The Flower Brides (20 page)

When she hung up the receiver she looked around her, and the place seemed all at once terribly empty and lonely. More than a week yet before Mother would come back! Perhaps she would accept some of those invitations from the teachers, which she had always declined before on the plea of not leaving her mother alone.

She went into the bedroom and began to hang up her dresses again, touched lightly the smooth silk of the little green dress, remembering with a thrill the evening she had worn it when Ethan had taken her to the symphony concert. What a lovely time she had had that evening! How happy she had been, and how Ethan had admired the dress! Strange for such a quiet, serious young man to notice a dress! But he really did admire that. She could see it in his eyes, and her heart quickened as she remembered his look when he said it. She gave the dress a little soft pat, shook out the folds, and put it on a hanger wistfully. She was glad she had that dress. It was a much better dress to have than the white one would have been, regal as that was. Suppose she had bought the white instead and gone to the party! It would be at the cleaner’s by now very likely and never be quite as pretty and fresh again. And what further use would she ever have had for it? Oh, she was glad she had taken that white dress back!

Then the telephone rang out sharply again, and startled, she went to answer it. Had Mother forgotten to tell her something and called again? How extravagant of her!

But it was Laurie’s voice this time that sounded harshly over the wire.

“Mara! Is that you at last? Well, it’s high time! I’ve been driving back and forth, passing your place every little while, waiting to see a light, and I couldn’t understand why you didn’t get home. Didn’t you get my note? I thought I saw a light from the back room just now, but couldn’t be sure, and I didn’t care to risk another conversation with that woman across the hall so I thought I’d telephone. Did you get my note or not?”

“Why yes, I got it,” said Marigold, trying to think swiftly what she should say. “I—haven’t been home—so long, Laurie! And—well, you see, I really couldn’t go out tonight anyway.”

“Why not? Your mother didn’t come home with you, did she? You don’t have her notions to deal with, do you?”

“Laurie! Really!” Marigold’s tone was indignant. “What is the matter with you, Laurie? I never heard you talk that way before about Mother.”

“Well, I’m getting about sick of having to run my affairs to suit her straight-laced ideas. I don’t see why you can’t break loose and do as other girls do. She’s no right to tie you down this way. You don’t get a chance to see anything at all of life!”

“Laurie! I don’t care to talk to you if you are going to say things like that. I never heard you be rude before!”

“Oh well, forget it, Mara. I’ve lost my temper, I’ll admit. But I’m fed up waiting around for you. Where have you been, anyway, and what have you been doing? I tried to get you all day yesterday.”

“I’ve been away visiting in Washington,” said Marigold a bit haughtily. “You didn’t suppose I had nothing else to do but sit around here till you called me, did you?” She tried to end her caustic words with a laugh to take the sting out of them. It wasn’t like her to be sarcastic to Laurie, and she knew it. Neither was it the way she wanted to speak to Laurie, but it had suddenly come to her sharply that Laurie had had plenty of time to call her up before she went to Washington and he hadn’t explained yet why he didn’t.

“That’s a nice way to talk!” snarled Laurie, speaking in a tone Marigold had never heard from him before. “I’ve been busy. Company at the house and a lot of engagements. I came this way as soon as I could. But you certainly don’t seem very glad to see me.”

“Well, I haven’t seen you yet!” she said, trying to force a little laugh, and then she was instantly sorry, for now perhaps he would try to visit this evening and she didn’t want him to come, not so late. She hurried on: “But listen, Laurie, I wasn’t finding fault. You have a right to arrange your coming when it is convenient. I was just joking.”

“That sounds more like my Mara,” said Laurie, somewhat mollified, yet his voice was still harsh to Marigold’s ears. Somehow he did not sound like himself. “All right, baby, get your togs on and meet me down at the door in five minutes. We’ll go somewhere and get some food, and then we’ll make a night of it. Nothing to hinder. I’ve been wanting to show you for a long time what night life is really like in our little old town. Put on something bright and giddy, and touch up your features a little. I’m going to take you where they know what a pretty girl is like. I never had a chance to really take you ‘out among ’em’ before; your mother has always kept you so close and censored every place I wanted to go.”

Something seemed suddenly to take Marigold by the throat, and a great fear and heaviness came into her heart. For a moment she didn’t answer, and then she summoned a cold little threat of a voice and said, almost haughtily, “Thank you, Laurie, but I wouldn’t care to go places Mother wouldn’t like, and I don’t think I care to know what night life is like.”

“Oh, now, look here, baby, don’t get stuffy! I’m not taking you places that are any harm. Your mother doesn’t understand what up-to-date places are, and she just gets anxious, but tonight we can go without worrying her, see? Hurry up and get your things on. I don’t want to waste any more time. I’ve hung around long enough waiting for you now.”

There was kind of a snarl in the last words, and the whole thing wasn’t like Laurie. He had never called her
baby
before, either. And he had said the word in a careless, too-intimate way, not in a gentle, tender way that would have made the word a real endearment. What could have come over Laurie? Had he been drinking? She dismissed the thought. She had only seen Laurie drink two or three times, and then just a glass of what he called “light wine.” It hadn’t seemed to affect him. But tonight he was talking so strangely. She was half frightened. She wished she had not answered the telephone at all.

“Listen, Laurie, I’m not going to any nightclubs anymore, either tonight or any other night! I’ve been thinking the matter over seriously, and I’ve decided it’s something I don’t want to do ever again.”

“But you don’t really know anything about nightclubs, darling,” said Laurie contemptuously. “You oughtn’t to decide a thing like that without knowing. I’m going to show you what a really good nightclub is tonight. Come on, baby! Hurry up and meet me at the door!”

“No!” said Marigold firmly. “I’m not going to any nightclubs, now or any other time. That’s final!”

He was silent for a minute, and then his tone changed. “Now, Mara, you’re not being kind to me! It’s not like you to talk that way. Come on, Mara, be a good sport and come out with me. I’m lonely. You’ve been gone a long time. If you don’t want to go to a nightclub tonight, come on and we’ll go to the rink and have a skate.”

“No,” said Marigold, “I’m not going anywhere tonight. It’s too late, and I’m tired.”

Her voice trailed off almost into a sob. She felt so shocked at the change in Laurie. She felt almost afraid of him when he spoke in that voice and utterly sick at heart at the way he talked. He must be drunk or he never would be so rude. It was not at all like Laurie as she knew him in the past. He was always courteous, always laughing, never cross.

“Well then, how about tomorrow?” Laurie asked, after an ominous pause. “We’ll have a good time tomorrow night. I’ll meet you at the school and take you driving somewhere, and we’ll get dinner and”—he hesitated for an instant—“and then go to the rink and skate!” he ended.

She finally compromised on the rink, explaining that she had things to do at home and couldn’t go until evening.

After she had hung up the receiver, she turned troubled eyes across the room, wondering if she had done right to promise even for tomorrow night. Somehow she felt strangely disturbed about the whole matter. Laurie had been so different from his usual self. Was he just sore that she had not come to the party, and yet wouldn’t say anything about it?

The party. Why, she had been home almost the whole evening and hadn’t even thought to look at the papers that Johnny Masters had dutifully brought and Mrs. Waterman had left on the table by the door! Somehow the interest had gone out of them for her.

But she went over and picked them up, settling down in a chair and turning on the lamp beside her. She turned over the pages until she reached the society columns, and there right at the head of the page was the face of that girl she had seen with Laurie before she went to Washington! She couldn’t be mistaken. There was something about the haughty, self-centered face—handsome though it was—that was stamped indelibly upon her memory.

Miss Robena DeWitte of Sandringham-Heights-on-the-Hudson
, the caption beneath said. And,
Guest of honor at the exclusive entertainment given Saturday night in the Trescott mansion, Walnut Terrace and Gardingham Road, this city
.

The article describing the party occupied three columns, with minute descriptions of the outstanding gowns of what was exuberantly described as “this city’s best-dressed crowd of the season.” And as she read it, Marigold’s face flamed scarlet to think she had been about to compete with that company of peacocks, each aiming to have the prize for the best feathers.

She glanced down the column and caught the name of Robena DeWitte once more, and read:

Suddenly Marigold stood up and cast the paper from her, a look of utter disgust on her face.

Was that what she had made herself miserable about only a few days ago? Had she really wanted to compete for that sort of notoriety? For Laurie’s sake, she had made herself believe, but had it not been for her own pride’s sake, if she told the truth? Yes, she had wanted to prove to Laurie’s mother and friends that she could be just as smartly dressed and just as beautiful as any of that crowd who had loads of money! What a little fool she had been! Actually spending a hundred and fifty dollars for a dress! But—wait! Wasn’t that the same dress? White with a crimson sash!

She grabbed the paper from the floor and looked carefully at the girl’s picture again. Yes, that was the same dress! She could not mistake those unusual lines, the hang of the sash, the very placing of the rose! The picture had been taken before the party just for the papers! Oh, it
must be
her dress the other girl was wearing.

She had drawn Laurie away, and then she had gone and bought her dress and worn it to the party!

Marigold flung the paper down again, threw her head back, and laughed aloud. How funny! How very, very funny!

She laughed so loud that Mrs. Waterman came across the hall and tapped at the door.

“Did you call?” she asked in a curious voice. “I thought I heard you call.”

“Oh, no,” said Marigold, giggling again, “I was just laughing at something—a joke—I found in the paper! I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

Mrs. Waterman went back baffled. She had hoped that Marigold would tell her something about her trip or at least something about the two young men, the one at home and the one who had come home with her and then gone so soon again. Well, she was glad she had gotten that cut in, anyway, about her young man at home, to warn the poor fellow who came up with her from Washington. But why didn’t he have sense enough to stay the evening when he had the chance, if he was interested in her?

Mrs. Waterman was keen for any romance, having had little of her own. She was always scenting out love stories in any young things she met.

But Marigold stopped laughing and picked up the paper again, looking long and steadily into the eyes of the girl in the picture, trying to realize that this was the girl she had seen Laurie so absorbed with. Her rival! Could it be possible that Laurie really was interested in that vapid, selfish-looking girl? There wasn’t a hint of moral character in her face.

Of course, it was only a picture, and newspaper pictures were noted for being very poor likenesses, but she had seen the girl herself. She knew!

After a long time, Marigold gathered up the newspaper, went over to the fireplace, and burned it. Then she went in and knelt by her bed and prayed.

Oh, Lord Jesus, won’t You teach me what to do about Laurie? I thought I loved him, but perhaps I shouldn’t. I want to be crucified with You and have Your resurrection life. I want to count myself dead to the things of this world and alive only to You. Won’t You please show me the way and not let self come alive in me and make me go astray. I’m trusting You to live for me, step by step. Help me, Lord Jesus, please! I’m Yours now. Not my own anymore
.

M
arigold slept late the next morning and had to hurry to school, with no breakfast except half a glass of milk swallowed in a hurry. It was raining, a fine, thin drizzle, and somehow the gloom of the day had entered her soul. The peace of last night seemed to have been rudely broken in upon, and she had awakened with a burden upon her. There had been no time for prayer, and her heart felt strangely depressed.

As she hurried along to school in a taxi, she tried to search into her depression and find out its cause and finally traced it back to Laurie. She had an unsatisfied feeling about having promised to go with him tonight. And yet as she thought it over, she couldn’t understand why. She had been plain enough about not going to nightclubs. She had taken her stand about that. And if he was willing to go to the rink and skate for a while instead, she couldn’t really in decency decline, could she? There was nothing wrong in skating. Mother hadn’t ever objected to her going.