Brentwood (26 page)

And then after another tender, brief prayer Gideon called for his quartet, and Ted calmly rose and let the way to the front. Marjorie, as she walked behind him, marveled at his coolness, his reverent attitude, as if he were a young priest going to perform his duty at the altar. She found herself a little nervous about Betty, whether she would come up after all. Betty hadn’t
said
she would sing at the service, though she had joined with them in the few minutes’ practice they had just before the service.

But Betty came, and her alto was deep and sweet. Betty had a nice voice. Marjorie found herself thinking that Betty should have some lessons by and by when things got straightened out.

Then they sang:

It wasn’t exactly a Christmas hymn, but it exactly fitted the Christmas message that Gideon had given. Marjorie found her heart swelling with the message, which a few short days before she would not have understood so well. And when they came to the last verse, she found herself thinking of Betty and making the song a longing for her to know something of the wonder and joy that had just come to her own heart.

Her whole soul was in the words as she sang them, and she found herself longing for the salvation of all those around her, who perhaps did not know the truth of what it meant to be saved, as she had but just discovered it.

Ted was singing earnestly. His voice was going to be good. It had a fresh sincerity that made people listen. Astonishingly, the doctor seemed to be enjoying the singing, too. It must be that even if he wasn’t a Christian he had a Christian background somewhere, for he had seemed familiar with that song, though it wasn’t a common one. And he had certainly listened to the message.

“Something real about this place,” she heard him say to Betty half an hour later as they stood at the door about to plunge into the snow and go to the car.

Betty didn’t answer, but she gave a quick glance up at him as if she were trying to understand his point of view.

Then they went home with the memory of the little chapel in its gala greenery, and of the sweet songs, the tender looks on faces, and the Christian testimonies with which the meeting had closed, all a holy, beautiful ending to a day that had been wonderful from start to finish.

Marjorie lay awake for a long time and thought it over, step by step, thrilling anew at the memory. There was just one part she forgot to review, and that was the interlude in which Evan Brower figured. But then, she was having to go home to Chicago pretty soon, and there would be plenty of time to deal with Evan Brower. That was what the back of her mind thought, while she brushed lightly over the episode of his coming to call and held on to the things she had most enjoyed.

Of course, she was having to go to lunch with him tomorrow, but there was time enough to consider that when tomorrow came. She wanted to hold on to each moment of this day and get the last drop of joy it had to give before it passed into oblivion.

And not the least among her memories was that of Gideon Reaver, what he had said, what he had done, the comical expression of his face now and again, the quick deep fervor of his voice as he spoke, the merriment of his laughter, the true look in his eyes, the simplicity of his prayers, and the earnestness of his message. These all hovered in her memory, making a picture that intrigued her. What a wonderful young man to be a minister! Would he grow in dignity and conceit as he grew older? She couldn’t believe it. He seemed as utterly unspoiled and humble as a little child. He seemed—was it irreverent to think so?—almost like his Master, the Lord Jesus Christ! But no, that could not be irreverent. Wasn’t that what Christians were meant to be, like Christ? Only she had never seen a young man before who had impressed her with the thought as he did. She fell asleep thinking about it, thrilling at the memory of how he had led her in a few brief words to understand that she was saved and to long to walk with God.

She must ask him again someday about that walking with God. It was a wonderful thought, to walk with the eternal God!

Betty lay beside her, eyes staring wide ahead at the blank wall of the room in the darkness. Betty was thinking of the look on the doctor’s face when he had said, “Something real about this place!” Wondering about the doctor, thinking of all the fun he had made for them during the afternoon and evening. Contrasting it with a few experiences in her meager past that she had called “good times.” She was being searched as her bitter, eager young soul had never been searched before. Real things! What were real things? She wished she could know Dr. Sheridan better, dare to call him by his first name, go out with him sometimes, but, of course, that was unthinkable. It wasn’t in the least likely that he would ever think of her again. He was too busy elsewhere and had been hindered from being with others by that call to the country which had made him too late to get to house parties and things that he would, of course, be invited to. It wasn’t probable that a rising young doctor would choose to spend his Christmas Day in a poor, plain little house on Aster Street if he had been home in time for more interesting places. Yet he had seemed to enjoy himself. Or was it only a rare quality he had for adjusting himself to circumstances? Well, she had had a good time anyway, and she liked him. It was nice to have a memory of such a day even if it never happened again. Maybe he only stayed because he liked to look at her pretty new sister. Of course, they all said she and Marjorie looked alike, but she knew herself that there was something more sophisticated about Marjorie, an air of being to the manner born that she, Betty, did not have, and that no amount of makeup could simulate. In fact, perhaps it only made the lack more apparent.

And then there had been the way the doctor had acted in that meeting, taking it all so seriously, actually interested in it! Well, it was interesting. She had to own that. She hadn’t been able to disconnect her mind from what was going on the way she usually could in churches—though she hadn’t been to any very often of late. She couldn’t blame Ted for being so devoted. That young minister was very interesting, and very good looking. Though she told herself she preferred the doctor’s type. Gideon Reaver was a little too quiet for her. However, why quarrel with anything that had happened on that wonderful day? Here she was, lying and thinking over differences in mere people that she likely wouldn’t see much again, when she had a wonderful new fur coat and a hat that looked as if it were imported! She, Betty Gay, all rigged up like that, sitting beside a handsome doctor and singing in a church! It was unbelievable!

But just as she dropped off to sleep there came the words of the chorus she had helped to sing.

“What did He do? He
died
for you …” It trailed off vaguely and blended with her dreams. Was it possible that the dying One had really ever thought of Betty Gay, so long ago when He died on Calvary?

And down on his knees beside the sleeping Bud knelt Ted, thanking God for the wonderful Christmas Day and praying for his family.

T
he next morning Marjorie became aware of something strained in the atmosphere that hadn’t been there the day before. She didn’t quite know what it was. It was subtle. It evaded her in glances, even loving glances. It was a kind of shy embarrassment upon the whole family. It troubled her, though she tried to put it away and tell herself she was imagining things, but it kept returning.

“No, don’t try to help wash the dishes this morning,” protested Betty. “You’re going out and you’ll get your hands all red.”

“The idea!” said Marjorie, laughing. “Give me that dishcloth! What do you suppose I care about my hands?”

“Well, you ought to care,” said Betty reprovingly. “With a particular man like that, you might be criticized. He’s critical. I could see that!”

“Well, I’m not afraid of him,” said Marjorie, “and I’m going to wash these dishes! I’d better open another box of soap powder, hadn’t I? This one is nearly gone.”

“There’s plenty there,” said Betty frugally. “I wish you wouldn’t feel you have to wash dishes and things like that all the time. I know you’re not used to it.”

“Why continually remind me of that? I suppose you judge because I do it so awkwardly,” said Marjorie, “but I’ll get over that in time, you know. What I would like to know is why you are so much more solicitous about my washing dishes today than you were before? Have I done something wrong?”

“Oh, mercy, no!” said Betty sharply. “It’s just seeing that high-and-mighty friend of yours, I suppose. Have you known him long?”

“You mean Evan Brower? Oh, yes, I’ve known him practically all my life. His mother was Mrs. Wetherill’s most intimate friend. They lived not far from our house. But he never took much notice of me till I grew up. He’s very pleasant.”

“Yes, he acted that way last night!” said Betty sharply.

Marjorie gave her sister a quick look.

“He wasn’t very nice, was he?” she agreed. “I was ashamed of him. But he’s not like that. Usually, he’s most polite. I suppose he was a little annoyed at me for running away from his mother’s Christmas party. I never dreamed he would come all the way down here to see me. I suppose they feel a little responsible for me on the Wetherills’ account, now that they think I’m all alone in the world.”

“Oh,
yes
?” said Betty, with an upward accent. “Well, his royal highness certainly knows how to give orders. I admired the way you held your own, but you won’t do that today, lady! He intends to give you his orders. I could see it in the corner of his eye and the droop of his lips. He means to take you home with him. Excuse me for listening, I was standing at the head of the stairs trying to get Sunny’s face clean without stopping to turn on a light, and I heard him say he was taking you home today. You’ll go, too. I can see that! And if you do it’ll be good-bye sister, all right! Are you engaged?”

“Mercy no!” said Marjorie. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Out of his masterful manner. If you aren’t, you probably will be by the time lunch is over. You ought to have told us about him before you let us all get to caring about you. It wasn’t fair, after all these years without you.”

“Betty!” Marjorie lifted her hands out of the dishwater and whirled about toward her sister.

“What in the name of peace is the matter with you, Betty?” Marjorie said, half ready to cry. “There wasn’t anything to tell. He’s just a friend of the family, and there’s nothing between us. I’m not engaged to
any
body and don’t mean to be for some time, if I
ever
am. I’m not interested in such things yet. I’ve got a family, and that’s enough for the present.”

“Oh,
yes
?” said Betty again, incredulously. “Well wait till you come back—
if
you come back! Don’t you mean to pack your things? Or will you trust me to send them to you if he carries you off willy-nilly?”

Suddenly Marjorie rushed at her sister, half laughing, half crying, and gave her a loving shaking.

“There!” she said breathlessly. “Stop this! I’m not going away with him. I wouldn’t think of such a thing, and he hasn’t a right in the world to make me, so please be good and let’s have a nice time the way we usually do.”

Thus appealed to, Betty put aside her bitter little flings, but Marjorie could see there was something still in her mind that fenced them apart. She sighed as she went upstairs to dress. There really wasn’t much time, for they had slept late that morning. She tried to get away from the things Betty had said, but they annoyed her.

When she went in to say good-bye to her mother in her wine red velvet dress, she felt the same thing again.

“I hope you’ll have a very nice time, dear!” said her mother wistfully. “Is this young man a very special friend?”

“Why, no, I don’t think so, Mother. He’s been a friend of the family for years. I haven’t any specials yet. I’ll tell you when I do!” And she kissed her mother and ran down to open the door as the taxi drew up.

“Bye!” she whispered toward Betty in the doorway and blew a kiss from the tips of her fingers toward her. “Don’t you do a thing toward getting dinner till I get back!”

Then she was gone.

Her father was watching her from the window.

“I’m afraid he is special,” he said as he turned away with a sigh. “Or at least he thinks he is. He has a very possessive manner.”

“He would!” said Marjorie’s mother. “He’s that kind. George, don’t you think we ought to have a talk with her about what we’re going to do next, and what she’s going to do? She asked me last night if we wanted her to live with us.”