Girl to Come Home To

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “I certainly did,” said the vexed Jessica. “I went simply everywhere that he used to go, to all his old haunts, or telephoned where it was too far, and none of the people had even heard he was coming home. But do you mean he was there all the time?”

  “I shouldn’t be at all surprised. He had that home atmosphere about him, in spite of his uniform. I doubt if he had been any farther away than the garage or even just the pantry. Of course I don’t know, but I just have a hunch,” said Louella.

  “But didn’t he act as if he knew that I had been there?”

  “My dear, he didn’t act at all. He just sat there and glowered. In fact when I entered silently with my key and watched them all an instant before they saw me, I think he had heard me and was on the point of leaving the room quite suddenly, and then when he saw it was only I, he sat down in his chair and began to eat again. But he certainly was in a poisonous mood. He was as rude as he could be to me, declined to answer any of my questions, and positively shut me up. Said if anybody asked me any questions about you and himself, I might tell them it was none of their business.”

  “Oh, really?” asked Jessica with a defeated look on her handsome face. “Well, I suppose I might as well give up and go back west and work things out some other way.”

  “Not at all, my dear,” soothed Louella. “I should say from what I used to know of Rodney in his youth that the outlook is very hopeful.”

  “Hopeful?” said the younger woman, astonished. “Why, you have just given me to understand that he is very angry with me and doesn’t want to see me. I don’t see anything hopeful about that.”

  “Then you can’t know Rodney very well. Don’t you understand that the very fact that he is angry at you and doesn’t want to see you shows that he is still deeply in love with you, and you will have no trouble at all in getting back his admiration when once you get really face-to-face with him and have a good talk? I’d be willing to wager that you with your beautiful face and your graceful ways can easily win him back to love you more than he ever did before.”

  It was then that Emma Galt plunged into the conversation. “But Jess is married, Mrs. Chatterton. You forget that. And Rod was brought up with very strong moral ideas about the sanctity of marriage.”

  “Fiddlesticks for any moral ideas nowadays,” said Louella grandly, as if she were empowered to speak with authority on the new moral standards of the present day.

  “But you don’t realize at all, Mrs. Chatterton, how intensely those Graemes feel on moral questions. Those boys have very strong ideals and real conscientious scruples about things. They were brought up that way, and it has taken deep root in them,” said Marcella.

  Louella smiled. “Piffle for their conscientious scruples! You seem to have forgotten that those boys have been to war. You will probably find that out when you come in closer contact with them. I don’t fancy many conscientious scruples can outlive a few months in the company of a lot of wild young soldiers or sailors off on their own. And remember Rodney has been away from his hampering, narrow-minded parents for at least three years!”

  Then up spoke Marcella Ashby again. “I think that is perfectly terrible, Mrs. Chatterton, for you to call those dear people narrow-minded. All the years while we were growing up, they have been the dearest people to us all. Their house was always open to give us all good times, and they never showed a bit of narrow-mindedness. They were ready to laugh and joke with us all and spend money freely to give us enjoyment.”

  “Oh yes, children’s stuff, picnics and little silly games and nice things to eat, of course, but did they ever have dances for us or cards or take us to the theater or even let us play kissing games?” spoke up Jessica. “No, indeedy. Everything was very discreet and prim, and of course we are no longer children and times have changed. You couldn’t expect people like the dear old Graemes to be up to date. They are old people and can’t understand the present-day needs of young folks. But I think myself that it is quite possible that the boys may have changed. They’ve been out in the world and seen what everybody is doing. I don’t believe for a minute that Rodney would be shocked at all if I told him I’d made a big mistake in marrying a man so much older than myself, and that I was going to Reno to get a divorce as soon as I’ve finished up a few matters of business here in town. Isn’t that what your idea was, Mrs. Chatterton?”

  “Well, yes, I think myself you’ll find those boys, at least Rodney, is much more worldly than his folks give him credit for, and I feel sure Jessica, if you give your mind to it, that you can win him back.”

  And then they went into a huddle to plan a campaign against Rodney Graeme.

  And even as they plotted, with the devil whispering advice secretly to them and only Marcella Ashby of their number protesting at their plans, the Graeme family was kneeling in a quiet circle about the fire in the library. Father Graeme thanked God for the return of his children and petitioned that they might be guided aright in the days that were ahead, that none of them should be led astray from the way in which the Lord would have them go, and that His will might be done through them all, to the end that they might become changed into the image of His Son, Jesus Christ, and be fit messengers for the gospel of salvation.

  And he prayed also for the rulers of their beloved land that they, too, might be led by the Holy Spirit to make right laws and decisions, and to govern the beloved country as God would have it governed, and that all spirit of unrighteousness might be put down, and any mistakes inadvertently made might be overruled, and the land saved from mere human guidance or acts ordered by warped judgment.

  And he prayed for his boys, who had been so graciously spared from death or torture or imprisonment, that they might understand that God had thus spared them so that they might be the better fitted to do His will in the life that was still before them, that they might live to serve their Master even more fully than they had served their country.

  As they rose from their knees and brushed away tender tears that had come to all eyes, the plotters were just starting out on their second attempt to start their campaign.

  “Now,” said Father Graeme as they stood a moment thoughtfully before the fire, “I think these boys should get to their rest at once, and especially this wounded shoulder needs to have complete rest. Besides, if thoughtless friends are contemplating any further raids on the household tonight, it seems to me that would be a good way to head them off. Just let us get to bed as quietly and quickly and as much in the dark as possible, and when and if they come again, let them find it all dark. I suggest if they ring the bell and continue to ring, that you let them wait until I can get my bathrobe on and go down and meet them. I think perhaps I can show them that any further visits tonight will not be acceptable to anyone.”

  He grinned around on them pleasantly, and they all responded gratefully.

  “All right, Dad!” said Rodney happily. “This has been our family’s own night, and we don’t want it spoiled in any way. You don’t know what it’s meant to me to hear you pray for us all again and to know that we are back together again, after so many terrible possibilities.”

  “Here, too,” said Jeremy huskily. “You got me all broken up with that prayer, but perhaps tomorrow I’ll be able to tell you all about it. What a memory I had of your prayers when I was out on a mission meeting bombs and knowing the next one might carry me up to God, and I wanted to go from my knees to meet Him, so my heart knelt as I flew along, and perhaps that was how I came through. I felt God there!”

  The testimony of the two boys stirred them all deeply, and they lingered in spite of themselves, and then suddenly they heard a car coming.

  “That wouldn’t be our friends, would it?” asked the father anxiously. “Perhaps you better all scatter as swiftly as possible. Here, Mother, you take this tiny flashlight. I don’t want you to fall. I guess the rest of you can manage in the dark, can’t you? I’ll wait a minute and make the fire safe for the night.”

  Swift embraces, tender kisses, a
nd they scattered silently, and when Marcella’s car arrived before the door the house was dark as a pocket and silent, too, everyone lying quietly under blankets and almost asleep already.

  “Why the very idea!” said Jessica sharply as she clambered out of the car. “They can’t have gone to bed this early, and they wouldn’t have been likely to go out anywhere this first night.”

  “You seem to have forgotten that Rod was wounded and has been in the hospital for some time,” said Marcella.

  “Nonsense!” said Jessica. “Anyhow I’m going to ring the bell good and loud. I guess they won’t sleep long after that.”

  Chapter 5

  Three girls were grouped together in a pleasant corner of the Red Cross room sewing as if their very life depended upon their efforts. One was running the sewing machine, putting together tiny garments for the other two to take over and finish. The second girl was opening seams and ironing them flat and then finishing them off with delicate feather-stitching in pink and blue, binding edges of tiny white flannel jackets and wrappers with pink and blue satin ribbon. The third girl was buttonholing scallops with silk twists on tiny flannel petticoats. They were making several charming little layettes for a number of new babies who had arrived overnight without bringing their suitcases with them, and these three girls had promised to see that the needy babies were supplied before night. And because these three girls were used to having all things lovely in their own lives, it never occurred to them to sling the little garments together carelessly. They set their stitches as carefully and made their scallops as heavy and perfect as if they had been doing them for their own family. Others might sling such outfits together by expeditious rule, but they must make them also beautiful.

  “Aren’t they darling?” said Isabelle Graham. “I feel as if I were making doll clothes and I’d like to play with the dolls myself. They say that a couple of these poor little mothers have wept their hearts out mourning for their husbands and they haven’t taken time to get anything ready for their babies. The husband of one baby’s mother has been reported killed, and another one is taken prisoner. A terrible world for a little child to be born into.”

  “Yes,” said an elderly woman coming over from a group across the room to take the measurement of the hems the girls were putting into the little petticoats, “I think it’s a crime! Bringing little helpless babies into a world like this. And all because their silly mothers couldn’t wait till their men came back from fighting. It’s ridiculous!”

  Alida Hopkins shut her pretty lips tightly on the three pins she was holding in her mouth, ready to set the measurement of the little petticoat she was working on, and cast a scornful look at the woman.

  But the woman pursued the subject. “Don’t you think so, Alida?”

  “I don’t think it’s any of my business,” said Alida with a little laugh. “It certainly isn’t the poor babies’ fault, and they’re here and can’t go around without clothes in this freezing weather, so I’m here to make clothes for them. Beryl, have you got any more of that lovely white silk twist? I’ve an inch more scallops to make on this petticoat, and I don’t like to change color.”

  “Oh yes,” said Beryl Sanderson, fishing in her handbag for the spool and handing it out. “I have a whole lot at home. I bought it before they stopped selling such things. I thought it might fit in somewhere.”

  “Well you certainly were forehanded,” said the critical woman sharply. “But I wouldn’t waste real silk twist on baby garments for little war foundlings. It won’t be appreciated I tell you. Better save it for your own children someday.”

  Beryl smiled sweetly and covered the rising color in her cheeks with a dimple. “Well, you see, Mrs. Thaxter,” she said amusedly, “I haven’t reached that need yet, so I guess we’d better let this little war baby have the benefit.”

  Mrs. Thaxter cast a pitying, disapproving glace at the girl, pursed her lips and tossed her head. “Oh, well, I guess you’re as improvident as the rest,” she said sharply. “I thought you had better sense.”

  “Improvident?” laughed Beryl. “Why should I provide for children I don’t possess and may never have and let some other little child suffer?”

  “Hm!” said Mrs. Thaxter. “I guess they won’t do much suffering for the lack of a few needlefuls of buttonhole twist.” And she marched off to the other end of the room with her head in the air. Her departure was announced to the room by little rollicking ripples of laughter from the girls she had left.

  “Shhh!” warned Beryl softly. “There’s no need to make her angry, even if she is an old crab. Do you know she has worked all this week cutting out garments, worked hours over time?”

  “Yes,” said Bonny Stewart with a twinkle, “and ripped every last worker up the back while she did it. I was here. I heard her, and believe me it was the limit!”

  “Well, I guess she’s pretty upset that her Janie got married without letting her know before her soldier went away. And now he’s got himself killed and Mrs. Thaxter has to keep telling Janie ‘I told you so’ all the time,” said Isabelle with a trill of a laugh.

  “Oh, but he didn’t get himself killed, he’s only a prisoner. Hadn’t you heard?” said Celia Bradbury, drawing her chair over to join the group and getting out the little pink booties she was knitting. “The word came last night from the War Department. Janie called up and told my sister. She’s in her Sunday school class. She’s very hopeful that he will get home now.”

  “Being taken prisoner by the enemy is almost worse than death these days,” commented Beryl sadly.

  “Yes, I think this war is horrid,” said Bonny with tears in her voice. “I don’t see why somebody doesn’t put a stop to it.”

  “That’s what they are trying to do, child,” said Beryl with a smile.

  “Yes, I suppose it is,” answered Bonny. “But say, did you know both the Graeme brothers came home last night? I was on the train. I saw them, and they’re perfectly stunning in their uniforms. Not all the servicemen get killed or taken prisoner. Say, Beryl, didn’t you used to know those Graeme boys?”

  “Why yes,” said Beryl looking up interestedly. “I went to high school with Jeremy. He was a fine scholar and a swell person. I didn’t know his brother so well; he was older than I and out of high school, in college, but I’ve always heard good things about him. They’ve got a wonderful mother and father. My mother has often told me nice little kindly things they’ve done for people who were in trouble.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Alida with a half-contemptuous smile, “they’re like that. Always doing good. Terribly kind but kind of drab and uninteresting.”

  “No,” said Beryl suddenly, “they’re not drab and uninteresting. My mother has told me a lot about them. She loves to talk with them. And certainly Jeremy was interesting. The whole school loved to hear him recite. He could make the dullest study sound interesting. He always found so much to tell that wasn’t really in the books.”

  “You mean he made it up, out of his head?” asked Alida.

  “Oh no,” said Beryl, “he’d look it up in other books, the dictionary and encyclopedia, and sometimes several other books. He always told where he’d found it and who had written things about it. He studied up all his subjects that way.”

  “My word!” said Isabelle. “He must be a hound for hard labor.”

  “But he seemed to like it,” said Beryl, “and certainly the class liked it, and the teachers were crazy over him.”

  “I’ll bet they were. It probably saved them a lot of work preparing for the class, and they likely lauded him to the skies. I suppose he’s as conceited as they make ’em.”

  “No,” said Beryl gravely, “he didn’t seem to be. In fact, he always appeared to be quite humble, in spite of the fact that he was well thought of in athletics.”

  “Well, speaking of Jeremy Graeme,” said Bonny Stewart, “he’s going to speak at our church next Sunday night. I just remembered it was in the church paper that my sister brought home from Sunday
school, and I happened to read it. It was headed ‘Local hero will speak at the evening service’!”

  “Hm!” said Mrs. Thaxter, appearing on the scene to make sure she had the right measurement for petticoat hems. “I guess you mean his older brother, Rodney Graeme. They wouldn’t ask that little squirt to speak. He’s only been in service a little over a year, and Rodney has been there three years. I understand Rodney did some notable things during his service.”

  “No,” said Bonny firmly. “It was Jeremy. Definitely. I remember thinking what a strange name he had. And it said he had only been over there a few months over a year and was once reported missing but was saved in some unusual way. Say, girls, let’s all go to our church next Sunday and give him a good send-off. Is he shy, Beryl? We won’t embarrass him, will we, and spoil his speech? We might hide in the Sunday School room where he wouldn’t see us.”

  Beryl smiled. “No, he isn’t shy.”

  “Well, girls, will you go? You will, won’t you, Beryl?”

  “Why, I might,” said Beryl. “I’ll see what plans Mother has. Perhaps I’ll go. But if I were you I wouldn’t hide. He wouldn’t mind your being there, I’m sure. He isn’t that kind.”

  “But say, girls,” said Isabelle thoughtfully, “wasn’t that brother Rodney the one who was engaged to some girl with bleached hair? Jessica. That was her name. And she sported around with his ring on and made a great fuss over being engaged, and then after he went away she got married to some rich old man? Wasn’t that Rodney Graeme’s girl?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” said Beryl Sanderson. “He always impressed me as a grave, quiet kind of man, the few times I ever saw him. The kind you would trust, you know.”

  “Oh, that kind. Well, a girl just looking for a good time wouldn’t stick by a fellow like that, of course,” said Alida. “Say, what’s this Jeremy like? Awfully religious? Because if he is, I won’t go Sunday. I don’t care much for religion anyway. It always makes me cry and wish I’d never been born.”