Substitute Guest (16 page)

But there wasn’t any time now to be thinking about such things. The turkey began to make an outcry from the oven that it was done and wanted to get out, and suddenly everybody was hungry. How could one help being hungry with savory odors like those coming from the oven? And they discovered that time was well on into the afternoon. Mother Devereaux called upon them all for help. The table must be set in a hurry. Lance and Ruth did that, while Mother was making the gravy, and creaming the onions, and scooping out the Hubbard squash, and keeping the candied sweet potatoes from burning. Father was delegated to beat the mashed potatoes and turnips. Daryl and Alan went to the pantry for cream and butter and cranberry sauce, and pickles and celery hearts. Then they cut the bread and the cheese and made the coffee. Alan acted like a boy out of school, eager about everything, interested in all they were doing, especially interested in keeping a watch on the glass percolator to lift it off at the right moment when it began to “perk.”

Suddenly just as they were about to sit down Daryl remembered and a blank look came over her face.

“Oh,” she said, turning toward Alan, “I forgot to tell you. A person called up last night and wanted you to call her the first thing this morning! I never thought of it till now! She said her name was Cass, I think, and she had a strange first name. Even stranger than mine. It was something like Scimeter. I’m so sorry I forgot to tell you.”

Alan grinned.

“Demeter,” he supplied. “Demeter Cass.”

“Well, you’d better call her now before you sit down. I don’t know what she’ll think of me. She thought I was an operator at first.”

“That’s too bad,” said Mother in dismay, casting an anxious glance toward the turkey, velvety brown on the big china platter that had been in the family for a hundred years or more. It was as if she feared the turkey might be offended.

But Alan shook his head.

“No hurry,” he said, “Demeter will keep. She hasn’t been up so long herself. This would be quite near to the first thing in the morning for her. She hasn’t been long away from her breakfast tray, I’ll warrant. I’m too hungry to talk to her now. That certainly is the most wonderful turkey I ever saw! Let’s forget calling up for a while.”

So they sat down to the table and Father Devereaux bowed his head for the blessing.

It was just then the telephone rang out clamorously, insistently, and kept it up all through the blessing.

“There!” laughed Lance when the blessing was over. “You might as well have called when Daryl told you and got the credit for it!”

D
emeter Cass would have called long ago if she hadn’t had something more interesting to do. A new young man had appeared on the scene at the house party, and she was trying him out. Also it was true that she hadn’t been up very long, for the festivities of the night before had lasted far into the morning, ending with scrambled eggs for everybody, and they had slept late as Alan had known they would do. And then there had been a hilarious breakfast at noon. That took time.

But now for a few moments there was a cessation of amusements and Demeter had returned to the fray.

Alan arose reluctantly with a frown of annoyance. He didn’t want to be interrupted now. He didn’t want to talk to Demeter Cass. She was a false note in this perfect harmony.

The family hushed their cheerful clamor when he went to the telephone lest they would annoy him, and so they could not help hearing his short replies.

“Yes? Oh, is that you, Demeter? Merry Christmas!… Yes, I got your message but I thought you’d just about be getting up. I didn’t get up very early myself. I had a long hard hike in the storm last night….Why didn’t I telephone? Well, to tell you the truth I hadn’t thought of it yet. I had too much else on my mind. And then you know I told Mrs. Wyndringham that I wasn’t sure I could come. I told you that, too. I thought you would understand on account of the storm….I was going to call up sometime this afternoon to offer my apologies to Mrs. Wyndringham and wish you all a Merry Christmas. But I hardly expected you would be wound up and going yet, so early in the day….No, it’s impossible, Demeter. The storm is too heavy! I couldn’t make it!… No, even if I dared try I couldn’t. My car is broken down and it will be a day or so before it’s in shape to travel…. Oh, you needn’t pity me. I’m having the time of my life!… Yes, they’re friends. I’ll
say
they’re friends!… No, I don’t think you have met them….No, you mustn’t think of sending for me. No, indeed! Why should you even if you
could?
… What? Somebody you want me to meet? Well, I’ll be delighted of course, but I shall have to postpone the pleasure….Why is it so urgent?”

There was a long pause this time while the voice at the other end talked earnestly, persistently, and the listeners in the other room looked at one another silently and wondered. Would he go? If there was a way, would he go?

They glanced out of the window where still the snow was steadily beating down, and dreaded to think that perhaps he would try. There was no telling what a man with his courage would think he ought to do or, for all they knew,
wanted
to do. And after all he was a stranger. These people who were calling him likely had a much stronger hold on him than they, the chance acquaintances of a day! Yet how quickly had their hearts begun to knit with his heart! How they would hate to see him go!

Then suddenly the crisp, clear voice in the other room said, “Why should you especially want me to meet that man?… Oh, of course I’m always glad to make new contacts…. Well, of course I’ll be glad to listen. Suppose you come into my office some morning next week….No, not the apartment,
my office
, I said. I imagine I’ll be pretty well tied there next week after my vacation. I’ll be very busy….Yes, I’m sorry to have disappointed you all, but I’m sure you’ll have just as good a time without me. Please remember me to all the party. Good-bye!”

He came back to the table looking thoughtful, a little frown between his pleasant eyes. Was it disappointment that he could not be with his own friends, or annoyance, or what? Daryl studied his face furtively and wondered what kind of girl this Demeter Cass was. She hadn’t received a very good impression of her last night over the telephone.

For a little time after Alan came back to the table there was a quietness over them all, as if that telephone call had somehow reminded them that they were of different worlds. But presently Alan seemed to come out of his pensiveness, just as if he had willed to shake off whatever it was that was perplexing him, and was his merry self again. After all, whoever this stranger was that she wanted him so much to meet, who seemed to be important both to his business career and to Demeter’s happiness, he didn’t have to face that question for at least two or three days, and he was going to enjoy this Christmas time to the very limit of every moment. So his eyes were soon full of light again, and his remarks kept them all in a gale of laughter.

Lance secretly drew a breath of relief. He had been afraid Alan was going to change on him and he didn’t want this happy time to be spoiled that way. He wanted Daryl to see that there were young men besides that flip Harold Warner. Also his experience yesterday in the storm had taught him that here was a prince among men, and he didn’t want him to fail in anything. Neither did he like to think that any girl anywhere had the power to dim the light in those pleasant eyes, and silence the merriment on his lips.

But the generous helpings of turkey went their rounds, and warmth and good cheer in the old farmhouse soon were uppermost. Everybody was hungry and everybody ate heartily. Alan took second helpings until he was ashamed of himself, and told Mother Devereaux he never had eaten such wonderful cooking.

And then came the dessert. He and Daryl took out the plates and brought in the pies, mince and pumpkin. And though they had thought they couldn’t eat another bite they managed the pie nicely.

There was something cozy and homelike in all hands washing the dishes afterward. Alan enjoyed it. He felt as if he were a boy again in a big, nice, loving family of his own.

He watched Daryl deftly wiping a pile of plates, polishing glasses, and setting them in rows on the shelf. She seemed to make a fine art of dishwashing. And yet this girl had a college education, and could hold her own among intellectual people. Still, she didn’t seem to be trying to get out of the round of daily household duties that so many girls shirked.

He tried to fancy Demeter Cass wiping dishes and washing out nice linen dish towels as this girl was doing and almost laughed aloud at the thought. Demeter with her languid airs and well-polished crimson fingertips. Demeter with her too-red lips and her pearly complexion accentuated by faint blue shadows under her eyes. Why couldn’t he have met a girl like this Daryl Devereaux before he ever saw Demeter Cass and her crowd? Before Daryl knew Harold.

He felt a sudden distaste for all that Demeter represented. He wished he had never involved himself in her social circle. He recalled invitations ahead to which he was half pledged, which would involve him still further, and a wave of dislike rose in his heart. He wished he could stay forever in his present environment and not go back to the world of fashion and folly, of chasing the latest will-o’-the-wisp fad. Of course he had never done that. He had only stood on the outer edge and looked on, so far, and thought to lure the girl who had tried to fascinate him back into a sane, sensible path. But he recognized that from his position of looker-on it was only a step inside that clique to where he would be a part of it. This house party to which he had not gone had been in a sense the dividing line. An invitation to it was equivalent to being accepted and sought after. Good for his business, perhaps, but not so good for himself, for his inner self, the part of him that lived and moved and had a spiritual being.

If he had only known a girl like Daryl Devereaux when he first came to the city how different things would have been. But as he watched her he felt more and more that there couldn’t be many girls like this one. And she was interested in that insufferable cad whose voice he had heard drunkenly on the telephone last night! He was sure she was. He had watched the shadow in her eyes all day. Well, he thought wistfully, he was glad he was having this little glimpse of a real Christmas with real folks, anyway. It had acted like a sort of mental bath, or a spiritual one, perhaps, to cleanse his soul from the mad whirl of follies toward which he might have been drifting. Perhaps his eyes were open now and he would know better how to make decisions. Perhaps the spell that Demeter Cass had been casting over him was broken by the vision of this other clear-eyed girl. Girls! For there were two of them, of course. He could see that the girl Ruth was lovely also, and he took pleasure in seeing her with his new friend Lance. What a couple they would make, interested in the same things, deeply devoted, each finding joy in the presence of the other! It somehow restored his faith in life and love and true simple living just to watch them. He was glad he had come. Even if he had not seen Daryl, even if she was entangled somehow with a person who had the power to bring sadness to her lovely eyes, he was glad he had come.

When the last dish was in its place, when Mother and Father had slipped away to their room for a bit of a Christmas nap, and Lance and Ruth were bent over some plans of their own for a little log cabin they meant to build for a summer home sometime in the far sweet future, Alan looked at Daryl brightly and put out a comradely hand.

“Come on, let’s go read my new book of poetry,” he said. “I have a fancy for reading it the first time with you.” He smiled and she gave an answering smile, and slipped her hand in his, letting him lead her over to one of the big chairs by the fireplace. Then he drew up another nearby and brought the book.

“Now,” he said as he settled back to watch her, “read me the one you like the best. I’d like to start with that.”

As he sat there watching the sweet face of this cultured, lovely girl, listening to her pleasant voice as she read, noting her eyes light with appreciation of some of the beautiful thoughts she was reading, he tried to picture Demeter Cass reading poetry to him. He was not able to conjure up such a scene with Demeter as the center. In his mind he could hear her peals of laughter at the thought.

“Oh, darling!
Poetry!
How Victorian! Just fancy anybody today stopping to read sweet stuff like that!”

He turned from the thought impatiently. Why did Demeter Cass have to intrude into every pleasant thing today?

They had a rare time for over an hour discussing the poems, Alan marveling at the clear, logical mind of Daryl, enjoying every moment of their talk together.

Then Father and Mother Devereaux appeared with the coming of the dusk, looking like two fresh daisies, and the talk grew more general. The Christmas tree broke out in its lights again, and the fire was built up afresh.

“How about getting out a jigsaw puzzle, son?” suggested the old man. “I wouldn’t mind taking a hand in one myself after I get done with the milking.”

Lance sprang up from his corner of the couch.

“I’m going to milk tonight, Dad,” he said. “I was just going out. No, I’m all right. My ankle doesn’t hurt at all now.”

“And I’m going also—not that I’ll be much help,” Alan said, laughing, “but at least I can cultivate the acquaintance of Chrystobel. I really don’t know many cows, and I think it would be a pleasant experience.”

So the boys went out to the barn, and Daryl and Ruth got out two low tables and arranged the lamps so the light would be good, and when the boys came back the place looked so cozy and pleasant that Alan’s heart suddenly thrilled again with joy at being a part of this dear home for a time.

Lance went to the old chest of drawers in the dining room and got out a large puzzle, which had been one of his Christmas gifts, and as he opened it and emptied the pieces out on one of the tables he said, “The wind is changing, Dad. I think it will be clearing before morning. The snow is much lighter already.”