the brief prayer, and then the procession out is rather rapid. I fancy traffic will thicken up quickly after they are out. Or would you rather wait until they are all gone?”
“Oh no!” said Sherrill anxiously. “I must get back to the house if possible before they get there!”
“Then we should go at once!”
She cast one more glance down at the two who stood with clasped hands and bowed heads, and rapidly reviewed what was to come.
After this prayer there was the kiss!
She shivered! No, she did not want to see Arla lift her radiant head for that kiss. She had watched him kiss her once that night; she could not stand it again.
“Yes! Let us go quickly!” she whispered hurriedly with one last lingering glance, and then she stumbled toward the stairs.
Out in the cool darkness with a little breeze blowing in her face and the bright kind stars looking down, Sherrill came to herself fully again, her mind racing on to what was before her.
She was glad for the strong arm that still helped her across the street, but she felt the strength coming into her own feet again.
“I can’t ever be grateful enough to you,” she said as they reached the car, and she suddenly realized that she had treated him as if he were a mere letter carrier or a drink of water. “You have done a lot for me tonight. If I had more time, I would try to make you understand how grateful I am.”
“You needn’t do that,” he said gently. “You just needed a friend for a few minutes, and I’m glad I happened by. I wonder if there isn’t something more I could do? I’m going to drive you home, of course, if you’ll let me, for you really shouldn’t try yourself, believe me. Or is there some friend you would prefer whom I could summon?”
“Oh no,” she said, looking frightened. “I don’t want anyone I know. I want to get back before they miss me—and really, I think I could drive. Still if you don’t mind, it would be a great
help. But I hate to take more of your time.”
“I’d love to,” he said heartily. “I haven’t another thing to do this evening. In fact, I’m a stranger in town and was wondering what I could do to pass the time until I could reasonably retire for the night.”
“You seem to have been just sent here to help in a time of need,” she said simply as he put her into the car and then took the wheel himself.
“I certainly am glad,” he said. “Now, which way? Couldn’t we take a shortcut somewhere and keep away from this mob of cars?”
“Yes,” said Sherrill, roused now fully to the moment. “Turn to the left here and go down the back street.”
“I wonder,” he said as they whirled away from the church with the triumphant notes of the wedding march breaking ruthlessly into their conversation, “if there wouldn’t be some way I could serve you the rest of the evening? I’m wholeheartedly at your service if there is any way in which just a mere, may I say friend, can help out somewhere?”
“Oh,” said Sherrill, giving him a startled look in the semidarkness, “you’re really wonderfully kind. But—I hate to suggest any more, and—it’s such a silly thing!—”
“Please,” said the young man earnestly, “just consider me an old friend for the evening, won’t you, and ask what you would ask if I were.”
Sherrill was still a second, giving him a troubled look.
“Well, then—would you consider it a great bore to go back with me to that reception and sort of hang around with me awhile? Just as if you were an old friend who had been invited to the wedding? You see, I—well, I’m afraid I’ll have to explain.”
“You needn’t if you don’t want to,” said the young man promptly. “I’ll be delighted to go without explanations. Just give me my cue, and I’ll take any part you assign me if I can help you in any way. Only, how the dickens am I going to a swell wedding reception in a blue serge suit?”
Beloved Stranger Page 4