The Flower Brides (45 page)

How she longed to know what was to have followed that half-finished sentence. Why had she not stayed to hear? Another bus would have been only a half hour longer and left plenty of time to catch her train. She glanced at her watch. Yes, she could have waited, but it was too late to go back now. It was too far to walk with her bags, and she was much too tired.

Then she said the words over again, “And, Lord, we would ask Thy mercy and tenderness and leading for the people up at the great house.” Was it conceivable that the person meant the Disston house? It was the way a servant would speak of a master’s family. Perhaps the reference was to some former master’s family, just being tenderly remembered in prayer, the way Maggie would do. How the words throbbed and thrilled along her sore, tired heart! Here was someone who believed in God, believed that God was interested in individuals, even interested in individuals who were not especially interested in Him. Could he be speaking of God’s interest in her father’s house by individuals? Was it really her father’s house? Of course, it might be some other house far away. But it soothed and rested Diana to think it was the house of Disston the voice meant.

She was too tired now to question why, it was just enough to have someone care, even in a quiet, impersonal way, and pray for them. Oh, how they needed praying for—that is, if prayer did any good. At least it was comforting to think that someone cared to try. She put her head back against the window frame and closed her eyes on the hot tears that tried to struggle to the lashes and squeeze through. She thought of the flowers in her bag and the prayer in her heart and was glad she had heard those few words. They helped her, anyway, even if they were not meant for her. Perhaps there was a God who cared after all, instead of just a mere impersonal Creator. If one soul could speak like that as if he knew Him, he must have had some experience to make him sure God was like that. If she ever went back to her home—it was not conceivable tonight that she would, but if she ever did—she would try to seek out the people who lived in the cottage and get to know them and see if she could find out what it was that they had that would explain the tenderness of a prayer like that.

Presently she got out her pencil and a bit of card from her handbag and wrote down the words as well as she could remember them. She must not forget that prayer. She must hide it in her heart and memory. It was like the flowers.

She went on into the city to take her train. It seemed a very long ride tonight, longer than usual. She hoped the train would be ready soon. She wanted to lie down.

She hadn’t bothered to look up the time of the train. There was usually one along toward midnight going in the direction of the city where Aunt Harriet lived, an hour or two more or less either way didn’t matter. She forgot that she had had no dinner and very little lunch. She was not hungry; she only wanted to lie down. She felt that she was too tired even to cry.

As she neared the city and got away more and more from thoughts of home and tragedy that made her going necessary, she began to review wearily the few arrangements she had made. She had plenty of money with her for her journey, for it just happened that her father had given her her generous allowance in cash the day he went away for his trip, and she had carelessly neglected to put it in the bank, so she had not had to take time to look after that. She had fastened part of her money inside her dress, but she had enough in her bag to pay her fare and some over. There was nothing about that to worry over. Also, she had paid a month’s storage on her goods with the privilege of refund if she decided to take them out sooner. Somehow all these details seemed so unimportant. They had been merely things to fill this awful day until she was gone. None of them seemed to be of as much importance as the few words of the prayer, which she had had the privilege of hearing. How those words seemed to float around her like a sweet protection as the bus rumbled along into the city and the country was left behind.

Meanwhile, back at the great house, Helen had come rushing down the stairs, searching vainly in the rooms for Diana, hoping to find her at once while her wrath was hot. There was more satisfaction in serving wrath piping hot than after it had a chance to get lukewarm. But no Diana was to be found.

Then Helen arrived magnificently in the kitchen with all the air of a full-fledged mistress of the house.

“Maggie, where is Diana?” she demanded, with something in her voice that suggested that Maggie might have hidden her somewhere.

“She’s away!” stated Maggie crustily.

“Away?” said Helen in an annoyed tone, as if it were all Maggie’s fault. “Where has she gone?”

“She didn’t
say
!” said Maggie, shoving the iron frying pan across the top of the stove with a great clatter.

“She didn’t say!” repeated Helen in an outraged tone. “When did she go?”

“Awhile back,” said Maggie laconically.

“But didn’t she tell you where she was going? Didn’t you ask her?”

“It was none of my business, why should I ask?” snapped Maggie.

“But didn’t she say when she was coming back?”

“She didn’t mention comin’ back. She said she’d be payin’ visits for some while.”

“It was very rude of her to treat us that way. I wouldn’t have thought she would have dared do that to her father.”

Maggie was silent, her face very red, her deep blue eyes angry with sparks in them.

“Well, what did she do with the furniture she had taken out of her room, and—other things—that I miss, around the house?”

“I couldn’t say,” said Maggie in a belligerent tone. “I try to mind my own business around a place where I’m workin’, Miss Helen, as much as I’m let be.”

Helen looked at her haughtily.

“You will call me Mrs. Disston after this!” she said icily.

“Oh,
will
I?” said Maggie, rolling the words out with satisfaction. “I’ll not be callin’ you
any
thin’ very long. I’m leavin’ tonight after the kitchen is redd up. You can get someone to call you any name in the dictionary if you like, but I wouldn’t work for the likes of you for any wages.”

“I’ll have Mr. Disston speak to you,” said Helen furiously. “You can’t leave a place like that without any notice.”

“Oh, I can’t, can’t I? Well, I’ll have you to know that I’ve worked in this house before you was born, an’ I’ll leave when I like, an’ not a day later.”

“You’ll not get your wages, then. I’ll tell Mr. Disston not to give you a cent.”

“Wages or no wages, I’m goin’ tonight. But the master is not like that. You don’t know him very well if you think he is. The master is a silly fool sometimes, I’ll admit, but he’s honest! The master may be blind as a bat sometimes, but he’s a good man in spite of it, an’ he’s honest as the day is long. I’ll leave my case in the master’s hands, an’ wages or no wages I’m leavin’ the house tonight!”

Helen gave her a baleful look and turned away furious, going in search of her husband. Maggie went on calmly preparing her dinner.

“The dinner’s ready,” she called after the mistress, “an you’d best eat it now unless you want to wash up afterwards. I’m not stayin’ late, so you’d best come at once.”

D
own in the stone cottage about half an hour before the taxi bearing the master and mistress of the great house reached the door and Diana made her hasty exit from the kitchen, Gordon MacCarroll arrived home from his long day’s trip. He stabled his car in the old barn and came in to greet his mother.

He had been away since dawn on a longer journey than any his new connection in the business world had demanded of him yet, and he had been greatly successful. There was a light of victory in his face as he stooped to kiss his mother and a keen delight in getting home again after a hard day’s work. He was tired and hungry and glad to get back where he could rest. The dinner was beginning to send out a delectable aroma from the oven where something delicious and spicy was in preparation, and the little cozy house looked good to him.

“Well, how is everything, Mother?” he asked as he went to the sink and washed his hands, wiping them on the spick-and-span roller towel. He was just like a boy with a playmate when he got home to his mother. There was a lovely comradeship between them.

But the mother’s face clouded over a trifle.

“Oh, do you know, I’m afraid there’s some trouble up at the great house,” she said, turning from the celery she was washing and placing in a narrow crystal dish. “The little lady came by this morning just as usual, or maybe a bit earlier, and she was carrying a flower again— Isn’t that curious? I wonder if they have a greenhouse up there! This is twice she’s carried flowers— But, Gordon, she was
crying
!”

“Oh, Mother! You must have been mistaken!” The young man frowned and looked at her intently.

“No, I was not mistaken. I saw her quite distinctly, though she didn’t see me. I had just gone out the back door to hang out the dishcloths for a good sunning, and I saw her coming through the trees. She was running along, and she stooped to pick something up—perhaps she had dropped her flower. I saw her just as she was rising from stooping over, and she bent her head down over the flower. I saw her chin tremble and then her face went down right into the flower, and she was crying hard, as if she was terribly grieved. And she caught her breath in one little sob. It sounded so piteous I wanted to rush out and put my arms around the sweet child and comfort her. But I didn’t stir. I even held my breath, lest she would spy me and know I had heard, and somehow I felt that would hurt her still more to know anyone had seen her. I was behind the bushes, and I felt like a thief seeing her there when she wouldn’t have wanted me to, but I couldn’t get away. And even if I had closed my eyes, I couldn’t help hearing that sob. The poor sweet child. I’m afraid she is in some real trouble. I’ve been wondering if it is connected with some of those young men we’ve seen driving in occasionally. Poor child without any mother! I must really try to get acquainted somehow and see if I can’t win her confidence. My heart goes out to her.”

The young man gave a startled look at his mother and then turned and looked meditatively out the window. His mother was thickening the gravy for the moment. She was putting in the salt and pepper, a bit of butter, and stirring it while it bubbled smoothly over the fire. Gordon turned back and watched her.

“Did she come back again?” he asked gravely, trying to make his voice sound quite casual.

“Yes, she came back, but she had stayed away longer than usual, and she was hurrying as if she were out of breath. And then about two o’clock a big moving van came driving in and went up to the house and stayed about an hour or more. I couldn’t see so well, but I went up to your window and looked out because I was troubled. I didn’t know but our folks had lost all their money and were moving out. But they didn’t stay long enough to move all that furniture. It might have been just some things that belonged to someone else, or that they were selling or giving away, so my mind was free about that. The van was all closed up, of course, when it came out so I couldn’t tell what like things they were that were taken away.”

“My word, Mother! You certainly are getting to be a nosy little neighbor, prying into other folks’ business. I never knew you to be so curious before,” laughed Gordon, albeit with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

“Well, it’s not exactly curiosity you know, Son,” protested the mother. “I just can’t bear to think of that sweet, pretty little girl having to suffer. I hope it’s not more money troubles. You know, that agent that rented this house to us said the owner had seen reverses and that was why he was willing to rent the cottage.”

“I know.” Gordon was grave again.

“But there are worse things, of course, than losing one’s house and one’s money,” went on the mother. “I couldn’t help wondering, was the child going to marry one of those men that call on her? The fat one or the gray-haired one or maybe the one with the long, thin face and foppish clothes? And maybe she just isn’t happy about it. Oh, I’d like to get my arms around her and get her to let me help her a bit with her decisions. You know that van might have come to take her things away to her future home.”

Gordon made a quick movement with his hand and almost knocked a cup off from the table. He caught it just in time but sent a spoon clattering on the floor.

“Oh, I say, Mother! Aren’t you going a little too far with your wonderings?”

He tried to laugh, but the sober look stayed in his eyes.

“Well, perhaps I am,” the mother said, smiling. “I think perhaps I am making a story out of it. Being a stranger here with not very much to do all day I can’t help being interested in what’s around me. Pretty soon we’ll get acquainted hereabouts and then it will be different. Though I shall never be quite so much interested in any other people, I’m sure. I somehow feel they are in a sense our own folks because we’re renting from them. Now, come, the dinner is ready. Let’s sit down right away. I know you are good and hungry. Listen! Isn’t that a taxi coming in the drive? Maybe it’s a wedding after all.” She laughed cheerily, but Gordon turned sharply around and looked out the kitchen window for a long time and for once forgot to help his mother put the dinner on the table.

There was a bit of delay after all with the dinner, for Mrs. MacCarroll had been so interested in telling the happenings of the day that she had forgotten to put the butter and cream on the table, and then she had to go back to the refrigerator again for pickles and jelly and to the pantry for some crackers for the soup.

Gordon so far recovered himself as to get a pitcher of water and fill the glasses, and then with another glance up at the window he remarked, “There’s no sign of any festivity up at the house, Mother, only two rooms are lit up. And there! There comes the taxi going away. Perhaps her father has arrived. Didn’t you say he was away?”

“Yes,” said the mother. “That’s probably it. Come, let’s get on with the meal. I’m afraid everything will be stone cold. Ask the blessing, child, and let’s forget the neighbors while we eat. Besides, I want to hear all about your day.”