Crimson Roses (28 page)

“A good idea!” said Lyman. “It isn’t far from here. Symonds,” he said, turning to the headwaiter, “can you leave this table just as it is, only putting on more places, and serve lunch for some ladies here? Serve the same menu we had. Marion, you call them up and give the invitation. I’ll ‘phone to Chapman to let them off together. He can put two or three people there for an hour while they are gone, I’m sure. Tell them to take the roses with them.”

Marion’s eyes shone with her delight. He stood for a moment watching her before he went into the office to another telephone. It was one of the greatest pleasures the girl had ever had thus to pass on her beautiful time to those who had no part in it.

“Is that you, Gladys?” she said. She had chosen her first friend in the store to give the invitations. She knew what pleasure it would give her to convey it to the rest.

“This is Marion Warren—” she paused, remembering that was no longer her name. “This
was
Marion Warren,” she corrected, laughing. “I want to invite you girls at the counter to take lunch at the B—today. I am sorry not to be able to be here and receive you, but we are going right away. Mr. Lyman has telephoned to Mr. Chapman about allowing you all to go together for once, and you are to take the roses on the table when you leave. Divide them among you.”

“Gee! Is that straight goods, Mar—I mean, Mrs. Lyman? You’re just fooling, aren’t you? Well, there’s some class to that invite. Come? ‘Course we will, every last one of us. Say, you’re a real lady; do you know it? You’re the bee’s knees! Gee, I wish I could think of some way to let you know how much we all like this. When you get back, we’ll come and see you and tell you about it.”

Marion turned to greet her husband with a laughing face but eyes in which the tears were very near. She knew just how much those girls would enjoy that. She had been one of them.

“Will he let them go?” she asked anxiously.

“Yes,” said Lyman. “He hesitated at first, wanted them to go in stages, but I held out and told him he must for our wedding celebration; and he finally said he would. He said to tell you he would put Miss Phipps and Jennie and Maria in charge, and you would know that things would go all right.”

They were like two children playing with new toys, this happy bride and groom.

With a few directions to the head waiter about the luncheon they were giving, they went on their way; and now, when they came out to the car, it had somehow been transformed. It no longer had a little glass room behind, with a stately chauffeur’s seat in front. Its roof had been folded back, its glass doors disappeared entirely somewhere, and it was just an open car with two seats, the back one of which was covered with roses. Marion was put in the front seat and Lyman got in beside her. The chauffeur stood smiling on the sidewalk.

“All right, Terence. You have the directions and the address. Very well, that’s all. You put in the suitcases? Well, we’ll meet you in New York sometime this afternoon if all goes well. Good bye.”

Then the fine machinery of the car responded to its master’s touch and moved smoothly off down the street, leaving the respectful chauffeur bowing and smiling on the sidewalk.

“Why!” said Marion when she could get her breath from amazement, “is this car yours?”

“It is ours,” he said with tender emphasis.

“Oh!” said Marion. “Oh! It is so wonderful! How can I ever get used to it?” After a moment’s silence, in which her husband carefully guided his car through a tangle of moving vehicles and turned into a quieter street she said, “Oh, I suppose heaven will be like this. There will be so much, and all ours! And we won’t know how to adjust ourselves to it all, not right at first.”

“Dear child!” said Lyman, giving her a look of almost worship. “Does this seem that way to you? You make me feel humble. I never felt that I had so much. Perhaps you will teach me to be more thankful.”

It was a wonderful trip for the two. Spring skies and cheerful little scurrying spring clouds overhead; in the distance soft purple hazels touched by tender green willows were coming into spring beauties, or starred with hepatica and bloodroot, and a smell of earth and moist-growing things all about. Birds were hurrying about to secure the best locations, and everything in nature seemed joyous and happy.

To the girl who had never been outside her own city farther than the suburbs or some nearby woodland park on a picnic, the whole experience was wonderful, of course; but the greatest thing of all was to keep realizing that the man beside her was her husband and that she was to be privileged to stay beside him as long as they both should live. It seemed too wonderful to be true.

There followed long, delightful days of sightseeing and shopping in New York, when Marion felt that at last she was realizing her heart’s desire and beginning to see and know “things,” as she had often expressed it to herself in her lonely meditations.

Then one bright morning the chauffeur, who had seemed always to know just when to appear and take the car, brought it to the hotel door, and they started up to the Vermont farm to visit Tom and Jennie and the children.

Marion had carefully considered the idea of inviting at least Tom to the wedding, but decided against it. There would be so many endless explanations, perhaps wranglings and delays. Tom might object. Why worry him until it was all done and he could see for himself what a wonderful brother-in-law he had acquired?

Packed carefully in the ample storage of the car were gifts: a new dress for Jennie, ready-made in a style that Marion knew would please her; a hat that she would consider a dream; gloves; and a number of other dainty, feminine articles that Marion’s experience with Jennie made her sure would be welcome; all sorts of pretty wearable and usable things for the children besides a wonderful doll that could talk, an Irish mail toy vehicle, and a bicycle. For Tom a fine watch; several pictures carefully selected to be interesting and uplifting to the whole family; some of the latest books on scientific farming; and a large, beautiful reading lamp. Marion was anxious that a little of her delight in higher things should reach these who were nearest to her in the world.

Lyman had seemed to enjoy the selection of these gifts as much as his wife did and was helpful with suggestions. He seemed to understand at once all about Tom and Jennie and to accept them as they were, and not expect any great things of them. Gradually Marion’s fear of having them meet was wearing off. She began to understand that the true gentleman was always ready to see the true man, no matter how rough an exterior, and Tom was not so rough as he might have been. He had a little touch of his father in him with all his disappointing qualities.

The chauffeur had been sent back home, and they took this trip alone. Lyman seemed to realize that his wife wanted no strange eyes to witness the meeting between her husband and her brother, and with fine perception he made the way as easy for her as possible.

It was a great morning at the farm when they arrived.

Marion had written her brother of her coming marriage, but only in time for him to receive the letter a few hours before the ceremony. He could not have written her in time and was little likely to telegraph about a matter of that sort. She had said in the letter that she and Lyman were going to Boston and they might find it possible to stop over for a few hours and see them all; but nothing definite had been arranged.

So Tom and Jennie were in a state of sulkiness over the ingratitude of Marion. Jennie especially was out of humor about it. Marion was missed more and more. Jennie found it impossible to get hired help who could take her place. And now she had gone and gotten married! That was the end of it. But no; that might not be not be the end of it, either. Perhaps this new brother-in-law thought it would be a good thing to settle down upon them and take things easy. It might be that they would have Marion and her husband to look after now. Jennie suggested this snappishly that morning just after breakfast, but Tom only sighed and said, “Yes, I don’t suppose she’s got anyone worthy of her. She was always so trustful of people, and she never had any business caution about her. I ought to have stayed in the city and looked after her.”

“Nonsense!” said Jennie sharply. “She isn’t a baby, and you couldn’t look after her. She would have her own way. It isn’t your fault. And getting married isn’t a business, either. But if I were you, I’d make her understand plainly that he can’t stay here long loafing on us, unless he helps in the planting. We can’t afford to have him. He’s most likely a lazy, good-for-nothing—”

It was just at that moment that the eldest child called from the front doorstep.

“Ma, oh, Ma, there a ‘mobile stopping at our big gate!”

“It’s just someone wanting to know the way to the village, I suppose,” said Jennie discontentedly, hurrying, nevertheless, to the door to look out. “Tom, you go down and tell them. I’m sure I don’t see why people can’t read the signposts.”

Then almost instantly her voice changed.

“Tom, they’ve opened the big gate and are coming in. You go out and see who it is, for pity’s sake, while I take down my curlpapers. Goodness! Suppose they should want to come in and rest, and the spare room not finished yet. I washed the curtains yesterday, but they’re lying on the bed. If it’s tourists to stay, we’ll put them in the parlor, and you’ll have to come up and help me put the curtains up quick.”

Jennie’s tongue went no faster than her hands. The curlpapers were out of sight in a twinkling and her hairstyle settled into its company appearance. Three aprons, a rubber doll, and a little sunbonnet were swept into a closet with one movement; and the hall table received a swift dusting with the apron she wore, while it was yet in a process of being snatched off to share the seclusion of the other three. Then a chorused shout from the children outside the door made her pause and listen.

“Aunt Marion! It’s Aunt Marion!” they warbled gleefully, and Jennie’s hasty preparations relaxed into grim dignity.

But how in the world did Marion come to arrive in such a fine automobile? This was her first thought. Very likely they had lost their way and some kind chauffeur had offered to give them a lift in their long walk. If it had been a farm wagon, now, that would have been quite likely; but chauffeurs and automobile owners, what few of them there were about that neighborhood, were not likely to be so kindly. However, that was probably the explanation.

It was to be hoped that neither Marion nor her good-for-nothing husband had met with an accident such as a sprained or broken ankle or leg, which made it necessary for even the iron heart of a limousine to relent and pause for them. A broken leg would be an excellent reason for living at the farm gratis for several weeks. Jennie had set her lips firmly. If anyone had broken a leg, he could go to the hospital in the village. There were excellent nurses and a good doctor there. She, Jennie, had no time or strength to wait on invalids.

With this thought she went out to greet her unwelcome guests.

Chapter 18

T
he car stood in front of the great flat stone by the side door, and a tall, handsome man with a long, fur-lined coat was helping a lady out. Jennie hurriedly glanced about; but, not seeing any other travelers, concluded the children had made a mistake and brought her eyes back to the lady.

Marion wore a long fur coat also, for the air in that northern climate was still cold for a long drive. Jennie’s discerning eyes made out that the coat was real mink and that the crimson roses she was wearing were not artificial, even before her eyes rested on the face beneath the attractive hat. The three children surrounded the newcomer, climbing upon her as if she were their long-lost property, regardless of mink and roses. Jennie started forward in horror to reprove them; but Marion, having stooped to kiss the baby, lifted laughing eyes to greet her sister-in-law, and Jennie suddenly recognized her.

“Why, Marion Warren! What on earth?” she exclaimed, starting back. Then Tom came to the front. Men take astonishing things with less surprise. He had grasped the fact of his sister’s bettered condition like a flash as he stood watching the car drive into the yard. His practiced eye knew at once that it was a private car and that the man who sat beside his sister was no freeloader who could be put to work in the hayfield if he lingered too long for convenience. By the time the car stopped at the door, he was ready with a hearty greeting for both his sister and her husband, and he already felt on intimate terms with his new brother-in-law; for Lyman’s hearty grasp and pleasant smile had won his frank, open-hearted nature at once.

“Jennie, this is Marion’s husband, Mr. Lyman. Lyman, this is my wife,” he said loudly. “Jennie, why don’t you open the door and let these travelers in? I know they are tired and cold. Nannie, let go of your Aunt Marion’s hand. Don’t you see you are crowding her off the step? Come, children; get out of the way. Run into the house, and get some chairs ready for them to sit on.”

Tom’s loud tone of deference showed Jennie that the new brother-in-law had made an impression on her husband already. Not so easily convinced herself, she looked at Lyman sharply and was somewhat abashed to meet his pleasant gaze and to see the twinkle in his eye. Her face suddenly grew very red at the remembrance of what she had said about putting this new relative to work planting potatoes. She perceived at once that he would be as much out of place at that occupation as a silk gown on washday.