The Girl from Montana

by Grace Livingston Hill

  CHAPTER XVI

  ALONE AGAIN

  "Now we're goin' to see ef the paper says anythin' about our Bessie," saidGrandmother Brady the next morning, settling her spectacles over her nosecomfortably and crossing one fat gingham knee over the other. "I alwaysread the society notes, Bess."

  Elizabeth smiled, and her grandmother read down, the column:

  "Mr. George Trescott Benedict and his mother, Mrs. Vincent Benedict, havearrived home after an extended tower of Europe," read Mrs. Brady. "Mrs.Benedict is much improved in health. It is rumored they will spend thesummer at their country seat on Wissahickon Heights."

  "My!" interrupted Lizzie with her mouth full of fried potatoes. "That'sthat fellow that was engaged to that Miss What's-her-Name Loring. Don'tyou 'member? They had his picture in the papers, and her; and then all atonce she threw him over for some dook or something, and this feller wentoff. I heard about it from Mame. Her sister works in a department-store,and she knows Miss Loring. She says she's an awfully handsome girl, andGeorge Benedict was just gone on her. He had a fearful case. Mame saysMiss Loring--what is her name?--O, Geraldine--Geraldine Loring bought somelace of her. She heard her say it was for the gown she was going to wearat the horse-show. They had her picture in the paper just after thehorse-show, and it was all over lace, I saw it. It cost a whole lot. Iforget how many dollars a yard. But there was something the matter withthe dook. She didn't marry him, after all. In her picture she was drivingfour horses. Don't you remember it, grandma? She sat up tall and high on aseat, holding a whole lot of ribbons and whips and things. She has anelegant figger. I guess mebbe the dook wasn't rich enough. She hasn't beenengaged to anybody else, and I shouldn't wonder now but she'd take GeorgeBenedict back. He was so awful stuck on her!"

  Lizzie rattled on, and the grandmother read more society notes, butElizabeth heard no more. Her hear had suddenly frozen, and dropped downlike lead into her being. She felt as if she never would be able to raiseit again. The lady! Surely she had forgotten the lady. But GeraldineLoring! Of all women! Could it be possible? Geraldine Loring wasalmost--well, fast, at least, as nearly so as one who was really of a fineold family, and still held her own in society, could be. She was beautifulas a picture; but her face, to Elizabeth's mind, was lacking in finefeeling and intellect. A great pity went out from her heart to the manwhose fate was in that doll-girl's hands. True, she had heard that MissLoring's family were unquestionable, and she knew her mother was a mostcharming woman. Perhaps she had misjudged her. She must have done so if hecared for her, for it could not be otherwise.

  The joy had gone out of the morning when Elizabeth went home. She went upto her Grandmother Bailey at once, and after she had read her letters forher, and performed the little services that were her habit, she said:

  "Grandmother, I'm expecting a man to call upon me to-day. I thought I hadbetter tell you."

  "A man!" said Madam Bailey, alarmed at once. She wanted to look over andportion out the right man when the time came. "What man?"

  "Why, a man I met in Montana," said Elizabeth, wondering how much sheought to tell.

  "A man you met in Montana! Horrors!" exclaimed the now thoroughly arousedgrandmother. "Not that dreadful creature you ran away from?"

  "O no!" said Elizabeth, smiling. "Not that man. A man who was very kind tome, and whom I like very much."

  So much the worse. Immediate action was necessary.

  "Well, Elizabeth," said Madam Bailey in her stiffest tones, "I really donot care to have any of your Montana friends visit you. You will have toexcuse yourself. It will lead to embarrassing entanglements. You do not inthe least realize your position in society. It is all well enough toplease your relatives, although I think you often overdo that. You couldjust as well send them a present now and then, and please them more thanto go yourself. But as for any outsiders, it is impossible. I draw theline there."

  "But grandmother----"

  "Don't interrupt me, Elizabeth; I have something more to say. I had wordthis morning from the steamship company. They can give us our stateroomson the Deutschland on Saturday, and I have decided to take them. I havetelegraphed, and we shall leave here to-day for New York. I have one ortwo matters of business I wish to attend to in New York. We shall go tothe Waldorf for a few days, and you will have more opportunity to see NewYork than you have had yet. It will not be too warm to enjoy going about alittle, I fancy; and a number of our friends are going to be at theWaldorf, too. The Craigs sail on Saturday with us. You will have youngcompany on the voyage."

  Elizabeth's heart sank lower than she had known it could go, and she grewwhite to the lips. The observant grandmother decided that she had donewell to be so prompt. The man from Montana was by no means to be admitted.She gave orders to that effect, unknown to Elizabeth.

  The girl went slowly to her room. All at once it had dawned upon her thatshe had not given her address to the man the night before, nor told him byso much as a word what were her circumstances. An hour's meditationbrought her to the unpleasant decision that perhaps even now in this hardspot God was only hiding her from worse trouble. Mr. George Benedictbelonged to Geraldine Loring. He had declared as much when he was inMontana. It would not be well for her to renew the acquaintance. Her hearttold her by its great ache that she would be crushed under a friendshipthat could not be lasting.

  Very sadly she sat down to write a note.

  "_My dear Friend_," she wrote on plain paper with no crest. It was like her to choose that. She would not flaunt her good fortune in his face. She was a plain Montana girl to him, and so she would remain.

  "My grandmother has been very ill, and is obliged to go away for her health. Unexpectedly I find that we are to go to-day. I supposed it would not be for a week yet. I am so sorry not to see you again, but I send you a little book that has helped me to get acquainted with Jesus Christ. Perhaps it will help you too. It is called 'My Best Friend.' I shall not forget to pray always that you may find Him. He is so precious to me! I must thank you in words, though I never can say it as it should be said, for your very great kindness to me when I was in trouble. God sent you to me, I am sure. Always gratefully your friend,

  "ELIZABETH."

  That was all, no date, no address. He was not hers, and she would hang outno clues for him to find her, even if he wished. It was better so.

  She sent the note and the little book to his address on Walnut Street; andthen after writing a note to her Grandmother Brady, saying that she wasgoing away for a long trip with Grandmother Bailey, she gave herself intothe hands of the future like a submissive but weary child.

  The noon train to New York carried in its drawing-room-car Madam Bailey,her granddaughter, her maid, and her dog, bound for Europe. The societycolumns so stated; and so read Grandmother Brady a few days afterward. Soalso read George Benedict, but it meant nothing to him.

  When he received the note, his mind was almost as much excited as when hesaw the little brown girl and the little brown horse vanishing behind thelittle brown station on the prairie. He went to the telephone, andreflected that he knew no names. He called up his automobile, and tore upto Flora Street; but in his bewilderment of the night before he had notnoticed which block the house was in, nor which number. He thought he knewwhere to find it, but in broad daylight the houses were all alike forthree blocks, and for the life of him he could not remember whether hehad turned up to the right or the left when he came to Flora Street. Hetried both, but saw no sign of the people he had but casually noticed atWillow Grove.

  He could not ask where she lived, for he did not know her name. Nothingbut Elizabeth, and they had called her Bessie. He could not go from houseto house asking for a girl named Bessie. They would think him a fool, ashe was, for not finding out her name, her precious name, at once. Howcould he let her slip from him again when he had just found her?

  At last he hit upon a bright idea. He asked some children along the streetwhether th
ey knew of any young woman named Bessie or Elizabeth livingthere, but they all with one accord shook their heads, though onevolunteered the information that "Lizzie Smith lives there." It was mostdistracting and unsatisfying. There was nothing for it but for him to gohome and wait in patience for her return. She would come back sometimeprobably. She had not said so, but she had not said she would not. He hadfound her once; he might find her again. And he could pray. She had foundcomfort in that; so would he. He would learn what her secret was. He wouldget acquainted with her "best Friend." Diligently did he study that littlebook, and then he went and hunted up the man of God who had written it,and who had been the one to lead Elizabeth into the path of light by hisearnest preaching every Sabbath, though this fact he did not know.

  The days passed, and the Saturday came. Elizabeth, heavy-hearted, stood onthe deck of the Deutschland, and watched her native land disappear fromview. So again George Benedict had lost her from sight.

  It struck Elizabeth, as she stood straining her eyes to see the last ofthe shore through tears that would burn to the surface and fall down herwhite cheeks, that again she was running away from a man, only this timenot of her own free will. She was being taken away. But perhaps it wasbetter.

  And it never once entered her mind that, if she had told her grandmotherwho the friend in Montana was, and where he lived in Philadelphia, itwould have made all the difference in the world.

  From the first of the voyage Grandmother Bailey grew steadily worse, andwhen they landed on the other side they went from one place to anotherseeking health. Carlsbad waters did not agree with her, and they went tothe south of France to try the climate. At each move the little old ladygrew weaker and more querulous. She finally made no further resistance,and gave up to the role of invalid. Then Elizabeth must be in constantattendance. Madam Bailey demanded reading, and no voice was so soothing asElizabeth's.

  Gradually Elizabeth substituted books of her own choice as her grandmotherseemed not to mind, and now and then she would read a page of some bookthat told of the best Friend. At first because it was written by the dearpastor at home it commanded her attention, and finally because somedormant chord in her heart had been touched, she allowed Elizabeth tospeak of these things. But it was not until they had been away from homefor three months, and she had been growing daily weaker and weaker, thatshe allowed Elizabeth to read in the Bible.

  The girl chose the fourteenth chapter of John, and over and over again,whenever the restless nerves tormented their victim, she would read thosewords, "Let not your heart be troubled" until the selfish soul, who hadlived all her life to please the world and do her own pleasure, came atlast to hear the words, and feel that perhaps she did believe in God, andmight accept that invitation, "Believe also in me."

  One day Elizabeth had been reading a psalm, and thought her grandmotherwas asleep. She was sitting back with weary heart, thinking what wouldhappen if her grandmother should not get well. The old lady opened hereyes.

  "Elizabeth," she said abruptly, just as when she was well, "you've been agood girl. I'm glad you came. I couldn't have died right without you. Inever thought much about these things before, but it really is worthwhile. In my Father's house. He is my Father, Elizabeth."

  She went to sleep then, and Elizabeth tiptoed out and left her with thenurse. By and by Marie came crying in, and told her that the Madam wasdead.

  Elizabeth was used to having people die. She was not shocked; only itseemed lonely again to find herself facing the world, in a foreign land.And when she came to face the arrangements that had to be made, which,after all, money and servants made easy, she found herself dreading herown land. What must she do after her grandmother was laid to rest? Shecould not live in the great house in Rittenhouse Square, and neither couldshe very well go and live in Flora Street. O, well, her Father would hideher. She need not plan; He would plan for her. The mansions on the earthwere His too, as well as those in heaven.

  And so resting she passed through the weary voyage and the day when thebody was laid to rest in the Bailey lot in the cemetery, and she went backto the empty house alone. It was not until after the funeral that she wentto see Grandmother Brady. She had not thought it wise or fitting to invitethe hostile grandmother to the other one's funeral. She had thoughtGrandmother Bailey would not like it.

  She rode to Flora Street in the carriage. She felt too weary to walk or goin the trolley. She was taking account of stock in the way of friends,thinking over whom she cared to see. One of the first bits of news she hadheard on arriving in this country had been that Miss Loring's wedding wasto come off in a few days. It seemed to strike her like a thunderbolt, andshe was trying to arraign herself for this as she rode along. It wastherefore not helpful to her state of mind to have her grandmother remarkgrimly:

  "That feller o' yours 'n his oughtymobble has been goin' up an' down thisstreet, day in, day out, this whole blessed summer. Ain't been a day hedidn't pass, sometimes once, sometimes twicet. I felt sorry fer himsometimes. Ef he hadn't been so high an' mighty stuck up that he couldn'trecognize me, I'd 'a' spoke to him. It was plain ez the nose on your facehe was lookin' fer you. Don't he know where you live?"

  "I don't believe he does," said Elizabeth languidly. "Say, grandmother,would you care to come up to Rittenhouse Square and live?"

  "Me? In Rittenhouse Square? Fer the land sakes, child, no. That's flat.I've lived me days out in me own sp'ere, and I don't intend to change nowat me time o' life. Ef you want to do somethin' nice fer me, child, nowyou've got all that money, I'd like real well to live in a house that hedwhite marble steps. It's been me one aim all me life. There's some roundon the next street that don't come high. There'd be plenty room fer usall, an' a nice place fer Lizzie to get married when the time comes. Theparlor's real big, and you would send her some roses, couldn't you?"

  "All right, grandmother. You shall have it," said Elizabeth with arelieved sigh, and in a few minutes she went home. Some day pretty soonshe must think what to do, but there was no immediate hurry. She was gladthat Grandmother Brady did not want to come to Rittenhouse Square. Thingswould be more congenial without her.

  But the house seemed great and empty when she entered, and she was glad tohear the friendly telephone bell ringing. It was the wife of her pastor,asking her to come to them for a quiet dinner.

  This was the one home in the great city where she felt like going in herloneliness. There would be no form nor ceremony. Just a friend with them.It was good. The doctor would give her some helpful words. She was gladthey had asked her.