THE CHRISTMAS BRIDE

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “Oh,” said Mrs. Harris, considering that view, “you don’t think then that she’s any of his friends—or relatives?”

  “I shouldn’t suppose so,” said Margaret. “She doesn’t look like his kind.”

  “Well, I should hope not,” said the little old lady, setting her lips firmly. “I certainly never had a woman like that in my house! She didn’t really look respectable. Such red lips! And those long earrings! She looked outlandish!”

  “People do dress that way nowadays,” said Margaret thoughtfully. “A great many people do.”

  “Not nice people!” said Mrs. Harris. “All that makeup! My! I can’t see how they can bear themselves! I think they look just grotesque, don’t you? You don’t wear makeup.”

  “No, I don’t care for it,” said Margaret.

  “Did you see her car?”

  “Why, no! I didn’t happen to go to the window. Did she have a nice car?”

  “Nice! Well, it wasn’t ladylike. It was painted white with a red stripe around it, and it was one of those strange low kind of cars that sporting men drive. I really felt kind of ashamed to have a woman like that coming out of my house and driving away in a car like that. Did she say she was coming again?”

  “She didn’t say,” said Margaret. “She asked when Mr. Sterling was coming back, and I told her I didn’t know.”

  “H’m!” said Mrs. Harris. “Well, I’m glad she’s gone! Poor thing, you look all beat out! Eating your lunch in that piecemeal way. Well, I sincerely hope she doesn’t come again!”

  Greg came in about four o’clock. He seemed happy and a bit absent-minded. He sat down and began to read some small books he had brought with him. Margaret told him about the caller and gave him the note, and he looked annoyed.

  “How long did you say she stayed? Heavens and earth! Where’s that telephone book? Thank you.”

  He applied himself to the telephone, and Margaret vanished into the other room trying to rattle her machine so that she wouldn’t hear the conversation. She wondered if she ought to go upstairs for a few minutes and give him privacy. Then she reflected that he could close the doors between the rooms if he so desired. Anyhow, she was only a secretary. He probably wouldn’t think it mattered what she heard. Perhaps it was just as well she should know what attitude he took toward her so that she would know what to do in case the woman came again.

  And then she heard Greg’s voice booming out clearly over her machine’s clatter.

  “That you, Alice? Too bad you had such a long wait this morning, and I’m sorry, but I can’t make it to your dinner tonight. You’ll have to get somebody else in my place. I’ve made other arrangements for the evening. No, I can’t make it tomorrow evening. You’ll have to excuse me. I’m awfully busy these days, and I don’t fit into that kind of thing anyway…. What’s that?…No, not then either…. I just haven’t time for social affairs…. No, not possibly! But what is the trouble? Just give me an idea. You aren’t sick are you? Nothing happened to your mother or sister? Nobody dead?…Oh, money! I see!…Debts? What kind of debts? Debts of honor? What does that mean—gambling?…Sorry, but I haven’t any money to pay anybody’s gambling debts. Don’t believe in them. It’s God’s money, not mine, and I can’t use it that way…. Yes, perhaps I am old-fashioned. I don’t mind…. What night? Sunday night? No, I’m going to church…. Yes, I suppose that is old-fashioned, too…. No, not any night, Alice. I’m a busy working man and can’t turn night into day. To tell you the truth, I don’t like the crowd you run with. They’re too speedy for me. And I don’t care to go to places where everybody is drinking. It’s disgusting to me…. No, I haven’t changed my ideas on that subject either…. What? You’re afraid they’ll sell you out? Your friends sell you out! Seems to me I wouldn’t call them friends…. Oh, you mean you might lose your apartment? You mean your landlord might put you out? Well, I’m not sure but that would be a good thing for you. You know, I think it would be a lot better for you if you went home with your mother…. Oh yes, I know you always used to say you didn’t get along, but that’s not right either. One only has one mother, you know. Listen, Alice! You really oughtn’t to be living alone that way. It isn’t right, especially in your position. You might be misunderstood…. Oh well. You can laugh, but I’m telling you…. You really ought to go home. People would think a lot more of you…. All right, you can laugh if you like, but it’s the truth….”

  Suddenly Margaret heard that sharp peculiar click of the telephone that indicated an angry conversationalist at the other end of the wire had reached her limit and hung up, and then she heard Greg chuckle amusedly and sit back in his chair. When she glanced through into the next room a few minutes later, he was deep in his book again, his brows drawn together in concentration.

  Margaret went on with her work, an undertone of relief in her mind. Nevertheless, she wondered who was this lady to whom he had talked so frankly, obviously admitting a past in which he had known her well. A wild idea that perhaps she had once been his wife and was divorced came to her. Greg had told her his brief story but hadn’t mentioned any girls. There hadn’t been any place in that brief autobiography he had given her in the tearoom for any episode of this sort. Had he been merely reassuring her? Yet he seemed so frank. Well, it was none of her business, of course, how many wives and sweethearts he had. He was only her employer, and because he was her employer, she had no business finding fault with him. What did it matter? She would just forget it and do her work and be happy.

  But the subject would keep coming back and troubling her. It wasn’t just curiosity. She wanted her Mr. Sterling to be all that he seemed to be.

  Of course she knew that there were men who had a great many girlfriends of different kinds and thought nothing of it. But a friend like the woman who had been in the office that day was not consistent with his profession of Christianity, or with the unique business he was trying to establish. Still, he couldn’t help how old friends turned out, of course.

  Well, he hadn’t gone to her dinner anyway! He had told her plainly that he didn’t like her crowd and wouldn’t drink! What more did she, a mere secretary, want to reassure her?

  So she tried to put the subject away from her mind.

  Mrs. Harris tapped at the door just as dusk was coming down to bring a special delivery letter that had just arrived, and Greg looked up from his book to thank her.

  “By the way, Mrs. Harris,” he said with a boyish grin, “could you take an extra boarder for dinner tonight? I’ve got some work I want to do here in the office this evening, and a man is coming here about eight o’clock to see me. I don’t want to waste the time to go out and get something to eat.”

  “I certainly can!” said Mrs. Harris in pleased dignity.

  “We’re having a beefsteak, and there’ll be plenty to go around.

  “That sounds good,” said Greg with another grin, and went back to his book.

  Margaret, in the other room, paused in her work and wondered.

  At dinner he was just like a merry boy, asking for more fried potatoes and string beans, praising everything on the table, saying a great deal about the strawberry jam, which he declared was just like his mother’s. Mrs. Harris was immensely pleased.

  After dinner Margaret hesitated a moment at the door.

  “Shall you need me tonight, Mr. Sterling?” she asked quite formally.

  “No, not tonight, thank you, Miss McLaren,” he said with a pleasant smile. And then looking at her more intently, he said, “You’d better get a good rest. You look as if you’ve had a hard day.”

  “Oh no!” she protested. “I enjoy my work.”

  As she went upstairs to her room, she found that she was a trifle disappointed that she was dismissed this evening. She must deal with herself about this, she told herself severely. He was only an employer, and she was only a secretary. She had been looking on the business with as much interest as if they were partners, and she must just realize that she was a hired servant. That was probably what
that dreadful woman had been sent to the office for today, to make her realize that she must guard herself. Her life was such a lonely one that she would be greatly in danger of getting too much interested in a man who had been so kind to her as Sterling had been. She must look out for herself. He was a very attractive man, and he didn’t seem to be aware of it either. So many were.

  So Margaret worked demurely through Saturday, shep herded her thoughts on Sunday, and went back again to her work Monday morning quite rested and refreshed. She had written a long letter to her grandmother. She had been figuring out her necessary expenses, what she must buy to be presentable at her work, and how much she could save. She was overjoyed to find that she would soon be able to give her grandparents quite a substantial sum toward paying the mortgage off. She only wished that she were at home for a few hours so that she might find out if they were really getting along all right otherwise. It seemed so awful to have to have them away off there alone. But it must be in God’s plan that she should be here. She would trust it to God.

  There was no letter from Vermont on Monday morning, and Margaret was grave and a bit sad at her work.

  Greg breezed in near noon and told her he had joined a class in a Bible school. He was very enthusiastic about it. He said there was a great deal about the Bible that he never knew he didn’t know, and it was going to be great, studying it this way. He couldn’t go regularly, of course, at least not every day, but he would run in when he could and study their books between times. He had just come from a class that morning.

  He sat down at his desk a few minutes and read his mail, dictated a letter or two in his brief, direct style, asked a few questions about some books he had ordered that hadn’t arrived, then picked up his hat and overcoat to go out again, and Margaret went back to her typewriter.

  “By the way,” he said, stepping to her doorway, “I’ve got to be away for a few days this week. I’m going up to Vermont on business. Just where does your family live? I was wondering if you wouldn’t like to drive up with me and spend Thanksgiving with your grandmother. I could drop you at your home and pick you up the day after Thanksgiving, or maybe Saturday if I couldn’t get through sooner.”

  Margaret’s hands lifted from the keys of her machine and flew to her heart, her eyes grew large, and her face was fairly white with delighted wonder.

  “Oh, but I couldn’t let you do that for me after all the rest!” she said.

  Greg’s eyes lingered almost tenderly on her. Poor little girl, he thought. She must still be afraid of me!

  “I know,” he hastened to say shyly, “I know I’m only a stranger to you still, and perhaps you think it isn’t quite the thing for you to take such a long ride with your employer, especially when you haven’t known me very well. I’d thought of that, and I wondered if you would like someone to go along, a sort of chaperone? Only I wondered where we’d take her until we got ready to go back. Your people might not want anybody else around when they have you only a day or so. They might want you all to themselves. I’d thought of Mrs. Harris. I heard her say once she used to live up in New England. But she told me last night her folks up there are all dead, so of course she couldn’t go and visit anybody, and besides, she says her niece is to be here with her over Thanksgiving. Then I thought of that Nurse Gowen. We might be able to get her if she’s through with that nervous case, but—what would you do with her when we got there?”

  “Oh,” said Margaret in a little awed voice, “what a simply wonderful thing for you to think of! Why…I—I don’t think of you as a stranger, really. But—” Suddenly Margaret’s head went down on her two hands that rested on the frame of her typewriter, and for just an instant her shoulders shook. Then she lifted her head, and her eyes were all dewy like rain in a sunbeam.

  “I know I can’t go, of course. There are all those circulars to be got off at once! I know I mustn’t allow you to do it. But it’s just heavenly of you to think of it, and oh, you don’t know how much I wish it were possible.”

  Greg blinked at her, perplexed for a minute. He had a wild desire that bewildered him, to take her into his arms and kiss away those tears. But he had never had a desire like that before, not even with Alice. Alice had always been the one who took the initiative in such things and rather embarrassed him.

  He wasn’t just sure what was Margaret’s reason for demurring. Probably she thought it wasn’t proper or something. Maybe she still didn’t quite trust him. But if she wanted to go as much as that, she was going if he had to upset heaven and earth to bring it about.

  He watched her for a minute wistfully, and then a determined look came over his strong jaw and nice, pleasant lips and a sudden cunning to his eyes.

  “Just where is your hometown?” he began with a polite air. “Here, I’ve got a road map here somewhere in my drawer!” He swung the upper drawer of his desk open, and there it was, quite as if road maps were the only proper thing to keep handy in the top right-hand drawer of a man’s business desk.

  “Come here and let’s see how near I’m going to it!” he said, flipping the map out on the desk and purposely avoiding Margaret’s eyes. He wasn’t at all sure she would come. He might have to look up that hometown by himself. But she came, eagerly, surreptitiously mopping away her tears with a little inadequate handkerchief.

  They bent over the map together. Margaret placed an accurate finger on the exact spot where Crystal Lake was located, although it wasn’t large enough in reality to get its name on the map, but Margaret knew its surroundings and began to point them out, tracing the journey wistfully, as if her mind had often gone that way.

  Greg took in the situation at a glance and selected a city at random an inch or so above the spot to which Margaret was pointing.

  “It’s not so far from Rutland, then, is it?”

  “About forty miles away,” said Margaret, unsuspecting.

  “Well, say now, that’s nice,” he said, trying to look innocent. “Because that’s where I’m going. I’ve been looking up the mileage, and I figured we could get there in one day, perhaps before dark if we started early enough.”

  “Oh!” said Margaret, her eyes glowing thoughtfully, wistfully. “And of course it wouldn’t be much out of your way,” she added, gazing down at the map and thinking hard. “You could leave me down in the village at the Pettibones’s or the Williamses’ for overnight, and I could get someone to take me up in the morning. I could probably get a chance to ride up with Sam Fletcher, or if he didn’t happen to be down, I could easily walk. I’ve done it many a time. And it would be such fun to walk in on them! They’ve been worried about me, I know. But I oughtn’t to lose so much time here. And I know I oughtn’t to let you bother with having me along.”

  “Say, what bother are you? Why, you can keep me from losing my way! I’ve never been to Vermont in my life, and you have. Don’t you see I need you? Besides, it’s deadly lonesome on a trip like that with no one along.”

  “But isn’t there someone else you ought to take?” asked Margaret fearfully, and then remembered the painted lady and grew shy.

  “Not a soul!” said Greg earnestly. Then noticing her hesitation, he added artfully, “You see, I thought we might combine business and pleasure if you went along—that is, if you don’t mind working when you’re on a pleasure trip. I thought we could work out the wording of those other circulars and also a few important letters I want written. I haven’t had the time to think them out, and I thought if you didn’t mind, we could get those out of the way, and then they would be all ready for you to type when we got back.

  Margaret’s eyes began to sparkle now, and her conscience retired, beaten.

  “Oh, if it’s a business trip, that’s all right,” she said. “I certainly won’t have any more hesitation or any compunctions if I can be of service. I’ll be delighted to go. It’s the best surprise I could have.”

  “All right then, we’ll call that settled,” he said in a businesslike tone. “How about starting tomorrow morning? Wo
uld that be too soon? This is Monday. Thanksgiving is Thursday. We’ll get there Tuesday night, and I could drop you and go on to Rutland. I’m not sure whether I could finish up my business in one day or not. I’d have to see when I got there. But I’d probably come for you Friday morning, or maybe not till Saturday. You wouldn’t mind if you had a day or so longer at home, would you?”

  She smiled delightedly.

  “No, I certainly wouldn’t mind,” she said.

  “I envy you!” he said looking at her like a little, hungry boy. “You’ve got folks, and one likes to have folks on Thanksgiving Day. A holiday doesn’t mean a thing when you haven’t anybody to share it with.”

  “Oh,” said Margaret with a troubled glance, “wouldn’t you…couldn’t you get through and come back to spend Thanksgiving with us? I know Grandmother and Grandfather would be delighted to have you, and I’d like so much to have them know you. It would make them feel a great deal better about having me off away from them in a strange city if they knew the man I was working for.”

  “Say! That would be great!”said Greg, grinning delightedly, just as though he hadn’t been fishing for an invitation with all the arts he knew. “But perhaps it would upset them terribly to have a stranger coming unannounced.”

  “No,” said Margaret, “it wouldn’t upset them. They don’t upset. And they would like it. The only thing is, I’m afraid maybe you wouldn’t care for it there. It’s very plain and rather lonely up on our mountain. We love it, but others might not. And then—well, you see, they haven’t very much money, and they won’t have grand things to eat.”

  “Say, young lady, what do you think I am? A pampered pet? Don’t you know I’ve subsisted on canned beans and salt pork for weeks on end? And don’t you know I’m just hankering for a bit of the wild loneliness I left out west? You can’t scare me off that way. How about it? Can you get ready to go in the morning? Would five o’clock be too early to start?”