Blue Ruin

by Grace Livingston Hill

  Such a dear little old lady, so aristocratic, so reserved usually, and now turned suddenly garrulous. But Dana had no thoughts to wonder at that. He stood there dumb, stunned. Lynette’s birthday! And he had forgotten all about it!

  All the pretty plans they had made together as boy and girl, all the sweet ways of the girl he had loved so long, came rushing back upon him in a tumult and accusing him.

  And he was so unused to being accused. He could hardly stand there and take it even from himself. So this was why Lynette had been so sore and had acted so unnatural last night, had really been rude in a way to Jessie Belle. It had been her birthday and she was angry because he had forgotten it and had stayed away from her party. Well, of course that was something, and she would probably harp on it a long time. The worst trouble with Lynette was that she was sentimental. Of course, one’s birthday was no different from any other day if one just thought so, but he would make up for that. He would take her down and get some ice cream this evening and they would have a pleasant time together. He would stay to supper. He would show Jessie Belle that he was done with her, too. That was the thing to do, of course, even if she was staying at his home. But really, after all, Lynette was to blame. Of course she was; if she cared so doggone much about that birthday party she should have reminded him that it was her birthday. Lynette was so awfully proud. She expected him to remember every little detail of childhood and then was sore if he didn’t. Of course he always had remembered it without her telling him, but after all, it wasn’t a thing to make a lot of trouble about, and Lynette ought to know that.

  Well, she would see that. She would be reasonable when he had explained how annoyed he was at Aunt Justine and how his mind had been occupied with that invitation to preach in New York sometime in August. He hadn’t had a chance yet to tell her that. That would have impressed her all right of course, but he had been saving that for a choice bit at the end, and the end hadn’t come. Well, it would come this evening.

  He would just stay now, not even telephone home to say he wasn’t coming, for if he did Justine Whipple would somehow manage to worm it out of him where he was and insist on him coming home for some absolutely necessary reason. He would stay and help the old lady get supper if that was what she was going to do, and Lynette would be mollified when she came in and found him setting the table just as he used to do when he was a kid in high school. Of course he didn’t want to get in the habit of doing that for it would never be within the dignity of a minister to have to be always helping out with the housework, and he must begin right at first, of course, but still, he would do it this once.

  By the time the old lady came back with the foaming glass of milk he was feeling almost comfortable again and quite himself.

  “Well now, Grandma, this is just like you to think to save some cake for me. I’ll get a double dose, won’t I? I’m going to stay to dinner, you know. Yes, I promised Lynn. It was a terrible disappointment not to be able to get over last night of course, but I’m going to stay tonight. I was hoping—that is—Lynn’s birthday present hasn’t arrived yet. It ought to have been here yesterday, of course, but it wasn’t—I—She—” He was growing embarrassed. On such occasions it was his habit to change the subject. It gave him an appearance of ease and enabled him to pass many an uncomfortable situation with credit to himself. He changed the subject now.

  “When did you say she would be here?”

  Grandmother Rutherford looked at him intently but answered in her usual sweet tones.

  “Why, that’s quite uncertain. She wasn’t sure when she went away. Mary of course will be back either tonight or tomorrow evening. I think myself she’ll be likely to stay to see them off. It isn’t every day one gets a chance to see friends off on a trip you know, and I told her not to worry, Elim and I would be quite all right.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Brooke has gone down to New York to see her sister-in-law off to Europe, has she? Lynette told me they were going.”

  “Yes. She hesitated about leaving me, but I told her it was almost like going myself to have her go and then come back and tell me all about it. Mary is a wonderful storyteller. She can make you see just how they all look and what they said, and even the way their dresses are made and what they are taking along for the trip. Lynnie is like her that way, too. Lynnie is very much like her mother in everything I think, don’t you?”

  Dana frowned. Mrs. Brooke was a very determined woman sometimes. He didn’t know that he cared to think Lynette was entirely like her. So he changed the subject again.

  “When did you say Lynn was coming back?”

  He looked at his watch half impatiently.

  “Well,” said the grandmother, with a wicked little twinkle in her eyes, “she hated so to leave me when she’d just got home, that I told her I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to see her coming back for supper.”

  “What?” said Dana with a startled look. “You don’t mean you don’t expect her back before supper? Was she expecting to stay somewhere? Why, I told her I’d be here for supper tonight!”

  Was it possible that Lynn was daring to stand him up when he had told her he would be here? Had she planned this for revenge? He had never thought Lynn was vengeful. If that was it—if it proved to be that she had planned to be away if he came—when he had said distinctly that he would be here—if she was trying to work any little tricks to get it back on him—why—he would stay away for two weeks! He couldn’t have her putting anything like that over on him.

  Grandma had gone to the door to pay the paperboy who had arrived at that moment, so he had opportunity to think it over before his hostess returned to answer.

  “Why, she sent you word. I’m sure she sent you word,” said Grandma sweetly. “Elim took the letter over just after they went. I saw him go.”

  “Oh!” said Dana blankly. “But I didn’t go home. I had to be away all day—Ahem! I was called out of town. I tried to get back sooner but it was impossible! I didn’t even go into the house when I got back, just ran the car into the garage and came right up. Do you happen to know what message was in the letter?”

  “Well, no, I don’t, not definitely,” said Grandma. “It wasn’t a long letter. She hadn’t but a minute to write, it was almost train time and her going was so unexpected. They just called her up while she was eating dinner. But of course it’s all in the letter, and the letter must be down there at the house.”

  “Train?” said Dana puzzled. “Did she go on the train? What time did she go?”

  “Why they went on the eight seventeen. It’s an express you know, and Aunt Hilda wanted them to get down as early as possible to help in the shopping.”

  “Do you mean that Lynn went to New York with her mother?” Dana’s brow was clearing now. Then perhaps Lynette did not do this on purpose. There might of course be some explanation, some alleviating circumstances which the letter would explain. Probably someone was sick, or they needed her help. People were always so careless about putting burdens on their relatives when they got in a hurry. They likely wanted Lynette and her mother to close up the house for them after they were gone, or something like that. Mrs. Brooke was always so kind and willing to help others. But Lynette!

  “Did you say you thought Lynette would be home on the five o’clock train? I’ll go get the car and run her home,” he said, rising with something of his old boyish friend-of-the-family air.

  “Oh, no,” said Grandmother Rutherford, “she won’t be home on the five o’clock train. She—but perhaps you better read Lynnie’s note first. Then you’ll understand.”

  “But,” said Dana puzzled at her manner, “you think she may be planning to stay and see them off?” His manner was almost glum now. And he had planned so nicely just what to say to her. It was hard to have to wait a whole day longer. She oughtn’t to have gone without seeing him.

  “But you don’t understand,” said Grandmother Rutherford serenely. “Lynnie has not gone to see them off; she is going with them to Europe. I thought she would ha
ve told you about it herself. But the letter will explain.”

  “Lynn has gone to Europe, you say? Why, that is impossible! She told me herself only yesterday afternoon that she had refused to go!” Dana’s voice was dazed, irate, unbelieving.

  “Yes, but they called up last night at dinnertime. There was a vacant place. A member of the party could not go on account of illness. They insisted Lynnie should take the place. She hesitated on our account of course, but we overruled her. We felt she ought not to lose the opportunity. It is a pity you had not been here to talk it over with her. But it had to be decided right away of course. Won’t you have another piece of cake?”

  But Dana suddenly pushed back his chair and arose almost haughtily. He felt that he had been affronted. An old friend of Lynette’s, a friend of the whole family, almost a member of it, sustaining almost a closer relation to Lynn than any they bore, and yet not told till after it was all decided! Lynn gone without a word! It was more than mortal man could accept.

  “It’s a pity Elim hadn’t left your letter here,” went on Grandmother Rutherford placidly. “If we’d only known you were coming he would.”

  Thus reminded, the old Dana would have dashed off in a hurry after his letter, forgetting his hat, forgetting to say thank you, forgetting even to finish his cake.

  The present Dana sat down again and ate slowly, silently, coldly, picking up every crumb. Taking the last swallow of milk. Giving a cold “No, I thank you,” when Grandmother Rutherford offered him more, and then arose composedly, gathered up his hat from the table, turned a chilly eye on his hostess, thanked her for the cake, and retired with dignity. He did not hasten his step nor flicker an eyelash. He walked leisurely down the sidewalk just as he had walked many a time, but there was no swing in his stride this time and no light in his eyes save the light of anger. He was furious, with a growing fury that was rapidly working itself up to white heat. He had been dealt an indignity! He, the star graduate of the theological seminary, the rising young preacher whose eloquence was to astonish the world, and New York!

  And she had dared to go off to Europe without letting him know! She had done it for revenge! More and more their conversation of the day before took form and repeated itself in his brain. She had taken exception to what he had said about her college and gone off in a huff! A strange spirit for the girl whom he had chosen for his wife, whom he had chosen!

  He stalked through the house without speaking to anyone. His grandmother chuckled audibly as he mounted the stairs, and a flush of fury rose higher in his hard face.

  The letter was lying on his bureau. If it had not been visible he would never have asked for it. No one in the house should suspect that he had not known Lynette was going. He sat down with it in his hand and contemplated the possibility of returning it to her unopened. That would be daring treatment, but perhaps it would bring her to her senses.

  However, his own curiosity got the better of him and he finally opened it, feeling sure that it would contain something to relieve the strain and make it possible for him to go on blaming her a little more comfortably.

  Then he unfolded the paper and read the brief message:

  I’ve changed my mind and am going to Europe in search of poise. Hope you have a pleasant summer.

  Hastily,

  Lynette

  He read the words until they danced before his eyes like little insects in the light, until they beat their way into his angry brain and pierced their meaning to his soul. And gradually he sifted them and twisted them until he evolved a theory that satisfied his mood.

  Ah! So that was it. Lynn was sore because he had said she lacked poise. It was all a case of pride! That showed how changed she was. In the old days she welcomed criticism and always set herself to make right whatever he suggested. But now she wished to set herself up as perfect. Well, that was the natural tendency in these days for all fanatics to think themselves perfect and everybody else in the wrong. She had got that way in college, of course. Where else!

  He sat there a while longer meditating on the letter and evolved further. Lynette had run away down to New York because she was angry. She was not really going to Europe. She would never dare carry it that far. She expected him to come after her and bring her back. That was what he would have done if she got what she used to call “hurt” in the old days. But those days were gone, and he was a grown man with a right to respect and honor. She must learn that they were not children now and she must not run off like a crybaby and expect to be run after and petted. No sir! He would not go after her! She might come back when she liked. He would see whether she would really carry out her threat or not. She never would. He remembered with a satisfied thrill the way she had looked at him yesterday afternoon when she told him she would rather stay at home because he was going to be there, too. Ah! Rubbish! She would never go to Europe. She just said that for effect!

  And that dig about having a pleasant summer showed she had another grievance, too. She was jealous of Jessie Belle!

  Well, his lesson had worked then. She had seen them drive by in the morning. But no—Lynette had gone on the eight seventeen. She didn’t get the idea of the drive to the Mohawk trail after all. But it was plain to be seen she was jealous of the other girl. Well, that was a good sign. She would come back all right, and probably before night. She might be even now coming in on the five o’clock train. But he, Dana, would not be there to meet her. She was not to have the fatted calf killed for her either when she did return—not by him. She would have to eat humble pie before he would forgive her for this tantrum. How strange that Lynn, his Lynn, should have fallen to such a ruse to bring about her own way. Well, it was all her fault. He had nothing for which to blame himself.

  He sat there glooming until the dinner bell rang and he could hear Jessie Belle’s chatter downstairs. Then he got up and swiftly and silently stole down the back stairs, out the back door to the garage, and in a moment more was driving furiously off in the direction of the town. He did not intend to meet that girl again tonight.

  And if Lynette came back on the five o’clock train and waited for him to come as he had promised, well—she would wait in vain. He would not be a party to any such childishness. He would let her know that he was a man now, and she had got to be a woman, and that the whole thing was her own fault.

  Chapter 14

  Elim arrived home at exactly five minutes to five and was dismayed to find that Mrs. Pettingill had departed.

  “How long you bin alone, Gramma?” he asked anxiously.

  “Oh, not long,” said the old lady contentedly. She was still seeing the dazed look in Dana Whipple’s eyes when she told him Lynette was going to Europe, and she didn’t know whether she was more glad or more sorry about it. He was a well-favored lad, and perhaps he would grow out of his conceit. Perhaps she was wrong in her feeling that Dana was not good enough for Lynnie. Dear little Lynnie!

  “Well that Pettingill girl is a beaut, she is!” declared Elim angrily. “When I trust anything of mine to her again I’ll know it! She said she’d stay till five an’ I got here five minutes ahead. What got her?”

  “Oh, her husband came along and she wanted to ride. I told her I was all right.”

  “You bet you did, Gramma! You’d lie down an’ let ‘em all walk over yah. Well, all I gotta say is, ef you wantta thing done you gotta do it yerself. Here’s where I stick around not till Muth come home. I’m not letting any more silly old dames take care a you. You’re too precious.”

  “That’s all right, Elim. I found the mousetrap. Don’t you want to set it? We might catch that mouse before your mother gets home.”

  “Aw shucks! I’ll leave Snipe sleep here tonight. He’ll get him.”

  He opened the door and called his dog.

  “Here, Snipe! Snipe! Mouse, Snipe, mouse! Catch him, Snipe. Mouse! Mouse! Good old fellow!”

  Grandmother Rutherford turned away well satisfied and began to beat up some flannel cakes for Elim’s supper. Elim loved flannel
cakes and maple syrup.

  “Gee, Gramma, goin’ ta make flannel cakes? Say, that’s the cat’s whiskers! Want me ta put the griddle on ta heat? Goin’ ta make hot syrup? Want me ta shave the maple sugar down?”

  Elim went to the dining room closet for the maple sugar, saw the cake plate on the table, saw the empty milk glass standing by it, saw the chair shoved back from the table, sniffed, and looked wise. He went to the window and looked out down the road, stood and thought, and presently saw Dana’s new car shoot out the Whipple driveway and down the road in hot haste. He watched it out of sight and then took the cake of maple sugar with him to the kitchen. He hunted out the kitchen board and the sharp knife and began to shave thin, smooth slices of maple sugar, like wide wafers, curl after curl of them rolling away from the knife. He cut enough sugar to make syrup for a dozen people.

  “Say, Gramma, what time did Dana go home?” he asked casually, gathering up his sugar carefully from the board and putting every crumb into the sauce pan ready for melting.

  Grandmother Rutherford lifted a quick, keen eye and searched her grandson’s innocent face intent now on measuring the exact amount of water for the sugar, then she dropped her gaze and went back to beating eggs.

  “Why, I guess about five minutes before you came in,” she answered innocently. “He hadn’t been home yet.”

  “He hadn’t?” said Elim thoughtfully. “H’m!”

  “I thought we might put another plate on for him,” said Grandmother Rutherford tentatively. “I didn’t know but he might come back after he read the letter. He might want to ask some more questions about Lynnie’s going.”

  “He won’t come back!” said Elim with conviction. “You c’n putta plate on if you wantta, but he won’t come back!”

  “What makes you think that?” asked Grandmother with interest, with a motion of her head almost like pricking up her ears.

  “’Cause, he’s a mutt! That’s why! The poor fish wouldn’t humble his pride ta come enask about Lynnie ef it was his las’ chance ta ever see her again. He’s too stuck on himself. Aw! He gives me a pain! I’m glad Lynnie’s gone. Gramma, he’s a flat tire, that’s what he is! I told ya before, but now I know, and don’t ya forget what I told ya! Lynnie’ll be glad she got away when she did. See if she isn’t. Gramma, does this have ta boil any longer? It’s gettin’ thick. Gee, doesn’t it smell good! I’m hollow clear down to my toes. Say, Gramma, these fish are burning. Aren’t they done? I’m glad you set the table in the kitchen, then I can help bake cakes. I like ta hear ‘em sizzle! Gee, ain’t it great just us here havin’ a good time?”