Ladybird (32 page)

But this dark, evil young face did not break into a courteous smile as most did. Instead, the man stood frowning at him, with an ugly leer in his eyes, and as he passed, there broke from him a taunting laugh.

Seagrave turned with astonished eyes and looked the man straight in the face, and he saw a murderous challenge in the other’s eyes. Well, this must be one of those men from Bad Man’s Land. He looked it. Seagrave hesitated and almost went back to speak to him then thought better of it and, with firm-set lips, walked on to where his horse stood and mounted it. But he turned and looked steadily once more at the man who was still standing in the doorway, watching him with that sneer on his lips and that challenge in his eyes.

That night was the night for the evening worship in the old schoolhouse. Seagrave rode off as usual with his mind intent on what he was going to say. For the first time in his ministrations to these people, he meant to preach a sermon himself. Up until then, he had been content to read them the Bible, occasionally throwing in a word or phrase of his own to make the meaning simpler, that is, when he was sure he understood it himself. Now he was going to tell those people about the new birth and how he had been born again. He was going out to witness what the Lord had done for him, and his heart was full of joy.

It was a wonderful meeting in the old log schoolhouse. The very presence of the Lord Jesus seemed to be there, and the sorrowful lonely members who came their long journeys to get this little time of worship were stirred to tears and prayers of longing and surrender, and one, Caroline, sitting back by the door in the shadow, having stayed the day and night with a friend so she could be present, lingered to talk with the young preacher and ask if there was a way for one who had sinned greatly to be born again.

The old man and women with whom she had come lingered outside in an old wagon, waiting for her. Seagrave and she stood beneath the smoky oil lamp, straight in view of the open door, and talked. Seagrave had then his first opportunity to really point the way of life to a seeking soul, and right there under the flare of that light they knelt together, while with unaccustomed lips he asked the Lord to accept this girl and to forgive her.

Out in the darkness, behind the wooded roadside, a shadow lurked, still and grim. But the old man and woman in the wagon did not see it move and crouch and look, nor did the old man who lingered to put out the smoky lamp and lock the door.

The girl came out and got into the wagon, and the old man drove away. Seagrave came out with a cheery good night to the old man as he lingered until he had locked the door, and then both mounted their horses and rode away in opposite directions.

The moon came up and made a silvery light along the way, and Seagrave was filled with joy. He felt like singing. He began to hum the tune of one of the hymns they had sung in the meeting, his clear baritone ringing far on the still stretches of the open.

Then suddenly there came a stinging pain in his side, another an instant later through his right arm. He felt himself sliding from his horse and the light of the moon going out.

A dark shadow stole away from a group of trees, back on the road he had come, and slid along through the woods until it mounted a horse and disappeared into the night.

But Seagrave lay where he had fallen, with the moonlight shining silver over his white face and his horse whinnying beside him.

F
raley had walked a great part of the way back to the city, her mind in such turmoil of anger and humiliation and penitence that she could not reason. It was several hours later when she arrived at the house and walked straight up to Violet, who happened to be downstairs reading in the library.

“I’ve done a terrible thing,” she said, her face white and her eyes dark with emotion. “You won’t like it at all. I lost my temper, and I’ve been rude to a lot of your friends at the country club. I made what you’ll call a scene right before everybody! I’m very sorry if I have mortified you, but I couldn’t do what they tried to make me. I wouldn’t, not if they killed me!” she finished, her lips stern and set.

“What in the world do you mean, been rude? Made a scene at the country club? Why did you have to do that? For pity’s sake, stop being excited and explain!” said Violet coldly, at once on the defensive. Here was probably some more of the child’s outrageous Puritanism, and it had to be nipped in the bud. It couldn’t go on any longer.

Fraley leaned back against the doorway and closed her tired eyes for an instant, drawing a deep breath, and then she gathered strength and began.

“They were trying to force me to drink liquor!” she said with a fierce little intake of breath.

“Who were?” asked Violet, her voice like an icicle.

“Alison and her friends. She said you had told her she must teach me before I came home.” There was a question in Fraley’s voice, almost a pleading, but Violet would not let herself respond to it. She looked steadily, coldly at the girl, and after an instant, a weary little shadow passed over the sweet face, and Fraley went on. “They caught me, all those young men, and put me in a big chair and held me! They had no right to touch me!”

She was still struggling between her sense of being wronged and her penitence for having lost her temper.

“They said they would not let me up, and they held the glass to my lips and tried to pry my lips open and force me to take it!”

Still there was no relenting in the cold eyes of the woman who listened. The white lids fluttered down and up again bravely.

“I wouldn’t. It was a long time, and I wouldn’t! They hurt me holding my arms so hard; I suppose that was one thing that made me so angry. They hurt my neck, and they hurt my lips. But I shouldn’t have been so angry. And then, when they said they would let me go if I would tell them why I would not play bridge or smoke or drink, it seemed as though I just had to. So I told them.”

“What did you tell them?” Violet’s tone was tense now.

“I told them about the cabin on the mountain where I was born, and the men who used to play cards with my father and smoke and drink and curse my mother and throw things at her, and how they got drunk and pushed my father off the cliff and killed him!” Fraley paused for a desperate breath. “Alison Fraley had been sneering at me, and I looked right at her and told her that my dear mother, who had to stand all that, was her father’s sister and that she had no right to try to make me do what my mother had spent her life in teaching me not to do.”

“You told Alison that you were related to her!”

“Yes!” Fraley lifted brave, steady eyes.

“Well,” said Violet at last, after a brief interval of thought in which conflicting emotions played over her face, “you certainly have made a pretty mess of things. I might have known that a young savage like you couldn’t be trusted to go off alone among civilized people. Now, there has got to be an understanding between you and me, and we might as well have it over with. It’s been coming to you for some time. You’ve got to learn that if you stay here you must conform to my habits and customs. For instance, next week I’m giving that dinner, and I want you to be present to help entertain my guests. That’s why I bought you all those imported dresses and things. But you can’t come to a dinner and act like a Puritan. You’ve got to do your part and be a lady of the world. This matter of cocktails is most important. A lady knows how to drink in a ladylike way, and there is no reason whatever why a cocktail in a drawing room or a glass of champagne at a dinner table among respectable men and women of society should remind you of a lot of boors in the wilderness who are too low down and sottish to be spoke of as human beings. Now, young lady, you may take your choice. You either make up your mind to drink what is set before you and behave yourself, or you leave my house! Do you understand that?”

Violet had grown very angry as she talked. She was incensed that this frail little girl with no background whatever should dare to stand against her. It offended her pride. She wanted Fraley to adore her and think her word was law. It was Fraley’s admiration that had won her in the first place to take this child of the wilds and try to make her over. She wanted somebody who was lovely to glorify Violet Wentworth and help to make her name great, and she was filled with fury that she was not paramount in the girl’s thoughts. She was jealous of her fine allegiance to God and her Bible and the things her mother had taught her.

Fraley stood very still and looked at her, her eyes growing large and dark with sorrow, her face growing whiter. It seemed as if she could not believe that her friend, who had done so much for her, had spoken those awful words.

Violet saw how the child was stirred and pressed her advantage.

“I mean every word that I have said!” she said sternly. “You’ve got a whole week to decide. You can go upstairs now and think it over.”

Fraley suddenly dropped her white lids like curtains drawn quickly, and two large tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed on the floor by her little dusty shoes.

There was silence in the room for a full minute while the girl struggled to gain her self-control. Then she lifted her eyes again, bright with sorrow, and spoke bravely.

“All right,” she said, with her lips quivering. “But there’s something I must tell you first. You ought to know.”

“Go on,” said the cold voice.

“It’s about that man, that Mr. Easton that comes here to see you. I’ve found he’s a bad man. I saw him at the country club in an alcove this morning kissing that Lilla Hobart. He had her in his arms and was looking down into her face the way I saw him look at you the first night I came. I thought you ought to know.”

“Get out!” shouted Violet in a fury, her face red and her eyes terribly angry. “You are meddling with things that are none of your business! Get out of my sight!”

Meekly, with her whole slender form drooping in sorrow, her head bent, Fraley turned and went out of the room. She walked slowly up the stairs and into her room and locked the door. Then she dropped upon her knees, and her body shook with a tempest of tears while she tried to pray. Somehow this seemed to her worse than anything that had come to her since her mother’s death.

But she had no time for weeping, and her prayer was short—just a cry for help and guidance. Then she rose with determination in her face and began to undress. There was no doubt in her mind what she had to do.

As she drew off the pretty sports dress that she had worn at the country club, the letter that she had tucked in the pocket fell to the floor. She stooped and, with a startled look, picked it up. She had forgotten it. But the sight of it brought her no joy. It was only a reminder of another pleasant thing in her life lost.

She went to the bureau and put the letter safely inside her handbag, the one that Violet had given her on the train. She had kept it carefully and used it when she went out in the morning by herself. Somehow it had seemed to belong to her more than the elegant trifles that Violet had bought for her to go with the new outfits to be used in her capacity as social secretary.

Fraley put on the dress and hat that had been given to her on the train and selected the shoes and stockings that were bought to go with it that first day of shopping. Then she sat down at the desk and wrote two notes.

The other note was to Jeanne:

Dear Jeanne:

I am sorry, but I find I have to go away quite suddenly and unexpectedly. I shall miss the Bible readings with you
,
and I hope you will keep on reading by yourself. I shall always pray for you. Sometime, perhaps, I can see you again. I shall not forget you
.

In haste, and very lovingly
,
Fraley MacPherson

When she had addressed these notes, she laid them on the desk where she was sure they would be noticed. Then she went to the treasure drawer and unlocked it, taking out the old woolen bag her mother had made and the little garments made of salt bags and all the things she had brought with her from the mountain. She packed them carefully, putting the old Bible in first and tucking the other things around it. She hesitated with her own little Scofield Bible as she was about to put it in and then, with a sigh, laid it out on her bureau. She had bought it with her own money and had loved it and marked some of the verses in it that she loved the best, but now it occurred to her that she was leaving this house without a Bible. If she left it here, perhaps Violet would sometimes open it and read, or Jeanne would come in when nobody was around. She would not dare give the Bible to Violet, but if she left it there as if she had forgotten it God might let it do its work somehow. Of course she had the old Bible, and it wouldn’t matter so much now how it looked; there would be no one but herself to mind the cotton covers. By and by when she was earning something she would dare to spend the money for another one, and until then she could do with the old one.