The Flower Brides (3 page)

They were just sitting down to the table when there came a ring at the door—a boy with a special delivery letter!

“A letter from Aunt Marian,” announced Marigold, coming back eagerly. “Special delivery, too. Open it quick and see if anything is the matter.”

Aunt Marian was Mrs. Brooke’s older sister, an invalid, who lived with her married daughter in Washington, DC.

Marigold watched her mother as she read the letter aloud and saw the wistfulness in it.

“Mother, you ought to go!” she said vehemently when the letter was finished. “
I
can’t go, of course, because that’s the night of the Trescott party, but there’s no reason in the world why you can’t go and stay a whole week or two. It isn’t right you shouldn’t see more of your only sister!”

Mrs. Brooke drew a deep sigh and gave a faint little smile of negation. “I couldn’t possibly afford it now, dear. It costs quite a lot to go down, even on the bus, and the rent will be due just before that. You see, having to get a new fur collar on my coat set me back a good deal this quarter, and there’s no telling whether there will be any income from my few investments next month or not. Things have been terribly tied up, you know. Besides, dear, I wouldn’t want to be away the day you go to that party. I want to see you dressed and ready. I want to be sure that everything is right about you, and I want to have the memory of you in your wonderful gown. Then I want to be waiting for you when you get back and hear you tell all about it. I like to see the first light in your eyes before the joy has faded and life settled down into the humdrum again.”

“Oh, you dear sentimentalist!” laughed Marigold. “Those things would all keep! And as for the money, you make me ashamed. If I can afford to spend a hundred and fifty dollars for a grand gown, you certainly can afford the few dollars it costs to go down to Washington for your sister’s birthday, especially when she asks you in that special way.”

“No, dear, it’s quite impossible!” said Mrs. Brooke firmly. “I would need a lot of new things to go down there, and I’m not going now. Perhaps in the spring I’ll be able to manage it. And I know your aunt will understand—your first grand party! She will know I would need to be here! She was that way about her Elinor, too!”

“But, Mother, you make me feel very selfish.”

“No, dear. You mustn’t feel that way. It’s all right. You let me manage this!”

And just then Laurie rushed in unexpectedly. “Come on, Mara. I’ve got tickets for the ice carnival. Get your skates and we’ll make the first number!”

In almost no time Marigold was gone, and her mother was left alone to read her sister’s letter and shed a few quiet tears on her own account. Then she sighed and thought of her girl and wondered. Was she foolish to worry this way about Marigold? Good, dear Marigold, always thinking of her and wanting everything happy for everybody.

But Marigold was off skimming on the ice at the rink, her cheeks as bright as roses, her eyes like two stars, and the red-gold hair flaming brightly as she glided along. For Laurie’s arm was around her, his handsome face was looking down at her admiringly, and back at home there hung a wonderful garment from François’s, ready for her appearance at the Trescott party. Life seemed good to Marigold. Why worry about anything? It was a mother’s duty to worry, perhaps, but it would all come out right in the end. She was Laurie’s girl, and that was all that she cared about now.

T
hat very afternoon over in the Trescott mansion, Laurie Trescott’s mother was sitting at her desk with a pile of letters and papers before her, talking to her sister-in-law, Irene Trescott, who had just run in to talk over a few plans connected with the party that was to come off the next week.

Out in the hall, Maggie, a woman who was sometimes called in for an extra to supplement the regular staff of servants, was washing the baseboards and wiping up the floor after some electricians had finished the work of installing some new outlets. The door stood wide open and Maggie could hear all that went on, though she hadn’t been much interested to listen until she heard a name she knew.

“Well, Adele, how are you getting on with your arrangements?” asked Irene. “Everything’s going as well as all your parties do, I suppose? But say, Adele, what’s all this I hear about Laurie having a little rowdy girl and you inviting her to the party? Is that true?”

“I don’t know that she’s a
rowdy
,” said Adele, facing her sister-in-law and answering in a voice that had suddenly congealed. “I really don’t know much about her except that she’s respectable. Poor but respectable—at least they
say
so! She’s the daughter of a deceased clergyman, I understand, without a penny to her name. Imagine it! Going around with my Laurie! And the foolish boy doesn’t in the least realize what he’s doing! He’s just having a good time, of course, but with quite an impossible girl. Her name is Marigold Brooke! You wouldn’t know her, of course. She’s not in the limelight, thank goodness! Not yet, anyway, and shan’t be if I can help it!”

“Then why is she invited to the party? Or isn’t that so?”

“Yes, I invited her. Of course. Laurie wished it, and I didn’t think it wise to argue with him. I just invited her as I would have invited any other girl he put on his list. I didn’t wish to put up an opposition. Laurie is very headstrong, you know. He takes after his father in that. And if he thought I didn’t want her, it would be just like him to say he wouldn’t come either. He never can stand being driven; you have to humor him in everything or else you don’t get anywhere.”

“Well, I think you’re making a very grave mistake,” said Irene. “I always did think you were too easy with Laurie. However, that’s not my business. But I can’t understand inviting her if you don’t want to foster the friendship.”

“You don’t know my plan, Irene. I’m doing this with a purpose. Have you never heard of the expulsive power of a new affection? They had a woman in the club the other day who talked about that. At least, maybe it was a book by that name, or something someone had said, I’m not sure which. I was making out my list of guests and didn’t listen much, but I caught that phrase and thought it was a good one. I think I can make a great deal of use of it in various ways. But it especially struck me, because it is just what I’m trying to work in Laurie’s case.

“Irene, have you heard who I’m having as my guest of honor? Robena DeWitte! Do you know her? Did you ever see her? Well, you’ve something to anticipate, then. She’s the most regal girl I’ve ever met, perfectly stunning-looking and dresses like a queen, besides being fabulously rich. She’s graceful, accomplished, athletic. She flies her own plane and is good in all sports, has the most entrancing figure, and is very clever. You’ve heard of her, of course. Well, she’s my drawing card. With Robena there, I’m not afraid any mere preacher’s daughter can get any attention from my son. I shall give her just a hint of how the land lies, and I’m quite sure she’s clever enough to turn the trick. When this little simple child of a preacher that Laurie has taken on appears on the scene, she’ll certainly find out where she doesn’t belong! And so, I flatter myself, will my son. Laurie is very quick to see a thing when it is presented to him in the right light. Just put that poor little common child in this environment and he’ll see soon enough what a mistake she is. And it will all come about in the most natural way, you see, without my having to expostulate with him at all. He’ll just see he was wrong and stop going with her. There’s nothing like showing up the wrong girl side by side with the right one to bring a young man to his senses!”

“Well, you’re making a very grave mistake, Adele,” said the sharp sister-in-law complacently. “I take it you haven’t seen ‘the wrong girl’ as you call her. But when you do, you’ll be surprised. She’s a raving little beauty and no mistake, and you won’t work anything on Laurie that way, mark my words, for Robena isn’t in it beside Marigold Brooke.”

“Do you mean you’ve seen her, Irene?” asked the alarmed mother. “Do you mean you know her?”

“Well, I can’t be said to know her, exactly,” said the woman of the world, “but I’ve seen her plenty, and I can’t say Laurie’s taste in beauty is so bad. She’s Betty Lou Petrie’s teacher in school, and Betty Lou is perfectly crazy about her. Every time I go over to the Petries’ I hear it. ‘Miss Marigold says this,’ and ‘Miss Marigold says that,’ and Eva Petrie says the children just think the sun rises and sets in her. And she’s got the most gorgeous hair! My word! If they wanted anybody to pose for an angel’s picture I should say she would be simply stunning! Robena is no match for her in beauty.”

“Oh, dear me! But, Irene, not in this environment, you wouldn’t think, would you? She wouldn’t have the clothes, would she?”

“She’s clever!” said Irene dryly. “She’d get the clothes, if she had to make them, and she’d make you like them, too! She’d wear them as if they came from Paris.”

“But, how
could
she? A little country minister’s daughter! A schoolteacher!”

“I tell you she’s clever, and she’s out to win whatever she wants!”

“Gracious, why didn’t you tell me this before I invited her? I didn’t have any idea it was anything like that.”

“What did you think your son was, a dummy? Going with a girl who wasn’t a good-looker nor a good dresser? Laurie knows the right thing when he sees it! He’s nobody’s dummy.”

“Well, I don’t think it was very kind of you not to warn me!”

“Look here, Adele, I hadn’t an idea you’d do such a crazy thing as to invite Marigold to your party. I thought your line was ignoring her, and besides, you never take my advice when I give it, so why should I bother? But I will say this: if you want Laurie to walk your way, take his pocket money away. That’s the only way in the world you can curb that lad. He just can’t exist without money.”

Maggie, out in the hall, had rubbed so hard at one spot on the baseboard that she had almost eradicated the paint, and she had knelt on her stiff rheumatic knees so long that she could hardly struggle her over-plumpness into a standing position. But she lumbered up at last, took herself reluctantly down the back stairs, and presently went her troubled way home, going over and over what she had heard and wondering if she ought to tell Miss Marigold. Dear, pretty, sweet little Miss Marigold, who always had a kind word for her and a smile and never scolded when she broke a trinket cleaning her dressing table! Mean woman, calling that pretty child a “rowdy girl.” Maggie’s blood boiled.

Marigold, when she got home after her pleasant evening with Laurie, glimpsed her beautiful dress hanging in the closet with a throb of pride. How wonderful to own a dress like that! She would show them all that she knew how to enter their world in the right clothes, even if she was a minister’s daughter and wasn’t rich! How proud Laurie would be of her!

But when she turned out her light, after a hurried prayer, and crept into her bed, a thousand little demons jumped up and hopped around her, tormenting her, and driving sleep from her eyes. Why had she thought she ought to buy as expensive a dress as that, anyway? And how was she ever to enjoy the party knowing that her mother could not afford to make even a brief visit to her only sister?

In vain did she tell herself that she had to do this for Laurie’s sake. The night grew long and wearisome as she argued things out that she had never questioned before. Had it been Mother’s searching questions that started her off, or the fact that Mother couldn’t go to her sister for a few days? She wasn’t sure. She struggled to get to sleep, trying all sorts of devices to fall unawares into a doze, but all to no effect, until almost morning. Gray streaks of light staring into the windows at her and fevered thoughts chasing one another indistinctly through her excited brain blurred finally into a restless doze, a kind of waking consciousness climaxed in a terrible nightmare such as she had never had before.

She seemed to be standing on a narrow ledge high up in a great room like the library where Mother worked, a great vaulted room with a frail cornice extending along above the tiled floor, at least the height of two stories up. There was no back to the room so that she did not realize at first the dizzying heights on which she crept along. It seemed to be a task which she must accomplish, and she had at first no doubt that she could do it. But as she went on, the ledge grew narrower, and she was obliged to put out her hands and cling to the smooth wall as she edged along, a step at a time. But suddenly the task seemed impossible. The frail ledge on which she stood would now hold only one foot at a time, toe pointed straight ahead, one foot behind the other. Inching along, she could see that just a few feet ahead the ledge became still narrower and then vanished into smooth wall! What would happen when she got to the end? She
was
at the end now! She could go no farther and hope to cling up there.