by Peggy Gaddis
“I finally pulled it off,” he boasted. “It’s the toughest job I ever tackled, but well worth all the time and effort expended. Wish me luck, Sally!”
“Why should I?” protested Sally curtly. “You’ve got all you’ll ever need! I hope!”
She looked down at Geraldine for a moment in silence and Geraldine mentally braced herself for what she knew was coming.
“Wonder what Mrs. Parker Senior is going to say to all this?” she mused significantly.
Geraldine stiffened and paled a little.
“She will, of course, be glad to see me happy,” she said quietly.
“Remember me?” Sally interrupted rudely. “I’m Sally. You know darned well you’ll have to pry the Dowager Queen off the ceiling, she’ll hit it so hard when she hears you’ve forgotten her precious boy.”
“Stop it, Sally!” Phil blazed, so unexpectedly savage that Sally blinked and looked almost apologetic, an expression so utterly foreign to Sally Walker that Geraldine almost smiled.
“Sorry,” said Sally, shrugging. “I always did talk too much. Best of luck to you two and be sure to invite me to the wedding. I’ve still got half a dozen sterling silver pickle forks left over from my own wedding gifts that I’d like to unload on somebody, and you look like just the two to accept them without a battle.”
She turned away, paused and asked over her shoulder, “Is this off the record, or can I spill it?”
Geraldine looked at the five or six tea tables where groups of women were chattering.
“Give us five minutes to make our escape and then spill all you like,” she said with sudden recklessness.
“It’s a deal,” Sally agreed.
Chapter Two
Driving down the highway, Phil glanced at Geraldine.
“You dread it a lot, don’t you? Breaking the news to Mrs. Parker, I mean?” he said quietly.
Geraldine looked at him swiftly and he grinned.
“You needn’t, darling, because we’re going straight to her now.”
“Oh, but you don’t have to go!” Geraldine’s voice sounded smothered.
“Think I’m going to let you go through it alone? I can understand how shocked and angry she is going to be to find that after being married to Tip you can think of marrying me. She’s going to resent the contrast and I have an idea the lady can be a bit difficult.”
Geraldine suppressed an almost hysterical desire to laugh at the understatement. She remembered all too vividly the unhappy days after Tip had gone to Saigon and she had tried to make her home with his mother. And how relieved both she and Mrs. Parker had been when Geraldine decided to take a job in the mills. They had agreed politely that it would be absurd for her to make the long drive twice each day to and from the Parker home, and she had gone back to her own home, from which it was only a short walk to her work.
Geraldine had never mentioned to anyone the ugly scene that followed the shocking news that Tip was dead. She would never forget Mrs. Parker’s ravaged face nor the ugly accusations she had flung at Geraldine.
Phil’s hand found hers and closed on it and held it beneath his own on the wheel of the car. She was unspeakably comforted and warmed by the touch of his hand. There was a deep, abiding feeling of safety, of complete security in his touch. She was going to feel shielded and protected in her marriage with Phil; and she was going to convince him that she loved him deeply and sincerely.
Five miles beyond the city limits stood the Parker house, a handsome yellow brick, solid and substantial; no nonsense or frills about it. The house was enclosed within a wrought-iron fence, and there were impressive grounds, velvety green lawns, fine old trees, bright gardens of flowers.
Phil brought the car to a halt, smiled warmly at Geraldine, and said under his breath, “Chin up, sweet!”
She managed a smile and stepped out of the car. They went up the steps and rang the doorbell and heard soft mellow chimes from within the house. A subdued looking maid opened the door, beamed at Geraldine, and said eagerly, “How you do, Miss Gerry, ma’am?”
“Hello, Maggie,” said Geraldine, but before she could say more she looked beyond the maid and saw a small, compact figure in a neat black dress coming down the stairs.
Mrs. Parker was forty-five but she had aged terribly in the months since Tip’s death. Her thick, soft hair was snowy-white, touched with a faint bluish tone, and softly waved. Her small plump face was delicately powdered and completely colorless. Her dark eyes were frosty and there was a set to her unpainted mouth that somehow made Geraldine’s heart sink a little.
She knows, Geraldine told herself wretchedly. Sally lost no time.
“Good afternoon, Geraldine,” Mrs. Parker greeted her with poised courtesy that did nothing to warm the frosty eyes looking beyond Geraldine with polite inquiry to Phil.
“This is Mr. Donaldson, Mrs. Parker,” said Geraldine, somewhat faintly.
“How do you do?” said Mrs. Parker frostily, and indicated the living room. “Won’t you come in? We’ll have tea, Maggie.”
“Not for us, please,” said Geraldine swiftly. “We’ve just finished lunch.”
“At almost four-thirty in the afternoon? What an odd hour for lunch,” said Mrs. Parker, leading the way into the living room.
“We were working late,” Phil explained. Mrs. Parker’s eyes flicked him ever so faintly and dismissed him.
“This is quite a surprise, Geraldine,” said Mrs. Parker politely, when they were seated. “I haven’t seen much of you this summer.”
Her cold eyes dared the girl to deny that, or even to remind the older woman that the last time they had stood here in this room, they had all but screamed at each other and that neither of them had ever wanted to see the other again.
“We’ve been very busy at the plant,” said Geraldine from a tight throat.
“Of course, and it’s natural you would want something a little more cheerful than visits to my son’s home, and his mother,” said Mrs. Parker almost pleasantly.
For a moment she and Geraldine looked straight at each other, and the naked sword of enmity flashed between them.
“I didn’t expect very much from you, Geraldine. How could I, knowing you as I do? But I must admit I was a little shocked that you would allow me to hear such an important piece of news from a rank outsider.”
Geraldine set her teeth for a moment before she could steady her voice to say evenly, “Then I suppose that means Sally telephoned you.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Parker’s voice stung like a whiplash. “I have never liked or approved of Mrs. Walker. I can’t understand how she has been accepted here in Marthasville. But I must admit I was grateful to her for sparing me an unpleasant shock. I should have disliked very much reading such an announcement in the newspaper in the morning.”
Geraldine drew a long hard breath. Mrs. Parker had not changed; why should she have expected the grief and shock of Tip’s death to soften his mother? It had only made her colder, harder, more bitter.
“I am sorry that Sally telephoned you,” said Geraldine stiffly. “As you see, Phil and I were on our way to tell you.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Parker’s soft, musical voice went on placidly, as though Geraldine had not spoken, “I told Mrs. Walker that it was unkind of you to make a joke of such a thing. I consider such jokes in the worst possible taste. But I think I convinced her that there was not a word of truth in the story.”
“You’re quite mistaken, Mrs. Parker,” said Phil swiftly, and there was a flash of anger in his eyes. “I am sorry you are shocked, naturally. But after all, you cannot expect a girl like Geraldine to spend the rest of her life grieving for the husband she lost.”
“Geraldine has spent very little time grieving for my son, Mr. Donaldson!”
Phil’s face flushed and his eyes were bright with anger.
“Forgive me, but that’s not quite true,” he said evenly. “I admit that her attitude has been sane and normal; I would consider her morbid and unhealthy if she tried
to deny herself to life because she lost her husband.”
Mrs. Parker’s eyes were derisive, her mouth bitter.
“Oh, and you are not afraid of trusting a woman who loves and forgets so readily, Mr. Donaldson? How very broadminded of you!”
“I would trust Geraldine with my life,” said Phil quietly.
“How very touching!” said Mrs. Parker acidly. “I seem to remember she had Tip as completely bemused, poor, dear boy! He was so certain of her love for him, I’m sure he would never have believed she could forget him so readily — in a matter of a few months.”
Geraldine sat very still, her hands clenched tightly together, her eyes blurred with tears she was fighting desperately not to let fall. She could not have spoken if her life had depended on it. She had endured so many bitter, degrading scenes with Tip’s mother. She knew all the inflections of a voice that was always consciously musical, poised, saying gently things that bit and stung like acid and always left a bruise more painful than a physical blow could have been.
“I’m sorry you take this attitude, Mrs. Parker,” said Phil at last. His manner was disarming, almost friendly, despite the tautness of his month and the bright, hard anger in his eyes. “After all, Geraldine is not yet twenty, and her husband has been dead almost two years. I do not believe that he would want her to go on grieving her life away for him. I think, if he was the man his friends seem to think him, he would want her to marry again, to have children perhaps, a home, someone to take care of her.”
Mrs. Parker was gray, her eyes blazing, but she managed a thin little laugh. “Oh, dear me, you need never worry about Geraldine’s being taken care of. Girls like Geraldine always have some man anxious to look after them!”
Phil stood up and held out his hand to Geraldine, ignoring the older woman. “Come on, darling, you don’t have to endure any more of this.”
Geraldine put her shaking hand in his and let him draw her to her feet. She went out of the room with him, with bowed head, stumbling a little until Phil put his arm about her and guided her to the car. She took with her the memory of Mrs. Parker, looking shrunken, her face gray-white.
In the car, Geraldine put her face in her hands, and for a moment gave way to the sick feeling of pain and helplessness and embarrassment that had tortured her. Phil, his jaw set and hard, sent the car down the drive and along the highway. When they reached town she was outwardly composed and steady.
Geraldine’s home was old-fashioned, pleasantly shabby, good-sized and comfortable looking. Beth Foster’s flower garden still boasted zinnias, marigolds, asters and chrysanthemums just coming into bud.
As the green convertible stopped at the gate, Geraldine said eagerly, “Stay for supper and take potluck?”
Phil beamed happily. “Swell! I’d love to! Sure your mother won’t mind?”
“Mother adores last-minute guests! She never bothers about trying to impress them; she holds the theory that what’s good enough for the family is good enough for company — and there’s always more than enough!” answered Geraldine proudly.
Phil swung open the gate and she walked ahead of him. As he followed, he asked quietly, “We tell them, of course — your mother and father?”
“Of course,” answered Geraldine. “You needn’t dread another scene. They won’t make one.”
“I didn’t for a moment think they would,” Phil assured her so confidently that she glowed a little and slipped her hand in his.
Geraldine led the way in and Phil followed her, his eyes adoring her, his smile warm and tender. Beth Foster, in a neat print dress beneath a gay but quite practical peach-colored apron, stood at the kitchen table beating eggs in a big yellow bowl.
“Hello, darling,” she greeted her daughter abstractedly. “I swear I can’t remember whether that recipe calls for three eggs or four — Oh, I thought you were alone,” she broke off in surprise, as she saw Phil in the doorway.
“Mom, this is Phil — Mr. Donaldson, my boss,” said Geraldine, dropping a light kiss on her mother’s neat brown hair.
Beth said cheerfully, “I’m so glad you dropped in, Mr. Donaldson. You’re staying for supper, I hope. It’s meat loaf and rice pudding. Not fancy, but filling!”
“Thanks, I’d love to. It sounds great!”
Beth smiled at Phil. “It would, to anybody who lives at the Inn,” she agreed lightly. “You worked late today, didn’t you?”
“Only until three, and then we drove out to Marshalls’ and had a marvelous luncheon — ” Geraldine broke off to ask, quietly, “Where’s Dad?”
“Out in the garden,” answered her mother and went briskly back to beating the eggs. Deciding that if three eggs were good, four would be better, she added another with the lavishness of a woman who knows her hens can be depended on in a pinch. “He’s doing things to the asparagus bed. It’s very embarrassing to a man in his position not to be able to boast about his garden!”
“It might be. People would probably doubt the quality of his seeds, fertilizer and such,” laughed Geraldine and added, “What do you want me to do?”
“Run along and find your father. Everything’s almost ready and the table has been set. Get your father in and make him wash up. That’s a job for anybody!”
Geraldine laughed and led the way through the back hall across the old-fashioned back porch that was the family dining room in summer. There was a walk, bricked and broken so that one walked cautiously, that led out beyond the well, and so through a fence into the vegetable garden. At the left the old carriage house with its four rooms upstairs that had once been the coachman’s domicile, shielded the bed where a stout gray-haired man forked manure into an asparagus bed.
“Hi, Dad,” Geraldine greeted him youthfully, and Phil was enchanted by the way she had changed since she had entered her own home. She seemed younger, gay and carefree and very sweet. “I’ve brought you a visitor.”
“If it’s somebody wanting to know why his asparagus hasn’t come up, I wouldn’t be knowing — the blamed stuff!” answered Tom Foster, and rested contentedly on his spade as Geraldine introduced Phil and the two men shook hands.
“The only thing I know about asparagus is that it comes in cans — and that I don’t like it,” Phil assured him.
Tom nodded. “Sound fellow, Gerry,” he told her gravely. “Very sound!”
Geraldine laughed and thrust her arm through her father’s, and said firmly, “Well, maybe if you’d let the stuff alone, and stop poking at it, it might decide to grow. And anyway, give it a rest for tonight. Mother’s got supper almost ready, and you know what she says about getting you in and cleaned up!”
“Ah, dinner,” said Tom and drove his spade deep into the ground and turned to walk back to the house. “My wife, Mr. Donaldson, is a truly remarkable woman. She’s the only woman in Marthasville I’ve never heard complaining of the servant problem.”
“Incredible!” murmured Phil, suitably impressed.
“Of course, she’s never had a servant, so perhaps her knowledge of the subject may have kept her silent. Still, a truly remarkable woman!” said Tom happily, and added slyly, “I might add my daughter takes after her mother’s side of the family.”
Geraldine laughed again, and her hand tightened on her father’s arm, and in the dusk, Phil found her other hand and closed his on it firmly.
When they were all settled to the business of eating, Geraldine looked at her mother and father; her eyes were bright, and there was a little fan of carnation pink in her cheek as she said softly, “Mother — Dad, there is something you two ought to know. Phil has asked me to marry him. And I said I would.”
There was a stunned instant, when Beth and Tom stared at her, then at each other, and finally at Phil.
“Gerry, dear!” said her mother on a small, shaken breath.
Tom cleared his throat noisily, and then looked abashed at the noise.
Phil said quietly, “I hope that you won’t mind too much. I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy.
”
“Mind?” Beth’s voice shook a little. “I’m so tickled I could howl!”
“Me, too,” said Tom huskily.
Geraldine’s eyes brimmed with laughter that was warm and tender. “You can see, darling, how anxious they are to get rid of me.”
Beth wiped her eyes on her napkin and said unsteadily, “You know how true that is, Mr. Donaldson.”
“Of course I do — and the name is Phil,” he cut in quickly, with a warm smile.
“Thank you, Phil. It’s j-j-just that it’s almost broken our hearts to see her so white and grieving and — sort of lost and forlorn. I’m so terribly glad — ” Beth’s voice broke, despite her effort at a smile.
Phil said gravely, “I can’t tell you what it means to me to know tha$$ you are willing to take me on faith, since you know nothing about me.”
Beth protested, “Oh, but we do, Phil. Goodness, we know just about all there is to know about you. Why, Gerry’s talked of little else. Darling, I’m sorry,” she answered Geraldine’s mirthful, embarrassed eyes. “Did I say something wrong? I’ve known you were almost in love with him for the longest time! I was terribly glad, but I was a little afraid that he might be — well, stupid enough not to fall in love with you back!”
Puzzled, she looked up at the shout of laughter.
“Now, what have I said that was so funny?” she demanded.
Geraldine hugged her and Phil and Tom looked at her fondly.
“Well, anyway,” said Beth almost huffily, “if Gerry wants to marry you, that’s her business! I’m sure you’re very nice or else Gerry wouldn’t be in love with you.”
“I don’t kid myself that Gerry is head over heels in love with me, Mrs. Foster,” said Phil quietly. “It would take more of a man than I could ever hope to be to take Tip’s place in a girl’s heart.”
Beth stared at him, wide-eyed.
“You don’t think she loves you better than she did Tip, and yet you want to marry her?” she protested.
Phil put out his hand and laid it over Geraldine’s. His smile was tender now, his voice gentle.