She waited for Avis to cut her off as she usually did whenever Jolie tried to introduce any sort of talk of God, but Avis for once merely said, “Is that right?”
Encouraged, Jolie went on to describe the service and ended by saying, “I think George Camrose is an unusual preacher. He’s very talented, you know, and I think he would have been successful at anything he had chosen to do.”
“I suppose his parents are disappointed in him because he didn’t become a successful businessman or professional man.”
“His father isn’t living, but his mother’s very proud of him,” Jolie said. “And, of course, Mary Ann thinks he’s the only man in the world. I’ve never seen a young woman so in love with a man.”
“From what I hear, her father will put a stop to that!”
“I’m sure he’ll try,” Jolie shrugged. “He’s already alienated one of his sons.” Jolie had been proud of Clinton Lanier for the stand he had made, and now she spoke of her admiration of him and George Camrose warmly.
“Clinton is giving up everything. And as for Reverend Camrose, I don’t know much about Africa,” Avis said, “but it’s bound to be a dirty, hard life.”
“I don’t think circumstances are the most important thing in the world, Avis. I’ve been reading a book. It’s written by a man called William Law. He was a minister back about 1720.” She reached into her apron and pulled out a very small book. “It’s called A Serious Call to Holy Living.”
“Sounds terribly boring. Just the sort of thing you’d like, I suppose.”
“I think you might find some of it interesting. Can I read some of it to you?”
“Go ahead. Not likely that I’m going to get into ‘holy living’.”
“Well, Law is talking about the things of the world, and he says, ‘Another possible objection to rules for holy living is that so many things in this world are good. Created by God, they should be used; but following strict guidelines limits our enjoyment of them.’ ”
“I don’t understand that,” Avis remarked. Her interest in religious things was almost nonexistent, but she was bored and said, “Isn’t he saying that God put good things in the world and we ought to enjoy them? Well, I’ll agree with that.”
“Yes, that’s what he says, but listen to this: ‘Suppose a person without knowledge of our world is placed alone with bread, wine, gold dust, iron chains, and gravel. He has no ability through his senses to use those items properly. Being thirsty he puts wine in his ear. Hungry he fills his mouth with gravel. Cold he covers himself with chain. Tired he sits on his bread. This person will vainly torment himself while he lives blinded with dust, choked with gravel, and burdened with chains.’ ”
Avis was an intelligent woman and the imagination of the writer had caught her attention. “I never heard of anything like that,” she murmured. “What does it all mean?”
“Well, Law then says: ‘Suppose some benevolent being would come and instruct him in the proper use of those materials, warning him that other uses of those materials would either be profitless or harmful. Could anyone believe that those strict guidelines would make his life miserable?’ ”
Jolie leaned forward and said, “What William Law is saying is that Christianity teaches us how to properly use the world. It teaches us what’s right about food, drink, and clothing, and things like that. And if we learn that, we can expect no more from them than they can properly provide. But if we don’t, we’re like the man who stuffs himself with gravel.”
Avis sat very still. For some time she had been thinking about her past life, and now that it had been taken away from her—all of those “good” things had been removed. She had, for the first time, been able to see what her life had been. Somehow the words that Jolie read went deep into her spirit.
“I see what you mean, Jolie,” she said slowly. “That gold isn’t either good or bad. It’s what you do with it that counts.”
“That’s right,” Jolie replied eagerly. “And that’s true with many other things. Alcohol for example. It has a use medically, but if it’s misused it leads to drunkenness and that’s wrong. So Christianity teaches us how to use the world.”
Jolie continued to speak for some time, expecting at any moment for Avis to interrupt or turn away. But this time was different. Avis was listening carefully, and finally Jolie said, “That’s what Christianity is for me. It teaches me that there’s going to be glory for those who don’t blind themselves with gold dust, or eat gravel, or load themselves with chains. It calls us to a holy life. I know that sounds boring to those who don’t really know about it, but the most happy people I’ve known have been those who were seeking after God and finding Him.”
Avis kept her eyes fixed on the younger woman’s face, and finally she murmured, “It may be so.” Then she abruptly changed the subject, a habit with her. “You’re in love with Peter Winslow, aren’t you?”
Jolie’s face reddened. “I like him a lot,” she said. “He’s been a good friend to me.”
Avis listened but seemed not to hear the words. She said, “Tell Peter I want to see him.” It was the first time she had sent for Peter, and Jolie could not imagine what was going on inside Avis’s mind.
“All right,” she said, getting up. “I’ll go by his place tonight and tell him to come by.”
Jolie delivered Avis’s message, and Peter came right away. He stayed with her for only a short time, and when he left he seemed preoccupied and strangely excited. He stopped long enough to say, “I’ll be seeing you soon, Jolie.”
“You’re leaving now? Why, you hardly stayed half an hour.”
“Well, I’ve got an errand to run.” There was something mysterious about Peter’s attitude. He was not good at keeping secrets, and Jolie demanded, “What are you up to, Peter?” She was afraid he would do something foolish as far as Avis was concerned, but he said nothing, just grinned and left.
The next day Jolie was in the kitchen preparing lunch when Peter suddenly burst in. She looked up from the potato she was peeling and saw that his face was suffused with excitement.
“Get your coat on, Jolie! We’re going places!”
Staring at Peter, Jolie exclaimed, “What are you talking about?”
“No time for questions!” Coming up to her, he reached behind her, undid her apron, and then pulled it off as she stared at him and protested. “For once in your life try not to be stubborn,” Peter said. His hazel eyes were filled with a happy excitement, and his auburn hair was wild as if he had been running his hand through it, a habit he had when he was excited. “Come on. We’ve got business, you and I.”
Protesting all the way, Jolie could not withstand Peter’s forcefulness. She soon found herself outside, where he put her into a hansom cab and then climbed in beside her. Jolie had listened but could not hear the instructions he gave to the driver. When Peter settled back, she demanded, “What are you doing, Peter? You’re acting like a crazy man!”
“Well, I think I am a little bit, but a woman likes a man to be mysterious. I read that somewhere in a book.”
“Well, I don’t like it,” Jolie frowned. “There’s nothing wrong, is there, Peter? Is Easy all right?”
“Finer than frog hair,” Peter said breezily. “Now, just sit back and relax. This is going to be a day you’ll remember as long as you live.”
Totally mystified, Jolie sat back, and the clicking of the horses’ hooves beat out a staccato rhythm as they moved down the street. She kept looking out of the window, trying to get some idea of the destination, but all she saw was that they were in the downtown part of the city. Finally they turned off on Sixteenth Street, and the hansom pulled in beside a three-story red-brick building.
Peter jumped out, came around, and handed some bills up to the driver, then reached up and helped Jolie as she stepped down.
“Come along,” he said. He laughed at the expression on her face. “I like being a mystery man. It gives me some kind of authority over you. You’ve never respected me like you sh
ould have,” he said, winking at her.
“Peter, what is this place?” Jolie looked up at the signs on the wall, which mostly named lawyers and doctors. Peter did not give her the satisfaction of a reply. They walked inside, and he held firmly to her arm as they climbed to the second floor. He moved down the hall and stopped before a door that read, “Dr. Fritz Leibnez, Surgeon.”
Opening the door, Peter stepped in, and keeping his hand on Jolie’s arm, he smiled at the young woman who sat behind a desk. “Miss Jolie Devorak is here for her appointment with the doctor.”
“Oh yes! You may go right in. You’re right on time.”
“Come along, Jolie.”
Jolie was confused, but she stepped inside the office. A small man of some fifty years with a clipped gray beard and tense brown eyes stood up from his desk and walked around. “I’m Dr. Leibnez. This must be Mr. Winslow and Miss Devorak.”
“That’s right, Doctor. Here’s your patient.”
“Patient!” Jolie exclaimed. She turned to face Peter, and then back to face Dr. Leibnez. “I don’t understand any of this.”
Dr. Leibnez was somewhat startled. “Why, I assumed that you knew about our arrangements. Mr. Winslow, you didn’t tell her?”
“She’s a very stubborn young woman, Dr. Leibnez. You’ll find that out. Now, I’m going to leave you and Jolie. I’ll be right outside the door so you can’t get away, Jolie. Dr. Leibnez is going to do something about that scar.” He turned and left immediately, hearing Jolie’s gasp. When he was outside, he shut the door firmly, then grinned at the woman. “I’ll have to stand guard here. Miss Devorak is very stubborn. She might try to make her getaway.”
“She’s a very lovely young woman,” the receptionist said. She was an older woman with silver hair and a kind face. “I think the doctor can help her a great deal with that scar.”
Peter was nervous and for the next ten minutes paced the floor. He paused to look out the window, then stepped off the length of the room again, until finally the door opened and Dr. Leibnez appeared.
“Would you come in, Mr. Winslow?”
Peter quickly reentered the doctor’s office. He saw Jolie sitting on a chair, her face pale and her eyes turning to him at once. Her lips were pulled tightly together as if she were trying to keep from crying. “Well, I have good news, Mr. Winslow. I think I can do a great deal to help our patient here. It will be a relatively minor operation.” He shrugged his trim shoulders, saying, “I’m only surprised that it hasn’t been done earlier.”
“When can you do it, Doctor?”
The doctor walked over to his desk and looked briefly down at a calendar. “It would be on the twenty-sixth. Day after tomorrow.”
“Right. Shall I bring her here?”
“No. Have her at Grace Hospital. Do you know where that is?”
“Sure do. Come along, Jolie.”
Jolie arose and Dr. Leibnez stopped her as she wandered out like a sleepwalker. “I think you’re going to be very pleased with the results, Miss Devorak. I’m very optimistic that we can do something very fine for your problem.”
When they were outside, Peter put his hand on Jolie’s shoulders and turned her around. “Now, that’s settled,” he said.
“No, it’s not,” Jolie said. She was frightened by it all and now looked up at him. “It’s very expensive! Who’s going to pay for it?”
“Avis is going to pay for it. That’s what she wanted to see me about yesterday.”
“Avis? Why—she can’t do that!”
“You must let her do it, Jolie. You’ve done so much for her, and now she wants to do something for you. She’s had very few generous impulses, I would guess, and this will be good for her. It’s always good when somebody totally selfish breaks loose, don’t you think?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I can’t think right now. This is all so sudden.”
The trip home was a blur to Jolie, and when Peter finally let her out of the cab, she walked into the house without even saying good-bye to him, she was so stunned. She entered the house and went at once to the study, where she found Avis sitting and reading a book. “Avis,” she said, “I’ve just come back from the doctor, but—”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to refuse me? I think that’s pride, isn’t it? Aren’t you Christians supposed to be against that?”
Immediately Jolie knew exactly what she must do. She walked over to Avis and put her arms around her. She felt tears coming to her eyes, and she said, “I can never thank you enough, Avis.”
Avis felt the trembling of the young woman’s body. It was a new experience for her, to be a giver instead of a taker, and she found her own eyes filling with tears. She held Jolie tightly and could not say a word. Finally when Jolie drew back, both women were dabbing at their eyes, and it was Jolie who saw something in Avis Warwick she had never seen before. And she knew that whatever the surgery was going to mean to Jolie, it was, for Avis Warwick, the first time she had ever shown love and concern for another.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A Matter of Faith
The large dining room of the Lanier home was filled as, one by one, the members of the family came down to dinner. Oliver Lanier sat at the head of the table, his massive form solid and strong, and his eyes moving over the room in which he had eaten so many meals. It was a dining room fit for a wealthy family, and he saw it as a tribute to the achievements he had forged over the years. The opulence of the room pleased Oliver, and now his eyes moved around the table as the servants put the food down. Alice, at his right hand, was wearing an attractive olive-colored dress that set off her smooth brown hair. As he gazed at her, as he had done in times past, Oliver was pleased at his choice of a wife. She was completely dedicated to him, he knew, and not given to strange fancies like so many wives. At the age of fifty-one, she still had traces of the beauty that had been hers when he had first seen her at eighteen. Her mild blue eyes were clear, her complexion was good, and her figure was still trim, despite bearing six children.
On his left Benjamin Lanier sat talking to Cara. Oliver was proud of Benjamin. His rich auburn hair and startlingly blue eyes gave him a more handsome appearance than he really had. He had pleasing features and a clear voice that could fill a room with song when the occasion warranted. As he studied Benjamin, Oliver thought, It’s well enough for him to want to serve the Lord, but as for being a minister, there are plenty of others who can do that! He can go far as a lawyer. Perhaps even into politics.
Across from Benjamin, Cara turned just now to speak to Mary Ann, who was on her right. Mary Ann always dressed well, although she did not think as much about clothes as many young women did, which pleased Oliver. He admired her slender figure, smooth blond hair, and attractive light blue eyes. She looked tired, and he wondered what could have brought that on. As she suddenly turned to look at him, he was somewhat disconcerted to see a look of fear in her eyes. Oliver knew he was a strict man, but now as he saw the expression on his daughter’s face, he felt disturbed and remembered Clinton’s strong words.
He did not hold her glance long but turned to look at Bess, who had on a bright blue dress that highlighted her red hair and dark blue eyes. She was an emotional child, he knew, and just now was passing from adolescence into young womanhood. Unfortunately, she was having difficulty making that transition. Oliver could not remember his other daughters having this problem, and he resolved to be more patient with her.
Bobby, sitting next to Bess, was already putting away mashed potatoes at an alarming rate. He suddenly gouged Bess with his elbow, which caused her to cry out, and then he grinned broadly at her. “Pass the potatoes, please,” he said, a light dancing in his eyes.
“You shouldn’t treat your sister like that, Bobby,” Oliver said.
“Like what?” Bobby said. “I just asked her to pass the potatoes.”
Oliver met the gaze of his youngest son, who was daring him to mention the elbow in the ribs. But Cara spoke up at that instant, saying, “You must be
more gentle with ladies, Bobby.”
Bobby stared at Cara. “She ain’t no lady! She’s my sister!”
“And don’t say ain’t!” Cara scolded him.
“I don’t see what’s wrong with it. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” Bobby grinned at her broadly. “As long as you know what I’m saying, what difference does it make?”
Almost everyone had given up trying to argue with Bobby, and now it was Benjamin who said, “Don’t argue with him, Cara. You won’t win. He’d argue with a signpost. He ought to make a good lawyer someday.”
“I’m not going to be a lawyer. I’m going to be a fireman,” Bobby announced.
“You can’t be a fireman. You’re too little,” Bess said.
“Well, I’m not through growing yet. When I get through I’ll be as big as Papa, won’t I, Papa?”
“I hope not quite as heavy as I am. You couldn’t climb a fire ladder if you were as big around as I am, son.”
“But I’ll be as tall one day. I’ll be as tall as you, won’t I, Benji?”
“There’s more to being a fireman than being tall. They lead dangerous lives,” Benjamin replied. He lifted the crystal goblet and drank the iced tea thirstily, and then inadvertently, his eyes went to the empty place at the other end of the table. This had always been Clinton’s chair, and his absence created a certain awkwardness for this gathering.
Cara caught Benjamin’s glance and knew exactly what he was thinking. All of them were careful not to speak of Clinton in their father’s presence, but now the irrepressible Bobby looked straight at his father and piped up, “When is Clinton coming home, Papa?”
“I . . . couldn’t say, son.”
“Why did he have to leave anyhow? Are you mad at him?”
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