Maris

by Grace Livingston Hill

  They talked long, till the moon slipped down toward the rim of the west, its beams crept away across the lawn, and the world was very still and sweet.

  Mr. Mayberry lay back in the big chair and let himself relax for the first time in months. At last he turned to Lane with a deep sigh of gratitude.

  "You don't know what relief you have given me, son!" he said. "To tell the truth, I was hard pressed today. I didn't know which way to turn. Morgan got very ugly this morning. He says he has an offer from Chicago at almost twice the salary, and I didn't see just how I was to get along without somebody, yet I could not offer him more salary. But now it looks to me as if we might weather it. Now I can tell him in the morning that he can accept that Chicago offer and go as soon as he likes." There was eagerness and a new hope in his voice.

  "Yes, but Dad, you'd better not let him go till Lane has been over his books. I never did trust that bird! You can't tell what he's pulled off."

  "Well, we'll look into that, too! I haven't been so sure myself." Then he laid his hand on Lane's shoulder.

  "I shall never forget this night," he said earnestly. "I shall never forget what you have done for me. You are like a real son. Merrick and I both feel so, don't we, boy?"

  "Sure do!" said Merrick with a husky choke in his voice.

  And as they walked through the shadows back to their respective homes, Lane was thinking in his heart that it wouldn't be long before he was a son indeed. But he wouldn't tell them just yet, not till he and Maris together could tell both mother and father.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  On Monday morning Mr. Mayberry and Lane went down to the office. Merrick was through with his job driving the bus and went along. They went joyously, like three boys, and Maris stood in the door with a glad light in her eyes and watched them go. Everything seemed so wonderful! It was sweet to see the three men she loved going off together in that fellowship in a common cause. All eager for the same end.

  Lexie was out of quarantine now, and the boys were allowed to come home. They came in shyly but with a new assured air. They were still cadets and on their honor to keep discipline, which discipline now included silence in or around the house. They walked around almost reverently, mindful that God was answering their nightly prayers. The first morning after they had slept at home, Maris found them in their rooms, quietly, precisely making their beds.

  "Sure! We always do that!" said Alec with a grown-up air. "That's part of our daily routine!"

  Gwyneth was very happy. She was out of quarantine in time to attend commencement and returned from a visit to her teacher with the joyous news that she had passed in all her studies.

  The mother was well enough now to have the children tiptoe in every morning silently and kiss her hand and watch for her smile.

  "Can't I even tell her I've had the measles?" asked Lexie eagerly.

  "Not yet, dear. She would just worry over how much we had been through without her and think we were keeping a lot more things from her."

  Maris herself was very happy. Lane was so wonderful! He satisfied her heart so fully! How had she ever imagined Tilford was anything at all to her? Oh, God was so good to her!

  Quite swiftly the days went by, till the morning came when Lane was to drive the father and mother down to Virginia.

  They kept everything very quiet till the last minute, though it was hard to keep the excitement out of the atmosphere.

  It was Merrick who picked his little mother up and carried her down in his strong young arms to the comfortable place that had been prepared for her in the backseat, with the nurse close by her in one of the little middle seats and her husband in front with Lane, who was driving.

  The mother gave the children a feeble wave of the hand and a tender smile as they stood grouped around Maris, with Merrick protectingly just at the side, and then they were gone.

  And suddenly Gwyneth's eyes filled with tears.

  "Sister, isn't our mother ever coming back again?"

  "Why, of course, dear child. We hope she'll come back very soon and will be as well and strong as she ever was," said Maris, slipping a comforting arm around the little girl's shoulders, and then Lexie came stealing close to her on the other side and wiggled her hand into Maris's. And suddenly Maris felt how very dear they all were and how dependent just now upon her, and her heart thrilled with gladness that she was right here with them in their need and not careening through Europe with a sulky, selfish man, spending money for things that were not real and vital to her heart's joy. How good God had been to her!

  And her eyes followed down the road, where she could still glimpse the outline of Lane's head and shoulder as he drove the car so steadily, bearing her mother away to rest and refreshment. What a lover, who loved her people also and would always be one with her in her love for them. One who would never be trying to wean her away from them or complain when they needed her. Ah, this was going to be true union of soul!

  And all at once she saw that Tilford had only wanted her because he thought she was beautiful and would grace his home. How much he had harped on her beauty, until she herself had almost believed in it, too, though she knew now that mere loveliness of youthful outline and coloring were a poor foundation on which to build the happiness of a lifetime.

  "Muvver tummin' back," echoed Lexie with dreamy eyes. "I want Muvver to turn wight around and tum back now. I wove Muvver."

  "Well, Mother can't come right back," said Maris briskly. "We've got quite a lot to do to get Mother's room all fixed up pretty and new before she gets back. How would you like to help?"

  "Oh, wes, wes!" cried Lexie, dancing up and down. "Vat can I do?"

  "Well, how would you like to make a lovely sign to pin on the outside of her door for her to see the first thing before she goes into her room? I'll find you a nice big piece of cardboard, and you can have your new colored crayons and your stencils and color a letter every day till it's all done. Would you like that?"

  "Oh, goody, goody," said Lexie. "Wes, I would like that. What would I say on the sign?"

  "Well, you'll have to sit down and think about that. You want to get the very best words of course. You could say 'Welcome,' or 'Welcome home,' or if you don't get too tired working, you might say 'Welcome home, Mother dear!' "

  "Wes!" said the little girl, with shining eyes.

  "What about Father!" said Gwyneth sharply. "We'll be glad to see Father, too. You might make one for Father, Alec."

  "Aw, naw, that's girls' work!" declared Alec loftily. "Lexie can put 'Father,' too. 'And Father,' she can say. I'm going to paint baseboards. I can do that real well, Lane said. You just put sheets of paper down on the floor very close to the wall, and then you hold your brush just so and paint very carefully. I learned how all right. I can do 'em swell. You want Mother's baseboards painted, don't you, Maris?"

  "Why, of course!" said Maris, smiling. "We'll all work at that room. I suppose you could paint the doors, couldn't you, Eric?"

  "Oh sure! I did all the doors of the kitchen over at the other house. You just go over and look at 'em."

  "What can I do, sister?" asked Gwyneth in an aggrieved tone.

  "Well, there are windows to wash and new curtains to make. Oh, we'll find a lot for you and me to do."

  "Seems as if we ought to manage some new wallpaper," said Merrick as he picked up his hat and started toward the door to go to the office, himself the sole proprietor of the business until Lane returned.

  "Yes, I was thinking of that. I wasn't sure whether we ought to spend the money just now. Of course, the paper itself won't cost much. It's the putting on. I wish I knew how. I believe I could manage it."

  "No! You've got enough to do. I know a fellow who's a paperhanger, and he's out of a job just now. He'll do it cheap. I've still got a little of my bus salary left. I'll pay for the work if you'll get the paper, Maris."

  "All right. We'll go down and choose it just as soon as we get the day's work out of the way."

  So they scatter
ed to make their beds, with happy voices and smiling eyes, and the first wrench of departure of Father and Mother was over. The children plunged happily into activities. Beds were made as if by magic, furniture was dusted, and garments picked up and put in place.

  "Why couldn't we paint the cellar windows?" demanded the boys. "We can get some paint. I know what kind Lane got. We got some money we earned. I can get Lane's brushes. He won't mind."

  So the boys went to work at the cellar windows, and quiet reigned in the yard, save for a bright whistle now and then.

  Gwyneth took to washing the first-floor windows, with a little help now and then from Sally, and presently the boys finished the cellar windows and began on the first-story ones, finishing a whole window before Maris got around to notice and protest. But she found they had really done it well. Lane's coaching had not been altogether in vain, for, of course, they had had a lot of practice on Lane's house.

  When Merrick came home at night, he stared at the improvement with wide eyes.

  "Say, fellas, that's great work! I might take a stab myself after dinner. Got any paint left? Okay! How about my putting up the old ladder and doing the front gable before dark? Say, we can change the face of the mansion if we go about it right. Great work! I'm with you, lads!"

  Meantime, in the house Maris was superintending a crayon sign by Lexie and a new bureau scarf that Gwyneth was cross-stitching intermittently with window washing.

  The next two or three days went swiftly, and by the time Lane returned there was a distinct difference in the look of the old house, although, of course, there was still plenty left to be done.

  Lane reported that the mother had borne the journey well and was enjoying the new surroundings, and the nurse felt it was going to make a great change in her in a short time.

  Then they all settled down to a regular program--work, interspersed with more work of a different kind.

  Lane entered right into everything. He and Merrick were very conscientious about the office and talked eagerly about their "prospects." He came back in the evening to do his part toward the painting, as interested as the rest in making the old house renew its youth.

  After it got too dark to paint, the two young men would frequently call up Mr. Mayberry on the telephone and consult him about the business, carefully planning their questions so that they would be calculated to reassure him rather than to worry.

  But there was always a few minutes at the end of the evening when Maris and Lane would manage a quiet talk together, sometimes a bit of a walk in the moonlight, sometimes a few minutes sitting among the hemlocks. Though Merrick didn't give them much time alone. It hadn't occurred to him they would want it. He was all full of the business and talked with Lane constantly, trying to plan ahead for his father.

  It was almost as if they had always been together in family interests.

  "Good night, Lane," said Merrick one night. "You act just as if you really belonged to the family!" And then suddenly he caught a glance between Maris and Lane, a glance of radiancy.

  "Perhaps I do," said Lane dryly.

  "Well, you certainly belong a lot more than ever that poor fish of a Tilford did," said Merrick. "I certainly wish you had been around before he ever moved to town."

  "Well, I was," Lane said, grinning, with another sly glance at Maris. "Have you forgotten?"

  "No, I haven't forgotten," said Merrick, "but I was just trying to figure out how Maris ever had anything to do with that half-baked jellyfish after she'd once seen you."

  Lane reached over in the soft darkness and caught Maris's hand silently, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  "Yes?" said Lane comically. "I've often wondered about that myself. How about it, Maris?"

  "You're getting much too personal," said Maris, jumping up. "Let's go and take a walk, Lane."

  So they walked away into the shadows and left Merrick to wonder, and to speculate, and to wish that Lane were really his brother so that there would be no more need to worry as to what would happen when Tilford got back and Mother got well.

  Then the very next day, Mr. Thorpe came to call on Maris.

  Luckily, no one but Maris knew him, so there was no excitement about it. Sally merely announced to her that a gentleman in the parlor wanted to see her. So Maris washed the paint off her nose and one eyebrow and went downstairs. A book salesperson, she thought it might be. She was well into the living room before she recognized him.

  He arose almost shyly, watching her come, and held out an apologetic hand tentatively.

  "Perhaps you wish I hadn't come," he said softly. "I wouldn't blame you at all if you did."

  Maris in a sudden rebound of pity reached out her hand and grasped his, giving him a shy, half-frightened smile. It wasn't any of it his fault, of course.

  "You see, I've just found out what Tilford did, and I've come to apologize. Of course, I know no apology can ever atone for a thing like that, and I'm not going to try to excuse my son. He did a very terrible thing. He oughtn't to have done it. My only consolation is that it was instigated by his love for you--at least I sincerely hope that was the reason----although my knowledge of his life thus far might make it just as possible that it was done purely to have his own way. I have to be honest and state that that might have had a great deal to do with it. You perhaps do not know, could not realize, that Tilford has always had his own way and cannot brook being crossed in anything, even if he only thinks he wants it. Though I sincerely trust that this time it was because he really wanted you that he dared to do this dreadful thing. But that is no excuse whatever for his having committed a crime, for it was a crime to try and kidnap you and force you to marry him. So I have come to you to make what amends are possible. I scarcely dare ask you to forgive my son. Of course, it is his place to ask, not mine, but as his father I must ask you that for my own respite. I have never suffered such anguish as since I knew what my boy dared to do."

  Suddenly Maris put out her hand.

  "Please don't, Mr. Thorpe," she said gently. "It was not your doing, I am sure of that. And as for forgiving your son, I can forgive, of course, and I will. But I must tell you honestly that I can never marry him. You see, even before he attempted to force me to do what he wanted at a time when I did not feel free from home obligations, I discovered that I never had really loved him enough to marry him. And even if he had not hopelessly put himself where I would never dare trust him again, there was a bigger barrier than that separating us."

  "I am not surprised," said the old man with a deep sigh. "Indeed, I must admit that I was absolutely amazed that Tilford had been able to secure the love of such a wonderful girl as you are. I felt that you had great depth of character, great sweetness, and rare culture. I can only grieve that you are not to be a part of our family. But I knew all the time you were too good for my boy and he would only bring you sorrow. For your sake, I am glad you found out in time. You have something almost heavenly about you, something--God given, I would call it----and I feel that through my son you have been greatly dishonored by his attempt to carry you away to a foreign land without your consent. So I have come to humbly offer my apologies and beg you to understand that I knew nothing of the plan, or I would certainly have made it impossible before the indignity was put upon you. I want you to know that I personally deeply regret the whole matter and long to have your forgiveness."

  "Why, of course, Mr. Thorpe," said Maris earnestly. "I never connected you with it in any way. And I am entirely willing to forgive what has been done, with the understanding that Tilford and I are to be strangers from now on. God forgives. Why should I not? Perhaps I was to blame in the first place for having let Tilford think I loved him. Perhaps I did not understand my own heart at first."

  "You are a very wonderful little girl," said the old man, deeply moved. "You have something that I wish we all had. You have a God that I wish was mine."

  "Oh, Mr. Thorpe, I am sure you can have my God. He is glad to accept everyone who comes to Him through His Son, Jesus
Christ. He loves you. He sent His Son to die for you, and I know He longs to have fellowship with you."

  "It may be so!" sighed the old man humbly. "I only wish it might be!"

  "But it is so!" insisted Maris eagerly. "I know, for I have just been finding out what He has wanted for a long time to be to me, and I was so full of the world I would not let Him. Wait! Let me show you!"

  Maris reached over and picked up her New Testament that she had been reading just before dinner.

  "Here it is," she said eagerly, handing him the little book. "Won't you take this home with you and study it? It is God's own word to you. You have only to believe it and trust Him. Here--" She turned down a page, pointing to a marked verse: " 'God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' "

  "And here--" she added, fluttering the leaves over a litter farther to Revelation: " 'Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.' "

  She handed him the book.

  "Keep it," she said. "I have another. You'll find it is wonderful if you will just give yourself to the study of it."

  He looked at her wonderingly, with a kind of worship in his eyes.

  "Thank you," he said brokenly. "I only wish God could have granted me the gift of such a daughter as you would have been. I only wish I might have brought up my son to be worthy of you. But no matter. I don't wish to distress you. I shall always look upon you as one I could have loved deeply as a daughter. But I know you are right in your decision. May God greatly bless you, and may you sometime be able to forget the shameful way in which my son treated you."